Fire Sweeping: The California Ballot Killings Book II

by H M Wilhelmborn

  Mike was imprisoned for breaking that Right Path, and there Greta was, with Anton and Trehoviak, representing it before the people of the state of California.

  “See now,” Mandible told the crowd as the governor approached him, Stefana, and Gregoria. “The viper from Sacra-mento com-eth. Notice well its fangs, which it dr-esses in a smile. Notice its minions wearing the same skin. Do not be fooled by appearances, family members!”

  The governor, Anton, and Greta greeted Mandible, Stefana, and Gregoria. Larry, Amandine, and Andy stood near them, as did Sheila and the other CWP members.

  Just then, Hannah, whom I hadn’t noticed leaving Larry’s office, showed up and stood alongside Larry, who looked perplexed. Hannah said something to Larry, and he nodded.

  There were boos and hisses as the governor prepared to speak.

  Gregoria refused to stand anywhere near the governor or his people, and she walked into the crowd and listened from the crowds after Mandible and Stefana had said something to her.

  “Family members,” Stefana said, “let the viper from Sacramento explain himself. Let the viper tell you himself why he’s making life difficult for you. As you can see, he has all his friends from Wagon, Shui & Xebec with him. Yes, take all your phones out and take photos and videos. We need evidence. Snakes have forked tongues, and these are no different.”

  Trehoviak, feigning a smile, took the bullhorn. He smiled nervously, and he thanked “the organizers of today’s gathering for exercising their right to free speech.” He told everyone that he understood their “anger, fear, and frustration.” He understood their sense of being forgotten. He understood their desire to belong. He told them that no governor, in the history of California, cared as much about the environment as he did. No governor cared as much about migrants as he did. No governor had spent more of his wealth on migrants and immigrants as he had. No governor wanted to ensure that Coloradans did right by the people of California as much as he did. And no governor worked harder than he to ensure that homelessness, illness, and unemployment were a thing of the past.

  “I hear you’ve brought your resumes with you,” Trehoviak told the crowds. “But I know that you’ve brought more than your resumes. You have also brought your hopes and your dreams. I hear you. I am now instructing all my people, who are here with me, including my friends from Wagon, Shui & Xebec, to collect all of your resumes, so that we can do our best to guarantee you the work you want and need. We thank your organizers for their courage, for calling the press—I see Linda Maywrot over there—and for giving you a voice. The California Water Party needs your advice and help. Please join us.”

  Larry, Amandine, Andy, and Hannah followed the CWP members, and they politely collected resumes and smiled at people. Larry, I could tell, was seething at having been reduced to resume collector, but the client’s request was too important to refuse.

  As the governor and his people left the parking lot, Gregoria joined Mandible and Stefana at the front of the crowd.

  “Friends,” Gregoria reminded those gathered, “a true leader, worthy of the title, would have apologized to you for the pain and suffering he has caused you, your families, and your kin by calling you ‘Raddies’ and ‘Collies.’ A true leader would immediately repeal those laws that will increase suffering. A true leader would renounce any and all discriminatory policies, and he would commit to change. What you just saw was not a real leader but a charlatan. Well, Jeremiah Trehoviak, Gregoria A. Handbloom has more demonstrations coming for you! Gregoria A. Handbloom has filed her first lawsuit against you! And Gregoria A. Handbloom has so much energy in her Zanzivahl bloomers that she will ensure that you are removed from power!” [Applause and laughter].

  Mandible asked for the bullhorn.

  “Family members,” Mandible said. “Re-member all this: If we are not careful, this viper from Sacra-mento will take us all on a one-way voyage to hell. Do not fall for the words of the viper! Do not fall for the pr-omises of the viper! Do not fall for the charms of the viper! Pay attention to what people say, but tr-ust what they do. I shall say that again. Pay attention to what people say, but tr-ust what they do. And vipers only do venomous things.”

  Larry, Amandine, Andy, and Hannah were back in office.

