Forgotten Man

If you want to know what I do read T...E...H....It’s a nonfiction book detailing somewhat, how the US operates in foreign countries. The offers made, the deals struck and what happens when a leader refuses to play ball. I operate in a similar fashion but the company I work for is completely unknown and I am invisible.

JOB DESCRIPTION: DELIVER MESSAGES

That’s it in a nut shell. Deliver a prepared message, a request, to someone who can deliver a desired result. I’ve delivered requests to congressmen, CEO’s, military leaders of all ranks, entertainers, artists and influencers of one kind or another. Every message is different. One unusual message involved lyrics to a song I delivered to a certain singer/songwriter. She was free to compose the tune anyway she saw fit but the lyrics had to be sung word for word. Of course she objected. I gave her a second chance to accept my offer, promising her ownership of the publishing rights; all money the song earned would be hers to keep. She said the song was diametrically opposed to everything she believed in and refused. I tried to impress upon her, a third time, this composition was very important for a number of reasons I can’t go into here. Again she refused. Three chances are all she got. I’m only allowed three visits. Over the next year she was dropped by her record label as well as her Her management company. Concert bookings dried up and eventually she went broke. After a divorce and a nervous breakdown she wound up waiting tables at a diner in Montana. She's planning a comeback.

Usually people comply with my requests, especially elected officials. They know one hand washes the other and by cooperating they can increase their fortunes substantially. Since reaching across the aisle is out of fashion in our increasingly combative legislature I will, on occasion, be asked to step into the abyss, as it were, and get both sides talking. I take no credit for agreements reached or deals made. And people never remember me. I am the forgotten man. I know these people so well I stopped voting nearly twenty years ago. The hallowed halls of DC are filled with the criminally insane.

EMPLOYER UNIDENTIFIED.

My employer doesn’t exist. Anywhere. There is no company name, no income tax filings, no board of directors, corporate offices, CEO’s, CFO’s, Presidents, Vice Presidents, websites, email addresses or social media presence. None of the corporate detritus that weighs down most major organizations.

I WAS RECRUITED

My junior year in college I was approached by a very good looking young lady in the school library. I'm not the kind of guy who attracts a lot of attention from the opposite sex so I was flattered. I was a nerdy Political Science major with the goal of working for a senator or congressman after graduation; intent on doing some good in this world. She had already graduated with a degree in political science two years prior and was currently making her way through law school. We became friends and eventually close friends over a six month period. Her name was Zoe.

We talked about politics, law, the pros and cons of our democratic form of government, and the current administration. We both leaned heavily toward the conservative side of political issues but realized both parties had to do better reaching across the aisle. Our conversations were enlightening, challenging, intellectually stimulating. I scored my best grades in the time we were together.

One night she asked me to her apartment for dinner. After steak and lobster, Zoe slid her hand across the table and laced her fingers through mine. “Henry, let’s go to bed.” She suddenly rose up out of her chair and pulled me out of mine. We walked into her bedroom which had been set up for an intimate encounter. Candles on the nightstands, soft music, lilac air freshener and linen that smelled like mountain air. “Henry undo my buttons.”

“What?”

“The buttons on my dress, unbutton them.” I hesitated for the briefest second and she said, “Henry undress me.” Then she started to unbutton my shirt. After four buttons she put her head against my chest and listened to my heartbeat. I finished undoing her buttons and pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I reached around and unfastened her bra, she tossed it off to the side somewhere. “You like them?” She asked, lifting her breasts slightly.

“I do. They’re beautiful.”

“Kiss them, Henry.”

While I was gently kissing her breasts she was undoing my trousers and pushing them towards the floor. I stepped out of them, shrugged off my shirt and leaned in to kiss her on the mouth. She turned her head, I got her cheek instead. I followed that with another kiss on her neck and ears and bit her shoulder. She moaned a little bit. “I love your scent, you smell so good.” It was a compliment I heard my father give my mother when I was like seven.

“Thank you, Henry. You smell pretty good your own self. Henry pick me up and carry me to bed.”

“We’re standing right next to the bed, fall backwards and you’ll be in bed.”

“Pick me up, sweetheart. I want to feel your arms around me, to feel your strength. Lift me, place me gently in the sheets.”

I lifted her and placed her gently toward the middle of the bed and was about to crawl in next to her when she placed the palm of her hand on my stomach and pushed back. “First take off your shorts and socks. I want to see you, all of you.” I did as she asked, stood naked before her. “Your so much more muscular than I expected. And handsome.”

“Thank you, Zoe.”

“Come here my love, come to me.” She held her arms out.

“I hesitated. “Am I really your love?”

“The one and only,” she said, “come, I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

I pulled up close to her, wrapped my arms around her and kissed the freckle between her breasts. She laughed, we relaxed a little bit and looked at each others eyes; not into just at. “This is all very unexpected.” I said.

“It was time, Henry. I don’t think I could have taken another moment talking about politics while secretly wishing you would get up and make love to me right there in the library.”

