NOT AN AMERICAN

by Stanley W Rogouski

  "Hey, Pete Muffley," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Steve Quinn. How are you doing?"

  Avellanos shook Steve Quinn's hand.

  "I'm sorry," he said, "but my name's not Pete Muffley. You must have confused me with someone else."

  Quinn laughed.

  "Well, they told me to look for a young guy, about six feet four, and a real snappy dresser. What are the odds I'd find another guy who looked like you right in the middle of this shit hole."

  "It must be your lucky day," Avellanos said.

  "It must be," Quinn said, slapping Avellanos on the shoulder. "Have a great day."

  "I hope you find that guy you're looking for," Avellanos shouted after Quinn, who had already turned around and continued back down the stairs.

  John Avellanos continued walking up the stairs. When he reached the revolving doors, the main entrance to City Hall, known officially since 2010 as The Reagan Center, he looked back down at Reagan Plaza and at the United Coalition Against Xenophobia, noticing that there were now about 100 people gathered around in a semi-near the war memorial, and the pump house. He looked up over his shoulder at the clock tower. It was close to noon. The press conference was beginning. He decided to go anyway. Who was Dan Sedgwick to keep him out of a public park? He walked back down the stairs, through the gate at Reagan Plaza West, across the western lawn to the War Memorial, and joined the semi-circle of newspaper reporters around the man he soon recognized as David Sherrod.

  David Sherrod, who was now wearing a black turtleneck and a pair of jeans instead of the conservative suit and tie he always wore as Catalinelli's press secretary, appeared smaller and younger than he did on TV. Avellanos saw no sign of Cathy Chegoffgan, but he did recognize Dan Grossinger from the Winterborn Daily Post, who was wearing his trademark fedora, and writing in a long notebook. Avellanos looked up to see that David Sherrod had just handed a stack of printouts to the people near the front of the semicircle.

  "Welcome to the first ever press conference of the United Coalition Against Xenophobia," he said. "Before we begin, let me pass these out."

  Avellanos took a copy of the press release, and passed the rest down the line. The first page was a list of talking points. The second was a photo, four years old, taken during Michael Catalinelli's last campaign for reelection. There were at least 20 motorcycles, most parked on the path alongside the grass near the pump house, but three, quite large, parked on the grass itself. Turning the photo around, Avellanos noticed the printout of a LexisNexis search that listed the number of times the Winterborn Daily Post had asked about America's Guard ruining the grass in Reagan Plaza. He laughed when he saw only two mentions, both in letters to the editor. The photo was overlaid with type, almost as if it had been a "meme" on Facebook.

  "Why don't we talk about America's Guard trampling the Grass on Reagan Plaza?" it said.

  Sherrod called on a young man who worked for a local college newspaper.

  "How would you compare this to Occupy Wall Street?" he said.

  "Do you see any unemployed hippies raping people?" Sherrod said.

  "So not at all?" the young man said.

  "Not at all," Sherrod said. "In fact, I was instrumental back in 2011 in making sure an Occupy Poison Springs never happened. I nipped that shit in the bud. The United Coalition Against Xenophobia is not an aimless slumber party. We are not an excuse to get down, party, smoke some pot, and break some windows. This is an orderly, law abiding demonstration with specific, reasonable demands, and we will leave as soon as those demands are given a fair hearing."

  Sherrod pointed at Dan Grossinger, who had had his hand up the entire time.

  "Mr. Sherrod," he said, holding up the press release and photo. "You are as amusing as a protester as you were as Mayor Catalinelli's press secretary, but you'll excuse me if I don't totally accept your attempt to preempt criticism you surely know will be raised over the next few weeks. Aren't you harming small business in downtown Poison Springs by continuing to maintain your occupation during the height of the fall tourist season even after Mayor Catalinelli has already announced that he's backing down on the statues? Aren't you in fact just trying to set yourself up for a position in Elizabeth Felton's administration in the outside chance she wins the election?"

