The Royal Perfects

by Jeremy Neeley

  Chapter 14: Challengers and Their Wicked Ways

  Timmy broached the subject with Mr. Goldhand over a lunch of stewed yams and biscuits at his rural cottage home. At first, the genteel fellow scoffed at the idea. He didn’t see himself as mayoral in any single way, but as Timmy conveyed his opinion of Gabriel, the compliments and possibilities began to stir in the old man’s mind.

  Mrs. Goldhand had been listening in on the entire conversation and threw her support behind her husband. While the Mister had come to terms with his abrupt upheaval from the tavern and entertainment business, Madam Goldhand still harbored resentment. She knew Gabriel’s fabric better than anyone, and was fully confident that a man of such integrity, experience, and kindness was exactly what Upper Southrump needed.

  With his long-time love now entrenched in the persuasive cause, Gabriel conceded, and shoved aside his doubt. Timmy pledged an immediate kickoff of the campaign. He discussed a few matters of public relations, and then headed back to the Stoops to organize the troops.

  Each Perfect was put to the task. Some were given the duty of developing printed materials while others headed out to make personal appeals to anyone they felt possessed influence. Those who ventured into the populace did so alone due to Percival’s still-lingering decree that Perfects traveling in numbers would be prosecuted. It was a fair bet that enforcing the ordinance was probably not one of Snodgrass’ main concerns at the moment, but Timmy and the others thought it best not to take a chance.

  After a day of preparations, The Ballyhoo kept the ball rolling. The headline read, MAYOR SNODGRASS RESIGNS. The weight of public opinion had been fast and fatal. Percival was quickly assaulted on all fronts, and he had no choice but to step down. The article theorized the Mayor might return to his hometown in the north, or run off to Italy to be with his foreign mistress. The Perfects knew the latter was not a possibility.

  A bit further on down the page, another headline read in thick black type, GOLDHAND VIES FOR VACANCY. The article stated Gabriel’s desire to become mayor and listed his credentials and qualifications. Gabriel had forged many worthwhile and favorable connections in his time as a businessman, and the printed paragraphs published a rather glowing endorsement of Gabriel as a future leader of Upper Southrump. Timmy was happy to read such a stellar bit of publicity, and he and Gabriel shared congratulations while sitting upon Goldhand’s cottage porch.

  With Percival out of office and their stately friend now in a position of succession, the Perfects’ focus could shift toward the devious John Smith and his damning ledger. When Percival was forced to resign, many of his key appointees had been put on the spot. No longer did they have the omni-present influence of their mayoral ally.

  The chief constable was one such man. Percival had appointed him, and under the mayor’s self-serving guidance, Chief Constable Bates followed many orders of questionable design. He was a strong arm for a power hungry, would-be dictator, and he embraced the role, reaping ill-gotten benefits.

  Once Percival was dismissed, the chief constable soon followed. With such an intimate working relationship between the mayor’s office and the enforcement branch, it was common practice for a new leader to appoint a new chief. But, in the meantime, the deputy constable was in charge, and he was a good man.

  Randolph Cuffburn was his name. He was young and straightforward, and often at odds with his former chief. His skill as an investigator could not be denied. Rather than be forced to deal with Randolph on a daily basis, Chief Bates had assigned him to a special division, a liaison to Scotland Yard. His superb investigatory skills cast the Upper Southrump office in good light, while, simultaneously, keeping Randolph away for great stretches of time and out of Bates’ daily business.

  Now, Randolph had been called back to post, and Timmy knew that if he could produce evidence incriminating Smith in a vast black market art smuggling and selling syndicate, Randolph would be willing to prosecute.

  The question that remained was two-fold. Firstly, did Smith’s ledger actually exist, and secondly, if it did, where in all of Upper Southrump could it be? Two locations seemed most probable, Smith’s apartment and the Halfwit Theater. Smith frequented both, and Timmy had an inkling he would not make a habit of venturing far from the ledger’s location. He discussed the issue with his fellow Perfects.

