Jerry barely heard the cons, and was really flattered, almost swept away that he was being selected for a life beyond the norm. He nodded. “OK,” he said.
“You can think it over as long as you want. This is not a choice that should be made on an impulse--you can’t ever unmake it.”
“I get that. It won’t be necessary. I’ve been ready for something like this for a long time.”
There was no ritual, no contract to sign. The attorney took out a copied-and-recopied picture of an ink drawing that depicted a few different handshakes. Jerry shook hands with the attorney as instructed.
All these years later, he realized the conversation was misleading in a key way. It was the only time information about the organization was presented in a frank and comprehensive manner. The rest of his career had been ridiculously cloak and dagger secret. He rarely knew why he was doing something, and sometimes didn’t even know what he was doing.
A few years ago, they moved him out of Columbus to the boondocks of Ashtabula County. He bought a mansion that used to be owned by a boxer. The place was set on about 100 acres of scrubby old farm fields. Behind the house were steel cages where the boxer kept tigers and panthers as pets. Jerry started a new career as a Libertarian firebrand AM radio host. He broadcast from a studio in “The Compound” he called it, and his engineer played a roar, “a sabre tooth cat” every time he said “Compound”.
He had no prior interest in politics. He got scripts emailed every day--written by god knows who, and he acted them out. He launched campaigns on topics he didn’t care about at all, and hammered a few key points and catch phrases every day. The show really took off via the Internet when he got into a social media feud with “that libtard Danny Fitzgerald”. Danny broadcast the “progressive” version of Jerry’s show from Vermont from “The Pasture”.
Both shows made it into the national spotlight when Danny stopped at “The Compound” for an in-person interview. To the audience, it appeared the two spontaneously got into a heated argument, which then became a chaotic fistfight. At first they pretended the footage would never be shown. He ran the audio almost every day for a week, steadily building audience interest. Then, they leaked the footage onto YouTube through a fake account, and pretended to fire his engineer for the crime of leaking it.
One still frame from the video, an image of Jerry’s dazed expression, bloody nose, and bloody dress shirt became a popular meme. After the incident, he and Danny made the circuit of conservative or liberal mainstream media shows.
The whole incident was scripted and the blood was fake. They had rehearsed the fight with a stunt coordinator from LA that flew in for the week.
After the stunt, he spent a lot of time traveling and glad handing at fund raisers and rallies for red-meat, red state “conservatives”. He used the events to conduct business for the Brotherhood.
Chapter Eleven
Geauga County’s thorough allegiance to the GOP went all the way back to the Civil War. Though factions and squabbles inevitably arose from time to time, the ugliness of politics, the struggle for dumb animal domination, hadn’t appeared until recently. After the 2008 financial crisis, the county establishment’s generic country club conservatism started to yield to more radical strands of thought. New, angry, insistent faces started showing up at fund raisers and party events.
Judge Ralph was one of those faces. Contrary to the wishes of the local party establishment, Columbus installed him after Marcus Rice died. The local party apparatchicks spent months frozen in a state of disbelief and indignation. In the meanwhile, Ralph hired friends and cronies for every patronage job he could find or create.
He showed up to Patty’s with his long time friend, Skip, who was now employed as his aide. He shadowed the Judge with his gun holstered under his arm and with his cell phone camera rolling.
Wilma Barstow was one of the County’s Country Club Republicans stalwarts. She clashed with the judge at every opportunity. She saw him enter the building, downed her drink, then sidled up to him and Skip.
“Hi Ralph, I see you trained your dog to work a camera. Good boy!” She patted Skip’s head. He stepped back from her to film, but made sure to let his jacket fall open to reveal a holstered gun.
“That’s Judge Ralph to you, Wilma.” Ralph said firmly.
She laughed hysterically. “Oh my god, you two are such freaks.”
Skip filmed her picking up another drink from a waiter’s tray. She toasted him and took a drink.
She asked, “Is this going on your YouTube channel? Think it’ll go viral. Maybe reach number one.” She held up her middle finger and shoved it toward the phone.
Jerry motioned to Ralph from across the room. Ralph was relieved for an excuse to step away from her. “Stay classy Wilma. Pardon me, but I have some business to attend to. Stop filming Skip.” Skip put the phone in his jacket pocket and just watched the room, looking for any security breaches.
“Jerry, good to see you. I was just entertaining my biggest fan over there.” Ralph pointed at Wilma.
“Well, if you get another one, you’ll double the size of that club.” Jerry sneered. “But hey, I don’t have time to shoot the shit. I’m here on business: You need to speed up the progress on this farm job. Get it done ASAP.”
Ralph blanched, “Jesus Jerry. I was doing exactly what they wanted, taking it really slow, getting ready to turn the place into a museum. It would just take a few more months.”
“Well, things changed. I don’t know why, but they just did. Get it done.”
