Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2018 17:14:55 -0500 From: Eric Trager Subject: It Is What It Is: Chapter 56 Please don't forget to donate to Nifty if you enjoy reading the stories! Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager. Yahoo group: https://groups.yahoo.com/IIWII NOTE: I am looking for someone to edit the story as it is so far, starting from the beginning. Anyone having experience with that sort of thing, kindly contact me and we'll talk! :-) CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX Sean reacted as he always had when presented with a challenge. He squared his shoulders. Then he leaned into the microphone. "I'll be happy to answer all of your questions, Sir. Now, with respect to..." "You don't need to answer those questions!" boomed a voice near the back of the auditorium. The audience gasped. People craned their necks to see who'd spoken up. Sean scanned the room to see where the voice came from. He couldn't really identify the voice, and whoever it was seemed to be at the time lost in the crowd. Presently, a large man stalked purposefully down the aisle, then bulled his way to the microphone set up for audience questions, almost shoving aside the man who verbally accosted Sean. "Look!" the large man said pointing at the questioner, "I've known Wymo for a lotta years. Your questions are out of order, and ya wanna know something else? They're none of your business. Like I said, I've known that guy for a whole lotta years, and yeah, we've had our differences a time, or two. Who hasn't. But I can tell ya this, if he tells you something you can take it to the bank! That's all I have to say!" Sean was aghast. This was turning into a circus. He had to take control of the situation. He began again, "Sir, like I said, I'll answer your questions. And no, I suppose they really aren't your business and don't pertain to a City Councilor, but if I don't answer it'll look to everyone who's here tonight like I've got something to hide. I've got nothing to hide. Nothing. So, to answer your first question, I..." "Mishter Wyman! Shtop!" It was Coach Slater, and now he was walking down the aisle, albeit a good bit slower and with the aid of his cane. Tucking his cane under his arm, he grabbed the microphone. "Ladiezh and Zhentlemen, I'm Bob Shlater. I was Mishter Wyman's Coasch last year when he wazh our Shtate Schampionship Quarterback, and thish year we worked together on the Coasching Shtaff. Hell, he was the Head Coasch when I was out for half the sheazhon. I know every shingle shing there izh to know about thish young man. I've been to hizh houshe. I know hizh family. Out of all the young men I've coasched in thish town over the lasht thirty yearzh, and that'sh been a lot, he'zh eazhily in the top three. Maybe even the besht. Not jusht azh an athlete, but azh a man." Coach Slater waved his cane at the man, "The queshtionzh you ashhed thish young man are unaccsheptable! A hundred perschent! Knowing Mishter Wyman, he'll probably anshwer your damn questionzh becauzhe that'sh the kind of man he izh. If it were me, I'd tell you to go to hell and shtop washting my time and the time of everyone elshe in thish room. In a heartbeat I'd tell you to go to hell! You should be ashamed of yourshelf!" Coach Slater turned as precisely as his battered body allowed him to do and walked back to his seat. The room was dead silent. Then, as if by some miracle, all of a sudden, several people started clapping. Then several more. Then more joined in. In a few seconds, the entire room erupted in applause. Sean didn't dare to suppose that they were applauding him, so he leaned once more into the microphone, one shoulder down and forward as if to do battle on the football field as he glared at his interlocutor. "I am going to answer the gentleman's questions now," Sean said above the din, continuing to glare at the man. He tapped the microphone to get everyone's attention, and to get the room to settle down. "Thank you," Sean continued. "Sir, to answer your first question, the Monterey Hotel is a building that's sat fallow and in ever greater decrepitude for over thirty years as far as I can tell by going back through the City records. It's one of the chief anchors to the downtown. Presently, the Monterey pays less in property taxes every year than the average single-family home here in town and consumes more dollars in City resources than it pays in taxes with just continuing building code inspections alone. What kind of nonsense is that for the taxpayers of this City? An empty building that does no one any good, and for which the taxpayers incur a net loss only to get City Inspectors to go and inspect? "Do I plan to have it taken by Eminent Domain? Well, if you had read and understood any of my campaign literature, you'd know that I'd like to have the City set up a Downtown Development Committee with exactly those powers in order that such properties are brought to good, current use and put back on the tax rolls to generate revenue for the City and to improve the City, not to cost taxpayers money as they presently do. I might be the youngest person on the stage tonight, but even I can figure THAT out." The audience laughed, and Sean knew he should just press on. "With respect to property tax revenue, by my calculations, on a conservative estimate, the City is foregoing about a hundred thousand dollars in tax revenue a year simply by letting that building sit as it is as opposed to what it could generate. Over the thirty years it's sat that way, that's THREE MILLION dollars the City let slip through their fingers simply by inaction. Three million dollars... And like I said, that is a conservative estimate. "Would I like to buy the Monterey? Sure. Why not? I couldn't make a worse go of it than the present owner has. Anyway, it's ripe for higher-end condominium development. The market for that type of product is there, and at present there are no properties at all to fill such a demand. And I don't believe the current owner has the intention, or the wherewithal to bring the building back. If he had, he already would have. The City is trying to redevelop the downtown right now and having upscale housing down there with people living in it who have a lot of disposable income would go a long way to push that along. It takes money to make money. This isn't rocket science. "On your second question. Yes, I am a homosexual. I'm not sure why you appear to be interested to know that, but that's neither here, nor there. And I live with my husband. We're married. The same way as a lot of people in this auditorium tonight are married. OK?" Again, the audience laughed. Sean noticed that a good percentage of them were laughing with their shoulders heaving up and down. He knew he'd won this one. "Third question. Did I get a girl pregnant last year? Look, here's the deal: I was at a party and without my knowledge I was slipped a Mickie by someone I barely knew that had a date