Out of Crisis

by Richard Caldwell

  “But first, let me point out my use of ‘pull through Congress’ as opposed to ‘push through.’ I hope this subtle shift in semantics sends the subliminal message it is intended to send. A long-standing management maxim states that you lead from the front. The traits central to pull, versus push, leadership include empowerment and collaboration, thoughtful problem analysis, and engagement. That’s precisely what we want to foster in our citizens.

  “Now, as those of you who just joined us recover from the birthright citizenship shocker, I’m going to ask Elton to review the second and third constitutional changes we hope to enact. Then Nelson will walk us through some of the details of how these changes will dramatically improve our election process, reduce if not eliminate illegal immigration, and save lives. Elton, you have the helm.”

  “Thank you, Milt.” Elton strode to the front of the room. “I guess in this day and age, ‘you have the remote’ may be more appropriate.” Smiles lit up the room.

  “Regardless of where you stand on the issue, everyone in this room knows we have long had a gun violence crisis in this county,” Elton began. “We have three hundred sixty-one more murders per one hundred thousand residents than Japan. The most gun deaths, homicides, of any industrialized country on the planet. Yet, over the past fifty years, we have done virtually nothing to get any semblance of control over this situation. This is long overdue.

  “Our party prides itself on finding the middle ground, a balance, on every issue. That sweet spot lies somewhere between ‘thoughts and prayers’ and complete firearms confiscation. The change to the Second Amendment that we propose will get us closer to reasonable, intelligent gun control than ever before.” As he spoke, Elton pressed the remote, and another slide appeared on the screen, line by line.

  Modify the Second Amendment such that

  only citizens may purchase/own/carry firearms;

  all firearms must be registered in a federal database;

  a background investigation must be completed before allowing item 1 above;

  the prospective owner must complete basic firearm safety and user training;

  a ballistic test must be performed, with the results entered into the item 2 database; and

  no automatic or military-grade weapons/enabling modifications, large-capacity magazines, or armor-piercing ammunition may be privately owned.

  Using the remote’s laser, Elton pointed to the screen. “Pay special attention to item one. As Milt mentioned earlier, these changes have been designed to build one upon the other. To use an overused word but still a brilliant concept, they are synergistic. When combined, as we intend to do, the result is greater than the sum of the individual parts. When fully implemented, these modifications to our constitution will make this country far safer, our government more efficient and responsive, and our citizens more engaged than ever imagined.

  “However, I have to disagree with one of Milt’s previous statements, at least a little. He said that our recommended requirements for citizenship would be the most contentious amendment we will attempt to ratify. I, on the other hand, believe the one you are looking at, the vaunted right to bear arms, is the most revered constitutional privilege held by our fellow Americans, at least by an extremely vocal minority.

  “A survey conducted by Pew Research two years ago indicated that nearly forty-seven percent of American households owned at least one gun. That comes to over three hundred ninety-five million guns, or, for you numbers freaks, one point three two guns for every man, woman, child, and zygote in the continental United States. Over three percent of the US population owns between eight and one hundred forty guns, even though last year alone, over forty-two thousand Americans were killed by guns, and we’re on track to break that record this year. The NRA and their little weeny cultists will lose their shit when they hear what we are going to propose.

  “We aren’t suggesting that guns be outlawed or confiscated. We just want to see common-sense registration and controls. You know, like with planes, trains, and automobiles. Oh, and by law-abiding, sane adults.”

  Elton’s tenor crept up. David knew that getting control of gun violence was Elton’s passion. His fifteen-year-old granddaughter had been gunned down by her clinically depressed biology teacher, slaughtered, along with four of her classmates, as she sat in her third-period class.

  “Thanks, Elton,” Milt said. “In the interest of time, I’m going to ask that you move us along to the next recommended constitutional change, though I damn sure don’t want to diminish the importance of a more enlightened approach to the right to bear arms. If we can prevent just one school shooting or one senseless workplace massacre, we will have succeeded. And we know we will do a lot better than that.”

  David admired Milt’s ability to strike a balance between not dampening the mood in the room and emphasizing the importance of the Second Amendment change while keeping the overall presentation on track. Not an easy task.

  Milt stepped back to the mic and continued: “We have another monumental change to review. I know David is raring to let the press know how these new laws will put an end to our illegal immigration problem, without pissing off our neighbors to the south, and save a boatload of money at the same time.”

  Elton clicked the remote and brought up the next slide. “I appreciate you keeping me on target, Milt. You’re right: I am a bit zealous about that subject, and that passion can sometimes get me in the mud. But I promise to stick to the script during the remainder of my allotted time.”

  Implement Term and Age Limits

  For all federal elected/appointed positions:

  President/Vice President2 four-year terms

  House of Representatives3 consecutive two-year terms

  Senate3 consecutive six-year terms

  Supreme Court12 years total serviceNote: Representatives and Senators can be reelected after sitting out 1 term. No one may remain in office beyond the age of 80.

