Careful Measurements

by Layne D. Hansen

  The debate had largely been a draw. All of the candidates made good points, but no one landed any heavy blows. The purpose of the debate was to give David Asher a chance to catch up in the polls. He needed a Hail Mary and he got his chance when the moderator allowed the candidates to directly question an opponent.

  “I’d like Mr. Wilson to tell us why he’s opposed to setting up programs that will help the poor people in our community,” Asher said to the moderator. He didn’t have the heart to look at, or speak to, Mike Wilson directly.

  Wilson grinned and he tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe it away with his hand. This was the opening they had been waiting for. Offstage, Patton wiped his forehead and chuckled, unable to believe that David Asher would give his opponent such an opening.

  “Well Mr. Asher, I believe the answer to that question is quite easy. When everyone came to Blue Creek, they had the opportunity to have a business established for them. Some chose not to do this, opting, instead, to work for others. That’s fine, as long as there are jobs. But I’d like to remind you and you voters out there, that Mr. Asher’s dreadful policies have absolutely destroyed jobs in this community.

  “And,” he said, cutting off the governor, who was trying to interject. “I find it offensive that he of all people would have the gall to ask me about welfare programs when it’s his fault that there are even people in these desperate situations. It’s laughable, really,” he said, looking over at Asher, who was now shuffling nervously through his notes, looking for something … anything … to get him out of the trouble he was now in.

  “So, does that answer your question, Mr. Asher?”

  Asher’s nervous swallow was visible on camera. He didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. Wilson pressed him.

  “I asked you a question, Mr. Asher.”

  Another pause.

  Watching at home, Charlie Henry knew that it was over. Part of him was relieved. He was tired of this prima donna. Just as the thought left his mind, his phone rang. It was Anna.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yes,” he responded, noting her quavering voice.

  A pause, then, “it’s over, isn’t it.”

  He closed his eyes, hating to hear her upset, particularly when she was upset at Asher’s pain and failure. “Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  Silence.

  “Anna?”

  “What.”

  “Are you ready to run next year?”

  She laughed a humorless laugh. All of their work, pain, toil, and effort had been for naught.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, darling,” he said in his grandfatherly tone. “He’s done. He’ll never be trusted again. You on the other hand … you know what we’re trying to do.”

  She didn’t want to admit it but he was right—at least at the part about Asher. He was done. There was no way he could beat the Texas hick, and people would never forget what havoc his policies had caused the town.

  ‘Damned impatient people,’ she thought bitterly. These things take time. Didn’t they know that? Did Franklin Roosevelt do what he did in a week? No. It took years.

  “Okay Charlie,” she said, resigned to their new reality. “He’s done, but I’m not sure I’m the candidate type.”

  “Sure you are, darling. You’ll be better than Asher ever was. We won’t have to coach you on what you say because it’s all already in your mind and in your heart.”

  She closed her eyes, beginning to dread what Asher’s reaction would be. Would he be sullen and sulky or would he be angry and violent?

  “We’ll figure it out, Charlie. We have a few months.”

  “Okay, Anna,” he said, and ended the call.

  The reaction to Mike Wilson’s resounding debate victory was much different. Many of the campaign workers were present. Bottles of Dom Perignon and cases of beer were on ice, ready for the celebration. There was a chance that Mike wouldn’t win a full majority. However, not even Patton thought he’d fall short of a first round victory.

  When the candidate arrived, he received a hero’s welcome. The drunken partiers hoisted Mike and Patton onto their shoulders and carried him around Jennifer’s living room. The party continued on well past midnight. Mike Wilson was finally himself again. He was happy and outgoing and telling stories again. He also had a gorgeous woman hanging on his arm—the truest sign that he was feeling like himself again.

  Four days later, Blue Creek citizens poured into the polling booths. Patton was happy to see the heavy turnout, which he thought was a good sign for Mike. Every part of Patton’s prediction came true. He won the election with a full majority, with nearing sixty percent of the vote. David Asher took less than thirty-five percent. The remaining candidates combined for less than ten percent of the vote. It was a resounding victory, and as Mike Wilson put it during his victory speech, “It wasn’t just my victory but a victory for everyone in Blue Creek.”

  In his concession speech, David Asher was visibly upset, but he was able to say, “This was a tough race. I think that a mistake was made here tonight, but the people have spoken. I called Mr. Wilson and congratulated him on his victory. We have agreed on a two-week transition period. He will take office soon thereafter.”

  He looked up from his notes. The camera flashes and questions began to fly at him. He looked tired, beaten, haggard. No one had ever seen him so down in public. Asher didn’t take any questions. He read his statements. Now he was going to go home and get drunk.

  The party to celebrate Mike’s victory made the debate celebration seem tame by comparison. Patton and Jennifer went all out, holding the rally at Frank’s warehouse. Hundreds of people showed up to watch the returns and then celebrate with the candidate once his victory was announced. There were streamers and signs and balloons. Patton hired a local rock band to perform for the crowd after Wilson had given his victory speech. The party went well into the early hours of the morning. After everyone finally left, it was just Patton and Jennifer.

