Chapter 33 - Art IV
I teased my artist dude friend, that his project manager had duties that a whole lot more closely resembled that of an assistant. It was really something, once he had the arm and leg re-bar bones welded and bent to his will. His stoic Greek cum Roman heroic pose.
Nearer to the end, as he sent his progress pictures and videos from his phone in to show how his work was going. He got letterhead that said "Private Citizens for Governor Basey", and noted it to me. It was who he now knew after looking around on the internet, who the statue was commissioned for.
As project manager, I asked where this big heavy thing was going to be when it was done. There was a strip of highway, and it had signs on it for a couple miles, all along the short length of it. You can buy this mile of highway, for this much. As the so called project manager? I dutifully emailed things in.
The short stretch of 4 lane highway, was made to alleviate longer trips and travel times. An abandoned project of some kind or another, had left regularly spaced out cement bases. They were just off of the shoulder, on this short piece of highway. The last and biggest of the series, these cement base things? Was near the bridge there. The entire short highway, had been carved out of rock and a small mountain. This being the foothills of the Alleghenies and all.
Governor Basey was by now more properly referred to as the former Governor Basey. Not that he hadn't lost elections before and bounced back to be governor again. He was capable of it. But at the moment, he was sitting out at least one term.
When the papers got a whiff that the former governor Basey was having a statue dedicated to him, well, that whole end of things just goes by itself.
When my buddy was done with the giant re-bar bone frame-worked clay statue, he took what did seem like forever. Going over it for detail. He did go with corduroy, and he patiently ran combs down to create the fibers. He said he was taking artistic license, and making the male figure more heroic looking than he was in real life. It was a style.
Finally though, done was in no way done. Next, this was just what the mold got made out of. He had me help him cover it with a thin coat of goo. We added to it regularly, sleeping and working in short little shifts, so as to constantly be adding, while it tacked up. When he had it thicker than he needed and more, he called it quits.
He took a regular felt tip marker, and made random marks every so often. Then? He cut along those spots. When he was done, he was in no way concerned with the injury of cutting into what the mold had under it. This was new, the clay sculpture was all-important up until now.
We carefully peeled the thick silicone mold off.
I built a stout wooden framed box around it, and we packed it in wet sand. This allowed us to align the two part mold up perfectly and keep it there against any pouring and all that. I had giant tow straps up and down the wood box, securing it. We took turns hauling 5 gallon containers of resin with the highest weight metal per gallon you could purchase, and dumping it in.
It was a rush to split the mold many days later, and go through the laborious process of peeling it back and off. Gleaming metal, but sealed at the height of its shine and luster in clear epoxy. I had to admit, it was striking.
Another wood box built tight around that, allowed for the clear resin pour, that sealed the whole thing in. I constructed it with gaskets and it could pull a couple pounds of vacuum to bring up all the bubbles and make it clear as crystal after hand rubbing it with wet sanding.
A tarp was tied around it, and it was tow strapped to a small flatbed that delivered it to its cement dais and plopped it on it, amid a short comedy of hand signals.
Sealed with a thick tarp and gigantic plastic zip ties, it waited only for unveiling.
Once the governor became the former governor? Anything that got him some face time and made him look good while doing it, was a cinch it was effective bait. Heroic statue, doesn't cost him a dime. Great. The citizens wanted to get together and thank him in this way? Again, wonderful.
I rarely follow much in the way of politics, and even less of the elections themselves. I did, however, watch the former governor become just that. I took a great personal satisfaction, knowing I was more than likely the reason his couple million dollar 23rd hour wonder gift didn't arrive.
But technically, me, personally? Publicly, no one thinks anything is amiss between me and the former governor. Finally, and my artist friend was about going to burst, I think. The day arrived. There had been a short practice with the media. The statue itself? The one hand stretches artfully up and off. The other, more or less seems to want to hold your hand while it takes you on its heroic pose.