  Everyone knew what was at stake. If they could obtain the ledger, Smith would be out of their hair for a very, very long time. But with the hopes of Goldhand’s election on the horizon, the situation was very precarious. If any of the men were caught in the act of trespass or thievery, it most likely would cast Gabriel in a horrible light due to his association with the Perfects. That possibility had to be avoided, for the public fallout would most likely quash Mr. Goldhand’s political aspirations in a heartbeat.

  The pros and cons were debated and each man gave his opinion. It was a heated, but civil exchange, and in the end, it was decided that now was not the time to seek out the ledger. It wasn’t worth the risk. Percival was gone, so Smith had far less power over them. Yes, anti-Perfect laws still remained on the books, but if they were diligent in their efforts and succeeded in their goal, Gabriel would be elected and he would begin to set things right. He’d even be in a greater position to pursue criminal complaints against Smith, if and when the ledger was found.

  It was a settled matter for the moment, except with Timmy. While giving John Smith what he deserved was a just pursuit, the main mission for him was Genny’s cause. The delay meant that she would remain trapped by his terrible act for a bit longer, and that fact stuck like a thorn deep in his heart. He quietly conceded for the moment, bearing the cross in silence.

  The weeks that followed involved more glad-handing and promotion. The council of Upper Southrump decreed the casting of ballots and inauguration of a new mayor would take place at month’s end. There were rumors circulating about other possible challengers, but as the days progressed, no one stepped forward to throw his hat in the ring. As such, Gabriel was able to draw more and more positive attention to his cause. His message of change and justice rang true in the ears of many. He pledged to rule in the people’s interest, with transparency and moral certitude as guiding tenants. Everywhere he traveled, he was met by smiles and support. Everywhere, except the steps of the Halfwit Theater.

  Mere feet from the theater doors, at the crossroads of main roadways in Shillings District, Gabriel shouted out a stump speech worthy of any great orator. He spoke from the heart, and his words came easily and with conviction. A crowd had gathered and was cheering every valid point that was made. Timmy looked on from an adjacent street corner with growing pride and satisfaction.

  “Friends,” Goldhand addressed, “we have lived too long under the delusions of the powerful and poisoned. They have proclaimed at will, serving only themselves in the process. I promise to keep my fellow Upper Southrumpians always in the forefront and forethought. If a law makes sense, we shall pursue it. If a law does not, we shall strike it down and erase it from our books. You do not need politicians telling you how to run your lives at every turn. It is your own vision and hard work that will craft your future, and with the support of a new mayor, you will have the backing of our noble town in the process.”

  A roar of support rang loud.

  “Our shared morals and values will guide my hand at all times. While the lure of money has drawn more than a few astray, I pledge not to fall into those dark practices. I have made my money. I need not use the office to horde more, and any that would dare attempt to buy favor will be cast out with change purses still full. Criminals and cronies shall have no place in your government.”

  Another cheer punctuated Gabriel’s emotion-filled words.

  But, as the clamor died down, a voice shouted out from afar. “Call yourself a hypocrite then, Goldhand!”

  The accusation brought Gabriel to silence for a moment, and all looked toward the source of the voice. Standing atop the Halfwit stairs was John Smith. He made his way dow
n toward the crowd as his So-Sos followed like lost sheep.

  “Tell them, Goldhand. Tell them how a known and convicted criminal runs your campaign.” Smith continued to target Gabriel as he took up a position next to the mayoral candidate.

  “I do not know of what you refer, John Smith,” Gabriel said sincerely.

  “Ah, very amusing that a man running on a promise of truth and transparency would so conveniently withhold his criminal connections. Is it true that a known convict, charged with public corruption, has spurred you forth? And before you feign a lack of knowledge, let me state it simply. Timothy Wicketts, a known conspirator, felon and former head of the rightfully banned Royal Perfect troupe, is behind your campaign!”

  The accusation was true, in a way. Timmy was a driving force behind Gabriel’s bid to be mayor, and he did, in fact, have a criminal record. But that was due solely to a preposterous and unfair law that should never have come to pass.

  The crowd waited for a flummoxed Gabriel’s answer, and Smith seized the opportunity to push further. “It is true! Admit it to everyone!”

  Gabriel was honest through and through. “Yes, that is true, but…”

  That was all Smith needed to hear. “Ah yes, see hypocrisy incarnate! They call him Gabriel Goldhand!”