  “Who’s going to clean up this mess?” Jennifer said to Patton as they sat on the edge of the stage.

  Patton looked around the large, open area and smiled. At the moment he didn’t care how the place looked. They won. It was all that mattered.

  “I’ll call a cleaning service tomorrow,” he said, grinning like a little boy. It was the happiest she’d seen him since their wedding.

  She smiled back at him and said, “Good, because I don’t want to have anything to do with it.” She kicked at an empty plastic cup that was on the floor. “You did it,” she said, cutting him off from his attempt to be humble. “No. You know you were the one who made this all happen. Don’t try to be humble with me right now because I’m your wife. I know better.”

  He smiled at her and put his arm around her shoulder.

  “Okay, I’ll let you say it just this one time.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  The Governor-elect woke up in a great mood. He was so happy he didn’t even have a hangover. He’d polished off a whole bottle of champagne by himself and God only knew how many shots of tequila, not to mention all the beer. The euphoria of victory must have pushed the alcohol right through his system. Mike felt a stir and remembered the woman and how fun the post celebration celebration had been. He was lying in bed, completely relieved and relaxed. The Asher administration was over and the campaign was now in the history books.

  Never one to relax for too long, Mike began to think of his day. It would be a light day—hell, anything compared to the last two weeks of the campaign was light. He had a planning meeting with Patton in the afternoon and a TV interview that evening. Mike turned and looked at the lovely brunette lying there. She was sound asleep. He lifted the sheet and looked at her beautiful body. A debate between his head, his heart, and another part of his body began. It wasn’t much of a debate.

  Asher was p
hysically ill. It had been a tough campaign. His people, particularly Anna, had pulled out all the stops. Still, he’d lost to the Texas hick Mike Wilson. He shook his head in disbelief. The motion made him feel like a billiards ball rolling around his skull. He groaned and touched the side of his head. Unlike his foe, he did have a hangover. Like his foe, however, he woke up to a mess and a naked woman in his bed. Anna stirred at the sound of his groan but didn’t wake. He turned to her and sneered. ‘How the hell could she sleep right now?’ he thought. They’d lost and he was blaming her. If anyone else had been there he would have blamed them too.

  Asher sat up and his head started to throb. His goal was to make it into the bathroom for some Excedrin and a shower. Asher looked to his right and saw a glass of water on his nightstand. He reached out for it and nearly knocked it over. He tilted his head back and gulped the water greedily, spilling huge drops all over his bare chest. In a sudden fit of anger, he threw the glass against the far wall, punctuated with a violent curse. Water and glass exploded all over the room. A piece of it even landed at the foot of the bed. Anna jumped up to her knees from her prone position when she heard the crash of glass.

  “What the hell!” she groaned. Apparently his headache was contagious because she was rubbing her forehead, her eyes clamped shut.

  Asher didn’t respond. Instead, he threw the sheets off the bed, stood, and made his way to the bathroom.

  “What time is it?” Anna groaned.

  “I don’t know,” he croaked through his parched throat. He walked across the bathroom and turned the shower on. “I don’t care,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

  He stepped into the shower and let the warm water massage his head. It cascaded down and the tension seemed to wash away with it. He was enjoying the water so much he didn’t notice that Anna had gotten in with him until he felt her chest on his back and her arms reach around his stomach. She kissed his back and nestled her cheek against him.

  “It’s going to work out. We’re just going to have to push things faster than we wanted to,” she said, trying to reassure him.

  She felt him nod.

  “Before you know it you’ll be right back on top with more power than you had before.”

  He turned around to face her, her hands now clasped at the small of his back.

  “You think it’ll work?”

  She leaned her head back so she could meet his gaze. “I know it will,” she said with her eyes now closed, letting the warm water massage her aching head. “They’re getting ready to go as we speak.”

  In a small house on the outskirts of town, a seven-person team was gearing up. All seven of them – five men and two women – wore all black, including their bullet proof vests. All were equipped with wireless radio earpieces that would allow them to communicate with one another. Once they were ready, they split into two teams.

  The leader was Brian White. Like Travis Snedley, he was a former combat veteran recruited by David Asher. White served two years in the Army before washing out. After his dishonorable discharge, he joined an anarchist group that hired its services out to various Leftist groups, including the Democratic Party. Realizing there was money to be made in the business of mayhem, White advertised his services in the violent Leftist underground. He was contacted through one of Asher’s friends back home. He’d arrived in Blue Creek a month earlier.

  “Everyone ready?” White said over his radio, slamming a full magazine into his .50 caliber Desert Eagle. He loved this pistol because of its unique shape. When people had it held to their head they tended to give him what he wanted. He slid the pistol into his thigh holster and Velcroed it in. In turn, the other members of the team communicated their readiness. White then signaled for the driver to get going. Two cars pulled away from the small house. The first made its way towards downtown while the second paused at a stop sign. Two minutes later, it finally followed the lead car to the destination.