The cement dais its mounted on, leaves only room for one person to stand on the cement landing at once. He's loving how it looks as if a heroic version of himself, is holding his hand and taking him on some heroic journey. My buddy is an accomplished artist, he made this possible.
Me and the artist are standing around. There's a "Citizens for Governor Basey" banner strung up. We're about all done, getting the standing next to each other pictures and video clips. Next up, is former asshole's solo shot posing with the statue.
I nudged the state cop nearest me.
"Hey, buddy."
"Yeah."
"We're right next to that guardrail, there."
"We are."
"You, uh, care really? If I went over there, over that guardrail, maybe disappeared and took a morning squirt. I drank a lot of coffee this morning, if that helps any."
He chuckled and shook his head no.
"Go take a piss. I don't care."
I ambled over the side of the guardrail. There was an underpass near here, and I disappeared carefully over the rather steep hillside, my trusty cell phone in my hands. I did in fact, take a piss. I made a call on a cell phone, let it ring, and got no answer. I immediately took the cheap phone's battery out, and threw the battery and the phone body in two different directions after wrenching them down to as many pieces as I could and broke them down further over rocks that were everywhere on the hillside. Before physical destruction, I tapped an app to life. Its called "FoneChernobyl". Its what it sounds like. The app overwrites all storage and memory with random nonsense. A brick would be about as useful as this phone and that was before disintegrating it. If an investigator noticed it? A phone had been run over on the highway, and rainwater had washed the pieces into the rocks.
I heard noises from the crowd up and back over me, then I felt as much as heard explosions. A seemingly well coordinated series of explosions. The first was far away, then an ever so short delay before the next. Tiny delay, next explosion. They got louder as they got closer, one after another. They were going off on both sides of the highway, coming in.
The effect was rather like watching an old war movie. The little army plane is centering up on its little dive run. Machine guns blazing coming in? That was the pattern of big explosions slowly working down the big man made stone valley this road was made out of.
A giant local boom was last. The statue lifted up some it seemed like, but just an inch or so, before it settled.
There was complete pandemonium, when I crept back up and over the guardrail once more. There was still fine dust and sand and things settling down in waves from the blasts. I found Artist Dude bent over, hands over his ears and the back of his head. Looking around, was it all over. I ran over to him, yelling.
"The hell's going on!"
"Something exploded!"
People were still screaming, when me and him ran over towards where our car was parked. We certainly weren't the only people stampeding away. As the artist and his project manager slash assistant, we were parked quite nearby. That meant that everyone else nearly, was behind us. The last in line left first, and so on. First in, last out. We got to leave almost last, as our present for being so important. Cars just went both ways in an explosion of movement down the parking line on our side of the road.
Oncoming traffic wasn't first consulted before parked people were doing wild U-turns in front of highway speed traffic racing to perfectly legal green lights at perfectly legal highway speeds. It was complete pandemonium to say the least. Horns blared, tires squealed and screeched. Engines revved and everyone screamed at one another. It was every man for himself, was what it appeared to be. Police in uniform, men in suits, women dressed for both on and off television got knocked down in the mad scramble. Every person was equal that way. Uniformed police trying like hell to play "traffic cop" looked like statues with a stampede milling around them. Cars took off such that about half of them were going the wrong way up the highway. You would have thought surely someone died, got injured, or at least one good pile up wreck. I learned later that nothing like that happened.
We made it back to his studio, and my real cellphone got great reception there. I had donated an old 32" flat screen TV I didn't need to the clubhouse theme of his workshop. I screen cast to the TV off of my cell phone. We watched breaking news now, on the big TV.
We couldn't believe it. Early reports? Were about explosions, and that the former governor had been apparently shot with an arrow. The rest was speculations, until more information came out. We were both riveted to watching the news on this. Go figure.
My buddy was suddenly downcast. I asked what gives.
"You think this affects me... being an artist?"
"Well, how does it make you not an artist."
"No. This commission? Was going to change my life, dude."
I shrugged.