  Avellanos looked around while David Sherrod paused to take in Grossinger's question. He looked at the people on the opposite side of the semicircle. There were one or two people in their early 20s, but the crowd was mostly people in their 30s and 40s. He turned back to David Sherrod, who finally seemed ready to respond.

  "Dan Grossinger of the Winterborn Daily Post has made an excellent point," Sherrod said "Why is this community necessary after Mayor Catalinelli has already given in to some of our key demands? First of all, let me thank Mayor Catalinelli on behalf of Mr. John L. Lewis and Mr. John Mitchell for agreeing that an important part of our history will not be scrubbed from Reagan Plaza out of political opportunism."

  Grossinger, who was already scribbling in his long notebook, turned the page, and continued to write as David Sherrod explained that, no, he didn't believe that the United Coalition Against Xenophobia was harming the local economy, that, on the contrary, like the much larger America's Guard rallies of the previous election cycle, the United Coalition Against Xenophobia actually drew people into the downtown area. At the very least, all the media attention brought people out the Amtrak terminal during layovers, encouraged them to walk around Reagan Plaza, and once somebody from out of town saw Reagan Plaza and the glory of its foliage in late September and early October, that person would surely return, wouldn't he?

  Dan Grossinger, reluctantly, conceded the point. He declined his follow up in favor of another reporter, a man from a local TV station, who had the reputation of being a liberal critic of Michael Catalinelli and the Comprehensive Citizen Identification Act (CCIA).

  "You speak so eloquently and so forcefully," he said, "that I'm confused about why you're not running for the office of mayor yourself. I also wonder about Elizabeth Felton. You are very vocal about your support for her. My colleague even seems to think you're part of her campaign, but she is much less vocal about her support for you. Is she trying to distance herself from you? Is it a tacit acknowledgment that The United Coalition Against Xenophobia has actually begun to help Mayor Catalinelli?"

  Sherrod paused.

  "You make an excellent point," he said, "but I'm a motivational speaker, not a politician or a municipal executive. Poison Springs needs someone who understands the nuts and bolts of city government. That isn't always the most eloquent speaker or the most charismatic personality. Mayor Catalinelli has won the last 4 elections with an average of over 85% percent of the vote. Is it because 85% of the people support his policies? Or is it because most people are simply alienated from the political process? By taking over the western half of Reagan Plaza in order to protest the Comprehensive Citizens Identification Act, and by remaining here through the summer, I have kept the CCIA on the front pages of all of the local newspapers. I have forced people to take sides. I have involved the citizens of Poison Springs in the political process. That's how change works, not by getting people to agree with you all at once. If Mayor Catalinelli wins, then the people have spoken."

  David Sherrod had the polished manner of the former press secretary he was, his skillful evasions and witty follow ups standing in great contrast to the fact that he was living in a pump house in the middle of a public park. He moved on, answering questions about his relationship to Elizabeth Felton, what he thought about her father, and if he considered himself a Republican or a Democrat. Avellanos was no longer listening, having noticed a young woman who had had her hand up the entire time. She was tall, blond, seemed to be somewhere in her early 20s. Avellanos waited to hear the sound of her voice, but after Sherrod finally called on her, she waved him off, indicating that her question had already been answered. Sherrod fielded three more questions, all of which were short and to the point, then ended the press
conference. As the crowd broke up, Avellanos finally managed to come up behind the young woman, and tap her on the shoulder. When she turned around to reveal a harsh looking, unattractive face, he frowned. She could see the disappointment in his eyes. It made her angry.

  "Excuse me," she said, pushing his hand away. "Can I help you?"

  "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone I knew."

  "I'm glad I'm not."

  As the young woman disappeared back into the crowd. Avellanos turned to walk away, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Dan Sedgwick.

  "How are you doing? I think we met before."

  For a moment, Avellanos seemed transfixed by his gaze. He became angry.

  "Get out of my way," he finally said, brushing the hand away. "What do you want from me?"

