House Revenge Read Free Page A

speech—that I want to understand the law on evicting folks from their apartments. You’ll understand after Elinore explains to you what’s going on. And I want you to move fast on this, Mason. Elinore and I are going to hold a press conference tomorrow, so you move chop-chop. Got it?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Mason said.
    â€œYou’re really going to help me?” Elinore said, sounding incredulous.
    â€œYou’re damn right I am,” her champion said.

3
    Mahoney asked Maggie to send in the next citizen, but he also told her to call Sean Callahan. “Tell Sean I want to see him this evening, have a drink over at the Copley about six or seven.”
    The next citizen was an old woman who was wearing her Sunday go-to-Mass clothes, including a feathered blue bonnet and white gloves. She brought a plate of chocolate chip cookies she’d baked herself, and they were good. She surprised Mahoney when she said she wanted to talk about how Comcast had a monopoly on Internet service in Boston and kept jacking up their rates and forcing people to bundle services to get a decent price. She said the Internet ought to be a public utility like sewer and water, and that poor people—because of that demon Comcast—had to go to a library to get online to look for a job or apply for one. She wanted to know why Mahoney didn’t give that wimp who ran the FCC a kick in the pants, a guy who, according to her, was basically on Comcast’s payroll.
    Mahoney pointed out that the FCC had just blocked a merger between Comcast and Time Warner to prevent Comcast from dominating the market but the old lady said that didn’t do a damn thing for cities like Boston where Comcast already had a monopoly. Mahoney knew she was right but he was thinking he’d just as soon not piss off Comcast, who contributed to him—and maybe to everyone else in Congress. He was trying to come up with a way to blame this one on the Republicans, too, but at that moment, Maggie stuck her head into his office and said, “Sorry to interrupt, Congressman, but Mr. Callahan said tonight isn’t convenient for him and asked if he could meet with you some other time.”
    â€œNot convenient for him?” Mahoney said. “Why, that arrogant little . . .”
    He’d been about to say “prick,” but stopped himself as the old lady was still in the room. If Mahoney needed to meet with the president of the United States, and if the president was in town, he’d make time for Mahoney. Yet here was this punk, Callahan, who thought that because he was now worth a few hundred million, he could blow Mahoney off.
    â€œYou call him back and tell him that if he doesn’t meet with me tonight, he’ll hear at my press conference tomorrow how I’m gonna shut down his project on Delaney Street.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Maggie said.
    â€œNow what were you saying, Mrs. Waters?” Mahoney said to the Internet crusader.
    A couple minutes later, Maggie came back and said, “Mr. Callahan will meet you this evening at the Copley at six.”
    â€œThat’s better,” Mahoney said, and reached for another cookie.
    The Fairmont Copley Plaza Hotel was constructed in 1912 and is across the street from Copley Square. A block away is historic Trinity Church, founded in 1733, and a place where generations of Episcopalians have knelt and prayed. A bit farther to the west is the Old South Church with its magnificent bell tower. It seemed as if the first thing the old New Englanders did when they stepped off the boat was to build a church; Mahoney would have built a tavern with an adjoining bordello.
    To enter the grand hotel you pass under a large red awning and between two stern-looking seven-foot lions made of stone and painted gold. The lobby is as big as a football field but instead of AstroTurf, the floor is covered with thick blue-and-red Oriental carpets. Hanging from a twenty-one-foot