"Statue's still there. You can still point at it. Hey, see that thing? I made that."
My buddy was talking about calming down, and I saw him reaching to get us a puff of pot.
"Hey. If I had to guess? I'd hide that, and not have anything in your pockets."
"Why?"
"Explosions. They're saying on the news? The former governor is dead. I'd say the smart money is on... me and you? Spend a whole day at the police station."
"The hell did we do."
"Nothing. I know that. You know that. The police know that too? But they have to do something. And something? Will be talking to everybody that was there, for a day or two."
"I guess you're probably right on that."
I looked around his studio.
"I'm thinking they'll end up here, eventually. We should make sure we didn't leave a bag of weed or a pipe laying anywhere."
"So what if I did. What the hell did I pay for a pot card for, and go through the hassle to get a prescription. Its so I don't have to throw my stash away every time I see a damn cop."
I shook my head.
"Tell you what. You leave your shit out in the open. Me? I'm going to hide mine outside somewhere. If I had to guess, I'd say this place will get hit with a search warrant."
He looked at me.
"Hell. How would they even know where this place is."
I thought about it.
"If you don't tell them? They might not."
He calculated.
"Like they're not going to ask me, where I worked on the statue at."
"That's them asking. Its on you, if you answer any of their questions. Me? I won't answer if my name and address are spelled right."
My artist friend rolled his eyes.
"Oh, great. You would pick now. To pull your whole, piss the cops off shit you put through you sometimes."
"That's fair. But, you didn't go through what I had to go through. I was in shock, finding... you know what I found, that day. And... they wouldn't let me go to the bathroom, and I pissed myself. And, they're trying to put words in my mouth, to say I did it. No. You can do whatever you want, but I don't answer any questions. Period. I'm not going through that shit twice."
"Oh. They're just going to love you, down at the station."
"If you start talking? About anything. You'll be there, forever. Now. Me? Once they figure out I'm serious about the no talking thing, I figure I get cut loose quicker."
"Aw, man. If you're going to pull that kind of shit on them, its going to rub off on me."
"My crystal ball says, we'll be in separate rooms anyways. You want the entire playbook?"
"Sure."
"Whatever gets you talking. Good cop, getting you coffee, laughing at all your jokes. If it gets you talking? Yeah. Bad cop. You know, he's always just about to... but he never does. They like to poke you with their fingers, grab you by the shirt. See if they can get a rise out of you. Barring all that?"
"Yeah."
"They'll send someone in to whisper to your guy? Its an act. He'll say I just spilled my guts, now's your chance to get the jump on me spilling, and you get the deal instead of me."
"What are you going to spill. How many gallons of modeling clay we went through? What."
I chuckled.
"That's just what they'll say, seeing if you know anything. Now. If you refuse to answer any questions, no matter how innocent? What's the whole point of keeping you."
He sighed.
"You do your thing. I'll do mine."
I waited.
"Maybe we ought to go make ourselves available. To the police."
"Hmm. Get it out of the way. I mean, if I'm babysitting? I don't want them taking the kids anywhere."
We couldn't actually reach the scene itself, they had that whole section of road closed. We tried the local police who had jurisdiction over the dirt we were standing on. No one at the station, hell, they were probably all on scene anyways. And we couldn't get to the scene. I just drove us to the local state police barracks. Its who I figured would be handling it anyways.
We walked in the barracks, and there was a flurry of activity in the back. I tapped on what strongly resembled aquarium glass.
"Yeah?"
"Figured we'd stop in if anyone wanted to talk to us."
"Sir? If its not real important? We're really busy right now, you honestly have no idea."
I winked at my buddy.
"My crystal ball says, you guys are handling the whole former governor thing? I can't picture the locals are going to be investigating something that big."
"Do you have some connection, to..."
I pointed at my buddy.
"He's the artist that made the statue, that they were dedicating. We were standing right there, when shit went crazy. I just figured, someone would want to talk to us."
"You know what? You sound like possible material witnesses, to me..."