“That was actually a fantasy of yours?” I think I was grinning ear to ear.

“One of many.” She smiled.

“Is this tonight a fantasy come true?”

“Yes. How about you? Any romantic desires? Of us?”

“Yes as a matter of fact I do have fantasies of you, us.”

“Tell me.”

“Driving to get ice cream on a Saturday night. We’re in a mini van with two kids in the back seat.”

“I love it.” She said. “What are their names?”

“Zoe and Henry. I mean if you want to name them something else.”

“No. Zoe and Henry are fine. She put her hand on my face, it was warm. “What else have you been dreaming of.”

“Okay, I’m outside cutting the lawn and you come out with a pitcher of ice cold lemon-aid.”

“Not very sexy, Henry.” She sounded disappointed but kind of chuckled as she spoke.

Thinking quick. “I have a list, in my head, of five places I want to make love to you.”

“Where?”

“On a deserted beach somewhere. In the mountains. An elevator."

“Like someplace kind of dangerous where the possibility of getting caught is really high?”

“Yeah. The Elevator is all glass, overlooking the city. But of course we never get caught.”

“Because you protect me, right, Henry?”

“Yes. I never let you fall into harms way. We join the mile-high club on a red eye back to DC.”

“I like the idea of traveling with you. Getting two seats at the back of the plane where it’s dark and everyone around us is sleeping.”

“Exactly. Where’s the fifth place?”

“Right here in this room. Right now.”

“Here?”

“Yeah I often thought of walking you to your door, being invited in; taking you in my arms and carrying you into this room. You say, Henry what are you doing? But your giggling and then start laughing as I take off your clothes and throw you on the bed.”

“The last fantasy is coming true tonight.” She said.

“It sure is.”

She put her head against my chest and listened. My heart was beating a bit faster then normal and her cheek against my skin was warm and strangely comforting. “I want to see if your heart is beating as fast as mine. I was so scared making that first move.”

I said, “things worked out fine. No regrets.”

“Me either. I feel really safe with you.”

“That’s probably the best compliment a guy can receive.”

“It’s the best feeling a girl can have. Safe.”

We stayed together twenty-four hours, talking, laughing, making love, sleeping, waking up, getting breakfast, roaming around her apartment naked. At one point she asked what my plans were post-college. I said I wanted to work in Washington but was considering getting a master’s degree. Whatever my plans were I wanted them to include, Zoe. That’s when she asked if I would be willing to meet someone who could offer me possible job opportunities to work for a really dynamic company that was literally the heart-beat of DC. Of course, I said yes.

THREE DAYS LATER.

Zoe picked me up and drove me to a deserted strip mall in Virginia, somewhere outside DC. “Where are we, Zoe?”

“The guy your meeting won’t tell you his name or the name of the organization. This company has no name. He will describe what the job entails, what will be expected of you and why your valuable to the company.”

“What’s the job pay?” I wanted to know. Thinking back this should have been the last of my worries.

“The compensation package is generous. He’ll tell you what your starting pay will be.” She handed me an envelope. “Put this in your pocket, read it when your back outside.” She sounded like someone giving orders rather than someone I had spent twenty-four hours making love to. It felt a little odd.

THE MEETING

I walked into a semi-dark, deserted store. Mannequin parts were piled in one corner, shelving in another corner, half a dozen empty cash registers were scattered around. Creep city. The only part that was illuminated was a desk and two chairs. I walked toward the light and took a seat in one of the chairs. I checked my watch. I checked my watch ten minutes later. Finally after fifteen minutes a guy in a white shirt, black tie, black trousers, came walking in the same front door I entered through. He had some papers in his hand. He took a seat on the same side of the desk I was sitting on.

“Good afternoon, Henry.” He said my name like he knew me.

“Good afternoon.” I didn't ask his name.

“What is your graduation date?”

“June 91”

“Plans after graduation?”

Either get a job working for a congressman or stay in college and get a Master’s degree.”

“Is politics a passion for you?”

“Yes.”

He opened his folder and took out a sheet with the names of five companies listed. Two were lobbying firms, two were think tanks, one was a law firm I never heard of.

“Are you married to any political party or ideology?”

“Tend to lean conservative. I vote democrat in local elections and conservative in national elections.”

“So you can relate to ideas across a broad political spectrum?”

“Yes. I can relate, I don’t always agree.”

“If given an assignment to, say, deliver a message that you might not agree with would you alter the message in any way?”

“No.” I didn’t elaborate.

“Would you ask what the reason was for delivering a certain message?”

“Probably not.”

“Probably not or no?”

“No.”

“Would you be curious how a message might affect an individual, organization, or country?”

“I’m sure I’d have…”

“It’s a yes or no question, Henry.” He said cutting me off.

“No.”

“When you see a movie are you capable of suspending belief or does it bother you when a movie expects you to believe outlandish things? When entertainment jump's the shark, shall we say?”

“I’m able to suspend belief while watching a film.”