rape drug in it. I was raped while under the influence of that drug if you really want to know. A pregnancy resulted from that rape, yes. A pregnancy that I had no say in. "Fourth, do I have two children? I do. Twin boys. Joseph and Leonard. They're almost a year old, and they're my pride and joy. My sons are the result of the rape I just talked about, and unfortunately their mother died in childbirth. So, yes, I am raising my boys myself. I am their father and that is my responsibility. Any father in this room will understand that. The boys' late mother's sister, their Aunt, dates my younger brother and is at our home quite a bit and sees the boys on a regular basis, as does their maternal Grandmother, and Great-grandmother. Their maternal Grandfather and Great-grandfather are no longer with us, so as you can see, I have shut no one out. Nor would I. "Fifth. You want to know if I a millionaire. I really don't know. I might be, and then again, I might not be. If I am, it would only be because of a trust that was set up out of a life insurance policy on the death of my mother, God rest her soul, when I was thirteen years old and to which I neither have access, nor any idea of its value." Sean knew that, at least in part, this portion of his answers was at least a little bit of a white lie, but he was sufficiently incensed at the questions he'd been asked to tell it anyway. He had a pretty good hunch that the questioner was a plant. "At any rate that is not important because any money I have, I have because I earned it myself. I owned a lawn care business which due to my football commitments and unexpectedly becoming a parent, I sold to my younger brother and which I'm proud to tell you he's greatly expanded to the point where he's paid me back every penny. He's earning a good profit for himself and he's hired people. For good wages, too. I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you about your lawn care and snow plowing needs. Wyman Landscaping's the name. It's in the phone book. "I believe those were all of your questions. I trust my answers were satisfactory. If not, you can see me after this meeting, or some other time. You're gonna vote for me, anyway..." Sean smirked. "Like I said, I've got nothing to hide. And I don't mind. I really don't. We've all got our crosses to bear in life. I've got mine just like everyone else in this room has theirs. That's life. It's always been that way. That's how it goes, and I'm not ashamed of any of it. "But, I didn't come here tonight to tell everyone my life's story. I don't think too many people showed up to hear about it, anyway." The audience laughed at that. "And like I said when this meeting started, I'm here to talk about how we move our town forward. I'm here to let everyone know how I see we move that ball down the field. And I'm here to ask for the vote of each and every one of you. If that isn't why I came here tonight, then I shouldn't be standing here. At all. I won't let you down." Sean's eyes continued boring into the man who'd questioned him. Sean had no idea how this man, whom he didn't recognize, could possibly know such intimate details of his life. That didn't concern him as in the morning he planned to put Charlie Ditmar on the trail to find out the answers to those things, and to make sure it didn't happen again. His eyes continued boring into the man until the man looked away. Always a believer in the stare-down if required, Sean won. The man looked away and sat down. The Craig Auditorium dissolved into bedlam. Sean was given a standing ovation, to which he merely smirked, nodded, and motioned everyone to sit down so that the debate could continue. And continue it did. Almost of the remaining questions were directed to Sean. No one asked any personal questions. Most people asked what his vision was for the Monterey Hotel and other underused properties. He answered both easily and with assurance. Occasionally, one of his opponents tried to butt in to get some face time. Sean ignored them. By his own reasoning, he wasn't there watch his opponents' time clocks. He was there to win. And at the end of the evening, he felt he'd won. The moderator called at the end for an applause for all the candidates, noting that the evening's proceedings had been lively and informative. Sean was swamped afterwards by the Editor of the Gazette, and three television reporters peppering him with questions talking over each other to the point where Sean thought it was at once both comical and vulgar. "Guys!" he said, "I appreciate it, but tonight was to talk directly with the voters. If any of you guys want an interview, I'll give you all the number to my campaign office and we can take it up then, OK?" Sean again let his trademark smirk sail knowing that if, and when, any of them contacted his office they'd have to deal with Brad's impenetrably phlegmatic economy with words and terse straightforwardness. They'd probably give up in exasperation. Getting back to the Alamo, Sean and Andy heard voices in the bar. Walking in, they saw Joe, George and Peggy Dickson and Ginny. "Boys, you killed it tonight! Just like I said you would!" Ginny chortled. Joe nodded approvingly to his son, and his son-in-law. "Guys," George said. "Ginny's right. And I want you both to know that Tim and Brett called just after the debates were over. They said they watched both. Brett said you kicked their asses." "You betcha, you guys!" Peggy echoed. "Now, Ginny and me were talkin', and we're gonna have the pollster do a poll in about three days here. That'll give the debates time to settle in, OK? Anyways, you guys keep doin' whatcher doin' and I think we're gonna be just dandy, don'tcha know..." "Sean, you tell Brad to come by my place tomorrow. Just have him text me when he's on the way. I'll be home all day," Ginny said. "Guys," Joe said, "I'm proud of both of you. Andy, you pounded them into the ground, and Sean, son, you stood up for yourself and didn't waver about why you were there. I'm not sure if I could have done as well as either one of you did tonight. Grab yourselves a beer or two and then it'll probably time we should all hit the sack." "That's not a bad idea, Joe," Ginny said. "I'd take another splash of Scotch and then it's home for me." "Still not a hundred percent?" Joe asked. "Well, maybe eighty, ninety, let's put it that way... I think it's just my body needs to recover is all... But, I'm getting old, so who the hell knows... They gave me a clean bill of health, anyway. Old Ginny isn't gonna let a fucking Loofa get her down..." Everyone laughed. "Look, guys," Ginny continued, "We're gonna win this. I've been involved with politics in this town for a lot of years, and sometimes a person can just feel it. I've got a feeling about this one. The election is less than ten days away. Let's go full steam ahead until the end. Anyone who was there tonight or watched in on TV saw you two. They didn't see anyone else, because the others made