He pressed a button and the loud buzzer sounded. We walked in the back.
"You guys don't have any guns or anything like that on you."
My buddy shook his head no. I shrugged when he pointed at me.
"Left mine out in the car. Figured you guys already had enough guns."
He cracked a smile, as he caught the joke.
It didn't take long. A guy in a suit who looked worn and haggard stopped at us.
"Witnesses?"
My buddy looked at me, and started in.
"I'm the artist. I made the statue. I was standing right near the guy."
Suit nodded.
"And him?"
My buddy shrugged.
"Project manager."
Suit nodded again.
"Tell you what. Hold on a second..."
We got split up, quick. Once the split occurs, I naturally have no idea what goes on, from Artist Dude's viewpoint. My relationship with my suit went downhill fast. I have a non drivers license ID as well as all the usual ID cards. I just flipped him my plain ID. That way, if he keeps it? He's not holding my license.
I went through no end of little games that they played. Good cop, bad cop, and must have been six or seven other cop games. Variations off of the basic themes, I suppose. After a couple hours, I picked out one of the polite cops rotating in and out on me.
"So. I pick you, to talk a little bit to."
"Really? Why me."
"You're polite. Polite? Goes a long way with me."
"Well. What is it."
"Can I have my laptop back?"
"I wasn't aware you came in with a laptop, but, if you need it so you c---"
"No. I left it at the scene. By the time I remembered and wanted to go back? They shut the road off."
"You won't answer any questions, but... your laptop."
With a perfectly straight face, I went through with it.
"Yep."
"Give me a minute, would you?"
He was gone more than a minute. Another suit came back with him.
"What's with you. Seriously."
I clammed up. I didn't like his tone. My suit disappeared with him, and they were back quickly. They both sat down. I have to guess, but given how the suit with the tone, lost his tone after his little pow wow? I bet my suit explained to him. I'm not talking, but if you're not polite? I literally won't speak.
"Sir. Can you appreciate, the position we're in here."
"I'm not a cop, let alone a state cop. I could probably appreciate something best? If you told me exactly what it was."
"You. Seem like a reasonably bright guy. If you won't really talk to me right now? Fine. I'll talk to you. How would that be."
I shrugged.
"Great. I have good news, and I have bad news. You want the good news first?"
"Sure."
"The governor? Isn't dead."
"And, the bad news."
"The last governor? He's dead. Now then. Do you know what makes this such a hot potato right this very second? Cause I can tell you that one."
I upended my palms at him. By all means, go ahead. If I refuse to answer any real questions, and they continue to talk? I gain some possible knowledge, while they gain none.
"Here's what's on everyone's mind, and why people are shitting their pants. What if it was the sitting governor, who had a statue dedication ceremony. Now, as I asked before. Can you appreciate the position that we're all in."
"Again. By we, you mean all you state cops. Got nothing to do with me. I just want my laptop back."
"Is there any particular reason you won't answer any questions? Because, all the other witnesses. And there's plenty, you know. And you know what? You know that, yourself. Why? Because I'm watching camera footage of all this. I know you, from watching the tapes. You were right there. I just don't understand why you won't talk to us."
"Well. You are polite. And, as I told this guy here. Polite? Goes a long way with me. Now. Here's the deal. Its a matter of public record. A certain number of years ago. I was engaged to be married. To a real nice girl. Things were just starting to go perfect, you know? Anyways. I guess some... serial killer wacko blows through the city."
"She was the... victim?"
"Yeah. She was."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yeah. Anyways? I'm the one that... found her. It had been a couple days. Bathtub. All I'm saying there."
"Christ."