“Do you like puzzles?”

“No.” My mother used to make me help her do jigsaw puzzles, I hated them.

“Conspiracy theories?”

“No.” My eyes tend to glaze over listening to someone drone on about the Illuminati, Free Masonry, or Skull and Bones.

“Do you get enjoyment out of gossip or hearing the misfortune of others?”

“No.”

“Can you follow instructions?”

“Yes.”

“I’m done. Do you have any questions?”

I should have taken time and asked some thoughtful, probing questions to get a better idea of the people I was signing on with but I was only interested in having a future with, Zoe. I needed money to make that happen. “How much does the job pay?”

“Seventy-five thousand to start. That's per year."

“Wow! Where do I sign up?”

“Start by typing out a single page resume. Five times. At the bottom of each page type three asterisks. The people who receive it will know what it means. Drop each resume at the front desk of the five offices. On the front of the envelope where you would normally type the name and address type three asterisks instead, nothing more. Then go home and wait for a phone call.”

The guy, whoever he was, got up and walked out the way he came in. I stayed seated wondering if anyone else was going to continue the interview. Finally, a cab driver stuck his head in the door. “Hey! You coming, man?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I picked up the piece of paper with the five companies typed on it and stuck it in my inside jacket pocket, it was then I felt the envelope Zoe had given me. While riding home I read her letter.

Dear Henry. Your a great friend, a wonderful lover and, soon, a valuable operative. I know we’ll meet again during the course of our work. Work that helps the world stay safe. We're the surreptitious fourth branch of government, keeping everything balanced. I have just been given an extended assignment and won’t be able to see you for a while. Move into my apartment, love. Your things are already there. I’ll contact you by mail when I get to where I’m going. Leaving tonight from Dulles International. Pan Am. PA436. 11.30p Love Zoe. PS, Find 2 keys in envelope, one house, one car.

The driver dropped me in front of my apartment. I ran inside to find it empty. The food, the furniture, all my school books, clothes were gone. It had also been cleaned. The bathroom smelled like bleach and pine cleaner. The kitchen was scrubbed to within an inch of its life; all surfaces spotless. I searched desperately to find some sort of communication explaining my empty apartment and her sudden departure. Nothing. My heart was breaking. I wanted to take her out to dinner and celebrate my new found job. I was also hoping she could fill me in on everything she knew about this mysterious, no-name company. I wanted to spend another night together and talk about our future. I walked down to the parking lot and found my car. They hadn’t taken that yet. I drove over to Zoe’s place and parked in a guest spot. All my stuff had been moved into her apartment as though we had done it ourselves. It seemed so perfect. I searched for indications she might be right back. The left over steak and lobster sat on the second shelf of the fridge. The dishes had been washed and put away. My school books and assorted papers were sitting on a desk in the second bedroom which was now an office. My filing cabinet with three years of carefully organized school assignments was placed next to the desk. I pulled open drawers and discovered my clothes neatly folded and put away. But I also noticed Zoe had left some of her clothes: sweaters, blouses, pajamas, gym clothes, lingerie. She left a photo of herself standing in front of an ice cream shop, grinning ear to ear and holding an ice cream cone. The note on the back said ‘To Henry with all my love, Z.’ Who took this, I wonder.

The whole experience was surreal. I had nothing to compare it to.

I looked at my watch, 10.00p. Dulles was forty-five minutes away. I jumped in my car and headed for the airport. At 10.50p I ran into the terminal looking for flight PA436. After getting pointed to the correct location I saw her walking toward check-in. “Zoe! Zoe.” I screamed. She kept walking. I ran faster. Finally, I caught up to her, “Zoe.” I called out.

She spun around and looked angry. “What? What is it, Henry?” She said it like I was interrupting something.

“I wanted to catch you before you flew out.”

She stopped and her anger seemed to dissipate albeit slowly. She smiled, touched my face. “Oh Henry that’s so sweet.” The words sounded forced. “Did you get settled into the apartment alright?”

“Yes, Thank you,” I said. “Your place is much more comfortable than mine.”

“I wanted to keep our little nest intact. I left some of my things there, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

She smiled, sly, sexy, slow like she had all the time in the world. Unhurried. “I hope you’ll be there when I get back. Did you look in the closet?”

“No. What’s in the closet?”

“A little gift I left you. If you accept employment with us you're going to have to upgrade your wardrobe a bit. College boy to the handsome young executive." She put her head down as if something on the floor suddenly required her attention. She looked up again a doleful expression crossed her face. Make-believe regret. “Henry I have to go, I can’t miss this plane.”

“I miss you already.” I sounded so awkward.

“I know, me too.” She said, clearly in a hurry to be gone.

“There’s so much I wanted to tell you, I was hoping for one more night together.”

“I’m sorry, Henry.” She started to walk away and then turned back, put her hand on the back of my neck, and pulled me in for a kiss. On the cheek. “One day you’ll wake up and I’ll be right there next to you. I promise, darling. This is just the beginning for us.”

