All in or all out (Markus)

Hyatt Plaza was no St. Regis or the Ritz, but it still had the same air of classic elegance to it. The building was very well maintained both outside and in. Lights were dim enough to allow patrons to feel at peace, as though they could simply lie down and rest or enjoy a cup of coffee in a quiet moment. As conversations flowed from the guests, accompanied by the sounds of moving luggage carts and the employees answering phone calls, there was a sort of hush. In a city where noise could easily flood your mind and the hectic pace drained you, the Hyatt was calm. Business meetings and conventions weren’t uncommon, for the space was generous enough for the price.

To Sledge it felt as though he had been shuttled into his Gram’s nursing home. Everything was clean, but there was no smell or taste of the rug shampoo or disinfectant. Mostly just wood polish and freshly laundered linens. Not a single bit of modern furniture was to be spotted, and any chair he passed by on his way to the meeting room looked as though it had enough stuffing for a bed. It just felt old to him. This wasn’t a place to feel trendy. No, the Hyatt was meant to make you look like a proper gentleman or lady without actually having to spend your last penny. He would wager that most of the regular clientele were as stuffy as the embroidered armchairs.

Including politicians. For a man who could not even vote, Sledge followed the politics of the United States closely. As a general rule of thumb he found their statements and agenda’s flawed to say the least. They spoke of ways to improve the life of those in the lower and middle class, but had little or no experience with such a life themselves. Spending a year or two on the dole before trying to run for any position seemed like a fair requirement to the Brit. You can hardly expect someone to have faith in your ability to run a city, a county, or even a country if they could not establish the connection to a basic human lifestyle.

Having a politician in your pocket was an incredibly useful thing though. To do so usually meant having either rather deep pockets or enough dirt to fill a grave. Blackmail, Sledge knew, could be an excellent motivation, provided the consequences were grave enough. Slander meant nothing these days though. It had become S.O.P if you tossed your hat in the ring. Forget trying to elect a vice president, find a good public relations assistant who could spin the dark truths into gleaming beacons of hope. He was hardly in a position to try that to his mark. Technically speaking Sledge would be the one at risk here. Who wouldn’t support a campaigner who caught an illegal immigrating criminal? Even with the deaths of some of the biggest threats, the “War on Terror” still ran strong in America, perhaps more so here in New York than anywhere else.

No, Sledge was going to use one of his favorite techniques. Manipulate the situation so that the mark thinks that their actions are what they want, and not, in fact, your desires pressed upon them. So he rented a suite at the Hyatt for a few days, packed a few of his finer shirts and trousers, and set himself up in a game of cards that the mark had been invited to. By no means was “David Maxwell” the only criminal who would be shuffling the deck that night, but he was positive that he’d be the one to take the pot. Mr. Markus Burke’s loyalties and political sway were the real prizes tonight.