"Yeah. Anyways. I fall over. Eventually? I dial 911. I don't know how long this all takes. I'm in shock. Anyways. The suits that showed up? Couple things really pissed me off. For one thing, they were all allowed to go and take a whizz. I ended up pissing myself on the floor. Because I wasn't allowed to leave, to take a piss. Like they were doing. Then? They yelled at me, for pissing on their crime scene. Which is my fiancee's house, you understand. And the other thing they did, to really endear themselves to me? Glad you asked. I'm in shock, remember. Guys are working on me, two and three at a time. Trying to spoon feed me words to repeat. So, as you can imagine. Our working relationship? It just, really went to hell."
He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair.
"I don't want to lie to you. I'm sorry, that you had that... interaction. That it went down like that. On the other hand? I can picture it happening. Murder scene. Yeah. Now, I can only assume. Since you shared that story with me? That has something to do, with why you won't speak to us. Tonight."
I shrugged. It obviously wasn't helping, was what I hoped it came across as. He nodded.
"Did the police, in that other situation. Did they, file any charges?"
"No. Not a one."
He nodded.
"You didn't like how the... whole thing went. While they cleared you."
I shook my head, no. Not at all.
He sighed.
"At some point in this story, let me guess. A lawyer enters the picture. Right?"
I nodded.
"And, there we go. Let me guess, what that lawyer taught you. How to prevent such unfortunate things from happening in the future."
"Mm, hmm."
He sighed.
"I got the picture. Is there anything I can do, to get you to change your mind about talking to us?"
"If I could have my laptop back."
They exchanged looks.
"All right. We're all on the polite plan, eh?"
I nodded yes.
"Here's the thing. Out on the road, there? That's a murder scene. There were explosions, too. No one is sure, exactly what happened yet. But, because of the explosions. We have to collect any electronic devices that were there. Mainly, a lot of cell phones."
"You want my cell phone. Right?"
"Yeah. We're getting all of them, its not just you. Its... not, punitive? That you don't want to talk up a storm. Its routine."
I handed my cell phone over.
"Uh, would you... do the screen?"
"Here..."
And after I did my digits, I set it so that turned off. My phone was all open access now. I handed it over, with a grin.
"Hey, thanks."
"No problem."
He ran his hands through his hair again.
"Your, uh, laptop?"
"Yeah."
"That... electronic device. It was at the scene. Its automatically evidence."
"Oh. Guess I won't get it back quick, then."
"Probably not. Just, uh... we need you to, you know. Open it up."
"Open what up."
"Your laptop."
"You have it in evidence. You can open the lid yourself."
"Your password."
"What about my password."
"You have to type it in, or, just write it down, carefully."
"No I don't."
"Yeah, you do."
"If you say so? Fine. But, I'm not giving anyone my password."
"Really? The techs can just... they do it all the time."
"They do what all the time."
He snapped his fingers.
"They open laptops up? With or without the passwords, all the time. Just like that."
"Do they, now. I find that? Simply, fascinating."
"You sound like, you think having a password on your laptop, makes it... trust me, it isn't."
I grinned.
"If you say so, pal. Let me know how that goes for you. Am I free to go, since I won't answer questions anyways?"
"Actually, we'd like you to stay, at least for a little while. We got a lot of witnesses to go through."
"Yeah, but you said they're all talking. I'm not. I can do... not talking? At home. Which is where I prefer to do my whole, not talking thing, really."
"We would prefer you to stay."
I nodded.
"I see. I'm going to ask you a question. Its a yes no question."
"Ask."
"Am I under arrest? Yes or no."
"No, but..."
"Then I can leave, if I'm not under arrest."
"You came in, of your own free will."
"I did."
He looked slightly exasperated.
"I'll bite. Why did you come in, if you didn't plan on answering any questions. What was the point."
"I wanted to get my laptop. In all the confusion? I left it there."
He splayed his hands out, to indicate.
"That's standard. All cell phones, all electronic devices. Hey, don't feel butt hurt. I got news cameras, too. Everything. And trust me here, when I share this with you. No matter how much of a pain in the ass you might want to even try to be one day? You'll never be half as much of a pain in the ass, as the news people. They're beating our ear, about the cameras."
"We're getting off topic. We were saying. How I'm not under arrest, and how I'm not saying anything. Right?"