“Write to me when you get to where your going,” I said wiping tears from my eyes.

“Of course, my love.” She sounded like an actress in an old movie. And then she was off. I watched her walk away filled with both hope and dread; hoping against hope that she would come back but feeling like it was dreadfully unlikely.

Up until I met Zoe, got to know her, made love to her, fell in love, and grew emotionally attached I was young, happy, and single. Now after tasting forbidden fruit, as it were, I wanted to marry her; wanted to be home at night, reading the paper, doing dishes, helping put the kids to bed. Domestic bliss. That wholesome, old-fashioned happiness. Those aren’t fantasies young men my age dwell on but these thoughts lived rent-free in my head when I met a woman who tugged at my heartstrings. Now I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Zoe calculated her every move to lead me into a meeting and a job offer. I grabbed at the 75K convinced it was the fastest way to happily ever after. My mother drilled an honest, unsympathetic message into me when I was growing up: A healthy bank balance can help a girl forget a less-than-shining countenance. If I had stalled a bit, and asked for time to think it over, Zoe and I might still be together. Surely they wouldn’t have taken her off the job until they had a commitment from me. And I was her job, or so I thought. During our time together, Zoe had fed them all the info they needed to vet me. But the most humiliating part of her report outlined every detail of our love-making. Conclusion: ‘He does what he’s told to do.’ That was tough. My ego took a major hit. Living in her apartment only added insult to injury. I had been used, thrown away. How stupid could I be? I spent years after that loving her and hating her.

Over the next few weeks, when I wasn’t studying, I typed out five resumes. Three asterisks at the bottom of each page, as instructed. Zoe’s surprise was a black Brooks Brother's suit with a white shirt hanging in the closet. A note in the pocket read, ‘Darling I’ll be home soon’ renewed short-term hope followed by feelings of overwhelming impossibility. I visited each of the five companies; handed my envelopes to five different receptionists. Two gave me knowing smiles suggesting they knew the game. Three took the delivery in silence, placed it off to the side. I didn’t care. If having Zoe was impossible then this job was, most likely, impossible too. Without Zoe, I didn’t care anymore.

Over the next few months, I threw myself into my studies. When I wasn’t in the library I was in the gym, when I wasn’t working out I could be found at Molly’s chowing down on burgers, fries, chili, and beer. I tended to avoid the apartment. Too sad. I wasn’t interested in massaging regret.

My junior year turned into my senior year with graduation on the horizon. I was starting to feel excited about post-graduation opportunities. My feelings for Zoe had calmed down to the point where I didn’t think about her much. I was looking forward to the next phase of my life. My career. And that’s when I was reminded I had accepted a job offer. I hadn’t received a phone call informing me that I had been hired so I thought the offer was off the table.

MOLLY’S

I was working on a Burger, a bowl of Chili, and a Beer when a guy pulls up beside me, ordered a Coke, and looks over “Hello, Henry.”

“Hi. How’re you doing?” I said without looking up. My standard greeting when addressing someone new or unknown, especially at Molly’s where that person could be another student, a professor, or, on rare occasions, a congressional aid to an important congress person. It pays to be affable.

“Fine thank you. How are you doing? Graduation soon?”

He sounded sort of robotic. I glanced over, the man from the deserted store was looking at me. He tried and failed to smile. “I wanted to check in, see if you are still interested in our little offer?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, I typed my bona fides five times, three asterisks at the bottom of each page, three on each envelope and handed them into the five organizations on the paper you gave me. When no one called back I figured I was out of the running.”

“Not at all. You weren’t contacted because The Five, as they’re known, were in the midst of a bidding war. Which is rare but it happens.”

“Bidding over what?” I asked.

“Over your services or, perhaps I should say, future services.”

“Was my resume that impressive?” I couldn’t help smiling. I was slightly flattered.

“No. But you exhibited a quality we look for in new hires.”

“And that is?”

“Your forgettable, Henry. I’m sorry, my bad, I believe the term is blend-in. You're able to blend in.”

Zoe came crashing back into my mind. “No, I think forgettable is the right word. I was suddenly remembering the way I was dumped at the airport. “I always wanted to be forgotten. Forgettable. By the way, just so I don’t forget, what’s your name?”

“Jonas. But that's not important."

“I won’t forget you, Jonas.”

“Henry if you decide to work for us being forgettable is a quality you’ll come to relish.”

“How did you come to this conclusion, that I was forgettable?”

“Without going into a lot of messy classified information we first compared your resume to that of 200 other possible candidates and found it to be unremarkable. You added nothing to your qualifications that made you stand out. That’s not to say it was unimpressive, your grades and the classes you took were way above average. But when we asked the professors who had awarded you your best grades not one could recall you having attended their classes.

“It’s a big university, easy to blend in as you say.”

“We asked each receptionist who took your resume to identify you from a group of photos and again all but one picked the wrong photo.”

“Who picked the correct photo?”

“It hardly matters, Henry.”

