by RJ Blain
“Am I the only person here who thinks that’s a terrible idea?” I asked.
“Well, yes. While you were old enough to vote at that period in time, they passed that disaster on the sly, taking advantage of the holidays to slip it through when the public was paying more attention to their families than what the government was doing. The media didn’t report the bill, and while the transcriptions were available on the government’s website, it was a very hush-hush affair. The House and the Senate crammed the vote into the last few days the chambers were open before closing for the holidays. It’s also worth noting that it was the first major bill President Castillo signed into law. He did so quietly.”
“Maybe we should start with that bill,” I muttered.
“I was planning on it, actually. I’ve gathered a list of everyone who sponsored or helped write the bill, and I’ve made a list of bills they’ve all been involved with directly from that point forward. I suspect this is something far more insidious than giving the government more power and an easier ability to pass laws that are not for the people by the people. And as the law essentially bars the public from becoming aware of the content of dead bills, it’s almost impossible to tell if a senator or representative is truly representing the public.”
Mickey tapped on the screen of his phone, and after a moment, he set the device down and shoved it across the worn table so we could all get a better look at it. “Add in the upcoming campaign cycle, and it’s a recipe for disaster.”
I shrugged. “Castillo is at the end of his second term, and while he’s a Republican, there’s a startling number of Democrats who like him.”
Mickey shoved his phone in my direction. I reached over, took it, and read the screen, which informed me two Democratic Presidential hopefuls would consider Castillo as their Vice President. While historically, America had begun its political life with the loser of the Presidential bid becoming the Vice President of the United States, that had changed in 1804 with the ratification of the 12th Amendment.
I figured America could use the balance, but something about the current President becoming a future candidate’s Vice President didn’t sit quite right with me.
Especially when said President had already participated in hoodwinking Americans in general.
“Okay, Mickey. When did this happen?”
“About a week ago.”
I frowned. “Right before Godrin’s death.”
“The timing is rather interesting, isn’t it?” my co-worker replied, reaching for his phone, which I slid back to him. “When Mrs. Hampton mentioned the old bill, I started researching the situation, and I made sure to track everyone involved, what their primary abilities are, and any political affiliations they have outside of their party.”
Mickey liked research even more than I did, and I could only presume his aversion for blood kept him from becoming a medical researcher. I bet if he overcame his phobia, he’d take the medical world by storm and change the world within a few years. If he partnered with Mr. Tawnlen, the pair would become a terrifying force worthy of respect. If given any excuse to become mad scientists, they’d be worth fearing, too.
I leaned over and snagged the papers from Mrs. Hampton, flipping to the earliest pages, which listed who had sponsored the bill, wrote it, and any additional credits worth noting. Kennedys’s proposal included only his name.
Most had at least three or four people backing them, something I found interesting. I set aside those papers and held my hand out. “Do you have a copy of the bill that hushes dead legislation?”
She gave me five sheets of paper.
The cover page included a list of twenty names with members on both sides of the aisle, and the document wasted no time laying out the adjustments to how information would be presented to the public, claiming keeping records of dead bills would lead to confusion in the general populace.
I questioned the legality of the entire thing. “Doesn’t this bullshit violate the Constitution somehow?”
“I’m sure it violates some right somewhere, but currently, the public is allowed to request a copy thirty days after the bill’s death. I have not yet been denied a copy of dead legislation, so there’s nothing I can do.”
“So you need to know the proposal was voted on, it has to die, you have to wait thirty days, and then you have to specifically ask the author for a copy?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s correct. Until someone refuses to give me the paperwork, I simply don’t have grounds to make a challenge.”
“The government sucks, and I want to light it on fire,” I complained.
“Behave,” my mother warned. “You do not need to develop pyromaniac tendencies to go with your exsanguination.”
“Would you allow it if I solemnly swear not to use magic?”
“No.”
I scowled. “Come on, Mom. It’s just a little fire.”
“We’re supposed to be finding murderers, not cultivating them.”
While true, I crossed my arms and sulked in my seat. “It’s just a little fire.”
“You want to light the government on fire, Janette. That is not a little fire. That’s a lot of fire. That’s thousands of people on fire. You’re looking at over four hundred if you limit your pyromaniac ways to the Congress.”
“They voted this law in. They deserve to be lit on fire.”
“No.”
I wrinkled my nose but kept quiet.
“Does anyone else need to be told no regarding unethical politicians?”
Every hand in the room went up, mine included.
“However much we don’t like these politicians, there is no justice in murder.” Before anyone could voice their complaints, my mother snapped her fingers to maintain control over everyone. “That does not mean we cannot ensure they get a serving of just desserts, but we need unassailable proof. We can ruin them in other ways. And I don’t even care if this serial killer—or killers—might be doing the world a favor. There is no justice in murder.”