"About it."
"Its just the whole, free to go part, has me confused."
"Everyone else? All the other witnesses. They're all, for lack of a better word? Talking. They all? Opened up their cell phones."
"I opened up my cell phone."
"You did. But, you're not talking. And? You said, you refuse to open up your laptop."
"Which all in what way impacts the whole, not under arrest, free to go thing."
"I can hold anyone, for 72 hours. Standard for a murder investigation. Really routine, when we don't have a lot to go on."
I nodded along.
"I texted my lawyer? About two hours ago."
"So?"
"Its a three hour trip, give or take."
"Would you like me to tell you when the lawyer, he gets here?"
"Its a she. And, really that's not necessary. I'll know when she's here. Call it a hunch."
"You really think your lawyer is going to make a three hour trip, in the middle of the night?"
"Hmm. Would you characterize this, whole... thing as, what. High profile?"
"That's putting it mildly."
"She loves high profile cases."
"Really."
I shrugged.
"And you know how I'm all, polite? Soft spoken. Kind of my thing and all."
He nodded along, yes.
"She's not soft spoken. I'll just say that."
"Can't wait to meet her, you make her sound fun. Like it isn't a complete three ring circus here already. Look at this place, its like a zoo in here."
He looked at me.
"Come on. All the other witnesses? We got pizza and soft drinks, and donuts and stuff."
"Do I still get the free pizza and donuts, even if I don't plan on answering a bunch of questions?"
He was chuckling.
"Yeah, go ahead."
I milled around. Pizza, soft drinks. The hard pretzel rods were pretty good. I enjoyed a kind of a floor show. One of them was hopping around all pissed off and animated. He damn near broke the phone slamming it down, after yelling all exasperated into it. That's when the show began. I crunched my pizza crust, enjoying myself. I couldn't buy tickets to such high entertainment.
"God damn internet!"
"What the hell, Phil! That's my phone!"
"Fuck you! Fuck your phone! And mother fuck whoever invented the god damn internet!"
"Calm down, Phil. Calm down..."
"You calm down! I've had it up to here with the internet! That? Was the techs!"
"Oh. Nerd squad. You get IP addresses, for the emails, that w---"
"No! Every damn email? Every damn text? Comes from a different IP address! One? Its an old folks home! One's, somewhere in Romania, one's a gas station in Nebraska! And? There is no Private Citizens for Governor Basey! No such non profit exists! And, the governor's office? Oh, you'll love this one..."
"I'm afraid, to ask w---"
"They sent us an email, its the Basey Private Re-Election Group! That doesn't exist either! No one? Met anyone! All email! Texts!"
"Christ. What did the lab guys say about---"
"Every IP? Every phone number? Is random!"
"Can't they do any---"
"Something, something. Dark web, something! They said, to even have a chance to trace it? You'd have to be waiting on it, before hand. And, it would take an entire IT department, to even try. And you'd still need to get lucky! After the fact? Its impossible! We're fucked! And I don't mean finger in the ass fucked? I mean, someone lubed up a cement truck, and parked it right in our ass! That's the kind of fucked it is!"
His coworker sighed.
"You're telling me, that the former governor, just... gets an email? And goes running off to get his face on camera at some statue, and... never talked to anyone?"
"Free publicity. That's what his office said."
Another, even longer sigh now.
"Okay, we... trace who paid to rent the studio, then, we c---"
"Nope. That, was paid for electronically. In crypto. Old crypto? From before any records started up."
"Well, someone paid the crypto, w---"
"Yeah. Rainstorm Property Management, limited liability corporation. That? Doesn't exist, either. More... dark web, dick, fuck... bullshit again. Unless something weird happens? We have nothing."
"Okay. Did the nerd squad have... any ideas, at all?"
"Yeah."
"Well?"
