Republican Council Member Max Morano was working late at the office—late for him—when he heard the news of the jury’s verdict in the case against his party’s candidate for President.
“Perversion of justice,” he yelled to everyone and no one.
The door flew open and Irma Jansen, his chief of staff, said, “What do you expect from perverts? And they suckered a jury into swallowing it.”
Max made a retching sound before saying, “What do you expect from a bunch of arrogant New Yorkers? We need to tell the world what a travesty those Democrats have inflicted on our country.”
“You mean tell the 40% of the world who listens to us,” Irma said, more her contained self now. “We’re not going to change any minds.”
But an idea had formed in Max’s brain. On his smartphone, he punched: “D.A. made up crime to prosecute Once and Future President. Manipulated twelve jurors into believing it. Country going to DOGS—Democrats, Ogres, Gremlins and S**t.”
“Let me see that before you press ‘Send,’” Irma demanded.
He turned his phone toward her.
“Must you with the obscenity?” she said.
“It isn’t spelled out.”
“Nothing you propose is spelled out, but that isn’t the point. Even today’s two-year-olds know what those two asterisks are hiding.”
“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing back his phone and slamming his thumb into “Send” as if forcing a hole through it.
* * *
“We’ve unnerved him,” Democratic Council Member Gavin Kane gleefully told his chief of staff, Tina Millette. “Look at this.”
Tina read Morano’s latest blast. “Annoyed him, that’s for sure,” she said.
Gavin said, “The ex-President bribed a couple of women to keep their mouths shut so he wouldn’t risk losing the election. What more is there to say?”
“People like Morano don’t believe the criminal charges had anything to do with the prostitute.”
“Then what was she doing on the witness stand telling the world what a pathetic lover the big baby is?”
“What they got him on was falsifying records. Morano claims the records don’t link to the accusation that gets all the publicity.”
“Why else was he falsifying records unless it was to hide his dalliance?”
“Well, it isn’t a crime anymore to cuddle up with a prostitute,” Tina said.
“Maybe not in the view of the law, but in public opinion it’s a big downer.”
She grimaced. “As you should know.”
Gavin groaned. “Don’t go there, please.”
“Just saying. And you shouldn’t go here, either.”
“Somebody has to contradict this Morano clown.”
“Really, let it go. Only the usual people are listening to him, and only the usual people will listen to you.”
“Plus the undecideds,” Gavin said.
Tina sighed. “Do the undecideds read tweets? They don’t waste their time on politics.”
“Go home, Tina. I’ll handle this.”
“That makes me nervous.”
But she got up. At the door, she turned. “This should be a solemn moment. Instead, it’s melodrama.” She left without waiting for a response.
* * *
“Country rises to occasion. The justice system finally catches up with lying, sexist, self-pitying ex-President.”
After reading idiot Gavin Kane’s tweet, Morano stood at the window and looked out onto a fine spring evening. People dashing around without winter coats and hats. Ironic that on a glittering day of renewal, America should convict an ex-president for the first time and do so wrongly.
“Thirty nothingburgers make a felony?” he muttered. “I don’t think so.”
Back at his desk, he wrote: “Who hasn’t made a record-keeping mistake? Democrat Gavin Kane thinks we should all go to prison, except him of course, and he makes more mistakes than anyone in history.”
* * *
“I make more mistakes than anyone in history?” Gavin Kane spluttered. “Sounds like he gets his stats from the ex-President’s corrupt accountant.”
“He’s exaggerating to make a point,” Tina said.
“That’s the problem with this whole MAGA thing. Exaggerate, lie—whatever it takes to inflame voters.”
“You don’t exaggerate or lie?” she said.
“Not like that.”
“True,” Tina said, adopting the voice of reason. “But we Democrats do it enough to give them the excuse that they’re no different from us.”
“You’re saying it’s all relative.”
“I’m saying they’re very good at making us look as bad as they are.”
At least, Gavin, thought, she’d included herself in “us.” For once, it wasn’t a potshot at him.
With her approval, he sent out his reply: “Justice system works. Proves no one above the law. No lie.”
* * *
Max said, “You can’t say the justice system worked when the charges were phony and Democrats rigged the show.”
“I agree,” Irma said.
“Then why am I picking up hesitation in your voice?”
“Democrats also prosecute their own. There’s that New Jersey senator and the current President’s own son.”