  The incident had stirred up the crowd. Several among the throng knew Timmy’s tale and knew that Smith was telling half the story. They recalled how past events had actually transpired. But others knew only what they heard at the moment. Gabriel had said one thing, but when pressed, admitted to the opposite.

  Questions and doubts began to take root. Timmy seethed over a man of Smith’s background making such claims about one of Gabriel’s stock. It was but another underhanded manipulation perpetrated by a most sinister fellow.

  Before Gabriel could clarify the situation, Smith continued to command the people’s attention. “Many of you know me. You’ve seen me on stage. I’ve lived and worked in Southrump my entire life. I’ve given back to the people in a way that has brought joy and much needed diversion. Now, I hope to serve in a greater capacity. I, John Smith, announce my candidacy as the next mayor of this fair borough!”

  The sudden proclamation whipped the people into a frenzy. It was a wild scene as chants of “Smith” began to compete against chants of “Goldhand.” Timmy was furious. He knew Smith was as far from honest as a man could get, and he was never short on schemes and tricks. There was a real possibility he could steal the election in any number of illegal ways and worry once again filled Wickett’s soul.

  Days of friction followed. As Gabriel made genuine appeals of policy change and a promise to clean up corruption, Smith countered with mudslinging. He had no worthwhile ideas on which to stand. The status quo served his needs mightily, and he fought hard to ensure it continued. Rather than propose anything of substance, he spread rumor and misinformation about Gabriel Goldhand. His campaign was fueled solely by the strategy of discrediting and dishonoring his opponent, and nothing more.

  While the Perfects and Gabriel worked tirelessly to combat the constant flow of trash spewing from Smith’s rotting podium, Smith’s strategy was paying dividends. In public forums, Gabriel was forced to spend increasingly less time talking about actual issues of governance, and more time dispelling any number of false statements Smith had made about him.

  At one point, Captain Pantaloons had arranged for a speech to be delivered by Gabriel upon the docks of The Moors. Gabriel was to address a large gathering of the impoverished living in the deplorable shack village nearby. His message was a promise of help, training, and future jobs in growing, innovative industries. But, instead of delivering a resounding message of hope, he was forced to face an accusation of favoring indentured servitude.

  The current So-So and former Rat’s Tail Tavern employee, Leland Fox, proclaimed that Gabriel worked him to the bone for nothing more than scraps of food. He cited harsh working conditions and an overbearing, disrespectful managerial style that treated subordinates as slaves.

  Again, Gabriel was forced to combat the lies, while, at the same time, shouldering some fraction of responsibility. Yes, he did employee Leland at one point, and yes, he was hard on the lad at times, but only when Leland’s slothfulness called for it. But, the hyperbole contained a speck of truth, and that was again enough to arouse suspicion of Gabriel Goldhand’s true character among some of the soft-minded within the crowd. The ploy also diverted the candidate’s time and effort away from the planned message he had hoped to deliver.

  Similar incidents continually dogged Goldhand’s campaign as the election drew ever closer. The word on the street was increasingly mixed. Many held fast to their belief in Gabriel and his articulated vision of a new, more just order in Upper Southrump. But others had a shallow analysis, buying fully into the half-truths and outright lies Smith had served up. They reasoned that, with the growing list of loathsome traits Gabriel was purportedly concealing, at least some among them had to be true. There were just too many for every single one to be false. For a man who was running his campaign on the promise of purity, even a single, perceived blemish was enough to cast him a charlatan.

  Late one evening, the entire Perfect team, with Gabriel also present, sat around a table at Lester’s discussing strategy and the ebbing tide of public opinion. Gabriel had held fast to the belief that he would not lower himself to Smith’s negative tactics. He wanted to keep on point and stay morally above the fray. He believed any man or woman of reason would see through his opponent’s lies and make the right decision on election day.

  Many of the Perfects disagreed. They feared men and women of reason were becoming increasingly rare compared to a larger mass with shallow thought and thin introspection. Bugs, Brock, Lancelot and Smirks insisted they be tasked with digging up dirt on Smith, even beginning the search for the rumored ledger. Gabriel refused and would not delve into such dishonorable practices.

