
Big boy just watches me.
— So any chance I can get in for my appointment? It's a really beautiful day out there and I want to make the most of it before it gets cloudy.
The giant picks up a phone and presses a button.
— He's here. I did. Thank you, sir.
He places the phone back in its cradle and points at the door across the foyer.
— Just up the stairs and to the right.
— Thanks.
I walk to the door and he presses a button on his desk to buzz it open. I stand there holding the door and turn back to him.
— Hey, who they got me seeing anyway?
— Mr. Predo will be meeting with you today, Mr. Pitt. Just up the stairs and to your right.
— Yeah, thanks.
I step through the door and let it swing shut behind me. Dexter Predo. Fuck. Predo is the head of the Coalition's secret police, and party chairman all rolled into one. He's the guy keeps everybody in line. He's the guy in charge of staking people out in the sun.
I take the stairs to the second floor. The stairwell walls are covered with portraits of great Coalition members from back a couple hundred years right up to the present. At the top of the stairs is a photo of the current Coalition Secretariat, the twelve members and the prime minister. But the truth is, most of the faces in this photo are the same as the ones in the first one down at the bottom of the stairs. Not a lot of turnover in the old Secretariat. Not pictured anywhere, Dexter Predo, a man who prefers to remain obscure.
The stairs reach up for three more flights, but I've never been asked beyond the second floor, and I'm not looking for an invitation. The upper floors are for Coalition members only. As it is I'm lucky my appointment isn't in the basement. I walk a short way down the hall to the first door on the right and knock.
— Come in.
Predo's office is modest as these things go. I mean, I'm sure all his little objets d'art are priceless, but it's not like he has a killer view of the park. Not that the shades would be up anyway. He's at an oak cabinet, pulling a file. Three guesses whose it is.