  "Nothing at all, but I do need to explain to you the rules we have for press conferences. You need to register at the media tent, and have them issue you a press pass."

  "The press conference is over, and I wasn't participating in it."

  "I'd still like to find out something about who you are. What was your name again?"

  "Martin Ruiz," a voice said. "Great to see you here."

  Avellanos and Sedgwick both turned around to see David Sherrod. Avellanos seemed almost as surprised as Sedgwick. He reached out and shook David Sherrod's hand.

  "I certainly recognize you," he said. "I'm not sure why you recognize me."

  Dan Sedgwick seemed taken aback.

  "I apologize," he said. "I had no idea you two knew each other. I've got to be honest," he said to David Sherrod. "I thought he was one of Michael's provocateurs. I thought he was an undercover cop."

  Sherrod laughed out loud.

  "Martin Ruiz is no cop. This is Elizabeth's brother. I told you about him."

  Sedgwick reached over and shook Avellanos' hand.

  "I'm pleased to meet you Martin," he said. "I apologize for the misunderstanding. But there were undercover cops all over the place this morning and they were arresting everyone. We were all on edge. Have you seen Cathy Chegoffgan?" he added, turning to Sherrod. "Martin was supposed to meet her at the fountain this morning and she never showed up."

  "Who?"

  "She took that photo of you with John L. Lewis."

  "Oh yes," Sherrod said. "No. I haven't seen her in a few days."

  "I'll go do some checking," Sedgwick said. "It's probably nothing to worry about. She disappears all the time for days at a time. She probably drove into New York. I think she has a boyfriend who goes to the New School."

  "Maybe she got caught up in the sweep," Sherrod said. "Did you check the docket? Was she arrested?"

  "She's usually much too clever to get arrested, but I suppose I can check.”

  Sedgwick turned around and walked in the direction of the western side of the park, taking his cell phone out of his pocket as he strolled along.

  "So Martin Ruiz," Sherrod said, turning to Avellanos after Sedgwick had left. "Elizabeth has been trying to get you to come down here for weeks. And here you are. The last time we met you were in pretty bad shape."

  "I'm very sorry," Avellanos said. "Elizabeth's told me so much about you I feel as if I already know you, but I just don't remember meeting you."

  "You wouldn't. You weren't conscious."

  "Oh you're counting that. Yeah. You're right. I guess I was in pretty bad shape."

  "Why don't you come back to my temporary home," Sherrod said, pointing at the pump house. "I have some news for you. I was going to have your sister tell you but as long as you're here, I guess I should just tell you myself."

  John Avellanos followed David Sherrod inside the pump house, which had been transformed into a surprisingly comfortable if Spartan set of living quarters. In back, under an American flag, was a cot. In front was a folding table covered with papers, a laptop computer, several framed photographs, and a pile of newspapers. After he motioned to Avellanos that he should sit down in the chair in front of the folding table, Sherrod walked around to the back, sat down himself, and put his elbows up on top of a stack of manila folders.

  "Now for my news. I still have connections at City Hall, so I get leaks. Catalinelli's going out you, or, to be more accurate, he's going to direct public attention in your direction."

  Avellanos took a deep breath.

  "Who cares?" he said, trying to appear unconcerned. "Elizabeth sent out a press release months ago. It will probably blow over in a few days. I guess I should have left town a while ago," he added.

  "I'd like to ask you a favor," Sherrod said.

  Avellanos took another deep breath.

  "I couldn't very well deny the man who saved my life."

  Sherrod smiled as if to say "oh it was nothing," but then leaned over and assumed a serious looking expression.

  "Participate in a press conference next week."

  Avellanos smiled nervously.

  "I know I told Elizabeth that if Catalinelli ever decided to use me, I'd go up in front of the media and talk about myself, but I don't really know how to speak in public."

  "All you have to do is make a short statement saying that you support your sister's campaign."

  John Avellanos looked dismayed. He sighed deeply. He closed his eyes, put his hand up to his forehead, and appeared to be about to speak, but, just then, Dan Sedgwick stuck his head through the door, and walked inside.