As I agreed with her, I would limit my disgust to thinking about it. However, as she’d raised me to voice my opinion a little too much for my own good, I kept my hand raised, waving so she’d pick me.
“You’re not a child anymore, Janette. We are not in elementary school. Put your hand down.”
As librarians understood solidarity, my co-workers joined me in raising the hand to be called on.
“It’s like raising an entire room of children, except they’re adults, so I can’t send them out back to pick a switch,” my father complained.
My mother scowled. “I’d let you get away with it just once, too. Janette, why did you teach your nice co-workers such bad habits?”
“She’s incorrigible, that’s why,” Bradley’s mother said. “What do you want, Janette?”
“What if someone started looking into these bills and started a murder spree because of what they learned?”
My mother frowned, although she narrowed her eyes, which told me she put some serious thought into my question. My father worried, which didn’t surprise me. Any time I used my head and came up with a disconcerting possibility, he worried about what I might do about it.
“It’s not impossible,” my mother said. “But unlike them, we will not stoop to such measures. There are legal and ethical ways to deal with this problem.”
I wondered about that. Could people who worked so hard to take away the rights of everyone actually be defeated through legal and ethical methods? “That may be so, but what if there aren’t?”
Bradley’s mother sighed. “Nothing about these murders has been even remotely justifiable. Nobody has claimed the killings. Nobody has given a reason why. If they truly believed they were working for the better good, they would not hide their activities. So, as such, I do not believe there’s anything good or even remotely ethical about those behind these murders. I’m with your mother, Janette. There’s no justice in murder. Not like this. We’re just going to have to take the high road, no mat
ter how much harder that road may be. Now, I’m not saying we can’t take a vigilante approach to it. We’ll have to in some ways. We’ll just be taking the ethical approach to our actions. Now that said, should you witness a murder in process, I’ll certainly be inclined to look the other way if you violently correct them about their poor life choices. I’ll even defend you in court.”
“Are you even allowed to defend me in court? You’re biased.”
“Yes. I’m biased in your favor. Now, if I were engaged in a relationship with someone on the prosecution, there might be an issue. But as I’m biased in your favor, and my job is to defend you, our relationship would be admissible in court. There are rules regarding relationships between clients, attorneys, and judges, though. Our relationship is fine for you using me in your defense. My job is to be biased in your favor.”
“There better not be any more damned loopholes,” I muttered.
“You’re going to have to deal with loopholes, Janette.”
I stared Bradley’s mother in the eyes and replied, “Like fucking hell I do.”
She raised a brow. “Did I not give you enough pancakes this morning? You’re grouchy.”
I slumped in my seat and sighed.
Bradley reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze and a pat. “It’s the painkillers, Mom. They suck. Her foot is probably throbbing, and the doctors don’t want to give her anything stronger until her lungs have had a chance to heal. Just let her complain and think about torching politicians. I mean, who here hasn’t indulged in thinking about torching politicians?”
My mother was the only one to raise her hand, and we all stared at her. As I’d seen how badly giving me a spanking had unsettled her, I believed she wouldn’t think about anything like that no matter how poorly a politician behaved.
Bradley gaped at her. “Never?”
“Just tell him about when you gave me a spanking, Mom.”
“I cried for a month,” she confessed. “Her father had to handle any stern disciplining because I just couldn’t. She’s too cute. Look at her. You can’t just spank her.”
“Don’t you say a word, Bradley Hampton,” his mother warned.
Beatrice snickered, Jezabella gave Bradley a hefty dose of stink eye, and everyone else took their time staring at the paintings on my mother’s wall, a wise choice all things considered.
Too much exposure to the Hamptons had numbed me to the potential embarrassment, and curious about how the situation would play out, I glanced at Bradley.
“Why would I say anything? Why am I suddenly the one in trouble here? I haven’t even done anything.”
Bradley’s mother leered at her son. “Yet. You have not done anything yet. Given any leeway, you will. This is because you’re young, handsome, and single. Being young, handsome, and single often leads to the making of poor life choices, particularly when it comes to what is said in front of the mother of a young, beautiful, and single woman.”
I contemplated how much trouble I would get in if I tried to climb under the table. I peeked to regard the nest of pillows cushioning my cast, debating if I could convert it for full-body use. It would be pushing it, and I had no idea how I’d get down without putting too much weight on my cast in the process.
Damn it.
“If he marries her, I don’t care if he spanks her, as long as she consents to the spanking,” my mother announced.
I closed my eyes and wished I could disappear—or get told to get off my ass, retrieve my crutches, and go fetch a switch. A round with a switch would beat the way the conversation had played out any day of the week. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, Janette. That might teach you to run off without at least writing.”
It might, too. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“That’s better. I’m tempted to have your father make you pick your own switch for that stunt, too.”