  They welcomed the governor and his people to WS&X, and they apologized profusely for the demonstrations.

  Everyone stood outside Larry’s office.

  “Take all those resumes,” Anton told Sheila, “and run background checks. I want to know everything about their families and their friends.”

  “Do it in such a way that it never gets back to Jeremiah or us,” Greta said.

  Greta acted like she hadn’t seen me.

  “I have plans for Handbloom and the snake people,” Trehoviak said. He turned to Hannah. “You’re Hannah Wellspring. I see that you stand by your work.”

  “I do, governor. It’s an honor to stand by you.”

  “We could use minds like yours,” Trehoviak said to Hannah. “Are you willing to learn Scrimmage by heart, Hannah Wellspring?”

  “I’m willing to consider it, governor. May I ask why I’m the only one being asked to learn Scrimmage?”

  “You’re not.” The governor glanced at me, took a deep breath, and said that they should all continue the conversation in the conference room, which his people had swept for security threats.

  He was also a little hungry, he said, and he wasn’t going to let “homeless fools” destroy his appetite.

  12

  They’re All Awful. Enjoy.

  Deborah Idlebroth tore the previous day’s entry off her personalized desk calendar.

  “Breathe. Smile. Relax, Sparkles,” the page said beneath the date—Wednesday, March 23, 2039.

  Deborah gazed at all the notes in various colors she’d stuck to the edges of her large computer screen. Some of the notes were shaped like flowers, others like hearts, and others like kisses. They said several things.

  “You’re beautiful, Sparkles!”

  “You’re awesome, Sparkles!”

  “Don’t let them get you down, Sparkles!”

  “Any man would be lucky to have you, Sparkles!”

  Deborah looked at the message on the personalized calendar page for the current day—

  Thursday, March 24, 2039: “Someday, the world will remember your name, Sparkles.”

  Deborah smiled and patted herself on the shoulder, which made it look like she was dusting herself. She flipped the calendar a day ahead so that she could get some of the next day’s infusion of hope a little earlier: “You’ve been gifted ever since you were a child, Sparkles.” And the next day: “You and your husband are destined for great things, Sparkles.”

  She examined her nails, which had received a French manicure, and she held her hands out in front of her before abruptly dropping them to her desk.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” She said in quick succession. “How will I ever meet the man of my dreams if I don’t put my photos from Cozumel up on social media? I was wearing all my refinements at that party in Cozumel!”

  Deborah uploaded the photos and glanced at her phone every so often.

  She acted like I wasn’t there.

  She looked at her watch, told me dismissively that there were five minutes to go before she was on the clock, and she asked me to take a seat, please.

  I was at Plumtree, Redcliff, Gwelo & Marandellas, WS&X’s main competitor in San Diego, for an interview.

  Dad had gotten me an interview for one of the executive secretarial positions working for Thelma Plumtree, one of the firm’s founders, whose spouse, Philippa Redcliff, was an immigration attorney like Dad. Philippa had referred some of her cases to Dad, and he had done the same.

  Plumtree Redcliff, as it was commonly known, wasn’t as highly ranked as WS&X, but it had a reputation for being more collegial, and it had made a name for itself by taking on cases of the various interest groups that would be affected by the Law of Lavish Things. That made Plumtree Redcliff a nat
ural enemy of the CWP.

  To interview with Plumtree Redcliff and other law firms in San Diego, I had taken two days off work. I lied and told Larry that I needed the time off because we had to take the kids for annual checkups, which were even more critical “in these times.”

  Larry shared that Hudson now had red eyes and a bad cough. They’d been back to the doctor, who’d told them that not every symptom, including red eyes and a cough, meant that your son was dying from the hatred. Larry should wait for the flu to resolve itself.

  Deborah Idlebroth looked at the clock. She yawned.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” she exclaimed. “Another hellacious day at this place begins! Two thousand five hundred and fifty-one days and counting.”