  The debate wrestled back and forth, but the night was turning late and Mr. Goldhand had to depart. He rose from his chair and stuffed into his pocket the speech notes Timmy had been working on. He then slid his derby upon his head and bid each man adieu before parting company.

  “Mr. Goldhand is just too naïve to do what needs to be done,” a frustrated Bugs commented.

  Brock took a swig of ale. “Bugs is right. We’ve all been out there. We’ve heard the murmurs and chatter. Smith’s caused people to question Gabriel’s makeup.”

  “It’s just preposterous!” Francis yelled.

  Timmy had not said much during the entire discussion. He wished to honor Gabriel’s request, but realized Smith continued to be an insidious, cunning antagonist. He knew action had to be taken, and the time had come to find and acquire Smith’s ledger of illegal dealings. Not only would it be critical in discrediting Smith and ruining his political aspirations, it would accomplish Timmy’s personal and ever-present desire to free Genny and her father from his malicious grip. Now, he had added reason to seek out the tome beyond his love-borne intentions.

  Finding the ledger was not unlike looking for a needle in a haystack. While Smith’s flat seemed like a logical place for the documents, the Halfwit Theater was also a possibility. Since Percival’s exile, Ill So-So stage shows had been postponed. In the interim, the gang commandeered the facility for Smith’s campaign headquarters. Timmy also reasoned the establishment could provide excellent cover should Smith still be actively involved in underworld dealings. Perhaps the ledger was there.

  With only conjecture and intuition to guide him, Timmy was unsure of how to proceed. He needed some starting point, some lead, and he realized there was only one person close enough to Smith, and with the willingness to help. That person was Genny.

  But questioning Genny in private was an almost impossible task. Smith clung to her like a tick, and with the So-So productions on hiatus, Genny would not be frequenting her theater dressing room.

  Furthermore, Timmy had made a promise to Bugs and the others that he
would stay away from Ms. Jenkins. Many distrusted her and held her partly responsible for Timmy’s past hospital stay. However, an ingenious idea sprung forth in Timmy’s mind. If implemented, it could place Smith on the spot, giving Gabriel a better forum to contest his opponent, while at the same time isolating Genny. That would provide Timmy the opportunity to speak to her in private.

  “Gentlemen,” Timmy stood addressing his friends, “I have an idea. Smith has been able to spin yarns and spew blasphemy at will. His lies about Gabriel meet the people’s ears unfiltered and unchallenged, and we are later consumed with dispelling them. We all know he has no real handle on the issues or policy. That is why we’ll propose a debate, a forum where he will be forced to meet Gabriel face-to-face.”

  “He’ll never accept a challenge to debate,” Pantaloons argued. “He knows he has no chance against Gabriel in a venue such as that.”

  “Normally, I would agree, expect that I have come to know Smith all too well. His ego is too large, his hatred too deep, and I have full confidence that if I were to issue the contest, he couldn’t possibly resist accepting.”

  “Timmy has a point,” Bugs agreed. “Smith will do whatever he can to best Timmy, even if it is through besting Gabriel.”

  “Sir Snoots, do you still have contacts at the Southrump Fine Fellows Club for Cockfighting and Pipe Smoking?” asked Wicketts.

  “Yes, I was a former member and still have the ear of a fellow or two,” replied Snoots.

  “Capital. I’ll issue the challenge and propose that venue. It is a great place to debate key issues as its gents-only membership includes just about every highfalutin suit-wearer in town. Gabriel can debate Smith before a very important and interested audience.”

  The idea had merit, and the rest of the Perfects agreed. Gabriel would be able to reveal Smith for the hollow politico he was in front of a concentrated consortium of greatly influential male voters. But more importantly for Timmy, the men-only establishment would not allow Genny to enter. Smith would be forced to leave her, giving Timmy a grand opportunity to speak with his muse and hopefully find the whereabouts of the ledger.

  The next day, Timmy headed out early to tell Gabriel his idea for the debate. While he was gone, Snoots was tasked with arranging the details at the Fine Fellows Club. The rest of the Perfects ran through a litany of possible discussion points Gabriel may be asked to address by the debate moderator. They covered any conceivable topic and rationalized Mr. Goldhand’s current stance on the subject. Everyone wanted to be thoroughly prepared to brief Gabriel of their recommendations and strategies.