fools of themselves, or stood there like gefilte fish. I gotta tell ya, you guys come across well on TV..." "Dad?" Sean said. "What, son..." "I want Charlie Ditmar to look into the guy who questioned me tonight. It's not that guy I really care about, but I've got a feeling he was put up to it, and however it happened he asked questions like he knew too much. I didn't like it one bit, so I need to know how that guy knew what he knew, and I need to put a stop to it. If they tried tonight, they'll try again. I'm not having that. Who knows, they could go after Andy next, or maybe in a few years the twins. Need to find out and nip it in the bud." Joe contemplated what Sean said for a little while. "Son, I am not opposed to that. But, let's find out the particulars, and then let's all of us sit down and see what we think. Got me? For now, we simply gather information. We will not act on what we find out unless and until we all think it's necessary." "That's fair, dad." Sean said. "I wasn't gonna do anything anyway. For now." "That's what I figured, son. For now." Joe smiled. He could see clearly now that the trials of the past year had injected into his always determined and dependable son an iron spine. And he could also see a young man, not even nineteen years old, of solid maturity. He contented himself with the knowledge that sooner, or later every parent arrives at this moment, or hopes that they do. "And I was more than a little surprised that Mark Braden was there, and that he defended me right before Coach Slater let that guy have it. That's the last thing I would have expected to see..." Sean said. "Yes, that was...weird," Joe said. "I gather he's living in town now. What's he doing for a living?" "Couldn't tell ya, dad." "Have him come see me at the Plant. We'll put him on second shift where he will both be rewarded with a very good job, and where we can keep an eye on him. Ditmar's guys are Plant Security, you know... I still don't trust the guy a hundred percent, but if we can make him our guy, then so much the better. We'd want him inside the tent pissing out, not outside pissing in." "Sounds good to me, dad. I'll call him in the next few days. Right now, I got a race to win." The next morning found Ginny huddled in her office with Brad and Peggy Dickson who'd taken the day off from work. "Peggy," Ginny said, "I think Andy's about got his race wrapped up. He's running against dumb, and dumber. Whada you think?" "Oh, ya," Peggy said. "The Teacher's Union is a wrap, especially since they now know how much money the Administration is pissing away when us teachers haven't gotten a raise for two years. I'm tellin' ya, people are mad about that, don'tcha know..." "I expect they would be. Brad, what about Sean? How's he running in the Fourth Ward and on the South Side?" "He fine. I went `n' counted yard signs. He got twice as many as ever one else. Sent the Bambino around the Fourth Ward `cause he speak Spanish. Sent him with Kathleen. Spanish dudes like redheads with big tits. Told me ever thing fine. South Side people are fine. There so many empty buildings on Center Avenue that all they talk about. They want somethin' ta be done `bout that. Sean be fine. Garr-an-tee." "Anything else?" "Yup." "Well, spit it out, Brad. I swear, sometimes..." Brad snickered to himself knowing that kind of stuff drove Ginny nuts. "Some chick from Madison TV station call up. She ask me how much money we spent on commercials `n' shit." "And you told her?" "I wrote her name down. Made her tell me three times `n' spell it to. Pissed her off..." "Brad! What the fuck did you tell her?" "Tol' her I dunno `cause I don't write th' checks `n' it watn't nonna anyone's bidness anyways." "Is that it?" "She wanted interview Sean." "OK, well, what was your answer?" "I made her give me a list of days and times. Tol' her I needed about eight different ones. Think that pissed `er off, too..." "That's it?" "Tol' her I'd get back to her. Which I ain't gonner. She c'n kiss my ass. The `lection be over by then anyways. Sean don't have time fer nonner `at shit." "OK," Ginny said. "'n' I tol' Sean maybe he talk to some news person after he win. No sense t' do `at now. He do `at `n' then ever one's gonna bitch `n' want their own TV time, too. He ahead. Don't make no sense to talk to news people now `n' give them other ones free shit. Fuck that." "That's exactly right, Brad. You have the instinct for these things. Don't ever change." "Change to what..." "Never mind, Brad... You just continue doing what you're doing. And let's not forget that I've paid you handsomely for your help to Sean during this campaign. Play your cards right, and that could become permanent even once I'm gone. Everyone needs a right hand. And I expect you to do the same for Andy, too." "That fine. They been good to me. I be good to them back. That fair. `Sides, I like `em. `n' I know my right hand for..." Ginny roared uncontrollably with laughter. "Yup, that's how this works, Brad..." She gasped, catching her breath. "So, Peggy, one question here... You hearing any talk wondering how Andy got his hands on that audit? I haven't, but then again I haven't been out and about much lately..." "Maybe here and there a smidge, ya know. I don't think it's anything to get yer undies in a bunch over. People are really talkin' about how the Administration handed out millions of dollars for no reason and how the Board didn't know and how no one on the Board even asked to look at the money all these years." "Really?" "That's what I'm hearin'..." "Well, alright I guess..." "Ginny, the whole audit thing is so simple for voters to understand. No one's askin' how he got it. The most I heard one person say was that they'd like to know, but that the important thing is that he's got it. And we know that the Superintendent is going in a few months. By the time the Board has to decide on a new Superintendent, Andy will already be on the Board and you betcha he's gonna question any candidates for Superintendent on the need to be regularly audited. And knowing Andy, he's gonna scold all the other Board members for not askin' that stuff before. Let's not forget Andy's got a backbone." "That he does, Peg," Ginny said. "I'll never forget the time he showed up here and it was right after he got beaten. I cried my eyes out. Me... Cry... How often does that happen..." "Prolly never," Brad snickered. "Shut up, Brad!" Ginny laughed. "OK, so I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, OK?" "That reminds me, Brad," Peggy said. "Timmy and Brett wanna invite you up to their place in Madison some weekend." "That fine. Maybe when th' `lection's over. I like Brett." "You don't like Timmy?" "He OK maybe, but he talk down to me `bout my clothes `n' shit. That when I poor. Watn't my fault. Did what I hadda do. Maybe he think I not as good as him. I dunno... He never said he sorry `bout that. Think he should. I tell him `n' see." "You want me to talk to him, Brad?" "Nope." "You