  It was now 9 a.m., and there were at least twenty-five other people in the reception area, all dressed professionally, which meant that they were all there for interviews.

  “This is how it’s gonna go, people,” Deborah announced as she looked at the clock again and shook her head. “All twenty-five of you are here for only one, maybe two, secretarial positions. Jobs are hard to come by in these times unless you’re working in oil or something like that. So, good luck.”

  Deborah printed something as I smiled nervously at a young woman who sat next to me. The woman looked like she’d just received news that her spouse had perished in a shipwreck.

  “I really need this job,” the woman said. “I can’t pay my rent. I’ll do anything they ask. I heard they have good benefits here. My daughter has asthma.”

  There were stories in the media of women who’d resorted to menial jobs, some of them with PhDs because they couldn’t find a job.

  I reached for my phone and prepared to make a transfer of a month’s rent to the woman and her daughter; we could afford it. I wondered, though, if it might come across like I was boasting about my ability to look for a job not because I needed the money, but because of some other reason, I wasn’t at liberty to disclose. I put my phone away.

  Deborah chewed a stick of gum, and she reached for the printed sheet of paper.

  As much as the CWP seemed to be pushing me out of WS&X, by removing me from all of their matters, I knew that Larry, Amandine, and Andy would hire anyone I recommended. If the person I recommended was good, hardworking, and loyal, she could have a long, fulfilling, and rewarding career at WS&X.

  I pretended to need the restroom, and I asked the woman seated beside me if she knew where it was. She didn’t, but she needed a drink of water because she was a little nervous. When she was nervous, she said, she often came across as unprepared and lost.

  “Diana,” the woman said as she offered me her hand in greeting. “Diana Li.”

  “Janet Whitaker Virdis,” I said.

  I asked Deborah where the restrooms were.

  “Already?” Deborah said as she chewed her gum. “Well, alright. Third door on your right. Interviews are about to begin, and Janet Whitaker Virdis is first. That’s you, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Make it quick, Janet,” Deborah said. “Life at a top law firm isn’t for the tardy.”

  Diana and I walked briskly to the restroom. When we got there, I looked around to see that no one could hear me. I told Diana that I didn’t have much time to chat, but I thought I could help her. I was Larry Wagon’s secretary—

  “You’re Larry Wagon’s secretary?” Diana said, surprised. “I’d kill for that job. Well, I wouldn’t kill, but it sounds like a great gig. The cases, the reputation, the people, and you’re always in the news because of how prestigious you are.”

  I felt a little proud of WS&X and a little territorial. But I also felt ashamed. Mothers for Mercy and the Church of the Moral Elixir had drawn national attention to WS&X and its affiliation with the CWP, which had meant death threats and even a bomb scare.

  “It’s a great place to work,” I said. “Some terrific people.”

  “But why are you here?” Diana asked.

  Diana carried herself like an aristocrat descended from a long line of illustrious conquerors.

  “I’m exploring my options,” I said quickly. “Between you and me, I have four kids, and I’d like to spend a little more time with them. WS&X is a great place, but it’s really demanding. Evenings and weekends are often included. Anyway, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I may be able to, um, to help you, Diana. I could probably get you an interview at WS&X. I know this is odd, but could you show me your resume?

  “I really need a job,” Diana said. “I’ll show you everything I have in my file, including my recommendations. My last employer, a solo practitioner, folded a few weeks ago. She was great, but law firms are just consolidating now. She’s moved to India.”

  I’d seen documentaries on Meghalaya State in India and the growing number of climate change immigrants it welcomed, but this was the first Californian (and American) I’d heard of who’d immigrated to India because of the weather.

  I quickly scanned Diana’s qualifications, recommendations, and nodded in approval.

  “I’ll help you if you help me,” I said to Diana. “I’ll get you an interview next week with Larry, Amandine, and Andy if you promise not to tell anyone you saw me here.”