  When Timmy brought the idea to Mr. Goldhand, the elder gentleman agreed with vehemence. He was tired of combating meaningless rumors and speculation and desperately wanted to talk issues and the business of the day. A debate would be the optimal opportunity.

  With Gabriel’s blessing, Timmy set forth to seek out Smith. The actor, turned would-be mayor, was undoubtedly a shrewd man, but Wicketts knew if he could get under his skin just enough, the spiteful snake would accept the challenge.

  It had been announced earlier in the week that Smith was holding a rally on the Halfwit stairs. With the ears and eyes of the public readily available, Timmy reasoned it was a perfect location to lay down the gauntlet. He made his way to the Shillings district and to the central square just outside the theater. A large crowd waving pro-Smith signs cheered and shouted, all eagerly looking toward an empty podium erected at the theater’s doors. Timmy wormed and weaved his way through the excited assembly, eventually claiming a spot close to the front. Seconds later, Smith emerged from the Halfwit to a loud chorus of applause. The gathered flock began to chant, “Smith! Smith! Smith!”

  The glory-seeking slimeball was flanked by Genny on his right and Leland on his left. He waved in presidential fashion to his adoring fans. Timmy’s stomach turned. He couldn’t believe people were actually buying Smith’s act. If nothing else, Smith was proving to have much greater skills of illusion as a candidate than he ever had as a thespian.

  Smith approached the podium and the crowd grew quiet. “My fellow Southrumpians, the finish line is approaching. We can see it off in the distance and know we will not rest until it is reached. Without question, you have come to realize the hypocrisy of my opponent. I have peeled back his golden skin and made evident the rotten core he so desperately hopes to hide. This is not a man of pure motives, as he would so fervently want you to believe. He is the classic wolf in sheep’s clothing. My father used to say that the only way to keep the wolf at bay is with the watchful eye of a master shepherd. My friends, I promise to be that shepherd!”

  The crowd roared with approval. After basking in the support for a moment, Smith quieted them down once more.

  “Yes, I will be your watchful eye in the mayor’s office. I will be the one you can count on. I will…”

  “Lose to Goldhand in a debate!” Timmy shouted for all to hear.

  Smith was caught off guard. He looked with disdain toward the source of the interruption. Seeing Timmy standing there, smiling back, he grew even more incensed.

  Timmy continued to grin as he made his way out of the crowd and up the Halfwit stairs.

  “Yes, John Smith, you will lose a debate with Gabriel Goldhand because you haven’t a leg to stand on!” shouted a cocky Wicketts. “You are a master storyteller and a grand con-man, but when it comes to knowing what truly needs to be done, you are as lost as a young boy in a brothel.”

  The people were silent, shocked by the incendiary words of Timmy. Smith was fuming with rage, but fought with all his might to refrain from a damning public outburst.

  “It is quite evident that, should you actually be forced to speak on the issues in front of Gabriel himself, you would be revealed as the mountebank you truly are. As they say, empty vessels make the most noise.”

  Smith could sense the crowd’s expectance. He knew to refuse at this point would do his reputation great harm. He also couldn’t fight his blind hatred of Timmy.

  “So a debate is what you propose, Mr. Wicketts? While I may have had the class and respect to issue such a contest through private courier, I see my opponent Goldhand would rather interrupt a joyful gathering by sending out his errand boy to make a spectacle of things. Ah, so it is to be expected from such a lowbrow as Goldhand. But that is neither here nor there. The debate has been proposed, and I willingly accept.”

  The gathered people erupted with cheer. Smith cast an icy glare toward Timmy, and Timmy returned an unwavering stare.

  “The Fine Fellows Club, tomorrow morning,” Timmy yelled over the raucous congregation while descending the stairs.

  Smith nodded his acceptance, indignation embedded in his countenance.

  As Timmy walked away, he could hear Smith returning to his name-calling and mudslinging. It mattered little at this point. The challenge had been successfully issued and accepted. Gabriel would have a grand opportunity to reveal Smith’s shortcomings before a prime audience, and Timmy would have the chance to speak with Genny and hopefully obtain the game-changing information he was so desperate to find.

  =====