"Shit like this? They said, and I quote. This, is the kind of bullshit Russian hackers are known for. And, Chinese hackers. You, can go to... dark web chat rooms? Buy this silly shit. To... something something about... spoofing IP numbers. Changing IP numbers randomly, at every router."
"Huh?"
"He said. Imagine a letter. Imagine, that it gets sent to a random zip code, random street address, over and over again. All over, before it finally lands where its going. Emails? Phone calls? Texts? Same bullshit. Every... he calls it, a packet? It bounces around randomly, thousands of times... before it decides to hit its destination. Once a packet clears? The routers no longer keep a record, no need. You couldn't save it all, if you tried. The FBI Carnivore program? Useless."
"This can't be a common thing, it has t---"
"You know how email scams and shit like that works? He said, its more common, than you think. But, they never seen it all put together at once like this. The tech room? Says this would take... a year or two years to put together. And, you're probably looking for a whole team. Their best guess."
Phil's buddy shook his head, slow.
"God... just hates us."
Phil laughed.
"Or Russian hackers, hate the former governor of Pennsylvania. Their exact words. Oh. I almost forgot."
"What now."
"The local police. The ones, their jurisdiction this happened in."
"Okay."
"They said, they got a strange email. Days ago. No one remembered it? Until now, when it suddenly might have made sense, finally."
"This ought to be good."
"Yeah. Oh, don't worry. The email? Can't be traced. Just like any spam you get."
"Well?"
Now Phil sighed. He read off of the note he had jotted down.
"If the sun is out, Monday morning. Have a body bag ready, because the devil's gonna need it. If it rains, we'll reschedule. God forgives, I don't. I promise you, I'll paint the devil on the wall."
"That's..."
"I know. Insane. But? Monday morning... here, we, go."
"What the hell, does that even---"
"Think. Monday morning. Body bag. Coincidence? Maybe. But, the email is untraceable, just like everything else. Another coincidence. But? It gets better."
"How."
"No one knew, what... paint the devil on the wall, even meant. So? They looked it up. Its an older phrase. Combat veterans, bad murder scene investigators sometimes use it. Blood everywhere? Paint the devil on the wall? You get it, now."
"Yeah. Nice."
Phil sighed again.
"And? The former governor. Turns out, he has a political nickname. He's known as, wait for it... the prince of darkness. Because he can get people fired, and he does it."
"Holy shit. He's... the devil. Who, did he piss off. I wonder."
Then, they both said it together almost, but slightly out of time.
"God forgives, I don't."
Phil's buddy thought about it.
"The governor? Did something. This, is... okay. Interview anyone, he ever got fired. Check his records. Maybe, he once was in an accident, and someone's kid died. He did, something."
Phil was calm, but a depressed kind of calm now.
"Yeah. We're on it."
But the look on Phil's face wasn't quite right. His buddy had to ask.
"What else."
"After it happened? They received a voice mail. Untraceable, naturally. Said it sounded like a robot voice."
"What was the message."
"The devil made me do it."
"Keep this out of the press."
"Way ahead of you."
"What do you wanna do now, you think."
"I'm going to go, and have me a cigarette."
"I thought you quit."
"I did. I'm going to start again. Gene's desk unlocked? He usually has a pack in there."
"Probably. Never seen him lock it, he takes his piece and badge home. No need."
"Christ. You get any ideas?"
"Guesses. That's all. Former combat veterans look good, on account of paint the devil, is a military jargon thing. And... some kind of... hacker group, for the dark web bullshit, that angle."
"But... combat veterans? Hackers? Working together? Because... they have a hard on for the last governor. That's so thin, its---"
Phil finished it for him.
"Not thin? Anorexic. I need a break."
"Me too."
Like I said. Great entertainment. My medication? Well, I just stand there with a poker face. I couldn't really feel an emotion, if I tried.
I'd need a soul, for that.
A little while later? It started to rain. I wandered out to my car and back several times. After all. She lives in the rain now. Its the only time I can be even a little bit close to her. Until I join her one day.
I guess she's thanking me, in her own way.