  “Deal!” Diana said. “Thank you so much. Thank you for sensing that I’m hardworking, I keep my head down, and I mind my own business.”

  “I’ll call you soon,” I said. I took Diana’s phone number down.

  “Janet Whitaker Virdis!” Deborah called (she now pronounced my last name as “Vir-deez”). “Don’t keep us waiting, Mrs. Vir-deez. There are twenty-four others, you know. What would Mr. Vir-deez say?”

  Diana and I walked back to the reception.

  “Follow me, Mrs. Vir-deez,” Deborah told me.

  Deborah offered me a stick of gum, which I politely declined. Before we reached the interview room, she said, “They’re all awful. Enjoy.”

  I knocked on the door, waited for the signal, and walked into a conference in room in which three men and two women were seated. Deborah closed the door and left.

  My resume was in front of the interviewing attorneys, and they introduced themselves as Thelma Plumtree, Philippa Redcliff, Basil Gwelo, Prince Marandellas, and Edward Beitbridge.

  It felt odd to be on the opposite side of the table.

  I’d long taken for granted my role as part of the interviewing team, and I’d even smiled once when Larry had said to a nervous interviewee, “I prefer being on this side of the table than where you are, you know.”

  “Great to meet you,” Thelma, one of the name partners, said. “Philippa and I have heard great things. Full disclosure, everyone: Philippa knows Janet’s dad, Derick Whitaker.”

  “Great immigration attorney,” Prince Marandellas said. “Thoughtful, as well.”

  Prince Marandellas reminded me of a squirrel without fur. His head was just as small as a rodent’s, and so were his hands. I figured that if I fed him some acorns, he might scamper away for the winter somewhere.

  I’ll admit something, though.

  It felt good—but odd—to have people evaluate my dad as a colleague and human being.

  “So,” Thelma said. “We don’t do fourteen silly questions here like you do over at WS&X. We’re very laid back, so feel free to ask questions as we go along. Be yourself. Relax. Can we get you something to drink, some water or coffee, Janet?”

  I thought of how this question was a trap at WS&X; applicants for employment shouldn’t be consuming the firm’s resources before they were on the payroll. Even then, they had to earn the right to do so.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ve just had breakfast.”

  “So,” Basil said, “why would you want to leave a top law firm? What do you know about WS&X that we don’t, Janet?”

  Basil gave himself a thumbs up after he posed the question.

  “Well,” I said, looking at them all, “thank you so much for this opportunity. I realize that you have your choice of candidates, so I’m grateful to
be here. I work for great lawyers, great bosses, and great human beings, and I couldn’t ask for better or more, but I’ve come to a place in my professional development where I’d like to be exposed to the kinds of clients you’ve taken on and the particular legal issues they face. I admire that very much.”

  “Politics, then,” Philippa said, summarizing the gist of what I’d just told them. “You’re running away from WS&X because you don’t want to deal with the governor’s party, which is fully integrated into the life of your law firm, Janet. Is that what you’re saying?”

  There it was—the directness I’d come to expect from lawyers.

  “I’m not a political person,” I responded. “My job is not to engage in politics, not to comment on it, not to repeat what I hear, and not to allow any personal opinions to prevent me from supporting the important work of the attorneys for whom I work with professionalism—”

  “What Philippa is saying,” Basil said as he interrupted me, “is that you’d be trading one political position for another. You’ve no doubt heard that we don’t represent the California Water Party here or anyone associated with them. It’s a business decision based on moral principle. When we hear that people are thinking of jumping ship from a place like WS&X for political reasons, we have no problem with them doing that, but we want them to be honest about their choices.”

  I sensed that I had failed the interview. Over more than a decade, I’d watched enough attorneys at WS&X to know how lawyers put their questions to you and what they mean.

  When lawyers rephrase what a colleague has just said (which Basil had just done by rephrasing Philippa’s question), they’re talking to you as they would to someone whose intelligence was so impaired that she couldn’t grasp the sophisticated point being put across by the first person.