  "Cathy's on the docket inside The Dungeon."

  "The what?" Avellanos said.

  "The Dungeon?" Sedgwick said.

  "The Dungeon is the county jail," Sherrod said. "I doubt it's anything to worry about. It's probably just the usual police harassment, just Michael's way of trying to keep people from coming in here and finding out what we stand for."

  Sedgwick walked over to Sherrod's desk. He picked up a file of unframed 8 x 10 prints, and sorted through them until he came to the one he wanted. He showed it to Sherrod, then handed it to Avellanos.

  "This is the young woman you're talking about, am I correct?"

  Avellanos looked at a photo of Cathy Chegoffgan with her arm around the statue of John F. Kennedy. She looked much younger and more vulnerable in the photograph than she did in person, where her expansive manner often belied her youth and almost delicate femininity. It stiffened Avellanos's body language, and tightened his jaw, as if the urge to protect her had unleashed a sudden burst of masculine energy that he could barely control.

  "The police arrested her?"

  "Yes they did," Sedgwick said, indicating that he had to leave. "But don't get too excited about it. She'll be out tonight or tomorrow morning. I'll see you later David," he added, turning around.

  He walked out of the pump house.

  Avellanos slapped the table, making the laptop bounce and knocking over the stack of newspapers. He put the photo down and stood up.

  "I hate the fucking cops in this town."

  "Now there's your father in you," Sherrod said, smiling. "The cop who arrested your girlfriend's lucky you weren't there. You're probably lucky too. You would have gotten thrown in jail. But there's a more constructive way to get back at the Mayor. Just stand up in front of the media and make a short statement. When Michael sees the image of Nicholas Cecil Felton come back to life in the prime of his youth, he's likely to faint out of sheer terror."

  Avellanos extended his hand.

  "You've got yourself a deal," he said as Sherrod started digging through the pile of manila folders that he had been using as an arm rest. "I'm your man."

  Sherrod pushed one of the folders across the table.

  "My contacts in City Hall leaked this to me," he said. "This is all the dirt they've been digging up on you ever since your sister declared her candidacy last winter."

  Avellanos looked at the folder.

  On the front cover it read "Opposition Research on Martin James Ruiz."

  "Take that home, and read it," Sherrod said. "Can you get here tomorrow morning?"

  "Yes I can," Avellanos said, pi
cking up the folder. "What time?"

  "How about nine o'clock? It's Saturday so you don't have to work, right?"

  "I'll be here at nine," Avellanos said, already thoroughly engrossed in the folder of opposition research, "tomorrow morning, nine o'clock."

  Chapter 10 - A Plea Bargain

  The police drove Cathy Chegoffgan to the back City Hall, walked her down three flights of stairs, and put her in a crowded holding cell in The Dungeon. An hour later, a Winterborn County Police officer led her back upstairs into a small interrogation room, and took off her handcuffs. He pointed to a chair, told her to sit down, and left the room. When she noticed that her knapsack, smart phone, and camera were all sitting on the table, she grabbed the smart phone and opened Twitter.

  "Dan Sedgwick. Got arrested. It's nothing serious, just petty harassment. Tell everyone I'm alright. Send that lawyer to get me out."

  She hit the send button. She was thirteen characters over the limit. She backed up to edit the tweet, but the property clerk, a middle-aged African American woman with a blunt, yet cheerful manner, surprised her from behind, grabbed her wrist, and took the phone.

  "Oh honey," she said, putting the phone back down on the table. "I don't know who let you keep that but you're going to get me into a lot of trouble."

  "Just one tweet? You get a phone call, right?"

  "Sorry honey. I'm just doing my job."

  "Well your job sucks."

  "Tell me about it. Now let's get started."

  The property clerk made up a list of Cathy Chegoffgan's personal items, and wrote out a receipt, which she was required to sign. She was then taken to another room with three big fingerprinting machines. A male police officer grabbed her hands, but she pulled it away.