  “Our recommendation for term limits will be a lot more palatable among the voting public. The overwhelming majority of those surveyed are not in favor of career politicians,” Elton said. “Oddly, however, that doesn’t square with the fact that historically we put ninety-three percent of incumbents right back into office every single time they run for office. I can only explain that through a combination of name recognition, voter apathy, and pure laziness. Most people just don’t take the time and effort to study the issues and learn where other candidates stand on them.

  “Some people will say we already have term limits: the voting booth. Sadly, that simply isn’t true. And unless impeached and removed from office for high crimes and misdemeanors, which has only happened once in the history of our country, a Supreme Court justice can serve until death or resignation.

  “The notion of term and age limits is one of those not-so-rare situations where the voting public is on one side of the fence and our elected officials on the other. Even though service caps make perfect sense, we expect an out-and-out congressional dog fight when this legislation finally comes up for discussion.

  “But its time has come. Actually, it has passed. And that’s why the people of the United States need a common-sense party, and that’s why we need David Stakley and Mia Lopez in the White House.”

  Everyone in the room applauded. Almost as one, everyone stood up, cheering and whistling.

  “Thank you, Elton,” Milt said as folks started to settle back into their seats. “Great wrap-up to a timely message. Now let’s take a fifteen-minute break, test the Farm’s plumbing, and refill our coffee cups. Even you fitness freaks don’t want to miss out on the goodies Mattie made for us. When we come back, the next president of the United States will present some of the initiatives we have planned, which are dependent on the revisions you just heard and which, over time, will tie it all together.”

  39

  Germantown, Maryland

  Near the end of the first campaign strategy session,
eighteen months before the day of

  Kelly finished putting on her obligatory deep-red lipstick. That was the only makeup-related vanity she allowed herself, at least when going out during the day. She sometimes got a bit more aggressive for a special occasion in the evening.

  David and Mia had been gone for most of the week, but they would return home later in the afternoon. Kelly was planning a special dinner to celebrate David’s arrival. She missed him terribly when he was away for any length of time. Despite having been married for nearly five years, she still liked to surprise him with little gifts or his favorite food.

  And sometimes a trip to Victoria’s Secret was in order.

  Tonight she would focus mostly on food and wine. The dessert course would depend on how tired David was when he got home. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be at the top of her game in the looks department. So before going to Safeway, Kelly would make her Barbie rounds for a manicure and pedicure and to freshen up the lowlights in her hair.

  Kelly did some mental gymnastics and calculated that she could drive downtown, get her hair and nails done, and then swing by Sabai Simply Thai for a bowl of their red-curry noodle soup.

  Eating the stuff was like taking a swig of molten steel, but, damn, it was good. Then off to the market for bone-in pork chops and sweet potatoes. If things went as planned, she should be home in plenty of time to brine the chops, get the potatoes in the oven, and have a drink ready for David when he walked through the door. It sure beat working. She took her car keys off their designated hook and headed for the side entrance to the garage.

  …

  Arturo grew increasingly impatient as he sat for the third day in a row in the white cargo van he had purchased in Atlanta. He had paid cash for the Ford Econoline, to a dubious dealer who was the associate of an acquaintance from Mexico, creating a sufficiently convoluted transaction trail.

  Hector sat behind the wheel, drumming his fingers impatiently, ready to roll at a moment’s notice.

  That evening, they drove north along the east coast on I-95. On the way, Hector stole a license plate from a delivery truck parked at South of the Border, the garish rest stop near Dillon, South Carolina. The stolen plate and two new magnetic signs bearing the name “BBB Accredited Construction” now adorned the van.

  Following a near-disastrous snatch that resulted in scars on his face and a kick to his groin that still ached, Arturo decided to trade the stun gun for a less hazardous means of subduing his victims. It wasn’t as much fun‍—his victims didn’t squirm, they just went limp‍—but it was more efficient.

  After some fairly intense research, layered on top of his veterinary and chemistry laboratory experience, Arturo decided to use trichloromethane, aka chloroform, as the base for an incapacitating formula. Even in small doses, chloroform alone could daze or knock out land animals. Arturo determined that the effects of this mixture would be dramatically enhanced if administered as an aerosol. He was at a loss as to how this could be done until one afternoon, while shopping for ibuprofen in the farmacia of the Cancún Walmart, the solution literally fell off the shelf and into his cart: Vicks nasal spray. Not the medicine itself, the bottle.

  This morning, as he sat in the passenger seat, scanning every vehicle that passed the innocuous-looking van, Arturo absentmindedly fingered the Vicks bottle tucked inside his shirt pocket.

  “Heads up, ke-mo sah-bee!” Hector screeched. “The chicken’s flown the coop.”

  Where did Hector come up with that shit? Arturo shook his head and zeroed in on the Stakley chick’s Prius as she drove past the parked van.

  Hector started the van, allowed another car to pass, and then pulled onto the street, maintaining a distance of about fifty meters behind the Prius. Arturo admired Hector’s skill. He had to keep the vehicle he was following in view while trying not to be conspicuous. Stoplights and traffic circles were always problematic. He had to continually adjust his speed to avoid being stopped or cut off by other vehicles. But he had become something of an expert at tailing his prey.