Ralph put his hand on his chin. “OK. Of course, but it’s too big for the team out here. I need some help.”
Jerry sighed. “Alright. I’ll call you later and we’ll work something out.”
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Judge Ralph jogged up the courthouse steps and went past the clerk’s office. He stepped inside and rapped his knuckles on her desk. “Good morning, judge.” she smiled at him.
He made a forced smile. “Court’s closed today, Marcy.”
“Closed?” She frowned involuntarily, thinking of all the people she’d need to call and argue with during the day.
“Yeah, closed. There’s a problem with the gas lines. Have George give me a call ASAP.”
“OK… gas. right, got it.” She was at least relieved to have an excuse.
He walked briskly out of the building. His cell phone rang.
“George, I smelled gas in the courthouse. I need you to check it out.”
“Gas? Doesn’t the county have people for that?”
“You turning down work? I need you to do a thorough inspection all day today.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“When you get here, I really don’t care what you do, just stay the entire day.”
“Alright, we’ll check it out.”
He hurried to his car. He pulled a burner phone out of the glove compartment. A list of code names were programmed in the phone’s contact list. He texted “bridge 30” to Fonzi. he got a reply a minute later. “OK”.
The Sheriff was already there when the Judge arrived. His unmarked patrol car was parked in front of a guardrail barrier and a fading “DEAD END” sign. Beyond the sign, the road continued to a sandstone abutment where the bridge once stood. On the other side of the river, big white pines had long ago erased the road bed. Rocky sand colored banks were shining on either side of the black band of the river. The Sheriff stood on the bank. He was a tall wiry man with slicked back salt and pepper hair. He skipped rocks across a shallow pool in the river. They bounced over to the opposite shore.
The judge held his arms out, looked up at the sky and breathed deep.
“Chuck, this place, if it could talk. These stones soaking up all that energy. Can’t you just feel it?”
“Blah, blah. You guys with the ooga booga bullshit. What’s up?”
The judge sniffed. “No imagination, this one. We need to kick it up a notch on the farm.”
“I thought you were taking it slow.”
“Jerry paid a visit. They’re not happy now.”
“I don’t think it’s a two man job.”
“We have some help coming in a few days.”
“And who are they this time?”
“Well, the only ones I could get on short notice are Israeli.”
“Think people won’t find that… odd? A couple Israelis prowling around here?”
“Hear me out... First, I hit the local churches, we start talking about the holy land… a couple weeks later, a contingent from Israel shows up to spread peace and understanding or whatever.”
“That could work.” Chuck sighed. “Jesus motherfucking christ on a cracker. I’m getting too old for this bullshit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Morgan got to school early and went up to the calculus classroom before anyone else was even in the building. He started picking at the wall, gingerly at first. He blew dust away and saw the glinting edge of something round and gold. He worked at it for about ten minutes before he started hearing people out in the hall.
Steve walked in the door. “WTF? Dude, what are you doing?”
“Keep an eye out. I’m almost done.”
Steve stood at the door. “Hurry up!” Other students filed in. Carrie Crossling noticed him chipping away at the wall.
“Almost got it…oops.” The cinder block cracked and a big chunk fell on the floor. The coin came free.
Carrie said, “What the hell, Morgan? You’re going to bring this whole shithole down! Loser.” She walked away in disgust. The other students in the class kept looking back to see what was going on.
Morgan held the coin in his palm. “How cool is that?!” He showed it to Steve.
“Dude… don’t get me involved.” Steve slid his desk away.
Tracy hissed, “what is it?” Morgan passed it over just as Mr. Bartlett walked in. Morgan quickly slid his chair back and tried to cover the hole in the wall with his head.
Tracy palmed the coin.
The whole room was murmuring and looking back at Morgan. Mr. Bartlett sighed. “OK. What’s going on?”
Carrie spat, “Morgan broke the wall.”
“What? Move away from there, Morgan.”
Chapter Fourteen
Morgan sat with his dad outside the principal’s office for an hour after the final bell. His father was still in work clothes from the garage. The principal walked in and out a few times and made a point of ignoring them. Morgan’s dad just kept sighing and saying, “Geez, Morgan.”
Finally the door opened and the principal leaned out. “Come on in.” he made an absentminded gesture and picked up some papers from the desk and set the pry bar on his desktop calendar. He sat back and stared at it.
Morgan and his father sat down in creaky chairs.
“I deal with nonsense from these kids and from parents every day, but honestly, I don’t know what to make of this. Broke a wall with this thing… Why?” the principal set the pry bar on the desk.
“I thought I saw something in there, in the crack. I poked at it. It broke. I didn’t break it.”
“Morgan, you’re going to argue with me? You know the zero tolerance policy. You signed it. Your father signed it. Yet, you smuggled this--which some might say is a weapon--and damaged the building. I could expel you.” He let that word sink in. Morgan just kept looking down at the floor. “Vice Principal Bowers thinks I should expel you just to be safe.”
