The Other McCain

"One should either write ruthlessly what one believes to be the truth, or else shut up." — Arthur Koestler

Meet ‘Tony’; Senator Reid’s Occasional 6’2″, 225lb, Taciturn ‘Retirement Advisor’

Posted on | March 30, 2015 | 13 Comments

by Sissypuss the Blog Kitty

I got word via Her Majesty’s spy network (what’s a little ‘stealth outsourcing’ between frenemies, eh?) that Tony Scambilloni had a flight booked for Dulles. This within hours of the surprise announcement that Harry “the Cadaver” Reid was not intending to transition from un- to fully-dead right there on the Senate floor, railing about the Koch brothers or some other invented anti-Progressive bugbear. No, Poor, Poor, Pitiful Reid would leave his final trail of embalming fluid in the Senate halls after the 2016 election, and return to afflict Searchlight, Nevada with his lousy personality.

In stark contrast, how can you not love a Renaissance thug like Tony, whose art forgeries cost almost as much as an evening engagement with his chamber quartet, Chin Music? Of course, he had no hourly rate for his “professional services”, which ran the gamut of consulting from matters of body, to mind, to soul.

Access to the 5th floor ventilation in the Hart Building, especially on such short notice, would have been relatively hard for anyone bigger than a feline. Especially without the correct connections. However, arrangements were made, and a helpful security guard “let the cat out of the bag”. (Oh, shut up! You’d’ve used that gag, too.)

The wait was less than an hour there, behind the ventilation grill in the corner of room 522. Harry sat at his desk, illuminated by a banker’s lamp, his good side in profile, one chair and the door in view. Reid, shaking and wheezing, worked at a stack of paper, and swore with more rhythm and passion than one would have thought him incapable of mustering, based upon the usual stream of porridge he emitted on the Senate floor.

The door opened abruptly, with a precisely measured fury. The hall light flooding the room mostly shadowed a man in a black suit bearing an instrument case. Tony.

Reid’s remaining good eye got squinty. “What the philharmonic are you doing here?” he demanded, as Tony shut the door firmly, then strode over to sit in the visible chair. He could have been visiting a junior college professor, and not the United States Senate Minority Leader, for all the waves of disdain exuded. The instrument case occupied what I presumed was another chair on the opposite desk corner. The light of the banker’s lamp on the desk somehow moved Tony’s look away from Robert DeNiro and more toward a Harvey Keitel.

Credit “The Cadaver”: he came out with guns blazing. “You tell Sam Nazarian that, if he wants to see his dreams realized, he’d better learn to be patient.”

Tony never took his eyes off of Reid, but leaned over toward the other chair. I heard the latches thump open, and my heart raced. Had there ever been violence in a Senator’s office? Tony raised an object to his face, and I thought it was some sort of barrel pointing at Reid until the bow started into a slow, perfect rendition of Lux Aeterna by Clint Mansell, from Requiem for a Dream.

After a few minutes, the ever-cultured Harry Reid was having none of it. “Who in the name of Robert Byrd do you think you are?” Tony paused while Reid drew breath. “You come into my office–where is my security?!?!?!–like you came into my home, threatening me with this Charlie Daniels crap, and I’m supposed to take you seriously? I don’t fear you. If they wanted me dead, I’d be room temperature. If they want me to carry through on the deal, they can just quit sending your to bully me, and let me get things done!” Reed took off his glasses and threw them on the desk. Taking Tony out of focus was one way to deal with the sudden wave of fear washing over him. Tony stood, and carefully set his fine instrument and bow back in the case.

Reid was visibly trembling as Tony turned abruptly and leaned over the desk. His bow hand came down flat on Reid’s glasses, deliberately crushing them, before he whisked the debris off the desk to SLAP! against the wall. Tony got in Harry’s face “Catherine Cortez Masto had better understand that, if she assumes your seat, she assumes your debt.”

“There’s no way she’s going to have the skill to work off that kind of dead horse,” said Reid with a mixture of realism and pride. Oh, and a jigger of fear.

“She’s your disciple, isn’t she? Tell her it’s a student loan.” With that, Tony swung brought his left arm around slowly, and touched the ravaged right side of Reid’s face with his pinky finger, eliciting a gasp.

“Here,” said Tony, handing Reid an invitation. “Since I ‘accidentally’ broke your glasses, I’ll help you. It’s for tomorrow tonight at 9 P.M., at the Cosmos Club. Come hear a little Chin Music. Bring the wife. She deserves a little culture for having to tolerate a pernicious swine like you.”

I made good my escape from the Hart Building. Once outside, I laughed like Joe Biden convincing an unwitting child to pull his finger.

Comments