“So I passed the forgettable test.”

“You didn’t pretty up your information or presentation with extraneous details as so many often do. In a town full of oversized egos your FOW score was impressive. Off the charts, actually.”

“FOW score?”

“Fly On Wall. The ability to be seen but not remembered. Your a man perfect for our organization. Not merely a good fit but perfect. That’s when the bidding war started.”

“Where does, Zoe fit into all this?” I wanted to know.

“Your very fond of her aren’t you.”

“I’m in love with her.”

“Zoe is also very fond of you.”

“But not in love?”

“She never expressed those feelings. Not to me anyway.”

And that’s when I learned how she summed up our first and last sexual encounter: ‘He does what he’s told to do.'

“Zoe’s qualifications were exactly the same as yours. A perfect fit. That’s why she was given the assignment to approach you.”

“How did she do?”

“Perfect in every area except one; she allowed you to fall in love with her.”

“Now why would she go and do a thing like that?” I slapped my knee.

“Like I said she was very fond of you.”

“Was having sex with me part of her assignment?”

“The final decision was hers. Rest assured she went to bed with you because she wanted to.”

“Is that normal company policy, sex as a recruitment tool?”

“Sex is useful at times and used sparingly. There are always debates within the company about discontinuing the practice but somehow it survives. In your case it was only to be used if you refused to see me. She should have asked you to take the interview before and not after you had your fling.”

“It’s been an emotional roller-coaster ride. I’m not sure I’m over her.”

“We know.”

“What did you mean when you said, she allowed me to fall in love with her?”

“She was supposed to break up with you, start a fight, find fault with your politics. Instead she invited you over for dinner and made love to you. She argued successfully that sex would be the final, tantalizing push to convince you to take the meeting. The fact that you ran after her at the airport was an indication to us that casual sex had failed.”

“I guess her FOW score dropped, huh?

"Considerably."

"If you want someone to forget you engaging in sex is a surefire way to make sure they never forget. There's nothing casual about sex”

Jonas laughed but had no comeback. It was a foolish policy and I think he knew it. I continued.

“You know humans aren’t really wired for casual sex. There are always feelings involved. You didn’t take into account that Zoe was the first girl since high that had shown any interest in me. I was flattered, couldn’t believe my luck. When a guy’s been walking in the desert dying of thirst he’s going to run to the first pool of water he sees.”

“She was a mirage, Henry. She did as she was told, completed her assignment, and moved on.”

I should have run away as fast as I could but I sat there like an idiot, listening to his crap.

“People may offer you sex in exchange for favors. That happens. Be prepared.”

“I hope to keep everything as drama free as possible.”

“So do we.” He pulled a page from his pocket and showed me the company that won the bidding war. The law firm was circled in red ink. “Your in with a bunch of legal eagles.” Said Jonas.

“When do I start?” I asked.

“The first Monday after graduation. A suit and tie is required. look like the fresh-faced college graduate you are. The receptionist will show you to an office where you will take your time reading and, committing to memory, company rules and regulations. You’ll learn how to complete an assignment in the most efficient manner, avoiding problems, reporting back. You have a lot of discretion in completing assignments. There are protocols but a lot is left up to you. Everything gets shredded before leaving the office. The only paper left behind at the end of your first day is the one marked banking. That will be picked up during evening hours after you’ve left. Check your account for direct deposit the following Friday.

“Kind of risky leaving personal info out.”

“There’s an envelope if that makes you feel better.”

“Much better.”

“Here’s my card and contact info. I’ll be available to you for the next six months. After six your flying solo. Any questions?”

“Are you my handler?”

“I’m Jonas. Title, if you need one, teacher, guide, psychologist, father confessor, scoutmaster, guru, sage. wise-man, strategist, whatever.”

“I’m sure I’ll take advantage of your extensive skill set, Jonas.”

“Goodbye, Henry.”

“So long, J.”

My hamburger was cold, my beer was warm, the chili was chilly. What rabbit hole had I just jumped down?

THE OFFICE.

Everything worked out just the way Jonas explained it. I was given a large spacious office, much fancier than I expected. There was a mini-fridge, a coffee maker, a hot plate if I felt like heating something up and a luxurious bathroom with a shower, toilet and cedar closet large enough for my entire wardrobe. Off the bathroom was a small living area with a large screen TV, two chairs and a matching sofa that converted into a bed. This was not the kind of office a college grad would be assigned his first day on the job. I liked it but felt I would be moved to a smaller space when someone in upper management decided to take it. I didn’t allow myself to get too comfortable. I read all the company rules and regulations which I won’t rehearse here because they’re classified. I’ve never told any secrets, named names or expounded on any subject that might cause embarrassment, kill careers, or put anyone in physical danger. For thirty years I remained true. Invisible.

SPEAKING OUT.