gonna tell her why?" Ginny said, peering over her reading glasses. "I stay in my own lane `n' I c'n do my own talkin'." "Well, let Old Peg give ya a hint there, Bradley. If you talk to Timmy and he starts stuttering, that's when you know he feels bad if he hurt your feelings." "Not feelin's. Pride. Never asked no one fer nuthin' `n' he acted like I some kind o' bum, `r somethin'. Ditn't sit good." "You talk to him, Brad. You'll see!" Peggy smiled. "OK. I do that. Like you, Mrs. Peggy." "You call me Mom, now, Brad." "I think `bout that." "You do that, Brad." Peggy smiled. "Alright, guys, Old Ginny's gonna take a nap now. Don't forget, day after tomorrow we got the new poll coming in that morning. Peg, you don't need to take another day off work unless the poll's bad. Brad, you and me are gonna go over it then, OK?" "That fine," Brad answered. "You guys can see yourselves out, OK?" Ginny said, looking uncharacteristically tired. "You betcha!" Peggy said. "C'mon, Brad, let's go get some brunch. I'll take you to the Country Club. You'll need a jacket, but we only live across the street and I can give ya one of Timmy's. You're as tall as him, but not quite as big. If I find one of his smaller ones, it'll be OK. Whadya say?" "That fine. I hungry anyway..." "They serve a good brunch. You'll like it. You'll see!" Once at the Dickson's, Brad looked around the house. He liked it. He hadn't told anyone, but he was secretly hoping that if Sean did renovate the Monterey Hotel into condos that he'd like to buy a small one for himself. Maybe one with a nice view. One bedroom would be fine, but he'd like an extra room he could use as an office. And maybe even a nice, big living room. He thought better than to bring it up any time soon as he planned when he saw Andy next he'd offer to buy Andy's mom's Acura TSX. It was a nice car, and it fit him. Brad didn't mind that it wasn't brand new and it would not be a large expenditure of money, or at least not large enough that he couldn't reasonably say that he'd saved it up. He was smart enough to look up the Blue Book value, and he knew it was worth about $12,000. He'd maybe offer Andy $10,000 and see what he said. Brad learned how to survive on very little after his parents died, especially after he got hit with the City tax bill that he didn't know about and wasn't expecting on his mom and dad's old house. He was actually glad to be rid of his old house, and to be living in one of Joe Wyman's apartments in the Main Street building. He was fine for now, but it wasn't his own place. It was a place he rented and ultimately while Brad stayed in his own lane, he didn't want to be living in someone else's. Although better off now than he had been, Brad was no spender. He saved his money. It might work, he thought, but not being naturally introspective he would think about it later when he could. Right now, he was going to have lunch with Peggy Dickson, who he liked. Still not sure about Tim, there was something about his seemingly unassuming suburban wife- slash-math-teacher mother that made him feel comfortable. Besides, this was probably going to be a business lunch. There was an election to win, and they weren't across the finish line yet. Not only did Peggy have Brad dress in one of Tim's jackets, but she had him put on a pair of his slacks, and shirt, tie and shoes. "There ya go, now! Ya look like a million bucks there, Bradley! Everyone out to the Club's gonna wonder if I dumped George! You're a stud, if ya don't mind an old lady like me sayin' so..." "Don't mind," Brad answered, "But I like dick." "Well, maybe that's why Timmy and Brad invited ya up to Madison, don'tcha know! God only knows what those two get up to! I remember the first time Timmy brought Brad over. He was head over heels in love. I'm a mom, and moms always know these things! You betcha!" "Guess I find out when I go. You got Brett's phone number? I call him later." Peggy wrote down the number and handed it to Brad. Brad scanned the note paper and threw it in the trash. "How come you threw it away? Change your mind?" "Nope." "Well?" "Look at phone number once. I `member it. That fine." "Yer a regular genius, there, Bradley! You give Brett a call tonight, now, hun, OK?" "Yup. I bring my clothes with. When lunch done, you drop me off at my `partment? Took bus to Ginny's..." "The bus? The bus stop's half a mile away!" "Not crippled." "You're precious, you are..." Peggy laughed. Once at the Club, they had an enjoyable lunch. Brad, while no more talkative than usual, explained to Peggy everything that had been done in Sean's campaign so far. He went over, in his clipped way, the endorsement of UAW Local 95, the GM employee's union, and from the Police Patrolman's Union and the County Sheriff. Just for good measure, he even had, among lesser endorsements, the endorsement of both the Craig and Parker Student Councils, noting that among the Senior classes in both schools, almost a thousand were already over the age of eighteen and could vote. Each student had been given a card with instructions on how to register, and where their voting place was. "Didn't leave nuthin' out," Brad said. "Sean even got money left in the bank t' spend. That `cause I cheap. Sean go door knockin' ever night askin' people fer their votes. Does at least two hours a night. He gonna win." "You love him, don't you..." Peggy said, eyebrow raised. "What you mean..." "I mean you love him. I can tell." "Don't love him like boyfriend, er nuthin,' Brad said, blushing slightly which did not go unnoticed by Peggy. "'Sides, he married. But he help me when I had nuthin'. I owe Sean. I don't forget that." "That's fine, Brad," Peggy winked. "Anyways, we sorted through the crud here. I know what's goin' on with Sean's election, and you know what's goin' on with Andy's. We'll look at the last poll when it comes out, and make adjustments if something looks screwy, OK?" "That fine." One back at his apartment, Brad went to change back into his normal clothes. Although he didn't feel comfortable in the suit, he did stop on his way to change in front of the original full- length beveled-edge mirror on the front closet door. He looked himself up and down. Inasmuch as his uncomplicated mind would allow, he was pleased with what he saw. He was pleased with his tall, lean figure. Pleased with his face, especially since his complexion cleared up, pleased with his wavy golden-brown hair, and even pleased with his eyes, although he despised the muddy, undefined hazel color, neither brown, nor green, nor pleasing. He knew he needed vision correction, and he decided he'd go with contact lenses and see if he could get his eyes to be greener. He decided to change his style. Dress better. Learn manners. Talk better if possible. But not until after the election. He was superstitious that way. Brad picked up his phone to call Brett. As he entered Brett's number, he felt a stirring in his loins recalling Brett's chiseled beauty and gentle