“I wish I could come with you, but there’s another mistake I need to correct,” he said. “The Zodiac Killer has struck again. I need to find Cruz.”
She pouted. “Are you sure you can’t . . . come with me?”
Behind her, a great bald eagle swooped down and plucked Opulence off the nine hole. Jimmie tried to refocus his gaze on Victoria, but he felt his eyes tracking upward as the dachshund was carried up and to the eagle’s nest atop the Washington Monument.
She started to turn her head, but he planted his lips on the former first lady—partially to distract her and partially because he enjoyed kissing pretty girls.
They lapped at each other, needily, hungrily. The fact that she’d betrayed him faded with each long minute they stayed lip-locked. Jimmie was falling for her, all right. He hadn’t thought he could feel like this about anyone after everything that had happened with Cat. It wasn’t love, but it was close enough for government work.
Victoria broke away for air. “I need you right now, Mr. Jimmie. Let us find a restroom and make the love.”
Jimmie was hard enough to cut a diamond but not desperate enough to get laid that he wanted to do it in a restroom. Plus, he had to get on the road—there was a killer out there. Then again . . . he could spare eight or nine minutes, couldn’t he?
“Will your clearance level get us into the vice president’s office, by any chance?” he asked, taking her hand. The VP, of course, was still in space. He’d be there a while. They’d accidentally launched him to Mars instead of the moon base.
Victoria nodded.
Biden’s beanbag chair was going to need a good steam cleaning after today.
They raced hand in hand for the White House. Jimmie’s conscience was mostly free—Victoria’s divorce wasn’t yet finalized, but her husband was behind bars. That’s where Trump would remain for a good, long time. Thirty-two years, to be exact. Attempted murder and aggravated assault weren’t cheap, as far as convictions went. Cat’s sentence—life—was even harsher, but suffice to say Trump wouldn’t be coming after Jimmie anytime soon.
However, it was a near certainty that the ex-president would be out long before his sentence was up. President Ryan wouldn’t pardon him, but the next president might. And if they didn’t, then another would. Someday, in their darkest hour, the American people would turn to the Donald and ask for his help making America great again (again)—again.
About the Author
Andrew Shaffer is the New York Times best-selling author of How to Survive a Sharknado and Other Unnatural Disasters. His other works include the Ghostbusters tie-in Ghosts from Our Past and Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody. Shaffer and his work have been featured on The Colbert Report, NPR, Fox News’s Fox and Friends, CBS’s The Early Show, Mental Floss, and Maxim. This is his first thriller.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank editor Anne Brewer, publisher Matt Martz, publicists Dana Kaye and Julia Borcherts, and the rest of the staff at Crooked Lane Books. You were a pleasure to work with.
I would like to thank my agent, Brandi Bowles, at Foundry Literary + Media.
I would like to thank Tiffany Reisz, Jenn LeBlanc, and Keegan Murphy for listening to me ramble and for rambling right back.
And lastly, I would like to thank Donald J. Trump for making politics great again.
The Day of the Donald Page 20