  Hector chuckled. “Mrs. Stakley’s obliviously a safe driver. That makes following her almost easy.”

  …

  Kelly drove down Clopper Road, turned left onto Kingsview Village Avenue, and then right into the parking lot in front of Four Seasons Nail and Spa.

  In an attempt to avoid getting dings on her new Prius if someone should carelessly open the door of his car, she pulled into a parking spot on the outskirts of the lot, the back end of her car facing the spa. She didn’t mind walking a little farther, especially in such beautiful weather. The extra steps added to her goal of twelve thousand a day and went a long way toward keeping her fit and trim. Besides, she was a few minutes early for her ten o’clock appointment.

  She unconsciously checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, fluffed her hair, got out of her car, and headed for the spa’s entrance, remotely locking the car door as she walked.

  …

  “It’s almost like she wants to get snatched,” Hector said as he parked the van in an empty space on the driver’s side of the Prius.

  “Well, my Cro-Magnon friend, our first lucky break in three days,” Arturo noted with a toothy grin. “I suspect it’ll be a while before she comes out of there, but I’m going to go ahead and open the side door and get in place, just to be on the safe side.”

  Arturo got out of the van and slid open the passenger-side cargo door. He then walked to the back of the truck, opened the left rear door, and turned on a laptop mounted on a portable table. With the laptop’s camera set to selfie mode, he was able to view everything behind him while pretending to work on some imaginary BBB Accredited Construction task.

  As he proceeded with this charade, he reviewed his plans for the snatch for the hundredth time. When Mrs. Stakley left the spa and started walking back to her car, he would pretend to complete his work. He would close the rear door, being careful to do so as she slipped between the van and the Prius to get to her driver’s-side door. He would fall in behind her, and just as she drew even with the cargo door, he would call out her name.

  That was a funny thing about human nature. Even in a strange or threatening situation, Arturo knew he could get someone to drop her guard, if only for a second or two, simply by calling her name. Mrs. Stakely would turn to see who had recognized her, and then Arturo would strike. He would have his Vicks bottle of sleepy juice ready, and the instant she turned, he would give her a full-on facial. And just like with his test animals, she would be startled and inhale involuntarily.

  For the next hour and a half, Arturo kept his eyes glued to the laptop’s monitor. As he waited, Arturo reflected on his encounter with the gringo from DC. He and Hector would receive $500,000 for the snatch, $100,000 up front and the balance when they were instructed to release the Stakley woman. The man gave precise details on how they were to conduct her abduction, what they were to do and, more specifically, what they were not to do.

  They were instructed to subdue the woman, remove the tip of her ring finger‍—their signature terror tactic‍—and then place her digit and wedding ring into a Ziploc bag provided by the gringo. They would then enclose this ghoulish package in a manila envelope. The packet, which contained a sealed letter, was addressed to David Stakley in Germantown, Maryland.

  Arturo had no earthly idea of how the gringo, or the people he worked for, knew their tactics, but they damn sure knew. That scared Arturo. But his fright paled in comparison to the warning the man provided about what would happen to him, Hector, and their closest relatives if any additional harm came to the Stakley woman.

  The people the gringo worked for wanted Stakley to drop out of the presidential campaign, but they didn’t wish to bring about a groundswell of public sentiment about his poor kidnapped wife, which might end up helping him get elected.

  Arturo and Hector were to hold her until Stakley publicly announced his
withdrawal. Then they would release her, without additional harm, in some podunk town in West Virginia. Hector would be castrated if he touched her as he had done with their previous victims. And Arturo would have both of his legs amputated at the knees by a twelve-gauge shotgun.

  Arturo had zero doubt that the man and his employers would follow through with their threat. This scared the coon dog shit out of him.

  Finally, Mrs. Stakely came out of the spa. She smiled as she checked herself out in the reflection of a storefront mirror, touched the back of her hair, and started walking toward her Prius.

  “Game on, tonto,” Arturo called to Hector. He chuckled. Payback for Hector’s “ke-mo sah-bee” crack since tonto was Spanish for “fool.” Arturo knew Hector would never catch the humor from that double entendre, but he thought it was hilarious.

  “Watch my six. Here she comes.”

  Kelly walked at the brisk pace of someone who had a lot more to do before heading home. As she passed the Hispanic man at the rear of some business vehicle, she pressed a button on her car key, unlocking the Prius.

  …

  Arturo eased the rear door closed, then reached inside his shirt pocket for the Vicks inhaler. He unscrewed the already-loosened tip, dropped it back into his pocket, and held the bottle in his right hand.

  When the lady was parallel to his shoulders, and he was out of her peripheral vision, Arturo stepped behind and to her right. One more step and she would be in position.

  Arturo pointed the inhaler at the back of her head and called, “Kelly Stakley!”

  The woman hesitated for a split second and then turned toward the voice.

  A blinding flash of light and searing pain shot through Arturo’s head when the leather-wrapped blackjack smashed into his skull just behind his right ear.