nature. Maybe, he thought, for once in his life he could have someone fuck him and not have it be just for money. Maybe because the other person liked him. Brad shook himself out of it knowing that Tim and Brett were out of his league. The phone rang twice. Brad heard a male voice on the other end. "Hello?" "This Brett?" "Speaking. Who's this?" "Bradley. Mrs. Peggy said I s'poseta call you. She say you `n' Tim want me to come to Madison." "Yeah. You've been working really hard lately, Bradley, and we'd like to have you up just so you can relax for a couple days. Sound good?" Brett always called Brad by his preferred name of Bradley. Brett respected Brad "You guys wanna fuck me, don'tcha..." "That's not why we're inviting you, Bradley. We like you." "Not sure `bout Tim." "Tim likes you. It was his idea." "When you want me t' come?" "How about this next weekend?" "Dunno." "How come?" Brett said, adopting Brad's clipped speech. "That last weekend `fore th' `lection." "Bradley, Sean's done everything he can do. So have you. You leave the last weekend to him. He'll do just fine. Whadya say?" "OK, guess that fine. What your address..." "1110 Vilas Avenue. It's right off Park Street." "That fine. I `member it. Car have GPS." "So, you gonna come?" "You mean come er cum..." "Bradley! You're impossible!" Brad snickered to himself knowing he suckered in last year's class Valedictorian. "Don't matter. I come. What time?" "Come on Friday, about dinner time. Say six o'clock. Take you about an hour to get here." "That fine. You want me t' bring anything?" "No, that's fine, Bradley. We'll be here. I know Tim will be glad to hear you're coming." "If you say... Still think he don't like me." "I'll make sure you two get some time to yourselves. He really does like you, Bradley." "Fine. I see you. Bye." "Bye, Bradley." Brett hung up the phone and giggled to himself. Brad really WAS impossible. Tim was in their study doing some reading. "Hey, love!" Brett said. "Not now. Maybe later. I gotta get through this shit," Tim said. "Oh, I'll cornhole you later, alright? Anyway, I got some work to do myself. And I ordered a pizza for dinner. Be here in thirty minutes." "That's good. I got a couple hours maybe left to go on this." "What is it?" "Real Estate Law 732. That's the course my dad got them to let me into even though I'm not in Law school yet. So, I gotta ace it, or it'll make me and dad look like morons and I'll never get another favor out of those people. They never let a Freshman in before." "Well, you should know a lot of it working for your dad, right? "Pretty much, yeah, but sometimes the book shit doesn't match up with the real world... Dad told me just tell `em what they wanna hear and then just say `fuck it...'" "That's what I do, too, hun... Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I just got a call from Brad. Your mom told him to call. He's gonna come up on Friday and stay for the weekend." "Really?" "Yeah." "Well, I'm glad. I don't think he likes me. But he's important to Wymo, so he's important to me." "I know, hun. Would you like to fuck him?" "I'd rather he fuck me." "Well, I'm gonna make sure you two get some time alone. I've got a lab on Saturday from 2:00 to 4:30, so you'll be alone then. You have to promise to give me all the juicy details, OK?" "Just as long as that doesn't violate our rule..." "It won't. We're gonna have a three-way after that. Remember, the rule doesn't count if it's a three-way." "Yeah, yeah... I just really hope I can get him to like me. Ya know...I mean...well, I just..." "I know, hun," Brad said as he patted Tim's shoulder. I'll go downstairs and catch up on some of my shit until the pizza gets her, OK?" "You order salad, too?" "Yup. Greek Salad with extra Feta, just like you always like." "Thanks, sweetheart. Holler up when it's here." "OK" For Brad's part, after he hung up with Brett, he texted Andy to meet him at the Italian restaurant after school. Brad arrived a few minutes before he knew Andy would. He ordered Parmesan garlic bread sticks with pesto which he knew Andy liked, and two Cokes. Andy came in right on time, finding Brad at a booth. Not two minutes later, Andy came in and sat down. "Hey, Brad, what's up?" "I not gonner be here this weekend. You `n' Sean need to go door knockin'. Last weekend fer that." "I know. We planned to do that anyway." "Fine." "That's it?" Andy asked, grabbing a breadstick. "Nope." "Alright, Brad, then what is it." "I wanna buy th' Acura." "Buy it?" "Yup." "That's fine, I mean it's not like I need it anyway. How much you gonna pay me for it?" "I give you sevenny-fie hunert," Brad said knowing full well the car's value, and that the figure he threw on the table allowed him some negotiating room. "Brad, the car's worth more than that..." "Yup." Andy wanted to laugh, but he couldn't. Brad was so sincere and well-meaning he just couldn't laugh at him. "Gimme a minute," Andy said as the waitress came to take their order which was for a large pizza, half pepperoni and half sausage. "Tell ya what," Andy said. "You come by tomorrow night with five grand cash and it's yours." "Fie grand?" Brad asked, somewhat confused. "Five grand, Brad. Look, you're not dumb. I know you. You know as well as I do that the car's worth twelve grand, right?" "Yup." "Problem with that is I just said I'd take five grand." "That fine. What time I come over tomorrow?" "Seven o'clock is fine, Brad. Wanna know how come I said I'd take five grand?" "Nope." "You're impossible, Brad!" Again, Brad snickered to himself for having been told that he was impossible by two different people and just a few minutes apart. "Fine. How come?" Brad asked. He could no more annoy Andy than Andy could annoy him. "I don't need the car, Brad. If you weren't driving it I don't even know where I'd keep it. And I'm pretty sure you have some idea that I really don't need the money, either. A couple thousand bucks isn't gonna make or break me... Look, I know you haven't had it easy. A few grand might mean more to you than it does to me. It's just a car, Brad, and that's fine. You're a good friend, especially to Sean. So maybe I'm just doing a friend a favor. The price is five grand, cash on the barrel. I've got the title, and I'll sign it over to you right then and there. We'll ask dad who to go to for insurance and everything, OK?" "Thanks. That why I like you." Andy nodded, and just at that moment the pizza arrived. Andy and Brad chowed down, Brad snarfing up his pepperoni half, and a good portion of Andy's sausage half, too. "Jesus Christ, Brad! You eat like a fucking horse! How tall are you?" "Six-two, er six-three." "Whadya weigh?" "One-fitty-five er one-sixty maybe. I gain ten pounds. I fat." "You're a fucking toothpick! I mean, Sean weighs at least thirty pounds more than you and you're the same height! I even weigh more than you do!" "That fine. I fat. Like t' eat. Don't give a shit." Andy shook his head, laughing. "Whatever you say, Brad." "I pay for pizza `n' shit, `cause I tol' you t' come here," Brad said. "Thanks, Brad. I don't argue with the man who picks up the tab." "OK. See you t'morrow." TWO DAYS LATER Ginny, Peggy, Brad, Andy and Sean sat around the table in Ginny's conference room at her house. "Alright, boys!" Ginny said. "Here's where the rubber meets the road. We have the last poll here before election day." "OK," Sean said, "So whada we got?" "I can break it down in a minute, but I'll just give ya the big picture straight," Ginny said. "Andy, in your race, you poll at 62%. The Professor is at 34%, and the crazy woman is at 4%. The margin of error is 4%. You're gonna win." "Sounds bad for me, then..." Sean said. "Sean, you're not at 62%. Now, you have six opponents and Andy only has two. You weren't ever going to do as well." "Let's have it, then..." Sean said, growing mildly irritated. He'd put his heart and soul into this, and he wasn't used to losing. "OK, fine," Ginny said, arching one eyebrow. "You're polling 46%. That's under fifty, but the election is first-past-the-post for three seats. The next person to you, Hernandez from the Fourth Ward, is polling at 24%. I never expected you to win in the Fourth Ward anyway, but we'll just have to see how that comes out on Election Day. The third guy is at 13%, and then they kinda fall off from there. You are the runaway winner, Sean." "I wanted more than half. See, if I get more than half, then I can claim a mandate. If not, even if I win by a lot over everyone else, what people are gonna think is that I didn't get half, so most people don't agree with what I want to do." Ginny paused for a moment, appearing in thought. "Call me tomorrow at lunch," was all Ginny said. As soon as Sean left his last class before lunch the next day, he phoned Ginny. "Sean, after dinner tonight, you go to The Gazette website. That's all." "Um, OK." Sean said. "I'll do that..." Sean answered, knowing not to ask questions even though he didn't know for sure what Ginny was talking about, or why what she told him required a phone call. He knew better than to ask, but he did smirk and shake his head. The rest of the day passed quietly. At home after school, Sean finished up his homework, including some extra allowing him to stay a few days ahead, just in case. At once he remembered what Ginny said. "Hey, And!" Sean said, "C'mere once!" "What's up, Blondie?" "Ginny said for me to look at The Gazette website after dinner. Dunno why, but she's got something up her sleeve..." "OK, so let's check it out..." Sean pulled up The Gazette website on his Macbook Pro. "WHAT THE FUCK?" Sean exclaimed. "What is it?" Andy asked. "I'll read it to ya..." Sean answered. **** TWO CITY COUNCIL CANDIDATES DROP OUT In a surprise move, two of the seven City Council candidates abruptly pulled out of the race this afternoon. Sam Vickerman and Joyce Mar both told the Gazette that they were withdrawing their names from Tuesday's election and throwing their support behind upstart candidate, Sean Wyman. Vickerman told The Gazette that he didn't think he had enough support to win a seat in a crowded field and urged voters to go for Wyman because he felt Wyman could win and was the best choice. Mar echoed that, adding that Wyman's policies were pretty close to her own, but she thought Wyman more able to deliver. "I'm a housewife. He's a proven winner. If he wins a seat, I'll work with him any way I can. He's got my vote." Wyman could not be reached for comment. Wyman's Campaign manager, Bradley Fletcher, had no comment about the development noting Wyman "wants everyone's vote." **** "Jesus Christ!" Sean laughed. "What?" Andy asked. "Don'tcha see, Brown Eyes, Ginny probably put those two in as straw men in case at the end something extra was needed. It isn't really needed if I want a seat, but it probably is if I want over fifty percent of the vote, which I do. See, that housewife lady, if you remember in our poll she was at eight percent. I had forty-six, so if I get all her votes I'm at fifty-four. The other guy had five, I think. So, that's fifty-nine. I might not get all of `em, but I bet I get enough to get over fifty. I gotta have over fifty..." "You'll win a seat anyway, hun..." "Yeah, but, And.... I dunno how to put this, but I got ideas for our future, and this is just the start. I don't intend to get on that Council to be some kid that sits there like I'm still wet behind the ears. No. I mean to get on that Council to take it over. That's the first step. And to do that, I need over fifty. I get that, and they can't do shit without me. Ginny always did shit behind the scenes, and I get why she did it that way. Me? I intend to use power hidden in plain sight for a little while until I go into the background." Andy was somewhat taken aback. He saw for the first time Sean moving beyond just being the one out of their group willing and able to take over from Ginny to be, and Andy didn't really want to think about it that way, bordering on gangsterish. It didn't really bother him. Sean was no gangster, Andy knew, but he also knew Sean was smart, and if knowing the rules better than the next guy and being better prepared than the next guy got Sean where he wanted to be, well, so be it, and that's fair. At his apartment on Main Street, Brad packed for his trip to Madison. He was still happy at the prospect of seeing Brett, but maybe not so much Tim. Just then, his phone rang. "Yeah?" "Brad, Sean." "'Sup, boss..." "I fucking wish you'd stop calling me that! Anyway, I just wanted to say `nice job' with that Gazette Reporter today." "Yup." "Anyway, you have a good time in Madison this weekend. I'll be out on the streets up until the voting starts." "I know. Anyways, got question." "Shoot" Sean said. Sean said, by now used to Brad's verbal shorthand. "Like Brett, but don't think Tim like me." "Trust me, he likes you, Brad." "Hmmph." "He does. You know, Brad, Dix is basically shy. Anyway, wanna know something?" "Huh." "Would you fuck him?" "What? You mean Tim?" "I was speaking English, Brad... You can cut that crap with me, OK?" "Fine. I fuck him if he want. Ever one fuck me but I charge fer it. Hadda. Make no differnss. He want me t' fuck him, er what..." "Look, Brad, I know Dix better than anyone except Brett. If you wanna fuck him, just fuckin' ask him. He'd prolly be too shy to ask you, at least directly, and I know how you are with direct." "Yup." Sean laughed. "OK, bye, bud..." "OK, boss." `I wish he wouldn't call me that,' Sean thought. "What is this Brad fucking Dix shit?" Andy asked. "Tell ya later. Right now, we need to go read to our sons and get them in bed." "Yeah. It's funny, they're both almost starting to want to say words..." "I noticed that. And they don't like wearing diapers anymore, either, I don't think... Well, Mrs. Cheadle will have them shitting properly according to the book, I suppose..." "Ya think? OK, let's go..." Once in the Nursery, Sean and Andy were greeted by a stern-looking Mrs. Cheadle." "Sirs, so