Why am I talking now? Because the United States is out of control. Out of touch with reality, no longer in touch with the common man. The voters. Rome is burning and everyone is playing their own fiddle. Governmental improprieties are legion. The last messages I delivered while in DC, before I went on the run, started as simple requests and ended with me living out my life here in, The Theater of the Damned. Believe me when I say you can’t make this stuff up.

HOME BASE RULE - HBR

In 2020 the call went out to defund the police. Most people, especially those in high crime areas, wanted no part of such a foolish idea. It was not well thought out and totally ignorant of what Defund would do to communities that needed a consistent police presence. The elites pushing Defund were hiring armed guards to keep themselves and their families safe, usually at tax payer expense. Add to this the fact that those rioting and looting became part of the catch and release culture growing in many cities. Criminals were not facing the consequences for their actions. The innocent were getting hurt, even killed. What’s the solution?

An aid to a popular Senator came up with what he believed was a solution to all the social unrest happening in 2020. He called it the Home Base Rule. (HBR) Back in the day when kids still played outside and games of tag and hide and seek were popular there was always a home base, a place where participants were safe from being tagged out. At my grandmother’s house the stairs leading up to the front porch was home base. At my mother’s house a large oak tree in the front yard served as home base. Having participated in such games I was familiar with the inspiration for this idea. Home base suggested a time of innocence and fun. Your beautiful and carefree youth relived in the suburbs of Seattle, Portland or Minneapolis. Young shoplifter’s and looters could hide out in someone’s house along with all the swag they could carry and not have to fear the law. The Home-Base Rule (HBR) stated that if a suspect was in a designated, and approved, home base facility they couldn’t be arrested. A home base or bases would be chosen from a group of applicants who could provide space for at least ten people or VOPA’s ‘Victims of Police Action.’ Police action meaning arrest. The homeowner or community providing a home base would pocket up to sixty thousand dollars a year in tax payer money. When this bill was introduced it was almost laughed out of congress. But there was something for everyone here. Pro Defund liberals were told ‘peaceful protesters’ would be protected from harassment and police brutality. A carefully run Home-Base Facility (HBF) would be a ‘gentle and reasonable location’ where all parties could take time to cool off before negotiating a peaceful surrender. A surrender that didn’t necessarily include an arrest. Law and order conservatives were told these evil-doers would be self incarcerating by confining themselves to a designated HBF. Think of all the money saved on incarceration in county jails. However once they leave the HBF they are subject to arrest. In the mean time cops were welcome position themselves outside an HBF and take pictures, shine lights into the home owner’s windows, make noise and generally provoke the young thugs holed up there. A swat team would be sent in if cops deemed the owner of the HBF to be in danger. The pro law and order people wanted certain criminals excluded from home-base protections: Murderer’s, rapists, pedophiles, drug dealers, and those involved in human trafficking, escaped convicts and illegal aliens. To counter this libs wanted transgender men and women absolved of any crimes committed before gender reassignment surgery took place.

This landed on my desk Wednesday morning. Congress would be voting late Friday night after most media outlets stopped paying attention. The bill was widely criticized by Late night TV comics, conservative radio hosts and talking heads. All voiced disdain. It was voted the worst idea in the history of bad ideas on social media platforms. Despite the bad press many pols thought it deserved a chance. One Congressman in favor of the bill was quoted as saying, “It’s so crazy it just might work.” It was expected to pass.

INSTRUCTIONS.

CONTACT FIVE CONGRESSMEN AND WOMEN 3 MEN, 2 WOMEN. (NAMES LISTED BELOW) GOAL: CONVINCE EACH TO VOTE NO ON HBR.

FIRST CALL: 9.45AM PHONE: PHANTOM 9 ALTER-EGO: JOHNNY WRATHBURN POLITICAL FIXER. TARGET: CONGRESSMAN STEVE BASELY TIME IN OFFICE: 6 TERMS GOAL: NO VOTE ON HOME BASE RULE

CONVO AS FOLLOWS:

“Congressman Steve, This is Johnny Wrathburn we had a chat about six months ago. Do you remember?”

“Refresh me, Johnny. My memory’s a little fuzzy.”

“Suitcase full of hundred dollar bills aboard a party jet hastily making its way to a certain private island owned by a rather peculiar billionaire. Nice place as I recall.”

“Sorry, Johnny, I don’t recall.” He said with a nervous laugh that let me know he recalled it all, every tiny detail. Usually their first question - How did you get this number? - comes rolling off their lips in a flood of mock surprise and confusion. Steve registered neither surprise or confusion. And no outrage over the fact that I had his personal cell number, off limits to everyone except his wife and kids. He knew exactly who I was. He just wanted to establish the upper hand in our little game. He was Congressman Steve, I was nobody.

“Ask your wife who I am Steve. She was on the flight as I recall. Or was she? No. Maybe it was that seventeen year old Swedish girl that looked much like your daughter you were so impressed with. I just can’t remember anymore.” Any sane man would have hung up by now. Not Steve. Steve liked dirt.

“What do you want, Johnny?” He spat the words out like he had suddenly bitten into the rotten part of a succulent peach.