“Those guys are criminals. Lock’em up. Lock’em up for life. They’re destroying America.”
“I suppose you’re going to tweet that to Kane.”
“Better believe it.”
* * *
Kane seethed as he read Morano’s latest salvo.
“Once and Future President maybe made mistakes. Current President’s son was drug addict who lied on gun application and got millions of dollars with daddy’s influence.”
Like Morano, Gavin liked to gaze out his window to let his mind meander into thought. He was exultant that the justice system had caught up with the ex-President at long last. It was a plausible legal theory, and twelve objective jurors had endorsed it. If you falsify records to hide an encounter with a prostitute, and you fear that the encounter could cost you an election, you’re guilty of misleading the American people into voting for you.
He liked that argument. As good as anything Tina could come up with. Or up with which Tina could come. Oh, how he wished he could get it up with her… Stop right there!
The problem was that pathetic son. Why had fate killed the President’s war hero son while the drug-abusing, honesty-challenged son survived, maybe wishing he hadn’t? Whatever, the President’s surviving son was going to trial, and, though he’d never admit it to anyone but Tina, Gavin believed him guilty.
“What do I do with that?” he asked, after summoning her to his office and pointing at Morano’s latest salvo on his smartphone’s screen.
“Let it go.”
“These days you’re always telling me to let it go.”
“That’s because I’m wise.”
“And I’m an idiot?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Comforting.”
“Look,” she said, sitting forward, “The conviction stands for itself. The less you say about it, the less political it gets.”
“What bothers me is that damn son.”
“All the more reason to let it go.”
“Between ourselves, how do I reconcile my belief that the ex-President is a common crook when I also believe our current President’s son is, too?”
“You’ve just explained the difference.”
“Have I?” Gavin sat back and smiled.
“The ex-President is running for office. The President’s son isn’t.”
“And he’d better never try.”
“That’s the point. Just like the ex-President should bow out now that he’s a convicted felon. Republicans call themselves the law and order party. Once, it would have been the first thing Morano said—‘You’re a convicted criminal. Drop out.’”
“I gotta tweet that back at him.”
“Please don’t. No matter how true, arguing over this will only muddy things.”
But she knew better.
With the door shut behind her, Gavin pulled out Libby, the remarkable gadget that embodied the living Constitution.
“Libby,” he said, “there’s no way you’d let a convicted crook become President, right?”
The device stayed silent and dark.
“Libby, I apologize. That was a confrontational question. Let me put it this way. Does a felony conviction bar someone from taking office as President?”
Gavin studied the image of Lady Liberty in New York Bay. How could a statue look warm and severe at the same time? How could a person?
At last a glimmer of green light showed Libby had deigned to listen.
“That isn’t one of the conditions specifically listed for a President,” she said.
“You mean—strike that. Okay, what conditions must a presidential candidate satisfy?”
“They must be at least thirty-five years old.”
“I remember that one.”
“They must be a ‘natural born’ US citizen, and they must have lived in this country for at least fourteen years.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“But what if it’s been shown they’re a spy for a foreign government?”
The green light blinked, as if Libby were shrugging.
“Okay, what if they’re a convicted child molester?”
For once, Libby gave him a break. “Article V tells you what matters.”
“And what matters,” Gavin said tentatively, “is fitness for the office.”
“That’s one broad generalization you could make.”
Gavin probed further. “And loyalty to the country.”
“Loyalty to the Constitution.”
“Which means to you.”
That did it. Libby, despite being the living Constitution, hated to get personal. The green aura went away.
Even though she wouldn’t be listening, Gavin said, “Sorry. You’d think I’d know better by now.”
Gavin tweeted: “Candidate for President must be fit for office and loyal to Constitution. Disloyal to deceive American people.”
To which, predictably, Morano replied: “Democrat Gavin Kane says it’s loyal to manipulate law to compromise candidate for President.”
Exasperated, accepting for once that there was no reasoning with moron Morano, Gavin resorted to: “Manipulate schmanipulate!!!”
* * *
Not knowing she was giving the exact same advice Gavin Kane’s chief of staff gave him, Irma told Max, “Let it go. That was the stupidest tweet Kane has ever sent.”
“It’s a low bar.”
“There’s no reasoning with him,” she said, also not knowing this was the same advice Kane was giving himself.
Max mused over Kane’s mindless “Manipulate schmanipulate.” Easing back in his chair, he said, “Irma, this time, I just might let it go.”
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