The Graveyard

The Lair Of Gary James

NaNoWriMo: Political Suicide

Posted by BigWords on November 7, 2009

The cameraman looked over to the press publicity agent and shook his head. Things were getting worse rather than better, and Leukman’s grimace displayed more affinity for rigormortis than voter sympathies. His mood was deteriorating at a rapid rate, aided by alcohol and pills.
“Are we done?”
“One more run-through and we’ll be done.”
“This is uckingfay ridiculous.”
“I apologize sir, there are…” The publicity officer searched for the appropriate words to use, careful not to upset the vice president any further. “Technical issues we have to resolve.”
“Etgay on ithway it.”
The vice president’s comm beeped. Looking down at the device in his hand, Leukman’s smile grew into a broad and real grin. “I have to take this in private.”
The secret service agent assigned to Leukman knew better than to intrude on his private moments, a lesson clearly learned when he shot the previous agents assigned to him.
Closing his office door behind him, he threw the comm across the room onto his chair. From his inside pocket emerges a silver flask filled with his imbibement of the moment, greedily raised to his lips The comm, Leukman remembered, the comm had a message on it. Sauntering over to the table he switched the monitor on and plugged in the comm. Reading off such a small screen had become increasingly difficult over the previous year, nearly corresponding to the level of alcohol that he was consuming.
The message appeared on screen as soon as he pressed the display button.

:: LOL! M4dc4t dr1v3r. $catch$ linky ::
:: W00t!!! plz c0pee ::

For a moment he didn’t know whether to delete the message or open the attachment, but always the eternal optimist Leukman hoped a political supporter had sent him some porn in appreciation of the stellar work he had been doing.
“To the otersvay, I alutesay.” He swigged from the hip flask again, absent-mindedly flicking at the keyboard to initiate the attachment. The monitor flickered, turned black, then began playing the video file.

As soon as the screaming and yelling began, the secret service agent was in the room. Leukman had placed the flask on the table in front of him and was head butting the top of the flask, driving the screwtop of it deep into his eye socket with every thrust, the deathly grin sculpted permanently onto his face. Maniacal laughter filled the room.
The agent held him back, but the politician writhed uncontrollable. His head bucking, smashing against the agent’s face.
“Astardbay, astardbay, astardbay…”

####

Adway sat, watching the streaming broadcast, stunned.
“Vice President Willem Leukman died at five pm eastern standard time from a massive brain hemorrhage. The President gave his condolences to supporters of the firebrand politician at a press conference a little over an hour ago. Close friends of The vice president have added their voices to his campaign for tighter regulation of information available over the data network, whilst opponents say that his death has given legitimacy to his fears that freedom of information has gone too far. More news on this subject every five minutes on KC-36.
“Do you want to know more? Our multimedia stre-”

Realizing detective Connell was standing behind him, Adway nodded towards the screen. “Did you hear? Leukman passed away nice and gently.”
“Yeah. I heard it just fine.”
“So tell me… How much do you owe me?”
Connell began counting out notes. “Jeez. What are the odds he wouldn’t have been shot in the face. I thought it was a sure-fire thing.”
“There are no sure-fire’s, and you ought to know that by now.”

####

Charlie stood on the roof of the Lucky H, watching clouds roll lazily across the sky beyond the tops of the buildings surrounding the former bar. Beside him, kneeling either side, were two men bearing rifles against attack from anyone foolish enough to try and assassinate him. The madness of the past few weeks had to come to an end, but he needed – more than anything else – to be at the old bar one last time before it was demolished.
“I grew up here,” He pronounced to nobody in particular. Awareness of his solitude in such a crowded city did not prevent him from seeking reassurance. “This was the centre of the world, and the place I was reborn.”
Cyia stepped from the roof access, nervously looking around the buildings overlooking the bar. “Sir, we ought to be getting back before nightfall.”
“When is the demolition scheduled for?”
“Six in the morning, but I strongly suggest that yo-”
“I’ll wait a bit longer.”

####

Talos stretched out across the network, soaking up the reaction to the death of the vice president, planting enough seeds so that the proper authorities could – if they had enough of a push – make the connection between the two meme deaths. Fragments of code laid out like breadcrumbs for a lost child to follow in the night. His grand scheme, for so long a mystery even to himself, was beginning to coalesce into a solid concept. The details were still uncertain, especially when he tried to access information on who could have planted such thoughts so deep into his operating system, but he understood enough to begin preparing for every eventuality.

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