  Patton was smiling. The TV was on but the sound was muted. In just a few minutes, Mike Wilson was going to be on with the much hated and biased reporter Sharia Jackson.

  “Honey, it’s about to start!” he yelled to Jennifer, who was in the kitchen preparing them a snack.

  She finished and walked into the living room, handing Patton another beer as she plopped down beside him on the couch.

  “I’m so excited!” she said, nearly squealing.

  Patton looked at her and smiled. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Letting out a deep sigh.

  The first team arrived, their van skidding to a halt behind the one-level brick building that housed one of Blue Creek’s two television studios. They would have to cross a small patch of grass and the studio’s parking lot. All told it was about fifty feet of open ground. They each cautiously scanned the area before exiting the vehicle. They all pulled on a black ski masks, quickly surveyed their surroundings again, and then exited the vehicle.

  The three intruders closed the distance between the street and the back door of the studio in less than ten seconds. Crouching at the back door, the man in front grabbed the handle and pulled the glass door open. They entered the hallway in a crouch and then ducked into a small office.

  “In position,” the smaller team’s leader said, keying the radio on his shoulder.

  There was a crackle and return of “Roger. En route.” White was glad to hear proper radio discipline. He’d trained these people well.

  Sharia Jackson was trying hard to keep a smile on her face and Mike Wilson’s Cheshire Cat-like grin wasn’t making it easier. They had avoided each other since he’d arrived, getting their final makeup touchups in different areas of the set. The lights were on now and it was almost time to go on air.

  Jackson badly damaged her reputation as a partisan reporter during the campaign. Her assignment to do this interview was a punishment for damaging the channel’s reputation. Either do the interview, she was told, or she could quit or be fired. Had he won, Governor Asher was going to make her his press secretary, but that was now out the window. Asher’s defeat had been her defeat and the asshole Texan wasn’t making it any easier. She was just grateful he wasn’t wearing his dopey cowboy hat.

  Suddenly the producer said, “Let’s get ready. And five, four …”

  The reporter turned to the camera, and with a smarmy grin said, “Hello. I’m Sharia Jackson. Tonight with me is the winner of last night’s exciting election, Mike Wilson. He’s been kind enough to sit down with us for a few moments to discuss the election and what his plans will be for Blue Creek.”

  As the interview progressed, it was clear to everyone in the studio and in the viewing audience that the woman was having a hard time, especially when she had to address him by his new title.

  “So Governor-elect Wilson,” she said, almost gagging on the words, “how does it feel?”

  The camera view changed to a mid-range shot of Wilson. His grin answered her question and Patton and Jennifer let out a huge laugh.

  “Well Sharia, it was a hard campaign, but I feel like I’m not the only person one who won something last night,” he said, subconsciously puffing out his chest. “I think the people of Blue Creek spoke a clear message last night. They’re tired of David Asher’s failed policies and they want to return to how things were when we all arrived here.”

  Luckily for Jackson, the active camera hadn’t captured her rolling her eyes.

  “Are you relieved that it’s over?” she asked dumbly. She decided that she would throw him meaningless questions until time was up. How could they fire her for that?

  Wilson exhaled and looked her in the eye.

  “You could say that,” he replied humbly, “but I’m more relieved that it was the right outcome. I know we have a couple weeks before we take over for real and hopefully the transition will be smooth. I’ve talked to Mr. Asher and he’s assured me that he will do his best to help me and my team hit th
e ground running.”

  “That’s crap,” Patton thought out loud, harrumphing. He knew the transition was going to be a joke. However, Patton didn’t care. They were going to do everything differently. Once Mike won reelection they would have more time to make the necessary changes. It was going to take years to get the Asher stink out of the Blue Creek government.

  Jennifer turned to face him and he smiled broadly. The relief in his eyes was palpable.

  The second team finally reached the studio. All four members jumped out and pulled on black ski masks. Three members of the team fanned out and quickly moved towards the building in a wide triangular formation. Brian White, the team’s leader, strode confidently behind them, no longer concerned about being seen at this point. By the time any police could arrive, the deed would be done.

  The first team member reached the glass door and pushed it open while his team members guarded either side of the door. The team leader stepped into the studio and into the radio said “Go!”

  “So what is the next step?” Jackson asked Wilson. Maintaining her smile was getting more and more difficult. Her head was starting to ache and her right cheek was beginning to twitch.

  “Well, my team and I have made some initial plans for in case we won,” Mike said, “but we met today and we’ll meet every day until we have all of the details hammered out. And of course we’ll be meeting with Mr. Asher and his people …”

  The three-member team came out of their hiding place in the empty office and stepped out into a narrow hallway, walking single file. The man in front had his pistol in firing position, ready for any type of interference. They didn’t expect any because Asher had ordered a training exercise for police and firefighters up in the western hills. Only Asher cronies in the police department would be able to respond, but they were actually in on the plot.