“I would definitely deserve it, and should someone retrieve my crutches, which were cruelly stolen from me, I will make my escape and return with a switch. I may just take some detours before my deserved punishment.” On crutches, how long would it take me to reach the Hamptons? Hiding with my cat, possibly under Bradley’s bed, seemed like a wise idea.
Nobody would think to look for me under any bed, especially not his.
“She’s not getting switched. She’s been punished enough.” My father sighed and shook his head. “Marrying her off is punishment on top of the punishments she’s already facing for that, too.”
Crap. Why had I expected everyone to keep hushed about that potential plan? “You’re going along with that, aren’t you?”
“Yep. He might be able to keep up with you, and he has zero issues with taking care of you even if your foot never heals right. You can also stomach him carting you around like you’re a wilting lily, so that’ll work out. He got you through the house with minimal complaints, although you did look ready to cry when you figured out you couldn’t navigate the hallways without help. You’ve got more pride than you know what to do with, little lady. Do you really think I’d be willing to allow anyone other than a proper gentleman to court you? Maybe we weren’t born rich or powerful, but nobody marries my little lady without taking the appropriate steps first. I’m satisfied you have sufficient ways out should you dislike the situation down the road. And I’m fairly certain the young man here understands he’ll be picking his own switch if he crosses any wrong lines with you.”
Ouch. While I would have preferred if my father hadn’t opened fire in front of my co-workers, I’d accept the reality of the situation with some grace. “Well, at least he didn’t pull a gun on you, Bradley.”
“Honestly, I’m more worried about the switch than a gun. I made the mistake of asking why you would immediately straighten your act out at even the mention of the switch, so I got a single swat with one from each of your parents to develop an understanding of how things worked in your household. I have emerged with a damned good understanding of why the switch is such a deterrent. For the record, your mother hits a hell of a lot harder than your father, but your father doesn’t have to hit as hard to make it hurt.”
“Aim matters with a switch. And Dad does it where he won’t even leave a bruise. It just hurts like hell and stings. You actually got my mother to smack you with a switch?”
“He asked me very nicely,” my mother replied, refusing to look at me.
“What did you do to my mother, Bradley Hampton?”
“I wouldn’t say I did anything. I was curious, and she grimaced when I asked about the switch.”
Right. “Mom, you need therapy. It was a spanking, not the complete destruction of my childhood. I even deserved it. I’m sure Bradley’s done plenty to have earned a few solid smacks with a switch, too. Just because you corrected me with a switch once doesn’t mean I’m going to go around and smack every idiot who crosses my path with one. Do we have any more distractions to attend to before we try to get serious business done?”
I should’ve known everyone would have something to say, and I sighed at the collection of raised hands. “Okay. The bitch gets to go first.”
With a worrying grin, Beatrice asked, “Are you going to marry him? We’ve discussed this before, but I feel it’s important I mention he’s hot.”
Under no circumstances would I betray my general agreement with her, as I expected Bradley would take advantage of any displayed interest, thus winning the entire war through the strategic removal of his clothing. However, as the subject could create problems later if left unaddressed, I replied, “I’m going to tentatively agree to sign the paperwork after I read it and make sure he’s not slipping in something nefarious, which gives me a minimum of three years to think about it. Mickey?”
“Do you need help running away from this madness?”
Well, I could count on Mickey to be somewhat reasonable, and I hesitated long enough Bradley grunted and muttered something beneath his breath. “While appreciated, no. You need help with your blood problem, though
, so we can pretend we’re running away from the madness, when in reality, we’re going somewhere you can try to practice without having an audience when you faint. That’s probably not helping your general situation.”
Mickey huffed. “I was worried you’d say that. You’re even worse of a fixer than I am.”
Mickey tended to keep his problem fixing ways to anything other than bloodshed, which I could understand. “Well, I am an exsanguinator. Also, remember that talk we had about exsanguinators a while back?”
“The one where I fanboyed about you, directly to your face without knowing it? I remember with frightening clarity.”
“Yeah, that one. That was one rather awkward conversation, honestly. I had to say nice things about myself, and I didn’t like it. Actually, I hated you for a full week after that. You don’t even like blood. You’re not supposed to openly praise me in such a way where I’m forced to agree with you.”
Everyone laughed, Mickey included. “My opinion has not changed.”
I sighed. “Beatrice, please change his opinion. I’m his walking nightmare.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Janette. He remembers how you rescued a kitten from a storm on the day of your interview. That memory is permanently imprinted on him. I try to convince him you’re a terrible, awful person every time you annoy me. He laughs at me. Things like rescuing kittens really impress him, and that you’re that compassionate while being his walking nightmare has made his fanboy crush even worse. He also adores your cat, and he was pretty sad this morning when he learned she’s at the Hamptons’ home. In the Hamptons. That will never fail to amuse me. You’re just going to have to deal with it. Do let him ask you all of his burning questions, please. It might even convince him to work on his phobia.”