“I need a favor.”

“What? And don’t bring my wife into this conversation ever, you contemptible slug.”

Contemptible is an interesting word coming from a man who spent three days in the Caribbean cavorting with a seventeen year old Swedish actress and making an ass of himself trying to speak her language. I was there too, saw it all. He doesn't remember me though. I’d love to throw my eye witness account in his face but I have other calls to make. “I’m requesting a no vote on the Home-Base Rule,” I said calmly.

“Are you kidding? I’m one of the sponsors of that bill.” Protested Congressman Steve, rather predictably.

“Read over the bill between now and Friday, you may come to a different conclusion. It’s not the type of legislation that ages well. Bad optics. And, most importantly, it would not be beneficial in building the kind of legacy an esteemed Congress man like yourself wants to construct.”

Nervous laughter from Steve. “I don’t mind looking it over again but I can’t guarantee I’ll vote no. Maybe if I notice some small flaw I might could...”

“I’ll be happy to come over for dinner tomorrow night, point out the flaws.”

“Johnny HBR is solid bipartisan legislation that we worked very hard to complete. It’s good work.”

“Steve just the number of co-sponsors here; too many cooks in the kitchen. If this monstrosity could be pared down a bit, maybe turned into several smaller, jaw-dropping, bits of legislation...”

“Time isn’t really on our side, John. Cities are burning.”

“Those are peaceful protests, Steve. And the, ‘time isn’t really on our side,’ argument is weak. This is a rush job. You want bragging rights going into the midterms otherwise you wouldn’t care if this pile of dreck crawled across the House floor like that wounded pedestrian who tried to crawl across Central Avenue after your son ran him over. I believe he was under the influence; your son I mean, drunk on cheap wine and weed.”

“My son spent nearly two months in county jail and lost his football scholarship.”

“Adreen Blow, your son's victim, lost both his legs.”

“We paid the price, Johnny. Why must you keep bringing it up? Every damn phone call.”

“Me and Adreen Blow are coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Lol.” I said each letter, L O L.

“That’s not necessary, Johnny, I’ll call tomorrow morning with my final decision.”

“What? You're going to make me wait? I need a commitment right now, Steve.”

“I take my vote very seriously, Johnny.”

“C’mon Steve what’s it going to take to get you into this brand new 2020 cherry-red, Mustang. I’m speaking euphemistically of course.”

“Of course. I’ll expect You and your friend to come bearing gifts. Or I should say additional information that will help me make a better decision.”

“Maybe a Birthday gift for Steve Jr?” I said.

“Not interested.” He said. “Bad joke.”

“Tonight. Your place. Seven-thirty.”

“Call me before you get here.”

I hung up without saying goodbye. Steve was such a disappointment as an elected official, as a husband, father, and human being. He was completely compromised. He rationalized his actions by making me work for the few small favors I requested. Now I would have to get financial approval on a new Mustang.

A few years ago a congressman’s wife went missing. It made headlines everywhere. She was eventually found in the arms of a congressional aid twenty years her junior. Big scandal. My people had nothing to do with the incident but I wasn’t above referring to it in order to make a point that everyone in this town is fallible, everyone has a price and anyone can be bought. In years past I scared a few brave souls who woke up and pushed away from DC’s treacherous charms. The dark reality is, everyone is tempted, anyone can sell their soul and everyone, eventually disappears. Some literally, other’s figuratively. Steve was half gone and didn’t even know it.

SECOND CALL: 11.30 AM PHONE: PHANTOM 7 ALTER-EGO: MAX RUTHERFORD CIA OPERATIVE TARGET: CONGRESSWOMAN, ABBY BELLE COLDER TIME IN OFFICE: 6 TERMS GOAL: NO VOTE ON HOME BASE RULE

CONVO AS FOLLOWS:

“Good morning Congresswoman Abby. How are you today?”

“Fine Rutherford and you?” She said pleasantly.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“What mischief are you up to this morning?”

“We’re looking for a no vote on HBR.”

“What advantage is there in a no vote?” She asked calmly.

“It’s a law that encourages law-breaking. Looting and arson aren’t going to stop because the looters and arsonists are sitting in someone’s front room. I mean on home base.”

“We already know that, Rutherford. Nobody cares. When the summer ends these kids all go back to Berkley, NYU, Yale, Dartmouth, not to mention the plethora of state colleges the unwashed masses slithered out of. Why ruin their lives with an arrest record?” In fact many of my colleagues have fond memories of the sixties and the social unrest that ushered in a new generation of progressive thinkers. That’s why no one is condemning the violence. They’re all crazy with nostalgia. Of course you’re too young to remember. These so called peaceful protesters represent a nation attempting to catch its breath in light of draconian police brutality and almost nonexistent gun laws.”

“So I take it your house hasn’t burned down yet?” I asked, then followed with...“What I mean to say, Abby, is you haven’t been personally affected by the violence going on in the cities you represent?”

“Oh heaven's no. Hey! Are you making a not-so-veiled threat, Rutherford?

"Just calling to make a request. No on HBR.”

“I think not, Rutherford.”

She hung up.

By three O’clock that afternoon Abby’s daughter, Teddy, had been arrested for having cocaine in her dorm. Possession with intent to distribute. She was being held without bond. To make matters worse she had also been expelled from school for drug use, kicked out of student housing and had her car impounded. I received this unfortunate information at 2.35p.

CONVO CONTINUES: 3.30p

“Overkill, Rutherford.” Said Abby. She seemed bored.

“I have no idea what you're talking about?” And I didn’t really.

“All this for a no vote on HBR?”

“Again I have no idea, Abby. What are you talking about?”

“Can you make this go away, Rutherford?”

“Make what go away? I do have a number that...”

“Then give it to me now.” She commanded.

“I haven’t got it with me.”

“Don’t lie.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t leave her in jail until Friday. Your heartless...” Her voice trailed off, she started crying.

“Sounds like Teddy is on home base, right now, In a manner of speaking.”

“Shut up, Rutherford. You snake.”

“Call me within two hours of voting on Friday, I should be home by then. You know the networks will spin your daughter’s unfortunate situation and your Friday vote into a big scandal. The headlines will read, 'no home base for, Teddy.' Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. Are you prepared for network and/or cable scrutiny?”

“I really hate you.”

“When I hear from you I’ll make sure to have that number. You'll need it.”

She started to hang up but stopped. “If anything happens to my precious...” More tears. I waited while she composed herself. And then finally, “I’m going to kill you, Max Rutherford.”

I had the entire conversation taped for my own safety and to conduct future blackmail operations should they become necessary. I made a note to pay particular attention to her careless statement.

“We already know that, Rutherford. Nobody cares. When the summer ends these kids all go back to Berkley, NYU, Yale, Dartmouth, not to mention the plethora of state colleges the unwashed masses slither out of. Why ruin their lives with an arrest record? In fact many of my colleagues have fond memories of the sixties and the social unrest that ushered in a new generation of progressive thinkers. That’s why no one is condemning the violence. They’re all crazy with nostalgia. Of course you’re too young to remember. These so called peaceful protests are just a nation attempting to catch its breath in light of draconian police brutality and almost nonexistent gun laws.”

The beauty part of this call is that Abby is a bit of a blabber mouth. My next three calls were easy because word had spread.

THIRD CALL 1.00 PM PHONE: PHANTOM 12 ALTER-EGO: NONE USED TARGET: CONGRESSMAN RULON BIGGS GOAL: NO VOTE ON HBR

“Good afternoon Congressman Biggs, how are you today.?”

“Let’s dispense with pleasantries, get to the point, son.”

“Requesting a no vote on HBR. Can you deliver?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you, son?” Said Biggs, smiling.

“Yes sir.” I could almost see him sitting in an easy chair smoking Cuban cigars and drinking bourbon. Three hundred pounds of fat and influence. Thirty years of flatulence.

“Let’s get one thing straight, you involve any member of my family in your shenanigans like you did those other two I’ll personally introduce you to a couple of hungry Louisiana gators.”

“I’m a Florida Gator myself, sir. Season tickets to the swamp.”

Long silence on Biggs’ end.

“Have you read HBR, son?” His tone was inquisitive, leaning toward friendly.

“Several times, sir.”

“Then you know certain Florida theme parks have signed on to the law. To HBR.”

“Yes sir. I also know management is beefing up security to prevent young offenders from entering the parks without paying. They’re expecting a ten percent hike in revenues after HBR is signed in. Also, there’s been talk of mayors declaring entire cities, Home Base. ”

“Did you know this very same conglomerate is petitioning to become a city-state like the Vatican over there in Rome?” He hadn’t heard a word I said.

“Yes sir, I do know that.”

More silence.

“Why don’t you come work for me, son? Pay’s good. I can tell you have some formidable debating skills. I like that I’m talking to a man who’s prepared when he calls.”

How was he going to hire me, he didn’t even ask my name. To Biggs a young man was either, son or boy. He was slow to show common courtesy. “Thank you. I’m happy where I am, Congressman Biggs. Goodbye.”

“Well, where you at, boy? He laughed.

I hung up. Biggs was an old-school Democrat from a time when people still extended a hand across the aisle. What intrigued Biggs about HBR was the bipartisan support it had. Working with all these young Republicans was like the old days when he could argue, debate, and wheel and deal. I doubt he had even read the entire bill. Probably a pretty young lady, read it to him while he tried to stay awake. The bill was top-heavy with useless provisions. Everyone wanted ten pounds of pork to haul back to their respective districts. Biggs wanted one hundred square miles of alligator- infested swamp to act as Home Base for Louisiana. What he hoped to achieve by signing this bill was to keep the area free from development. The area had no roads in or out. These city-slicker kids from Portland or Seattle would be eaten alive on the Gulf coast. And Biggs knew it.

End of part 1.