nice of you to be within a half hour of your time..." Mrs. Cheadle eyed them disapprovingly, as they were late. "I'm sorry we're late," Sean said. "Quite. And if I may be so impertinent, now is when they need your time more than when they were infants. They'll be walkin' before ya know it, Sirs." The twins burbled in their playpen hearing Sean and Andy's voices, smiling up at their dads. "See what I mean, Sirs? Those little ones, they live to see you!" "I want you to order training potties," Sean said. "Blimy! Did ya not think I already had shitters for `em, Sirs?" Mrs. Cheadle barked. "I bloody `ad `em before they were born! After this month's diapers, we'll be on to potty training. Some wait a lot longer, but with these two, Sirs, if I were to wager a Shilling, or two, I'd wager they'll walk and shite properly in a toilet at the same time, and not in too long, either. These two are quick for their age, they are." "Alright, well, we'll read to them now," Andy said. "Good night, Mrs. Cheadle." "Good night, Sirs." Sean and Andy each picked up one of the twins. Sean picked up Leonard and heard him blurt out "Da...da." When Andy picked up Joseph, he was greeted by "Pa...pa." "OK, so I guess I'm Dada, and you're Papa," Sean laughed. "Saves us the time figuring that one out..." "Dad and Pop when they're older?" "Guess so... So, what do we read tonight?" "The Jabberwocky. It's gibberish, but they won't know... Besides, it's fun to read." "That's fine. I'll get the book." Sean returned with the poetry book, handing it to Andy. "You read tonight, `Pop'" Laughing, Andy took the book and began. **** Jabberwocky By Lewis Carroll 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. **** The two little ones were fast asleep even before Andy finished the poem. Setting them down in their crib, Sean and Andy paused to look down at them and smile. "I love them so much, Brown Eyes... Look at them!" "I know. I do, too. I can't believe they've already said their first words... They're only ten months old!" "Yes, but remember what Madame Zastrow said. They have the gift. Maybe they just absorb shit, I dunno... They'll be handfuls once they start walking and running..." "We'll have to keep an eye on them, that's for sure..." "That's one reason I'm not going to college. Only one of us can, at least for the next little while." "OK, well, let's get to bed, Blondie. We got a huge next few days before Tuesday, ya know..." "Yeah, and Brad's gone this weekend. That's fine, he's earned it..." "I'll betcha something..." "What..." "I'll betcha ten bucks Brad fucks Dix and Brett fucks Brad." "Not taking that bet." "Why not?" "Fine, it's a bet, then. I'll lose. Let's go to bed. I want your pecker in my butt." Saturday and Sunday saw Andy and Sean hitting the streets, making last minute rounds of door knocking in neighborhoods where the polls told them they were running weakest. Both got reasonably good receptions from the people they met. Sean had one middle-aged lady invite him in for a beer. Against his better judgment, he accepted, and it turned out that all she wanted to do was talk to him, for which Sean got a good laugh and extracted a promise from her to call all her friends and get them lined up. "You don't seem like some snotty East Side brat. I kinda like you, Sonny..." "Ma'am, I'm just a guy like any other guy. I have the chance to do this now, and why not? If I didn't, then I might look back ten, twenty years from now and regret it. I don't think I'm too young for this. Do you?" "No, Sonny, no I don't. I was your age when I had my first kid. Moved into this house two years after that. Bought it with a mortgage on it for $175 a month. That was a lot of money back then. I know you don't think so, but it was. Anyway, we paid it off. Husband and I worked down to the plant. Raised three kids in this house. They're grown and gone now... I retired last year. No, no you're not too young. More people your age should be go getters like you. Want another cold one?" "Thanks, Ma'am, but I need to go knock on some more doors. And I probably shouldn't smell like a brewery." "Well, thanks for talking to an old lady. I hope you win!" "I intend to, Ma'am." Andy's day was less eventful, and he knocked off before Sean did ad he felt he had done all he could do, and he was reasonably sure he was set fair to win his race. On Monday morning at 10:00 Sean and Andy left school and headed downtown for an interview on WCLO, the AM talk radio station in town. Their interview was scheduled to air right in advance of the Rush Limbaugh show which was the highest ratings show of the day. They scheduled it at that time in order to be sure of bringing in the maximum number of listeners. They hadn't gone into the interview blind. Sean and Andy took a page out of Coach Slater's playbook and the questions asked by the radio show host were pre-approved by both of them. In addition, Brad and Peggy got people lined up to call in and ask specific questions. Between them, Sean and Andy had a short discussion as to whether, or not, that somehow might be considered if not cheating to be a bit underhanded. "Oh hell no," Andy said, "you think every politician doesn't do that? It doesn't matter anyway, all we were ever gonna say was to repeat stuff from our platforms. Getting a few set-up questions is no big deal. Only a fool would go in blind, especially us because it was our first time!" "Yup," Sean said. "You're getting like Brad!" Andy laughed. "Where is he, anyway? I haven't heard from him since he left for Madison! I mean, he's gotta be back, right?" "I dunno, he's YOUR campaign manager..." "Oh, well, it doesn't matter. He worked his ass off. Whatever happens, happens." Tuesday morning dawned with the atmosphere at school almost as if it was the day of a football Homecoming game. One of the gyms at school was a polling place, and the reports Sean and Andy were getting from fellow students were that a lot of people were coming in, and that almost every student who was eighteen had already voted. The rest of the day went by as fast as molasses. Sean and Andy were nervous. Underneath the nervousness, they were both confident, but the strain of not knowing lurked in the background. Once the day was done, they decamped to the Italian restaurant to hang out with the other students and just pass the time. The returns wouldn't start to come in until after nine o'clock that night. Once home, they relieved Mrs. Cheadle for a while so they could play with Joey and Lennie. They asked Mrs. Cheadle to bring dinner for the tots, and that they would feed them. By that time, maybe, they'd have time for their own dinner and to get ready for the election returns. They were expecting Ginny that night, as well as Peggy and Brad, although Sean had still not heard from Brad. "Where the hell is Brad?" Sean asked. "You miss him?" Andy snarked. "Fuck off. I just figured he'd be here... I mean, you know..." "He'll be here." No sooner had Andy said that