"Ooh, we got ourselves a good ol' boy. Listen to the talk - he's so smooth."
"Yes, Sir, I surely am but I'm here to ask a few questions if y'all will talk to me," replied Ed with as much sincerity as he could muster.
"You scared white boy?"
Ed knew the question was directed at him being in gang-controlled territory, but he changed the focus to answer a different question.
"Well, I heard the marines are coming out of the park into the streets and I'm no fan of being in a fight with them. So yeah, I'd be a tad nervous about being in front of them if they came down the street behind me. How about y'all?" Ed replied.
He had to keep turning to face the boy as the kid walked around him. Ed didn't know if the kid was circling like any big predator or whether he was just having fun. The drone kept them both in focus.
"We're not afraid of them, these are our streets and we got a lot of ways to protect ourselves. We're not afraid of any marine, not here. We're going to teach them a lesson."
"Davis. Shut the fuck up!" came the order and the young man quickly moved sideways to let his boss confront Ed.
Ed saw a massive, heavily muscled man, a quick guess put him in his early 30's. Ed did the usual scan: black, short-cropped hair a bit longer than army standard, relaxed, New York accent, followed by a dozen others, obviously in charge, clothes clean, no facial tats but a commando-unit one on his arm. No aggressive postures so not threatening yet. Ed relaxed. Decided he'd likely survive this encounter.
"You're from ZeeVid, you broadcasting live?"
"No, Sir, I'm sending footage up right now. It's on automatic. But I'm mostly been shooting background video. I'd like to interview you for the record if you agree. And we'll go live then," said Ed.
"What you want to know?"
The second drone launched. Three short beeps in Ed's earpiece told him he was broadcasting live to air. The two drones moved to opposite sides of the men.
"Your soldier here says you aren't afraid of the marines. Is that true?" asked Ed going right to the heart of the matter.
"We aren't afraid of them but we respect them. Most of them are brothers and we don't want to fight them. We hope they remember who they are, what they promised, and where they came from."
"So you're saying you will fight if they push you," said Ed.
"Oh yeah, these are our streets. This is our home. Nobody is taking that away from us."
"The marines will patrol with automatic heavy-weapons and air-support from attack-choppers. Are you saying you can deal with this level of firepower?" asked Ed.
The young man hesitated for a second before replying, "I'm not saying we can, and I'm not saying we can't. These are our streets and we'll fight for them the best we can. But yeah, there are places a chopper can't reach and we own all those places. We'll have surprises to deliver ourselves is somebody wants to take away our freedom."
A gentle tone in his ear told Ed to wrap the story, it had gone for 20 seconds and he had only a few left to wrap it up.
"So you aren't looking for a fight but you'll protect your streets if the marines create problems. Do I understand you correctly?" asked Ed.
"You got it right, good ole boy, you got it."
"From New York City, Ed Gordon." said Ed ending the broadcast. Both drones landed on Ed's shoulder-mounted pads, hooked up automatically and started charging from the solar powered system built into his jacket.
"We're off the air now and off the record. I'm not broadcasting any more," said Ed pointedly looking at his drones. He continued, "But do you really think you can take on a marine division and win? Those guys are mean mothers and they're likely loaded for bear."
"We have a few bear of our own and yeah, we have serious surprises for them if they want to take our streets. Won't be a picnic down through here, but it ain't about to be no walk-through."
Ed didn't want to lose this contact and chance for even more stories so he pushed further. "Can you give me a sense of what it's like to be in the city right now?"
The young man looked at him carefully for several seconds. "You're the new boy from Savannah?" He continued, "Got a report from a mutual friend you were coming north to D.C. and you'd be covering here too. Said you were a good guy. They trusted you down there. You never gave them up."
Ed nodded again and decided he'd let this man do the talking. He stared directly into his eyes and watched as the decision was made to take the first step. "Adair, take this reporter to Aleysha. Tell her I said to tell him her story about her husband and how she lost her bread."
Ed saw a young man step away from the group and check him over.
"Adair. You wait and make sure this good ol' boy gets out and home safely," said the man.
Ed knew this was a test, a turning point. He wasn't sure what the test would entail but figured it would be like a snake with two heads - he'd have to be careful or he'd get bitten by one or the other.
"Look, here's my contact codes. You call me if you need help getting out a story. I'll work with you any way I can," said Ed hoping to stop the young man as turned and walked away with his men trailing. None looked backwards to see what Ed was doing.
"Don't need 'em white boy, you'll come to me."
Ed was already smiling and congratulating himself for not stuttering like a fool when the gang appeared out of nowhere. He was a Southern white boy used to dealing with politicians, not one of the biggest, toughest black gangs in the country. Give him a crooked politician any day over this group. He didn't want to think about what would happen should anybody annoy these men. But the marines? Never in a million years would this gang resist a full marine division. It was all talk, all bragging. Had to be.
He turned, saw Adair waiting. One of the drones, fully recharged, launched and followed them down the street.
23/03/2047 07:00
In the Oval Office, President Barrett had his chair swiveled to face the window. There were a few birds singing somewhere in the devastated dead lawns and flower gardens and he tried to picture it as green and lush. His chair, moulded to his body like a combat pilot's seat, was the most comfortable one in the room. He kicked off his shoes, and leaned back. Took a few seconds to appreciate the bird songs and being alive. That was all the time he got before Jack Hagin walked in, unannounced, for their regular meeting. Ed resolved to hold his positive outlook for as long as he could. He swiveled to face Hagin.
"Jack, don't sit down yet, put those files on the table and get a cup of coffee. We got a new shipment. It's harder and harder to get - too damn hot up in the mountains apparently. George Gwinnett sent this up, it's good stuff. I sometimes think an unlimited supply of good coffee is the only damn benefit to this job. And Alice is having a shit fit because she thinks I drink too much. She says 'I want you around for a few more years', and that's a hell of an argument. I used to believe being President would mean I could do what I wanted, but that lasted about sixty seconds after the inauguration," he said with a rueful look on his face, shaking his head.
"Be happy it lasted that long," said Hagin pouring himself a coffee and returning to his usual chair.
"So who do we have for VP?" asked Barrett.
"The team settled on three names. You know them, every one of them is a great supporter and good Republican, but one will appeal to you more than the others. I have all the files here." He pushed them across the desk.
"Right - not much of a stretch to guess you've included George Gwinnett on the list. He's wealthy, well known, popular as hell in the South right now because he wiped out the entire gang leadership in Savannah. Everybody down there knows he did it but there's no proof to charge him. And no prosecutor who wants to be re-elected will take on the case. We know for sure though. Don't tell anybody I told you this but there was one bit of a radio squawk, a squelch button was turned a hair on their comm systems on the way back to their base and NSA picked it up.
I'm saving that to tell him one day just before a golf game; hopefully it will annoy him so m
uch, he'll drop a few shots. But George is a good old boy and both his roots and Charlotte's go back to colonial days. The only downside for the north is he played linebacker for Georgia U," Barrett finished laughing.
"Yes, Sir, I thought you'd like that option. The other two are Greg Heller, the oilman from Texas and Orval Stoffel, the beer baron from North Carolina. Both will take their states with no issues and both have strong ties right across the South.
But Gwinnett's the real deal, a Southerner, decorated army ranger, been in combat, married to another Southerner, and smart as hell. The Joint Chiefs thinks he's a good pick because he'll support them. Our trial polls also noted he drew well in the North. The army experience makes him a great candidate. He'll bring the South with him and set up the next candidate for sure. He'd be my pick if he'll do it," said Hagin.
"George will obviously be my first choice too, but I don't know if he'll do it. Charlotte is set against his becoming a politician and he doesn't need the aggravation. Barrett was silent for a few seconds, took a sip of the hot coffee, looked directly at Hagin. "Set up a meeting with the house leaders. We'll run these names by them. Anything else?"
"Yes, sir, we need to talk about New York City and the water situation in California."
25/03/2047 09:00
Aleysha recognized the tone of voice and hope died within her. "Aleysha girl, you've been talking to the wrong people. Your face was on ZeeVid last night and we need to talk to you about it."
The two heavily armored policemen cornered her against a building. In a strange sense of time slowing, she watched the old-fashioned revolving red light on their car top paint streaks across the shop windows. One cop rammed his heavy baton into her kidneys. The pain took that view away. Bright lights flashed across her eyes and she lost focus as she fell. Everything but the incredible pain left her; she didn't feel her head bounce off the pavement, or her chin split on the rebound as she sprawled face down on the sidewalk.
Somewhere far away she heard the two cops laughing as one said, "Looks like resisting arrest to me."
The bright lights of the extreme pain started to fade until one of the cops kneed her in the back, pulled her hair to stretch her neck up and back and wrenched an arm behind her.
The second cop pulled her other unresisting arm to join the first. Under their control, the pain rose even higher as they cinched her wrists and elbows together with plastic ties behind her back. She screamed when one of them lifted her by her wrists, almost dislocating her shoulders, but she helped get herself upright as soon as her feet slipped underneath her. She'd do anything to stop this pain.
Through the haze she saw the police car ahead of her, saw one partially open the door and realized her head would bounce off the car as they threw her inside. She tried to duck. She heard one say, "She's bleeding, put her head on the floor."
Aleysha saw the floorboards at the far side of the cruiser approaching very quickly and there was nothing she could do to fend off the hard plastic and sharp edges of the seat supports. The shock of the impact paralyzed her. She knew her feet were higher than her head but she didn't understand why she couldn't move them to adjust her position until she heard one laugh.
"Good move. Plastic her feet to the seatbelt stanchion, we can't have her kicking or hurting herself back here."
Aleysha wished she could pass out, make this pain go away and cursed the cops, Ro, and that damn reporter for making her do this. She was just so much shit to all three of them. What seemed like an eternity passed. She knew the car was moving, she could feel every bump in the road. She briefly wondered if they were deliberately running the cruiser through the holes but that thought disappeared as the bottom dropped out of her world on a particularly large pothole. The pain shot from her head and shoulders right down to her tightly cinched ankles.
She felt the car stop and her feet freed. Hands grabbed her ankles pulling her out of the car but no hands supported her bleeding head as it bumped across the car floor, off the edge of the door and crashed onto the pavement. Her ear hit the concrete, and the pain was incredible. Dragged upright, her legs wouldn't work, she was half-carried, half-dragged into the police building. She was beyond understanding and she didn't hear a charge being laid; she didn't even know if there would be one.
But she did understand being put in a room, not a cell, by herself and having a bucket of cold water poured over her head.
As the room came into focus, she also understood the cop as he walked towards her, unbuckling his pants, and the command, "On your knees."
25/03/2047 10:00
Sitting opposite each other on the Oval Office couches, the Charles Campbell, Speaker of the House and Chris Mason, President pro tempore of the Senate, were bright, ambitious and hated the other with a passion seldom seen in politics. Hagin sat in a chair at one end and Barrett sat comfortably in an armchair his staff had moved for this meeting.
Barrett looked at each of the politicians and both met his direct stare without blinking. He knew the story behind the enmity and understood there was no resolution possible. He also knew they both began intense lobbying as soon as Vice-President Jackson's time-of-death certificate was signed. And neither would even consider support for the other. Barrett was afraid if one of them became VP, the other would delay or sabotage every bit of legislation and he couldn't afford that level of spite. Shit's getting deeper and deeper around here he thought.
"Dan was a good man, but it's a politically sound thing to replace him. You all know the basis for our discussions today is the 25th amendment and I get to decide who the VP will be. All we need to do as a team is get both houses to agree on a person and we can have a Vice-President voted into office. There are many historic precedents for fast or slow action on this; and I welcome your thoughts."
The room remained silent as the two men each waited for the other to start the negotiations.
Barrett decided he liked the army way of doing promotions much better. The politics were the same but at least anyone who wanted a job had the guts to speak when asked.
He took a different tack. "Honesty isn't always the best policy in this town but if we can't be honest in this room today, then it's time to pack it all up. Here's my thinking. Charlie, you're the Speaker of the House and without a VP, you're next in line for my job if I die. And Chris is the Senate President and right after you in succession. You both want the V.P. And you both hate each other's guts and would refuse to support the other. No. No. Don't interrupt and don't deny it because then I'd have to call you out on bullshit." They both had the honesty to allow an ever-so-brief wry grin. "Thank you." He looked from one to the other, ignoring Hagin.
"If I nominate Charlie, Chris will delay and block it. If I nominate Chris, Charlie will do the same. Neither of you is electable by both houses. Am I wrong on this?"
Silence.
"Thank you. I thought that was the situation." At least we got that bit of crap out and understood he thought. He leaned back in his chair, slumped an imperceptible bit.
"It's clear then we need someone both houses will pass. Can you imagine a left-leaning Democrat in charge about now?"
There were wan smiles from the men. He was reaching them, working the magic that had elected him. They understood this, decided he had his own agenda worked out ahead of time, and their only option was to see what it was and how they could delay his nominee until their own supporters gained momentum.
Looking from one to the other, Barrett continued, "We need a Southerner to replace Dan. There's no way anybody from the West or North will talk for the states below the Mason-Dixon line with the troubles they've been seeing. We all know this don't we?"
Nods from both men greeted this quick analysis. Hagin remained impassive.
Good. Step one done, Barrett thought.
"Chris, you're from Tennessee and would qualify but Charlie won't support you so it's not your time. Charlie, you're not from the South. We know Mrs. Hudson from Virginia, our esteemed HUD Secretary qualifies, but
she's not electable. Also, our first and last female presidential candidate was somewhat short of an unmitigated disaster."
"Nah, she wasn't short at all," said Chris. This broke the tension and all four men chuckled. They still weren't friends but at least they would work together to keep themselves in power.
"I want you to consider nominating somebody from the South who's not a politician with baggage. I want the person to have experience in the forces. And I want a commitment from that person that he will not run for President after his term is over. This gives us a steady hand and allows those who want to be President a clear pathway without an incumbent Vice-President making the process more difficult. We will agree on this nomination and I will contact them with the offer. Does this make sense to you?"
Barrett watched the two men nod at each other.
"Yes, Mr. President, we can all agree on a Vice-President with those qualifications and who has signed an agreement he will not run in the next election," said Charlie Campbell, Speaker of the House.
Barrett sat straighter and felt his pulse returning to normal. He took a deep breath, ignored the acid jab in his stomach and launched the second phase of the discussion. He wasn't sure he could make this part happen as the jockeying for having one of their own supporters would be the next gambit to thwart. It was the not-knowing that was the worst part of this job, never knowing what would happen or what he'd need to deal with. He considered sucking on another antacid but decided that would signal weakness.
"Before we nominate anybody, let me suggest a potential problem. Chris, Charlie, will either of you allow the other to nominate one of their supporters?" He smiled and his eyebrows raised in mock questioning as he said this, and the men smiled along with him. "Or are we talking snowball in hell time?"
He raised one eyebrow and waited to see who'd respond.
"Mr. President, I see you've made up your mind about your candidate, Sir, and I suspect you've been playing us along to set him up," said Campbell.
2047: Hell In A Handbasket Page 9