Morgan’s father leaned forward, “Principal Phillips, my son is a lot of things--mainly a moron--but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can’t even think of the last time he was in trouble. What if he repairs the wall? I’ll make sure he does it right.”
The Principal frowned. “A student repair a wall? I’ve got about five union contracts that are involved with building repairs. No, Mr. Klerc, we fix it, and I give you the bill. On top of that, Morgan is suspended for 2 weeks.”
Morgan’s father shook the principal’s hand and gestured to Morgan to do so. “You are going to pay every nickel of that bill.”
Chapter Fifteen
The kids gathered at Tracy’s after school. Chloe took a few pictures of the coin with her phone.
Morgan asked, “Is it real?”
“It looks real to me. Well, 24 karat gold looks like that anyway.” Chloe said.
“What does the writing mean?” He asked.
“I can’t read it.” Tracy shrugged.
“Well, I hope it’s worth something… I mean, I got suspended over it, and now I have to pay to repair the shitty wall. Sell that for me?”
Tracy put up her hands. “I have no idea what it’s worth… I couldn’t even guess. I mean, it looks old.”
“Shit… well, where do I go to find that out?”
“Get online, find somebody that might have a clue… get it appraised.”
Steve hit him on the shoulder, “Dude, my dad might know something… He’s always talking about money, stocks and stuff.”
Tracy shrugged and said. “Good luck explaining where it came from.”
“Right. Steve. If we do that, your dad will tell my dad. I won’t see a dime.”
“My dad won’t say anything to your dad. He doesn’t like him.”
“Why?” Chloe asked.
“Let’s just say, he’s got a bad reputation.” Morgan offered. He hated talking about it. “Yeah, Steve, let’s go talk to your dad.”
Chapter Sixteen
Steve’s house was recently built McMansion. A concrete drive followed a gentle hill up to a roundabout. A faux white marble fountain with lion heads burbled water into a pool that was surrounded by shrubs and flowers. A couple of SUVs were parked in the drive. One of the plates read “2TH DOC”.
Steve and Morgan propped their bikes on the garage wall and went inside. Ron Polloy, DDS was on the concrete patio behind the house. He was laying in a lounge chair with a book over his chest. He was half asleep. A ratty old Ohio State hat from his college days covered his eyes. Flip flops dangled from his chubby feet.
He stirred and grunted when he pulled the lounge chair up to a sitting position. “Oh hey boys, what’s the good word?”
“Dr. Polloy, I found this out in the woods, I was wondering if you have any idea how much it’s worth…” Morgan gave him the coin.
“Wow! Lucky. That is gold. How interesting! It’s weirdly heavy stuff, isn’t it. Do you boys know where gold comes from?”
“The ground?”
“I mean… originally.” he looked at them over the top of his sunglasses. “Two neutron stars collide and explode into a supernova. Gold atoms are formed in the process. Look up stellar-nucleosynthesis sometime.”
“Stellar-nucleo…”
“synthesis”.
“Are you sure he’s your dad? What happened to you?”
“Crack a book someday… At your age, I knew nothing about nothing. I hit the books in college… actually stayed away from partying… It worked out, mostly.”
“Mostly?” Morgan wondered.
“Well… no matter what path you choose in life, can’t help but wonder if the another one would be better somehow…”
“Dad… Life lessons some other time.”
“Alright, alright. As a chunk of gold, it’s probably $1200-ish. But as an antique coin? I really have no idea. So, it could be a lot, or just $1200.”
“Wha…. wow. $1200? Man, I’d be glad to get that. I haven’t seen that much money in my life!”
“Well, don’t take that until you know what it’s really worth… We can head over to a coin shop out in Pepper Pike. Maybe get dinner too.”
Chapter Seventeen
Judge Ralph and the two Israeli operatives drove to the Sheriff’s campaign office, which had gradually turned into a satellite office for personal business. One of the operatives was a tall thin man with a short buzz cut, and perpetual 5 o’clock shadow. He was talkative, laughing and smiling all the time. The other was short, slight, and quiet, and ver
y young, in his early twenties. He had a bushy mop of dirty blonde hair and had gold rimmed glasses. Both were wearing non-descript slightly oversized well worn clothes.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries, talked about weather and geography. The talkative operative, Saul, answered all the questions. Yuri fiddled with his phone.
“Does he speak English?” the Sheriff asked.
The Judge interjected before Saul could answer, “Like it matters, Chuck. who’s he going to talk to?”
Yuri added, “A little.”
Saul smiled, “He actually knows the language well--from TV--but is out of practice making conversation. Everyone watches BBC and American shows.”
“Maybe he’ll get some practice on this job. Right, Ralph?”
The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival Page 3