than the front gate bell rang. Sean glanced at the monitor, and sure enough it was Brad. "Jesus Christ, And, wouldja look at what he's wearing?" "You sure that's Brad?" "Yes. The shirt has a button collar, but it's not buttoned. No one else but Brad..." Sean buzzed Brad in and told him to come upstairs to the nursery. "You gonna ask him where he was?" Andy asked. "What good will it do? I'd only get a one-word answer that didn't mean anything concrete..." "I bet I can get him to say!" "Betcha can't, Brown Eyes. Betcha can't get him to say three words. How much you wanna bet, anyway?" "Ten bucks!" "You're on!" Brad strolled into the room dressed, unusually for him, in chinos with a leather belt, an Oxford shirt and wearing a pair of penny loafers with Argyle socks. "What the fuck happened to you?" Sean gawked. "look at those fuckin' clothes! And button those collar buttons, for God's sake!" "Yeah, since when do they carry those clothes at the Dollar Store?" Andy teased. "Anyhow, Brad, where ya been? Ya gotta tell me, now..." "Yeah, besides, me and Sean-o got a bet. He says I can't get you to say three words. I say I can..." "You lose," Brad deadpanned. Andy sputtered. Sean guffawed. Brad didn't react at all, unless one was sharp enough to notice just the slightest, almost imperceptible, upturn in the right-hand corner of his mouth. "So?" Sean said, looking at Brad. "Get back a hour ago. Wanna play with Joey and Lennie right now." With that, Brad sat down on the floor, his long arms gathering up some toys. Sean couldn't argue, as Brad had become almost as much of an Uncle to his sons as John was. Joey and Lennie smiled and burbled around Brad. He talked to them and showed them how to do things with their toys, waiting patiently while they tried to imitate him, each one watching the other. A time, or two, Mrs. Cheadle complained that Brad spent so much time with Joey and Lennie that it might as well be Joey and Lennie running his campaign. Sean remembered one conversation in particular. Mrs. Cheadle complained about Brad's parsimony of speech. "That bloke, oh, `e talks to the little ones alright, `e does! Regular feckin' chatterbox `e is with them, but me? I'da bloody thought I might as well have the bloody plague! One word and that's the lot! Maybe a grunt! `e's a right special one, `e is..." "He's very sweet," Sean said. "Aye, that `e is now... But `e's still a Farthing short of a Quid, Sir..." "He all that, Mrs. Cheadle," Sean laughed. "Well, Sean-o," Andy said, bringing Sean back to the present, "Let's go down to the kitchen and get a sandwich. Ginny and Peggy should be over in a few, and we should have stuff ready for them. Don't be too long now, Brad. We'll send Mrs. Cheadle up." "Hmmph," Brad said. "Sergeant Cheadle. That fine... I be down when she come. Want ten minutes." Half an hour later, assembled in the Alamo's bar were Sean, Andy, Brad, Joe Wyman, Peggy and George Dickson and Ginny. Sean acted as bartender, making sure Ginny had her usual Glenfiddich and water, Joe, George and Peggy he plied with his own interpretation of a Brandy Old Fashioned for which he made the bar syrup infused with ginger root, lime peel and cloves, drafts of the local Gray's Oatmeal Stout for himself and Andy, and a 16-ounce can of PBR for Brad, as Brad drank his beer from the can. "Alright, boys!" Ginny said. "In about ten minutes the polls close. Just so ya know, I've been in contact with the County Clerk's office and I instructed them that the first returns we want to see are from the 4th Ward, the 8th and the 17th." "What's the logic?" Sean asked. "Fourth Ward is heavily Mexican. That's more important to Sean's race. Now, I expect Hernandez to win there because he lives in the 4th, and he's Mexican. But, and here's where it gets interesting, that Ward Hernandez should win with 70-80% of the vote, easy. If it's much less than that, and if Sean's a strong second, then that's good. If it doesn't turn out that way, then it could be a long night. The 8th Ward is a typical South Side Ward. Neither of you guys are from there. It's a basic, white lower-middle-class blue-collar Ward. It'll gauge your performance elsewhere on the South Side and the West Side. The 17th is your typical white middle-class East Side Ward. Lots of young families, older people who've lived there their whole lives, and some young professionals. The 17th is gonna tell us how you'll run on the East Side. Now, the East Side is as big as the South and West Sides put together, so if we're good elsewhere and strong in the 17th, we're home free." "Makes sense to me!" Andy said. "Fourth be OK," Brad said. "OK, turn on the TV will ya?" Joe motioned to Sean. Sean turned on the television behind the bar and tuned in the local public service cable station. A commercial was on. Then another one. And another one. "Jesus Christ!" Sean laughed. "I wish they'd cut to the action!" Finally, the local Gazette newsman came on, as the station's news was affiliated with the newspaper. " "Good evening, Janesville! Polls are closing all across town at this time. Our lead story is there have been reports of voting irregularity in some areas of the City, primarily concentrated in the Fourth Ward. Lines of people showing up close to closing time have complained to officials that at least two polling places have run out of ballots. Election officials are seeking a Court Order to allow polls to remain open. We'll be back when there's word on that." "What the hell?" Sean said. "Don't worry," Ginny replied. "All of the polling places got more ballots than they have voters, so if they ran out, there's people showing up to vote who shouldn't be. I'd expect the Judge to pretty much say that. How the Judge will rule, I have no idea." "We have word now from the Rock County Courthouse," the newsman piped up. "Judge Walter Koenig issued this ruling seconds ago. Polls will remain open for an additional thirty minutes in order to allow anyone in line at the usual closing time to vote. This will apply in all Wards of the City, not just the Fourth." "I guess that's OK," Sean said. "If it turns out not to be, we'll ask for the Fourth Ward to be recounted," George said. "If the 4th comes back with more votes than they have registered voters it's a slam dunk to get a recount." "This is worse than campaigning!" Sean rolled his eyes. "It always goes like this. Don't believe me? Call the Speaker and ask him..." Ginny laughed. Forty-five minutes later, after trying valiantly to fill dead air space, the newsman had something interesting to say. "Ladies and gentlemen, our first results are in. And they're from the Fourth Ward where all the commotion earlier was. As results come in, we will put the charts on the screen so our viewers at home can keep score. In the School Board race, Andrew Churchill, in the 4th Ward, has 641 votes out of 1,019 votes cast. His closest opponent has 282. In the City Council race... END CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX