 
Angel Baby

Featuring Groucho Chico Harpo Biden

By Billy Orton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014, 2018 Billy Orton
**Smashwords Edition, License Notes**

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**Part I –** **One DAY**

**Chapter One – The Jewish Angel Brothers Horsewhip Nixon's Ghost**

A dark-haired Jewish Angel with round eyewear and a thickly-painted moustache wore a long tuxedo and chomped on a huge cigar. The Angel Groucho playfully pretending to rev the engine of a motorcycle mounted with a sidecar that itself rode a slowly-rotating carousel, next to the barn door of what otherwise appeared to be the front office for a family business.

Beyond the carousel, the Angel Groucho's brothers sat at a card table drinking coffee. One of the Jewish Angel Brothers – a morphed giant duck wearing a cone-shaped hat – shuffled cards and quacked, while the other – in a tattered top hat and jacket – honked a smart-phone-slash-horn clipped to his chest pocket.

Someone pounded outside the bolted barn door.

"You've officially knocked on the official entry of the once officially important place called Limbo," yelled the smoking Angel, now idly sitting against a tall musical harp that serves as the motorcycle's backrest.

"Unlock the frickin door before I fall off a cloud!" muttered a male voice. "Ya make a president empty a dustbin and never let me back in."

The Angel Groucho got off the motorcycle, held his cigar, leaned forward, and paced in a circle around the rotating carousel, flicked ash into a dustbin set next to a seat at the card table. "Say the Secret Word!" demanded the Angel Groucho.

"One-sy...," quacked the Angel Chico, as the giant duck slowly dealt a card to Groucho.

The Angel Harpo aimed his smart phone and honked an image of Groucho's card, and then entered a phone number.

The barn-door pounding continued, and another voice babbled indefinable words.

"Spiro always get the fun shit!" yelled the dead president. "Makes yer frickin coffee!"

An antique MaBell Princess phone on the card table rang.

"Hello?" said Groucho.

Harpo silently laughed and showed the image of Groucho's card to the duck.

"Phones must get five bars in Purgatory," said Groucho, hanging up.

"Two-sy," said Chico, slowly lowering a card for Harpo.

"Open the door!" yelled the ghost, amidst babble. "Spiro's kicking the Hell outta me."

"You should be grateful," barked Groucho.

The Jewish Angel Brothers looked to the barn door before continuing to do nothing.

The Princess phone again rang.

"Hello, I'm must be going," said Groucho, immediately hanging up.

Harpo dialed again while Chico slowly lowering the last card, to himself.

"Hello?" repeated Groucho, tapping the Princess phone. "I'm sad to say... Limbo's gone today...." The Angel shook the phone. "Actually, forever."

Babbling grew louder.

"Spiro's driving me nuts," yelled the ghost.

"Let these workers continue to do nothing!" yelled Groucho, flicking ash into the dustbin, as the carousel with the motorcycle's sidecar slowly rotated.

The duck dropped the last card. "Three-sy!" quacked Chico, and the two non-smoking brothers smacked hands and slapped cards and grabbed for the deck, before the honk of a horn declared the Angel Harpo as the victor.

"One day, I'll learn to play this game," said Groucho, as Harpo silently laughed and Chico gathered cards and shuffled.

"The son-of-a-bitch is trying to push me off the cloud," begged the grumbling man.

"Say the Secret Word and I'll open the door," instructed Groucho, as Chico again dealt. "It's a simple word that no one uses anymore."

"Please...."

"That'll work," said Groucho, waving his cigar, which sent a waft of smoke across the room, circling the doorknob.

The barn door magically swung open.

The smiling, immaculately dressed ghost of Spiro Agnew snatched the empty dustbin from Nixon's Ghost's hand and flawlessly leapt over the bottom of the barn door, gleaming as he handed it to Groucho.

The dead president with a banana-shaped nose struggled to climb over the barn door. Nixon's Ghost wore a red cap with "37," a crumpled sports coat, flip-flops and bunny slippers.

"You're looking very much like a bum," said Groucho, flicking ashes onto the slippers. "No doubt you're a professional."

"Handsome profile," muttered Spiro.

"I was the frickin 37th president!" yelled Nixon's Ghost.

Groucho turned to the Vice President. "Once again, Employee of the Day!" he said, snatching a card and handing it to Spiro Agnew. "You've delivering the Dustbin of History for five years, six months and fourteen days in a row," said Groucho, to the gleaming Number Two Ghost.

"One-sy," again quacked Chico.

"Me and Spiro are the last two still in Limbo," said Nixon's Ghost, as he pulled a scrap of paper from his coat pocket. "Everyone's gone since the German Pope closed Limbo."

Harpo honked another image of Groucho's card.

"Maybe... you can... let us go?" said the dead president.

"You must think workers should stop doing nothing?" indignantly said the Angel Grouch. "How low can you go in Limbo?"

"Please," begged Nixon's Ghost, handing the paper to Groucho. "Take my resignation, effective noon tomorrow."

"Two-sy," quacked Chico.

"You probably think Jewish Angels are infallible," barked Groucho, grabbing the paper.

"I'm on my frickin knees," said the dead president, dropping to one knee.

Spiro Agnew lifted a mug of coffee, and smiled like Joe DiMaggio.

Groucho closely studied the scrap of paper. "You're asking for an official order from the All-Mighty Omnipotent Boss-in-Chief!"

"Maybe the German ex-Pope can swing a grandfather clause," muttered Nixon's Ghost. "Resigning could actually be great... or, 'near-great' anyway."

Groucho puffed smoke from his cigar. "Why look," said Groucho, as the smoke produced a sheet of glowing paper that floated next to a Mr. Coffee machine. "You heard the Boss-in-Chief," commanded the Angle Groucho to Agnew. "Deliver the order!"

The Employee of the Day smiled, teeth gleaming, and carefully lifted the glowing paper.

Nixon's Ghost looked down. One word – "Him" – wafted from the note and evaporated.

Chico quacked.

"I'm not omnipotent, but the Boss-in-Chief is ordering the Jewish Angel Brothers to actually work," said Groucho, looking to Harpo, and motioning to the carousel.

The Angel in tattered attire pulled down his top hat, leapt onto the motorcycle, and loudly revved the engine.

The duck with the cone-shaped hat brushed his feathers and quacked.

"It's time for a ride," said Groucho, motioning to Nixon's Ghost to get into the sidecar. "And time never ends in Limbo."

The dead president climbed into a sidecar, as Harpo honked and powered the engine.

The Angel Groucho climbed onto the giant duck's back, and pointed to Spiro Agnew. "Open the barn door," said Groucho.

The Employee of the Day swung open the bottom barn door.

"We must be off to see the Wizard," said Groucho, as the giant duck flapped his wings and flew through the barn door, followed by Harpo.

The motorcycle left the sidecar on the carousel.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Nixon's Ghost, as the three Jewish Angel Brothers flew through a clouds.

Groucho yelled. "Throw! Out! The crook!"

"Nattering nabobs of negativism," observed Spiro, as he shoved the side car through the barn door.

* * *

"Sweet Jesus!" cried the dead president, hurling downward, while a giant duck fluttered up to him.

"He must be," said Groucho, lying casually. "Too bad there's no library in Limbo."

Harpo, silently laughing, maneuvered the motorcycle to catch the side car.

Chico studied a map.

"Where the Hell are we going?" said the ghost in a voice of panic.

"Nope, Jews don't go there," replied the Angel Groucho, tapping the duck's map and signaling downward. "Faster!"

A moment later, the four plunged straight down.

The dead president screamed.

"Descend twelve thousand feet to the USS Iowa and turn southeast to the Queen Mary," quacked the duck.

"We're approaching another elected bum," said Groucho, casually pointed to a rural California peninsula. "I said, 'Faster!'"

The motorcycle and duck hurled downward, barely missing a 747 jet. As they rapidly approached the water, cargo ships looked like tiny toys approached America's biggest ports, next to the Palos Verdes peninsula.

"Sharp turn!" ordered Groucho, pointing to a huge battleship with massive cannons.

Chico altered direction, but bumped into the motorcycle.

Everyone plunged uncontrollably. Seconds later, they crashed onto a stable, smashing open the roof and smacking down next to a sleeping horse.

Groucho jumped off the duck, brushed his tuxedo, and pulled the remnants of a crumpled cigar from his coat pocket.

Harpo shoved Nixon's Ghost out of the side car and attempted to restart the motorcycle.

The dead president fell onto a pile of horse manure.

The waking animal looked up

"Shit!" cursed the ghost, flicking manure from the number "37.".

"A horse is a horse, of course, of course," said Groucho, pacing in a circle and wafting cigar smoke to the mare. "We can ride Mr. Ed to reach our destination."

Harpo could not restart the motorcycle's engine. The Jewish Angel climbed off, and strummed the musical harp that served as the backrest. The motorcycle disappeared.

The horse politely whinnied to Chico. "Carrot Cake is not -m-i-s-t-e-r- anyone."

"Always get back on the horse," instructed Groucho, who sent another puff of cigar smoke. A massive saddle that would fit four appeared on the mare.

The Jewish Angel Brothers and the ghost climbed onto the horse and they rose through the shattered roof.

Close to the barn with a huge hole on the roof, a middle-aged woman pointed to the mare, and said to the man beside her, "Buck, isn't Carrot Cake floating into the sky?"
Chapter Two – Nixon's Ghost Wakes Up the Dork

Fireworks flew upward from a barge by the Queen Mary, as the horse landed on sand. No one watching Independence Day fireworks paid attention to a horse landed in Long Beach, nor could anyone – except the homeless – see the three Angels and a ghost climbing off.

"What the Hell'er we doing?" demanded Nixon's Ghost.

"Quite the opposite," said Groucho. "This might be your ticket out of Limbo."

Harpo reached into a jacket pocket and pulled a coffee cup, and offered it to the horse.

"How come I ain't'a horse?" asked Chico, as a mare licked coffee.

"I'd horsewhip you, if you were a horse," said Groucho, poking his brother.

The beach crowd chanted "Ooo" and "Aww" as the fireworks lit the sky.

"We are we with a horse drinking coffee?" demanded Nixon's Ghost.

"Horses infrequently drink coffee," replied Groucho. "Too much caffeine."

The giant morphed bird pounded his feathers. "But why a duck?"

"You can be a pussycat tomorrow," said Groucho.

The massive sustained bombing continued without a secret.

Harpo whispered to the animal ear and the mare flew off.

"What am I doing here?" repeated Nixon's Ghost.

"You can resign from Limbo by teaching another bum how to be great, so get to work," instructed Groucho, waving his cigar toward a tall building a century old alongside the beach.

"What work am I doing?" asked Nixon's Ghost, as horse shit fell onto the "37" hat.

"You never know if something's great until the dustbin of history is full," said Groucho, handing a newspaper to the ghost. "Only bums see you, so visit one up in the penthouse."

Nixon's Ghost looked on the front page of the Grunion Gazette, which showed a dork in a cowboy suit. The ghost looked up, and saw Groucho and Harpo lying on the duck's back. "Since tomorrow's the bum's Swearing In, you can cuss all you want."

The three Jewish Angel Brothers flew upward, to the penthouse of a century-old building, left a magical cloud of red-white-and-blue smoke that embraced a stone gargoyle.

The beach crowd chanted "Ooo," as the Jewish Angel Brothers disappeared.

* * *

Nixon's Ghost – wearing the stinking "37" cap – sat near a stone gargoyle and read the local newspaper, near a couch with a sleeping dork, amidst a hoarded mess in the penthouse apartment. "Horse shit." The ghost looked at a drooling, unkempt dork. As he tapped away flecks from his hat, a waft of colorful smoke puffed around him. Shackles emerged and locked the ghost with red-white-and-blue chains. Nixon's Ghost furiously wagged now-shackled wrists to Long Beach Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix. The dork – in a deep sleep – dreamed of a colorful cloud, and sat in a wheelchair, next to a horse, as Franklin Roosevelt sat at a conference table of the battleship USS Iowa. Next to the horse, a movie star or rodeo princess shuffled a deck of Rolling Stone magazine playing cards. Larry van der Bix watched Nixon's Ghost flash a Peace Sign, splashing a red-white-and-blue cloud as the dead president cleaned away horse shit inside America's last great bubble bath. "We've got shit to do, Cowboy, so learn the rules," instructed the dead president. A rubber ducky sank the shackled ghost's battleship. Larry snored. "First rule... never make Elvis wait." Three Eagle Scouts serviced coffee and slice of carrot cake to FDR, the dealer and the horse. The horse held a mug in one hoof and a dessert in the other. "Greatness includes shoveling shit." The horse whinnied, dunked and chomped. "So wake up and smell the coffee!" The movie star shuffled but didn't deal. "Rule two... time keeps ticking, so use it or lose it." In his dream, Larry held a dainty saucer, jammed a fork, but could not penetrate the carrot cake. Larry dunked cake to absorb coffee, but the dork could not have his cake and eat it too. "Wake up and take some frickin notes!" Nixon's Ghost threw the Grunion Gazette newspaper at the sleeping dork, who flailed his arms. "Maybe it's great to get on some danged horse." Larry continued snoring. "Just... DO IT!"

* * *

Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix awoke on his low-grade stained coach, across from his low-grade flat screen, inside his dusty unmopped penthouse apartment, on the waterfront of Long Beach, California. Outside the window of the magnificent apartment filled with shit sat a Jewish Angel, honking a horn, and laughing while playing cards with a stone gargoyle whose principal job is to serve as the water spigot during rainstorms. The inarticulate anti-politician had poured several hundred thousand dollars of lottery winnings into nightly "constituent town hall" dance parties, with a Cambodian surf guitar group as the house band, during his campaign.

"Smell the frickin' coffee, Cowboy," said a dead elder statesman with a banana-shaped nose, near a coffee table on which sat a ten-gallon hat.

Larry wiped away drool and stuck a finger into his ear.

"I begged to resign, and they stick me with a clown," said the ghost, who lifted his shackled wrist, and flashed a Peace Sign, which sent another waft of smoke toward the couch. "Groucho must be laugh'in for sockin' it to me." Smoke wafted to the ten gallon hat.

Larry sat up, and reached for a remote, next to his hat encircled by colorful smoke.

The Angel Harpo wandered onto the balcony, sat upon a stone gargoyle, plashed colored light, and they flew into the sky.

"Ride a horse.... Save America," grumbled Nixon's Ghost, reading Limbo's order aloud. "Why not a frickin gargoyle."

Larry – whose lifetime accomplishment before winning the lottery and an absurd election had been graduating from Will Rogers Middle School – lifted the remote, causing the smoke around the cowboy hat to dance. The dork looked at red-white-and-blue wafting around chains shackled on a ghost. Larry batted his eyes.

"Don't waste time, Cowboy, we've got shit to do," said Nixon's Ghost, jumping up, as would one leading depressed fraternity members out to an absurd battle. "Put on the rhinestones, so we can just... do it."

Larry yawned.

"Henry would get this twit to stand for something," said the dead president, of a principal deputy who took late-night calls when the earlier resignation made Nixon drink hard. "Maybe frickin' Spiro can slap him around."

Larry looked at a slouching ghost, squinted, and returned to channel surfing.

"It's a thin order, but you're gonna save America," said the ghost, flashing another Peace Signs. Smoke lifted the Stetson for several seconds. "Everyone's got shit to do."

Larry kept watching TV.

"I'm not sure why yer 'The One,' ya son-of-a-bitch but let's just do it," said the ghost.

Larry scowled angrily at the dead president and kept watching a Spanish-language variety show hosted by a well-dressed dark-haired mid-50s man and a stunning early-20s bleached-blonde wearing a skin-tight dress.

The Angel Harpo honked, landing on the flying gargoyle, who returned to being a stone water spigot. The Angle floated through the closed window, and sat with his legs on the couch.

"Do I just tell the twit 'The Shit' about shit," said a dead president, himself haunted by hiding the truth of his own shitty thoughts and deeds during decades in politics.

Harpo honked approvingly.

"Alright," said Nixon's Ghost, surrendering to the Jewish Angel. "Listen, Cowboy, and listen good."

Harpo double-honked.

"Okay!" said the ghost.

When the dead president stopped arguing with a ghost he couldn't see, Larry quickly turned away, to continue watching Spanish TV.

"I'm supposed to teach you to be great," said Nixon's Ghost. "Since Limbo is where I sleep, I guess the first rule is one I never followed."

Larry repeatedly blinked his eyes, wiped his ears, and slapped his cheeks.

"Rule one," said the ghost, studied the five-word order. "Start by not doing 'Bad Shit,' cuz I did plenty, and look what I got."

Harpo gently honked.

"I don't even get coffee," grumbled the dead crook.

Larry turned his eyes briefly away from the hot blonde, to see the babbling ghost. "... There is no ghost telling me about shit...." Larry turned back to a television show in a language he doesn't speak.

"Everybody does 'Bad Shit' but do too much and ya fall down The Mountain," said Nixon's Ghost, studying his shackles. "Explains why The Hill is sinking deeper into Purgatory."

Larry kept watching a Spanish-language show, based on a theme, "I want to be blonde."

The ghost babbled. "If ya never do 'Good Shit'... well, ya fall down The Mountain... and roll off The Hill... into The Fire."

Harpo repeatedly honked.

Larry stared at the ghost with red-white-and-blue shackles.

"At least Hitler gets to burn," said the ghost.

One big honk from the Jewish Angel.

Larry rapidly blinked his eyes.

"Ya don't care about shit," said Nixon's Ghost, whose first resignation buried America's politics under his own massive pile of shit.

"... There is no ghost in shackles sitting next to me...," said Larry.

"We can be great again, or, 'near-great' maybe," said the ghost, flashing Peace Signs. "But if we don't work together, I can't resign again."

"... There's no ghost talking about resigning...," said Larry, flipping channels.

"Next story," announced infotainment, "Vladimir Putin rides a horse... bare chested."

Larry rushed to the kitchen.

Friendly honking soothed the dead president.

"Maybe the German who shut down Limbo can swing a sweetheart deal with the on-duty Pope he lives with."

Loud honking made the ghost shake his shackles.

"Alright," grumbled Nixon's Ghost, while Larry rused to get a beer.

"Starting early?" said the president who drank hard as the claws of truth tightened. "Look, I don't care who ya are or why ya won, but we gotta work together, cuz there's no middle up the middle anymore."

Larry flipped channels to a music channel and Dengue Fever, the Cambodian surf guitar group he had hired as the nightly house band for his absurd-but-victorious campaign.

"Maybe it's the frickin Cambodia shit?" muttered the ghost, who had ordered a sustained secret bombing on a neutral nation. Nixon's Ghost slapped the Stetson – next to Harpo's top-hat – and knocking both off the coffee table. "Where's Henry?.... Bastard knows everything."

Larry saw two hat slide off the coffee table. He looked at the ghost, who shrugged, while the dork picked up his Stetson. The top hat floated back to the coffee table. Larry flipped to watch Godzilla blow fire.

"We can make things great when you get sworn in, Cowboy, effective noon tomorrow," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry closed his eyes.

"I'm begging ya," begged the dead president. "Help me resign from Limbo!"

Larry ignored Nixon's Ghost, and flipped to Apocalypse Now to watch a Marine talk about napalm.

The ghost took a deep sniff. "I love the smell of shit this morning," nostalgically uttered the ghost. "Smells like victory, for a great resignation."

Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix stared at Nixon's Ghost, wiped his eyes, before flipping again. An Army Three Star General sat at a wide table, between Vice President Joseph F. Biden, Jr., and a tall, attractive mixed-race Asian woman, during C-SPAN coverage of a Senate confirmation hearing.

Harpo repeatedly honked, aggressively tapped a cell phone.

"It's that dude who married Lori and December before the bombs," said the dork.

"Bingo, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost. "Your first lesson just started."
Chapter Three – The Dead President Watches Someone Else Drink

Larry stared at Nixon's Ghost, who stared back at him. The dork cracked open a Budweiser, took a drink, and set it on the coffee table, next to his Stetson and a crumpled top-hat. Larry stared at both, and flipped up the volume.

"Lucky bastard," said the ghost. "No chugging when yer dead."

The Angel Harpo invisibly tapped a cell phone.

On the big screen, the silver-haired Chairman of the United States Senate Armed Services Committee tapped his gavel and spoke in a hoarse voice at a packed hearing inside Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, for the confirmation of a nominee to be the next chief of the U.S. Central Command.

A smiling Vice President sat at the witness table, facing rows of the Committee Members. Next to Joe Biden sat another smiling politician, and an Army General wearing dress greens.

"The Chairman thanks our Vice President for joining Senator Mary Traynor, of Hawaii, who is sponsorship the Administration's nominee," respectfully stated the Chairman, himself ending a fifth term of service to the people of Michigan. "How refreshing that Senator Traynor's sponsorship gives our second-newest Member a wonderful beginning on this Committee."

"Me and the General are each born and raised in Pearl Harbor," interjected the newest Senator of Hawaii. "His dad was Navy with my dad."

"Hawaii always sends the best to this chamber," said the Chairman, who watched patiently, as the Vice President stood with a ship's engineer's daughter and the Three Star General to pose for rapidly-shot cameras. After photographers stopped, the smiling Vice President embraced the beautiful, tall Hawaiian Senator, saluted and shook hands with the soldier, waved to the Chairman, and exited the packed room, to applause.

"Always fun to do that Senate shit," said Nixon's Ghost, his shackled hand touching the moisture outside.

The Jewish Angel's phone delivered a recording. "You've reached a number that does not exist." Harpo repeatedly tapped. "Just a moment, please, Mr. Angel."

Senator Mary Elisa Traynor shook the General's hand and walked to the end of a long row of Members. She took up her seat, between a moderate Republican who looked like a rock star and a barrel-chested conservative Democrat each elected several months earlier.

"Welcome back, neighbor," said Jerry Lee Boone Jr., a young curly-haired Republican from Kentucky. Few expected the professional comedian and son of a scandalous rock-and-roll piano player to win a tough primary, but Jerry Lee earned victory with viral social media showing Jerry Lee chopping trees and hurling the knives of his descendent, Daniel Boone.

At the end seat sat an unsmiling Dick Bomber who stared out to Mary Traynor's body. As Senator Traynor glanced downward, she saw a thick scar throbbed on the Member's cheek. The Vietnam-era Marine earned the seniority rank as 100th in the Senate, and lowest seat on the Armed Services committee.

"Your call, Mr. Angel," came a voice.

"Are we doing this Senate shit?" asked Nixon's Ghost, while Larry took another drink.

"Hello?" asked the Angel Groucho. "Hello, I must be going...."

The Angel Harpo repeatedly honked.

Larry looked around to another voice. "I am not hearing a Marx Brothers film."

"It ain't no money, Cowboy," grumbled Nixon's Ghost, as an invisible Angel spoke silently to a phone number that didn't exist.

Looking back to the screen, Larry watched Lieutenant General Allen Goodwrench sit down alone at the testimony table. Directly behind the Nominee sat a One Star general in the audience front row, leaning forward to whisper to the General.

The Chairman of the Armed Services committee motioned to the scar-faced man next to the Hawaiian Senator, and tapped his gavel. "I now recognize the newest Member of this Committee, who has ten minutes to question the Nominee."

Larry gasped and spit beer onto the red-white-and-blue shackles. "It's that rapist!" He looked around during rapid honking.

"Phones must get five bars in Purgatory," said the Angel Groucho, on a scratchy connection, "but order the bum to horsewhip the Elected Devil." The call ended.

Larry looked around as the Angel Harpo repeated honked.

"At least the plumbers didn't work for the Devil," said Nixon's Ghost, before nervously turning to the invisible Jewish Angel, who calmly honked.

"... There is NOT a ghost or Groucho Marx...," recited the newly-elected dork.

Larry and Nixon's Ghost each quivered to the sound of a huge honk.

"Thank you, Mist'uh Chairman," said Senator Dick Bomber, the Tea Party Democrat "anti-politician" who was expected to win so huge a landslide that the combat Marine spent most of October 2014 touring Afghanistan. "Allow me to congratulate General Allen Goodwrench, who – if wreck-uh-mended by this Committee, and confirmed by a majority of Sen-uh-tuhs – shall earn a Fourth Star, and take on the job of running the U-nited States Central Command." The high-profile fact-finding tour weeks before the election bought free in national press and social media. The Vietnam combat Lance Corporal used the tour as a last paycheck of 24 years on the House of Representatives, before winning his first term in the Senate.

"They should'a just let Lori finish killing him!" growled the Councilman-elect.

The invisible Angel honked.

"Who the Hell is this bastard?" asked Nixon's Ghost, repeatedly waving to Larry, who worked hard to pay no attention to the dead president.

On the television, a scar on the Senator's face twitched, as he lifted a sheet of notes. "You've been in the U-nited States Army for a very long time, General...."

"Forty years, Senator," said Allen Goodwrench, wearing government-issued olive greens. "My dad got mad, cuz I went Army, the day after the last helicopter flew out of Saigon." The General nodded to the Senator of Hawaii. "Dad was Navy."

"Wreck-uhds show you finished high school two months later, and took E-1 in the summer of 1975," said Bomber.

"Independence Day... as a buck-ass Private," said Goodwrench, setting off polite laughter in the hearing room. "Pardon the language, Sir."

"There is no need to uh-pola-gize to this old Marine," said Dick Bomber, showing a faint smile. "This grunt in Vietnam knows what it is like to be greeted, getting off 'The Bus.' "

"Thank you, Sir."

"I am just a little owl-duh, but this Lance Corporal clearly saw very different fireworks on that Fourth of July," smiled Senator Dick Bomber. "Rare that a General is spared the whore-uh of combat."

The General weakly smiled.

The freshman Senator put on eyewear and scanned papers. "You did not qualify for West Point, but must've enjoyed the cum-furt of years in Europe, night classes and office-uh school."

"In those... early years...," said Goodwrench, "yes, Sir."

"Ah, 'those early years,' General," said Bomber. "I so very much appreciate direct answers." The Senator removed his eyewear. "Did not 'those early years' spare you from Grenada and Lebanon, while you earned a college degree and slept in a cozy bed in Brussels?" Bomber took a sip of water, and watched the silent General. "Is that not accurate, General, about 'those early years?' "

"Cozy is a generous word about a continent gripped by worry of potential nuclear war, Senator," said Goodwrench, "but, yes, I took a bachelors and earned O-1 in Belgium."

"This E-5 in Lebanon watched colleagues get blown up by a truck while you earned LT, in Brussels," said the Senator. "Public Affairs, is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir, with NATO."

"Direct," said Bomber. "I like that."

Larry drank beer and growled.

"Son-of-a-bitch is a bastard," grumbled the dead Commander-in-Chief.

Harpo honked.

Goodwrench sat rigid.

"Wreck-uhds describe a fast lehn-uh," said the Senator, flipping paper. "Press contact during demonstrations over Mr. Reagan's tactical missile deployments. Maintained or-duh during massive peace rallies in Buh-lin." The Senator smiled. "And all of that, when you and this grunt each still had curly, dark hair." Bomber pointed to the two Senators beside him. "How wonderful to be young and beautiful, like my colleagues from Hawaii and Kentucky."

Jerry Lee Boone and Mary Traynor each smiled politely.

The General also smiled. "Thank you, Senator."

"You must have enjoyed peace rallies featuring the fine-and-beautiful Germany women, as The Wall got torn down," said Bomber smiled and his facial scar twitched.

"Yes, Senator," replied Goodwrench, "commanding hundreds of military personnel."

"Were you not given a nickname, General?" asked Bomber. "The Fix-Uh."

"I... don't pay attention... to such things, Sir," said the General.

"Ah, but everybody else does pay attention, General," said Bomber, in quickening pace. "Did you not pull Ma-juh, after The Wall came down, while comrades languished for lack of opportunity? And quickly as Lt. Cuh-nul, during Desert Storm, under Bush the Fah-thuh?"

Allen Goodwrench nodded.

"And were you not an ideal Bird Cuh-nul, and lay-tuh a One Star, under Mr. Clinton, and a Two Star, under Bush the Son, holding a Division in Iraq?" asked Bomber.

The General said nothing.

The elderly Committee Chairman lightly tapped his gavel. "Since this is your first meeting, Senator, please learn to smile more during a confirmation hearing. The Chairman motioned to the Nominee. "It's up to you, General."

The General stayed silent.

"We've each pulled government pay," smiled Bomber, leaning forward, "but while you climbed the ladd-uh, I simply served as a Member of the U-nited States House of Representatives when Nine-Eleven bloodied this Nation." The Senator finished a glass of water. "I am among very few Democrats to declare independence to cast an 'Aye' vote for Iraq."

The General turned and whispered to his personal deputy, while the One Star texted.

The Chairman lightly tapped the gavel. "Time is a precious commodity, Senator."

"He's got that right," said Nixon's Ghost, watching Larry rush off for another beer.
Chapter Four – Love Glows Like Sunshine

"Pumpkin, I gotta go to work," said Lori Lewis, kissing her wife's cheek, as the two laid in bed.

"Then I'm taking a shower with you," said December Carrera, following her tall muscular blonde wife into the bathroom, where the two shed PJs, climbed into the tub, and pulled the shower curtain closed. "Husbands have duties to perform."

Under a shower's embrace, Lori kissed December's nose, soaped, shampooed and switched spots to lather her hair. December luxuriated in the steaming water, her head leaned back, a river rolling over her large breasts, and a hand at her thigh. "C'mon, Baby, take care of your wife."

Lori slipped the soap into December's hand and wrapped an arm around her wife's back. She leaned forward, kissing until December's mouth opened. The two explored one another's tongues. Lori's other hand caressed December's breasts, lifting and squeezing and groping and pulling soft flesh.

As they stood under the water, December's knees buckled and her body melted into Lori's, and she dropped the bar of soap to wrap an arm around Lori's broad shoulders. Shampoo foam streamed down their cheeks while they kissed. December pulled Lori's hand downward between her thighs, replacing her own. "Be a good husband, Lambchop!" Lori easily penetrated her wife and stroked slowly, her thumb at times grinding, as December rubbed onto Lori's hand. December moaned. Tongues danced the Tango. Arms tightened around one another.

* * *

The senior Senator of Michigan tapped his gavel. "The Chairman reminds our most junior Member that time is inexorable."

"Damn straight," chimed Nixon's Ghost, "and the old man took office after I got ousted."

Larry stared at the ghost and then a crumpled top hat on the coffee table.

"Indeed, Mist'uh Chairman, and I shall make precious use of what little time remains," smiled Dick Bomber, raising a wrist to show his watch. The smile faded, as Bomber turned to face the General. "Do you buh-leave that the U-nited States military is broken, General?"

"Excuse me, Senator?" asked Goodwrench.

Larry slowly moved his hand across Harpo's hat, which passed through a waft of smoke.

"They call you 'The Fix'ah,' " replied Bomber. "Is there anything that needs to be fixed within the U-nited States military?" The Senator drank more water. "I think that's a straightforward question for a General Staff office-uh."

Goodwrench sat silently for a moment. "If... one accepts... the First Law of Humanity... that we are each imperfect...which therefore would include... our imperfect Union," said the General, "then each agency...."

"I would'uh asked a Chin-uh-mun if I wanted fi-los-uh-fee from Confucius," interrupted Bomber.

Gasps rose from the audience.

Senator Mary Traynor – daughter of a Filipina – showed instant fury, and turned to the descendent of Daniel Boone, who showed disbelief.

"Mao must be pissed," grumbled Nixon's Ghost, "where ever the bastard is."

The Chairman tapped his gavel. "Senator," said the Chairman. "-R-e-a-l-l-y-...."

Harpo honked a horn.

Bomber shifted in his chair. "I appreciate your direct an-suhs, General."

"You pose a wide-open question, Senator," replied Goodwrench.

"You are being cun-sid-uhd as Cuh-man-duh for a thea-tuh in which U-nited States military forces are fighting two major wars and are battling enemies who operate un-duh impunity to ferociously kill Americans."

"Yes, Senator, you are correct, Sir," rigidly replied Goodwrench.

"Finally," said Bomber, attempting to smile. "An ak-chew-ul agreement."

"Thank you, Sir," responded the soldier.

"And Lori had him unconscious," said Larry, before downed the Budweiser.

The dead president waved his shackled hand to the invisible Jewish Angel. "Is this why we're doing this shit?" asked Nixon's Ghost.

Larry belched as Harpo honked.

The Chairman tapped the gavel.

"Another subject, General," said Dick Bomber, again sifting through paper. "What is your view about female military service purr-suh-nel taking combat pay?" asked the old Marine. "Does this not 'need to be fixed?' "

"I support the President and the Chain-of-Command," said Goodwrench.

"Do you not agree that our own fine-and-beautiful women are simply unable to pass mus-tuh on strength and uh-thuh core attributes, and thus are unworthy to take our money as combat purr-suh-nel?"

"By and large, Sir, I believe...," said Goodwrench.

"In the Hell of combat, General, human lives are lost in the 'by and large,' " shot back Bomber. "Low-uh stan-duhds result in female purr-suh-nel simply collapsing in combat." The Senator drank water. "Does this mean you are not cun-cerned about our own fine-and-beautiful women facing the Gates of Hell while male Comrades are left high-and-dry?"

"Senator, I see first-hand men and women fighting shoulder-to-shoulder, in conditions that any reasonable person would consider combat," said Goodwrench.

"War is not a reasonable enterprise, General," said Bomber. "War stands at the threshold of Hell. You must understand that..., although obviously you were ever-so-lucky as to not have been scorched by The Fire of Hell." Bomber again drank water in a silent room. "Combat is unforgiving, and is wrong to inflict upon our own fine-and-beautiful women."

Goodwrench cleared his throat. "I understand that each Senator holds very strong views, Sir," said the Nominee.

The silver-haired Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee tapped his gavel.

The Angel Harpo honked his horn.

Allen Goodwrench rapidly turned and again whispered with the One Star General in the front row of the audience.

* * *

"Hello!" said Lori, dripping water onto the hardwood floor, as she answered an ancient LAN-line phone in the bedroom.

"Lewis, you're not coming to work today," said Captain Dorsey Spaulding, over speaker.

"What gives, Sir?" asked Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis, to a Captain in charge of the Office of the Central Command Assistant Executive Deputy Commander.

"Bulldog's order," said the Captain. "He's with the Boss. Stay in housing – both of you – until you hear otherwise. Got that? No calls, no internet, nothing, in or out. Understood?"

"Is this, like, a house arrest?"

"Turn on C-SPAN," said the Captain. "And Sergeant...."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Just turn off your phones," said Spaulding. "I'll send a messenger. Understood, Sergeant?"

"Uh, yes Sir." Lori hung up.

December, a bath towel wrapped around her and another around her hair, entered the bedroom. "Who was that?"

"The Captain," said Lori. "I get the day off. Can watch TV, but no phone or internet."

December leered. "Finally a reason to like the US Army," she said, dropping a towel.

* * *

"We're not supposed to kill this bastard, am we?" asked Nixon's Ghost, to the invisible Jewish Anger Brother.

"I hope we do!" howled Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix, before slapping his hand over his mouth and stiffly sitting upright to look only at the television.

The Chairman tapped his gavel. "I again remind our junior-most Member to smile."

Harpo gently honked his horn.

Bomber smiled weakly to the silver-haired Chairman, before returning to question the Nominee. "General, were we not tuh-geth-uh in Afghanistan, with the Vice President, during a USO show at Bagram, and watched Nancy Bazooka purr-formed her 'Boots' song?"

"We were each present, Sir," said the General, "but my assignment involved classified matters."

"And did we not enjoy seeing Major Rusty Chops and his frivolity unit," said the Senator, tossing a bomb. "Some secrets are simply not invisible."

"Stop throwing bombs, Senator," ordered the Chairman, loudly pounding his gavel.

"Politics never changes," muttered the dead crook.

"My orders... are to remain silent, Sir," replied the General. "I'm sure you understand."

The gavel again pounded. "This may be your first hearing in my Committee," growled the Chairman, "but two decades in the House should've taught you that classified matters are not open for public chit-chat."

"I do understand, Mist'uh Chairman," said Bomber, grinning.

"Finish up," commanded the silver-haired Chairman, "and watch your words!"

The newest Member turned to the General, and smiled. "No matt-uh the assignments, everyone enjoyed Nancy Bazooka and her beautiful dan-suhs."

The Chairman watched the junior-most Member, but held his gavel.

"Who doesn't remember Nancy and her dad, Frank?" said Nixon's Ghost.

Harpo honked several times.

"Nancy drew more uh-ploz than the Vice President and that cowboy comedian, or even the blood spilling in the frivolity unit's hand-to-hand," said the Senator, his cheek twitching.

Neither the gavel nor horn sounded.

The General did not speak.

"Is it not true, General, that a Sergeant in that frivolity unit is now on your purr-suh-nul staff?" The Senator paused during silence. "A soul-juh who you recommend for decoration and promotion?" Again, silence. "A world-champion athlete – indeed, an Olympian – who simply could not en-do-uh even ten minutes of full-forth hand-to-hand at Bagram?"

"Must know how to take nots," said Nixon's Ghost.

The gavel tapped. "Once again, Senator, watch your words," growled the Chairman. "You are asking questions to a Three Star General, not a member of his staff."

"Thousands of active-duty personnel saw what I am asking," quickly injected the Senator.

The gavel again rapped.

Goodwrench turned and whispered with Brigadier General Otis Bulldog, who pulled his cell phone.

"Perhaps another question," said Bomber.

"He's quick," observed the dead president.

"Thank you, Sir," said Allen Goodwrench, as the One Star rapidly thumbing a message.

Bomber turned to the Chairman, and held aloft a sealed envelope. "Mist'uh Chairman, would you be so very kind as to instruct a Page to collect these important wreck-uhds, for your own review and consideration?"

The Chairman stared at length before motioning to a teenager, who walked toward Senator Dick Bomber.

The old Marine returned to battle. "Af-tuh the USO, did you not conduct an impromptu marriage between that Olympian and one of Nancy Bazooka's dan-suhs, a young woman who – may the wrech-uhds please show – earns her living... as a... 'web-cam strip-puh?' "

"Son-of-a-bitch," growled both the dead president and the newly-elected dork.

Harpo honked and dialed.

The Chairman vigorously pounded his gavel, as the teenaged Page moved toward the junior-most Senator, wagging the sealed envelope.

"Don't open this envelope, child," said Bomber, as the Page approached.

Mary Traynor – the Senator of Hawaii who is the second rung of the totem pole – successfully snatched the envelope.

"You've stolen the raw meat of scan-dull!" yelled Dick Bomber, throwing his arm for a fist fight.

Jerry Lee Boone Jr. – the Republican of Kentucky – pulled Mary Traynor aside, and Bomber's punch missed. "Hit her, and you hit me first!"

"Bulldog, with me!" yelled General Alan Goodwrench, and the soldiers ran toward the dais, but several security staffer pushed back the soldiers.

"Kill him, General!" yelled Larry.

"Aw, bat shit!" exclaimed Nixon's Ghost.

"Time is UP for our junior-most Member!" yelled the Chairman, slammed the gavel and loudly ordering security to stop the fight.

Three uniformed security ran across Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building and pulled Bomber to the ground, while Jerry Lee Boone protected Mary Traynor.

"I order the Senator of Hawaii to hold that envelope!" yelled the Chairman, pounding the gavel repeatedly. "I will not have this!"

* * *

Larry van der Bix used his remote to mute the television sound of C-SPAN coverage and dialed, "Lori Lewis." The call went to voice mail.

"What the Hell do we do?" asked the ghost, but got no honks.

Larry held his cell close to one ear and plugged the other with a finger. "That dude who married you and December ran over to kill the bastard who kept trying to rape you... um... and... a total fist fight... uh...." The dork looked at the banana-nosed ghost. "There is no ghost sitting here." Larry ended the call, and a text appeared from "Mayor Kim's office," that read, "Reminder of staff interviews today." Larry looked up, to the chaos of talking heads battling over a fist fight in the Senate. "Shit."

"You're right, Cowboy, that is bad-ass shit," said Nixon's Ghost, "but ya take office tomorrow." The dead president watched the dork quivering spasmodically. "It's tought, I know, but you've got shit to do." The dork twitched wildly. "Staff... interviews."

"Go away from me!" yelled the spasmodically thrashing Councilman-elect.

"Get a grip, Cowboy!" ordered the dead president. "Don't make Elvis wait!"

The frumpy dork rolled into a fetal position on the couch and quivered.

* * *

Cameramen rushed to the well between the Nominee and the dais, and shot a barrage of photos, scraffing the fist fight, sniping the Chairman, and bombarding gasping Senators and the two Generals.

"Please, Mist'uh Chairman!" exclaimed Senator Dick Bomber, after three burly Sergeants-at-Arms shoved the junior-most Member onto his chair. "Sir, puh-leeze!"

"Your time is up!" yelled the Chairman, pounding a gavel and working to calm the storm. The Chairman gave a thumbs-up to Lieutenant General Allen Goodwrench, who ordered Brigadier General Otis Bulldog to sit beside him.

Bomber threw his arm into the air and repeatedly tapped on his watch. "Thirty seconds remains!" A Sergeant-at-Arms vigorously shoved down the Senator's arm. Bomber swung the hand toward the envelope. Mary Traynor swatted Bomber's hand and slid the sealed envelope to Jerry Lee Boone.

"Mr. Boone! Hold that envelope!" yelled the Chairman, to the Senator of Kentucky.

"Please, Sir!" shot back Dick Bomber. "My watch isn't fancy, but it does work!"

The room went quiet.

Mary Traynor straightened her long straight hair.

"Did beautiful, Senator," whispered Jerry Lee, his hand on Mary's shoulder.

The Chairman rapping his gavel, as told the Page to go.

"Mist'uh Chairman, puh-leze," pled Bomber. "Just that last half-minute."

The furious silver-haired Chairman stopped pounding, but said nothing.

In a vacuum of inaction, Bomber ran back into combat. "Did you not escorted those newlyweds onto Air Force One?"

The gavel pounded.

"That soldier saved lives, including my own," answered General Allen Goodwrench.

* * *

The ancient LAN-line rang.

"I'm supposed to turn it off," said Lori, in bed, naked, like her wife.

"No, Baby, yer not getting up," said December, pulling Lori onto her.

"Might be the Captain," said Lori, trying to climb out of bed. "Gotta at least see who."

"Yer taking my orders, Soldier," said December. "I'm in charge today."

The antique answering machine clicked on. Lori melted into her wife's arms.

The phone again rang.

* * *

The Councilman-elect, rolled in a ball, held his cell phone and left another voice mail. "That violent guy's outta control."

"Ya never forget bastards," grumbled an unindicted co-conspirator remembered for lies, deception, and a domestic enemies list. Nixon's Ghost watched C-SPAN as the dork twitched. "Are we taking the bastard down?"

Larry van der Bix rocked his head as the invisible Jewish Angel Brother honked.

"No wars are invisible," said the dead president.

Larry didn't open another text from "Mayor Kim's office."

* * *

"That's it!" barked the silver-haired Chairman. "We are done with the longest ten minutes...."

"Mist'uh Chairman...," injected Bomber, again rapidly tapping his watch.

"I learned to tell time long ago, Senator," growled the Chairman.

"My final question," said Bomber, rapidly. "The most important!"

"No!" ordered the Chair, motioning to the Sergeant-at-Arms. "One more word and you're gone!"

* * *

The ancient LAN-line rang.

"Yes!" cried December, her head dug deep in the pillow, her fingers deep in Lori's hair, her knees up, as she trapped her husband's head between her thighs.

Lori's face mashed into her wife, her arms wrapped under December's legs, her hands gripping her wife's soft flesh.

The phone stopped ringing and went to a silent answering machine.

"Oh God, yes!"

The LAN-line again rang.

* * *

Two Generals sat motionless.

"We are done with bomb throwing and Air Force One, Senator," declared the Chairman.

"My final question...," again begged Bomber, lifting a grenade from his barrel chest.

"The Sergeant-at-Arms shall remove our junior-most Member from this Chamber!" ordered the Chairman, in the fog of chaos.

"A married couple in Air Force One...," barked Bomber, pulled the pin on the grenade.

"You are done!" yelled the Chairman. "Carry him out!"

The Sergeant-at-Arms ran swiftly toward the junior-most Member.

The Marine threw the grenade. "... Lesbians who defiled the President's own bed."

A grenade exploded.

Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building erupted into absolute chaos.

The gavel pounded.

Bodies rising during the explosion blocked the Sergeant-at-Arms.

Voices shrieked to each other, to the Chairman, to the Heavens, and to no one in particular.

The Chairman ordered a two-hour recess.

Freshman Senator Dick Bomber leaned back and smiled.
Chapter Five – Does Insanity Make a Dork Crazy

Harpo – an invisible Jewish Angel – honked and dialed an incredibly long cell number.

"The son-of-a-bitch is a total bastard, but why a horse?" asked Nixon's Ghost, as a cloud of red-white-and-blue smoke created an illusionary mug in front of the dead president.

Across the magnificent-but-abused penthouse apartment, a shower stopped and the elected dork walked naked through a narrow trail amidst mountains of horded crap.

"Ride a frickin horse?" repeated Nixon's Ghost, as he flashed the Peace Sign. A tiny cloud appeared above the illusionary mug, and water dripped onto Sanka, filling the mug.

The soaked dork carrying rodeo cloths hiked along another path toward the ghost and Angel, in a fox hole with a low-grade couch and television.

Harpo's cell phone rang.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but you call did not go through."

* * *

Lori flipped on the television.

December, wearing little, lifted the remote from her husband's hand, and straddled her.

"The boss went to Washington for some promotion thing," said Lori, as December's chest blocked any possibility to surf television.

"You follow my orders today," said the beautiful young woman, clicking mute, and lowering herself into a perfect position to kiss.

* * *

Long Beach Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix, dressed as a rhinestone cowboy in a Stetson hat, waited in line at Wells Fargo Bank, behind a ghost in beach cloths and slippers. Larry looked out the bank's window, across to Long Beach City Hall, beyond a status of Abraham Lincoln. Larry dialed "Lori Lewis."

"You're next on the stagecoach," chuckled a banker, gazing at Larry's glimmering gems.

"Do him first," said Larry, pointing to the elderly statesman ahead of him.

"Oh, it's you, Councilman," said the bank employee, who looked confused. "You threw great beach parties, but what's the cowboy thing?"

"Graduated from Will Rogers," quickly said Larry, as the call went into voice mail. "Larry, again," said the dork, looking at the dead president. "Just at the bank... uh, alone... waiting... not behind a ghost shackled in chains."

The banker motioned to other staff.

"Oh, I start my first-ever job tomorrow... City Council... a 'swearing-in' thing."

"Are you okay, Sir?" asked the banker, as a manager approached.

"... I don't see a ghost...," said Larry, scowled at bankers.

"Can I help you Councilman?" asked the manager.

Larry stuck to his call. "You need to watch that hearing." The Councilman-elect stared at the elder statesman with a huge banana-shaped nose. "The ghost wants to kill the bastard."

"Can I help you at a desk, perhaps, Councilman?" asked the Wells Fargo employee, making eye contact.

"Hard to be great when yer a twit, Cowboy," said the ghost.

* * *

Brigadier General Otis Bulldog, with an Army Captain at each shoulder and the Lieutenant General behind him, muscled out of the chaos of Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, into the main hall. The triangle protected General Allen Goodwrench and Senators Mary Traynor and Jerry Lee Boone, as the group marched toward the Member Only elevator.

"What's in the envelope?" barked the pack of reporters.

"Is it true, General, that you performed a wedding in Afghanistan?" yelled one reporter.

"Can you confirm a member of your staff married a web-cam stripper?" yelled another.

"What do Afghans think about a gay marriage performed on their soil?" yelled a third.

"What about the envelope?" again barked the dogs.

"Will the President be withdrawing your nomination to head the Central Command, General?" yelled another reporter, as the soldiers and Senators picked up their pace.

The curly-haired Senator of Kentucky tightly protected the unopened envelope that Mary Traynor snatched during a fist fight, as the soldiers approached the Member Only elevator.

Bulldog and the Captains moved into a double-march, as journalists attempted to block the group from entering the Member Only elevator. The One Star pierced the pack of dogs and the Captains widened the triangle, clearing a path of entry for the Nominee and Senators.

"Didn't running end with an election?" asked Senator Jerry Lee Boone.

The Members Only elevator closed.

Yelling voices faded when the ornate elevator began to move.

"Well," said Senator Mary Traynor. "Always an exciting day in Washington."

* * *

"Ya must think yer great, don't'cha?" asked the banana-nosed ghost. "Don't'cha!"

"Leave me alone!" barked Larry, to the ghost in the "37" cap.

"Do you need banking, Sir?" gently asked the well-dressed manager standing with Larry. "Are you okay, Councilman?"

Larry focused on Nixon's Ghost, whose chains danced as he pointed to a horse-drawn stagecoach moving across the majesty and beauty of America.

"Ya got shit to do, Cowboy," said the dead president, "and yer lookin' at the teacher."

"You're dead," said Larry.

"Should we get help for you, Councilman?" asked the manager.

"We're gonna beat the son-of-a-bitch," said the ghost, "cuz ya don't not have Nixon to not kick around anymore."

* * *

December's tongue danced between her husband's lips, and eyes embraced, with neither watching a silent rehash of a now-controversial Senate confirmation hearing.

* * *

"Lock those doors!" ordered Senator Mary Traynor, as she burst into her suite with Senator Jerry Lee Boone and four U.S. Army officers. Mary Traynor flagged her Chief of Staff. "Sam, get Biden over here!" The Senator of Hawaii turned to the officers, and showed rank. "You're stationed here until this gets fixed."

"The Vice President's office already called," fired back a staffer.

"Bomber's person wants to meet," said the Chief of Staff, hustling to keep up with the Senators and soldiers marching across the suite.

Senator Mary Elisa Traynor swung open her personal office door, politely smiling to Jerry Lee Boone and the soldiers. Mary Traynor turned to her deputy. "Tell that sexist pig that I'm ice skating by the Lincoln Memorial."

* * *

"Don't touch me!" screamed a pungent, unkempt homeless woman pushing a cart, after Larry bumped into her, at the base of the monument constructed in 1912 to honor America's second "great" president.

"Nice bunny slippers," a homeless man said to the dead president.

"Actual praise," muttered a ghost, leaning on the nation's second statue of Mr. Lincoln.

Larry van der Bix – whose great-grandfather developed Naples, had wore Gray and boycotted the christening of Lincoln's statue – bolted from the screaming homeless woman.

"Ya can never hide where yer going," grumbled Nixon's Ghost, watching Larry run toward City Hall.

* * *

Mary Elisa Traynor, Jerry Lee Boone and four Army officers all stood at attention, when the Vice President entered the Senator's personal office, followed by two Secret Secvice agents and a pair of Jewish Angel brothers.

* * *

"Dang!" said December, as she and Lori passed the ancient answering machine in the bedroom. "Somebody's popular." The government-issued machine read, "37" missed calls, next to "tape full."

"Should'a kept it on," said Lori, powering her cell. "44."

December's cell showed two calls.

"Whatever's happening, at least no one's got your number," said Lori.

"Hef tells every Playmate to do that," said December. "It's either Larry or Domino's, since my dad won't let mom call, after he disowned me."

"We better skip pizza," said Lori, looking at her wife.

December pulled Lori close. "We don't need no pepperoni, Baby."

* * *

Mary Traynor, Jerry Lee Boone and Allen Goodwrench shook hands with Vice President Joseph F. Biden Jr., and waited for the smiling white-haired leader to take a seat, before sitting themselves.

The Senator's deputy and a Secret Service agent took position at the only window. The Brigadier General and two Captains stayed at attention, motionless, near the Nominee to run America's Central Command.

At a couch near the window, the Angel Groucho pulled out a cigar, while his brother preened his feathers.

"Busy day at the office," said the Vice President, looking to the junior senators of Hawaii and Kentucky, "but it's always wonderful to work with honorable souls."

The curly-haired Republican smiled to the Democrat helping lead the nation, his hands resting on a sealed envelope.

"Didn't you dad marry his cousin?" asked Joe Biden, to the junior Senator of Kentucky.

Jerry Lee Boone smiled. "Today's a great day to keep my mouth shut."

"One of those must be the secret word," observed the Angel running Limbo.

The Vice President nodded. "What'a'ya got to drink, Mary?" asked Joe Biden, looking at a small cup on her desk.

"That's a very good question," said the Angel Groucho.

"Liquid warmth," said Senator Mary Elisa Traynor.

"And that's a very good answer," replied the cigar-smoking Angel.

Mary Traynor took the cup on her desk and walked to her bookcase, where a hot plate was warming a carafe with a narrow neck and tiny spout. Beside the hot plate sat matching small cups. The Senator held her cup aloft, and the Vice President nodded.

"I wonder if a duck can drink sake?" said Groucho.

The huge morphed duck nodded, and returned to preening his feathers.

Mary waved the cup. Each soldier politely declined. Jerry Lee Boone bashfully nodded. Using an elegant strip of fabric, she lifted the carafe, and poured steaming sake into three cups.

"Washington needs some warmth," said the Vice President. "Hell must be freezing over."

"A politician who actually knows the truth," said the invisible Groucho, smoking a cigar no one could smell or inhale.

"We're half a world away from Pearl Harbor," said Mary Traynor, as she placed two cup back onto her desk, next to a stack of the Rolling Stone magazines. "How do you unite people that far apart?" She graciously served the third cup to the Vice President, placing her hands together, and bowing slightly.

Biden returned the gesture of hands together.

"Isn't that your smiling face?" asked Jerry Lee Boone, reached for his cup next to a stack of five copies of the Rolling Stone magazine. "Better than Daddy's ugly mug."

"Good piano, though," said the Vice President, sipping sake and the heat flaring inside. "To Hell with that Dick Bomber."

"Give this man a horsewhip," replied the invisible Angel.

The Vice President grabbed the unopened enveloped in front of Jerry Lee and held it toward the ceiling. The Angel Groucho sent gleaming light to the envelope, addressed only to "The Chairman," with no other words, aside from, "United States Senate." Joe Biden studied. "Fucking pornography." He threw the sealed envelope onto the magazines. Biden pointed to Senator Mary Traynor's smiling face on the cover of the Rolling Stone. "Nice piece by Marvin Whiskey, in the issue covering Sal Manilla." The Vice President finished the sake in one chug.

"It's a whiskey kind of day, but I love sake," said Mary Traynor, taking Joe Biden's cup and refilling it at the bookcase.

Soldiers and two Jewish Angel Brothers watched the Vice President and two Senators tap cups, raising them to the officers, and each emptying their cup.

"Bomber's crap is total horse shit." Biden waved off the Hawaii Senator, and did not hand his cup to her again. "And Dick sat next to me at Bagram. Looked like shit, too." Biden turned to Mary Traynor's personal deputy. "What's the bastard demanding?"

Mary Traynor's Chief of Staff turned to his boss, motioning to the Republican.

"We can't see you, right?" asked the Vice President.

"Finally, someone who can see that I'm invisible," glowed the Angel Groucho.

The descendent of Kentucky's knife-thrower-in-chief nodded.

"Wants the boss to pull sponsorship from the Nominee," said the Senator's principal deputy, pointing to Lieutenant General Allen Goodwrench, who stood like a statue.

"Not telling you what to do, Mary, but we can't pull a Nominee after bomb throwing," said Biden. "If we cave the bastard's first month, Bomber will never stop attacking."

"Wild pigs never don't attack," said the Kentucky Republican.

"He took Senate after two decades in the House," said Senator Mary Traynor. "Like me."

"I don't care if he's dumping tea into the Chesapeake," said Joe Biden. "We've got to draw lines, if seniority ever means anything again." The Vice President gave his cup back to the second-newest Member of the Senate Armed Services committee. "When I started in the Senate, freshmen ate their porridge."

* * *

"Everything okay, Councilman?" asked a police officer, as Larry van der Bix rushed into the sliding glass doors of the Long Beach City Hall.

"Leave me alone," barked the newly-elected politician dressed in a cowboy outfit.

"Should I escort you, Sir?" asked the officer, rushing to follow the dork across the main elevators.

* * *

"Why didn't you put that on the vetting papers?" demanded the Vice President, waiving the still-unopened envelope. "Fucking porn!"

"Takes two to Tango," said the Jewish Angel, glancing through the envelope to see a webcam images of December Carrera wearing little.

Senator Mary Traynor placed three refilled sake cups onto her desk.

"Nice having you as a neighbor, Senator," said Jerry Lee Boone.

The Vice President silently led another rapid downing of hot alcohol.

"Finally," said Groucho. "A Vice President who knows what he's doing."

"You and Nancy Bazooka saw the marriage, Sir," said General Allen Goodwrench, seated next to the Vice President. "Right after the USO show.... It took less than one minute.... And the Sergeant's blood that stained her tunic and the wife's dress is because of Dick Bomber."

"God damned rapist," flared the Vice President.

"That's usually what the All-Powerful Boss does," said the Angel Groucho.

"And it was your call, Sir, to get the USO dancers onto Air Force One when bombs fell after the wedding," said the General.

"Like we'd fly off without 'em?" yelled the Vice President.

"That, uh, led to the honeymoon, Sir."

"No one told me she's a fuckin' stripper!" hooted the Vice President.

"I think we have a job you'll enjoy," said Groucho, to the duck.

The General awkwardly looked to the Republican.

"Ignore Jerry Lee," ordered Number Two in the Chain-of-Command. "He's not here."

"And neither are we," said Groucho, "and you know that."

The curly-haired son of a piano player who married a 13-year-old cousin slammed sake and zipping his finger over his wet lips.

"Staff Sergeant Lewis saved my life, Sir," said the General. "Twice... Me, and others."

"Are male soldiers the only ones who can marry a stripper?" asked Mary Traynor, lifting the Vice President's sake cup.

Biden stammered, and went silent.

"You'll enjoy this job, but don't forget to work," said Groucho, turned to Chico. "Thankfully, we don't at the office."

"The first rocket hit my vehicle," said General Allen Goodwrench. "If I didn't waste a minute on the marriage, it would've taken me and Bulldog." The General nodded at a silent addition from his deputy. "You would've seen the highest-ranking assassination of the war."

"Is Lori Lewis the only soldier who had a honeymoon?" asked Mary Traynor, while filling three cups with sake.

"What's the Bomber on the Sergeant's bleeding?" asked Biden, as he and the two Senators tapped cups. "Wouldn't it just be the full-force hand-to-hand of the frivolity unit?"

"The Chain-of-Command... ordered me, Sir... to stay silent," said the General, again awkwardly looking to the curly-haired Republican. "Would you like me to speak candidly, Sir?"

The Vice President slammed his hand onto the Senator's desk, causing sake to spray out of his cup. "Oh, shit, sorry Mary," said Biden, pulling a kerchief from his pocket to wipe, before turning to Goodwrench. "May you, General? It's your ass on the line." Biden politely smiled to Jerry Lee Boone, who zipped his lips.

"Got ordered to Bagram on a fix-it job," said the General. "Arrived the day before USO." Goodwrench paused. "The Congressman, Sir.... Now a Senator...."

"Is that why the son-of-a-bitch look like total shit?" demanded the Vice President.

"The Congressman," slowly said the General, "repeatedly tried to rape Sergeant Lewis."

Senator Mary Traynor gasped.

Senator Jerry Lee Boone froze, before turning to the Vice President.

"What do you mean, 'repeatedly?' " demanded the Vice President, brushing away the Republican.

"He attacking her multiple times during the 17-day bipartisan fact-finding tour," said the Lieutenant General.

"How violent was the pig?" demanded Biden.

"Lewis and Bomber duked it out at least three times," said Goodwrench. "The night before USO, he pulled blood by whipping her with a belt."

"Sweet Jesus," said Jerry Lee Boone.

"The horsewhip it must be," determined the Jewish Angel Brother.

"She almost killed him in defense," said the General. "Bashed his head. Took him out."

"Who else knows?" said the Vice President, silently nodding to each Senator.

"Her unit commander – Major Rusty Chops – reported three attacks up the chain.... And CentComm brass handed it to me," said the General. "The Four Star gave me the fix-it order."

"Fuck," said the Vice President, grabbing the envelope. "Where's the Chairman?"

"His staff says he's home eating lunch with his wife," said Mary Traynor's deputy.

"They miss the Mansfields," said Joe Biden.

"The whos?" asked Senator Boone.

"Mike and his wife," said the Vice President. "They understood love."

Mary Traynor, after setting her sake cup down, stretched her arms to yawn.

"Congressman Bomber's DoD-liaison during the tour – a Bird Colonel – demanded that Sergeant Lewis be thrown into lifetime lockup," said General Goodwrench, looking at the Senator of Kentucky. "Uh, the Bird Colonel, Sir, is the great-grandson of Robert E. Lee's aide." The General looked at each Senator. "Don't know if that matters."

"Not to me, General," said the Republican of Kentucky, a state that did not secede from the Union while still permitting slavery. "We stayed Blue."

"What charges got pressed from the earlier attacks?" demanded Biden.

"Nothing got filed before Bagram," said Goodwrench. "I ordered a JAG to hammer out an invisible deal."

The Vice President stammered. "There's a lot of shit on the desk."

"We got the Bird Colonel to drop the Congressman's charges if Lewis went silent."

"And the bastard fuckin' won the Senate three weeks later," said Biden.

"I though my race was outrageous," said the son of a scandalous piano player and who had left the family's musical performances to become a professional comedian.

"We should'a smacked him more," said the Senator of Hawaii.

The Angel Groucho turning to his brother, Chico. "I got a job for you." The cigar morphed the duck into a normal-sized all-black cat with one ear that looked like a cone-shaped white hat and ornate collar. "Take care of the girls." The floating cloud of smoke carried the cat over the Secret Service agent, through the closed window, and upwards to the sky.

* * *

"I had to escort the Councilman, Mr. Mayor," gently said the uniformed police officer, a hand resting on Larry van der Bix's shoulder, as the dork looked in every direction.

"I am sure, yes...," said Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim, the only Cambodian-American to hold office in the country, as the newest Member of the Long Beach City Council jerked and twisted, looking upward to the ceiling. "This... will be... yes, great." The Mayor placed his hand where the officer's had been, and he slowly walked the Councilman-elect through a horseshoe of offices, as staffers watched the dork pass them. The Mayor finally patted the Councilman-elect's shoulder and left Larry alone in his vacant office. Larry sat down at a cherry wood table, set his Stetson hat next to a remote and looked at a stack of resumes for interviews of potential staff.

There was no ghost.

The dork flipped on the television.

A graphic read, "Gay Marriage General Showdown."

"Americans demand to know," said a talking head on FOX.

Larry surfed and quivered.

"Does the White House withdraw this controversial selection, or double down?" asked another, on CNN.

Three light knocks tapped at the closed door.

* * *

"Why does everyone hate us?" asked December, in bed with her husband, her head on Lori's muscular chest. December looked up, and outside the window stood an all-black cat with a white ear.

* * *

"Fuck, this changes everything," said Vice President Biden, before pointing to the Senator's deputy. "Get the White House and DoD on a secure line."

The Senator's Chief-of-Staff ran out of the Senator's personal office.

The Vice President turned to the Senator of Hawaii. "Still sponsoring?"

"And ditch a guy whose dad was my dad's 'Best Man' in the Philippines wedding?" said Senator Mary Elisa Traynor, looking at the General.

"I love you, Mary," said the Vice President, lifting his cup. Jerry Lee instantly lifted his own cup and all three emptied sake together.

"Lewis re-upped after four Silver and a Bronze at the Olympics," asked Goodwrench. "Does the Sergeant who saved my life resign?"

"Rusty Chops already got sacked as a sacrificial lamb," added General Otis Bulldog. "Six months before retirement, to get the Bird Colonel's signature on the secret deal."

"CPO Andy Traynor never ditched anyone," said the daughter of a sailor who enlisted on December 8th. "I'll author a promotion or decoration." Mary turned to Jerry Lee, who nodded. "I like you, Mr. Boone."

"You're the cat's meow, Ms. Traynor," replied the Republican of Kentucky.

"Actually, that's my brother," said the Angel Groucho.

The Senator's Chief-of-Staff stepped back into the Senator's office, with the Secret Service agent ready to shoot. "The President's Chief on the secure line."

* * *

"Baby, I don't feel good," said December, as the two lay in bed, watching SpongeBob Squarepants. She looked up and again saw the Angel Chico at the ledge of the window.

" 'Don't feel good,' how?" asked Lori.

"Just... icky, like I gotta throw up," said December. "Maybe I need pizza."

The cat licked itself.

Lori wrapped her arm around December and kissed her.

"It helps," said December, sliding her hand over Lori's chest, "but maybe I gotta see a doctor."

"Can you hold out," said Lori. "Feels like a lock-down."

December looked at the Angel Chico, and nuzzled into Lori's arms, as her husband kissed her head. "Does the Army let troops keep a cat on base?"
Chapter Six – Returning to the Chaos of Battle

"No frickin' clown is great enough to save America," hissed Nixon's Ghost, hovering through the entry to the Lobby of Long Beach City Hall.

The Angel Harpo floated next to the dead president, while sifted through one of many pockets of his long tattered jacket.

"Sure... have some fun... ride a horse," growled Nixon's Ghost. "I'll never get to resign. Spiro'll kick my ass forever."

Harpo pulled out a fancy proclamation from his pocket, showing a painting of the largest battleship in the world, now berthed across the harbor, in San Pedro.

"The Iowa?" asked the ghost.

Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim marched across the Lobby, smiling widely, and shaking hands with anyone who approached... a police officer, a visitor, and city workers holding coffee.

The ghost and Angel floated across the Lobby, to the Information Desk. "May as well shoot cannons from a dinosaur."

The Jewish Angel dug into another pocket, producing a clipboard, a jar of ink and a feathered quill pen, which danced without Harpo's touch. The Angel took the proclamation and the dancing feathered quill ornately began scrawled words.

The dead president watched the Mayor pose in a selfie with two police officers.

Harpo pocketed the clipboard, quill and ink jar, and blew repeatedly onto the proclamation, before honking a horn and handing it to the ghost.

"I'm supposed to get the twit to present this?" asked the dead president.

The Mayor patted a child on the shoulder and gave a thumbs up to the parents, while standing at the elevators.

"How do ya teach a clown to be great?" said the man who convinced Soviet leaders to ratchet down the threat of nuclear war. Nixon's Ghost looked at the proclamation. "Guess ya gotta start somewhere."

The ghost and Angel floated across the Lobby, to catch an empty elevator.

* * *

Lt. Gen. Allen Goodwrench – the Administration's Nominee to run the military's Central Command – sat upright at the witness table, as a silver-haired Chairman pounded his gavel, quieting the packed chamber. A line of photographers knelt in the well between the witness table and the rows of committee members, actively shooting, though none aimed a camera at the Angel Groucho, who held a cigar, leaned forward, and paced at one end of the table.

"The United States Senate Armed Services Committee shall come to order," said the Chairman, his words punctuated by camera flashes. "I would like to thank the Nominee for his patience, and thank my colleagues for being on time, as we resume consideration of...."

"Mist'uh Chairman...," said Senator Dick Bomber, "when you say, 'resume our....' ".

"I'm sorry, Senator, but you no longer hold the floor," said the Chairman, pounding his gavel with great force. "And if I waste any further time, you might be leaving that chair!"

"Point of...," said Bomber.

The Chairman pounded again. "While I ate lunch with my wife, the Senate's leadership took up my request for your removal from this Committee," growled the Chairman. "The Chair now instructs the Sergeant-at-Arms to open the main doors."

In walked the Vice President of the United States, to the flashes of cameras and the buzzing and murmuring of hundreds of voices, all brought to silence with rapping of a gavel. Joe Biden smiled as he sat in the chair next to Allen Goodwrench. "Mind if I join you?"

"Since you've been drinking sake, of course you're welcome," said the Angel Groucho, who no one could hear.

"The Chairman recognizes our President of the Senate, the Honorable Joseph F. Biden, Jr., the Vice President of the United States of America," said the gentleman of Michigan who had led the committee for 15 years. "Thank you, Sir, for joining us once again."

"My pleasure, Mister Chairman," said the Vice President, in a slight slur. "Happy to support our Nominee and to again thank the Senator of Hawaii for sponsoring a guy born and raised in Pearl Harbor."

* * *

"Too bad your new office isn't ovular, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, floating through the closed office door where Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix sat to conduct interviews for staff. The ghost took a seat next to Larry's hat. Harpo's crumpled top-hat appeared beside the Stetson.

"... He's not alive...," said Larry. "... He isn't here...."

Someone lightly tapped the closed office door.

"Get to work," said the dead president, pointing to the door. "Never make Elvis wait."

"... Do I see him...?" examined the dork, rapidly batting his eyes.

A horn honked.

"Answer the danged door!" ordered the ghost, waving a shackled hand to waft smoke. "Elvis can be anyone." An ornate proclamation, framed with patriotic-colored smoke, landed between the Stetson and top-hat.

Larry stared at the second hat.

"Time's'a tickin'!" yelled Nixon's Ghost. "Use it, or lose it."

The invisible Angel Harpo pulled out the quill, which flew across the room like a bird, landing onto the doorknob, which gentle clicked.

"... Do I hear him...?"

"Ya can't be great by doin' nuthin!" yelled the ghost.

Again came a lightly tapped knock, slightly opening the door.

"Answer the frickin door!"

Larry jumped up and tried to snatch his hat. A flying quill gripped the Stetson.

"Do yer job!" said the dead crook. "Or maybe your guest needs you to say if a dead president is just a plain old ghost." The elder statesman looked directly to Larry van der Bix. "Well, I am not a plain old ghost."

Larry used a pinky in one ear.

"Yer slouching," said the ghost, as the quill returned to the doorknob, opening the door. "Ya already look crazy." The door swung open. "This'll be a hoot."

Long Beach City Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix managed to snatch his Stetson.

"Put down the hat," said the ghost. "Ya look ridiculous."

* * *

Lori Lewis got out of bed, slipped on a robe and went to the front door. She peered through the peephole during loud, continuous knocking. She unbolted and unlocked the door.

"Dress Greens, Lewis," said Captain Dorsey Spaulding, standing near a black cat. "We're assigned to D.C. for a couple days."

"Um," said Lori, "like... now?"

"Don't make us miss a flight," said the unit Captain, pointing to an idling vehicle.

The black cat with the ornate collar sauntered into the front door.

"Yes, Sir," said Lori Lewis, not seeing the cat.

"And tell your wife to stay in quarters," said Captain Spaulding, pointing to the newly-morphed Angel Chico. "She can call staff if she needs help petting a cat."

Chico purred as Lori closed the door.

* * *

"A lot was said about Bagram," said the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services committee. Once again, murmuring in the committee room went silent after taps of the gavel. "Would either wish to reply?"

"Yes, Sir," said the General, seated between Joe Biden and Otis Bulldog.

"I suppose you want only people you can hear to speak," said Groucho, pacing.

"I can talk about Bagram," said the Vice President. "I was there."

"It's up to you, gentlemen," said the Chairman.

"Mist'uh Chairman...," said Senator Dick Bomber.

The silver-haired man pounded wood upon wood. "You are neither the Vice President nor a U.S. Army General, so close your trap, Senator." The room went completely silent. "If you open your mouth once more, the Sergeant-at-Arms will be ordered to escort you from the first hearing which will also be your last."

"Why, that's the ideal opportunity to have some fun," said Groucho, crossing the well, to pace to the end of the dais. "Too bad about him, but Hawaii is truly lucky." Groucho took a deep inhalation of smoke, and blew it directly toward the barrel-chested Marine.

Bomber stared for several seconds at the Chairman, appeared ready to sneeze, and slouched into his chair.

"Gentlemen," said the Chairman, "your reply...."

"My assignment in Bagram is classified," said Allen Goodwrench, looking towards Bomber, as the Senator unleashed a huge sneeze. "Please understand that I must obey orders."

"Mind if we play tag-team, Mr. Chairman?" smiled Vice President Biden.

"Let's hear from 'Number Two' of our nation's Chain-of-Command," said the Chairman.

Joe Biden's smile widened, his teeth glowing. "Originally, yes, the President was due to address U.S. and Coalition forces on that Status of Forces agreement." The man who had drank sake an hour before loosened his necktie. "The unwillingness by Afghans to agree on terms made a Presidential visit inappropriate...."

* * *

Larry stood at the conference table of the empty room.

"Time for an interview, Cowboy," said the dead man with the banana-shaped nose.

A woman in her 30s entered the room.

"Sign her up," said Nixon's Ghost. "We've got shit to do."

Larry van der Bix stood motionless.

The woman looked around the empty room.

* * *

"It's not fitting or proper for a President to fly half way across the world, after America's been snubbed for a treaty, so I got the assignment," said Vice President Joseph F. Biden, Jr.. "Everyone's got work to do."

The Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee silently nodded.

Slightly wagging a tipsy arm, Joe Biden smiled.

* * *

"It's not my choice, Pumpkin," said Lori, as December tightly clung to her husband. "The Captain sez we're in Washington a couple days." As Lori kissed her wife, the cat watched. "Hurry up and wait.... It's the Army way."

"Fuck the Army!" said December. "We're married. Can't you quit? Larry gave you lottery money and you won the Olympics."

The pussycat hopped onto a low-grade couch.

"I'm in the Army cuz I wanna be in the Army," said Lori, kissing her wife's cheek, before wedging herself from December's grip. "I love you, Pumpkin, but this is what a soldier does." When both women saw the cat, Lori stepped back into her wife's embrace. "Must be a neighbor's cat." They watched Chico roll onto his back and stretch.

"But what if I feel icky again and you're not here," said December, starting to tear up. "My dad disowned me. You're all I got."

"And the neighbor's cat," said Lori, hugging her wife and opening the door.

* * *

"C'mon, ya gotta hand out some shit," yelled Nixon's Ghost, pointing to a proclamation next to the Stetson.

"Stop telling me what to do!" yelled Larry.

"-Y-e-h-," said the woman scheduled to be interviewed. "Maybe later is better?"

"Leave me alone!" yelled Larry.

"Leave?" said the woman. "What a joke."

"Yer soldier needs help," said a ghost whose high-water mark in the White House came through a gala in the East Room, where Prisoners-of-War in Full Dress waited in line to shake hands with the President. "Don't ditch yer friend."

The woman to be interviewed scanned the room. "Does this door open automatically?"

"You're not my friend!" barked Larry, the lucky lottery-winning dork.

The woman stared at the politician alone in an empty office.

"You're not even alive," growled the Councilman-elect.

"-R-i-g-h-t-...," said the woman.

"You can hate me, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, "but a great American is fighting an Invisible War and she needs your help."

Larry stuttered.

"Get on that danged horse," said Nixon's Ghost, "... and just... DO IT."

The woman holding a resume watched the dork babble.

* * *

"I thanked our troops at Bagram," said a relaxed and smiling Vice President, "and told everyone that this war's ending on our watch, and they'd be helped by a grateful nation."

The silent General sat motionless next to the tipsy politician.

Across the well, Groucho continued blowing smoke at Dick Bomber, who again erupted with a massive sneeze.

"An important message that our forces deserve," said the Chairman, looking angrily at the committee's junior-most Member.

Biden loosely placed his hand on Allen Goodwrench's shoulder and casually rocked him a few times. "And here's another thing... if it weren't for an Army Sergeant named Lori Lewis, this man wouldn't even be here today."

Dick Bomber again sneezed.

Again, the gavel rapped.

"The General's too shy to tell this story," said Biden, again loosening his tie, "but, yes, he did perform a brief marriage ceremony." The Vice President turned proudly to the Nominee, smiled widely, and tapped the soldier's cheek. "It took less than a minute." The Vice President gripped the soldier's shoulder and playfully shoved him. "Less than a minute."

* * *

"Saving America is a great first job," said Nixon's Ghost. "Everyone's gotta shovel shit."

The applicant for Chief of Staff hopelessly lifted her resume.

"I... uh...," said Larry, finally looking at the applicant.

The applicant looked upward, and breathed heavily.

* * *

"There we were," said Joe Biden, his hand on Allen Goodwrench's shoulder. The audience was silent. "Speeches... pix with the troops... the bipartisan group finished a seventeen day trip...." The Vice President patted the General's face. "And it was my decision to not ditch the USO and Nancy Bazooka." Joe Biden dropped his hand onto the General's shoulder and swaggered slightly. "Nancy Bazooka!"

Dick Bomber's reddened cheek pulsed after a sneeze.

"And him," said Biden, pointing to Bomber. "Looked like shit...."

There was no gavel tap by the Chairman, who said simply, "And...."

"This bleeding Sergeant got her girl," said the Vice President, again pushing the General, "and she gets popped with 'The Question'... right there...."

"Yes... just like that," said Allen Goodwrench, while getting shoved.

"Sure, the Sergeant's girl danced for the USO," loosely stated the smiling Vice President. "Traveled halfway around the world to surprise the one she loves." The Vice President released the General. "And Nancy's 'Boots' always makes the troops happy."

The General nodded.

"Less than a minute," repeated Joe Biden.

* * *

"-H-e-l-l-o-," said the applicant waiting to be interviewed.

Larry spasmodically twitched.

Nixon's Ghost turned to the invisible Angel, as Harpo drank coffee. "Mao was easier."

* * *

"When the Sergeant's done kissing her bride... done... Hell breaks loose," said Biden, after a slight hick-up. "The first rocket hit the tarmac after the kiss... after." The Vice President patted Goodwrench's shoulder. "Forty years a soldier, but just one minute saved his life." The Vice President's lips tightened. "If this man hadn't performed an impromptu marriage, he would'a taken that first rocket." The Vice President went quiet for a long moment.

"... And...," said the Chairman.

"The vehicle?" said the Vice President, bumping his fist against the General's ear. "Boom!" said Biden, making the sound of an explosion. "Completely destroyed."

Some audience members gasped and photographers captured the Vice President's performance.

"We would'a lost a Lieutenant General," said the Vice President, pulling Goodwrench by the ear. "The highest-ranked assassination of the war." Biden patted Goodwrench's face. "Everyone's got views on marriage equality, but that one-minute ceremony saved two Generals, and denied the enemy a significant military achievement."

* * *

"What a joke," said the applicant for Chief of Staff.

"Yer wasting time, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost. "She's 'The One,' "

"Uh," said Larry, "... Do you...."

"We're done," said the woman, turning to the door.

* * *

"While the Sergeant's frivolity unit hustled people across the tarmac to Air Force One, this General's second MRAP also took a direct hit," said Joe Biden, lightly slapping the General.

"I see, Sir," said the Chairman.

"Boom!" said the Vice President, again using both hands, and once again slapping the General's cheek. "So what's the hand-to-hand unit do?" Joe Biden grabbed the General's collar. "The frivolity team runs across a tarmac under heavy rocket attack."

The General showed agreement, while he again got lightly slapped.

"You never ditch anyone," said the Vice President. "You get them home."

"Yes, thank you," said the Chairman. "I agree, Sir."

"And I'm the one who gave righteous payback to a newlywed Sergeant," said Joe Biden, looking toward Dick Bomber's twitching face. "He still looks like shit."

There was no tap of a gavel.

General Allen Goodwrench wincing, taking several more pats across his face.

"The honeymoon was my call," said the Vice President, grabbing at the General's stars. "And you know what? I'd do it again."

After sake with the Vice President, Senator Mary Traynor made a quick yawn, slapping the twitching face of the junior-most Member of the Senate Armed Services Committee.
Chapter Seven – Declarations of Independence

Sergeant First Class Lori L Lewis ran behind Dorsey Spaulding and another Captain.

"Move, Soldiers!" yelled a Major, hustling everyone to a C-17. "We ain't riding horses!"

"Just a job," chanted Lori, running onto a ramp, up the belly.

"You've heard... about Bomber..., right?" huffed Captain Dorsey Spaulding, as the Olympian and Army officers reached two rows of seating.

"Please never talk about him," replied Sergeant Lori Lewis.

"Bomber's swinging at everyone," said the Major.

* * *

Congressman Dick Bomber sat spread-legged on the rear seat of the Humvee carrying the politician across a Forward Operating Base during a bipartisan fact-finding trip to Afghanistan.

Staff Sergeant Lewis eyed the rear-view mirror. "Driving you alone is against orders."

"Keep your mouth shut, Girl," snarled Congressman Bomber.

* * *

Another triangle of Army officers flanked by Secret Service marched rapidly through Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, as the Angel Groucho floated over them. The Senators of Hawaii and Kentucky protected shoulder-to-shoulder the Vice President and General Allen Goodwrench. The triangle of the One Star and two Captains stayed tight, with two Secret Security agents and each Senator's principal deputy at the rear flank.

In the chaotic hall, journalists shoved digital recorders towards the Vice President, who halted the entourage, when FOX asked if he was drunk.

Biden raised both hands and appeared speechless.

CNN's camera crew closed in for a tight shot.

"Mr. Vice President, are Afghans slamming the Administration over a gay marriage on their soil?" asked a radio journalist.

"... An American airbase... think embassy...," replied Joe Biden, again moving the entourage. "Less than a minute."

"What about the bombs," exploded another reporter.

"Rockets, not bombs," grunted Brigadier General Otis Bulldog, keeping the entourage tight to protect the Vice President.

"Rockets," corrected the reporter.

"... They fell after... I was there... after...," said the Vice President, picking up the pace of the triangle.

"Did you have liquor with Senator Traynor today, Sir?" repeated FOX.

"Lick her?" replied the Angel Groucho. "He hardly knows her."

"I came to Capitol Hill to support our Nominee," said the Vice President. "Anyone can make outrageous charges, but this is a very different place from when I was a Freshman."

The pack of reporters jammed recorders up the middle, toward the General, as the triangle kept moving.

"Who else saw the ceremony?" yelled a journalist.

"The Sergeant and her girl," barked the Vice President, shoving the Nominee ahead, and shifting into second gear. "The hand-to-hand unit.... Me.... Nancy.... And some cowboy."

"Who issued the license?" asked a reporter, also the press also picked up pace.

"I don't have that information," said Biden, again shoving the General.

"My Boss knows," said Groucho, floating above an ongoing political battle. "Since He's omnipotent, He knows everything."

"Is the Sergeant's wife a webcam stripper?"

"Everybody falls in love," said Joe Biden, shifted the entourage into third gear.

"A kiss is just a kiss," added Senator Mary Traynor, at equal pace with the Vice President.

"Is the Sergeant up for the Medal of Honor?" asked CNN.

"That's bunk," spat Goodwrench, holding a consistent rapid pace.

"Does a filibuster kill the Nominee?" asked USA Today.

The Vice President halted.

People inside and outside the triangle bumped into one another.

"This Three Star is still alive because of a kiss," said Biden, downshifting to first gear. "There's no reason to oppose this Nomination." The triangle shifted into a sluggish second.

"Is the President doubling down?" exploded one question.

"Who's throwing bombs?" replied the Vice President.

"A lesbian sex honeymoon in Air Force One?" blew another explosion.

"Just incredible what people say," uttered the Vice President, throwing the triangle into fourth gear, and leaning out the open window. "My call..., and I'd do it again."

"Where's the Sergeant and her wife?"

"Lewis works for America," said the Vice President, pushing the peddle to the metal, "and why would any politician comment on a private citizen?" As the triangle pulled away from the galloping journalists, Joe Biden waved. "... Back to work everyone...."

* * *

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis sat next to Captain Dorsey Spaulding, and said nothing, as the C-17 flew over south Florida.

* * *

Congressman Dick Bomber sat with his legs apart and arms spread across a Humvee's rear seat. "Do you intend to fight me tonight, Waterbed?"

Sergeant Lewis gripped the wheel. "If you mean do I intend to resist another attempted sexual assault, then, yes, Congressman, I will defend myself and hurt you if I have to."

"No one will hear you scream in our little Invisible War," snickered Bomber, gripping his crotch. "Why not enjoy the stars over Afghanistan and earn a Gold medal."

* * *

"Ya must think it's easy being a frickin ghost," grumbled the dead president, slapping City Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix's hat, which moved slightly on the conference table.

Larry winced, looked to the woman holding the resume, and awkwardly motioned to the conference table.

The woman took a chair next to Nixon's Ghost.

"Try sitting on a broken folding chair forever," muttered the ghost. "Even Spiro Agnew gets to make coffee."

The invisible Angel Harpo honked, and dug up a steaming mug from a pocket.

Larry flumped onto a chair and quivered.

"Perhaps later is better," said a woman.

* * *

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis stayed motionless, as the C-17 flew over Georgia.

"That Marine on Armed Services hates Army," said the other Army Captain.

"Probably some political game," replied the Captain Dorsey Spaulding.

"Stop talking shit about another branch," ordered the Major.

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis said nothing over a debate on the politician who repeatedly attempted to rape her in Afghanistan.

* * *

"Let us enjoy some fun tonight," said Congressman Bomber. "You are far from home."

"Congressman, the answer is no," said Staff Sergeant Lori Lewis, gripping the steering wheel and revving the engine. "Stop your sexual harassment and exit this vehicle!"

Dick Bomber kicked open the right passenger hatch of the Humvee and quickly moved to the outside of the vehicle and, just as quickly, into the passenger's side of the front seat, directly across from Lori Lewis, who screamed and leapt out of the driver's side.

* * *

Senator Mary Traynor watched Vice President Joseph F. Biden, Jr., assign seating to White House senior staffers entering the personal office of the junior Senator of Hawaii. After handing Senator Jerry Lee Boone a cup, Mary slipped Biden a cup of warm-but-not-hot sake. The Vice President turned, downed the sake, and slipped it back in Mary's hand. Joe Biden barked an order to a Lieutenant General. "Everything, Goodwrench! Rapes.... The Sergeant.... The secret deal.... All of it!"

* * *

Sergeant First Class Lewis looked straight ahead in the C-17, to a mounted big screen showing talking heads with a silent video showing Senator Dick Bomber. She closed her eyes.

* * *

Congressman Dick Bomber swiftly crossed the front seat of the Humvee, and leapt out of the driver's seat, such that he and Lori Lewis stood several feet away from the open door.

"Why, isn't this quaint?" said the Congressman. "Welcome to Hell, Waterbed."

* * *

"... Can I just hire you...?" asked Larry van der Bix.

"Excuse me, Councilman," said the woman sitting next to a ghost.

"I can do that, right?" asked the dork starting his first job.

The woman stared at the newly-elected Councilman.

Each said nothing.

"Not a great start, Cowboy," snickered the ghost. "Not even 'near-great.' "

"What do you mean, 'just hire' me," asked the woman. "That's how you would choose a Chief of Staff?"

The dork nodded.

"You... probably... don't even remember my name," replied the woman.

"Should'a made a secret tape of this one," said the dead president.

"Can I see your resume?" said Larry van der Bix, quickly adding, "... uh... again?"

Larry and the striking woman watched a ten gallon hat dance the Bunny Hop.

"I can explain that," said Larry.

The woman did not wag her resume.

* * *

The door to Senator Mary Traynor's private office flew open and a press deputy burst in.

The Secret Service agent next to the Vice President whipped out a compact submachine gun, aiming in the direction of Angel Groucho.

"I could'a been doing nothing with my brothers," lamented the Angel.

"FOX!" yelled the press secretary.

The Vice President grabbed a remote in front of him and surfed.

Dick Bomber – the conservative congressman who ran as a TEA party Democrat for the Senate – stood in the National Mall, in the snow, wearing a heavy coat, with a view to the Capitol behind him.

"Shit," said the Vice President.

"Since so-called puh-lit'uh-cul lee-duhs are pulling this nation in one direction, I can no longer wreck-ugh-nize the party of my father and grandfather," said Bomber, struggling to turn a page in the wind and snow. "I shall therefore declare my independence, and hence forth shall caucus without regard to party."

"Fuck," said Joe Biden.

"Perhaps a Cuban cigar wasn't enough punishment," said the Angel Groucho.

"Senator!" simultaneously yelled a dozen reporters. Bomber pointed to a tall blonde.

"Democrats hold 50," said the reporter. "With your defection, they lose majority...."

"There's a difference between a 'declaration' and your incorrect verb, Missy," snarled Bomber.

"He's pulling a Jim-Jeffords-in-reverse," said the Vice President.

"With your declaration, Senator, you join Maine and Vermont, as an Independent," said another reporter. "But the Vice President would cast tie-breaking votes."

"Damn straight I will," said Biden.

"My omnipotent Boss-in-Chief knows the right way to damn someone," said Groucho.

"My concern is not num-buhs," answered Dick Bomber, with the snow falling heavily. "This declaration of independence is a shot across the bow to those who are dragging this blessed nation to the extreme, simply because they won an absurd election."

"Of course politics is absurd," said Groucho, blowing cigar smoke in the packed room. No one sneezed. "Even jokes aren't as ridiculous."

"Senator, do you intend to stand for President in 2016?" yelled another journalist.

"A big question for this old Marine," said Dick Bomber, leering to the blonde reporter. "Let us watch where snowflakes fall."

Senator Mary Traynor turned off the television when FOX cut to another story.

Joe Biden turned to Allen Goodwrench. "Everything, General."

* * *

The C-17 crossed the Carolinas.

"Pretty quiet, Lewis," said Captain Spaulding, to the Sergeant First Class. "You okay?"

Lori Lewis looked to her unit officer, nodded, but said nothing.

* * *

"We can play cat and mouse, Swim Girl," said Dick Bomber, shifting on his feet, ready to run, as Lori Lewis likewise shifted on her feet, her boots crunching into sand and grit. "Or just have a good time."

" 'No' means no, Congressman!" yelled Staff Sergeant Lori Lewis. "Leave me alone!"

"You can do better than that," laughed Bomber, making a feint to his left, as Lori kept herself close to the vehicle. The Congressman bolted towards her. Lori grabbed the opened door and slammed it into the Congressman, who staggered backward, blood dripping from his face. "Good one, Waterbed," said the lawmaker, wiping blood from his cheek. "Score one for you."

* * *

Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix watched Nixon's Ghost make the Stetson continue to dance the Bunny Hop. "I don't want you here!"

"That was easy," said the woman, snatching her resume and standing. "I'm sure you never read resumes." The applicant for Chief of Staff walked to the door.

Nixon's Ghost swiftly floated to the woman and read a resume. "Jeanine Howard," grumbled the ghost. "From Chicago. Cal State Long Beach. Photography." The ghost floated to the conference table.

"Jeanine Howard," repeated Larry.

The woman turned around.

"Chicago.... Cal State Long Beach.... Photography."

The woman looking to the lottery winner. "You didn't get the Illinois version."

"I can explain that," said Larry.

"Or the 'photography' version," said Jeanine Howard, who neither sat nor exited.

"Great moment for a Polaroid," said Nixon's Ghost.

"It's...," said Larry, "kind'a hard to explain."

"Go ahead, Cowboy," grinned Nixon's Ghost. "Sock it to her."

"There's... someone... helping me," said the Councilman-elect.

"You spent lottery money to buy an election with beach parties, so obviously someone helps you," said Jeanine. "I doubt you lined up Dengue Fever as the house band."

"It's...," said Larry, pointing to an empty chair, "he's... um... he's a ghost."

Jeanine stared at Larry, looked to a dancing Stetson, and marched toward the door.

"Don't let her get away!" ordered Nixon's Ghost, waving toward the fleeing applicant. "She's 'The One.' "

"No, please, really...," said Larry, running behind Jeanine, into the horseshoe-shaped series of offices of other city elected officials. "Nixon's Ghost is the dead president!"

* * *

The C-17 landed in Delaware.

Captain Dorsey Spaulding tapped Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis's shoulder.

"Dover," yelled the Major.
Chapter Eight – Cracking the Whip

No politicians could see the Angel Groucho take a call on Mary Traynor's secure line.

"You call, Sir," said a Heavenly operator.

The Angel assigned to run Limbo sat on Mary's lap, and listened to the All-Mighty and Omnipotent Boss-in-Chief, through the secure line.

* * *

"Nixon?" said Jeanine Howard, next to the dork, inside the empty office, and looking at a Stetson dance the Watusi.

"Well," said Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix, watching CNN, "he's dead, but...."

"And you believe this?" asked the applicant for Chief of Staff, watching the hat rocking. She poked the brim. "Which of us is crazy?"

Larry flipped to FOX.

* * *

The C-17 taxied.

"We're doing a controlled event," whispered Captain Spaulding. "Should be easy."

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis sat locked in her own prison, fighting an Invisible War.

* * *

"Why don't they put a peephole," said Staff Sergeant Lori Lewis, at 2100 hours, in an assigned housing unit at Bagram Airbase. Someone kept banging the door, for a delivery. "Leave whatever you've got outside.... Just washed my hair."

"Have to hand an order in person," came the voice. "Gotta follow orders, Sergeant."

Lori wrapped a damp towel around her blonde hair and unbolted the door, which burst open due to an enormous force. Lori fell backward onto the floor, as a hulking Congressman with a fresh scar on his cheek smashed through the doorway, before locking it closed.

"How's it feel getting a door slammed into your face?" growled Dick Bomber, his scar dripped blood across his cheek. "A taste of your own medicine, eh?"

* * *

The Angel Groucho, still relaxed on Mary Traynor's lap, placed another call.

"Meow," answered the Angel Chico.

"The Boss is making me go everywhere," said Groucho. "At least in Limbo, there's plenty of time and nuthin' to do."

Over the secure line, Groucho heard a female voice.

"Here, pussy pussy pussy," called December.

"Lucky stiff," said Groucho, as Chico purred.

* * *

The C-17's belly dropped as an SUV sped across the tarmac.

"Doing a job," repeated Sergeant First Class Lewis.

* * *

"No!" screamed Staff Sergeant Lori Lewis. "Rape!"

Bomber cracked his belt on Lori's sweats, opening a bloody gash across her torso. "Shuddup, ya walking mattress!" snorted the wild pig, throwing a whipping across Lori's chest. "Olympian swimmer, eh? You're nothin' but a waterbed!"

Lori, still on the ground, pushed herself backward, toward the bathroom, as Bomber advanced. Lori reached the bathroom door and grabbed a white plastic bottle, ripped off the top and doused the Congressman's face in talcum powder. As he bent forward, coughing and wiping his rapidly-blinking eyes, Lori quickly stood and gave a swift kick upward to Dick Bomber's groin, taking him down to his knees. She grabbed the towel on her wet hair, moved behind him, and twisted the towel around the man's neck. She tightened her hold. The Congressman pulled at the towel, and flailed his arms to reach back. Lori twisted the wet towel tighter and swung the Congressman's body to the side, repeatedly bashing his head into the doorframe, until blood spurted down the side of his face.

* * *

"Thank you, Senator!" said the Vice President, as the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services committee graciously entered the personal office of the junior Senator from Hawaii.

The Chairman offer both hands to Mary Traynor.

"Thank you for making time, Mister Chairman," said the Vice President.

"We're working double-time today," said the gentleman of Michigan, politely declining Senator Mary Traynor's offer to take her chair. Senator Jerry Lee Boone reached across the desk to shake hands. "You're both doing so well."

"Hello, I must be going," said Groucho, smiled to the Chairman who could not see him. "I came to say, I cannot stay, I must be going."

"Sake?" asked the Vice President.

"And make my wife mad?" said the Chairman, smiling to the Vice President and several senior staff of the White House. "I have great confidence in these new Senators."

"You are so kind, Sir," said Senator Mary Elisa Traynor.

"Hawaii's always sent Members who understood the value of meaningful relationships," said the Chairman, taking the last empty seat in the crowded row. "How I miss Dan and Danny."

Jerry Lee Boone said nothing.

"Wish I could say the same about your senior Senator," said the Chairman, looking to the man who won a campaign as comedian-turned-anti-politician. "At least you're funny."

"It's always good to be funny," said Groucho, who floated through the door and vanished.

"Okay, General," said the Vice President. "Start marching!"

* * *

"Be strong, Pumpkin," whispered Sergeant Lori Lewis, motionless on the C-17.

The Major pointed to the Captains, who rose from the aircraft's seating.

"Let's move, Lewis," said Captain Spaulding.

* * *

Jeanine Howard pointed to the TV. "Bomber's right on the women-in-combat thing."

Larry silenced the talking heads. "You know Lori Lewis is my best friend?"

Both watched a cowboy hat doing The Swim.

"You've told me repeatedly," said Jeanine.

"And you say that anyway?" said Larry.

"Should I lie?" said Jeanine Howard. "Even if the marriage ceremony only took a minute, to do it during a rocket attack is totally wrong."

"It wasn't during a rocket attack," said Larry. "The first bomb fell after they kissed."

"You talk like you've got a selfie," said the woman.

Larry pulled out his phone, and brought up a video. "Wanna see?"

Jeanine stared at Larry, took his phone, and pressed "play."

A video showed Staff Sergeant Lori L Lewis, her tunic red, with December Carrera, her white dress also bloodied, in one another's arms, standing with General Allen Goodwrench. Beyond, Joe Biden flirted with Nancy Bazooka.

"Lori Lewis," said the General, "do you take this beautiful young woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, for all your days, even if sometimes you're far apart and miss each other more than life itself?"

"I do, Sir, I do." Lori smiled.

"And do you, uh...."

"December Nichole Carrera."

"Do you, December Nichole Carrera, take this beautiful soldier and great American to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, though there will be times that you curse the day she ever signed a contract to serve in the United States Army?"

"... Husband...," said December, looking directly into Lori's eyes. "Oh, you bet I do."

"Then by the powers vested in me through appointment by the United States Congress as a General Staff officer and to serve in a leadership role within the Central Command," said Goodwrench, "I declare you married, and note your friend, the Cowboy, is your formal witness."

"Wow," came Larry's voice.

"Sergeant, kiss your bride," said the General, looking over the couple to the hangar bay doors.

Lori wrapped her arms around December, as the General looked towards the tarmac. The two women kissed, and, in the background, Joe Biden hugged Nancy Bazooka. The video then captured the first rocket to strike the Bagram tarmac, showing a direct hit on Lt. Gen. Goodwrench's Three-Star-Flagged vehicle, just outside the hanger, alongside two other MRAPs.

"What da fuck!" yelled December.

The video ended.

Jeanine Howard looked at Larry's phone, and silently handed it back.

"There's a little greatness, Cowboy," said the shackled Nixon's Ghost.

Larry winced.

"Does anyone know about your video?" asked Jeanine Howard.

"Uh...," said Larry.

"Answer the frickin' question," grumbled the dead president.

Larry again winced.

"Councilman," repeated Jeanine, "who... knows... that you witnessed this ceremony?"

"Lori and December," said Larry, studying his cell. "We both went to Woodrow Wilson." He surfed the photo archive. "I drove Lori to swim practice everyday." He handed the phone to Jeanine. "Lori won NCAA every year."

"I know," replied Jeanine. "You say it every time."

The Angel Harpo floated in through the closed door, with a Starbucks coffee.

"The clown doesn't know shit from Shin-o-la," said the ghost.

Harpo honked and laughed.

"You need to provide this video to the U.S. Senate," said Jeanine Howard, as Larry again handed his phone. She flipped through combat photography.

"I'm supposed to do what?" said Larry.

"The United States Senate needs this," said Jeanine, closely viewing a series of photos shot on a tarmac. "This is evidence for a confirmation hearing."

"Uh," said Larry. "I'd... I'd have to... um."

"This is important," said Jeanine Howard, finishing the combat photos. "It should be the Senators who get this, not the press."

Larry and Jeanine watched a Stetson dance The Limbo.

"How low can you go?" asked Nixon's Ghost.

Harpo drank coffee.

"We've got to make calls," said Jeanine.

"Will you please be my Chief of Staff?" asked Larry.

* * *

A Major, two Captains, and a Sergeant First Class ran down the C-17 ramp and across the Dover tarmac, to the waiting SUV.

* * *

The principal deputy of the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services committee studied the files sent to her cell phone, as a General summarized an impromptu wedding at Bagram Airbase and a series of attempted rapes. The deputy whispered to the Chairman.

"General, did some cowboy shot a video?" asked the Chairman.

Allen Goodwrench turned to the Vice President.

* * *

"Sent the files to the Chairman's person," said Jeanine Howard. Larry's screen showed a webpage for the United States Senate Armed Services committee. "Didn't expect it to be easy."

"But, um...," said Larry.

"Odd as this is, Councilman," said Jeanine Howard, "you witnessed history happening." She watched the Stetson. "You can't hide the truth from history."

"You make it sound important," said Larry. "Nothing I've done has been important."

"Ordinary people experience extraordinary things," said Jeanine, lightly poking the hat.

"Great start, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, smiling as a new deputy studied the hat. "Maybe I'll get to resign from Limbo after all."
Chapter Nine – Here Pussy Pussy Pussy

December napped in sunshine's embrace. A black cat with an ornate collar hopped onto the bed, and climbing onto the soldier's beautiful wife. December awoke, smiled at the cat, and scratched the ear that looked like a cone-shaped white hat. "You're like an Angel," she said, studying a collar, which read, "Tuttsi Frutsi." As the purring cat pressed his paws into December's chest, her cell phone vibrated on Lori's pillow.

"Uh...," said Larry.

"Hey," said December, groggily, pushing speaker and set the phone back on Lori's pillow. The purring cat snuggled deeply onto December's chest.

"Hi December, it's Larry, in California," said Larry.

"Yeh," said December. "What's up?"

"Um, is, uh, Lori home?"

"Somewhere in Washington," said December. "Turned off her phone."

"Yeh, I called... um, okay."

"I'm gonna go back to sleep, sweetie," said December. "I don't feel good."

"Oh, uh, wait," said Larry.

"Ask her...," said Jeanine Howard.

"Ask me what?" said December. "Wait, there's a woman with you?"

"Oh, uh, my new Chief of Staff," said Larry. "Jeanine."

"Hey, Jeanine," said December.

"... -H-e-l-l-o-...," came a hesitant female voice.

"I emailed the video and photos of you guys getting married," said Larry. "Is that okay?"

December stretched in the sunshine and turned to her side. The cat continued making love. "Whatever, Larry."

"Ok, well, thanks," said Larry. "Hope you feel better."

"Now I can talk to my Angel," purred December, pulling a cat sprawled on Lori's pillow. "I can tell an Angel anything."

* * *

December Carrera – inside a temporary housing unit made available by USO dancers – sat at a bare table in her bare room, with a bare sheet of paper before her and a Bic pen in hand. She wrote:

"Hey, Baby.... Now I'm here at Bagram and you're here, and I can't believe it, cuz tomorrow I'll finally get to see you!! (I think! I hope!) Been forever! I've missed you so bad. All the awful things, and being away from you. Can't believe I don't have the laptop or Skype or chat or anything, but this is kinda cool, writing it out old skool. I know you've had it tough too, but tomorrow all that changes, huh? Maybe we'll even get married! Ha! jk... maybe! Wonder if that's even legal, if like the captain of a ship does it? Anyway, knowing we are so close, I had to write and be even closer, cuz you know, sometimes you can be right there, but then something happens, and you miss the chance forever, and I don't want that to ever happen anymore, not with you. Love, December."

December looked at the last words and wrote "I" and "you" on either side of the word "love," and added several hearts. She carefully folded the note and put it into her cosmetic bag, with her lipstick, mascara and compact.

* * *

"You're too good to be true," purred December, laying alone in bed, hugging a black cat sprawled on her husband's pillow. "My Angel baby."

* * *

"Full hand-to-hand between the Congressman and the Sergeant at least three times during the fact-finding tour," said General Allen Goodwrench, as the Chairman watched his principal deputy work with the press secretary to Senator Mary Traynor. "Hand-to-hand, his physical attack, her defense."

Senator Mary Traynor and the Vice President listened, sitting in front of a huge framed photograph behind her desk, showing Franklin Delano Roosevelt telling Congress about a day that shall live in infamy.

"Got ordered to fix it after Lewis's Unit Commanded and the Bird Colonel gave similar reports after Bomber took a face wound."

"I see," said the Chairman.

".... Him... first face wound," added the General. "Her? Pure defense."

"I see."

The Republican of Kentucky stood. "You know, this is some very serious stuff," said Jerry Lee Boone, "so maybe I shouldn't be here?"

"Don't worry," answered Joe Biden. "Party doesn't matter if the handshake is good."

"I've got video," said the Chairman's deputy, handing her smart phone to the Senator's press secretary.

The Senator and Vice President lowered the artwork showing FDR's December 8th address to Congress, and signaled an okay to push "play video."

The press secretary fidgeted to bring up on projecting, and immediately selected "pause."

"Arrived at Bagram just before Lewis almost killed the bastard with a towel," said Allen Goodwrench.

"It's ready," said the Chairman's principal deputy, as a frozen image showed Biden flirting with Nancy Bazooka, while the General stood with two women hugging.

"Right after 'Boots,' " exclaimed Joe Biden, smiling as an image showing him with a blonde singer and dancer known around the world as the daughter of Frank Bazooka. "Nancy's still a million dollars."

"I can see why the Sergeant said yes," said Jerry Lee Boone. "She burns like the sun."

"Both do," said the Vice President.

"Certainly won't hurt in the Nominee's confirmation vote," said the Chairman.

"Okay, play," said the Vice President.

"Lori Lewis," said the General, "do you take this beautiful young woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, for all your days, even if sometimes you're far apart and miss each other more than life itself?"

The Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee sat upright. "Good one, Allen."

"I do, Sir, I do." Lori smiled.

"Hope Jill doesn't get mad about Nancy," said the Vice President.

"And do you, uh...."

"December Nichole Carrera."

The Vice President shifted in his chair. "Sizzling."

"Do you, December Nichole Carrera, take this beautiful soldier and great American to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, though there will be times that you curse the day she ever signed a contract to serve in the United States Army?"

"And when two lovers woo," said the Senator of Hawaii.

"... Husband...," said December, looking directly into Lori's eyes. "Oh, you bet I do."

"They still say 'I love you.' "

"Then by the powers vested in me through appointment by the United States Congress as a General Staff officer and to serve in a leadership role within the Central Command," said Goodwrench, "I declare you married, and note your friend, the Cowboy, is your formal witness."

"Wow," said a male voice.

"Sergeant, kiss your bride," said the General, looking to the hanger bay doors.

"Stop there!" ordered the Vice President.

* * *

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis scrambled out of the SUV, behind Captain Spaulding, running through snowflakes falling upon the West Wing parking lot.

"This ain't Africa," said Captain Spaulding, who explored another theater before being reassigned to the Central Command.

An Undersecretary of Defense and two Secret Service agents waved the soldiers toward the French doors of the West Wing.

"Why am I here?"

"Navy bean soup, Sergeant," said the Major.

* * *

"Why were you in Afghanistan?" asked Jeanine Howard, to the Councilman-elect, as they watched Senator Dick Bomber march across the snows of Washington.

"I wonder the same thing, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, twirling Harpo's top hat.

"I got begged to run in politics, but I hated it," said Larry, watching the talking heads. "So I escaped and flew across the world to be with my best friends."

"The campaign mail came every day," said Jeanine, also watching the television. "Went to a couple of the surf guitar beach parties in front of the Villa Riveria."

"Great apartment and he treats it like shit," said Nixon's Ghost, while Dick Bomber threw snow balls at the media. "Son-of-a-bitch." The dead president shoved two hats off the table.

Jeanine watched the Stetson fall.

* * *

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis, two Captains and a Major followed the Undersecretary of Defense, to descend a stairway, pass through a crowded lobby, and enter French doors, into a waiting area, where a woman stood behind a podium that bore the seal of the United States Navy.

"Welcome to the Navy Mess," said the hostess of the West Wing's elegant restaurant.

The Undersecretary of Defense handed a business card. "We're here a couple hours," said the mucky-muck. "Got two more soldiers coming."

The woman studied a reservations list. "By order of the Vice President's office?"

"Undetermined length," said the Undersecretary of Defense.

The hostess motioned towards a short flight of steps and to the left, into a wood-paneled dining room, decorated with oil paintings of sailing ships. Each table was covered with a delicate peach tablecloth laid atop white lace and set with white-and-gold china and peach fabric napkins.

As the soldiers laid overnight bags onto two chairs, Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis saw women at another table, looking at her. Lori smiled meekly, and the women waved.

"Get comfortable," said the DoD mucky-muck.

"Recommend the soup," said the Major, motioning to the menu.

* * *

"No marriage license?" asked the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services committee.

Senator Mary Traynor filled six cups with sake.

"... It's another country...," said the Vice President, "... but technically, Bagram is like an embassy." Mary Traynor set a cup in front of the Vice President, as he paid no attention to anything or anyone. "... Technically our territory, but... probably a legal question."

The Senator of Hawaii gave cups to Jerry Lee Boone, a few White House aides and the Chairman's deputy, before placing her hands together, and bowed slightly.

"Dan and Danny are smiling in Heaven," said the Chairman, watching his aide sip sake.

The Vice President looked to Mary Traynor, pointed to the frozen video, and nodded.

"Play it, Sam!" said Senator Mary Traynor, to her Chief of Staff.

The Senator's deputy give a thumbs-up to the press secretary, who pushed, "play."

"Sergeant, kiss your bride," said the General, looking to the hangar bay doors.

Lori wrapped her arms around December, as the General looked towards the tarmac. The two women kissed, and, in the background, Joe Biden hugged Nancy Bazooka.

"A million dollars," purred the Vice President.

The video then captured the first rocket to strike the Bagram tarmac, showing a direct hit on Lt. Gen. Goodwrench's vehicle, just outside the hanger, alongside two other MRAPs.

"What da fuck!" yelled December.

The video ended.

"I hope Jill's not too mad," repeated the Vice President.

"My MRAP took the first hit," said the General, pointing to a vehicle showing three stars. "Me and Bulldog would'a been in there."

"Again," said the Chairman, rapidly waving his hand.

"Play it again, Sam," said Senator Mary Traynor.

The group again watched the video, in silence.
Chapter Ten – Navy Bean Soup

Jeanine Howard examined the Stetson. "You don't actually believe there's a ghost here?" She waved the hat and dropped it onto the empty table. It didn't move.

"He's not here now," said the Councilman-elect, at Jeanine poked the hat.

"... R-i-g-h-t-...," replied Jeanine, as her potential boss continued watched television.

"He started chasing me this morning," said the dork, switching to CNN. "Keeps talking about Limbo."

Jeanine looked at the man a cowboy hat and handed her resume to Larry.

"You actually want this job?" asked the dork.

"I've done nothing but pull a salary," said Jeanine. "It'd be nice to do something great."

* * *

"The bean soup is amazing," said Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis, who dropped her spoon and immediately jumping to her feet.

Staff of the Navy Mess in the West Wing escorted Sergeant First Class Cazzie Clark and Staff Sergeant Gene Gonzalez to Lori's table.

Lori turned to Captain Spaulding.

"Enlisted personnel can fraternize," said the Captain, to three world-champion athletes who together served on a frivolity unit to demonstrate hand-to-hand.

"Hooray for Captain Spaulding," said the Angel Groucho, floating into the Navy Mess. "The African explorer."

"Did someone call me 'Schnorrer,'" asked a confused Captain, looking around.

"I should keep saying, 'Hooray,' but he stole my line," said Groucho.

The two E-7s and the E-6 hugged.

"The Vice President is still on The Hill," said the Undersecretary, finishing some pastry. "We wait here until the Chain-of-Command issues an order."

Everyone eat bean soup, except for the Angel, who stuck with a magical bowl of borsch.

The Undersecretary checked a text. "Apparently, the Diplomatic Reception Room, in the Center Hall, of the Main Residence," said the mucky muck. "tomorrow, with the President."

"Perhaps America needs another party," said the Angel Groucho. "A great one."

* * *

"Lewis's friend," said the Vice President, to the General. "The dork cowboy, right?"

"An elected official in Long Beach, California, apparently," said the silver-haired Senator of Michigan, sipping water. "His personal deputy sent the video and photos."

"Remember doing an impromptu stand-up, before I spoke," said the Vice President.

"An impromptu stand-up?" asked the Angel Groucho, moving from place to place. "That's the best kind of speech."

"Larry's person vouched these are his personal property," said the Chairman's deputy, waving to the junior Senator's press secretary, who flipped on the projector.

Senators Mary Traynor and the Vice President sat next to each other, drinking sake, with Jerry Lee Boone, and watching the discussion, like seeing a tennis game.

"Feels like Tricky Dick's secret tapes," said the Chairman. "You can't hide the truth."

"You can't insult my employee," said an Angel that no one could hear. "Only I can."

"Show the pix," ordered the Vice President.

"Larry's slideshow," said the Chairman's personal deputy.

The First Shot.

Cramped MRAP. Chaos. Lori. Blood-soaked tunic. Holds her wife. December. White go-go dress. Smeared red.

"They still say, 'I love you'...," said Senator Mary Traynor.

The Next Shot.

Tarmac. Air Force One. Rear hatch. Lori yelling. "Move!" USO dancers. Terror.

"I'd do it again," said the Vice President.

"I would, too, if anyone can remember what I did," said an Angel who couldn't be heard, nor make others laugh. "The sad truth is the higher you go, the less people remember."

The Third Image.

Tarmac. MRAP. Two hundred yards from Air Force One. Rocket hit.

"... Never saw this...," said Lt. Gen. Allen Goodwrench.

"... That's...," said Brigadier General Otis Bulldog, "... us...."

Another Picture.

Tarmac. Flipped vehicle.

"... It ours...," said the One-Star.

"...Never did...," said the Three-Star.

"I never did either, but no one can prosecute me," said Groucho.

The Next Image.

Tarmac. Lewis. Clark. Gonzalez. Athletes run toward flipped burning vehicle.

"... Fucking A...," said the Vice President.

Another Photo.

Gonzalez. Fastest runner. Leaps onto MRAP.

Another One....

Gonzalez atop MRAP. Clark and Lewis reach burning vehicle.

And Another....

Burning vehicle. Gonzalez swings rear hatch. Clark climbing. Lewis, at flipped belly.

"Freeze it!" ordered the Vice President.

"Hard to freeze when there's fire," said Groucho, as the Hell of war raged. Smoke wafted to the screen and embraced Lori Lewis. "Time to give her a medal."

"They need to be recognized," said Senator Mary Traynor.

"The 'Hand-to-Hand' team is a frivolity unit," said Allen Goodwrench.

"... Battle of Naples...," said the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services committee, to no specific person. "Mark Clark's musicians grabbed rifles."

"Lori Lewis...," said the Chairman's deputy, reciting from scrawled Post-Its. "Olympics.... Four Silver.... One Bronze...." She continued sifting through notes. "Driver.... Vehicle repair.... Re-upped after London."

"... Piccolo Pike...," said the silver-haired man of Michigan. "Musicians and office clerks ran up the North West Hill."

"I'll carry legislation," said Senator Mary Traynor. "... Decoration.... O-ranks,"

"... This action is by a unit...," said the Vice President.

"... Piccolo Pike...," added the Chairman. "... Steep ledge...."

"Cazzie Clark... Pentathlon... Gold...," said the Chairman's deputy, scanning Post-Its. "Also re-upped after the Olympics."

".... Presidential Unit Citation...," said the Vice President.

"Gene Gonzalez... NCAA... Nation's fastest runner...," said the Chairman's deputy, continuing with scrawled Post-Its.

"... Mark Clark's KP and typists also grabbed rifles...," added the Chairman. "... Nazis almost pushed Clark off...."

"... The President would do a Unit Citation...," said the Vice President, waving his hand toward the projector. "More.... Show more!"

"Everyone should see more," said Groucho. "That's why there's theaters."

Next Picture...

MRAP...

-H-a-t-c-h-...

... Clark hoists One-Star Otis Bulldog through hatch...

... Gonzalez lowering General Allen Goodwrench...

-B-e-l-l-y-...

... General lowered to swimmer's wide shoulders...

* * *

Nixon's Ghost and the Angel Harpo floated through a closed door on the 14th floor of Long Beach City Hall, where Long Beach City Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix and his new Chief of Staff watched CNN.

"Turn off the frickin TV," ordered Nixon's Ghost. "Ya got a proc to hand out."

Larry abruptly stood and switched off the television. "C'mon."

"Sign the papers," ordered the dead president. "Get her on board."

Jeanine Howard followed the dork.

"Time to ride a pony," declared the ghost.

* * *

"You know we're in the -W-h-i-t-e- -H-o-u-s-e-?" said Sergeant Gene Gonzalez, sitting with fellow enlisted personnel at the table next to the officers.

"Duh, Gene," said Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis.

"Why're we even here?" asked Sergeant First Class Cazzie Clark.

"Bagram," said Lori, raising her cup for a refill of iced tea.

"You and her are all over the news, you know?" said Cazzie. "Like, all over."

"Learned on the flight up," said Lori, nodding toward the officers. "I don't watch TV."

"Good ya ain't, cuz everyone's beating ya up bad," said Cazzie.

"That's... um...," said Lori, "what I got told."

"What about The Boss?" asked Gene.

"Dun'no," said Lori.

"Hey, uh," said Gene, to the Major drinking coffee at the next table. "Gene Gonzalez... E-5... just wondering... isn't the other Major... our Major... Rusty Chops... isn't he coming? Since it's his Unit? Or, was...."

"We've lost the Major," said the Undersecretary of Defense.

"Lost him?" said Cazzie Clark. "How do you lose a Major?"

"Chops accepted an immediate honorable discharge at Bagram," said Captain Spaulding.

"Finally, an actual answer," said the Angel Groucho sitting on a stack of overnight bags. "Hooray for Captain Spaulding."

"Six months shy of the Full Twenty," said the Undersecretary. "Classified details."

"Flew out of Bagram as a civilian," said Captain Spaulding.

"No contact with DoD or VA," said the other Captain. "No social services."

"Rusty Chops dropped off the radar screen," said the Major, waving for more coffee.

"No retirement?" said Sergeant Gene Gonzalez. "No soup?"

"Only the Chain can say," said the Undersecretary.

* * *

Jeanine Howard swiftly followed Larry van der Bix into the horse-shoe of political offices encircling the top floor of Long Beach City Hall.

"Your meeting... -m-u-s-t-... have gone... -g-r-e-a-t-," said Mayor Tony Kim.

"Where do we sign?" asked the Councilman-elect.

"Uh," said Jeanine Howard, "sure, yeh."

"Bingo, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost.

The Angel Harpo honked his horn.

* * *

"I didn't see this when I got hustled into Air Force One," said Joe Biden, as a slideshow of combat photography continued. "Heard it, but couldn't see."

The MRAP on the Tarmac...

... Lewis shouldered the Three-Star...

... Clark lowers a fallen soul over Gene Gonzalez's shoulder...

"The driver," said General Otis Bulldog. "Wilmington, California."

Next...

Crossing the tarmac...

-R-u-n-n-i-n-g-...

... One-Star Otis Bulldog on his own...

... Cazzie Clark running towards Lori Lewis and the Three-General...

Next...

... Lori and Cazzie carry Three-Star in buddy position.

The Next...

... Lewis and Clark, and the General...

... Air Force One, rear steps.

"Maybe Lewis and Clark for Meritorious Service Medal," said Goodwrench, watching two enlisted personnel save his life.

"What about the tall Hispanic?" asked the silver-haired Chairman from Michigan.

"They should all get something," said the Chairman of the Armed Services committee. "The Hill is sliding into open warfare, so the Medal of Honor or Silver Star would be dragged into a Congressional fight."

"The Unit Citation is better," said the Vice President. "Bomber can't bash heroes without attacking The President."

"I can protect Lewis better if she pulls LT," said the General.

"Promotion to officer takes Congress," said the Chairman.

"... A kiss is just a kiss...," whispered Senator Mary Traynor. "I'll carry it."

"To bad Humphrey Bogart never wasted time in Limbo," said the Angel Groucho. "Must'a played gin, as well as he drank it."

The last images...

Gene Gonzalez carrying the driver's body, as a pickup truck sped across the tarmac and, in the next image, two airmen leapt from the truck next to Gene. The third image showed airmen lifting the body from Gene's shoulder. Several more images showed America's fastest sprinter in full run to Air Force One, as a rocket burst near the pickup.

"It can be a photo thing with the President," said the Vice President. "And do something light afterward, like eat in public.... Maybe chili."

"When in politics, order chili," said the Angel.

"We need to show these to the Ranking Member," said the Chairman.

"We've got Lewis, Clark and Gonzalez," said Joe Biden's deputy. "The print shop can do any visuals."

The Senator of Hawaii raised her sake carafe. "Do I heat more?"

The Vice President stood and looked around.

All stood ready to march.

"Tell your Ranking Member, but not that Kentucky was here earlier," said the Vice President. "Nice when someone keep their mouth shut."

Mary Traynor returned the carafe to the book case hot plate.

"Tomorrow afternoon," suggested Biden's deputy, using a pen to etch onto a Post-It. "Diplomatic Reception Room."

"The GOP oppose everything we're doing," said the Vice President, looking to committee Chairman. "I'm glad you work well with the Ranking Member."

"Why do you think I love the Hawaiians?" asked the Chairman. "They always worked to get things done."

"Photo op and chili," said Joe Biden, to his deputy with the pen.

The Vice President, the Chairman, and the Senator of Hawaii nodded.

* * *

"We're moving," said the Undersecretary of Defense, reading the cell phone.

The Major downed his coffee.

Lewis, Clark and Gonzalez followed the three officers.

* * *

Nixon's Ghost watched a dork wearing a huge hat sign papers in front of Jeanine Howard and Mayor Kim. "Boo, Cowboy!" said the ghost, as Larry spasmodically lost the pen.

"Oh shit!" gasped Larry, before digging up the pen.

Mayor Kim watched a new Chief of Staff at work.

"The Senate committee Chairman's person told me we can display the photography, in real-time with the Presidential press event," said Jeanine Howard, checking her cell and held the LAN line.

The Mayor turned, and saw newly-elected Councilman twitching and quivered.

"Let's go, Cowboy," said the ghost.

"A press display... your Swearing In... Dengue Fever to open and close your speech," said Mayor Tony Kim, smiling. "Your first decision... is, yes... truly great."

"That's great, Kid," muttered the ghost.

The Mayor again patted Larry's shoulder.

"It's even more than 'near-great,' " said the dead president.

Larry winced.

"I apologize... yes... if that hurt you," said the Mayor.

* * *

December cuddled her husband's pillow and the neighbor's black cat, in a moonlight's embrace, her husband's voice on speaker.

"Tomorrow's a big work thing, but I can't say what it is," said Lori.

The cat massaged December.

"Maybe tomorrow night," said the soldier.

"I miss you, Baby," said December, as the cat rubbed his face into hers. "But I can tell my little Angel about our honeymoon again."

* * *

The dead president and the Jewish Anger ate popcorn and drank soda, while television showed Bullwinkle T. Moose reaching deep into a magician's hat. "Presto!" said The Moose, pulling up a still-alive ex-Pope. "And now for something you'll really love."

Harpo slapped his thigh and laughed silently.

"Ya ride a pony tomorrow, Cowboy," said a ghost, whispering to the dork, who lay asleep on a low-grade sofa in a magnificent penthouse apartment. "Great! Boris and Natasha!"

The sleeping dork winced spasmodically.
Chapter Eleven – Ride a Horse or Listen to the President

Jeanine Howard sat at the cherry wood conference table in the otherwise empty office, drinking coffee, and studying the agenda for the evening's Long Beach City Council meeting.

A police officer escorted Larry van der Bix into his new office, clearly not dressed like an elected official, or anyone with a job. "Is this the Councilman?" asked the officer. Jeanine gasped, grimaced, repeatedly nodded, and politely shook hands with the office. "Okay, then." The officer closed the office door as he exited.

The dork looked as a homeless person waiting for the 142 bus to San Pedro.

"Is Nixon also your tailor?" asked the new Chief of Staff.

Larry went straight to his new window, and gazed across San Pedro harbor, to the Palos Verdes peninsula, haunted by a ghost's tales of riding horses in America's richest rural area.

"You're rather... unprofessionally attired... for today's press event!" exclaimed Jeanine. "And your Swearing In!"

Larry kept looking out the window.

"You are changing, right?"

"... More dreams...," said Larry.

A ghost and an Angel sauntered through the closed door.

Jeanine wagged a box of business cards to Larry's backside, before throwing the box onto the empty table. "Maybe your ghost is borrowing your hat."

The ghost silently sat next to the Chief of Staff, and adjusted his own "37" cap.

The Angel Harpo yawned, stretched, and dug through his pockets to bring out a newspaper and coffee.

"Your cards are here.... Mine are being printed," said Jeanine, as her new boss paid no attention. "Even the cowboy look... at least."

"... Boy Scout horseback riding...," said the elected dork, who graduated from a school named for America's funniest cowboy.

"I can't believe this," said Jeanine Howard, staring at a politician due to take office later. She looked down to the agenda and her own Day One notes.

Harpo studied the New York Times crossword puzzle.

"I think it's 'Conundrum,' " said Nixon's Ghost, pointing to the puzzle.

Larry spun around, and instantly displayed terror.

"Boo, Cowboy!"

"-R-i-g-h-t-," said Jeanine Howard, as she watched Larry squeal, ran like a scared child, and collapse into a chair. "Okay.... Kinkos is finishing the combat photos." She stared at Larry. "The Mayor is providing easels."

"... I am going to a stable...," said Larry.

"-S-u-r-e-," said Jeanine, studying her Day One notes. "The Press arrives in two hours." The new Chief of Staff looked up and saw the man who looked homeless flailing his arms.

Harpo angrily honked a horn when the crossword puzzle got smacked off the table.

"Don't fuck with the New York Times," ordered the dead president. "They'll fuck ya right back."

"Your press event is simultaneous to the President's event in the White House," said Jeanine, studying whether she needed to dial 911.

"... Ponies...," said the unprofessionally-attired anti-politician.

"Ponies?" said the Chief of Staff. "Not Dengue Fever, but ponies?" Jeanine threw down her notes and grabbed Larry van der Bix by the arms. "You get sworn in today!"

"This is a game," said Nixon's Ghost, looked to Harpo. "I won't get to resign, will I?"

Harpo honked and wrote "sonofabitch" on the puzzle.

Larry spun. "I love Deng...."

"Great day, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost.

Again, Larry flailed his arms.

"Saw them... in Signal Hill... last night," said the Chief of Staff, as she watched the Councilman-elect contorting in terror. "They agreed to... open and close... your speech...."

Nixon's Ghost turned to Harpo, who waved his hand, opening the box of business cards. "Pick a card, any card, cuz ya ride the pony in an hour."

Harpo immediately grabbed the box, and scattered every card onto the table, before slapping the ghost's hand, and then honking a horn to declare victory.

Larry quivering, as the cards flew across the table.

"You can call in sick," said Jeanine, as the box of cards slide across the table. "Do we cancel the Cambodian band?"

"... Nixon is dead...," gasped the dork, staring at a president who had ordered a secret sustained bombing of the nation of Cambodia, disintegrating a neutral government, ousting a King, and prompting chaos that led to The Killing Fields where genocidal butchers murdered millions and sent terrorized thousands into exile in Long Beach in search for stolen serenity.

"-R-i-g-h-t-," said the Chief of Staff.

* * *

United States Army Major Rusty Chops – forced at Bagram to resign, after consenting to a secret agreement that freed Lori Lewis from a lifetime of military imprisonment – laid awake on a plain couch in a bare studio apartment, the drapes closed, in briefs and a tee, his face unshaven, boxes unpacked, and a crisp security uniform hanging in the otherwise empty closet. Rusty Chops reached next to a full duffel bad for a remote control and channel surfed.

"The President will decorate the gay marriage soldier this afternoon, announced the White House," declared NBC.

Rusty Chops surfed.

"Yesterday's controversial hearing for a Nominee to run the Central Command...," said CNN.

Rusty Chops surfed.

"After the explosive 'Chinamen' slur, a Member of Congress from southern California is demanding the resignation of Dick Bomber...," said MSNBC.

Rusty Chops surfed.

"Did a drunken Joe Biden defend this Nominee just to win support for his own possible presidential campaign?" asked FOX.

Rusty Chops surfed.

C-SPAN replayed Senator Mary Traynor (D-HI) smiling face, at the opening of a hearing now called "Sake-Gate."

Major Rusty Chops turned off the television.

* * *

Two White House staffers escorted the Undersecretary of Defense, two Generals, a Major, two Captains, and three Sergeants out of the Vice President's office, across the crowded hallway of the West Wing, and through French doors, onto the West Colonnade.

The Angel Groucho paced behind the military service personnel. "It's time to make America laugh again," said the Angel.

"... -L-o-o-k-...," said Sergeant Gene Gonzalez, pointing to the south grounds of the White House, blanketed in snow.

"We outta dig a trench for a snowball fight," said Sergeant First Class Cazzie Clark.

"There isn't time to dig trenches," replied the Angel Groucho. "Rufus T. Firefly would buy them ready-made."

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis looked to the Washington Monument, built with money raised by Dolly Madison.

"President Firefly understood absurd parties," said the Angel.

The parade of soldiers entered the warm, humid Palm Room, with its white lattice woodwork, modest benches and potted plants. The group marched past ovular-shaped paintings depicting Liberty and Union. The entourage continued through French doors, into the palatial Center Hall, with oil paintings mounted on marbled tile walls below a vaulted ceiling, and dominated by an enormous gold-trimmed red carpet. Several telephone tables hid in plain sight.

"Dang," said Lewis.

"Shoot," said Clark.

"Whoa," said Gonzalez.

"It's time for a great new party," said the invisible Angel, who magically lifted a Princess phone that no one else could see. "Operator, put me through to the Boss."

* * *

"A dollar-fifty, please," said the driver of the Community Express 142, as Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix – dressed to attend a rodeo – stood with an invisible ghost and an Angel at the Pacific Avenue bus stop, near the statue of Abraham Lincoln.

"My Chief of Staff is pissed!" said Larry, looking to the dead president.

"Excuse me?" said the driver.

Harpo honked.

"Why am I doing this?" said Larry, paying in quarters and dimes.

"To get on that danged horse, and just... do it," ordered Nixon's Ghost.

* * *

Major Rusty Chops stood by the sink of a bare restroom, wrapped by a towel, soaked by a shower, and closely shaved.

* * *

The Community Express 142 bus passed cranes and trains and trucks and ships moving cargo through America's two busiest ports.

The Angel Harpo pulled a cup of coffee from his jacket.

"Nice duds, guy," said a veteran in a wheelchair.

"Never rode a bus," said the ghost, pushing a cap off a man with a pungent smell.

"Great shoes," said another man, pointing to the ghost's bunny slippers.

"Someone else can see me?" asked Nixon's Ghost, to the Angel.

Harpo nodded, using magic to show a square with a triangle on top, before smacking and dissolving the house.

"The homeless can see me?" asked Nixon's Ghost.

Harpo honked.

"Son of a bitch," said the ghost.

The dork winced, as the bus began a steep climb up the Vincent Thomas Bridge.

"Thar' she blows," said Nixon's Ghost, pointing to an obsolete enormous battleship berthed along the Main Channel of America's busiest harbor.

* * *

The pair of White House staffers led the Undersecretary of Defense and military service personnel past an invisible dancing Jewish Angel, across the Center Hall, and through the double doors of the ovular-shaped Diplomatic Reception Room, with its huge blue-and-gold carpet.

Fanciful wallpaper depicted a majestic old-skool America, showing women donned in ankle-length dresses standing alongside men wearing thick suits and tall hats, at the water's edge of a forested seaside, and watching sailing ships and steam-powered paddleboats.

"Ha-cha-cha," sang the Angel Groucho, sauntering through the double doors. "I can dance until the cows come home from a great party."

"Officers here!" said one White House staffer, moving two Generals, a Major, and two Captains toward the curved wall, about twenty feet away from two dozen media professionals, behind a roped line that divided the room in half.

"On second thought, I'd rather dance with the cows, since current parties dance terribly," said Groucho, again reaching for a secure line. "Operator, find me a cow... or at least a duck."

"When's this start?" barked journalists standing on tarps.

"Things happen when they happen," said the Undersecretary.

"Find me a lame duck," added Groucho. "There's plenty, so put one in charge."

"Sergeants!" said the other White House staffer, positioning Lewis, Clark, and Gonzalez shoulder-to-shoulder, in front of The Flag, and behind a podium and a tall cloth-covered easel. The staffer adjusted the Sergeants stances so that the soldiers' polished shoes pointed towards the double doors, but their upper bodies faced journalists. The Sergeants stood motionless, almost touching. "Just like that," said the White House staffer. "Don't move."

"If the soldiers move any closer, they'll be on the other side," said Groucho.

Photographers kneeling on the tarps, checked lenses or watched the double doors, where Groucho danced invisibly. Behind photographers, behind the rope, behind journalists holding recorders, and behind a row of television cameras stood giant tripods from Mars, bearing overhead lamps, waiting to beam burning blazes of light.

* * *

Major Rusty Chops ironed pants, with a Full Dress jacket next to the ironing board.

* * *

"Jeanine's expecting reporters and TV cameras," said Larry, as Nixon's Ghost marched along the San Pedro waterfront, toward America's greatest battleship, that nonetheless was obsolete when commissioned in 1942, and whose enormous 16-inch guns could fire massive shells almost 30 miles. "She's furious!"

The Angel Harpo carried a fancy proclamation, as Nixon's Ghost followed.

"Doesn't take long to read a proc," said the ghost, waving his shackled hands, and sending a waft of smoke toward a community entertainment event alongside the USS Iowa. "Time to deal some cards."

Harpo laughed silently and used his cell phone to shot a photo of the business cards.

* * *

Sergeants Lewis, Clark, and Gonzalez stood at attention, unbending, behind a podium with the Presidential seal and two TelePrompTers.

The overhead lamps of the Martian tripods clicked on, creating burning heat and the smell of fire.

The soldiers – shoes aimed towards the open double doors – covered their eyes, as a tall, thin, perfectly-dressed Black man enter the Diplomatic Reception Room, followed by the Vice President, and the Secretary of Defense.

"There's a lame duck," said Groucho. "Put him in charge of an absurd party."

The President walked directly to the podium.

The Vice President and Secretary of Defense – #2 and #3 of the Chain-of-Command – stood behind The President, between The Flag and a covered easel, alongside the soldiers.

"Although he's run an absurd party for years," added the Angel Groucho.

* * *

"Could you please not touch to my horses," said a man in jeans and a crisp white cotton long-sleeve shirt, with a name badge that simply read, "Buck."

"Deal a card, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost. "Time to read a proclamation."

"Aren't you Buck Rogers?" asked the dork, handing a City of Long Beach business card.

* * *

Major Rusty Chops, in Dress Greens, shoes shining, sat upright in a folding chair, next to a bed where one could bounce a quarter, watching the President entered an ovular-shaped room. The Major stood upright.

* * *

Martian tripods sent burning heat and blinding light upon the tall Black man.

"Today, we're joined by three soldiers who've served this nation with absolute honor and distinction, both in war, and in peacetime," began the President.

The light and heat of Mars blazed across the Diplomatic Reception Room, onto a Jewish Angel, resting comfortably on a floating cloud.

"Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis and Sergeant First Class Cazzie Clark each represented America in the Summer Games of the XXXth Olympiad, where, between them, they earned six medals for this nation – one Gold, four Silver, and a Bronze.

Lewis and Clark each wiped sweat from their forehead.

The President turned, smiling to the soldiers, and pointed to the man with brown skin. "And Sergeant Gene Gonzalez earned NCAA national titles, as our fastest sprinter, while studying in Texas."

The soldiers stood perfectly straight.

"Give them more than medals," ordered Groucho. "Invite them to a great party."

Photographers, on their knees, jostled for angles, cameras clicking and flashes flashing.

"Typically, the field of sport is not what one mentions when discussing the decoration of soldiers," said the President, "but when defending fellow Americans in battle, not only did military training kick in, but absolute determination of athletics also came into play."

* * *

Major Rusty Chops sat upright, in Dress Greens, and listened to the President.

* * *

In the warmth of the Florida sun, December Carrera, in modest military housing, laid in bed, wearing almost nothing, and pushing aside a black cat trying to lick cheese from her bagel. "Bad pussy," said December, watching coverage of her husband standing behind the President.

"There's never a bad pussy," meowed the Angel Chico, in the language of a cat.

"Maybe you can sniff an egg, later," said December.

* * *

Nancy Bazooka and seven women in matching white go-go dresses and tall boots swept into the chow hall for the breakfast rush.

December blushed, as the crowded breakfast crowd erupted.

"There's gonna be some big fish out there, and maybe even Number One," said Nancy, smiling to the troops, "but there is no one more important then who you make eye contact with." Nancy handed stacks of flyers to some dancers. "Lock on, and give 'em everything you've got... boy or girl... doesn't matter these days."

Nancy, December and one other dancer went to serve food, put on aprons and served eggs, potatoes and pancakes. The other women circulated through the hall, handing out fliers announcing a USO show and showed a young Nancy Bazooka, under the word, "Boots."

"Hope you make our show today," Nancy repeated, as she spooned out potatoes.

"Gonna be great," December added, offering scrambled eggs.

* * *

Laughing children on horseback rode in a roped circle.

"Ride 'em, Cowboy!" ordered the dead president.

"And the City is giving me this?" asked the man running a horseback circle next to the USS Iowa. Buck Rogers studied a framed ornate proclamation. "Wow, I've never gotten one."

"You ran campouts at your stables for Boy Scouts from Will Rogers Middle School!" laughed the politician, as he circled past. "It's my only badge!"

* * *

"Joe said plenty yesterday," said the President, motioning to General Allen Goodwrench, across the room. "Sergeant Lori Lewis did briefly detain a General, with personal business... and I'm not going to spend time on that."

Lori Lewis, standing under the blazing flames of Mars, again wiped away forehead.

"One minute saved a General's life, and, uh, denied the enemy a military achievement," continued the President. "If we awarded medals on blind luck, that one takes the cake."

* * *

"I can't believe it's you, Larry," said Buck Rogers, as the Councilman-elect slowly passed the man with salt-and-pepper hair. "Carrot Cake wasn't even born when you shoveled manure at the camp-outs, but poo-poo and doo-doo still smells the same."

Larry, the only adult on horseback in a small circle of riders, smiled like a child.

"Great job, Cowboy," hooted Nixon's Ghost and honked a Jewish Angel.

* * *

"Now we see the first rocket to strike Bagram," said the President, as the tripods of Mars blazed, cameras flashed, and journalists scribbled or recorded. The tall Black man turned, as the Secretary of Defense took position at the easel, and lifted a blue fabric.

A matte print of combat photography showed two women kissing, Joe Biden and Nancy Bazooka hugging, and General Allen Goodwrench turning towards the tarmac, where the initial explosion of a shell erupted upon a heavy vehicle bearing three stars on the hood.

"The Pentagon believes between fifty-two and fifty-four high-explosive medium-range shells struck Bagram Airbase, in an attack that lasted nine minutes and killed one American and injured thirteen," said the President, as flames fired by Earthlings burned.

"If it gets any hotter, they'll have to shot a major motion picture," said Groucho.

Photographers switched to motor drive, shooting rapid-fire.

Officers alongside the curved wall of the Diplomatic Reception Room squinted to watch.

"That first round...," said the President, pointing to the image, "... a direct hit, and – uh, again – if Goodwrench had been inside, he would likely have become the highest-ranking military service personnel killed in thirteen years of war."

The fires of Mars burned across the ovular-shaped room.

"The vehicle... totally destroyed...," said the President, motioning again to a General at the curved wall. "An explosion so violent that personnel across the tarmac took shrapnel – two seriously wounded – and thankfully all escaped with their lives."

* * *

December finished her bagel and petted the cat name "Tuttsi Frutsi," as the President showed a photo of her wrapped in Lori's arms, as a rocket exploded.

* * *

Rusty Chops, on the folding chair, stayed motionless, watching the President.

* * *

Larry swung a leg and climbed off a small mare named Carrot Cake.

"Shit!" exclaimed the dead president, as Larry's boot landed squarely in horse manure.

"Oh, poo-poo!" said Buck Rogers, as the dork looked down to his boot.

"Honk," honked the Angel Harpo.

Larry reached inside his Stetson, and pulled out several business cards, which he used to slide most of the horse shit off his boot. Larry looked up and laughed.

"An actual politicians who isn't pissed about shit," said Buck Rogers, looking again at the proclamation given by the man who laughs like a child.

* * *

The Secretary of Defense revealed the next image, showing General Allen Goodwrench running to the hangar doors, clearly in command, as Secret Service agents converged on the Vice President and the USO performer, Nancy Bazooka.

"We can thank our lucky stars," said the President, as the Secretary of Defense stood at the easel. "One minute saved a General's life, and Secret Service got Joe and Nancy into the safest place possible – inside a heavily-armored White House limousine."

Joe Biden, otherwise standing rigid, nodded.

"It's the Vice President who ordered that the USO fly out with him," said the President. "It's Joe's call."

The Vice President stayed motionless.

"Nancy would've flown with me, as well," declared the Commander-in-Chief.

"They would've flown with me, but Harpo and Chico drive like maniacs," said Groucho.

* * *

Jeanine Howard, standing in the main lobby of Long Beach City Hall, checked her watch.

Three television crews shot Mayor Tony Kim and several of his personal deputies looking at combat photography.

Ten feet from the Mayor, a pungent homeless woman studied an image of Lori Lewis holding a terrified December Carrera, both bloodied, inside a cramped mine-resistant ambush-protected vehicle.

* * *

"When Lewis, Clark and Gonzalez reached Air Force One, the soldiers took position, to evacuate military personnel and USO," said the President.

"And it's must bigger than Harpo's motorcycle," said Groucho, "let alone a duck."

The Secretary of Defense showed Lori Lewis standing at the rear hatch of Air Force One, yelling the word "Move" to frightened USO performers, including her bride. In the background, a rocket round struck another MRAP.

"Congressional Members on their fact-finding tour had already been driven up the belly of a C-17," added the President.

The Secretary of Defense lifted the image of Lori yelling, to show Larry's next shot.

"... Here..., the General's second vehicle... also... a direct hit...," said the President, motioning to Allen Goodwrench and Otis Bulldog. "His vehicle is thrown onto its side, two-hundred yards from Air Force One."

"If you measure distance by how ducks fly," said the Angel.

* * *

Rusty Chops watched the President show a photo of the MRAP he rode in.

* * *

The Angel Chico nuzzled his nose against December's face, as she cried on Lori's pillow. She pulled the cat close. "Angel Baby...."

* * *

A young lanky photographer with two cameras around his neck and a press badge on a plastic lanyard approached Jeanine. "LANG," said the photographer. "Where's Councilman Larry van der Bix?"

"He's... um...," said the new Chief of Staff, "... on his way."

* * *

Larry sat next to an unshaven, unkempt man listening to a cell phone, as the Community Express 142 descended the Vince Thomas and began again crossing America's busiest ports.

"Ya did great, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, watching the scruffy man bounce while listening to foul music. "Even more than 'near-great.' "

Harpo dialed his own cell phone, to call the scruffy man, before hanging up and laughing when the music scratched off.

"And I thought music was shitty when I was President," said the ghost.

* * *

"... Here..., Gene Gonzalez is carrying Corporal Frank Herrera, of Wilmington, California, the General's driver, and the sole fatality," said the President, looking at the easel.

The three Sergeants held position, next to The Flag, shoes aimed toward double doors, their upper bodies aimed to the tripods of Mars, standing motionless, behind the President.

The Secretary of Defense lifted shots, at the President's pace.

* * *

The television crew packing hardware, as Jeanine Howard watched Mayor Tony Kim – a young Cambodian-American gay man with an gleaming smile and hair in a tall pompadour – earnestly study the enlarged images.

The lanky photographer shot the Mayor, who was clearly aware of the camera's location.

The homeless woman continued touring each image, of explosions and war and terror and chaos and bodies carried from burning vehicles.

* * *

"Next..., airmen are crossing the tarmac, and... next..., lift Corporal Herrera's body from Gene's shoulders..., and... the last image...," said the President. "Gene Gonzalez – at one time, the fastest man in America – in full run to Air Force One."

The President turned and acknowledged three Sergeants, under the burning heat of Mars.

"Chaos unfolds in real time," said the President, "but history ripples forever."

* * *

"Don't make Elvis wait!" yelled Nixon's Ghost, as Councilman-elect Larry van der Bix held his Stetson and rushed toward the statue of Abraham Lincoln.

Harpo wrapped both arms around Larry and flew him toward City Hall

* * *

The Secretary of Defense placed the blue fabric back onto the easel, as Lori Lewis, Cazzie Clark, and Gene Gonzalez stayed at attention.

* * *

Jeanine Howard approached the LANG photographer, smiling weakly. "The press kit." The Chief of Staff handed the folder to the photographer. "The images are being shown now, in the White House."

"Didn't Lewis swim the Olympics?" said the photographer, sticking the folder in a camera bag.

"Four Silver and a Bronze, in London," said Jeanine, "and Lewis took NCAA four years of swimming for Woodrow Wilson High School." The Chief of Staff saw her boss, alone, in a rodeo outfit, stopped at the front doors of City Hall, by a police officer examining the boots. "It's him!" She turned to the photographer. "Larry was... on his way."

* * *

"Members of this frivolity unit – in Bagram, uh, simply to display hand-to-hand – acted as good soldier always do," said the President, "namely, uh, courage, without hesitation, and, uh, at great risk, to save the lives of others." The President turned to Joe Biden, who stepped forward with a small box. "So it is with great honor that I bestow this Presidential Unit Citation to this Unit, who acted in the same bravery as clerks and musicians did in the Battle of Naples."

* * *

Jeanine Howard rushed away from the LANG photographer over to her boss, but stopped immediately when she drew close enough to smell manure. "Oh shit," said the Chief of Staff.

"Ya got that one right," said Nixon's Ghost.

* * *

The Vice President opened a box and lifted the award.

"Sergeant First Class Lori L Lewis...," said the President, who stepped forward, to Lori, next to The Flag, and affixing the Citation to her Dress Greens. "Recognizing your bravery and thanking you for helping save the lives of several General Staff officers, and others."

Sergeant First Class Lewis stayed at attention, as the President pinned the Citation.

"How can a lame duck hope to be great," observed Groucho, "without a great party."

* * *

"You smell like shit!" exclaimed Jeanine Howard.

"I was, uh...," said Larry, "... riding Carrot Cake."

* * *

Rusty Chops watched Joe Biden hand another Citation to the President, who pinned it to Sergeant First Class Cazzie Clark.

* * *

The homeless woman studying Larry's photos took a deep sniff and smiled walking past the Councilman-elect.

"This is him?" asked the LANG photographer, looking at a stinky, sweating cowboy. "This is who took these Bagram photos?"

"He..., uh..., likes horses," said Jeanine, grimacing.

"Obviously," said the photographer, aiming his camera at the dork.

* * *

December Carrera put both hands on her belly, as television showed Gene Gonzalez being pinned by the President. Chico snuggled and purred.
Chapter Twelve – When Shit Smells

Major Rusty Chops, the frivolity unit commander in Full Dress, watched the President turn away from the flaming fire of the tripods of Mars, and exit the Diplomatic Reception Room. The Major who did not have a Presidential Unit Citation pinned to his tunic, removed his olive green jacket.

* * *

"Don't move!" growled Jeanine Howard, looking for a place to drag her boss. "Do you realize...?" The Chief of Staff yanked the dork's wrist, pulling Larry across the lobby, to the furthest corner of the elevator waiting area, and jamming him against a potted plant.

The ghost and Angel each floated toward the crowded elevators waiting area.

"Hard to hide shit," said Nixon's Ghost, whose presidency clearly stank.

Several political staffers dressed in fine attire waited far enough away from Larry that no selfie or press photo would show them with the dork who smelled like manure.

An elevator emptied and filled, but Jeanine blocked her boss, and the door closed.

"Do you realize what an absolute dipshit you are?" hissed Jeanine.

"Nailed that one on the head," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Actually, I stepped in it," corrected Larry.

The Angel Harpo silently laughed.

The Mayor, with an easel, approached the elevator area, and smiled directly to Jeanine, who quickly appeared to examine a row of tiled postcards mounted to the wall showing the ships at Long Beach, which served for decades as the main base for the Pacific Fleet.

* * *

Rusty Chops, standing in briefs and tee, smoothed a white shirt on the ironing board.

* * *

Mayor Tony Kim walked to Jeanine, and while shit filled the air, they together studied another postcard, of a massive rollercoaster over the ocean. "A great town," said Tony Kim.

"Ya better clean up, Cowboy," said a ghost.

The dork again winced. "... Please make him go away...."

Jeanine and the Mayor stared briefly at Larry, but kept looking at a postcard of The Pike, America's second-most-visited pleasure zone for half-a-century, until Disney's competition began in 1955.

"This dipshit can't free me from Limbo," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry contorted and flailed. "... He doesn't exist...."

The Mayor again stared at Larry, before smiled to Jeanine, and pointed to a postcard of a rainbow-shaped pier that circled a concert hall. "The Municipal Auditorium," said Tony Kim, pointing to a building dedicated in 1938, with artwork over the main entry that was the biggest Works Project Administration assignment in southern California, comprising 8,000 tiles that took two year to commission. The Mayor watched Larry bat his eyes. "Mr. Roosevelt... truly great."

Harpo repeatedly pushed the elevator button, and every door slide open at once.

Surprised, the Mayor and Jeanine again smiled weakly.

The Mayor entered one of the open doors and held it for Jeanine.

"Uh, no... thank you...," said Jeanine. "-R-e-a-l-l-y-." The elevator closed.

Another empty elevator remained open.

Jeanine yanked Larry's wrist and rushed into the elevator, and repeatedly pushed "14." The door closed after the ghost and Angel floated inside.

* * *

Soldiers quickly marched behind politicians, away from the tripods of Mars, out of the Diplomatic Reception Room, and into the ornate White House's Center Hall.

The President was escorted toward another room of the Center Hall.

Groucho – looking for a lame duck, since Rufus T. Firefly left office decades earlier – followed the President. "Have the Vice President invite your guests to the Masquerade Ball." The President continued paying no attention to the Angel that he could not see. "You always want plausible deniability."

The soldiers followed the Vice President and Department of Defense mucky mucks.

"Urgent call, Captain," said a White House staffer, standing near a potted plant, and holding a secure line. General Otis Bulldog nodded to Captain Spaulding, who took the call, while the other soldiers follow the Vice President, the Secretary of Defense, and the Undersecretary, through French doors, into the Palm Room.

"A complication in Tampa, Captain," said the caller.

* * *

Major Rusty Chops looking into the mirror, adjusting the tie of a private security uniform that certainly did not display a Presidential Unit Citation.

* * *

In the horseshoe-shaped hallway of the top floor of Long Beach City Hall, Tony Kim stood with his principal deputies and two Councilmembers, and watched Jeanine Howard politely but quickly pulling her boss. "Quite a first day," said the Mayor, as Jeanine yanked Larry past the other elected officials, who each whom held their nose.

* * *

"I wanted to do this myself," said the Vice President, as Lori Lewis, Cazzie Clark, and Gene Gonzalez stood at attention, inside the warm, humid Palm Room.

Captain Spaulding entered the room, stood alongside General Bulldog, and whispered.

Lori stood in front of an ovular painting, showing Union, a female in a white dress and red cape with a tiara of gold stars, holding a spear and olive leaves in one hand and a sword in the other, with The Flag.

Otis Bulldog listened to the Captain.

"Hooray for Captain Spaulding," said Groucho, "whatever secrets he must be telling."

* * *

"We're done," said Jeanine Howard, inside the still-empty office. "What a mistake."

"I need help," said Larry.

"Obviously," said Jeanine, pointing to his boots, "but I don't shovel shit."

"Limbo got shut down," informed Larry van der Bix, with important news of why a ghost is haunting him.

Nixon's Ghost groaned.

* * *

A White House photographer stood ready to shoot photos in the Palm Room.

"Let's start with the newlywed," said Joe Biden, to the Sergeants.

The Undersecretary of Defense handed a small box with red felt with two narrow white stripes to the Secretary of Defense, who opened it.

The Vice President stepped up to Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis and lifted a golden eagle on a star, a ribbon of burgundy and two white stripes. Inside the box was a service ribbon of burgundy and white.

"I specifically asked for the Meritorious Service Medal," said the Vice President, who pinning the medal, and shook hands with Lori Lewis. "And here's the other one...."

The Secretary of Defense handed a certificate and a two-inch-wide silver badge to Allen Goodwrench, who stepped up to the Sergeant who saved his life.

"Three million Americans have served in the Central Command fighting two major wars," said the General, "but only fifteen percent see combat." The General affixed the badge, which depicted an oak wreath showing a bayonet and a grenade.

"I know you've got urgent personal business," said the Vice President, as Lori got pinned.

"This Combat Action Badge recognizes that each of you was personally present and actively engaged by the enemy," said General Allen Goodwrench, "and performed satisfactorily in accordance with the prescribed rules of engagement in a zone where hostile fire pay or imminent danger pay is authorized."

"This way, Sergeant," said Captain Spaulding, pulling Lori toward the French doors that open to the Center Hall.

"And don't forget," said Groucho, magically handing invitations to the Vice President. "Give an extremely important and utterly absurd invitation to the soldiers."

"Oh," said the Vice President, appearing to remember what he had never actually known. "We're doing a White House Masquerade Ball, so bring your wife." Joe Biden looked confused, but handed an ornate envelope to Lori.

"Perfect," said Groucho. "America needs an utterly ridiculous party in the White House."

The Department of Defense mucky mucks also looked confused.

"And everything at the hospital sounds fine," added the Vice President.

"Why does everyone know more about my life than I do?" said Lori L Lewis.

* * *

Major Rusty Chops grabbed a hat and exited his studio in the private security uniform.

* * *

"I can't believe this shit," said Jeanine, as she put her own pen and paper into her purse, and moved to the door. "... Actual shit...."

"How can I get her to not quit?" asked a panicked Larry, to a ghost only he could see.

"Prove yer not a dipshit," said the ghost.

Harpo honked in agreement.

"Dengue Fever's more important than a speech," said Larry. "And I'll go change."

Jeanine stared at the Councilman-elect, but said nothing.

* * *

Major Rusty Chops, in a private security agency uniform, looked closely into the mirror. "Everybody's got a job," said a man who spent almost twenty years with the United States Army, before Congressman Dick Bomber demanded a resignation as the price to set Lori Lewis free. The man with no retirement left for work.

* * *

Inside the Center Hall, Captain Spaulding ordered Sergeant First Class Lewis to take a secure line held by a White House staffer.

"Pumpkin?" whispered Lori.
Chapter Thirteen – Getting Ready to Swear

Larry stood in a towel, soaked after a shower, shaven, and slowly combed his hair. Behind him, the mirror showed shifting mountains of horded debrit.

"Yer gonna just... do it," commanded a dead Commander-in-Chief.

"... Do it...," whispered Larry, combing, as a laughing Harpo slid down a mountain.

"Everyone knows yer crazy," said the ghost, "but ya got elected anyway."

"... Crazy...," repeated Larry.

Harpo again laughed and honked, now riding a sled down one of the piles of crap.

"Yer gonna get on that danged horse," instructed the ghost, "and do yer frickin' job."

"... Horse...," said an anti-politician who told jokes and twirled a rope like Will Rogers, in his absurd campaign.

"Save yer friend," said Nixon's Ghost, "and save America."

"... -A-m-e-r-i-c-a-...."

* * *

"Now for something you'll really love," said Vice President Joseph F. Biden, Jr., leading Lori Lewis and the other soldiers through the West Win halls, into Biden's office, where his Chief of Staff closed in on him. "Eating at Ben's Chili Bowl with the President."

"Bomber wants to meet," said Biden's chief deputy, pointing to a blinking phone.

"That horse's ass?" said Biden. "His party switch makes him dead last on seniority."

"I'll tell that damned soul a few things," said the Angel Groucho, who floated across to the desk, invisibly picking up the line.

Lori Lewis stopped texting December to whisper to Captain Spaulding.

"Is that so?" said the Angel Groucho, indignantly talking in the voice of Joe Biden. "Perhaps you don't realize who you are actually talking to?"

Captain Spaulding whispered to General Otis Bulldog.

"Or perhaps you want to visit the White House and dance until the cows come home?" added Groucho, still in Biden's voice that magically no one could hear but the caller.

Otis Bulldog leaned to General Allen Goodwrench, and whispered.

"I doubt a single cow will dance with you!" exclaimed Groucho, hanging up the call, which no longer blinked.

"Bastard must'a hung up," said the Vice President, looking at the phone. "Thank God."

"I'm sure you're welcome, since my Boss is omnipotent," replied the Jewish Angel.

* * *

"How come the neighbors aren't looking for you?" said December Carrera, walking into the kitchen, as the Angel Chico ran in a circle around her legs. She leaned forward, reading the "Tuttsi Frutsi" collar.

"What's'a matt'ah with you?" meowed Chico, in the language of a cat, and looking up to December's huge breasts stretching a wagging tee-shirt. "You's all I want."

"Oh!" cried December, reaching for her belly. "I hope the doctor didn't tell anyone."

* * *

Jeanine Howard resealed the last stack of combat photography images mounted onto foam-core board stored in a roll of butcher paper on the cherry wood table of the empty office, securing the package with brown packing tape.

A smiling Mayor Tony Kim escorted a cleaned-up Larry van der Bix wearing a crisp cowboy's outfit.

Jeanine looked, sniffed, and scowled. "Amazing," said the new Chief of Staff.

"Ordinary people do amazing things," said Larry, repeating words spoken by a ghost.

"Yes..." said the Mayor, patting Larry on the shoulder. "Very true."

* * *

"She didn't tell me why, except that the doctor let her go home," said Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis, to Captain Dorsey Spaulding.

The Vice President turned on FOX News, which showed Senator Dick Bomber in his long overcoat, gloves, scarf and a hat, smiling to the film crew as he made his way along the National Mall, a solitary figure marching through a blanket of white, with the Washington Monument rising behind him.

The Vice President's principal deputy answered his desk phone, and immediately pushed "speaker."

"Why did the President's office get told last that Dick Bomber's headed here?" demanded the White House Chief of Staff.

Lori Lewis immediately looked up.

"We didn't invite that bastard," said the Vice President, watching the senator march.

"Sure as Hell wasn't us!" barked the President's Chief of Staff.

"Perhaps a personal reservation can be arranged," said the Angel Groucho, "but only the Boss signs that order."

Lori Lewis waved to the Vice President's principal deputy, who walked over to the soldiers. "Is it possible to not be here if the Senator...."

"He isn't meeting the Vice President," said Joe Biden's Chief of Staff.

"She really should not be...," said General Otis Bulldog, who assisted Allen Goodwrench months earlier, to get a secret agreement signed in Bagram by Lori and a Bird Colonel.

"He won't be allowed here," said the Vice President's deputy.

"It is very important they not be in the same room," said General Allen Goodwrench.

The Angel Groucho whispered to Joe Biden, who brushed an ear like a fly flew past.

"Don't worry," said the Vice President. "I don't ditch soldiers."

* * *

December set down her orange juice and read another text from Lori.

Tuttsi Frutsi laid on the kitchen tile floor.

"Don't worry, Baby," typed December. "The doctor says everything is okay."

* * *

Larry van der Bix stood in his office, in western gear, twirling a lasso, channel surfing. The Councilman-elect watched Spanish-language TV, where the Cuban actress, Odalys Garcia, in a skin-tight dress, smiled and joked as co-host of Lento Loco.

"Yer wasting time, Cowboy," grumbled Nixon's Ghost, as Harpo watched the variant of Candid Camera and ate popcorn. "Yer apartment is full'a shit, and ya watch TV at work."

Larry scowled at the ghost, and surfed from Spanish-language TV to two talking heads, where a graphic read, "Gay Marriage General Showdown."

Harpo threw popcorn at the talking heads.

"Horse manure isn't the only shit that stinks," said the ghost. "I stepped in plenty."

Larry raised the volume.

"The White House is doubling down, when the President bestowed honors to a lesbian."

Harpo honked his horn angrily.

"You speak in an hour," said Jeanine Howard, entering as Larry twirled the lasso. "The Cambodian surf guitar band finished the set-up."

Larry stayed focused on television and the lasso.

"Have you even read your speech?" asked the Chief of Staff, who had written it.

"I rather doubt that," said Nixon's Ghost.

Harpo ate popcorn, during the live performance of the dork and Chief of Staff.

Larry switched to CNN, which showed a caravan of black SUVs pulling up to a red-and-white building, rising like a crocus in the snow, with a yellow sign reading, "Ben's Chili Bowl." The President and Joe Biden each climbed out of a vehicle, with an entourage of Secret Service agents and US Army soldiers. A ticker scrolling at the bottom read, "California Congressman wants Dick Bomber to resign over 'Chinaman' slur."

"Councilman, you speak in an hour!" repeated the new Chief of Staff.

"There's Lori," said the dork, pointing to the soldiers.

"Turn off the fucking television," ordered Jeanine Howard, grabbing for the remote, which Larry clutched. In the struggle, the screen shifted to FOX, which showed Dick Bomber marching through snow. Jeanine wrestled her boss for the remote.

When Larry pulled the remote, MSNBC showed the President awarding a unit citations.

"That's it," said Jeanine, letting go of the remote. "I quit."

Both looked and composed themselves, when the Mayor knocked and entered.

"Yes...," said the Mayor, smiling, but studying the appearance of conflict. "You each are ready for the big moment?"

Harpo emptied a large tub of popcorn onto the dock.

* * *

"Time to have fun," said the President, stepped away from the entourage to shake hands in Washington's most popular chili house. Two Secret Service agents followed the President and Vice President working Ben's Chili Bowl.

"They ain't got chili mac?" asked Sergeant First Class Cazzie Clark, who watched a waitress carry a tray of chili dogs to another table.

"Large bowl," said the Vice President, returning to the entourage of soldiers and staffers. Photographers moved through the tight space, shooting the soldiers and politicians.

Sergeant First Class whispered to Captain Spaulding, and again the silent words climbed up the chain of command.

"It is very important that she not be in the same room with him," said General Allen Goodwrench, leaning close to the Vice President. "It's a signed agreement."

The waitress returned, took orders, smiled continuously, and blushed when the President smiled to her, and asked for beer. As she floated on a cloud to the kitchen, the President joined the entourage, while the media kept shooting photos.

"It, uh... it's good beer," said the President.

One of the President's deputies showed a text to the Vice President.

"What'a'ya mean, he's in my fuckin' office?" demanded Joe Biden.

The soldiers froze, and the waitress swooned delivering beer and water.

"Don't forget," said the President. "We're here to have fun."

* * *

"Mist'ah Vice President," came a booming voice of the most junior Member of the United States Senate, as Biden, expressionless, led a group of soldiers into his own office.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" barked the Vice President. "Get out'a here."

"I am surprised," said Senator Dick Bomber, his eyes prowling Sergeant Lori Lewis. "Certainly, I hoped you would rescue me from the monstrous snow beasts of Washington."

"Go play with the beasts," said the Vice President, who silently ordered the soldiers to sit on a couch on the other side of the office. "Now, leave."

"No reason to force America's newest darling to leave," said Dick Bomber, pulling a glove off and hurling it on the chair. "My visit is about them, anyway," said the Senator, removing his second glove, and looking to the soldiers. "Or one of them."

The Vice President snatched the Senator's gloves and threw them out of his door, physically blocking Bomber, as Lori Lewis flinched. "Guv'nuh George Wallace isn't the only one who stands in the doorway."

"Don't be an ass," said the Vice President.

"I beg your pardon!" said the Senator.

"Charges didn't get filed, but you're not off the hook," said the Vice President.

The Sergeants sat motionless together, as the Senator stared at Joe Biden.

"Is this simply a tawdry game of personal humiliation?" asked Senator Dick Bomber. "You are with someone who's being talked about for President."

"I ran twice, but Number Two's been fun," said Joe Biden, fury burning in his eyes. "Ted Cruz or Rand Paul probably won't hire someone who makes unannounced visits to the White House just to get 'frequent liar miles' from FOX."

"Mist'ah Vice President, you are a peach," said Dick Bomber, again leering at Lori Lewis. "I am here to call a truce. You pull the nomination and I won't destroy him."

The Angel Groucho strolled into the Vice President's office, and sat with the soldiers.

"A ridiculous proposal," said Joe Biden. "Rejected out of hand."

"Then rescind the Unit Citations made today," said Bomber, "or face endless filibusters."

"Won't happen," said the Vice President. "Can't un-ring a bell."

"You force me to show no mercy," said Bomber.

"Go confess to a priest," asked Joe Biden, pointing to the door.

"Do you take me to be a Catholic?" said the Senator, in a thick accent.

"There's at least one here," said Joe Biden, wagging his pointed finger. "Repeatedly attacked a soldier in Dubai and Afghanistan with attempted rapes won't make God happy, no matter which faith you brag about."

"Certainly don't call me one either, since I already work for the omnipotent Boss," said the Jewish Angel, who operates Limbo.

"People of sincere faith understand," said Bomber, "that outlandish allegations get made about an old bachelor seeking company on a journey of loneliness and exploration."

"Get out!" ordered the Vice President, turning to the soldiers. "Or I'll order military service personnel to drag you out!"

"Mist'ah Vice President!" said Dick Bomber, grabbing his gloves. "It is amazing what passes for conversation in this modern world!"

"On that, we can agree," said Joe Biden. "Now get out, or get smacked around and thrown into prison as a sex offender."

Bomber jerked his arm and pointed to a deep, vertical scar on his cheek. "Precisely what or-duh will you issue to US Army soldier to harm a combat Marine?"

"Karma, Senator," said Biden. "Accusations emerge. We both know that."

The Anger Groucho placed another call on the secure line.

"What number, please?" asked the operator.

"I'll need to talk to the Boss," said Groucho.

"You cannot outgun Dick Bomber," bragged the junior Senator, eying Biden. "I do not simply beat my opponents. I destroy them."

"You sound like Mr. Reality TV," said the Vice President. "Another bully who cries."

"Your little general is collateral damage to feed my base," said Dick Bomber, "but him being an effeminate, touchy-feely, new-age type will make this fun."

"If you take on the White House over the Central Command," said the Vice President, "your colleagues will abandon you."

"Haven't you seen?" asked the combat Marine. "I no longer have colleagues. I conquer by division." The Senator turned to the Vice President's door. "You can't knock me down. Every shot makes me stronger." The Senator again looked at Sergeant Lori Lewis, and leered. "Too bad all you say is 'no,' Missy, as I am now the great white hope for America, able to make America great again by ripping apart the fabric."

Lori Lewis shivered.

Groucho hung up the secure line, and whispered into the Vice President's ear.

"Soldiers," ordered the Vice President, brushing his ear, "show the Snow Beast out of the White House."

* * *

Three Sergeant, two Captains and a General followed the orders of General Allen Goodwrench, in hoisting Senator Dick Bomber into their grip, hauling the beast through the West Wing, passing the President and others.

"You wanna go back to the Oval Office," said the Vice President. "Plausible deniability."

"It's highly presidential to deny what others already know," said Groucho.

The President turned with staff, while the Vice President and the soldiers got the Senator across the West Wing, and across the Colonnade. The soldiers – two on each leg and one on each arm – carried the thrashing, hate-spewing villain into the humid Palm Room and outside, to a snow-blanketed courtyard on the northwest corner of the Residence. The soldiers struggled as they carried the thrashing captive up a set of snow-covered stone steps.
Chapter Fourteen – Throw Out the Bums

"You take the fucking Oath of Office in two hours!" exclaimed Jeanine Howard. "They're gonna throw you out!"

"I don't care," said Larry, staring out his 14th floor window, beyond the Queen Mary, and America's busiest ports, to the Palos Verdes peninsula. "I'll call the Mayor on horse."

"Do you take medicine or are you just completely insane!" yelled the Chief of Staff. "You've got a speech to recite and Dengue Fever is downstairs setting up to open and close!"

"I can't read a speech," said Larry, staring at the rising peninsula.

"What, do you plan to do council meetings on speaker phone from the middle of... middle of... Wyoming?" said the Chief of Staff.

"I'll avoid the Rockies," said Larry, staring outward. "If I leave soon, I can miss the heat across Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas."

"I'll quit!" growled Jeanine.

"You're a single mom," said Larry. "Work here and pick up your kids from school."

"There's no 'here' here, Councilman!" said the Chief of Staff. "You've hired exactly one person – me – and now you'll ride a horse across America and what am I supposed to do?"

"Anything you want," said Larry, looking at the peninsula.

"You take the fucking Oath in two hours!" again yelled Jeanine.

"Too bad the ghost can't do it," said Larry, "but he's not here."

"The insane are never alone!" said Jeanine, grabbing a folder from the cherry wood table. "You've got invitations and signings and city council meetings!" She threw the folder onto the Councilman's back. "And a packed house to watch you take the fucking Oath!"

"I'm ready," said Larry, looking down at papers he made no effort to pick up. "You'll sign and finish hiring and go to events while I'm riding." Larry waved to the dustbin of history. "But I'm doing this thing and no one can stop me."

"How does all this help your friend?"

"That's the point," said Larry. "Never ditch a friend."

"Long Beach has a fucking airport!" said Jeanine. "Take a plane!"

"People will track the trip and it'll grow," said Larry, who did not see a ghost's arrival. "I'll ride a horse and save America."

"Son of a bitch," smiled Nixon's Ghost, floating to the conference table. "The bastard's gonna... just do it."

* * *

A black cat with a cone shaped ear ran to the front door, as Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis returned.

"Do you know what everyone's saying about us!" said December Carrera, rushing across the living room, as her husband set down her suit bag.

Lori walked to December, almost tripping over the cat, before putting her arms around her wife.

The Jewish Angel ran in circles as the couple kissed.

"Isn't someone looking for this cat?" asked Lori, when the kissing ended.

"Baby, this is serious," said December, as Lori closed in again. December struggled, and broke free, flailing her arms into Lori's chest. "Those calls were reporters. I get called a stripper on national TV! Have you even seen Twitter?"

"It doesn't matter, Dee," said Lori, again closing in on her wife. "Sorry I couldn't call," she said, kissing December. "Command held my phone until now." December began to melt. "You and me signed a lifetime contract." Lori pulled December close. "Medals don't matter." Lori kissed deeply. "What people say doesn't matter." They again kissed deeply. "Money doesn't matter." Lori pulled December tightly, and her wife's mouth submissively opened.

The cat leapt onto Sergeant First Class Lewis's uniform trousers and ran onto her strong shoulders.

"Oh my God!" shrieked Lori, as Chico pushed his cone-shaped eat into Lori's hair. "Doesn't anyone want this cat?"

"Fuck the cat," said December, pulling her husband closer, prompting Chico to leap onto a couch. The couple's tongues made love.

"This is what matters, Pumpkin," said Lori, as December panted.

The two resumed kissing as the Angel Chico laid on the couch and stretched his body.

* * *

"You've got a constituent who demands to talk with you about Lori Lewis," said Jeanine, throwing a message carbon, landing beside western novels of the sort that Dwight Eisenhower read in on hot summer days in Washington to pass time in the scaled-down Army.

"Boo, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, from the conference table.

"Oh shit," said Larry.

"Your first taste of shit," replied Jeanine, not seeing the dead president. "He knows her, and he's demanding."

"Everybody eats shit," said Nixon's Ghost, "so spit it out."

"Four thousand went to Woodrow Wilson," said Larry, looking out the message. "Everybody knows Lori Lewis."

"Major Rusty Chops," said Jeanine, "does not appear on the constituent database."

Larry put down the message carbon, and looked to Jeanine Howard. "Please don't quit."

The new Chief of Staff looked at the dork. "The last place also begged me not to leave," she said, gathering a folder and papers from the follow. "Look what it got me." The Chief of Staff assembled the paper into a random pile and stuck it into the folder. "My last job whipped me like a horse and now you're gonna ride one."

"She good," said Nixon's Ghost. "Don't fuck up on keeping her."

"I'll give you a raise," said the Councilman. "Please."

"Have you ever ridden a mile on a horse before?"

"Actually, they scare me," said Larry.

"We're doomed," said Jeanine, stepping out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Great start, Cowboy, and you haven't even recited the Oath," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry grabbed his Stetson and took out a business card for Palos Verdes Tack & Feed. He dropped Rusty Chops message next to the western novels and dialed. "Is this Yvette?" Larry arranged to visit the store for expert advice.

"Maybe a miracle's coming," said the ghost, as Larry filed the business card and message from Rusty Chops under his headband.

* * *

"Councilman Bix!" exclaimed Tony Kim, as Larry entered the Mayor's office door, while Jeanine Howard stood close to the Mayor's top staffers, all showing papers to the boss. Larry entered with the ghost who had followed behind him across the top floor of City Hall. Larry looked up, to a huge poster behind the Mayor's desk, when the Long Beach City Council chambers appeared as a set in a Star Trek film. "Your new Chief is, yes, really great."

"Great...," purred Nixon's Ghost. "I love that word."

Larry looked around the office, at photos showed a Cambodian family with Kim as a child, a teen on the beach, and a graduate smiling under the jacarandas at Cal State Long Beach.

"There is... very little time," said the Mayor, as his own staff impatiently whispered about the City Council's high-profile meeting to swear in the elected members.

Jeanine politely nodded to the Mayor and rushed to her boss, who stared at a picture of several dozen people – all in Cambodian dress – gathered around Kim, looking years younger, standing inside the Council Chambers, one hand in the air, the other on the Bhagavad-Gita.

"Talk to the fucking Mayor," said Jeanine, slapping Larry's arm.

"Sock it to him," said Nixon's Ghost.

"My extended family for my first term on Council," said the Mayor, leaving his staff to approach Larry and Jeanine. "We have much to do, yes, and little time to do it."

"Um..., there's something I'm gonna do," said Larry, as the Mayor's staff swooped in.

"Yes, but you won," said the Mayor, pointing to his photo of being sworn in. "In one hour, that photo will be you... and, yes, your very nice hat."

"I went to Bagram for my friend," stuttered Larry, as the Mayor's staff pulled him away.

"Your friend who the President honored yesterday, yes," said Kim, "but we have much to do and time does not stop."

"The kid knows the business," said Nixon's Ghost, as the Mayor shook Larry's hand, smiled, and ushered him toward the door.

"I'm going to ride a horse across America," exclaimed Larry.

The Mayor looked to Jeanine, smiled, and motioned to the door, and the Chief of Staff pulled her boss's arm to drag him out of the Mayor's office.

* * *

Jeanine slammed Larry's office door and threw her arms in the air.

"I tried to tell him," said Larry.

"Day One and it's already obvious you're insane," said Jeanine.

Larry stuttered but said nothing watching Jeanine Howard burn with fury.

"Get downstairs, Cowboy, and sit at your frickin' chair," ordered the dead president.

"Um, let's... uh... go downstairs."

* * *

Lori and December snuggled in bed, with the black can laying between them, purring.

* * *

Larry sat at the curled dais of the Long Beach City Council chamber, an enormous round room filling to become a standing-room-only audience. The Councilman reached into his hat, pulled out a message carbon and used his cell to call Major Rusty Chops.

Dengue Fever's blazing surf guitars testing the sound and sent the crowd into ecstasy.

"Hello?" yelled Larry into his phone, just as the sound test went silent.

"Hello, Cowboy!" yelled back dozens in the crowd.

* * *

The Angel Chico pressed his paws into December's huge breasts.

"He's frisky," said Lori, looking at the collar, which appeared with a difference name, "Angel Baby." She quickly showed the altered name to December, both looking confused.

"One-zy...," said Chico, in a cat's language. "Two-zy."

* * *

"You ran Lori's unit in the Army?" asked Larry van der Bix, staying in his chair while audience members whistled and waved to the dork they had elected. "Can you ride a horse?"

* * *

"Ow!" said December, as the black cat pushed his paws into her belly. "Bad pussy!"

The Angel Chico immediately jumped away from the couple.

"Are you okay?" asked Lori.

"Uh, yeh," said December. "Everyone in the White House said I'm fine, right?"

* * *

The Mayor's staff whispered into both of his ears, as he looked up to the standing-room-only crowd, who all watched several Cambodian women slowly dance and drop flowers, before the start of the City Council meeting. The Mayor looked at the nine Members of the Council on the dais, and scanned the City Clerk, his lawyers and top staff.

Larry looked over to Dengue Fever, who stood next to the American Flag, with the lead singer smiling proudly as the Cambodian women in elegant dresses dropped flowers at her feet.

The Angel Harpo – hovering above the front row of seats, between a smiling gargoyle and a dead president – ate popcorn.

As the dancers bowed, the Mayor tapped his gavel. "Will the Clerk please call the Roll."

* * *

"Captain Spaulding told me you were fine," said Lori, cuddling in bed with her wife and watching SpongeBob.

"That's all, right?" asked December, her head resting on her husband's chest.

* * *

Larry held his Stetson hat over his chest, and the audience in the Council Chamber looked to the Flag, as hundreds together recited the Pledge.

Harpo repeatedly honked during the words, "... One nation, under God, indivisible...."

* * *

The black cat returned to the bed and explored Lori's long blonde hair.

December held her husband tightly. "I told our little Angel about our honeymoon."

"That's nice," said Lori, turning off the television, and rolling to spoon her wife.

The Angel Chico massaged Lori's wide shoulders.

* * *

Larry van der Bix stood with his Chief of Staff at the speaker's platform where audience members would deliver public comments. The Mayor stood next to the newly-elected dork, as the crowd cheered. Jeanine Howard gave a thumbs-up, and Larry and the Mayor both pointed to the Cambodian singer who led one of America's greatest bands, who immediately gave a fast count to her band and surf guitars exploded into high volume.

The ghost who ordered the secret sustained bombing of Cambodia, that ousted the King, toppled the government, led to civil war, and set loose a Killing Field, sat motionless, beside an Angel and a gargoyle, and watched a singer whose own parents had held regal status with all musicians and leaders in the neutral nation, until the chaos of a genocidal regime included the violent banning music and forced her family into exile.

The audience erupted with joy to Larry's campaign house band, Dengue Fever.
Part II – One Week

Chapter Fifteen – Get On the Horse

Mayor Tony Kim studied a memo, at the cherry wood conference table in Larry's empty office, while his personal deputy peered at the paper and wrote notes.

"It'll take months," said Larry, at the other end of the table, "but I can call-in."

Jeanine Howard, next to her boss, sat motionless.

"This'll never get me out'a Limbo," muttered the dead president, hovering over the table.

The Mayor looked to his personal aide and then to Larry, who smiled like a crazy man. "Yes, Councilman, I do not understand," said Tony Kim, nodding, "but your heart is true."

"And I can fly home for the big meetings," said Larry, still smiling.

"Every frickin' meeting is big, you idiot," muttered the ghost.

"Okay, every week," added the new Councilman. "I won the lottery."

"Yes," said the Mayor, handing the memo to his deputy, who immediately studied it. "You are truly lucky."

"I'm here full-time," added Jeanine. "We'll hire a full staff."

The Mayor and his personal deputy stood, as did Larry and his deputy at the other side of the conference table.

"I cannot pledge whether phone calls can keep you in office," the Mayor added, as his staffer wrote another note. "But I will try, because you are trying to save your best friend."

Larry watched the young man with the pompadour walk with his hand extended. When the Mayor offered his handshake, Larry hugged the first Cambodian-American, who surrendered after a moment and laughed, and hugged Larry back.

"Son of a bitch," muttered the dead president. "This clown might pull it off."

* * *

"I asked Buck Rogers to come over," said Yvette, a tall, incredibly beautiful dark-haired woman at Palos Verdes Tack & Feed. "You'll need more then what we've got."

Nixon's Ghost floated through an aisle, looking at hats.

Larry turned around as spurs and boots moved across the wood floor.

A compact, bearded man approached, wearing old denims, chaps, a long-sleeved white shirt, a leather vest, a bandana and holding a hat that looked as though several horses had walked on it. On his chest, a name badge simply read, "Buck."

The man approached, Larry – dressed in his new dungarees, new western shirt, new bolo tie, new boots, new Stetson hat and a new silk bandana. They began to circle one another.

"Buck," said the man, circling.

"Dick," said Larry, circling.

"Nice hat, Dick," said Buck, looking more closely at Larry.

"Actually, it's Larry," said Larry.

Nixon's Ghost floated past a row of Stetsons. "Yeh, but I can't lift 'em up."

"Still a nice hat, Larry," said Buck, no longer moving in a circle. "Didn't you ride Carrot Cake at the USS Iowa last week?"

"I'm going cross-country," said Larry, offering his business card. "Will you help me?"

"Just transporting animals?" asked Buck, looking at the card. "How far?"

"Um, riding, actually... to Washington, D.C."

"Riding!" said Buck. "What's your route?"

"I want to avoid the Rockies."

"What about all the fences on the southern route?"

"Uh...."

"Nice start, Cowboy," said the dead president, who looked outside a winder to see the Angel Harpo riding a gargoyle like a rodeo contestant.

"When are you planning to make this journey?" asked Buck.

"Next week, hopefully," said Larry.

"How long you been planning this?"

"Uh, actually, I decided last week."

"What gear do you have?"

"Uh, nothing."

"How many horses do you have?"

"Uh, none."

"How much riding have you done?"

"Um, none," said Larry.

"Ever?" said Buck.

"Well, at the USS Iowa," said the new Councilman. "When the Boy Scouts from Will Rogers Middle School came to Rolling Hills Estates, the horse threw me off."

Nixon's Ghost again looked outside, to see Harpo feeding the gargoyle an apple.

"What do you actually know about horses?"

"I've watched a lot of westerns."

"When's the last time you slept outside?"

"When I was ten," said Larry. "The Boy Scouts didn't want me."

"I think we're done," said Buck, handing back the business card.

"No, please, this is important," exclaimed the rodeo clown whose biggest achievement was to twirl a rope on stage at Bagram Airbase for Vice President Joe Biden.

"You're putting your own life and the animal's life at risk, plus anyone else foolish enough to travel with you," said Buck, refusing to take the card again when Larry again offered. "If the horse breaks a leg, you may have to shoot it, you know."

"Uh...."

"Not only are souls at risk," said Buck, "but it costs a huge amount of money for animals, equipment, supplies, gear." Buck Rogers stared at the dork who had smiled like a child riding Carrot Cake a week earlier. "Tens of thousands of dollars won't mean you're ready."

"Money doesn't matter," said Larry.

Nixon's Ghost bristled. "Everybody follows the money."

Outside, the Angel Harpo played horseshoes with the gargoyle.

"You're lucky to make 20 miles a day, with rest days, so don't count on more than 100 miles a week," said Buck. "Who else would possibly ride with you?"

"Just... me," said Larry.

Buck stopped. "Is this some fancy way to commit suicide?"

"No."

"Then why are you doing this, Larry?"

"To save my friend."

"Who's gonna save you?" asked Buck Rogers.

* * *

As Larry rode an Uber, he reached under the headband of his hat and pulled out the message carbon from Rusty Chops. Larry dialed his cell and put the call on speaker.

"Uh, hello," said Larry. "This is Larry van der Bix, of the Long Beach City Council."

"The cowboy from Bagram?"

"Yup," said Larry.

"It's time to meet."

* * *

"A hundred miles a week?" exclaimed Jeanine Howard, visible doing math. "You're going to spend thirty months – if you're lucky – to ride a horse across the country?"

"I'll need some people, though," said Larry, putting his hat on his desk.

"It's not going to be me!" said his Chief of Staff.

* * *

Larry laid in his low-grade couch in his spectacular apartment and looked out the window, to where the gargoyle statue had been for decades.

"Ya got the money," said the dead president whose slush fund team had gathered hundreds of thousands from secret supporters. "More then I ever had for frickin' president."

Harpo and the gargoyle landed onto the ledge outside the window.

Larry sat up, and watched the statue move like a live beast.

"Go to sleep, Cowboy," said the ghost. "You can shovel shit tomorrow."
Chapter Sixteen – Cowboy Boot Camp

"I'll give you credit," said Buck Rogers, answering the door at his ranch house, tucked into a wooded cul-du-sac in the Palos Verdes peninsula town known as Rolling Hills Estates. "When I said be here early on Saturday, I didn't expect a politician to knock on my door at seven in the morning."

"I get up early," said Larry, "since I drove my friend to swim practice in high school."

Buck Rogers escorted Larry into what looked like a backwoods cabin, with large full-length windows overlooking the woods outside. A hot tub was set into the floor, in front of a large fireplace, next to a window. Varnished pine planks on the walls formed an A-frame ceiling that was supported by an enormous rough-hewn wood beam that appeared to run the length of the roof. On the walls were posters and awards from horse shows and antique farm gear, lit by lamps made to look like kerosene burners, but which featured LED bulbs.

"Nice place," said Nixon's Ghost, sliding off slippers and dipping into the hot tub.

Buck Rogers motioned Larry to a heavy wood table. "Got coffee brewing, so gim'me a few minutes," said Buck, pointing to furniture.

Nixon's Ghost watched the invisible Angle honk a horn at the word, "coffee."

"Since water is God's greatest gift, we'll talk about this long ride after I pour His coffee," said Duck. "Make yourself at home."

The Angel Harpo sauntered like a dancer behind Buck Rogers.

"Yer not doing a good job on this one, but yer still luckin' out," observed the crook who ordered his plumbers to do their shit, and paid little attention to their deeds.

Larry scowled to the ghost, and looked at a giant flat screen TV displaying FOX news. On screen, the Senator with a long scar on his face again stood in the snow, with the U.S. Capitol dome rising behind him. A graphic read, "Is U.S. Sen. Dick Bomber running for President?"

"Stop paying attention to this shit!" ordered Nixon's Ghost. "The only politician you control is the one in the mirror."

Larry flailed his arm and raised the volume.

"I say to my fellow Americans that I shall cross this great nation," said Dick Bomber, waving upward, as though talking to God, Himself. "I shall explore whether to run for President of these U-nited States." Bomber brushed wiped snow off his face, like a prayer. "Today, I filed paperwork with the Federal Elections Commission to form an exploratory committee, so I may raise and spend money in this process."

"Turn off the son of a bitch, and smell the frickin' coffee coming yer way," said the ghost.

Larry stayed latched to FOX, showing reporters in the snow began yelling questions.

"What party will you run under?" yelled one.

"What about Ted Cruz and Rand Paul?" yelled another.

"What about Hillary?" yelled a third.

"Senator, does this make you the TEA Party candidate?" yelled a fourth.

The Angel Harpo sauntered alone, smiling, carrying coffee in a red-white-and-blue mug.

Larry watched as a large splash of snow fell onto Bomber's head.

"You want coffee!" yelled Buck Rogers, from another room.

Larry just watched FOX.

"Answer the frickin' question!" yelled the ghost.

"Uh," said Larry, watching the coverage of the man who attempted to rape Lori Lewis, "lots of sugar."

"Questions must await their proper moment," said Dick Bomber, brushing away show.

"Bastard plays a good game," observed the dead president.

The Angel Harpo scowled to Nixon's Ghost, and shared coffee with the gargoyle stretched across a wide couch. Neither sank weight onto the pillows.

"The American people want an honest candidates, such as Mr. Cruz and Mr. Paul," said Dick Bomber. "We diff'uh, but I respect their courage."

"Must be aiming for VP," said the ghost. "Sounds like frickin' Spiro."

Buck Rogers approached Larry with a mug of coffee.

"Hillary has decisions to make, as well," said the independent Senator allied to no one.

"Oh, politics," said Buck, setting down a tray holding bread, butter, half-and-half, bags of sugar, cutlery, napkins, and several books.

"Uh, I kind'a need to watch this," said Larry, emptying every bag of sugar into his thickly milked mug.

"Enjoy your 'Baby Coffee' and shitty politics," said Buck, again leaving the room.

"He's got that right," said the ghost.

"I supported her husband's fiscal discipline and balanced budgets while in the House," said the politician standing in the harsh winter of America's discontent. "As my Senate race shows, there is no single party speaking for patriotic Americans of the liberty movement."

"Plays a good game," said Nixon's Ghost, leaving to the mug and inhaling a deep sniff.

"Turn that crap off," said Buck Rogers, returning. "It's only on for the good-looking weather woman."

Larry silenced the television.

Buck set a bandana and coffee mug on the table.

"Here comes the real show," said Nixon's Ghost.

Harpo pulled a huge tub from his tattered hat and the ghost, the Angel, and the gargoyle sat on the couch, and began eating popcorn.

"So will you help me?" asked Larry.

"This is the most ill-conceived, ill-advised idea I've ever heard," said Buck Rogers. "Someone with no experience with animals or the outdoors crossing the country on horseback may as well be a suicide pact." Buck buttered a slice and bit of some bread, chewed, and looked at Larry. "There's only two things that can save you. The will to survive, and an expert to pull your ass out'ta the fire a hundred times a day."

"So you will do it?"

"I can't spend six or eight months on the road," said Buck, drinking his black coffee. "Maybe if you show me that you can shovel poo-poo and tend to an animal, I can shape a plan... teach you basics... get you on the road... and turn you over to someone who can make the ride." Buck slid the book – the US Army Survival Manual – to Larry.

"Sure, okay," said Larry, trying to bite into the bread, as he picked up the book.

"You're gonna have some crappy food, so get used to it," said Buck, motioned for Larry to dip the bread in the coffee.

When Larry did so, it softened the bread enough to bite. The two sat in silence, drinking coffee, eating bread and looking out to the woods. Larry dipped his bread before each bite.

Buck smiled. "Next time, I'll give you a fresh slice, like I had," said Buck, "but you took what you were given, did as you were told, and didn't complain."

"Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, "you're off to a good start."

* * *

"Good morning, Councilman," said Jeanine Howard, handing Larry four inches of paper. "Your binder for tomorrow's Council meeting."

"I have to study this?" asked Larry, setting the US Army Survival Manual onto his desk.

"It came Friday, but you were too busy with solitaire or staring out the window to look on your desk" said Jeanine. "Now it's Monday."

"Okay," said Larry, opening the cover, to a title page reading, "Long Beach City Council, Regularly Scheduled Meeting, January 13, 2015." Larry turned, to a section, entitled "Agenda." He looked up to Jeanine, who ordered him to look back down, to paper that read, "Update on the SEADIP Planning Process." Larry's eyes began to glaze.

* * *

Larry held his white binder and walked through a densely wooded lot, to Buck Rogers's open front door, which he entered. Larry called out a greeting.

"In the back," yelled a male voice.

Larry walked through the main room, set his binder onto a table, and passed through the kitchen before seeing Buck, behind the house, leading a chestnut-colored horse to the stables. Larry's foot slid, and while he caught himself from falling, he stepped into horse droppings. "Shit!" said Larry.

"Thanks, I missed that one," said Buck Rogers, avoiding the manure. They shook hands. "Drag yer boot through the grass over there and let's talk this thing out."

Larry walked to a thick patch and dragged his cowboy boot across the grass.

"Finally, yer learning to wipe off shit," said the ghost floating beside Larry.

Larry and Buck walked to a spot where sunshine beamed through a gap in the trees, to a table and two chairs.

"If yer not married to the idea of riding every inch of America," said Buck, "I'll get you on a horse, show you basic animal care and take you through the Peninsula."

"Okay."

"We'll skip Los Angeles, so I can get you to a starting spot down east of San Diego and we can ride for a few days," said Buck, examining Larry's reactions. "If you don't like it, hey, no harm, no foul. If you're still up for it, I'll get ya to Yuma and turn ya over to Lisa Steel. She'll take you across Arizona and New Mexico, into Texas."

"A girl?"

"Excuse me, Councilman?" said Buck Rogers. "Lisa Steel is not a girl. She's one of the greatest long-distance riders in America. Ever. If she can't keep you alive, no one can.

"Oh, uh...," stuttered Larry.

"Of course, yer gonna fall in love with her," added Buck Rogers. "Every man does, and plenty of women, too."

* * *

"Now just watch," said Buck, reaching into a plastic bucket filled with brushes, spray bottles and sponges. Buck pulled out a curry comb – an ovular wooden handle capped by what looked like pink rubber conical cleats – and began brushing in small circles on a chestnut horse in the stable.

The Angel Harpo and the gargoyle watched while sitting on hay.

"I don't care what a horse looks like," said Larry.

"This isn't about looks, Councilman," said Buck, in a trance-like voice. "Grooming your animal is about connecting to the horse, bringing comfort with you and making them feel better."

"Uh, okay," said Larry.

"Sounds like amending legislation," observed the ghost.

"Come over here," said Buck, gently motioning to the horse. "Larry, meet Carrot Cake."

Harpo honked.

Larry stepped next to Buck and the horse. Buck took his hand and put it onto the comb. "Curry Comb." Buck pointed to the tool in Larry's hand. "Currying loosens up dirt and hair. Go in circles. Be systematic, and gentle. Don't rush."

Larry made slow circular passes with the comb.

"You got a whole horse to groom," said Buck, his arm passing in a circle a bit faster than Larry's motions. "If you wanna spend four hours with the curry comb, that's fine, but you can pick it up a bit." Buck again pointed to the tool. "Curry comb. Not for the head or the legs. Repeat...."

Larry looked confused, as he continued the circular motions.

"Repeat!" said Buck. "C-u-r-r-y...."

"Curry Comb," chimed Larry, making wider circles. "Not the head. Not the legs."

"Good," said Buck. "I'll go brew up coffee while you finish currying Carrot Cake." Buck left the stables.

Larry methodically moved from the front to the rear of Carrot Cake's left side and back, taking time to pat the animal. Carrot Cake occasionally turned her head to watch Larry at work, but largely stood in place in the stable stall.

"Son of a bitch," said Nixon's Ghost. "You actually learn things."

"Good," said Buck, approaching with two mugs, which he set on the railing of the stable. "Carrot Cake likes you. Go ahead and curry her other side." Buck climbed up onto the railing of the stable, next to where the Angel and gargoyle sat invisibly, and rested against a beam with his legs on either side. Everyone watched Larry. "And don't let yer 'Baby Coffee' go cold."

* * *

"Dandy brush," said Buck, holding a wood-handled brush with blue, plastic bristles.

"Um, yeh, it sure is," said Larry.

"That's the name," said Buck, holding it close to Larry. "Repeat: Dandy brush – used after currying." Larry just stared at Buck, who put the blue-bristle brush into Larry's hands and pointed. "Repeat: D-a-n-d-y...."

"Dandy brush – use after currying," repeated Larry.

Buck smiled. "Most dandy brushes are too hard on the animal's face, so stick to where you curried, in the direction of the hair." Buck used his hand to make a short stroke, from front to back. "Try that." Larry did so. "Now try it the other direction."

"Oh," said Larry, and the horse's hair stood up stiffly. "Yeh."

"Go to town, Councilman," said Buck, as he stepped out of the stall. "Dandy her up."

Harpo honked, while Nixon's Ghost read the binder in the gargoyle's clutch.

* * *

"You smell like a barn," said Jeanine Howard, as Larry entered his office and set his binder on the desk. "You might want to change before the meeting."

"I was grooming horses," said Larry.

"Was SEADIP one of them?"

"That's a horse?"

"No, Councilman," said the Chief of Staff. "That's going to be an item on tonight's agenda, and is the first huge issue of your district on your watch."

"Tell her you read about it," said the ghost, taking a seat at the conference table. "I had a little help, too."

"Um, yeh, I read about that," said Larry, nervously. "Maybe... you can help me."

"What are you going to say about it?"

"That I need your help," said Larry.

"About SEADIP," said Jeanine, irritated.

"I sort'a know about it," said the new Councilman.

"That's almost refreshing," said Jeanine, handing Larry a thick stack of printed pages. "These are comments people made on the issue, on the website, in letters or calls to the office."

"Can the ghost also read them?" asked Larry.

"Yer a frickin' twit," said the dead president.

"We're doomed," said the Chief of Staff.

* * *

Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim, in a Mad Men style black suit with a thin, black tie, sniffed like a dog, his face wrinkled in the way one would on discovering a dead fish in a room. Looking about, the Mayor pounded his gavel.

"Good evening," said Mayor Kim, "to this meeting of the Long Beach City Council." The Mayor turned towards Larry. "I would like to ask my good friend and colleague, Councilman Bix, to lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance."

Larry, in dusty western gear and a gleaming bolo tie, stood. "Um, everybody... uh...."

A hundred people in the chamber rose. Most placed their hands over their hearts.

"... Yeh, uh, ready, begin, I guess...."

The hoard of people recited the Pledge.

* * *

"We now move to item seven," said Mayor Kim. "Staff report on SEADIP."

Dozens in the audience booed.

"Will the City Clerk please read the item," said the Mayor.

"Item Seven," said a curly-haired man, seated at the end of a horseshoe-shaped dais. "Staff report on SEADIP, providing an update on the status of, and possible amendments to, the planning document governing the southeast region of the City."

Larry, a highlighter in hand, continued reading from the printout Jeanine handed him.

"Thank you, Mr. City Clerk," said the Mayor. "Staff... your report."

The lights dimmed. A PowerPoint presentation went up on screen. The room hushed. The lights dimmed. A staff member in her late 20s began reading a report. Larry switched on a desktop reading lamp, and continued highlighting constituent comments.

The ghost, the Angel and the gargoyle at popcorn.

* * *

"Thank you to staff for that report," said Mayor Kim. "Before moving into public comment on this item, I turn to Members of Council.

Larry shot up his hand, like a child saying, "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

"I see Councilman Bix," said the Mayor, smiling nervously. "Friend.... Colleague."

The Mayor smiled, and said nothing.

"Um, thanks, Mayor," said Larry, lifting the highlighter and paper, "and people who set letters and email."

Members of the audience applauded.

"Does the staff report mean we are at the starting gate of anything involving this area?"

No one on staff replied. No other Councilmember moved.

"That is, indeed, a question, Councilman Bix," said the Mayor.

Audience members laughed.

The ghost floated toward the dais.

Larry smiled out to the crowd, and pointed to Nixon's Ghost, making people look up at a dead president they could not see.

"The report is entirely informational," muttered the ghost, into Larry's ear. "Nothing new is being formally proposed tonight."

Larry looked around, to the Mayor, to Jeanine, to the audience, and to his notes.

"Is there anything more, Councilman Bix?" asked the Mayor.

"Tell the frickin' Mayor 'yes,' Cowboy," ordered Nixon's Ghost.

"Yes, Cowboy," immediately echoed Larry, and the room erupted in laughter.

Jeanine Howard, sitting about ten feet behind the dais, moaned.

Audience members whooped and hollered.

"Mr. Bix," said the Mayor. "You are the Cowboy."

"Right," said Larry, looking back to his Chief of Staff, who had her hand over her eyes. Larry cleared his throat. "So... tonight, there's nothing new actually being proposed, right?"

The staffer who gave the report leaned into her microphone. "A previous Council rejected plans put forward by project developers, and with that vote, it cleared the deck of all existing plans."

The crowd hollered, "Go, Cowboy!"

"What we are exploring tonight is whether Council wishes for Planning to work with parties to formulate future options," added the staffer.

Larry stared at the staffer. "I won't ask you to repeat that."

More audience members laughed.

"I see microphones up from other Councilmembers...," said the Mayor.

"No, please," said Larry, "Mister Mayor, I still have things to say."

The Mayor motioned gracefully to Larry.

"Thank you, Mayor, uh, friend," said Larry, smiling to Tony Kim, who smiled back. "Me, I'm just an ordinary schmoe."

More laughter broke out.

"Tell the Mayor people are mad!" ordered the ghost.

"Lots of people in my district are mad," echoed Larry.

Audience members cheered.

Larry held aloft the thick stack of highlighted papers. "People told me about SEADIP and so I'm giving these constituent opinions to... uh... who do I give these to?"

"That would be our City Clerk," injected the Mayor.

"Okay," said Larry, holding the stack until a staffer carried the pages to the City Clerk. "My voice isn't as important as the people who I represent."

Cheering again rolled through the audience.

"In letters, emails and phone calls, people are mad that the issue is even on the agenda, and that no one listens to them."

The room erupted.

"I ask staff to look at those comments," instructed the new Councilman, "and treat the highlighted comments like I made them."

Dozens of people stood up, and cheered, "Go, Cowboy!"

"People said nice things now and mean things before, but that doesn't matter," said Larry.

Applause grew, as some held a banner reading, "Don't cram SEADIP down our throats!"

Larry looked around the audience, to the smiling crowd, to several holding the banner who flashed thumbs up, and then to the Mayor.

"Is there anything else, Councilman Bix?"

"Just one thing, and I'm done," said Larry.

"Yes, Mr. Bix."

"I'm, uh, going to be gone for awhile," said Larry.

The council chambers quieted.

Both the ghost and Jeanine groaned.

"It's a personal matter," slowly said Larry. "A hundred miles a week times thirty."

The Mayor sat motionless.

"Well, I guess most of the year."

Booing erupted.

"I've got a great Chief of Staff, and she's going to finish hiring my staff," said Larry. "People can tell Jeanine anything."

The booing increased.

Jeanine Howard covered her face in both hands.

"She's right," said the ghost. "We're doomed."
Chapter Seventeen – Invited to the Lame Duck Masquerade Ball

"Ice cream," meowed Chico, in a cat's language. "Get your tuttsi frutsi ice cream!"

"What's this?" said December, pulling an envelope from under the black cat meowing on her husband's desk. December walked into the kitchen as Lori was frying two eggs and waved the envelope with just the couple's two named under the words, "White House."

"Just some invitation," said Lori, flipping the eggs over easy. "And now I can't surprise you with breakfast in bed." Lori moved from the stove to the toaster, when four slices of wheat bread popped up. She buttered all four, putting two slices each onto a pair of plates that also contained half a pear, sliced grapefruit, slice tomatoes, two strips of bacon, and avocado.

"I want jelly," said December. "Can I open it?"

Lori returned to the stove, turned off the heat, put one egg on each plate and walked to December, kissed her nose and then went to the refrigerator, pulling out a jar of raspberry jam, which, after kissing December's lips on the way back, she set onto the wide serving tray, with the two plates, and glasses with orange juice and another with milk.

The Angel Chico ran in to the kitchen filled with smells.

"Why are both our names on it?" asked December, holding up the invitation.

"Some party," said Lori, carrying the tray to a table in the morning sunshine.

December opened the envelope and sat down.

"Just some party," repeated Lori.

"This ain't just some party," said December. "It's a White House masquerade ball!"

* * *

"We're doomed," said Jeanine Howard, as she pushed "delete" after transcribing a constituent message.

"Poor kid," said Nixon's Ghost, waiting for the Councilman who ditched his own staff. "No one knows yer doing great shit until it doesn't smell."

The next message....

Collie Junebug, who Larry had defeated in the election, furiously berated him in the call. "So you're leaving to do who knows what, and go who knows where, for who knows how long, with who knows whom, for who knows why!"

"Completely doomed," said Jeanine, transcribing.

The next message....

"The guy's gone to two meetings and now he's taking a year-long vacation?"

"Of course, the knife's being twisted cuz he deserves it," said the ghost.

* * *

December and the black cat watched Lori drink milk.

"What, Pumpkin?" said Lori, mashing part of her avocado slices and putting it onto her toast, along with a slice of tomato and a strip of bacon.

"Aren't we going?" said December, not touching her plate. "Halloween is my favorite holiday of the whole year."

"I don't know," said Lori, taking a bite of her toast. "It's just politics stuff."

"Ooo, gim'me a bite," demanded December. Lori extended her arm and December bit directly into a corner of Lori's toast where the avocado was deepest, slicing the tomato and sending a piece of bacon onto the floor.

"I mean, I suppose," said Lori, looking down to see the cat devour the bacon. "I got money from Larry and the Olympics. That's what it's for, I guess."

"Really, Baby?" said December. "So I can make costumes?"

"Sure," said Lori, picked up her orange juice.

December dug into her egg. "Don't know why, but I have been craving cottage cheese."

"I'll get some at the RX," said the Olympian. "Can't go wrong with the protein."

* * *

Larry van der Bix handed the dandy brush to Buck Rogers and took the body brush for a final brushing of the chestnut-colored mare known as Carrot Cake.

"And what are you doing now?" asked Buck.

"The dandy brush cleared the dirt and debris that the curry comb dislodged," said Larry, "and now the body brush gets the smallest particles and soothes off the horse."

"Good, Councilman," said Buck. "And then?"

"Lightly sponge the face and lips," replied Larry.

Harpo honked and gave a thumbs up.

"And before and after riding, I pick the hooves clean," said Larry.

The mare turned her head and made a gentle sound, flirting with the gargoyle she saw.

Larry patted Carrot Cake, as he brushed her. Larry produced a Fuji apple and set the apple in his hand as he moved to the front of the animal. The horse delicately lifted it from Larry's hand and consumed it, leaving a slight trace of dampness on Larry's palm.

"He might pull this off," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry resumed brushing.

* * *

"The invitation says to RSVP for the Masquerade Ball," said December quietly, with the ancient LAN line. She looked toward the open bathroom door, where Lori was showering. "Two." December listened. "Okay, I can scan and email photo IDs and the face of the invite."

The Anger Chico jumped onto the bed as December hung up, as Lori entered wearing two wet towels.

"Baby, I need to cuddle before you go to work," said December.

Lori walked to her wife. "I got an hour." Lori dropped her towels and climbed onto the bed, and December joined her. Lori turned on the TV, to a rerun of a Johnny Carson show, interviewing Raquel Welch.

The cat lodged himself between the two incredibly beautiful women naked in bed.

Lori spooning December, her hand on her wife's belly, her face buried in her thick mane of long black hair. December, her eyes wet, held Lori's hand to her belly and stared ahead.

The Angel Chico purred in a cat language while massaging Lori's hips.

"Wanna pet the pussy?" asked Lori.

"I do," said December, "but the cat's in the way."

* * *

Lori marched into a cinderblock structure – Building 124 – and walked a windowless hallway, until she came to A-117. She waved a fob, causing the door to click open. She entered a foyer, with an unmatching couch, chairs, and credenza, and passed a counter at the far wall. Lori looked to a clock, and wrote "Lewis – 0852" onto a sign-in sheet.

* * *

December Carrera laid on her side, in bed, with a roll of paper towels in her hand and a metal bowl near her mouth. "Listen to my story, little Angel, and make me not feel sick," she said, looking to the black cat. "We just got married...."

* * *

Sitting on a small couch in Air Force One, December kissed her husband.

A crew member approached the couple. "The Vice President would like to see you."

"There goes alone time," said December, as they stood and followed the crew member through an area with benches and dozens of phones and TVs, into a dining room, and then a meeting room, where Joe Biden sat with six others, including General Allan Goodwrench, listening to a voice over the speaker.

"We've got them here, Sir," said Joe Biden, as Lori and December stood still, eyes wide.

"Sergeant Lewis?" said the familiar voice.

"Uh...," said Lori, instinctively saluting.

"Ms. Carrera...?"

"D-a-n-g," said December.

"You... uh... denied our enemies a huge victory out there today," said the voice.

"Come again, Sir?" said Lori, holding the salute.

"The time that my General Staff officer took... uh... in performing your marriage meant he was not in his vehicle when that first rocket hit," said the voice, "and that means... uh... you may have saved his life. His loss would've been the most high profile death of the war to date. It would have been a real coup for the enemy."

"Whoa," said December. "Just trying to help, Mr. President, Sir."

"And you did good, both of you," replied the voice. "So... uh... thank you."

Lori spoke, but the words came out as mutterances.

"Oh, and Michelle and I... uh... send our congratulations," said the voice.

"Thank you, Sir," said Lori, timidly lowering her salute.

"Joe's ordering you to the medical unit, so do what the doctor tells you," said the voice.

"Yes, Sir," said Lori, beginning to tear up. "Thank you, Sir."

"Thank you, Mr. President, Sir," said December. "Say hi to everyone."

"I'll do that." The line went silent.

"And you know where to put 'em afterwards," said the Vice President, sternly, to the crew member who placed a hand on the shoulder of each woman.

Lori and December followed the flight crew member through a door that opened to another meeting room, into a hallway and then one more door, which opened to what looked like a hospital care unit. Inside, two orderlies and a doctor greeted the couple, and December was shown to a chair as the doctor had Lori remove her tunic drenched with dried blood before climbing onto the examination table.

* * *

"Please, kittie," said December, on her side, in bed, clutching paper towels in her hand. "Please, no...."

* * *

Lt. Gen. Goodwrench entered the Air Force One medical unit with the crew member from the hall, as Staff Sergeant Lori Lewis was lacing her boots. December stood at her side. "The Vice President thought you get some 'alone time' after all the bombs."

"Hot damn!" said December.

"Dee!" said Lori, as the General and a flight crew member walked the couple out of the medical unit, up a short hall and through a guarded doorway that opened into a long suite, with a writing desk and phones at one end and, at the far end, brown leather couches on either side, underneath a line of windows. One couch had been converted into a bed, with a blue blanket on top and a basket of Air Force One mementos next to the pillow.

"Ooo," said December.

"The guard is outside, if you need anything," said the General.

"Um," said Lori, "uh... thank you, sir."

"Got everything we need, General," said December, wrapping her arms around Lori.

The General stepped out of the President's bedroom and closed the door.

"There's two things you're gonna do, Soldier Girl," said December, peeling off her bloodied white go-go dress, and standing before Lori in a bra and panties and go-go boots.

"What's that, Pumpkin?"

"Perform yer husbandly duties by having sex with your wife," leered December.

"And what's the second thing?"

"Take off your boots."

* * *

December clutched the metal bowl, which held wadded paper towels and a swirl of vomit the color of avocado and raspberry jam. "Oh, little kittie," she said, holding the bowl. The Angel Chico rubbed his face gently against December, as she rose enough to drink from a glass of water. She spit the liquid into the bowl, used another paper towel to wipe her mouth, slid the bowl to the bedside table, and laid back down.

The black cat licked December's cheek.

"Oh my God," said December, over and over, gently holding her belly.

.
Chapter Eighteen – The three Jewish Angel Brothers at work

In the Vice President's office, the Angel Groucho hovered above Joe Biden, with an antique Princess phone on his knee.

The Vice President's principal deputy took a call buzzing on the secure line. "I'm sorry," said the Chief of Staff, "President who...?"

"Gesundheit," said the Angel Groucho, smoking a cigar.

"Push speaker," said Joe Biden waving his hand across wafting smoke he could not see. "I always take calls from presidents."

"Rufus T. Firefly, at your service," said Groucho.

"How wonderful to hear your voice, Mr. President," warmly said Biden.

"You think it's wonderful?" asked Groucho. "Nobody listens anyone."

* * *

The Angel Chico leapt onto the bathroom sink, and watched December Carrero wipe a wet paper towel across her cheek, before dropping it into the filled metal bowl.

* * *

Larry van der Bix, atop the chestnut mare named Carrot Cake, held the reigns loosely in one hand, as he and Buck Rogers rode along a wooded path alongside Palos Verdes Drive North, the two-lane arterial road that connected the four cities of the Palos Verdes peninsula.

Nixon's Ghost and the Angel Harpo rode together on the gargoyle wearing a saddle.

"Are there sidewalks?" asked Larry.

"These are sidewalks," said Buck.

As the two rode silently, cars sped past and the sound of other horses approached.

"Councilman, why waste a great hat and lose a job to ride to Washington?" asked Buck. "Seems the President and Vice President like your friend plenty."

"Tell this guy what he needs to know," said Nixon's Ghost.

"I wore this hat when I met the Vice President in Bagram," said Larry, his hand steady, as Carrot Cake kept a consistent pace.

* * *

The music faded, but the applause cheers were deafening.

"Thank you, Nancy Bazooka," said the Commanding Office of Bagram Airbase, at the mic. "The Vice President of the United States!"

As the Vice President stepped onto the stage, Nancy Bazooka stood in the center, with her chorus line of dancers. December Carerra and the other dancers took a long, deep bow, as two thousands military service personnel screamed and cheered. The dancers blew kisses to the crowd and ran off stage. Nancy Bazooka trotted to Joe Biden, put her hands on his face, and gave him a wet kiss across his cheek, leaving red lipstick. The audience again erupted.

Nancy ran off stage, and Larry – without being told – ran up onto the stage.

The audience laughed, as the rodeo clown in the fancy, brand-new western gear stood across the stage from the Vice President of the United States.

Joe Biden went with it.

Larry twirled his lasso.

"Psst," said the Vice President, into the mic, waving up the laughter. "Hey, Cowboy..., c'mere."

Larry looked around the otherwise empty stage and stopped twirling his lasso.

"Don't stop making people happy," said Joe Biden, as the laughter continued.

Larry nervously walked his lasso over to the Vice President. "You're not supposed to be up yet."

The Vice President gave an exaggerated look of surprise.

"The Corporal told me," said Larry, pointing to a grimacing woman holding a clipboard. "She's running the show."

The audience laughed.

"So she's gonna kick me off stage for you?" asked the Vice President.

"You better talk to her," said Larry, pointing to the soldier looking horrified, and then looking at the Vice President's cheek. "Don't you want to wipe that off?" Larry handed a small silk bandana to the Vice President, who wiped away Nancy Bazooka's lipstick as the crowd laughed.

"Thanks, Cowboy, cuz I can only guess what reporters would do with that one," said Joe Biden. "Say, where'd you learn to handle a lasso?"

"For my election campaign," replied Larry, prompting another exaggerated look from Joe Biden.

"So you're a politician, too?"

"Yup."

"If you got elected for rope tricks, I'm doing politics all wrong," said Biden.

"I didn't win yet," said Larry, causing the VIPs in the front row to bust up.

Congressman Dick Bomber – the candidate for U.S. Senate whose election looked certain – dabbed his fresh scar that dripped blood after laughing.

"Ever ride a horse?" asked the Vice President.

"They scare me," replied Larry, causing another eruption of laughter.

"Cowboy, how about this great dance performance and the hand-to-hand?"

The crowd erupted, as Nancy Bazooka led her dancers back on stage. With December on one arm, and Nancy on the other, the Vice President led the dancers in lifting their arms upward. Joe Biden smiled as the dancers obeyed Nancy's lead, and shook like firm gelatin, for a crowd that loves Jell-O. The dancers again ran off stage, to another cheer.

"When's your election, Cowboy?" asked the Vice President.

"Three weeks, but I ran away," said Larry, raising his rope above his head.

"If flying to a combat zone cools you off, you've got a future in politics," said Biden, turning to the audience and waving. "Let's hear it for Larry!" Huge cheers erupted. "And Nancy and her dancers!" Another huge cheer went up.

* * *

"Maybe you're ready to go to Washington after all," said Buck.

"Yee hah!" shouted Nixon's Ghost, as Harpo honked, and the gargoyle whinnied.

Four teenagers – three Boy Scouts and a long-haired girl with freckles – rode horses alongside of Larry and Buck. The girl waved.

"Oh, how ya doing Maryann, Eagles?" said Buck.

"Great, Buck," said the freckled girl.

"I love that word," swooned Nixon's Ghost.

All four teenagers pointed to Larry and snickered.

"Nice duds, Mister," said Maryann.

"He's a Councilman," corrected Buck.

All four teens kept laughing.

"Um, thanks," said Larry.

Maryann's phone chirped. "K, gotta jam," she said. "Supper's'a calling."

The four teenagers began a run, leaving Larry and Buck in the dust.

Harpo honked.

* * *

Joe Biden's principal deputy sat writing notes, while the Vice President circled his desk, and above him, the Angel Groucho invisibly paced behind him and smoked a cigar.

"Perhaps you can tell me what 'service' you wish to provide?" said the Vice President.

"As the President of Freedonia, I've run an absurd party," said Groucho, "and since no one is laughing in this country, a ridiculous masquerade ball can make America great again."

"I'm just Number Two," said Biden, "but I'll think about it."

* * *

December Carrera sat at her husband's desk, with paper towels and an empty metal bowl, surfing the computer and bookmarking websites for hotels in the District of Columbia.

The Angel Chico rubbed himself against December.

A messenger chat window popped open.

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "u there, goddess?"

Chico hissed.

December selected "share webcam" and aimed her cam such that it showed only her face and shoulders, showing nothing of her low-cut, skintight purple top.

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "hot as ever, wish there was more"

December clicked "request webcam" on the chat window. A moment later, a small window popped up, showing a man in a dress shirt and open tie, seated at an elegant desk, with a bookcase of what appeared to be law books and an American Flag in the background.

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "long time, how ya been?"

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "sad cuz i miss seeing your body"

The black cat swatted his paw over the computer, almost knocking down the ancient webcam. "Bad pussy!" exclaimed December.

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "nothing bad about part of you"

The cat hissed.

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "i don't do shows now"

December pushed Chico off the desk.

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "cuz of the news?"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "got better things to do these days"

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "think of your fans"

The cat jumped back onto the desk and stretched to block the cam, before being pushed off the desk again.

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "ur sweet"

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "at least we are chatting, first time in a year"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "that is all for this old married woman lol, it takes time to bake lasagna"

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "old! ha! do i get to see what i miss?"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "only becuz u r one of my first members"

December Carrera adjusted the angle, showing more of her body, and put her thumbs under the top of her clingy blouse and slowly peeled it downward, creating a visual "pop" as her enormous breasts spilled out.

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "haven't lost ur charms. if anything they've grown."

The Angel Chico jumped back to the desk, hissed, and swatted his paw toward the cam.

The man in the elegant office shut off the webcam abruptly.

<huge_tit_lover> wrote, "gotta go."

* * *

"Captain, my wife wants us to go to this White House party," said Lori, at her desk as Dorsey Spaulding walked past.

"You're adults," said Spaulding. "Ask the Commanding Officer."

"Paparazzi pictures will show up everywhere," said Lori.

"Sergeant, you won how many Olympic medals?"

"Four silver and one bronze," said Lori.

"When did anything hold you back?"

* * *

Joe Biden continued circling his desk, while the Angel Groucho kept up with his pace. "Again, where do you hail from?" said the Vice President.

"Freedonia," said the Angel, "but who remembers Duck Soup?"

The Vice President reached for the Secret Service alarm button on the phone.

"Only the President can push the button," said Groucho, freezing the Vice President's hand with smoke wafting from his cigar.

Biden's principal deputy ran toward the door.

"Your first-ever 'Lame Duck Masquerade Ball' will be nothing anyone but your guests ever will see, and always remember," said the Angel, sending smoke that also froze the staffer. "My omnipotent Boss is sure you will be happy and thank Him about this."

* * *

"I booked us," said December, excitedly, as Lori stood by the bed, placing a call.

"Hold on, Dee," said Lori, pushing speaker, as the black cat leapt up and rubbed himself against the soldier.

"He's been a bad pussy," said December.

"Captain Spaulding? Lewis," said Lori, scratching the Angel Chico's cone-shaped ear. "Why do I have to go back to D.C. tomorrow?"

"It's an order," said Dorsey Spaulding. "Get ready for bigger housing, as the General's confirmation looks solid and you'll get a promotion ceremony."

December bounced and bobbed.

"The Vice President specifically requested you be present," said Captain Spaulding, "so be sure your tunic has the Presidential Unit Citation."

"Won't it just stir reporters?"

"Chill, Lewis!" said Spaulding. "Just salute, say 'Sir, yes, Sir,' and enjoy new housing."

"Yes, Sir," said Lori, hanging up.

The black sat jumped onto the bed, as December continued bouncing. "Promotion!" said the wife. "Housing! A big party!"

Lori Lewis watched her wife glow with joy.

"I did the RSVP, booked round-trip flights, and hotel rooms, cuz I'm really good at that," said December, her hands exploring her husband's chest.

"You did what?' said Lori.

"For the masquerade ball," said December, "and I arranged a big surprise."

"Pumpkin, I haven't confirmed that I get the time off," said Lori. "I still have to...."

"No!" shot back Lori's wife. "You said we could!"

"Dee, we have the money, but...," said Lori.

"No, you said we can go and costume parties are my favorite thing in the whole world!" said December, "so if you want your wife to be happy, you better start saying, 'Oh, that's great,' and, 'Thank you, Hunny,' and show you're happy that I'm planning a romantic getaway!"

The cat watched the couple.

Lori stood silent.

"Baby, you need to thank me and be happy about this."
Chapter Nineteen – Confirmation

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis stood in her doorway, her wife's arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Lori managed to break away from December's hug. "Three hours up and back and a few hours in the Capitol," said the soldier, kissing her wife.

The black cat ran in circles around the married couple.

A driver idling an engine outside the housing unit repeatedly honked.

"I love you, Pumpkin," said Lori. "We can have late dinner."

* * *

Larry van der Bix yelled out Buck Roger's name, as he entered the open door to his riding instructor's home.

"My husband's in the back, Councilman," said Buck's wife.

"Go ahead, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, as the Angel Harpo curry combed the gargoyle from Larry's apartment.

* * *

"Bad pussy," said December Carrera, gently brushing the Angel Chico away from an open jar of yeast on the kitchen counter. She brought out a sugar bowl, a 32-ounch measuring cup and a large, empty ceramic mixing bowl. The cat sat on the other side of the counter and watched, as December picked up her phone, dialed a number, pushed "speaker" and set the phone on the counter. "Mama?" said December.

"Little One?" whispered a warm voice. "He's here.... I can't talk."

"Can you please send my sewing machine?"

"Who're you talking to, Isabella?" yelled a male voice.

"Our daughter, Ferdinand."

As December put five ounces of hot water in the measuring cup, the yelling grew louder.

"Mama!" said December, adding sugar and yeast.

"We have no daughter!" yelled the man.

The phone went silent.

As the cone-shaped ear on the Angel Chico lowered, December wept. The beautiful young woman stirred the yeast, and tears fell into a mixture with the color of light brown sand.

The cat gently crossed the counter and slowly rubbed against December's forearm. She grabbed the Angel and held him, and Chico licked her tears. "It's just like Heaven," she sang, kissing the cat, "being here with you." December gently lowered the cat, covered the measuring cup with a cloth, and collapsed onto a chair and cried.

* * *

Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis, in Dress Greens, hopped out of a Humvee, as it pulled up to an SUVs, which bore a small pennant with three stars. Lori and the driver saluted General Allen Goodwrench as he approached. He returned the salute and handed a briefcase to Lori, who followed the General into the SUV.

* * *

"Doing better than shit," observed the dead president.

Larry, sweating and dust-covered after horse grooming and a two-hour ride, stood in Buck Rogers's living room, watching C-SPAN coverage of the Senate floor debate on the confirmation of Lt. Gen. Allen Goodwrench to serve as head of the U.S. Central Command.

"The Chair recognizes the senior Senator of Arizona," said the Majority Leader, tapping the gavel and motioning to Senator Ronald "Ron" McCain.

Buck entered the living room, carrying two bottles of water, handing one to Larry. "God's greatest gift."

"The Capitol is where my friend gets dragged through the mud," said Larry, taking the bottle of water.

The two men drank water and watched a balding man with glittering eyes speak.

"Any student of history knows that the area covered by the Central Command is full of skilled and highly-motivated fighters who jealously protect their freedom and are well-schooled in the art of throwing out invading armies," said McCain, extemporaneously. "My criticism of this Administration's failures are well known, but are no more blistering than comments made during the tenure of previous presidents."

"Too much for me, Councilman, but knock yourself out," said Buck Rogers. "When the rider arrives at noon, just send the family out back."

Larry nodded and Buck exited. Larry held his water bottle, and watched Ron McCain.

"While I hold grave reservations about our military posture around the world and how we are conducting operations in the Central Command," said McCain, "none of these concerns are due to Allen Goodwrench, who I know to be a man who talks straight and keeps his word. I will cast an 'Aye' vote."

* * *

"Since my Boss is omnipotent, I know you'll win one for the Gipper with 90 votes," said the Angel Groucho, talking into his Princess phone.

The Vice President and his principal deputy searched the locked office for bugs.

"After the promotion, we can talk about the Masquerade Ball," said Groucho.

"Am I the one who's crazy?" asked the Chief of Staff, flipping a chair.

"What the Hell's going on," growled the Vice President, pulling a pillow from a couch.

"The crook may be a ghost, but the emcee isn't a Devil," said Groucho, into his phone.

"We're both insane!" said the Vice President, on his knees to search under the couch.

"Even professional comedians don't like, if they're Angels," said Groucho.

* * *

December lifted the cloth that covered the yeast, sugar, and water, and gently pushed the cat away from sniffing the bubbling mixture that rose several inches. She poured the sandy brown mixture onto a large bowl holding flour, salt, and sugar, and stirred, before adding a few more ounces of hot water. She covered the bowl and lifted the cat, who purred as she kissed him.

* * *

"It's not my place to tell you who to love, Sergeant," said General Allen Goodwrench, as the SUV approached the gate to entry the White House grounds, "but we're catching heat about your wife being a website actress."

"She's not an actress," said Lori. "She just... you know... has... had a site and people subscribe... subscribed to it."

"She still gets undressed?"

"Not anymore," said the Sergeant. "She's promised not to do webcam things anymore."

"Senator Mary Traynor and the White House Chief of Staff each say that Dick Bomber claims to have a messenger chat with images – recent images – of your wife exposing herself," said the General.

"Sir," said Sergeant Lewis, "she's promised."

"Everything's on the line, Sergeant," said Goodwrench, "but I'm going to believe you."

The two sat in silence, as the vehicle got waved through the White House security gate.

"General, you're the one who freed me at Bagram," said Lori Lewis. "You saw my bruises and blood from Bomber whipping me with a belt when he tried to rape me."

The General sat silent, as the vehicle moved slowly through the snow.

"I defended myself against a rapist, and he got me locked up for attempted murder," said Sergeant Lewis. "I got shackled and thrown behind bars."

The General remained motionless, as the SUV approached the West Wing.

"You fixed it by getting both of us to shut up," plead the soldier.

"The bastard is ditching a signed agreement to whip us both," said the General.

An Angel invisibly floated over the White House staff approaching the SUV, as it parked outside the West Wing.

* * *

"I recognize the junior Senator of Hawaii, who is sponsoring this Nominee," said the Majority Leader, tapping a gavel.

"Don't make Elvis wait," said Nixon's Ghost, pointing to a family standing at Buck's front door, just past the invisible Angel and gargoyle.

"Knock, knock!" said a woman in her forties, holding the hand of the man with a ring, and accompanying a short-haired girl in her teens, while Larry watched C-SPAN.

"Don't waste your time, you idiot," growled the dead president.

"Are you the noon riders?" asked Larry.

"Yup," said the girl, dressed in jeans, boots, and a denim shirt. "Nice get-up, Mister."

"Thanks," said Larry, pointing to the back yard. "Buck's in the stable."

The teenager and woman made their way through the living room, leaving Larry standing awkwardly with a stranger in front of the television. Larry smiled faintly and raised the volume.

Senator Mary Elisa Traynor (D-HI) stood at her desk in the last row on the Senate floor. "Thank you, Mister Majority Leader," said Mary Traynor. "This nomination gives us a chance to show the American people that we can work together to get things done in Washington."

"Bull puckey," said the man standing next to Larry, in Buck Roger's living room. "The only thing politicians in Washington do is cash their paychecks."

"Hunny?" said the 40-ish woman, entering the living room. "I'm going to Starbucks before she's done grooming." The woman looked at Larry. "Weren't you in the newspaper?"

"This'll be a good one," said the ghost.

Larry sheepishly stayed silent, as the woman stepped closer. "You must just look like someone important."

"If you're gonna to Starbucks," said the man, joining his wife, "I want fast food."

The couple exited.

"Must be useful to hide in clear view," said Nixon's Ghost. "The tour of Latin America would'a been less brutal."

Larry turned to the screen, with its graphic that read, "Central Command nomination – Confirmation vote."

"We can disagree on policy," said Senator Mary Traynor, "but let's confirm this Nomine – swiftly, by consensus – to show ISIS, Al Qaeda, and those who wish us ill, that when it comes to selecting our General Staff, we leave partisanship at the water's edge. I urge an 'Aye' vote."

* * *

December put a bread tray with a risen loaf of dough into the 390-degree oven and selected 40 minutes on the timer.

The Angel Chico watched carefully.

The beautiful wife raised the stove's flame to a medium heat for the front burner and placed a cast-iron skillet, slowly warming the pan.

The cat continued to track December's actions.

She pulled a package of ground beef from the freezer and set it onto a plate.

The cat sniffed, but stayed focused on December.

Returning to the refrigerator, December brought out basil, Roma tomatoes, a zucchini, a yellow onion, garlic, ricotta cheese, a ball of Mozzarella, and a block of Parmesan.

Chico did not move.

December set everything onto the counter, unwrapped the ground beef, and set the meat into the warmed skillet, immediately creating a sizzle.

The cat stayed motionless, but watched her quickly hold her belly.

* * *

"The Chair recognizes the final speaker," said the Majority Leader.

"Thank you for this oppuh'toon'u'tea to address die'uh concerns over reckless policies by a Socialist-in-Chief who traitorously places America's bravest souls at risk of sacrifice," said Senator Dick Bomber, from the furthest right corner of the last row of Senate desks. "This old Marine stands in absolute opposition to this nomination."

"Asshole," said Larry, in front of the TV in Buck Rogers's living room.

"It's a free country, Cowboy," said the ghost, who, as Vice President, sat as the Pro Tem leader of the U.S. Senate, entitled to cast a tie-breaking vote. "He's playing a game."

A knock came at the door, and a Lyft driver entered.

"Keep the timer running, cuz I need to see this," said the lottery winner who used the money to buy victory, and resulted in an anti-politician's pledge to cross America on a horse.

The driver sat on a chair shaped with pieces of driftwood.

Nixon's Ghost looked to the Angel Harpo, outside, drinking coffee and playing cards with the gargoyle.

"Perhaps I may stand alone, but I shall never bend in my defense of this great nation," said Dick Bomber. "This combat veteran is prepared, by filibuster, to speak until my legs buckle and body folds, for I shall battle an unfit scoundrel who disgraced our military by conducting an impromptu marriage of two lesbians, and soiling the President's bedroom on Air Force One!"

"You are out of order!" declared the Majority Leader, pounding his gavel, "and absent a second, we shall move for an immediate vote by Members on this nomination."

"I hold the floor, Sir," exclaimed Dick Bomber, thrusting his chest. "I shall not yield."

"Seeing no second, this Floor Session shall resume in one hour, when Members shall cast their vote!" declared the Majority Leader, slamming the gavel.

"Don't waste time," said the ghost. "Do it now!"

Larry turned off the television, and walked out of the ranch house with the driver.

* * *

"Just in time," said Vice President Joe Biden, as Lieutenant General Allen Goodwrench and Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis entered French doors, into the West Wing, as an invisible Jewish Angel floating above them. "Session resumes in an hour."

* * *

Larry, in his dusty western gear, entered his City Council office, and immediate flipped on C-SPAN coverage of the Goodwrench confirmation hearing.

"Are you here to work?" said Jeanine Howard, holding several folders.

"Nothing changes by watching the tube," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry reached for the folders.

"Imagine that," said the Chief of Staff.

* * *

The Angel Chico sat on the kitchen counter, watching December use a spatula to mash down browning beef. She covered the skillet and returned to the counter, chopped an onion, sliced the tomatoes and squash. She cooed to the black cat, before using a knife to dice garlic. Steam rose from the covered skillet, but December again clutched her belly. She groaned while sliding a bread tray from the 390-degree oven.

Chico watched her raise the oven temperature to 450 degrees, and return to slicing cloves of garlic. The cat studied the stove, where the skillet held bubbling fat, with the heat at "low."

December went to the sink and wiped her mouth with another wet paper towel, and held her belly. "I feel awful, Kitty," and went to the couch in the living room.

* * *

"America is suffering the death of a thousand cuts," intoned Senator Dick Bomber, to a mass of reporters waiting to return into Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building.

"Keep working, Cowboy," ordered Nixon's Ghost, at the cherry wood conference table, while Larry sat beside his Chief of Staff, who handed another constituent letter.

The television droned, while Jeanine moved to another folder.

"Brave souls fight two wars because politics matters more to a Socialist-in-Chief than national honor, vital strategic interests, or human souls," spewed Dick Bomber.

"Focus, Cowboy," said the ghost.

"Despite support for a scoundrel," said the independent Senator, "I shall not bend."

Larry turned off the television and looked to Jeanine Howard, who staring back to him.

Nixon said nothing.

"Thanks for turning off the racket," said Jeanine, pointing to the binder of the next Council meeting. "There's twenty items for next week."

Larry looked down.

"Are you still leaving?"

"Don't ditch yer staff, Cowboy," ordered the ghost, whose last act as President was to address a huge crowd of White House employees in the East Room.

"My trainer says I'm ready," said Larry.

"Great, skip the binder," said Jeanine.

"Yer poisoning the word," said Nixon's Ghost, grimly. "Yer talking to one who knows."

"I'm not talking to you, ghost!" Larry said, looking to the ghost only he could see.

"-R-i-g-h-t-," said Jeanine, handed Larry a resume. "Rutland Judd."

"Huh?" said Larry.

"I recommend Rutland," said Jeanine, pointing to the resume. "He's got a non-profit, shoots photos, and only wants half-time."

Larry stared at the sheet.

"Read the frickin' resume," ordered the ghost.

"He'll work full-time when we need him," added Jeanine, "but half-time would give health benefits for himself and his husband, and lets him do his non-profit."

"I thought you're opposed to gay marriage," said Larry.

"I'm not a bigot," said Jeanine.

Larry turned to the ghost, who gave a thumbs up. "Go ahead," said the Councilman. "And your signature of my name is the one they'll see."

"R-i-g-h-t...," said Jeanine.

* * *

December Carrera carefully lowered one piece after another of flat, dry lasagna pasta into the tall pot of rapidly boiling water, and used the long wooden spoon to ensure the pasta did not stick in the boil.

The cat stayed on guard.

She used the same spoon to stir a sauce of crushed tomatoes, vegetables, garlic and spices, reducing the heat on the sauce to low, and stirred the pasta. She moved to the counter, where a block of Parmesan cheese sat next to a grater.

The pussy cat wearing the "Tuttsi Frutsi" badge did not move to sniff cheese.

After arranging candlesticks on a table for two, December picked up her cell phone and snapped photos of her work, selecting "send as message" to send the images to "my baby" as her recipient. She thumbed a message, typing: "baby, ur busy in the white house and i'm busy too as u can see!!! there's more waiting and i'm not just talking food! u better be hungry and feisty!" December pressed "send" and set the phone on the table.

The cat trotted to watch her drink cranberry juice.

"Can't believe we don't got wine," she said, looking at empty plates and unlit candles.

The LAN-line in the bedroom rang, and the cat watched December again hold her belly. The answering machine clicked on. December ran to the bedroom, turning up the volume. "This is Jack Kavanaugh, in Sacramento.... I am a reporter...." She turned down the volume.

The cat watched December scan messages, before again groaning. The cat jumped onto the bed, after December held her belly and sat on the edge of the mattress.

* * *

"Goodwrench," answered the General, taking a secure line in the Vice President's office. The Lieutenant General looked to Joe Biden, talking to Sergeant First Class Lewis. "Thank you, Senator Traynor, for the official vote count, and your sponsorship and success."

Lori Lewis watched Allen Goodwrench smile.

"Gimme that phone," said Joe Biden, rushing to talk with the third-lowest-ranking Member of the United States Senate. "Mary, who luvs ya, Baby!"

The General walked to Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis. "Bomber's filibuster failed and Mr. McCain and Mary Traynor pulled together 90 votes," said Goodwrench.

"Fuck," said Lori.

"I share the sentiment," said the General.

"Can I call home?"

"We're on lockdown, Sergeant," said Goodwrench, "or, Lieutenant, in a little while."

* * *

December dialed her cell phone and put it on the counter.

"Spaulding," came a voice over speaker.

"Captain?" said December. "This is Sergeant Lewis' wife."

"How can I help you, Ma'am?" said the Captain.

"First, don't call me 'Ma'am,' " said December.

"Don't call her 'Sergeant' in a little bit," replied Dorsey Spaulding.

"My husband told me to stay at home, but I got no butter, none, and am baking bread."

"Someone will drive it over," said the Captain.

"Thank you, Sir," said December, ending the call.

The black cat watched December again bend forward and groan.

* * *

"This arrived today," said Jeanine, handing Larry a large envelope from Blue Shield. "My health plan card also came, so it must be your insurance coverage."

"Insurance?" said Larry, opening the envelope. "I didn't pay for an insurance policy."

"It's frickin' government coverage, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, his feet above the cherry wood conference table.

"Councilmembers get the same health care as all city workers," she said, sorting through unopened mail. "And here's your first payroll check."

"Check?" asked Larry.

"It's your pay," said his Chief of Staff.

"Ya get paid, Bozo," added the ghost.

"I've never gotten one," Larry said, to the ghost and Jeanine. "I don't need money."

"Every Councilmember gets paid," said Jeanine. "You think people do this for free?"

"She's a good hire," said the ghost. "Great, even."

"I don't want it," said Larry, handing back the unopened envelope. "I won the lottery." Jeanine stared at the envelope. "Give the money back."

"People think yer crazy already," said the ghost.

"You don't want any money?" asked Jeanine. "Nothing?"

"I'll pay the cost of insurance, but tell the Mayor to not give me a check," said Larry. "Or donate it to Rutland's group or someone who can use it."

"I'll look into it," said Jeanine, writing a note on her yellow legal pad.

"You'll ride that frickin' horse all the way to Washington," said the ghost, whose own national rise came by blabbering about a pumpkin patch.

* * *

The black cat watched December turn off the heat on the tomato and vegetable sauce. She stood beside the tall pasta pot and used two wooden spoons to trap a lasagna noodle and quickly drop it onto the counter, to a wide sheet of wax paper. She did seven more lasagna noodles, smoothing each piece to lay flat.

The cat hopped down from a kitchen breakfast table, as December took off her apron and – wearing just a tee-shirt and panties – carried a roll of paper towels and the metal bowl into the living room. The cat watched December open a window, sit on a daybed, and watch the sunset. His cone-shaped ear dropped as she grabbed the metal bowl and vomited.
Chapter Twenty – Good Pussy Pussy Pussy

"A serious complication, General," said Captain Dorsey Spaulding, as General Allen Goodwrench stood next to a small telephone table for a secure line call in the ornate Center Hall of the White House.

The Angel Groucho floated over Vice President Biden, as the Number Two of America's Chain-of-Command led Sergeant First Class Lori Lewis into the Diplomatic Reception Room.

"There's been a structure fire on base," began Spaulding.

"Captain, really, isn't this something that General Wentworth and his staff can handle?" said Goodwrench. "The Secretary of Defense is walking the President from the West Wing."

"It's the housing unit assigned to Sergeant Lewis."

"Jesus," said the General, holding his voice down.

The Jewish Angel floated to listen to the General's call.

"Staff ran an errand to her and a cat somehow made him find her at an open window," said Spaulding. "She was lucky, but I drove the wife to an ER."

"And?" asked the General, who saw the President and Secretary of Defense pass through the French doors of the Palm Room.

"Lewis needs to call her wife ASAP," said Captain Spaulding.

"Get over here, General!" smiled the President of the United States, at the entry to the Diplomatic Reception Room, waving to his newly-confirmed chief of U.S. Central Command.

"Is her wife in medical danger?" asked Goodwrench.

"Not her, Sir," said Captain Dorsey Spaulding, carefully, "but possibly the baby."

"Oh, Christ," said Allen Goodwrench.

"Better call the Boss," said the Angel.

* * *

"You frickin' lazy," said Nixon's Ghost, as Larry sat on his low-grade couch, in a magnificent penthouse apartment buried in mountains of hoarded shit.

Larry stared at a stone gargoyle outside the window, wearing a crumpled hat.

Godzilla blew fire across Tokyo.

"Go back to work!" ordered the ghost, as the invisible Angel sat with the gargoyle.

Larry, wearing only briefs, surfed to CNN.

The President of the United States stood at a podium, in the Diplomatic Reception Room, with the Vice President, the Secretary of Defense, General Allen Goodwrench, and Second Lieutenant Lori L Lewis, all standing in front of a painting of George Washington.

Larry immediately sat upright and raised the volume.

"We're here not just to promote a Three Star General and give him a new assignment," said the President, a young Black man with early gray sweeping his head, "but to mark that the United States Senate voted in overwhelming fashion... uh... and that speaks for itself."

Joe Biden stood like a statue, as the President instructed Goodwrench to step forward.

As cameras clicked and Martian tripods flashed, the President motioned to Number Two and Number Three in the Chain-of-Command, who each stepped forward.

The Secretary of Defense opened a small wooden box, and the Vice President extracted a small object to give to the President.

"Congratulations, General, on the job to run the United States Central Command," said the President, as he pinned a row of four stars onto the Allen Goodwrench's collar.

Larry watched Second Lieutenant Lori Lewis stand motionless.

"Why's yer friend wearing a gold bar?" asked the ghost, studying the screen. "Only Congress authorizes the promotion of officers."

The screen reduced the live coverage and three talking heads began commenting.

"Does this confirmation shut down the fiery Senator Dick Bomber," said a commentator, as the General saluted the President, "or does it simply boost his campaign for President?"

"Never waste time," answered Nixon's Ghost. "Use it, or lose it."

Larry smiled about his best friend.

"Bomber'll be Bomber," said another talking head. "He brushed off demands he resign after the 'Ask a Chinaman' comment."

"Criticism feeds his fire," said a third.

"The game of 'Divide and Conquer' can move a mountain," said the ghost, known early as "Tricky Dick."

* * *

"Pumpkin?" whispered Lori, holding the secure line in the Center Hall close.

"Baby?" came December's voice, clear yet distant. "Never burned lasagna before."

"I'm so sorry, Darling, that I wasn't with you," said Lori, as tears welled up in her eyes. "They just told me. Are you okay?"

"Yer sorry," said December. "I lost my Mama's Caprese lasagna roll-ups."

"We can cook it together," said Lori, tears rolling down her cheeks. "You can show me."

There was a long silence. "What did they tell you?"

"That you were lucky," said Lori, "and the cat saved you."

"You mean the fire and the window?" nervously asked December. "Thank God."

"My omnipotent Boss knows everything," said the Angel Groucho, floating over Lori.

"I was lucky, but Spaulding drove you to the hospital," said December.

"Hurray for Captain Spaulding," said Groucho.

"That's all they told you?" asked December.

"That you're okay," said Lori. "You're sure you're okay? We get home in a few hours."

There was a moment's silence.

"Yeh, Baby, I'm fine," said December, calmly, "but our stuff got moved to another housing unit, cuz you got a new rank, so that kind'a nice."

"Wow, okay," said Lori, breathing relief, looking at the ornate Center Hall, with a vaulted ceiling and long red carpet trimmed in gold. "We don't have much stuff."

Allen Goodwrench stood with a White House aide, at the French doors that led into the Palm Room, waving to Second Lieutenant Lewis.

"They told me you RSVP'd for the party," said Lori, pointing to the phone and nodding to the General. "The Vice President wants both of us to make it."

"That's nice," said December, quietly. "I hope so, too."

"Hail, hail Freedonia," cooed the Angel Groucho.

"I'll be home soon, Pumpkin," said Lori. "You're sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," said December. "The Captain's driver knew how to deliver butter."

A cat meowed loudly.

"The good pussy jumped out the window to call for help and save me," said December. "Better bring home a pizza and a kitty toy."

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Larry, talking on his cell to December.

"I'm fine, Larry, and so is the kitty who saved me," said December.

"You're sure you're okay?" repeated Larry.

"You've asked that ten times," muttered the ghost.

The Angel Harpo smiled, and honked his horn.

* * *

Lori Lewis knocked on the door of the housing unit, as two Corporals held a pizza box and a bouquet of flowers. Captain Dorsey Spaulding held a cat toy. When the door opened, December Carrera rushed to her husband, as a cat ran up the Second Lieutenant's uniform, to sit next to the new gold bar.

The two Corporals carried the flowers and pizza box into the living room, and set them on top of chaotically packed banker's boxes. The Corporals saluted the Captain, who dismissed the enlisted personnel.

"Glad you are both together," said Dorsey Spaulding, wagging a toy over the cat, who jumped off the Lieutenant's shoulder to chase a rolling ball. "Good night, ladies."

Within seconds of the door closing, each woman broke into tears.

The Angel Chico chased the new toy across the floor, into the joined legs of the couple. Both women kneeled to pet the cat.

"Our kitty," said December. "Ours."

The cat sauntered and purred.

Lori looked around, to a wide stairway up to a second floor, and the huge living room.

December grabbed the pizza box and Lori carried the flowers to the kitchen.

"This place is amazing," said Lori.

Chico jumped onto the wide kitchen counter and sniffed the pizza box.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," said Lori, giving the bouquet to her wife.

December took the flowers, and set them next to the cat, who batted a rose. December hugged her husband. "Ow, fuck!" she exclaimed, backing away, after poking herself on the sharp edge of a Combat Action Badge.

* * *

Lori pulled off her tunic, as December grabbed the garment and threw it on the floor, and, in rapid order, helped strip her husband of a government-issue tee-shirt, trousers, socks and dress shoes. Lori stood in dog tags, a bra and panties in front of her wife, who wore only a robe.

"It's time to break in our new marriage bed," said December.
Part III – One Month

Chapter Twenty-One – Why Show Up For Work?

"Where've you been, Lieutenant?" asked Captain Dorsey Spaulding, as Lori Lewis stood at the service counter, writing on the "In/Out" log.

"Um, I just got here, Sir," said Second Lieutenant Lori Lewis. "I'm signing in."

"What time is it, Lewis?"

"0902, Sir."

"And you just got here?" said the Captain. "Why even show up, Lewis?"

The Second Lieutenant stood straight.

"I mean, really, if you can't make it on time wearing metal, why bother?" said Captain Dorsey Spaulding, walking away.

"Sir, I didn't know the route," said Lori Lewis, rushing to keep up with the Captain. "The quarters assigned after the fire yesterday is located in a part of the base I've never been to. I got lost walking here."

"Should I give you a GPS unit to get home for dinner?"

* * *

"Pop quiz time," said Buck Rogers, standing at the side of the chestnut horse named Carrot Cake.

The Angel Harpo glowed and honked his horn, and sat on a hay stack, next to the excited gargoyle and the groaning ghost.

Buck waved Larry over and held a narrow stick that he used as a pointer, lightly resting it on Carrot Cake's tail. "This is...."

"The tail," said Larry.

"Underneath the tail," said Buck.

"Um, the, uh, horse's pooh-pooh um...."

"It's called the 'rear' or 'ass' or 'butt,' Councilman," said Buck. "And what does it do?"

"Um, let's... out... uh...."

"Feces...," said Buck. "Repeat...."

"The horse's rear is where the animal lets out feces," said Larry.

"Finally!" exclaimed Buck Rogers. "A sensible statement!"

"Score one for the Cowboy!" hooted the ghost.

Larry stared at Buck. "Why are you treating me like this?"

"Like what, Councilman?"

"Like... a little baby... who doesn't know anything."

"Because babies can learn," said Buck. "If you pay attention to a horse's urine and feces, you'll notice changes in color, texture and volume. Those offer clues as to what's going on inside the animal's body."

"You don't have to treat me like a baby," said Larry.

"Councilman, you may be a politician with lots of money," said Buck Rogers, "but when it comes to horses, you are a baby."

Harpo honked the horn, and the Angel and gargoyle did a high-five.

"You have to learn everything, starting with how much you don't know."

"Take some frickin' note, Cowboy," ordered the ghost. "It applies to everything."

"No, I know," said Larry. "I even bought gear for the trip."

"We'll see that when we load tomorrow morning," said Buck.

* * *

"Rufus T. Firefly," said Groucho, into his Princess phone.

The Vice President of the United States threw the secure line onto the desk.

Groucho again dialed, and the Vice President ran to the now-locked door.

"Joe?" came the voice of the President. "Didn't you ask me to stop by?"

"No!" yelled the Vice President, across a door he could not open.

The Angel Groucho blew smoke towards the Vice President, and a click opened the door.

The tall, young, dashing Black man with early gray hair entered the office. "Thanks for actually letting me in," laughed the President, looking at Biden, almost twisted with insanity. "Are you okay, Joe?"

* * *

"No," said Captain Dorsey Spaulding, into his secure LAN line, as he sat in his office, his door closed, the window-shade up, looking to the front office cubicles and service counter for Bldg 124, Room A-117. He looked at Lori Lewis's flowing blonde hair, rippling like water as she sat at her desk, fielding a heavy volume of incoming calls. "I don't think so, Sir," said the Captain. "She would'a cracked and told me her wife is pregnant."

* * *

A chat window popped open on Lori's terminal at her work desk.

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "baby, u on?"

<lboceangirl> wrote, "working pumpkin"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "can u come home for lunch? i have some costumes from the internet to show you."

Captain Dorsey Spaulding stood at the edge of Lori's desk and dropped a stack of folders onto her inbox. "Need these spreadsheets updated by end of business today, Lieutenant."

Lori stared at the two inch stack now in her box.

<lboceangirl> wrote, "just got handed work, gonna work all day."

* * *

"Captain," said Lori Lewis, standing at the doorway to Dorsey Spaulding's office.

Spaulding spun his chair. "Yeh, Lewis."

"I know you assigned end-of-day for these spreadsheets," said Lori, holding the folders, "but I'm having a hard time finishing them."

Spaulding turned to fully faced Lori Lewis. "And why is that, Lieutenant?"

"I'm a grease monkey, Captain," said Lori. "Was 'Motor Pool' for two contracts, til E-5. I'm learning this Excel thing, but it feels foreign. I'm not some whiz-bang college kid."

"Welcome to the Central Command, Lieutenant," said Spaulding. "The only reason you got handed O-1 is to protect the Boss from political attacks."

"I didn't ask for bars," said Lori.

"Lieutenant, you've gotta push through your blockage, because General Wentworth presents those spreadsheets tomorrow afternoon."

* * *

"We're supposed to throw a party that features dead politicians?" asked the President, studying the nervous, quivering Vice President.

The secure line rang, as the invisible Angel again dialed the Princess phone.

"Your phone is ringing, Joe," said the President, sitting alone with him in the office. "Don't you answer the secure line?"

Joe got up and quaked at the desk, pushing speaker.

"Rufus T. Firefly, at your service," repeated the Angel Groucho.

The President looked concerned.

"Did you hear anything?" asked the Vice President.

"Do either of us know you, Mr. Firefly?" politely asked the President.

"If you've watched my films, perhaps," replied the Angel, blowing smoke.

The President turned to the Vice President, who nervously quivered and said nothing. The President stood, but was unable to move further.

"My Boss knows you'll enjoy the 'Lame Duck Masquerade Ball' more than anything you'll even do," said Groucho, waving his cigar. Both the President and Vice President floated up a few feet, hovered above the floor, and slowly lowered. "Ya gotta have faith."

* * *

"Imagine, you showed up," said Jeanine Howard, as Larry entered his office.

Nixon's Ghost floated in, while an Angel rode a gargoyle over the Queen Mary.

Jeanine pointed to the far end of the conference table, where a smiling man reached out his hand. "Rutland Judd," said the new field deputy. "Thanks for hiring...."

"Thank her," said Larry, motioning to Jeanine, without looking up to either of his staffer. He opened his desk drawers and began pulling out business card and embossed note cards.

"Don't stiff yer frickin' staff," ordered the ghost.

Jeanine walked to the desk, standing with her hands on her hips as Larry looked from drawer to drawer. Finally, he stood up and flailed as he saw her inches away. "What?"

"Take five minutes and listen to Rutland's idea," said Jeanine.

"Tomorrow, I begin the ride and...," said Larry.

"Listen to yer frickin' Chief or resign, ya twit!" yelled Nixon's Ghost. "Ya make Limbo look like an endless vacation."

Jeanine gently pulled Larry by the arm to the conference table, where a hundred photo prints lay carefully across the entire table. Jeanine gently aimed his head downward.

"It's called, 'The Face of the Third,' " said Rutland Judd. "Since you'll be gone awhile, we can use your absence to create a new tone... a brand... not about you... but about them...," said Rutland.

"Oh, that's interesting," said the ghost, floating his feet over several prints.

"Huh?" said Larry.

"Every photo by politicians features the same thing... the politician, front and center," said Rutland. "But the images flowing from your office will show the faces and settings that show the district for what it really is... The face of the Third."

Larry looked kids and homeless and workers and the beach. "Oh," said Larry.

"People will know you're paying attention to them, even if you're not here," said Rutland. "If we're successful, you being gone is a mystique... your brand."

"Give 'em the chance to do something great, Cowboy," said the ghost, who set his own plumbers loose and suffered the cost of tricky shit.

"Sure," said Larry, "uh... Rutland."

"If we abandon constituents for a horseback ride and refuse something like this, you are a selfish, rich jerkwad who doesn't care about your district," said Jeanine.

"Jerkwad?" repeated the ghost. "Good hire."

* * *

A chat window popped open on Lori's terminal.

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "baby? when r u coming home?"

<lboceangirl> wrote, "still working dee"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "it's 7 and i need u here"

<lboceangirl> wrote, "i don't have a choice"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "fuck that ur my husband and i need u home"

* * *

"Wrap it up, Lewis," said Spaulding, locking his office at 9 pm. "Finish tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir," said Lieutenant Lewis. "Thank you, Sir."

"Everything okay, after the fire, Lewis?" carefully asked Dorsey Spaulding.

"Actually, Sir, it's drawing us closer," said Lori. "Guess a close call does that...."

"Big things do that," said Spaulding, keying in the suite's security code.

"Yeh," said Lori, as the two entered the long, windowless hallway. "Thank you, Sir."

"Want a drive to quarters, Lewis, since you will probably get lost again?" said Spaulding.

"No worries, Sir, I'll walk," said Lori.

* * *

"Mr. Angel, the call is ready," said a Heavenly operator.

"Boss, they'll unconvinced."

Outside of the White House, a massive bolt of lightning struck the magnolia tree planted by Andrew Jackson.

"I'll keep trying," said Groucho, "or perhaps the ghost can return to his old haunt and follow orders to make this great party happen."

A major branch of the magnolia tree snapped under a second lightning strike.

* * *

"It's fucking ten o'clock at night!" yelled December, as her husband entered the door. "You didn't call to say when you'd be home. I feel like shit and got no idea where you are!"

The cat sat on the other side of the living room, watching the women.

"I fuckin' hate the Army!" shouted December.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Get Back on the Horse

Larry pulled out a small, wicker rectangle, the size of a breadbox, and set it on his bed, alongside four pair of jeans, two pair of bicycle shorts, three pair of thermal underwear, a tall stack of both long- and short-sleeve tee-shirts, socks and briefs, three wireless devices, two solar chargers, a foldable keyboard, six toothbrushes and two tubes of Crest, a hairbrush, a box of pencils, six lighters, beef jerky and candy, battery-powered plastic faux candles, a complicated pocketknife, a pair of boots, two lassos, ornate bolo ties, flip-flops, two swimsuits, a heavy jacket and a windbreaker. Larry packed the small items into the wicker box, and used two suitcases for the clothing, jackets and boots, adding to items he had packed earlier.

Larry lay on his bed, next to the wicker box, fully dressed in western gear, minus a hat and boots. He stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

* * *

"Or maybe this," said December, sitting with her husband at the government-issued computer table, pointing to a pantomime horse outfit. "It's kind'a goofy.... A horse costume."

Lori looked at her wife, whose eyes glowed.

The black cat looked at the computer.

"I can feel you up and no one would know," said December, chuckling lewdly.

"Don't you want to be the star of the party?" asked Lori.

"Maybe before," said December.

"Before?" said Lori. "Before... being... married?"

"No, before the fire," said December, looking at her husband. "It's not just me, anymore. It's about... us." December flipped back to web pages showing scanty costumes that could end a politician's career. "Way hotter, but I'm good with a sewing machine, so the horse can look really cute."

"I leave the decision entirely to you, Pumpkin," said Lori, kissing her wife's cheek.

The cat began to purr and rubbed into December's chest.

"He's so frisky," said December, scratching the cone-shaped ear. "Good pussy."

Lori yawned. "I gotta long day tomorrow, so I'm going to bed."

"Not without me, Baby," said, December scrambling up.

The cat sauntered behind the married couple.

* * *

"Why do you always flip that on, but turn the sound down when we're doing it in bed?" asked Lori, as December muted Jimmy Fallon and climbed into the center of the bed.

"My Mama's sister's husband's brother looks like Jimmy," said December, opening up her body and pulling Lori to take up a position on top of her. "I had the biggest crush for Salvatore."

The cat joined the two beautiful women in bed.

"My mean boyfriend, Sitko, kind'a looked like Salvatore, but I never told him, cuz he was so mean and jealous."

Lori began kissing her wife's shoulders and neck.

"Yeh," moaned December, looking at the muted TV. "Sitko beat me and called me a whore and got thrown in jail for stabbing Salvatore," said December, opening her arms, as Lori lowered her lips to the enormous breasts.

"Charming," said Lori, on her hands and knees above December.

The cat watched the couple make love.

"But Salvatore's fine, and so I love the Jimmy show," moaned December, as her husband straddled her thigh and planted a hand on either side of her wife's shoulders.

The cat purred loudly as Lori French kissing December.

"Nice pussy," purred back December, closing her eyes as Lori kissed her cheek while fingers traveled to her own pussy. "Yes," said December, as the cat licked her face and her husband probed deep.

"Ow!" groaned December. "Hurts!"

Both women stopped, waited nervously, and returned to lightly kissing.

The Angel Chico gently nuzzled into the women's warmth.

"Nice pussy," said December.

* * *

"Is this the Cowboy who knows Lori Lewis?" asked a male voice, as Larry sat in a Lyft, as the vehicle pulled into the woods that surrounded Buck Rogers's house and stables.

"Uh, yeh," said Larry, stepping out of the car and thanking the driver, who waved.

"Rusty Chops," said the man. After seconds of silence, he added, "U.S. Army... I was Lori Lewis' commanding officer until Bagram...."

"Oh, yeh," said Larry, as he watched Nixon's Ghost float down from the sky, like he was riding a flying invisible horse. "I'm going on a long ride, so can we talk later?"

"What I've got to tell you can't wait," said Rusty Chops.

Nixon's Ghost whooped and hollered, like a rodeo rider, as the invisible gargoyle and the Angel Harpo landed.

"Look, I'll be doing the horse thing, so meeting isn't practical," said Larry.

"You have an extra rider?" asked Rusty Chops.

"What?"

"I grew up in Wyoming," said Rusty. "We can talk while riding."

"Sign him up, Cowboy," said the ghost. "No one's crazier than you."

* * *

Lieutenant Lori Lewis looked up to a clock that read 0757 and logged in.

"Lewis, I'm amazed, you found your way, and early," said Captain Dorsey Spaulding.

"Yes, Sir," said Lori. "Thank you, Sir."

"General Wentworth is presenting those spreadsheets at fifteen hundred," said Spaulding.

"Yes, Sir," said Lori, moving to her desk.

"Very good, Lieutenant," said the Captain.

* * *

The President walked into the Vice President's office, and chuckled. "Joe, I didn't know you were so funny, and everyone knows you're funny."

The Vice President and his principal deputy silently watched the President scan the room, and wave his arm in the area he seemed to float through.

The Angel Groucho laid across the desk and watched the President poke and prod.

"How'd you do that?" asked the President.

The principal deputy turned to the Vice President. "Am I supposed to read the notes?"

"Boss, I think you gotta sit down," said Joe Biden.

* * *

December dialed her cell and held the phone close to her ear.

"Mama?" she whispered.

"No, no...," said the woman quickly. "You must'a have the wrong number."

"Mama, please send my sewing machine," said December.

"I'm sorry, must'a be wrong number," said December's mother, hanging up.

December held the phone to her ear long after the call ended. "... Mama...."

The Angel Chico's ears lowered.

* * *

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" said the President. "The President of Freedonia, which doesn't exist, is telling us to throw a party for ghosts and office holders."

The Chief of Staff of the Vice President lowered her head.

"And dancers and that band that a cowboy knows," said Joe Biden, waved his arms. "Cambodia guitar band."

The President stared at the Vice President.

"It's the cowboy from Bagram who's friends with Lieutenant Lewis," said Biden.

"Um...," said the President, again scanning the room for microphones and bugs. "Maybe, uh, you're working a little hard."

"Really, Boss, we can make dreams come true," said the Vice President.

"How about a vacation, you and Jill, you know, Hawaii," said the President. "I'm sure Senator Traynor can line up a place where, uh, you can, uh, you know..., relax."

"Maybe it's time for them to fly a little further," said the Angel.

* * *

A chat window popped open on Lori's terminal.

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "baby, i'm gonna order our costume... a surprise. need a sewing machine, is that ok? i could make the things for us."

<lboceangirl> wrote, "sure hunny"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "thanks baby, it'll be fun making the costume."

<lboceangirl> wrote, "time crunch, so working thru lunch"

<missmilkshakes> wrote, "just be ready for the greatest time of ur life at the party and our romantic getaway. i got a huge surprise waiting!"

* * *

Larry and a driver carried two suitcases and a wicker box to a table behind Buck's house.

Nixon's Ghost and the Angel Harpo escorted the gargoyle, fully prepared for a long ride.

"Are you going on vacation somewhere?" asked Buck.

"What?" said Larry. "No, this is for the ride."

"For what, Councilman?"

"The ride."

The Angel Harpo took the gargoyle on a walk, while the ghost entered the house.

Buck stepped up to the suitcases and lifted each by the handle, and lifted the wicker box. "I thought you said you don't have any horses."

"I don't," said Larry.

"Who's gonna carry all this?" asked Buck. "You've got more than a hundred pounds."

"Um, Carrot Cake," said Larry. "She's a giant horse."

Buck, his hands in his jeans pockets, stepped up to Larry and smiled. "Carrot Cake is not a pack animal," said Buck. "There ain't no way she can carry a human being on a saddle and all that stuff, day-in and day-out." Buck pulled his hands out of his pockets and tapped on one of the suitcases. "Show me what you got."

Larry's life sprung into plain view, as Buck sifted through the bags and box, to see a selection of clothing, wireless devices, portable speakers, coffee mugs, hardcover books, a portable tent, sleeping gear, boxes of dried cereal and powdered milk, bags of chips, salsa, instant coffee, cans of soda, three harmonicas, a ukulele, and the US Army Survival Manual.

"Too bad you didn't bring a frickin' piano," muttered the ghost who loved entertaining captive audiences in the White House.

Buck lifted the ukulele, as though inspecting a moon rock.

"I could learn an instrument," said Larry. "A piano would be too big."

"You are correct," said Buck, dropping the ukulele and lifted a roll of plastic disks. "What're these?"

"Candles," said Larry. "I figured matches might get wet and candles might blow out, so I got the battery-powered kind that never go out."

Buck pulled out a plastic faux candle and flicked it on, creating a dull, flickering glow. Buck lifted his hat and held the candle inside it. "Not generating much light, Councilman."

"It's just a candle."

"Almost right," said Buck, "but if you bring something with a battery and a bulb, don't you want the most light for the money? Light you can use?"

"Uh...."

Buck Rogers strummed the ukulele. "Councilman, we're packing everything into my truck and drive to Borrego Springs," said Buck, still strumming. "Friends will put us up and stable our horses, and we'll do a week's ride to Yuma." Buck put down the ukulele and looked Larry in the eyes. "But Lisa Steel ain't gonna accept computer speakers or battery candles."

* * *

An Army Specialist stood at Lori Lewis' shoulder, peering onto the Excel spreadsheet. "Now you'll sort data," said the Specialist.

"Like this?" asked Lieutenant Lewis, clicking the cursor on the uppermost box in the left-hand corner, highlighting all of the content on the screen.

"Yes, Sir," said the Specialist.

"I'm not, 'Sir,' okay," said Lori Lewis, clicking the "Data" tab, and "Sort," which brought up a pop-up box with fields for "Sort By," "Values," and "Order."

"Yes, Sir, Lieutenant," said the Specialist, pointing to the screen. "Remember headers."

Lori checked the box that read, "My data has headers."

* * *

The President and Vice President each sat with their Chief of Staff on a wide couch that floated in the Oval Office, as four Secret Service agents rapidly examined the hovering furniture.

The Angel Groucho used his Princess phone to place a call.

A honk responded.

"Hello?" said Groucho. "We'll need a motorcycle or something at the Oval Office."

There were two honks, and the call ended.

* * *

"Good," said Buck, setting a plastic bucket next to the stable stall, as Larry used a body brush on the chestnut mare. "After you finish the face and hooves, we'll load up."

"Can I pay for another horse?" asked Larry.

Buck did a double take. "What? For more extra stuff?"

"No," said Larry, handing Buck the body brush. "Someone wants to ride with us."

"They ever ridden?"

"He grew up in Wyoming," said Larry. "Rode every day."

"I'll check with my friends in Borrego Springs," said Buck. "Carrot Cake's coming back with me, once I drop you in Yuma, but picking up another animal shouldn't be a problem."

The ghost, gargoyle, and Angel watched Larry at work.

* * *

"The Specialist obviously held your hand," said Captain Spaulding, as Lori Lewis handed a stack of folders to him. "The files you emailed are fine."

"Thank you, Sir," said Lori, standing at attention in front of Spaulding's desk.

"Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, last week, I requested a four-day pass so my wife and I could attend a White House masquerade party," said Lori. "We've booked flights and the hotel...."

"Still waiting on a decision," said the Captain.

"Sir, if the Friday and Monday aren't possible, I can leave after business on Friday and be in first thing on Monday," said Lori, "but it's really important... at home."

"You're new to this marriage thing, Lewis, but things are always important at home," said Spaulding. "Some just seem bigger."

"No, really, Sir, this is a big deal for the wife," said Lori. "Like... huge."

"I'll run the question up the chain, Lieutenant," said Spaulding.

* * *

"Heya Maryann, Eagles," said Buck, gripping the nylon head halter to lead Carrot Cake up a steel ramp, into the single-horse carrier hitched to a Ford F-350. "Got your caravan ready?"

"Yep," said one of the Eagle Scouts.

"Five trucks, four carriers and the chuck wagon are waiting at the bottom of the Hill," said Maryann. "My Dad has two coolers just of meat for tonight's BBQ."

Buck walked to the cabin of the F-350, where Larry sat checking his wireless device. "Councilman, meet the entourage that's riding with us to Yuma."

Larry waved meekly to the four teenagers.

"Oscar," said one Scout, extending his hand, through the window.

Larry shook his hand.

"Brent," said another.

"Tommy," said the third.

"Maryann," said the young woman. "Oh! Your hand is warm!"

"It's always warm," said Larry. "My cardiologist says my heart beats too fast."

"Yer lucky," said the young woman. "I am always cold."

"Okay, we're ready to move," said Buck, walking around the front of the truck to the driver's door.

Larry looked toward the ghost. "Hey, um, can, uh, I use the bathroom before...?"

Buck swung open the door, and pointed to a tree.

Larry ran to Nixon's Ghost.

"I've got an assignment," said the ghost, "all the way to the White House."

After emptying himself, Larry jogged to the F-350.

"We'll meet you at the bottom of the hill," said Brent. "Everyone else is behind the pink Smart Car, waiting for you and the missus, Buck."

Larry looked up, and saw Nixon's Ghost ride into the sky, like a rodeo cowboy.

"Brent, take point," said Buck. "Councilman, scoot over for Oscar and Maryann."

"So... what'ta'ya think about gays serving as Scoutmasters?" asked Oscar, climbing in the cab, next to Larry.

"This'll be a hoot," said Maryann, climbing in and pulling the door closed.

Buck Rogers started his truck and, behind came the sound of a second heavy Ford truck firing up. The two inched out slowly from the woods, following a Smart Car onto a dirt path that led to the paved road and, a moment later, to Palos Verdes Drive North, the main arterial road connecting the cities of the Palos Verdes peninsula. Five trucks – four pulling horse trailers and the last pulling an enormous aluminum BBQ wagon – eased into traffic.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Gathered Together for Grace at the Table

"Jeanine!" yelled Larry, as he guided Carrot Cake towards the barn at the Big L Ranch. "What're you doing here?"

"Who knows?" said the Chief of Staff. Two young girls smashed into Jeanine's body. "Oomph, jeeze girls, can you take it a little easy?" The girls laughed and ran off.

A camera clicked and flashed. "Hey'a, Boss," said Rutland Judd, letting his 35mm digital camera drop on its strap to his chest. "Meet Ricky."

"I'm Rutland's husband," said an extremely good-looking, dark-haired man in his 30s, holding out his hand.

"Uh, nice to, um... hey, I gotta settle my horse for the night," said Larry.

"Can I take some shots?" asked Rutland.

"No," said Larry, quickly. "I don't want pictures... of me.... Maybe tomorrow."

"Okie dokie," said Rutland.

"Let's help set the table," said Ricky, walking together with Rutland.

"Constituents are completely pissed," said Jeanine, alone with Councilman van der Bix. "They say you're abandoning them. The calls and emails are nearly unanimous against you."

Larry turned to Carrot Cake and walked toward a corral beside the barn. Jeanine swung open the gate and Larry entered with the chestnut mare. Jeanine closed the gate and followed Larry to the far side of the corral. Opening and closing a second gate, Jeanine followed Larry and the horse into the barn, where Buck, Maryann, and the Eagles were feeding and watering their own horses in individual stalls. Saddles, blankets, and other gear rested on the railings of each stall. As Larry passed Buck's stall, he motioned to Jeanine. "Buck, this is my Chief of...."

"We already met, Councilman," said Buck, as the two young girls ran into the stables. "And her daughters."

"So is our Mom gonna get fired because of you, Mister?" asked one of the girls, looking wide-eyed to the chestnut mare beside Larry.

"Emily!" said Jeanine.

"Fired?" said Larry.

"Well, that's what you say at home," said the other girl.

"I don't think anyone's gonna get fired," Larry said, "except maybe me."

"-R-i-g-h-t-," said Jeanine Howard.

* * *

"Hey there, Councilman," said a tall, burly man with a spatula and tongs. "Name's Jim. I'm Oscar's dad. Thanks for agreeing to let the kids ride to Yuma."

"Oh, yeh, that's... sure...," stuttered Larry. "Thank you."

"Hungry?" asked Jim, laughing, as he pointed to the grill, crowded with chicken, ribs, beef patties, and hot sausages in an aluminum pan with an inch of bubbling sauce, and foil pans holding sauerkraut, grilled onions, roasted vegetables, chili, and a tall pot with white corn. "They can probably use all hands at the table."

Larry walked to a long, redwood picnic bench, which could easily sit 20 people.

"It's Mr. Politician Man," said Maryann. "Here to help?"

Larry nodded and Maryann pointed to the woman next to her, setting plastic ware.

"I'm Maryann's mom, Councilman... Maggie," said the woman. "Do paper plates."

Larry nodded, and began laying plates onto the table.

"Now unload salads from that cooler," said Maggie, giving Larry another order.

Larry moved bowls of potato salad, macaroni salad, pasta salad, green salad, fruit salad, and an ambrosia salad onto the enormous redwood table.

* * *

"So when we hit 18, the BSA said we couldn't stay in our Troop," said Brent, sitting with Maryann, Oscar and Tommy at the picnic bench, while grown-ups moved aluminum trays of BBQ'd meats to the table.

"Buck also left the Troop, cuz he wouldn't stay is we get denied doing this with him," said Oscar. "Riding with you won't be like backpacking with friends who we grew up with.... No offense."

"None taken," said Larry, turning to Maryann. "What about you?"

"I dated Tommy's brother for a while, but Tommy's cooler."

"That's cuz my brother's a jerk," said Tommy, smiling, "whereas I am perfect."

Jeanine and her girls took up spots with Larry, Maryann, and the Eagles, each carrying a tray of food to the table.

"Feels like I'm back in Alabama," said Rutland, working his husband to carry the pot of corn cobs.

* * *

"Larry," said Maggie Moore, walking up to Larry, as he returned from the bathroom, and walked towards the picnic table. "Can I have a moment with you?"

"I'd shake your hand, but there was no soap in...."

"I'm driving ahead to arrange for shelter and food for the riders and horses," she said, not offering her hand, "so I'll see you several times a day during the ride."

"Oh, that's great," said Larry. "I really appreciate every...."

"I know you're a politician," she said.

"Well, just on a city council...."

The woman's eyes narrowed and she spoke in a harsh whisper. "If you touch my daughter, I'm gonna throw you in prison so fast, it'll make your hat spin."

"I... uh... um...," stuttered Larry.

"Or the Eagles," said the Maggie. After complete silence from Larry, she turned away. "You've been warned."

Buck Rogers approached Larry, who flailed his arms and walked terribly, as Maryann's mom walked off. "Seen a ghost, Councilman?" asked Buck.

"No, he flew off," stuttered the dork.

"What?" said Buck, before gently guiding him by the arm back to the huge picnic table. "Let me introduce you around, though you've met most everyone." Larry shambled behind Buck, now filled with trays of meat, salad, soda and juice, condiments, napkins, plasticware, cups, plates, and bowls. Buck pointed to one side of the table, where Brent, Tommy, Maryann, and Oscar were seated next to Jeanine and her two girls and Rutland and Ricky. "You know everyone on this side," said Buck, pulling Larry to the other side.

"Hugo Horn," said a giant of a man at the head of the table. He gripped Larry's hand, as he motioned with his other hand to a tall, striking woman beside him. "My missus."

"I'm Gloria, Councilman," said the woman, smiling warmly, and taking Larry's hand after her husband released his handshake. "Welcome to our ranch."

"I understand you're looking for another horse for the ride to Yuma," said Hugo.

"Um, yeh, I think," said Larry, "but the guy who wanted to join me hasn't...."

"Don't count me out, Councilman," came the voice of Rusty Chops, from the darkness. A man in combat fatigues and bearing insignia on his collar that showed his rank as Major walked over to the table.

"Well, thanks for coming, Soldier," said Gloria Horn. "Welcome to the Big L Ranch."

"Thank you, Ma'am," said the Major. "Friend of a friend of the Councilman."

"Just in time to eat," said Hugo.

"Councilman," said Rusty Chops, shaking Larry's hand. "Saw you at Bagram, swinging a lasso for the Vice President."

"Um... yeh," stuttered Larry.

"You got any role with water, Councilman?" asked Hugo Horn, as Rusty Chops walked the gauntlet of the picnic table, introducing himself and shaking hands with each person.

Gloria Horn slapped her husband in the stomach. "Don't badger our guest, Hugo."

"You got wells, Hugo, and water rights," said Buck Rogers.

"Junior rights don't get me nothing and one well's going dry," said Hugo. "The water master says the aquifer's been falling since before the drought."

"Sorry to hear," said Buck.

"God's greatest gift," said Hugo. "With it, each may prosper; without it, all shall perish."

"Maybe you can rent a gold-plated horse the Major can ride to Yuma," said Buck.

"A deeper well will cost me a hundred and fifty grand," said Hugo, looking at Larry. "Anyway, this ride you're doing is crazy, Councilman, but you've got good people with you."

Buck continued the introductions, as Larry shook hands with Maryann's father, Otto. Maggie Moore held back, saying they'd met earlier. Larry stiffened, until Buck introduced Tommy's mother, Sarah, and Brent's mother, Lorelei.

"And my wife, Mary Alice," said Buck.

Mrs. Rogers smiled and waved.

"You met Oscar's dad at the chuck wagon."

"Jim," said the man, extending his hand.

"And the Major, of course," said Buck.

Larry shook Rusty Chops' hand, and then Rutland and Ricky next to the Major.

Steam rose from the corn pot, causing Larry's face to sweat.

"Everyone, real quick," said Buck. The conversations around the table stopped talking, and all eyes turned towards Buck Rogers and Larry van der Bix, each in their western gear – worn or crisp – as Buck stood in the twilight.

"Y'all know that we're here, cuz this crazy politician intends to ride by horseback to our nation's capitol... to do what, God only knows. And so why don't we start this off by praying for this crazy individual... everyone, let's bow our heads."

Larry took off his Stetson hat, and as he did so, Rutland Judd aimed his camera at Larry and Buck, and began taking photos. Ricky Toledano held a camcorder.

"God, we know Yer lookin' down and wondering, 'What sort of fool did I put on this green earth, that a man with every possible blessing would take it upon himself to forego comfort, risk his own life, and drag others into his crazy scheme, just for love of his best friend?' And the answer is, that a man who so loves his friends is exactly the sort of servant You most treasure. One who would give up comfort, as a soul who understands that life is not measured by gathering material goods. No, that this man would take a break from his own life in order to help his friend means that You continue to inspire souls to know the true meaning of love and sacrifice. The fact that others are willing to take part in his mission may be a sign that by Your grace, maybe we're not so crazy after all. When a man stands for what he believes is right, others learn Your goodness through his crazy deeds, and the purity of his soul and the value of being at his side."

Larry wiped away tears, as Rutland's camera continued clicking.

"So, thank You, not simply because we can join this crazy individual on his quest, but that we, too, can come together around this table to celebrate the love of family, and friendship, and can enjoy this magnificent meal... and that in Your name, Almighty One, we can relish these blessings that You make possible." Buck looked around, and handed Larry a napkin. "Amen."

After a chorus of "Amens," Maryann's voice broke through. "Time ta' eat!"

"Don't be shy," said Oscar's dad, using a fork to poke into BBQ hotlink sausages.

Hugo and Gloria Horn circled the picnic table, igniting six heater towers, as Maryann and the Eagles began poking and scooping meats and salads onto their plates.

Jeanine filled first one and then a second plate with chicken legs, pork ribs, pasta and ambrosia salad, before handing one to each daughter.

Ricky Toledano and Rutland Judd stood together at the corn pot, one asking for plates and the other using tongs to lift cobs to place onto plates.

Everyone became His servants, and all plates were filled, heaped and made to buckle, as laughter filled the air, and the sun set on one small portion of the vast California desert.

* * *

"Oh my God, this is amazing," said Jeanine, holding a BBQ rib in a napkin, as her two girls sat on either side of her at, eating their way through plates piled high, their fingers and faces smeared with sauce.

Larry smiled and watched his Chief of Staff eating with her daughters, whose laughter and chatting he could easily hear. He stabbed a hot sausage link with a fork, as Rusty Chops approached the Councilman.

"May I join you, Sir?" asked the Major.

Larry nodded and the soldier sat down, and smiled to the Chief of Staff.

"Now that Dick Bomber is running for President," said Rusty Chops, quietly, "every reporter is beating up Sergeant Lewis.

Jeanine Howard whispered to her daughters, and paid close attention to the conversation with her boss and a soldier.

"What is this horseback ride going to do?"

"Well, uh," said Larry, staring at his plate.

"What's the mission?"

"Leave Lori Lewis alone," said Larry, eating a chunk of white meat.

"You'll ride thousands of miles and risk your job to say that?" said Major Rusty Chops. "Leave Lori Lewis alone?"

Larry attempted to think. "Yeh," he said, finally, "what you just said."

"Leave Lori Lewis alone?" repeated Rusty Chops.

Jeanine Howard leaned forward to better hear the quiet conversation.

"Maybe I should make a sign with that," smiled Larry.

"What did your best friend say about Dick Bomber?" asked the soldier, ignoring food.

"Just that he's horrible and she'd never be caught dead alone with him," said Larry, poking at pasta salad, to eat a forkful.

"She didn't mention anything... specific?"

Jeanine leaned closer, while all others at the table continued their own conversations.

"Kind of..., but that's, uh, personal," said Larry, picking up a cob of corn and starting to mow back and forth, denuding the kernels.

"She didn't mention Bomber whipping her with his belt or punching and kicking her on the night before the USO show?" asked the Major.

Jeanine's eyes tighted, and she reached into her pocket for a pen.

Larry stopped working the corn, leaving a trail of corn silk and kernels on his face.

"She didn't talk about attempted rapes by Dick Bomber when he toured Afghanistan?" asked Rusty Chops.

Jeanine grabbed an unused paper plate off the table and started writing notes.

"Didn't tell you about being charged with attempted murder for defending herself?"

Larry's face went slack, his fingers lost their grip, and the cob fell with a wet splat onto his plate, heaped with food.

"Didn't think so," said the Major, who looked briefly to see Jeanine scrawling notes. "As her commanding officer, I had to find out what happened and hand it up the Chain," said the Major, watching Jeanine continue taking notes. The new General running the Central Command cut the secret deal to free Lewis from lifetime imprisonment."

Others at the table continued light conversations, while the Major talked quietly.

Major Rusty Chops looked directly to Larry's new Chief of Staff, who quickly looked down as their eyes briefly met. "I'm sure Lewis also didn't mention failures I displayed as her commanding officer, and as a man," said Chops, as Jeanine held her pen ready. "I protected her only so far, but I didn't live up to what a real man should do."

The Chief of Staff maintained close watch, but did not record the latest comment.

"This ride... is what a man should do." The Major pointed to Larry's mouth. "You've got something... you know... wipe your face."

Larry grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth and chin, and stared at Major Rusty Chops, who poked at a piece of fruit.

"She only kind'a told me sort of this...," said Larry.

Jeanine returned to writing notes.

"Ask her," said Rusty Chops, eating fruit. "Or find Captain Gillie Ross."

"Who?"

"The JAG who represented Staff Sergeant Lewis at Bagram, until Goodwrench intervened the whole thing to get charges dropped," said the Major.

"The General who...."

"Performed the wedding for Lewis, who dissolved my unit and ended my Army career six months before retirement?" Rusty Chops wiped his mouth. "Dick Bomber forced me out, as his piece of flesh, but Allen Goodwrench drew up the papers."

* * *

"Hello," said Lori Lewis, standing in a robe in her new bedroom, as she answered the newly-issued ancient LAN line. December, also in a robe, walked up to Lori and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist and snuggled.

The black cat who no prior neighbor hunted to find rubbed into the women's legs.

"Excuse me, General?" Lori placed her free hand on December's fingers. "No, I don't have anything to report about home life... well, I guess, except that this housing unit is too big." December's hands began to roam, opened Lori's robe, and slid across her husband's torso. "General, I don't understand." December ran her hands slowly. "I'm just an O-1 9-to-5-er... and the request for leave is Friday and Monday." Lori's eyes gazed downward, to see her wife's hands at work lower. "Friday and Monday for Washington are denied, Sir?" Lori hung up.

December slipped in front and kissed Lori's stomach, looking up briefly. "Bad news?"

"They won't give a four-day pass," said Lori. "The weekend is my business, but Friday and Monday are no-go."

December's kisses created a wet sheen across Lori's waist, causing slight goose bumps when a gentle breeze blew across an open window. "It's okay," said December, between kisses. "We'll have fun at the Saturday night party, and a romantic getaway weekend."

"You're taking it a lot better than I thought, Pumpkin," said Lori, wrapping both arms around her wife's soft shoulders. "What about your big surprise?"

"A weekend getaway is better than no getaway," said December, dropping to her knees, her lips tracing their way toward Lori's thighs, which parted slightly as the kisses continued.

The black cat watched hypnotically.

Lori's fingers dug into December's thick mane. "I love you, Dee," shuddered Lori, as December's tongue found its mark. Lori saw a call from Larry on her cell, moaned, and let the call roll over to voice mail.

* * *

"How do you know all this about Dick Bomber?" asked Jeanine, leaning to the Major.

"I had to convince the Chain-of-Command how much we needed to protect a Sergeant," said Rusty Chops, "and no one carries the failure more than me."

"Isn't it obvious this will come out if the jerk runs?" said Jeanine, seeing Larry return with his cell phone.

"He is arrogant enough to not follow his own promises to be quiet, but Lewis signed the secret agreement," said Rusty Chops.

"Are you talking about Dick Bomber?" asked a female voice from across the table.

"Yeh," said Jeanine, folding a paper plate filled with notes, and slipping it into her purse. "Just, uh...."

"Talking politics," quickly added Larry."

"Well, I have a gay kid, so I have a problem with his stand on marriage equality," said Tommy's mother, Sarah. "If Dick Bomber got his way, my son can never marry. That not fair."

"Thanks, Mom," said Tommy.

"I love you, Tommy," said Sarah.

"Okay," said Jeanine, watching her daughters run across the yard, "must be politics time, but I'm tired of a kiss-ass President who goes around apologizing to our enemies and resetting with Russia when all Vladimir Putin wants is to take over the world."

"Dick Bomber doesn't care," said the Major. "He's made big money in Moscow."

"I'm with you on that one," boomed the voice of Oscar's dad, Jim, the lawyer across from Larry. "Me, I'd go more to Ted Cruz or Rand Paul. If someone's gonna shake things up, why go with a guy who switches parties, just cuz he gets a better chance on the other side?"

Several voices grunted, "True," "Yeh," and "Good point."

"I'm sorry, Rand Paul looks like Jerry Lee Lewis," said Mrs. Horn. "I just can't take him seriously."

"Hunny, we're the only ones old enough to remember Jerry Lee Lewis," said Hugo.

"I like his 'no drones' and stopping NSA surveillance talk," said Oscar, next to Maryann.

"That crazy look in his eyes," said Mrs. Horn. "I expect him to play piano with his feet."

"Ted Cruz has a crazy side," said Brent's mother, Lorelei. "I mean, Green Eggs and Ham on the floor of the Senate."

"That's show business," said Rusty Chops, offering to take Larry's plate, and stacking it onto his own. "All of it is show business, especially Bomber's hate." The Major offered to take Jeanine's plate, who nodded. Rusty Chops carried plates to a trash can. "Outrageous behavior buys media and if you're not an A-list candidate without media, you're nothing. That's why Bomber uses hate as a weapon and beats up the Councilman's friend for red meat."

Voices grunted, "True," "Okay," and "Suppose so."

"Dick Bomber's a pig and bully and would be an awful President," said Maryann Moore.

"Sure, he's awful," said Jim, using a BBQ utensil to snare a hot-link, "but he's honest, and I want that, after 'hope and change' and political correctness." Jim ate the link. "He hates, but at least I know what I'm getting."

"He's only acting to appear as the Devil you know," said the Major. "He lies about lies."

"How about you, Mr. Politician Man?" asked Maryann.

"Me, what?" asked Larry.

"For President?"

"Oh, no," said Larry, nervously. "I can barely keep up with the City Council."

Jeanine grimaced and the table erupted in laughter.

"No, Councilman," said Buck Rogers. "Maryann's asking who yer backing."

"W'ull, I didn't even vote for me," said Larry, as more laugher erupted. "This horse ride is cuz I'm mad at politics and dog piles, so Maryann is right, that Bomber is just a bully."

"And a pig," added Maryann.

The three Eagles each oinked several times.

"What about Hillary?" asked Brent's mother, Lorelei.

"Ew, she's so old," said Tommy.

"She has a fat neck," said Oscar.

"Who's old and has a fat neck?" asked Rutland, returning to the table with Ricky.

"The First Lady and Secretary of State," said Jeanine.

"I love her," said Ricky, taking a seat next to Larry. "Closest thing we have to a Queen."

"She babbles, but I kind'a like her," said Maryann. "She's the only one talking about education for girls and empowerment for women."

"Well, duh," said Tommy, "she's a woman."

"Keep it up, T-Bird, and you'll lose that glowing aura of perfection," said Maryann.

"Plenty of women in office talk about education and empowerment," said Jeanine. "Including Republican women in office, but they don't get air time." Jeanine waved her daughters to the table. "She'd be a disaster, but, okay, she cares about women and girls."

"Benghazi," shot a chorus of voices.

"Benghazi, Schmen-gazi," said Major Rusty Chops. "It's easy to slap a babbler."

"Happened on her watch," said Hugo Horn. "Four died."

"If anyone's surprised that diplomatic personnel risk their lives when America is hated," said Rusty Chops, "then no one's paying attention to the last twenty years." Grunting arose. "Hatred and cowardice is rewarded when Americans blame each other when bad things happen. If a giant falls, the asymmetric enemies win."

"We can talk about religion and taxes, while we're at it," said Rutland, smiling.

"On that note, we oughta pack it up," said Buck Rogers. "Tomorrow's a Disneyland ride compared to what the Councilman's got after Yuma, but we've still got a full day ahead."

Everyone rose, everyone stretched, most everyone laughed, and absolutely everybody helped clean. In short order, the table was cleared, the guest house was full, horse wagons were unhitched to be collected a week hence, and the Big L Ranch stood ready to be a pit stop for families collecting kids and animals in Yuma, Arizona.

The cold desert night embraced Larry van der Bix, Buck Rogers, an Army Major and four teenagers set to begin a long ride.
Chapter Twenty-Four – Leaving Air Force One in the lurch

"My brother will pick up the organizing committee," said the Angel Groucho, sitting in the sidecar of Harpo's motorcycle, which hovered alongside the window of Larry van der Bix's penthouse apartment of the Villa Riveria, overlooking the waterfront of Long Beach, California. Harpo – dressed in wildly exaggerated rodeo attire – climbed off the motorcycle and stroked the face of a stone gargoyle. "After getting the committee to work, check on the horse riders." Harpo used his cell phone to shot a photo of Groucho, still in the sidecar, who revved the engine, and zoomed straight into the sky.

Nixon's Ghost straddled a second gargoyle outside of Larry's apartment, as the Angel Harpo floated to a half-dozen neighboring statues, granting to each freedom to shake their limbs. Harpo climbed atop one, held his cowboy hat forward, and honked loudly, sending gargoyles into the air, to form a triangle.

"Yee haw!" whopped Nixon's Ghost, as the flock shot straight up from the Villa Rivera. "Air Force One, eat yer frickin' heart out!"

* * *

The tall Black man with early gray hair rested his hands behind his head, as Joe Biden sat comfortably with the President, on the large floating couch, hovering alongside a grandfather clock and French doors to the Rose Garden.

"Let's, um, go over there," said the President, as a crowd of Secret Service agents scanned every inch of the faint yellow sofa, now hovering over the Resolute desk.

The Angel Groucho's ancient Princess phone rang.

"Your call, Sir," said the Heavenly operator.

"They're showing faith, Boss, and my brothers are following Your orders," said the Jewish Angel.

* * *

The President and Vice President stood at the patio outside the Oval Office, where once again they had bottles of 44 brew, and watched as snow covering the Rose Garden.

"Very good to meet you, President Firefly," said the tall Black man, as he stepped toward the Garden, just as frozen waters parted.

"Perhaps you think Moses still does political work," said the Angel.

A flock of gargoyles landed, and a joyful ghost returned to the White House, swinging his leg and climbing from the limber statue. "Thank you for letting us form this committee."

* * *

The President and his White House Chief of Staff entered the private Dining Room adjacent to the Oval Office and presidential study, followed by the Vice President and his own principal deputy.

"And why are we doing this again?" asked the Vice President.

"That's exactly what I want to know," repeated Biden's deputy, waiting for the two executives to take the lead chairs of the six-person table.

Nixon's Ghost fawned over paintings around the table, showing God's almighty waters, and another of Mr. Lincoln.

"It is a good question, Joe," said the President, looking up to the mirror near the table where no reflection showed the ghost of the only president who had resigned.

The two Jewish Angels floated to the table, taking the last open chairs, which Nixon stood for something.

A Secret Service agent wheeled a cart of coffee, beer, chips, and soup from the pantry, adjacent to the President's private Dining Room.

"My wife tells me I drink too much of the beer," said the President, who brews his own, "and considering the conversation, I should stick with soup."

"I'll take the 44," said the Vice President, pointing to a hand-labeled bottle.

The two Chiefs of Staff watched a mug of coffee float to an Angel they could not see, and beer to another.

"It's a party in the East Room, we'll want some troops," said the President.

"Tell someone to take some frickin' notes," said the ghost, who had no strength to lift a pen or cup of coffee or chip.

"Write that down," said the President, pointing to the Chief of Staff.

"If there's troops, we want Nancy Bazooka," said Joe Biden. "Bagram was great."

"Is this just a dream?" asked Biden's principal deputy.

"A dream is shorter than a national nightmare," said Nixon's Ghost.

* * *

The DJ slipped on Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA," as a convoy of SUVs and limousines screeched to a halt about twenty feet outside the Bagram hanger bay doors. Car doors flew open and men in dark suits and sunglasses streamed out, followed by a man with magnificent white hair and dressed in a perfect blue suit, red tie and a constant smile. Joe Biden led his Secret Service entourage in jogging through the hanger bay doors. As soon as the entourage was inside, the hanger doors were pulled shut.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Vice President of the United States of America!"

A roar of several thousand military service personnel and VIPs erupted with cheers.

Biden held up his arms like a prize fighter, his smile never fading, and he quickly made his way to the center of the front row, where he took the only vacant VIP seat.

* * *

The President ate soup and stared at Nixon's Ghost, by a painting of the first Republican.

The White House Chief of Staff looked toward the portrait of Mr. Lincoln and back to his boss, who appeared to be in a conversation with no one.

"The new version of Boots knocked every out," said the Vice President, opening the bottle of 44 beer.

"Write that down," said the President, to his Chief of Staff, as he ate soup.

"I'm supposed to write, 'Nixon is emcee?' " asked the White House Chief of Staff.

The President nodded.

"And Nancy Bazooka!" added Joe Biden. "Nancy'll do it!"

* * *

Nancy Bazooka sat atop a pastel low-riser, one hand resting on her bent knees and the other holding a cordless microphone, at the Bagram stage. "This is just for you," cooed the singer, waving her hand to the audience of several thousand gathered for the USO show.

December Carrera and the other dancers formed a single-file line and, as the opening guitar riff came over the PA system, the audience erupted in an enormous cheer. Joe Biden watched Nancy stay seated, as dancers marched, each taking a single step, stopping to show off one leg, and then taking another step, to show off the other.

You keep saying... you'll do something... for me.

something you call 'honor'..., Cuz yer the best.

The Vice President swooned, as Nancy spun her legs so they curled under her, and she rested the free hand over her thighs, as she slowly began to rise to her knees.

Someone's messin' where they shouldn't be messin'

Now it's time to show 'em... exactly who's the best.

Now standing, she wagged her shoulders and smiled to the Vice President of the United States and locked her gaze, as she pulled one leg up and stretched it towards Joe Biden.

These troops are made for marching, and that's just what they'll do

one of these days these troops are gonna walk all over you.

Several thousand military service personnel exploded with love.

Nancy sauntered slowly towards the Vice President, who sat at the center of the front row, as dancers ran up behind her and formed two lines, and as the guitar riff played, every woman on stage swung their arms and swiveled their hips, as the audience went wild. The women turned around on stage and gave wide hip thrusts, as Nancy turned her head and kept singing toward Joe Biden, who sat next to lustful Congressman Dick Bomber.

You keep war'ing, when you oughta be peace'in'

And you keep losin' cuz we never forget.

The dancers turned to face the audience and held their arms high, lifting white go-go dresses that much higher, boots gleaming against tanned legs. Nancy had her body in profile, legs bent slightly, bobbing to the rhythm, and her gaze briefly aimed to the lustful Congressman, who leered, until the Vice President elbowed him and laughed.

You keep tank'in' when you oughta be sign'in'.

Now what's mine is right, but you ain't been right yet.

The dancers made wide circles with their arms and small kicks with their boots, before shimmying in a whole-body wiggles and then shifting to full go-go arm-and-chest thrusts.

These troops are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do

one of these days these troops are gonna walk all over you!

The crowd erupted.

Nancy sauntered to the edge of the stage and held out her free hand to Joe Biden, who responded like a bashful schoolboy, but stood, to a huge cheer, and Nancy's smile grew wider and more wicked.

Joe Biden ran to the side of the stage and vaulted up the steps, arriving a few feet from Nancy, just as dancers laid on the risers, and bicycle-peddled their legs to the music. Nancy motioned to the Vice President, who lifted his arms, and he followed her body movements, as she moved both arms left and right and left again, repeating it with the Vice President through the guitar riffs, and then pulling first one arm across and back in a "Dougie" move. Joe Biden kept up and smiled broadly. As the horns came in, Biden stripped off his jacket and threw it off stage. The audience roared.

You keep bomb'in' when you shouldn't be live'in'

and you keep thinkin' that you'll never get whooped.

The dancers all stood at the final chorus. The Vice President stood directly in front of Nancy Bazooka, who rolled her shoulders, and he rolled his, before turning his head, giving the audience the look of, "See...."

Thousands of personnel whooped and hollered.

Ha! I just found me a brand new box of bombers (yeah)

and what you've done, you ain't got time to leave.

Nancy held out both arms, and hundreds in the audience sang the chorus, as Nancy and Joe swiveled their hips and waggled their arms and upper bodies, like teenagers in a school auditorium. A huge cheer sent the Vice President to Heaven.

Are you ready troops? Start walkin'!

Joe Biden watched the column of women walk past, and beamed as Nancy blew him a kiss over her shoulder.

Thousands of cheering troops stayed yelled and waving and shot pix and videos.

The music faded.

The applause grew deafening.

Nancy Bazooka stood in the center of her chorus line of dancers and the women held hands and took a long, deep bow, as the several thousand in the hall erupted and screamed and clapped. December and the other dancers blew kisses to the audience and smiled and ran off stage. Nancy Bazooka ran over to Joe Biden, and put her hands on his face and gave him a wet kiss across his cheek, leaving a red lipstick print.

* * *

"Nancy's a million dollars," said the Vice President, finishing a bottle of the President's personally-brewed beer, while the tall young man with early gray ate soup, and stared at Nixon's Ghost.

"Since I had to skip the USO show, it'd be great to see her perform in the East Room," said the President.

"And what is this party again, Sir?" asked the White House Chief of Staff, sitting between two Jewish Angels brothers who he could not actually see.

"Just take notes," said Biden, waving to the Secret Service. "I'll tell you both later."

"Excuse me, Sir," said the Vice President's deputy, "but are you simply drunk?"

"I'd rather have a bottle in front of him, then a frontal lobotomy," said the Angel, savoring the opportunity to crack the joke.

The President and Vice President erupted with laughter.

The Chiefs of Staff – watching the nation's two top elected officials looking enraptured by a discussion with empty chairs – compared notes, each page showing the title, "Lame Duck Masquerade Ball."

"Joe, why can't I make some decisions?" complained the President, as the Secret Service agent brought more coffee, beer, and soup.

"Plausible deniability," said Nixon's Ghost, seated in chair that appeared empty and drinking coffee in a cup he could not lift.

"Plausible deniability," repeated the Vice President, to his deputy. "Write that down."

The two Chiefs of Staff stared at one another.

"Wish I could drink some of that 44 brew," said Nixon's Ghost, watching Joe Biden open another bottle. "Last time I drank was the night before handing in the keys."

Once again, a cup of coffee began to drain, without being lifted from the table.

The two Chiefs of Staff watched the cup empty, and each wrote the image as a note.

"Why Bush 41 as the chair?" asked the President, while the Chiefs of Staff stared.

"Excuse me, Sir," said the White Huse Chief of Staff, "but you are recruiting President George Herbert Walker Bush? To do what?"

The President payed no attention to his deputy's question, while the Angel answered. "The organizing committee needs a leader – someone alive – who can swing the gavel and treat all the guests well," said Groucho.

"He's alive," said the President," to the Chief of Staff.

"... Uh...," responded the man in charge of the massive workforce serving the President.

"He gets some fun with the race with Mr. Roosevelt," added Nixon's Ghost.

"Franklin, not Teddy," said the Vice President, before turning to both confused deputies. "Write that down..., 'Wheelchair race.' "

Harpo honked, and finished his coffee.

"Great soup," added the President, starting a new cup.

* * *

The snow upon the Rose Garden again parted, and a flock of gargoyles landed, each carrying a dead president.

The current occupant of the White House crossed the parted waters, and welcomed a Federalist, an Anti-Federalist, the first Republican, the greatest Democrat, and the Kennedy brothers.

The chiefs of staff and a pair of Secret Service agents holding submachine guns stood dumfounded, as the President and Vice President gave hugs to ghosts only they could see.

* * *

"No matter how absurd," said Nixon's Ghost, holding the new President's hand with both of his own, "I am forever grateful to help the White House again do something great... even if my own job is to teach a frickin' clown how to ride a horse all the way to Washington."

"We'll make coffee and sandwiches for everyone on a horse," replied the tall, young President. "Committee members can bunk up on the Third Floor, and land by the solarium."

The two chiefs of staff stared at the nation's leader, talking to no one, promising food to horse riders and housing for ghosts.

"That's a great horse," said the Vice President, shaking hands with the crook who resigned from office months before Biden began his tenure in the Senate

"It's tough word to live up to," said the ghost. "Who remembers me starting the EPA?" Nixon's Ghost climbed the saddle on the gargoyle.

The Angel Harpo honked his horn, and the flock of gargoyles shot straight upward, leaving Nixon's Ghost and the unlatched saddle on the Rose Garden, left in the snow.

"I'm praying he leaves me here forever," begged the ghost, as the new leaders led two confused senior staffers back into the Oval Office.

A Jewish Angel blew smoke, and the saddle pulled Nixon's Ghost into the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Five – The Rough Start to Yuma

"Walking pace, I assume," said Major Rusty Chops, carrying a nearly-empty duffel bag.

Buck Rogers nodded, as he laid a thick felt blanket over the saddle pad on his red dun, Champ. One hand smoothed down the pad and the other rubbed Champ's neck and mane. "I'd be happy with 15, but we'll shoot for 20, cuz I grew up here and know most of the growers."

"Friends will let you ride their land?" said the Major.

"We're fine on food and water and where to put up for the night," said Buck, nodding, "and one of the moms is the advance person, so this'll be a Disneyland ride."

"Don't saddle me," said Rusty Chops. "Use the extra horse as a pack animal."

"You'll walk to Yuma?"

"It's just a march, but I'm probably not gonna stick with the whole slog," said the Major. "I set your cowboy straight on some things and so I've done my job." Rusty Chops stepped out of Buck's stall and walked past the adjacent stalls, each with a teenager grooming their horse, until he reached the last stall, where Larry was using a sponge to wet Carrot Cake's lips.

The horse was fidgeting.

"Morning, Councilman," said Major Rusty Chops.

Larry looked up, but said nothing, as one hand wetly sponged and the other patted the chestnut horse.

"Don't do that," said Rusty Chops.

"Excuse me?"

"What'cher doing," said the Major.

Larry ignored Rusty Chops and moved the sponge again from the bucket on the ground, up to Carrot Cake's face. As he sponged her cheeks, Larry again patted the horse's face.

"Horses don't like being patted," said Rusty Chops. "Rub or scratch or just talk to her."

Larry scowled, but stopped patting.

Carrot Cake let out words in a horse's language, but fidgeted less.

"An animal's not a car," said the Major.

"You're not the boss of me," said Larry, bringing the sponge up, just below the ears.

"And look her in the eyes," said Rusty Chops. "Let her know you're paying attention."

"Look, I am a little busy," said Larry.

"Did you talk to Sergeant Lewis?"

"She's a Lieutenant," shot back the Councilman, before quietly saying, "No."

"Don't tell her you saw me," said Rusty Chops. "She's probably looking."

"Why?" asked Larry, squeezing the sponge over the bucket. "Cuz you're full of shit?"

"You don't understand loyalty," said Rusty Chops. "After repeated against her own self, Lori Lewis still was ready to turn the other cheek, just to save someone else's career."

"Even if what you're saying is true, she doesn't owe Dick Bomber anything," said Larry, throwing the sponge into the bucket of water.

Carrot Cake backed away, knocking over the bucket with her hoof. Water spilled onto Larry's boots.

"Fuck!" said Larry, throwing his arms up and turning with frustration to Carrot Cake, who stayed back, her tail whipping against the stall.

"Hotheadedness is contagious," said Rusty Chops, calmly.

"Like I said, I'm busy," said Larry, turning to Carrot Cake, anger on his face.

"You should apologize," said Rusty Chops.

"To you?" said Larry. "For what?"

"To the animal."

"Apologize to a horse?"

"That's right," said the Major. "You just blew up in her face. She needs to see that you not some beast that she can't trust."

After staring wordlessly at the soldier, Larry turned and faced Carrot Cake. He put his hand out and approached the horse.

"She's not a dog," said Rusty. "She doesn't want to sniff your hand."

Larry jerked his hand back and flailed his arms. "Leave me alone!"

"Good luck," said Rusty Chops, who stepped out of the stall. "To the horse." Rusty made his way past the teenagers quietly saddling their horses, and heard Larry's voice.

"Hey, wait!" said Larry.

Whinnying was followed by heated words between a man and animal.

"Not looking good," said Rusty Chops, at at the mouth of Buck Rogers's stall.

"I give'm two days," said Buck, adjusting the front cinch on his saddle.

"Nice prayer words last night," said the soldier.

"I do cowboy preaching on the side," said Buck. "Weddings..., animal births."

"I'm gonna make my way back," said Rusty. "He's too hardheaded."

"Sorry to see you go," said Buck. "Would'a been nice to have another grown-up."

"Don't tell him," said Rusty. "Probably won't even notice."

* * *

"Okay, Councilman, everyone's...," said Buck, stepping into Larry's stall, as Maryann Moore saddled Carrot Cake, while Larry checked his iPhone. "What'cha doing, Double M?"

"Helping," said Maryann.

Buck smiled and silently motioned for her to leave, which she did with her own smile. Buck walked to Larry, and rested a hand lightly on Carrot Cake's neck. "Facebook? Or email?"

"Both," said Larry, not looking up from the wireless device.

"Nice work on your saddling," said Buck.

"Thanks," said Larry, absently, his eyes focused on the device in his hands.

"D'juh do that yerself?" asked Buck casually.

"Huh?" grunted Larry, not looking up. "Uh, yeh. I'm kind'a busy."

Buck got close to Carrot Cake, gently stroked her cheek, looked at her eyes, and smiled. "Me and the kids are waiting outside," said Buck, giving the horse a final stroke. "Finish yer jibber jabbering and walk Carrot Cake."

"Uh huh," said Larry, not looking up.

* * *

Nixon's Ghost, with a loud "whoop" that no one could hear, descended from the sky with a Jewish Angel, and landed on a ranch, where Buck Rogers, Maryann Moore, and the three Eagle Scouts – Oscar, Brent and Tommy – stood with their horses.

The teenagers hugged their parents and shook hands with the ranch owners.

Jeanine Howard and her two daughters looked with awe at all of the horses.

"Where's the frickin' clown?" demanded Nixon's Ghost, as he approached the Councilman's Chief of Staff, who could not see or hear the dead president or a honking Angel.

Rusty Chops stood next to the buckskin colt that the ranch owners had lent to the riders, now laden as a pack animal.

"Oh! Thank God!" yelled Larry, running from the stables, winded. "Oh no! Not him!"

Jeanine Howard groaned.

"Say, Councilman," said Buck Rogers. "Didn't you forget something?"

Larry looked around. Buck pointed to the horses.

"Get yer frickin' horse, Cowboy!" ordered the ghost.

Larry returned to the stables.

"This is where I say goodbye," said Major Rusty Chops, shaking hands with the Eagles, and Maryann Moore. "Good luck on the ride. Yer gonna need it."

"I would count it as a personal favor if you'd stay," said Buck, as the two shook hands. "I need someone on the trail who can put him in his place, when he does something dumb."

Rusty Chops grimaced.

"I need you," said Buck. "You got Army experience. Always good having a soldier."

"I'll yell at the clown all day," said the ghost, in an offer no one heard.

"Just today," said Major Rusty Chops.

A minute later, Larry and Carrot Cake emerged, the chestnut mare resisting. "Come on, you dumb horse!" said Larry.

"It's gonna be a long day," added the Major.

"Why couldn't I stay at the frickin' White House," groaned the ghost.

The Angel Harpo scowled, and honked a clear refusal of the ghost's prayer.

Buck walked to Larry and took hold of Carrot Cake's halter. "Everyone gets frustrated, Councilman, but it never helps to call an animal names."

Larry looked at the ghost. "Why don't you tell everyone how to be great," said the dork, smiling like someone sitting on top of a mountain.

"Not again," said Jeanine, holding her two children.

Buck gently stroked the chestnut mare's cheek.

"Let's take the girls on horseback!" exclaimed Larry van der Bix.

Jeanine's eyes widened.

No one bounced with joy.

Rutland and Ricky didn't raise their photographic equipment.

Larry looked like someone who spent 99-cent to buy a cheap grin.

Harpo honked his horn.

"Not a strong start, Councilman," said Buck.

"Do you want to sit on the cute horsey?" Larry asked the girls, leaning forward.

Neither daughter said yes.

"No means no," said Jeanine, vigorously shaking her head.

"Son of a bitch," observed the dead president.

"Councilman," said Buck, intervening, "Carrot Cake is the sweetest horse I have, but she is not happy this morning." Buck Rogers gently stroked her neck. "Take this down a notch."

"How 'bout it, girls?" said Larry, ignoring Buck and Jeanine. "Wanna ride the horsey?"

The girls looked up to their unhappy mother.

"Do I, Mommy?" asked one, in an uncertain voice.

"Maybe your mommy wants to be in the picture with you?" ingratiated Larry.

"No!" shot back Jeanine Howard. "Not happening!"

The Angel Harpo, in exaggerated western attire, began swinging a fist in a circle, for an exaggerated punch.

"Stop, Councilman!" commanded Major Rusty Chops, standing with the pack animal.

"If this gets us moving," said Buck, kneeling to the girls. "You can stand on my knee and put one foot in here." Buck pointed to the stirrup.

"Yer blowing it, Cowboy!" yelled Nixon's Ghost.

The girl looked confused.

"Watch me," said Buck Rogers, calmly drawing close to Carrot Cake. "Push with this leg and throw the other leg over the saddle." Buck placed a hand on the saddle and raised his left boot into the stirrup. In one motion, he rose his left leg and swung his right over the saddle. "Good horse, Carrot Cake." Buck stayed in position until the mare calmly accepted the presence of the human on her back. Buck swung himself off the chestnut mare, walked a few steps and smiled to Carrot Cake, rubbing the horse's neck. "You're such a good horse."

"Here," said Larry, and without warning grabbed a girl under the arms and lifted her.

"Don't do it!" demanded the ghost.

Jeanine's daughter shrieked, spooking Carrot Cake, who turned her head abruptly, knocking the girl's forehead into Buck's face.

"Larry!" screamed Jeanine.

The Angel Harpo steamed with fury.

Rutland shot images.

Despite the girl's kicking and Larry's struggle and the horse's braying, the child landed on the saddle, terror on her face.

Rutland continued shooting photos.

"Back off, Councilman!" ordered Buck.

Major Rusty Chops seized Larry by the shoulder.

Harpo flew to the dork and repeatedly pounded Larry with his circling fist.

"But... but... but...," said Larry, on each punch, struggling to break free from the Major.

"Maryann! Eagles! Help the child off Carrot Cake!" said Buck.

Major Rusty Chops sternly pulled Larry away from the horse, and the Angel Harpo continued smacking the dork who could not see him.

Maryann approached Carrot Cake from the front and spoke in soothing tones, as the three young men carefully lifted the scared child.

The Eagles set down the child, who ran to her mother.

As Rutland shot images, the mare jerked her head, knocking off Larry's hat.

"Stupid horse," Larry barked, while taking more smacks from the Angel.

Maryann held the horse's halter and talked soothingly to the animal.

"Councilman, think good on what I'm gonna ask," said Buck, eye-to-eye. "Is this how you wanna spend the next six months of your life?"

Larry didn't reply when the Major let go.

Within seconds, Larry bolted to Carrot Cake, lifted his boot into the stirrup and managed to throw himself into the saddle, as Rutland kept shooting pictures. As soon as Larry was on Carrot Cake's back, the horse whinnied and reared back, onto two legs.

Everyone scrambled from the horse.

Larry barely managed to hold the reigns in one hand and grip the saddle horn in another. His hat flew off as he screamed during the horse's violent upward jerking.

"It's over," said the dead president.

"Great shot!" said Justin.
Chapter Twenty-Six – Love and Hate at work

The Angel Chico – a black cat with a collar that read "Tuttsi Frutsi" – watched a beautiful young woman sewing.

December Carrera pulled a red fabric flower from her new sewing machine and tossed it onto a pile of two dozen ornamental faux blossoms resting in a Singer packing box, which had "Lucy the Dancing Unicorn" written in marker on the top flap. Bolts of fabric rested in the carton, with a UPS label and a packing slip. She grabbed the last piece of pre-cut fabric laying on the box, positioned it under the needle, and began converting the textile into a faux flower.

Her cell phone rang. December stopped stitching and pushed "speaker," setting the phone next to the sewing machine. "Hello, this is the Watergate," came a voice over the phone. "I am trying to reach Lori Lewis."

"She's my husband," said December, lifting up a bolt of fabric and trimming off a strip.

The cat played with the end of the fabric.

"We gotta adjust arrival and departure," said December, playing with the pussycat.

"With an unusual surge in bookings, that may be a problem," said the Watergate.

* * *

Lori Lewis sat at her desk, with Captain Dorsey Spaulding standing behind her.

A live FOX stream showed Senator Dick Bomber surrounded by veterans, with a graphic that read, "LIVE – Jacksonville, FL – Senator wants boots in Syria."

"Uth'uhs are chicken," taunted Dick Bomber, "but this old Marine knows that the reason we've got the greatest military in the history of the world is to use it, to get our way!"

"Bastard," said Lori Lewis.

"You are correct, Lieutenant," said Captain Spaulding, holding a briefcase. "Coming back in ten minutes, so I'm locking the front door."

After the Captain exited, Second Lieutenant Lori Lewis placed a call from her desk to the DoD Office of the Judge Adjutant General. After confirming her LAN-line, her name and rank, Lori scanned the CentCom roster of JAG staff. "Captain Gillie Ross, Gillie with a G," said Lori. After a minute on hold, the line got transferred.

"Ross," said a female voice.

"Gillie?" immediately replied Second Lieutenant Lori L Lewis.

* * *

"They told me," said Staff Sergeant Lewis, as a JAG defense attorney entered the Bagram interrogation room. "Thanks for getting the shackles off."

"You're the victim here," said the Captain, opening her attaché case and pulling out a plastic bag, a yellow legal pad, and a ballpoint pen. "I know you've been questioned non-stop, but I won't have access to your statements until decisions are made about any trial, so I need to walk through this horrible thing." The Captain moved the plastic bag to Lori.

Lori stared at the bag.

"A fresh top, socks, panties, sweats," said the female attorney, looking at Lori's bruises. "And... if you need help with them."

"I didn't tell them anything," said Lori, still looking at the bag. "Thanks."

"You don't have to tell me anything either, if you're still unsure who I'm working for," said the Captain.

Lori looked at the officer and stayed silent for several minutes.

"We don't have to talk," said the Captain, as she put the pad and pen into her attaché. "They can't enter without my permission, so maybe I can just buy you some space."

"What's your name?" asked Lori.

"What?" asked the Captain.

"It's not 'Captain.' "

"Gillie Ross."

"Like, Jill?"

"With a 'G' and an 'ie' at the end," said the attorney. "No idea why my folks chose it."

"Gillie Ross," said Lori. "You can't guess my middle name."

"It's an 'L' but there's no period," said Gillie Ross.

"No one knows."

"Even with the coverage from the Summer Games in London?"

"I've never told anyone, not even the person I'm seeing," said Lori. "Only my best friend knows."

"You don't have to tell me."

"Lambchop," said Lori, after another minute of silence. "The puppet? The little sheep?"

The attorney nodded.

"My mom loved Lambchop and told dad she wanted Lambchop as my middle name."

Gillie Ross smiled and kept listening.

"But my dad told mom, 'Okay, she can have an 'L' but we can't name a kid, Lambchop." Lori teared up.

"Lori Lambchop Lewis," said Gillie Ross, gently.

"Better not tell anyone, or I'll know it was you," said Lori. "My friend, Larry, always promised not to tell anyone."

"It's our secret."

* * *

The Angel Chico purred and sat beside December, as she used a straight pin to tack a blue fabric flower onto the long, thin sash that flowed down from the sewing table, across her lap and onto to the floor. She pulled a threaded needle from a pin cushion on the sewing table and stitched the blossom onto the sash, which was already lined with colorful flowers.

The black cat played with a string.

"Finally!" she said, snipping the thread, putting the needle back in the pin cushion and tying off and trimming the loose threads. She tossed the flower-lined sash into the Singer packing carton and lifted a straw hat from atop a Styrofoam head that bore a wig of vibrant red curled hair. December picked up a pair of scissors from the sewing table and cut a large hole in the hat, snipping along one of three blue circles drawn in marker on the underside of the brim.

The cat again clung a paw to a string, as December dials "my baby."

"Lambchop'll love Lucy the Dancing Unicorn," she purred, while petting the cat.

* * *

"This obviously isn't a chit-chat call, Sergeant," said Captain Gillie Ross.

"Actually, Lieutenant," said Lori Lewis, "working for new the CentComm chief."

"The Fixer?" asked the attorney.

"I need your help," said Lori. "The bastard's beating me up cuz he'll run for president."

"I know," said Captain Gillie Ross. "Everybody knows. The whole world."

* * *

Gillie Ross sat on one end of a steel bunk in a detention cell at Bagram and pulled out her legal pad, while Lori Lewis sat at the other end of the bunk, in the Lotus position.

"Where's the belt?" asked Ross.

"Ask my unit commander," said Lori.

"Major Chops doesn't have it," said the lawyer.

"He took it after the attack cuz it was stained with blood," said Lori.

"Evidence went up the Chain," said Ross.

The guard outside Lori's cell called out, "A-tennn-SHUN," and unlocked the cell door.

Captain Gillie Ross jumped up. "This attorney-client private meeting is.... My God." The Captain stood at attention for a Lieutenant General and Brigadier General at the cell door. The two men entered.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain," said the Three-Star, "but the Sergeant is to be released to my care."

"Excuse me, Sir?" said the Captain.

The One-Star handed the Captain a single sheet, which she read, and showed to Lori, who glanced without breaking her Lotus position.

"What about charges?" asked Gillie Ross, as the One-Star snatched back the paper.

"No charges will be filed," said the Three-Star. "If the Sergeant wishes to pursue the matter in civilian court, that's her call."

Lori Lewis maintained the Lotus position, watching the exchange.

"What about the Congressman?" asked Captain Gillie Ross.

"He flies out with other Members after a USO show," said the Three-Star.

"So it's like nothing happened?" asked Ross.

"That's correct, Captain."

"If no charges are filed and 'it's like nothing happened,' is the Sergeant free to leave with me right now?" asked the Captain.

"As you read, she's detailed to CentCom AXDC until her unit is reorganized," said the Three-Star.

"That's your office," said Gillie Ross.

"Correct, Captain," said Central Command's Assistant Executive Deputy Commander Allen Goodwrench. "We depart for Florida after the USO show, by hitching a ride with some big cheeses flying in."

"Do I perform hand-to-hand today with my unit?" asked Lori Lewis, maintaining Lotus.

"I don't see that happening, Sergeant," said the One-Star.

"That's up to you," said the Three-Star. "Frankly, you'd open serious wounds just to demonstrate full-engagement combative exercise."

"Maybe I can beat him up again," said Lori.

"It's been 18 hours since you were assaulted, Sergeant," said the Three-Star. "No one wants Nancy Bazooka and her dancers slipping on a puddle of blood."

"Someone finally admits I was the one who got attacked," said Lori Lewis, "but I want to be with my unit."

"The unit commander is gone and enlisted personnel are reassigned," said the Three-Star. "Captain, thank you, but this situation is resolved."

Gillie Ross looked stiffly at the two generals.

"As in, 'fixed,' Captain," said the One-Star. "Over. Done. No comment to anyone."

The Captain stood, opened her attaché, stowed her pad and turned to Lori Lewis, who rose from the Lotus position and reached out to Gillie Ross. The women hugged, until Lori grimaced in pain. "Take care of yourself, Sergeant." The Captain left a business card, walked past the General Staff officers, and exited the cell.

"Let's go, Sergeant," said the Three-Star, pointing to the plastic bag, "unless you need some immediate privacy."

Lori Lewis grabbed the bag of fresh clothes and followed the officers, out of detention.

* * *

December sorted through her wide lingerie drawer, bringing out bras, panties, nighties, garters and stockings, a corset and a conservative nightshirt adorned with a delicate pattern of roses. She set them on the bed, alongside a white blouse and skirt, tops, a pair of very short shorts, several pair of pants in different colors, a sweater, two bikinis, a black dress, leggings, a raincoat, a pair of boots, a pair of heels, a pair of flats and a faux fur coat.

Her cell rang. "Hey, Baby," she said, putting Lori on speaker. "Practicing my packing." She pet the pussycat. "We leave in two weeks, you know."

"Good news," said Lori. "The Captain gave me a pass for Friday and Monday, so we don't have to rush the flights."

"Rearrange it again?" asked December, standing in her bra and panties.

"Thumbs up, Pumpkin."

The cat watched the nearly-naked woman talk on the phone.

"You're a good husband," said December, standing in front of a mirror and studying a tiny-but-visible bump rising from her belly. "Our costume fits in one case with whatever you bring and my stuff fills the other."

"It's only three nights," said Lori.

"And four days," corrected December, rubbing her belly. "It'll be a trip we never forget."

* * *

The black cat laid on his back, on the couple's bed, as December called her travel agent.

"I need to adjust Florida-to-Washington flights, one night to three, for a different hotel," said December, looking at her notes. The travel agent put December on hold.

The cat stretched in the warm Florida sun.

"Another call, Pussy," said December, pressing "accept" for "d.c. marriage office." She grabbed a pen. "I paid the fee and provided the IDs, but can I move the appointment to January 20, two weeks from now?"
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Starting the Long Slog

"Isn't a whole lot here," said Larry, as he rode next to Buck Rogers.

"There's more to the desert then what see," said Buck.

Maryann Moore paid little attention to the politician on one side, or the cowboy preacher next to him, or to her three gay friends riding leading the pack.

Major Rusty Chops, dressed in fatigues, with a sombrero to guard against the mid-day sun as the only non-government-issue item he wore. The Major, on foot, saw the eight riders slowly move across the sand, but let his horse stop, and the animal released a stream of dark yellow, almost green urine.

"Can't the horse do that without stopping?" said Larry.

"Can you?" asked Buck.

"Good one," said Maryann.

* * *

George Herbert Walker Bush – the son of a New England Senator and the only president born between two world wars – gave a weak smile to the tall, thin, bashing, young Black man, dressed immaculately with a Flag clipped to his label.

Vice President Joe Biden warmly smiled to Mr. Reagan's successor, as the three met in the warm, humid Palm Room, with white lattice woodwork, modest benches, and potted plants. The now disabled man who entertained his grandchildren with long walks that started and finished in the Palm Room gazed to ovular-shaped paintings of Liberty and Union.

"We, uh, have an important job for you," said the President, as Joe Biden took rolled the 41st president's chair, through a pair of French doors, onto the West Colonnade, where the last man to a win a war looked out to the Washington Monument, funded by Dolly Madison.

* * *

"When do we stop?" asked Larry, wiping his forehead with a bandana.

"You went on road trips as a kid, right?" asked Buck.

"W'ull, yeh," said Larry, "but not on horses!"

"When the car stopped, was it in-'n-out, done in two minutes?"

"Not when we stopped," said Larry.

"Now look around," said Buck, motioning to the desert. "Do you see anything green?"

"No."

"Any water?"

"No."

"Very observant, Councilman," said Buck, rocking methodically on the saddle. "We left the ranch three hours ago, after the horses were fed and watered." Buck Rogers waved his arm. "We stop if there's a patch to graze or when water's available. Otherwise, we catch up with our advance person." Buck turned to the rider beside him. "Maryann, where's your mom?"

"Arnulfo Garcia's farm."

"Haven't seen Arnulfo in decades," said Buck. "Probably harvesting his Satsuma trees." Buck looked around to get a bearing. "We'll make the Garcia farm in a couple hours."

"Not until then!" cried Larry.

"Are you thirsty, Councilman?" replied Buck. "Need to go pee-pee or do-do?"

"Tired of the saddle, but since you mention peeing," said Larry.

"Can't you do that without stopping?" asked Buck.

Maryann laughed.

* * *

"Sounds crazy, I know," said the President, rising from a sofa in the Oval Office, and swinging open the hidden door guarded by Mr. Lincoln.

Vice President Joe Biden wheeled Bush 41 through the passage, into the adjacent corridor, directly across to the wide oak door of the Roosevelt Room, which the President also swung open.

"He's not gonna believe this shit," muttered Nixon's Ghost, following the trio into the conference room, with its faint-pinkish-yellow walls and sharp-white trim, and dominated by an ornate light-brown conference table, with 16 chairs, all surrounded by flags, paintings, and an elegant Japanese-style television credenza.

The Angel Groucho descended from the false skylight of Theodore Roosevelt's personal office, and floated to the table, where the Vice President had rolled Bush 41 to the spot nearest the fireplace, with the painting above, of the nation's youngest president, riding a horse.

"Big job, and, uh, you know about plausible deniability," said the President, who nodded to Joe Biden, chuckled, and left the two men with a ghost and Angel.

"We need you," said Vice President Biden. "You're the last guy who everyone liked."

"The blabbering in the Oval Office sounded like a Marx Brothers movie," said Bush 41.

"You bet your life," stated the Angel Groucho, magically appearing in a puff of smoke.

"Boo, George!" said Nixon's Ghost, who the disabled man could now see. "Guess who gets to haunt this place again?"

"Sweet Jesus," gasped Bush 41.

"Even a Jewish Angel knows that secret word," said Groucho, as a duck lowered a prize, "so instead of a hundred dollars, you can sky dive on a gargoyle."

The man in the wheelchair whose current ability principally allows him to choose socks grasped his face vigorously, and, straightening in his chair, laughed, and stood upright.

"We need a great Chair," said Joe Biden.

"If you take the job," said Groucho, "this ghost can resign again."

"I'm beggin' ya, George," said Nixon's Ghost. "Yer my way out of Limbo."

"I can hand my keys to Spiro Agnew and my brothers can join me," said the Angel. "Everybody gets a great job, starting with you."

"All of us need you, Mister President," said Vice President Joseph F. Biden, Jr.

The laughing man no longer in a wheelchair looked around, and nodded.

* * *

Larry walked in front of Carrot Cake, leading her by the reigns.

Buck and Maryann did the same with their horses, as did the Eagles and Rusty Chops.

"Aren't we supposed to ride horses?" said Larry.

"We rely on our animals and they rely on us," said Buck. "They need a break, too."

"But it's hot," said Larry.

"Councilman, it's 70; weather as beautiful as you get for a ride," said Buck, laughing. "In six months, it'll be 110."

"How long before we get to where ever we're going?" said Larry.

"Really, dude," said the freckled teenager.

"Maryann, what's our ETA?" asked Buck.

Maryann Moore held the reigns to her horse – Moore Mellow – in one hand, and navigated her smart phone with the other. "Like, one point two miles."

"Half an hour, Councilman," said Buck. "Maybe forty minutes, if you go pee-pee."

The three Eagle Scouts laughed.

"And we're done for the day?" said Larry.

"Half done," said Buck. "This is the first ten miles of the first day."

"Half!" shot back the dork.

"We'll feed and water the horses, eat lunch, and aim to make ten miles before nightfall."

"Mister, you care too much about timne," said Maryann.

"Huh?" said Larry.

"Time shouldn't matter when yer riding," said Maryann, pocketing her phone.

"Better learn from a good rider, Councilman," said Buck.

* * *

"Ya might think differently when ya actually see this Bozo," said Nixon's Ghost, hovering over the conference table of the Roosevelt Room. "I gotta teach a frickin' clown."

"Plenty of clowns in politics," said Bush 41, now on his feet.

"Only bad ones are clowns," observed the Angel. "Great ones become comedians."

"My son's good at making people laugh," said Bush 41.

"We know what his masquerade costume will be," chuckled Nixon's Ghost.

"Bozo's riding a frickin' horse across America," said Nixon's Ghost, "as though can possibly learn the meaning of greatness."

"And we're throwing a party in two weeks?" said the gentleman from Kennebunkport.

"The only way to make a nation great is to work together," said the Angel Groucho. "Parties rise and fall, like the Federalists and the Whigs, but shaking hands starts by listening, even if one pursues an utterly absurd goal."

"I was thinking of it, walking down the hall," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Or floating," said the Vice President.

"About parties rising and falling, like 1974?" asked Bush 41.

"I was comparing it to some of the great houses of the world," said the ghost, resigned, in words, to bring himself to tears. "This isn't the biggest... or the finest... but this is the best house."

George Herbert Walker Bush looked at his watch.

"This house has a great heart, and that heart comes from those we serve," continued the crook whose impeachment passed unanimously in the House Judiciary Committee.

"I always get a lift," said the ghost. "I might be a little down, but we can smile today."

"We can't do this in two weeks," interrupted Bush 41.

"You have as much time as you need," said the Angel, assigned to run a realm that the German ex-Pope declared no longer exists. "In Limbo, a minute can be a century."

* * *

"There, Councilman," said Buck Rogers, pointing to a grove of Satsuma trees and willows that surrounded a modest farmhouse and barn. "A few minutes and we're there."

"Thank God," said Larry.

"I'm sure He'd say, 'Yer welcome,' Councilman," said the cowboy preacher.

* * *

"Who else serves on this committee?" asked the new Chairman, doing knee bends at the fireplace of the Roosevelt Room.

"Let's fill the table," said Joe Biden, motioning to the 16 chairs.

"Don't ask me for the names," said the Jewish Angel, "and since my Boss is omnipotent, He already knows who you'll choose for the list."

"You and the President," said Nixon's Ghost, looking to the current Number Two.

"Me and you leaves a dozen," said Bush 41, looking at the ghost.

"Let's divvy it up," said Joe Biden.

"Parties love to run parties," said the Angel. "Maybe you'll be greater than Freedonia."

"There's the Federalists," began Nixon's Ghost, "so Washington or Adams, one of 'em."

"Jefferson and Madison went the other direction, but can ditch the Founders," said the Vice President.

"Monroe had it easy, since the rich sold America short and dissolved the Federalists," said Bush 41. "His 'Era of Good Feelings' is the easy way to forget treason."

"After getting robbed, General Jackson's new party shaped your Southern Strategy," observed Joe Biden, staring at Nixon.

"Politics may be a game, but it's a tough one," said the ghost, as the door opened.

The current President led several senior staffers into the room that appeared to have the Vice President and George Herbert Walker Bush each chatting in opposite directions.

"Oh, forgot," said the President. "Plausible deniability." The tall, dashing man turned, taking his confused staffers with him, and closed the door.

"So ya doing the Twenty Dollar Bill, or what?" grumbled Nixon's Ghost.

"I don't want an Indian killer to throw another party," said the Vice President, who caught guff for embracing the marriage of gays and lesbians. "We need love, not hate."

"There's the Whigs," said the Chairman.

"Aside from money, they stood for nothing," muttered Nixon's Ghost.

"Sounds like that rich guy in New York," replied Joe Biden. "With hair like that, the only party he could lead are the wigs."

"That's not how you spell 'Whig,' " replied George Herbert Walker Bush. "Skip them, since the rich didn't get predictable wins until Mr. Lincoln gave birth to his Grand Old Party."

"Lincoln's obvious, but if we're ditching the Indian Killer as Democratic team captain, it's gotta be FDR leading my team," said Joe Biden. "He's gotta take a chair."

"He can have mine," smiled the Chairman, who, as president, was the last political player to bring both teams together, through bipartisan passage for the Americans with Disabilities Act.

"Piece'a cake to pick a dirty dozen," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Doing a great show requires a great star," said the Angel Groucho.

"I worked for a star," said the Chairman. "We can find agreement to fill the chairs."

"Write your list and my brother can bring 'em in a snap," said the Angel.

* * *

"Arnulfo!" said Buck Rogers, offering a hand, while walking Champ to a corral. "Thanks for inviting us for lunch. Got some people I want you to meet."

While Buck introduced the Eagles, Maryann, and the Major to the farmer, Mrs. Moore jumped out of her Ford F-350 and headed straight to Larry, who quivered.

"You better do what I told you," said Mrs. Moore. "And what did I tell you?"

"Um, uh... don't touch the kids," stuttered Larry, beginning to flail.

"My daughter's not a kid, and you'll never get away with stupid and evil shit," barked the group's advance person, who climbed back into her vehicle, and left on her advance work.

* * *

"Arnulfo, this Councilman is either brave or crazy, but I can't tell which," said Buck, as everyone ate sandwiches and fruit at the common table.

"He's crazy enough to be brave," said Major Rusty Chops, "helping out his best friend."

"But he ain't brave enough to be smart," replied Buck Rogers.

"Ain't isn't a word," arrogantly stated the dork, mayonnaise smeared across his lips.

"What language did you learn?" asked Maryann.

"Well, the animals are watered and fed," said Buck, "so let's start moving."

"Afternoon snacks," said Arnulfo, pointed to seven sacks of Satsuma tangerines.

"Day one, part two," said the Major.

"Washington feels like another planet," said Buck.

* * *

Ghosts and Angels descended from Heaven, atop gargoyles that blazed like comets.

An old man no longer bound to a wheelchair stood just outside the Palm Room, next to the tall young Black man now living in the White House, and his Vice President, as all watched the sky open, and snowflakes gleam, as the gargoyles landed on the Rose Garden.

Like skilled rodeo riders, the 40th president – whose favorite vacation was to ride a horse beside his wife – waved a cowboy hat with one hand, and held a tight grip with the other.

Cheers and applause from the current occupant of the White House, his Vice President, George Herbert Walker Bush, and Nixon's Ghost erupted like troops at a USO show.

Groucho glowed at the audience applause.

"Well," said Mr. Reagan, gleaming, "here we go again."

Presidents – three "great," and others no so; each known from paintings or history books – climbed off the beasts carved from stone, and brushed away snowflakes.

"This may even be great," gleamed Nixon's Ghost.

* * *

"Ever seen that dark a green?" asked Brent, standing under the sole tree of an otherwise bare desert, watching Oscar's horse urinate twenty feet away.

"I know, right?" said Tommy, looking at the puddle below Oscar's horse.

"Munchkin's is almost always green," said Oscar.

"Must be the farmers market stuff you feed her," said Maryann.

"Maybe," said Oscar. "What about Moore Mellow's?"

"Mostly dark yellow," said Maryann. "Like really dark."

Larry van der Bix, standing under the tree but paying no attention to others, held his smart phone close to his face.

"How far from your mom, Em?" asked Tommy.

Maryann slid her iPhone from her pocket, looked at it for a moment and slid it back. "No service."

"T-Mobile is up," said Larry, not looking up from his wireless device.

"We're Verizon," said Tommy, drawing grunts from the other Eagles and Maryann.

"So, Councilman," said Major Rusty Chops, approaching the only shade of the area, "you spend big money for Buck and horses and equipment, but now that you're on the trail, email is how you spend your time?"

"I'm not checking email," said Larry looked up. "I'm posting images on Facebook."

"Why're you even making this trip, Councilman?" asked the soldier.

"You're not the boss of me," again declared Larry.

* * *

The Roosevelt Room door swung open, and the Vice President signaled the 'go-ahead' to the President, standing just across, at the Oval Office door. The tall young man rushed half a dozen ghosts across the corridor, and ran after the dead presidents.

"Mr. President!" came the voice of the White House Chief of Staff, who ran up to the Roosevelt Room, just as his boss swiftly closing the door.

"Well," said Ronald Reagan, "looks a little different, but even Heaven can't compete."

George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Franklin Roosevelt took chairs at the conference table, while three Anti-Federalists opened a Japanese-style credenza, and appeared confused about a television.

"My private office is completely different," said Theodore Roosevelt, gazing at the painting above the fireplace, "but there's no place like home."

"We actually did overcome," said the Texan shaking hands with the new President – a southerner who no one expected to secure the bipartisan votes needed for the Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights Act, MediCare, and the Fair Housing Act.

The current occupant of the White House smiled, as the military general who started the Democratic Party appeared stunned to see a tall Black man standing inside the doorway.

* * *

"Maryann, how far from your Mom?" asked Buck, as Larry and the Eagles rode ahead, following Rusty Chops, who led the buckskin colt pack animal by the reigns.

"Another three miles," said Maryann, checking her GPS. "Three point one."

"We took too long getting out of Arnulfo's," said Buck. "We don't have but an hour before sunset."

"Pick up the pace?" asked Maryann.

"Tell 'em!" said Buck, who watched the teenager trot to Larry, the Eagles, and the Major.

Buck got Champ alongside Rusty Chops. "Major, we're gonna have to make three miles fast, or we'll have seven horses on the road when the sun sets."

"That won't work," said the Major.

* * *

"The best party in politics is no party," said the first president, sitting at the head of the conference table, his face turned away from the other ghosts.

"It may not be the party you like," said the man who bought ten states with a single purchase, "but it still can amount to something great."

"I've got the two Roosevelts, before Mr. Lincoln and the general," said the Chairman, lightly tapping a gavel.

James Madison took notes.

* * *

"Oscar, can you lead the colt, while the Major rides with me on Champ?"

"Sure," said the teen.

"I can go bareback on the pack animal," said Major Rusty Chops. "There's not on the animal and halter and reigns are all I need."

"You sure, Major?" asked Buck.

"The bags are light and the colt's carrying no saddle weight," said the soldier.

"Okay," said Buck, pointing to the Eagles. "Oscar, Brent, give the Major a hand up."

The teens dismounted and gave Rusty Chops a boost onto the buckskin's back and then each remounted.

Buck twisted on his horse and faced Larry. "We're bumping up the pace, Councilman, so hold on to your hat." Buck pointed to Maryann. "Double M, keep us moving, as point!"

"Got it, Buck!" said Maryann, letting out, "H'yah," sending her mare into a light trot.

Larry watched others bring their horses to a trot, as Carrot Cake kept up a walking pace.

"Come on, Councilman!" yelled one of the Eagles.

* * *

The Chairman again tapped his gavel.

"We need more votes, but not him," barked a wavy-haired general who won a battle in New Orleans, before forming a party for voters who did not elect Mr. Lincoln.

"If I'm two-faced," said the tall man with a tall top hat, "why would I choose this one?"

James Madison put down his pencil. "We can count chairs, and choose by secret vote."

"Strong minds can find strong agreements," said LBJ, who did more in two years than most achieve in two terms.

"I'm, uh, sure you'll, um, figure this out," said the President, who gave deference to the Chairman and exited the Roosevelt Room, pulling the door closed.

George Herbert Walker Bush smiled to Joe Biden.

* * *

"How come they left us?" said Larry, as Buck rode alongside, keeping Champ in a trot.

"We really need to pick up our pace, Councilman," replied Buck Rogers.

"Yeh, but why'd they...?"

Buck used the reigns to lightly slap each side of Champ's neck. "The horses' eyes don't adjust well to changes in light," said Buck. "We can't have a whole party out when the sun sets, so someone had to stay with you."

"What happens when it gets dark," said Larry, looking to the setting sun.

"We'll camp for the night," said Buck.
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Playing Catch-Up

"Twenty miles a day is optimistic," said Buck Rogers, leading Champ by the reigns. "And if we make it to Yuma, Lisa Steel ain't gonna wait."

"I still don't get why us two camped out last night," said Larry, leading Carrot Cake.

"Using time matters," said Buck, as he walked in the early morning light.

"How come everyone else got a bed?"

"Horses don't see good when the sun sets, Councilman, like I told you a hundred times," said Buck. "And since you got a 'trust thing' going on, Carrot Cake didn't pick up the pace." When Buck and Larry came to a fork in the highway, Buck looked at the scenery and pointed to the right. "We're ain't walking a horse at night and get bit by a rattler or scorpion."

" 'Ain't' isn't a word," repeated the dork.

"Neither is 'smart,' cuz that's a judgement call," said Buck Rogers.

* * *

"Since time means nothing in Limbo, you've got all you need to make this great," said the Angel Groucho, relaxing in the Oval Office. "People can book rooms any time, but a party becomes just a memory."

"Couldn't tell the kids why they couldn't play music on the Third Floor of the Main Residence," said the President.

"Washington is on board, but neither Adams is interested," said the Chairman, looking to handwritten notes on Resolute, while the White House Chief of Staff looked confused.

The Vice President, in a chair at the President's desk, motioned to his own Chief of Staff to take notes.

"When I talked about the frickin' Bozo, Ron and Teddy demanded to ride some ponies," said Nixon's Ghost. "So did Jackson, but he got voted off the island."

"McKinley turned Teddy down, so Calvin Coolidge was the consensus on the last chair," said Mr. Bush, studying his notes.

"Don't forget Woodrow, Harry, and Kennedy," said Biden, impatiently again motioning to his Chief of Staff to continue taking notes

The Vice President's principal deputy stared at her notes.

* * *

"Hey, Buck," said Maryann Moore, on her horse, at the entrance to the Big Gama Farms, under the shade of a willow tree. Tommy, Brent and Oscar sat on their horses and Major Rusty Chops, still in fatigues and boots, stood alongside the buckskin colt. "Horses are fed and groomed. We're ready to move."

"You and me just got here, Councilman, but we've been on the road for less than an hour, so unless you want to lose the whole morning, we keep going," said Buck Rogers.

"Aw, man," said Larry. "You mean we can't stop?"

"You want to be everywhere," said Rusty Chops, "except where you actually are."

* * *

"We're not doing press out here, are we, Sir?" asked the White House Chief of Staff, standing with the President and Vice President, in the Rose Garden, both flaked with snow.

Nixon's Ghost sat atop a gargoyle, alongside another being ridden by the Angel Harpo, dressed in exaggerated western attire and massive hat.

"Every Republican would love seeing you ride together," said Joe Biden, to Mr. Reagan and Theodore Roosevelt, each sitting atop a gargoyle.

"A warm smile win hearts on both sides," replied Mr. Reagan.

Lyndon Johnson laughed, and climbed onto a gargoyle.

"Thank you, Sir," said the President, nodding to the Texan who sought a Great Society. "You changed this imperfect Union."

"Excuse me, Mr. President?" said the White House Chief of Staff, who could not see an Angel or ghosts chatting and shaking hands on the Rose Garden.

* * *

"Oh, uh, hi, Mrs. Moore," said Larry, walking Carrot Cake past Maryann's mom, as the riders came into Red Rock Ranch an hour before sunset.

"Two more days to Yuma, Councilman," said the woman, "and I'm watching you."

"Right, um, yeh," said Larry, walking past. "Pretty lucky... having you around."

"Mom, I beat Buck three-outta-three racing today!" came the excited teenaged voice of Maryann Moore, behind Larry. "Totally whipped his butt!"

"That's nice, dear," said Mrs. Moore. "Congratulations."

"Looks like some TV thing going on," said Rusty Chops, leading the buckskin colt and pointing towards the farm house, where a FOX news van was parked. "My bet it's something to do with you, Councilman."

* * *

"There's the son of a bitch," said Nixon's Ghost, as the Angel Harpo led the charge of gargoyles, straight down to a farm in the desert.

Ronald Reagan and Lyndon Johnson raced straight down.

"As though they're riding a horse," muttered Nixon's Ghost.

Theodore Roosevelt and James Monroe looked to each other, and plunged at full speed.

Harpo honked the horn mounted to his enormous cowboy hat.

* * *

"For your interview, Councilman," said Maryann Moore, offering Larry a piece of cardboard bearing the hand-lettered words, "Leave Lori Lewis Alone," and a thin snapped-off branch taped to the back to hold up the sign.

* * *

"He's actually getting warm and fuzzy press," said Nixon's Ghost, leading the other four presidents to the FOX news van parked outside a farm house.

"Animals are good press," said Lyndon Baines Johnson, whose dogs yelped on camera.

"The best TV is on a horse," said Mr. Reagan, walking to calm Carrot Cake.

Larry, no longer being jostled by the mare, smiled, as the camera shot a close-up of the hand-lettered sign.

"Even clown need the press," said the ghost who maintained a secret enemies list.

* * *

"Jeanine?" said Larry, as he held his phone in one hand while using a curry comb on Carrot Cake. "Oh, you saw the FOX piece?"

"You're catching shit," said Jeanine Howard. "Furious constituents call every day."

Carrot Cake spoke up, as Larry got too close to her ear with the curry comb.

"Being thrown is a solid lesson," said Lyndon Johnson, the Texan whose escape from the White House came with a saddle and BBQ.

The mare whinnied to the ghosts.

"This stupid horse!" shouted Larry, digging the comb deeply in small circles on the mare's neck and withers. "I'm wrapping this up in Yuma."

"He isn't learning shit," said Nixon's Ghost. "Could hit 'near-great' with a bomb."

"Probably thinks 'great' ain't a word," said the Texan, whose own escalation of war in Vietnam turned Cambodia into a target for a sustained secret bombing.

"And you got an invitation from the White House," said Jeanine Howard.

"Who cares?" said Larry.

"So I don't RSVP to the Office of the Vice President?" asked the Chief of Staff.

"It's Joe's thing," said Nixon's Ghost, rushing up to the dork. "Don't be a fool!"

Carrot Cake again whinnied and reared up, knocking Larry off balance, and sending both the curry comb and iPhone flying. The comb landed in a pile of hay. The wireless device splashed into a pile of manure, audibly frying. "Fuck, now I lost my phone!" Larry carefully lifted the shit-soaked device.

"He's not the kid who smiled shoveling manure," said Mr. Reagan, moving with Teddy Roosevelt to sooth the mare.

Carrot Cake rubbed lightly into the ghost's hand, as Major Rusty Chops quietly stood at the entrance to the stall, while Larry ran a dandy brush. The Major could not see ghosts.

"Two more days til Yuma," said Larry, "and now my iPhone is dead." Larry used his free hand to stroke the area he brushed.

"Frickin' invite from the White House and he drops the football," said Nixon's Ghost.

The horse let out soft words.

"So let's make a couple days, and we'll head home," said Larry.

The chestnut mare used her lips to knock off Larry's hat, as he stepped closer to her face.
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Party in Yuma

Jeanine Howard sat in Larry van der Bix's city council office, starting Monday morning by opening a large White House envelope addressed to the Councilman, with "Cowboy" written in pen over the name.

On the big screen television, FOX teased by showing Larry on horseback, with a posse of teenagers and a middle-aged cowboy on horseback, and a scroll running, "Live from Yuma, Arizona...."

"We're doomed," said Jeanine, as she put the White House envelope on top of the binder with the Tuesday agenda, and watched Larry, holding a small handmade sign that read, "Leave Lori Lewis Alone." Behind him, the other riders also held handmade signs, each on a different subject.

"And in Arizona, one anti-politician is taking his beef with Washington on the road... literally," intoned the anchor. "FOX's Candy Bear reports."

Jeanine pushed "record" on the remote, as her staffer, Rutland Judd, entered, carrying two to-go cups. Rutland traded one cup for the envelope from the White House.

"Councilman Larry van der Bix has choice words for politicians in Washington – exactly four," said the FOX reporter, dressed in a crisp Western shirt, bolo tie and white cowboy hat and standing on a ladder next to Larry's horse.

"Leave Lori Lewis alone," said Larry, sitting on a chestnut horse, as he jerked a cardboard sign with those words hand-written in marker. The horse whinnied.

"Frickin' clown," groaned Nixon's Ghost, sitting beside Ronald Reagan and Theodore Roosevelt, each on a gargoyle.

In Long Beach City Hall, sitting at the cherry wood conference table in the Councilman's office, Jeanine muttered. "We're doomed."

"This is an invite for a masquerade ball," said Rutland, closely reading the invitation. "First-ever!"

"I got one, too," said Jeanine, her eyes locked on FOX.

"Larry van der Bix, who took office weeks ago as a first-term councilmember in Long Beach, California, is mad that his childhood best friend – the lesbian Army soldier and Olympian Lori Lewis – is being dragged into the culture wars of the 2016 presidential campaign."

"Can I go to this masquerade ball?" asked Rutland. "This is a perfect photo shoot."

Jeanine stayed locked on FOX.

"So Larry left his comfortable chair and a seaside penthouse to ride across America on horseback," said Candy Bear, smirking. "And what does Larry hope will come about from his long ride?"

"People leave Lori alone," rephrased the dork, his absurd face framed in a tight close-up.

"Absolutely doomed," repeated Jeanine Howard.

"Found BBQ," said Lyndon Johnson, floating toward the three ghosts on gargoyles.

The reporter closed in. "Are constituents happy you've ditched 'em for a long horseback ride?" asked Candy, aiming a microphone at Larry.

"They're mad," said Larry. "Me, too."

"He'll go far on this show," observed Mr. Reagan, watching the camera.

"I won't," replied Nixon's Ghost. "I'll be stuck with Spiro, in frickin' Limbo."

FOX kept rolling.

"Lewis won five Olympic medals, but is embroiled in controversy over a marriage to a webcam stripper performed at an air base in Afghanistan," said Candy Bear, smiling to Larry, who quivered back. "Dick Bomber escalated his attacks, just as his independent campaign for president has picked up steam." The reporter turned to the camera. "Here's the Senator, attacking the General who now is running America's Central Command."

The camera crew signaled a pause on the live feed.

LBJ smeared BBQ on his face and watched the TV reporter check her face with a pocket mirror. "The horse of hatred seldom wins a national victory," said the Texan, who soundly trounced an opponent locked in a race based on hate and fear.

In Larry's office, Jeanine Howard watched as FOX News cut to an earlier clip, of Dick Bomber, outside the confirmation hearing of General Allen Goodwrench, steaming with fury.

During the stream of previous footage, Candy Bear motioned to the horseback riders behind Larry.

The FOX crew shifted the Marian tripods, for a clear shoot of the teenagers and Buck Rogers, and the camera operator gave a silent finger count of, "Three... two... one."

"Who knows what will become of Larry's long ride," said Candy Bear, returning to performance, "but nothing dents the lowest-ranked Member of the United States Senator."

"Until the right commercial downs him," said the BBQ-smeared Texan.

"Bomber leads potential Republican candidates, and a dead heat with Democratic frontrunner Hillary Clinton."

At Larry's office, Jeanine and Rutland watched, motionless, awaiting the reporter's final words.

"Maybe the anti-politician from Long Beach is among the few who understand what Dick Bomber is teaching," concluded Candy Bear, "that voters are tired of political blabbering."

"I can't even beg to resign," said Nixon's Ghost.

* * *

"What do the Press Secretary tell media at today's briefing about a party no one's ever thrown?" asked the White House Chief of Staff, inside the Oval Office, during a meeting between the President, the Vice President, and George Herbert Walker Bush.

"That it's gonna be great," replied the President.

"And what's the follow-up answer?" asked the White House Chief of Staff.

"Absolutely great," said the President.

"Says a lot, by saying little," added Joe Biden.

The former president no longer bound to a wheelchair smiled. "That'd be prudent."

* * *

Gene Autry – singing, "Back in the Saddle" – called out from a hoedown in Yuma.

"You're done," said Candy, as the overhead, high-intensity lamps of Martian tripods switched off.

"Sorry, um... important call," said Larry, smiling nervously to Candy Bear, and holding his cell phone while still on Carrot Cake.

The reporter motioned quickly to the crew, and the Martian tripots again burned lamp across Larry, shooting the phone call as a live shot.

Buck Rogers approached the reporter on the ladder. "Mind if I have a word with the Councilman?"

Candy Bear climbed off the ladder, Buck climbed up, the lamps still burning, and Larry on his call.

"Uh, hold on, Jeanine," said Larry, into the phone. "What?"

"Feeding a whole posse wasn't the deal," said Buck.

Larry waved impatiently to Buck, and continued on his call. "Do the RSVP and I'll fly tomorrow morning for the meeting, since everyone's mad," said Larry, who hung up and turned to Buck Rogers. "Feeding who?"

"Yer gonna buy food you sixty, but who's gonna cook it?" asked Buck, while the camera rolled. "Who's serving it? And picking up the trash? And where're they gonna sleep?"

"We can hire someone," nervously said Larry, wiping away sweat sparked by the Martian flames.

The growing posse whooped and cheered, as a silver-haired woman rode an all-white stallion towards Larry. Her leather saddle was several tones of pink, and bore a small license plate, "Guv Jan B." The posse parted, as the woman drew close to Larry and Buck.

"Great horse," said Theodore Roosevelt, floating on the gargoyle.

"Heya, Cowboys," said the woman. "Welcome to Arizona. These riders are my people."

"Are your people the ones to cook and clean?" asked Buck.

Candy Bear and the FOX team kept the camera rolling.

"Too much footage," said the Texan, who saw far too much shot on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

"I'll work that out, but listen," said the Governor, "you're the hottest ticket on the news right now, so expect more of this."

"Get 'em, Guv!" yelled a man holding a sign that read, "Illegal means Illegal."

"Son of a bitch," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Maybe you'll get to resign after all," said Ronald Reagan, admiring the stallion.

* * *

"You can't go!" said Larry.

Buck carried his saddle to a waiting Ford F-350, as his wife held Champ's nylon halter. "Councilman, you got an army riding behind you, and Lisa's gonna be here soon," said Buck Rogers, hefting the saddle into the back seat of his truck.

Larry ran past four gargoyles, screaming as the ghosts waved.

"You don't need me, and I don't want you," said Buck.

"I need you... and Carrot Cake... and the Eagles and Maryann," begged Larry, the anti-politician. "Even the mean mom.... I don't know these people."

"No can do, Councilman," said Buck, squeezing past Larry and walking towards the back of the horse trailer.

"Now you will learn what losing the Office of Economic Opportunity feels like," growled LBJ, as Nixon's Ghost floated toward the dork.

"The kids are adults," said Buck, as he closed and hitched the steel door and spoke softly to Champ and Carrot Cake. "They can speak for themselves, but I'm outta here."

"He's got the Rough Riders," chimed in Teddy.

"The Chief is right," groaned Nixon's Ghost. "We're doomed."

* * *

Jeanine Howard looked up to the office door, as Mayor Tony Kim and a principal deputy entered.

"The Office of the Vice President, yes..., repeatedly has demanded... you escort the Councilman," said the Mayor, waving an invitation to the first-ever White House "Lame Duck Masquerade Ball, "which takes place, yes, exactly one month since Mr. Bix took office."

"Can a photographer come?" asked Rutland Judd.

* * *

"Maryann and the Eagles will keep riding," said a scowling Maggie Moore, "and I don't like it."

"At least the Rough Riders stay with him," said the ghost who led an invading cavalry.

"I can't order my daughter around anymore," said the angry mother, "but I'll be driving ahead, and I'll be watching you, Mister."

"Greatness is not given," said Ronald Reagan. "It is earned."

"What is that supposed to mean?" shot back Lyndon Johnson.

"It's true," said Nixon's Ghost, watching the dork from a distance. "The only path to greatness is to stay on the frickin' horse, and just... do it!"

As Maryann's mother stormed off, the clip-clop of hooves prompted Larry to look up.

Riding towards him, relaxed, her body rolling gently to the sway of the horse's gait, was an incredibly beautiful blonde woman in jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt and swede tan hat. Without a sound and by only the lightest tug on the reins, the woman brought her horse to a stop close to where Larry stood.

"Are you the dork?" asked the stunningly beautiful woman.

"Uh...," said Larry, his jaw hanging down. "I'm... uh...."

"A true movie star," said Mr. Reagan, gazing warmly. "A, not B."

"About as 'great' as great can be," said LBJ.

"Buck sent me," said the blonde. "So are ya?"

Larry's stuttering gave no definable words.

"Yeh, must be the dork." In a single fluid motion, the woman swung a leg over her saddle and climbed off the horse. "Lisa Steel." She looked around. "Where's yer horse?"

Larry shook his head and kept his eyes on the woman. "You look just like...."

"No I don't," said Lisa Steel. "Where's your animal."

"I mean, like exactly...," stammered Larry.

"Are all these riders with you?" asked Lisa Steel.

"Huh?" said Larry, looking to an entourage of several dozen riders gathered around the Governor on her stallion. Larry pointed to Maryann and the Eagles. "They are," said Larry, taking a long breath.

"It's supposed to be just a few," said Lisa.

"Has anyone ever told you...," jibber-jabbed Larry.

"Stop it, Mister!" said Lisa Steel. "I ain't no ghost."

"Too bad," said the four ghosts mounted on gargoyles.

"Ain't isn't a word," said Larry.

"Yer obviously the dork," said Lisa, who turned, grabbed her saddle horn, lifted a foot to the stirrup and effortlessly swung herself back onto her horse. "C'mon, Buster." The blonde and her horse made their way through the crowd of riders – almost all men – and chatted up people she clearly knew, like a preacher greeting parishioners at the church door. The Governor swooned.

"If she's the leader, he'll gain an army," said Theodore Roosevelt.

"Buck took my horse," said Larry, running into the crowd of riders. "I don't have one."

"Better git one," said Lisa Steel.
Chapter Thirty – "Reject that Bastard's Demand"

"Bomber's demands to tour the Tampa headquarters of the Central Command, and is completely abandoning the secret agreement," said Joe Biden's Chief of Staff. "He's specifically wants Lewis there."

"Get Goodwrench on the line!" commanded the Vice President, to his principal deputy.

"At least the Capitol isn't burning," said Little Jemmy, who ran at full gallop during the invasion of redcoats demanding the King get his colonies back.

The Vice President's principal deputy spoke with Captain Dorsey Spaulding, while staring at the Vice President, who moved with greater action to cross the line to insanity, and thus invoke Section Four of the XXVth Amendment.

* * *

"And where do you think you're going?" demanded Maggie Moore, as Larry waved down a taxi pulling up the farmhouse porch.

"Everyone's yelling at me, so I gotta fly to Long Beach today for the Council meeting," said Larry.

"Exactly what do you think we're going to do?" said the advance person.

"Use the credit card so everyone eats big tonight, and the horses are happy," replied the dork. "I've got a red-eye charter bringing me back tomorrow."

"This Bozo might actually pull this off," said Nixon's Ghost, as four dead presidents watched the anti-politician climb into the back seat.

* * *

"I can't believe you actually made it here," said Jeanine Howard, quickly following Larry through the horse-shoe shaped 14th floor, moving past the crowd of stunned staffers, who all watched the dork dressed in dusty western attire moving into his office and close the door.

* * *

"Yes, Mr. Bix," warmly cooed the Mayor, as Larry finished his change of clothing while in his personal office. "How wonderful to see you."

"What is everyone yelling about?" said Larry, to Jeanine, holding the binder with the agenda.

"SEADIP," she replied.

"And," said the Mayor, "that you are not here... until now."

"I won't ditch my constituents," said the new Councilman.

The Mayor and the Chief of Staff each glowed.

* * *

"Thank you to the City Clerk for calling the roll," said the Mayor, holding his gavel, in the center chair of the curved dais holding the nine members of the Long Beach City Council. "I now ask Mr. Bix to lead us in The Pledge."

The Angel Harpo and four dead president rose with the crowd.

* * *

"Now that the staff report is complete, I look to the Members for comment," said the Mayor, motioning to Larry van der Bix. "Because this issue concerns his district, we shall begin with Councilman Bix."

"Go, Cowboy!" cheered a huge crowd in the packed audience.

* * *

"I didn't solve anything," said Larry van der Bix, moving through the crowd to head toward the main doors of the Council Chamber.

"You stalled any action," said Nixon's Ghost, floating beside a Texan, a New Yorker, and a Californian.

"That is how a long march begins," said the Texan.

"You'll change when the horses are fit," added the New Yorker.

"Here we go again," said the Hollywood movie star.

"Don't tell me," said Jeanine Howard, moving Larry toward the main elevator. "I don't want to hear about the ghost."

"There's four now," said Larry, as Jeanine repeated pushed "14" and the door closed.

* * *

"The Senator will not bend," said General Allen Goodwrench, in the secure line conference call, as a Second Lieutenant sat motionless beside a Captain and General.

"I'm Fuckin' Number Two," yelled Vice President Joseph F. Biden Jr., "and I am ordering you to reject that bastard's demand!"

Every soldier stayed motionless.

"Repeat that order!" demanded the Vice President.

"... Reject the demand," said General Allen Goodwrench.

"Repeat exactly!"

"... Reject that bastard's demand...."

The call ended.

Lori Lewis was the last soldier to stand.
Chapter Thirty-One – A Wild Pig Never Does Not Attack

Second Lieutenant Lori Lewis stood in the long, windowless hallway of Building 124, outside of Room A-117, a cell phone close to her ear. "Pumpkin? Gotta tell you... wait, huh?" The soldier listened to her wife. "Um, that's great, Darling, thanks for being on top of things, but something awful is happening." The Second Lieutenant heard boots. "Dee? You there?" Lori straightened, as three Colonels passed, paying no attention to her, and boots kept walking. Lori returned the phone. "Dee? Did I lose you?"

* * *

"My cell always kicks out," said December, shaking her phone. She turned to the ancient LAN-line, on the work desk in the living room.

The Angel Chico sat on the corner of the desk and licked his paw.

"I called an hour ago to switch details," she said, looking at a Trip Advisor hotel page. "How many marriages do you do on January 20th?" She clicked to the Hay-Adams hotel and surfed photos, while listening to the District of Columbia marriage license office receptionist. "Okay, I'll check back.... Thanks."

The black cat used his wet paw to clean the cone-shaped earlobe.

December dialed a new number, putting the phone on speaker.

"Thank you for calling the Hay-Adams."

"Hey, Hay," chuckled December. "I'm a newlywed and another booking got scrubbed." She smiled to the pussycat. "What have you got for the long weekend of January 20th? Something nice.... Like really nice."

* * *

December closed and zipped the second suitcase, and pulled it off the bed with a tug, rolling it alongside a matching bag. She went to the closet and pulled down Lori's dress green uniform, with Presidential Unit Citation ribbon and Combat Action Badge and set it on the bed, alongside a selection of lingerie, swimwear, warm weather gear, shoes, tops, slacks, shorts and a stuffed pumpkin. She snapped a photo and selected "send as picture message," inserting Lori's number. "am i missing anything?" she texted, and walked to the bathroom.

The Angel Chico sprinted to December's cell phone, and used a paw to dial a number.

"What number, please?" asked a Heavenly operator.

Chico meowed in the cat language to be patched through to the Angel Groucho.

* * *

"I ordered CentComm to reject that bastard's demand, but wild pigs never don't attack," said Joe Biden, as George Herbert Walker Bush and nine dead presidents watched a Chief of Staff rapidly take notes.

"No offense," said Mr. Madison, to the first Federalist, "but when Tom got the job, the first job he gave to Lewis was for his personal deputy to clear the ranks of your loyalists."

"Clear the ranks," repeated Joe Biden, as his principal deputy took notes. "Lewis."

"Meriwether," added the Chairman.

The Vice President's deputy looked at the two men she could see in the Roosevelt Room. "Excuse me, as in Meriwether Lewis?"

Despite grumbling by the first president, Biden and Bush 41 nodded.

"Revolutions don't end," said George Washington. "The winners just get mean."

* * *

"Captain Gillie Ross?" asked Lori, standing outside Building 124. Near the entryway, enlisted personnel stood in a line, smoking. "Lieutenant Lori Lewis."

"Secret password," replied the female voice.

Lori measured distance with the smokers and over her shoulder. "The letter 'L.' "

"What did your Mom want it to be?"

Lori smiled. "Lambchop," said the Second Lieutenant.

There was a long silence.

"We will always use the secret password," said the JAG lawyer.

"Bomber's a psychopath, and is trying to push his way into my office," said Lori Lewis. "The Vice President is protecting me, but I want to file a restraining order."

"I hold two Bars," said the attorney. "Military and civilian."

* * *

The Eagles and Maryann circled a disinterested Palomino, while Larry and Maggie Moore stood at the mouth of a stable stall, with a thick man, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Maryann gave a silent thumbs up to her mother.

"How's the Bozo gonna make it to the White House?" asked Nixon's Ghost, sitting with the other dead presidents, floating above a bale of hay.

Larry appear clueless while Maryann's mother negotiated the purchase of a horse.

"In full gallop," replied Theodore Roosevelt, "since every man must be racing with that point rider."

"I'm not gonna make Nancy jealous," said Mr. Reagan, "but she's Marilyn Monroe."

"She can sleep on my cloud," said Lyndon, making no mention of Lady Bird.

The dead presidents watched the bargaining.

"Why are you're asking so little?" said Maggie Moore.

"Shit!" said Larry, when he saw the four dead presidents.

"Nope, not that reason," said the horse owner. "What would you charge?"

"Double," said Maryann's mom. "You deserve it and he'll pay it."

"Sold," said the man, as the two shook hands.

"We can haggle on goods," said Maryann's mother.

The man turned to Larry. "I don't take no checks."

* * *

"My mom doesn't like you," said Maryann Moore, as she walked with Larry, who was leading the palomino out of the stables.

"No duh," said Larry.

"But she doesn't hate you real bad," said the teenager, "or else you'd be in jail... or dead."

* * *

December clutched a pillow to her belly, and rocked in bed, while Lori stroked her back. "But what if he shows up?" said December, repeatedly. "What if you don't get to go?"

The Angel Chico licked December's cheek.

"We're going to Washington," said Lori, calmly. "Joe Biden will protect us."

"Oh my God," said December.

The pussycat purred.
Chapter Thirty-Two – Converging on Washington

"The last Council Meeting for January is cancelled, owing to the Martin Luther King Jr holiday," said Jeanine Howard, calling from his office, as Larry sat at a picnic bench under an ancient olive tree on Tunis Orchards with a carefully-arranged display of items. "Rutland and me are flying to Washington with Mayor Tony Kim."

"I'll fly from wherever the ride gets me," said Larry, seeing the woman as beautiful as Marilyn Monroe approach. "I gotta go."

"Show me what you got," said Lisa Steel, as Larry put away his phone, and pointed to clothing, hygiene goods, electronics, and snack foods.

Lisa poked. "Where's yer actual food?" She sifted through plastic wrappers. "No dried vegetables or flour or milk powder?" She kept poking. "No protein? No fiber?" She dropped a handful of snack bags. "Ain't even MREs."

"Uh...," said Larry.

Lisa continued her review. "Computer speakers, but you ain't got no bilge pump to draw water? What're those gadgets powered by? Batteries? Where's your solar?"

"Uh...," said Larry. "I could'a brought the bilge pump from my rowboat."

"He knows what a bilge pump is," said Lisa, strumming a ukulele. "Out'a tune." She lifted a roll of white plastic discs. "What're these?"

"Electric glowy candles," said Larry.

"Glowy candles?" said Lisa. "What the heck's that mean?"

"They won't blow out," said Larry, like a child speaking to a teacher.

Lisa took out a glowy candle clicked a switch on the bottom, causing a faint flickering of light to make the opaque white plastic glow. She watched the simulated candle flicker, before handing it to Larry. "You better think about more pack animals, cuz there's plenty you don't got."

Gene Autry began singing in Larry's pocket. He looked at a number on his phone. "I gotta take it," he said. "It's my office."

Lisa walked off.

Larry took the call on speaker and set the phone on the picnic table, as he started moving his goods back into the nylon organizing tree he had purchased from the Horn family.

"Sorrow I didn't call until now, Larry," said Lori Lewis.

* * *

"In the absence of our fellow members, the final agreement shall be determined by unanimous vote of the Organizing Committee," said the Chairman, tapping the gavel.

Joe Biden's Chief of Staff stared at the vigor of the gentleman of Kennebunkport.

"The buck stops here," said the near-great ghost whose beat the hatred of fringes by running up the middle.

The ghosts nodded.

"Working indivisible is the best doctrine," said one who knew the Era of Good Feelings.

Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Wilson each listened.

Calvin Coolidge said nothing.

Franklin Roosevelt's cigarette holder went erect.

Bobby agreed the proxy vote didn't matter.

James Madison took notes.

"It is agreed, Sir," declared the Federalist.

The living former president holding the gavel brought the meeting to conclusion.

Joe Biden repeated details to his principal deputy.

"And it's two days from now?" asked the Chief of Staff.

"I'm not crazy," said the Vice President. "You gotta believe me."

* * *

"We are so pleased to provide this extra day at no cost," said the bellhop, who opened the door and guided them into the sitting area of their top-floor suite at the Hay-Adams hotel, with its white-and-cappuccino color scheme and two wide windows overlooking the snow-covered grounds of the White House.

Lori and December looked silently to the snow scape.

"Show us our other rooms," said December.

The bellhop navigated toward the bathroom and changing area, and, suggestively, to the sitting area, and to the other half of the large suite, motioning with fingers to the king-sized bed and ornate bedroom furniture.

"What about that door?" said December, pointed to near the bed.

"If the adjoining Presidential Suite had reserved the added bedroom...," said the Bellhop.

"Last thing...," said December. "Can we get a driver, to run errands?"

The Bellhop smiled, nodded, congratulated them on their honeymoon, and exited.

"Thank you, Darling, for making this happen," said Lori, to her wife.

"I've got some surprises, but the party isn't until the day after tomorrow, so get ready for some fun," said December. "We will remember our great getaway forever."

"You're the boss," said the soldier, in affectionate capitulation.

"What a good husband," said December, gazing at Lori's athletic body. "Time to splash around in the jacuzzi."

* * *

"Wear this, Baby," said December, hanging up Lori's dress green uniform.

"Sure, Pumpkin," said Lori, climbing up from swirling waters of a huge tub and reaching for a towel on a marble countertop, next to flickering candles and a vase of tulips at the sink. December watched her nude husband move. "What've you got planned?"

"Just some business in town," said December.

* * *

"500 Indiana N.W.," said December, to the Hay-Adams driver, when she and Lori climbed into the hotel shuttle.

"Will I know when we get there?" asked Lori.

"Maybe," said December.

The shuttle moved slowly across the snow-lined Pennsylvania Avenue, passing row upon row of long, imposing governmental work temples, before taking a left past the Navy Memorial and a sharp right onto Indiana, before finally entering a parking garage for Moultrie Courthouse. The driver parked the vehicle nearest the elevator that led into the lobby. "I'll wait."

"We won't be too long," said December.

* * *

"We have a 3:30 appointment," December told the Clerk seated at the Information Desk in Room 4555 of the Moultrie Courthouse. The Clerk handed December a green slip of paper, bearing the word "Ceremony," with the number B-022.

"This is where they do marriages," said Lori, in her dress greens.

"Let's make it feel real," said December, her white cotton overcoat opened, showing a flowing white top and gauzy skirt.

"I'll marry you a hundred times," said Lori, wrapping her arms around December.

The two slumped onto a pair of chairs and leaned into one another, as they waited for their number to be called.

"Kiss her!" yelled an anonymous male voice from one end of the large room.

* * *

"We did process the application," said a window Clerk, "but our ten-day rule is absolute. You cannot execute the marriage license until tomorrow."

"Why was I given today's appointment?" said December, leaning forward at the counter.

"Come tomorrow," suggested the Clerk. "The line won't be long."

"I wish someone had told me when I arranged things," said December.

* * *

The Hay-Adams driver inched slowly through a snowstorm so heavy as to make it virtually impossible to see more than a few feet past the windows. "Blizz-pa-looza is upon us," said the radio, as the vehicle finally came up the front entrance of the hotel.

* * *

"I wanted this to be our first dinner as officially married newlyweds," said December, being led by the Maître De, to a table in the Hay-Adam's Lafayette restaurant.

"A private dinner on Air Force One is memorable, too," said Lori.

December waited for the Maître De to hold her chair, and repeated the courtesy for Lori, before slipping away with a smile.

"Isn't that Bill Clinton?" said Lori, pointing to a table across the room, where the former President sat with a Secret Service agent.

December waved, catching Clinton's eye. "He seems nice."

He smiled and waved back.

"Pumpkin, I said 'don't worry' about money, but this place must cost a ton," said Lori.

"It does, so thank Larry and the Olympics," said December, studying the hotel menu. "You can thank the U.S. Army for jerking you around on your leave."

"I'm a soldier," said Lori, picking up her menu. "It comes with the package."

"Good thing we got money in the bank," said December, "cuz this place ain't cheap."

Lori settled into her chair and looked out, beyond the falling snow, through to the Washington Monument. "For good reason."

"So...," said December.

"Yes?" smiled Lori, looking up.

A wine steward approached the table, bearing a tray with two glasses of a dark red wine. "May I interest either of you in a complimentary honeymoon glass of our Jordan Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"I don't do alcohol," said Lori.

"Uh... no, that's okay," said December.

The wine steward walked off. Lori scanned the menu.

"So...," said December.

Lori looked up. "Yes?"

"We're married and, you know, married people, uh," said December, "make plans."

"Plans?" said Lori, closing the menu. "Like what sort of plans, Pumpkin?"

"You know, like big ones," said December.

"I promise you, Dee, we'll buy a house."

December stretched her hand, knocking over an empty water glass. "Whoa."

"Careful, there," said Lori, reaching across and lightly touching her wife's hand.

December wrapped her hands around Lori's. "Bigger, like, huge, as big as you can."

"What do you mean, Dee?" said Lori.

"Well... um... you and me...," said December, "we'll... we're gonna have a baby."

Lori's hand went limp in December's grip.

"It's the Big Surprise," said December.

"Dee, how can we have a baby?" said Lori, pulling her hand back. "We're girls."

"I know," said December, in a small voice.

"You're not talking about test tubes or a turkey baster, so, the only way...."

"I know," said the small voice, again.

"Dee, we've been married like months."

"Fourteen weeks on Tuesday," said December. "I've been totally faithful all that time.... It happened on the way to Dubai, to meet up with you."

"You certainly didn't waste any time," said Lori, as she stood a bit and looked towards December's torso. "You're not even showing."

"I'm not a big girl," said December, quietly, "but you don't notice a whole lot at home."

"What about your period?"

"It never comes on time," said December, "so three months is almost normal for me."

"How do you even know?"

"After the fire, at the hospital," said December. "They told me."

"They told you," said Lori. "Nobody told me."

"They couldn't," said December. "Florida doesn't recognize...."

"You didn't tell me," said Lori.

Tears rolled down December's cheek. "It's our great getaway...."

"We go to a fancy hotel so you can tell me you fucked some guy, but I raise his baby?" said Lori.

December wept. "It's our baby, now."

A woman in her mid-20s approached the table.

"Pardon me," said Lori, sternly, "I love you, but obviously I didn't father the baby."

"I'm serving you, tonight," said the woman, as Lori and December stopped talking.

Lori looked up. "We are not even close to ordering...."

"I totally understand," said the waitress, stepping away from the couple.

"Great... thanks," said Lori. "Do you even know whose it is?"

"Of course I know!" said December. "Do you think I'm some cheap slut?"

The banter in the room quieted.

December looked up, to see Bill Clinton innocently drinking iced tea.

"And...?"

"Ed, I think," said December.

"You think?" said Lori.

"Can you keep your voice down?" asked December. "Him, or Romeo Gold."

"You're not sure?" said Lori, making no effort to comply with December's request. "We'll know for sure, won't we? Who's Ed? And Romeo Gold?"

"The First Mate on Larry's yacht," said December. "Going half way across the world to perform with Nancy Bazooka was kind of a long trip."

"Clearly, we'll be skipping cruises as a vacation choice," growled Lori.

"Perhaps you need more time...," said the server, returning to the table.

"Almost ready," said December politely, quickly looking. "A minute or two more."

"Maybe I should have a glass of wine," said Lori, looking out to the falling snow.

* * *

Lori stumbled into the elevator, an arm draped around her wife's shoulder. December maneuvered herself so she could lean Lori against a wall while extracting her key card to swipe the elevator.

"Can we give you a hand," came a familiar voice. Bill Clinton entered the elevator, accompanied by a clean-cut athletic man in a dark suit. Clinton swiped a fob. The man in the dark suit prodded Lori up. "Top floor, right?"

"Uh," said December, "yeh."

"She's pretty knocked out," said the former President.

"Excuse me?" said December, as the door closed.

"Lieutenant Lewis, right," said Bill Clinton, looking at the dress green uniform, showing ribbons and a badge. "A Presidential Unit Citation? Lori Lewis, the Olympian?" Bill Clinton turned to December. "You must be... Mrs. Lewis."

"I'm December Carrera," she said. "We kept our own names."

"No matter what anyone says, General Allen Goodwrench is a great man," said Clinton, extending his hand. "I'm Bill.... Sorry you're taking a beating. It's never easy in this town."

"I'm not from this town," said December, shaking the former President's hand.

"No matter where you live, it's never easy riding a horse through mud," said Clinton. "Like tonight. You can bet that someone in that restaurant already called the press and got pix or a video on their phone. Don't let it ruin your day. Just stay in love and raise that baby and have a beautiful life together."

"How do you know we're gonna have a baby?"

"Most in the restaurant know," said Bill Clinton. "She got flamboyant when she drank."

"She doesn't normally drink," said December.

"Well, here we are," said Clinton, as the elevator opened. "Let us help." Each man took one of Lori's arms around their shoulders and followed December, who opened their suite, and the men carefully laid Lori on the king-sized bed.

* * *

December sat up in bed, holding the remote, flipping from Jimmy Fallon, with her husband passed out. She surfed to the Weather Channel, where a graphic teaser announced, "Blizz-pa-looza Blankets East Coast." December surfed to FOX News, where the teaser read, "Gay Marriage Stripper Pregnant!"

"I need my Angel kittie," cried December, holding her belly.

"Meanwhile," said a blonde FOX anchorwoman, "in Arizona, another take on this story, as FOX reporter Candy Bear talks with the lesbian couple's best friend, an anti-politician who is riding a horse across America...."
Chapter Thirty-Three – New Futures Born in Washington

Senator Dick Bomber sat under the glow of overhead lighting, as a makeup artist applied pancake to his scarred cheek.

"An old Marine is not used to makeup," said Bomber, sitting still and leering at her chest, as the artist used a brush to even the powder.

"You better get used to it, if you're running for President," said the artist.

"Thank you for visiting, Senator," said the host, in a dark blue suit, pink shirt and red tie, and salt-and-pepper hair. "It's a mess, after eight feet of snow."

"If you believe the climate bull puckey," grunted Dick Bomber, "it should be warm enough to eat ice cream outside."

"I'm thinking we start the show with the 'ask a Chinaman' guy who's calling for your resignation," said the host.

"That state Sena-tuh in California?"

"Right," said the man, "and move to your 'declaration of independence,' and the Goodwrench fight... and the story that broke last night, of the pregnant lesbian stripper."

"The story keeps on giving," said Bomber, as the artist brushed the Senator's forehead. "The tape I've seen is sympathetic to the mother, though, so I will play gentle."

"Okay," said the man. "We'll finish with whether you're running for President."

"Eight great minutes of airtime," said Dick Bomber.

"Nine or ten, max," said the man. "Get you out before Blizz-pa-looza hits full-force."

"All done, Senator," said the artist. "Even managed to mask your scars."

"I may have a job for you later," said Bomber, again leering, "as I need face paint for a party I am crashing at the White House tonight." He offered a handful of twenty dollar bills. "Andrew Jackson offers everything we need."

"Clear set!" came a voice from the studio's glass-enclosed control room. "Live in six... five... four... three...."

* * *

December sat up in bed, four pillows behind her, an empty plastic ice bucket with several folded washcloths on a bedside table. Lori lay on her belly, a pillow covering her head.

With open drapes, the sky showed a dark gray-black. A knock came at the door. December yelled, "Come in." Lori pulled the pillow closer to her head. A hotel worker wheeled a cart to the bed. She signed, said "thanks" and flipped stations, settling on a political chat show.

"Welcome to Washington In Focus, the FOX news magazine that says what's really happening in our nation's capital," said a salt-and-pepper host in a dark blue suit, and red tie. "With us: Senator Dick Bomber, the eleven-term Congressman and former Marine combat veteran who now is completing his first month as a U.S. Senator... and he is shaking up Washington, breaking with both political parties and rumbling about a possible run for President in 2016.... Welcome to FOX's Washington In Focus, Senator."

"Thank you so very much," purred Bomber, with a smile. "It is a genuine plea-shuh."

"Senator, you're understand controversy," said the host, "and in California, a politician demands that the recent Goodwrench hearing is reason for your resignation. Let's listen...."

Both swiveled to face a monitor behind them. Footage showed an immaculately dressed Asian man with perfectly coifed hair being interviewed by FOX political reporter Candy Bear.

"We should all be alarmed by the racist, xenophobic comments by Dick Bomber," said a man identified with the on-screen graphic as California State Senator Fred Liu. "His comments have no place in America, and this is at least the second time he has used racial slurs. He must resign immediately."

The monitor went blue and both again turned their chairs. "Any plans to step down?"

"The gentleman in California needs to grow some thick'uh skin," smiled Dick Bomber. "West coast liberals are not the first to be offended when a true American exercising free speech. President Eisenhower was correct, that you cannot legislate the human heart."

"So no plans to step down over the 'ask a Chinaman' statement?"

"This old dog isn't growing new stripes if liberals don't like blunt language."

"Don't you mean tiger, Senator?" asked the host. "Stripes? Tiger?"

"Wouldn't frivolous talk about tigers make Chinamen angrier?" asked Dick Bomber. "Don't tigers come from China?"

* * *

"Councilman Bix!" exclaimed Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim, standing at a Reagan National Airport terminal with Jeanine Howard and Rutland Judd. "You look... so... western."

Nixon's Ghost and three other dead presidents floated behind the dork.

"Candy Bear took too much time," said Larry, who nervously looked over his shoulder. "Couldn't change before the flight."

"The Masquerade Ball is in eight hours, so you could shop," said Rutland.

"I'll go cowboy," said the Councilman.

"-R-i-g-h-t-...," said Larry's Chief of Staff.

"You do smell... yes... like one who rides a horse," said the Mayor.

"I love the smell of horses in the morning," said Teddy Roosevelt. "Smells like Cuba."

"Better to ride than shovel the smell," said Lyndon Johnson.

"Aren't you the emcee for a great show?" asked Mr. Reagan.

"If I've never done anything great," said Nixon's Ghost, "I'm gonna do my best tonight."

* * *

"Food's here, Lambchop," said December, shaking Lori, who groaned under the pillow. "Coffee and tomato juice and celery and toast...." December pulled the pillow, which Lori held. "Everything you need for a hangover."

There was more groaning under the pillow.

"You need to get up, cuz we got a spa date," said December. "Be a good husband and get exfoliated and shiatsu and a facial and everything else, with your pregnant wife."

More groaning.

"Yer the one who drank $200 in wine," said December, switching the channel.

The groaning morphed into words. "Oh... no...."

"Teaches you a lesson," said December. "When I tell you big news, you should be, like, 'Oh, that's great news, Baby,' and 'I'm so happy, Hunny,' and 'I don't need liquor cuz I got you' and 'Let's finish dinner and go upstairs to have sex,' instead of fighting in front of everyone and getting drunk and spilling personal business that winds up on the TV news."

The pillow flew off Lori's head, and she sat upright. The moment Lori was erect, her face twisted into a grimace. "What... what do you mean, 'the TV news?' "

"It's like Bill Clinton told me," said December. "Everyone had their phones so there's pictures and video and lots of witnesses. Started out on FOX, but every network has it now."

"Oh my God," said Lori.

"Don't even check your phone, cuz it's dead from all the calls that went to voicemail," said December. "It vibrated so much, I used it as a battery boyfriend while you slept it off."

"Oh my God," repeated Lori. "What did you say about Bill Clinton?"

"Oh, he and some nice man helped us get back to the room," said December.

"And you let him?" said Lori.

"He's a perfect gentleman," said December.

"Those are not words I'd expect in a sentence about Bill Clinton," said Lori Lewis.

* * *

"This is an incredible hotel," said Larry, following Tony Kim, Jeanine Howard and Rutland Judd into the ornate lobby of the Hay-Adams.

"The Office of the Vice President encouraged the location," said the Mayor.

"And you gave me the credit card," said Jeanine.

"Isn't that Bill Clinton?" said Rutland, swinging a camera.

* * *

"Oh, look," said December, "it's Mister Doo-Doo Head."

"Now, Senator, an issue you raised during the Goodwrench nomination is gay marriage," said the FOX chat-show host.

"Call me old fashioned, but I'm simply against it," chimed Dick Bomber.

"Owing to longevity in Congress, you voted against President Clinton's 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell,' and against its repeal," said the host, as the Senator smiled. "Does this explain why you raised the case about an aide to General Goodwrench, during his confirmation hearings?"

"That would be Sergeant Lori Lewis, the Olympic swimmer," said Dick Bomber, "who got hitched to a lovely young woman at Bagram Air Base last October."

"Oh my God," said Lori.

"Bill Clinton's right," said December, aiming the remote at the TV. "We gotta just laugh.

Lori winced.

"Mr. Doo-Doo Head is just funny, in a sad, pathetic way," said December.

"According to a story that broke on this network," said the host, "the lesbian stripper is now pregnant.... Let's watch...."

The two swiveled their chairs to face the monitor, which came alive with a cell phone video showing an ornate restaurant, with the illuminated Washington Monument visible through one of the windows. Seated near the window, waving her arm and speaking in a slurred voice, was a beautiful blonde soldier in a dress green Army uniform, seated across from a stunning woman with coal-black hair.

"So I'm gonna be a father!" exclaimed the soldier, her arm flailing. "Gimme a cigar!"

The woman with the coal-black hair made an obvious effort to quiet the soldier, before raising her hand discretely to ask for the bill.

The monitor went blue, and the two men swiveled to face one another.

"Any comment, Senator?" asked the host.

"Of course, I wish every parent happiness, now that one is knocked up," said Bomber, with a leer, "but the taxpayers of these U-nited States ought not to be paying their medical expenses or recognizing the illegal status of these two individuals."

"Considering earlier comments you've made, Senator, those are almost gentle words," smiled the host.

"I only want the best for every true American," said Bomber, looking into the camera, "including an Olympian wearing our nation's uniform."

"Spoken like someone who seems to have much bigger plans," said the host, glowing.

Dick Bomber also smiled broadly, which caused the powder over the scar to crack.

"How about it, Senator?" said the moderator. "Are you running for president in 2016?"

December aimed the remote at the TV again, clicked off the TV and poured coffee, orange juice and used a celery stalk to stir tomato juice. "Okay, Mommy's got what you need to make you feel better."

"Dee, please...."

"Please, what?" said December. "You need to hydrate yourself and take nourishment. We'll get real food later, but this'll make you feel better."

"I mean, the 'Mommy' thing."

"Look, if you don't want to get married today, or even if you want to throw in the towel and annul things because I had sex on the boat coming over, okay, tell me," said December, putting down the butter knife. "But if we're gonna stay married, you can't have a bad attitude about our child." December gently pulled away the bedding and pulled up her nightgown, exposing a tiny bump. "This is our baby... our baby.... I'm carrying this baby in my body. You're going to be with me when this baby is born. We're gonna be the baby's parents their whole life. Us! You have to love our baby." December gently touched Lori's face. "I need to know you love our baby, Baby...."

Lori lay next to December, and looked to her wife. "Dee, I don't know."

"This is our first morning as a family, all three of us... and look what we're doing."

"Huh?" said Lori.

"We're having a picnic in bed," said December. "You, me, and our baby." The young woman with coal-black hair gently kissed the athlete-soldier. "Isn't that nice?"

Lori cast her eyes downward and snuggled into December's body.

"Kiss the baby," said December.

"What?" said Lori.

"Go on," said December, offering her torso. "Show our baby some love. Kiss the baby."

"It's not my baby," said Lori.

"I know you're not a boy," said December, tears welling up. "I know you didn't father this child." Tears rolled down December's face. "But this is our baby, now. You're gonna teach our baby how to ride a bike and I'm gonna show how to cook lasagna." December gently stroked Lori's shoulder. "Please, Hunny... I need to know you love our baby."

Lori didn't move.

"Please...," begged December. "You have to love our baby."

Lori lowered herself and delicately kissed her wife's torso.

December's hands embraced Lori's head and her fingers intertwined in her hair. "More...."

* * *

December lay naked, covered in a towel, face down, grunting, as a Korean woman dug the palm of her hand deep into the muscles of her upper back. Lori grunted next to her, as she also took bodywork.

"This is... worse... than... swimming," grunted Lori.

"Gentle...," grunted December, pointing to her abdomen. "Baby."

The woman working on December leaned close. "Baby?" she asked. "For how long?"

"Fourteen weeks," said December.

"Okay," said the woman. "Gentle around baby." She resumed digging into the muscle pads of the upper back.

December turned her head so she could see Lori, grimacing in pain from the bodywork. "So, do you want to do the marriage thing today, Hunny?"

"I don't know, Dee," grunted Lori. "We're already married." The bodywork practitioner dug deep into Lori's broad shoulder muscles. "I'll stick it out together, but I don't know if I can raise the kid."

The practitioner working on Lori leaned in, digging deeper. "Why you no want baby?"

Lori wailed in pain. "Uh..., excuse me...," said Lori, between yelps, "but... this is... kind'a private."

"Baby no come everyday," said the practitioner working on December.

"Especially for girl girl," said the other bodywork practitioner.

"There...," grunted December. "See...?"

* * *

Lori and December lay on their backs, wrapped in towels, next to one another, hands clasped, cream spread on their faces, a slice of cucumber over each eye.

"I can't do the courthouse thing," said Lori.

"And what about the baby?" asked December.

"Having a real hard time with it all," said Lori.

December was silent.

"I wanna think we're gonna last, but this is my second marriage, you know," said Lori. "I know what it's like when things end."

"So, what, you expect me to get an abortion, or put my baby up for an adoption?" said December, her voice rising. She unclasped hands with Lori. "Ain't gonna happen. I got a child inside me and I'm that baby's mommy and this baby's gonna call you, 'Papa.' "

"I love you, December, but I don't know if I can raise someone else's kid," said Lori.

"If we stay together, you better man up, cuz this baby is growing up in my arms," said December, sitting up. "I'm making this kid call you, 'Papa,' so grow some balls."

"I don't want to fight, Dee," said Lori.

"This isn't a fight," said December. "There's nothing to fight over! These are the facts! If you don't like those facts, then trade in your ticket for a one-way ride outta here!"

December groaning, and laid back down, holding her belly.

The two were silent.

"How about let's just go to the party tonight...," said Lori, after a long pause.

"Yeh," said December, grasping at words.

"We'll figure it all out after that," said Lori.

"Yeh," said December, putting her hand on top of Lori's, as they lay together.

* * *

The shower in Larry's hotel room blazed like a violent river, as Lyndon Johnson blew so much water across his body that Richard Nixon would be knocked onto his knees.

Richard Milhous Nixon adjusted his tuxedo.

"Larry?" yelled a woman's voice, knocking loudly.

The Councilman opened the hotel room, and Jeanine Howard and Rutland Judd entered, with each seeing Nixon in a tux.

"Why am I able to see him?" asked Jeanine.

"Because I frickin' exist," replied the ghost. "Ya don't not have Nixon to not kick around anymore."

Rutland Judd photographed the near-naked Lyndon Johnson moving out of the bathroom.

* * *

Lori and December stood, each gripping a padded bar, as the bodywork artists scrubbed at legs, thighs, knees, calves, ankles and feet, exfoliating outer layers of skin.

"So, umphff, yeh... the party," grunted Lori, holding a bar tightly, and, finally, screaming.

December cursed and shook her head, while her legs were exfoliated. "Strict rules," said December. "We need the original invite and ID and be in costume at our door at an exact time... and wait for a triple-knock for assigned transportation."

"What does that mean?" screamed Lori. "Wait for the triple-knock."

"Rules are rules."

* * *

"Baby!" yelled December, her head and neck extended through the widely-opened mouth of a pantomime horse head, red sparkling fabric stitched across fabric lips. "It's almost time...."

Lori – in moccasins, skintight buckskin riding britches and an equally tight buckskin top – strode from the bathroom, her long blonde mane pulled back and woven in a thick French braid.

"Dang, you are fine," said December, her head and shoulders still protruding through the gaping mouth of Lucy the Dancing Unicorn.

Lori stepped into the rear portion of the pantomime horse costume. December pulled herself back into the costume, where a patch of flowers rested where one would rest a saddle.

"Practice," they said together.

With simultaneous zipping, and some giggling, the pantomime horse took form, its fur broken only by the saddle of flowers and a floppy straw hat atop its head, with holes cut through to allow the white ears to rise. A mop of vibrant red hair under the straw hat framed the blinking eyes of Lucy the Dancing Unicorn.

A thick flap of fabric flopped open and Lori poked out her head. A furry white rectangle in the creature's mane popped outward, and December smiled through the opening.

There were three rapid knocks at the door.

* * *

Larry van der Bix, wearing dusty western clothing and a Stetson hat, stood at the hotel door, next to his Chief of Staff and photographer.

The door knocked three times.

* * *

"Don't tell anyone who we are, cuz maybe there's prizes," said December, as the couple opened the hotel door. Two Secret Service agents in dark suits led Lucy the Dancing Unicorn into the elegant hallway of the Hay-Adams, where another pantomime horse costume also was being led by another pair of agents.

"We got competition," said December.

The pantomime horses and agents waited for the elevator, as additional agents led a cowboy in dusty western clothing and a Stetson had to join the group.

"Don't tell him!" came a voice from the dancing unicorn.

When the door opened, the horses, the cowboy, royals, and George Washington – each led by agents – packed the elevator.

"Well," said George Washington, loudly, attempting to appear surprised, "I finally get to see the Executive Mansion."

"There you go again, General," said one of the royals. "Timing."

The doors opened, and the royal who looked like Thomas Jefferson pushed through, followed by General Washington, the horses, and the cowboy.

Inside the high-ceilinged main lobby of the Hay-Adams, Marilyn Monroe argued with a desk clerk, as John Kennedy stood silently, his arms crossed, eyes cast downward.

"The President is waiting to get to the White House!" said Marilyn, pointing to JFK.

"Lady, have you looked outside at the snow?"

"Perhaps, yes, we can help, yes?" said a smiling man with a Cambodian accent and wearing a wide black hat and long black cape. Beside him stood a tall man in a similar outfit. "Mayor Tony Kim, but please call me Rudolph." Kim pointed to the other man.

"We are... the Dueling Valentinos," said Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti.

"I believe, yes, we're headed to the same party," said Tony Kim.

Marilyn Monroe silently took up with the two Valentinos, leaving John Kennedy alone.

"Come on, we'll walk," said a man who could have been President Kennedy's brother. The men exited the front door and disappeared into the swirling whiteness of Blizz-pa-looza.

"C'mon, Baby," said December, walking to the main doors, and gazing to the snow. Only a patch of driveway underneath the exterior awning of the hotel was not blanketed. "Looks bad. Maybe we could walk with those the Kennedy brothers."

"Not with you carrying a baby," said Lori.

As the two stood at the main entry, a tour bus materialized out of the swirling blizzard. The agents in the lobby burst into motion.

"Single file line, behind the unicorn," trumpeted the agent nearest the main doors.

"Unicorn and horse in first," said a second hulking man in a crisp, dark suit, as four Secret Service agents led the two pantomime horses into the bus.
Chapter Thirty-Four – The White House Lame Duck Masquerade Ball

Richard Milhous Nixon, in a snappy tuxedo, his hair combed back, stood amidst a contingent of Union infantry soldiers at the steps of the North Portico of the White House, waving to a steady stream of guests arriving by horse-drawn conveyance for the Lame Duck Masquerade Party.

Lori and December peered through the eyes of Lucy the Dancing Unicorn, through their bus's windshield, to watch Nixon greet guests.

Mounted cavalry in dress blues waved autos, limousines and other motorized vehicles on the White House elliptical driveway, eastward, past the North Portico, while cabs, carriages, coaches and anything drawn by a horse pulled under the Portico, allowing passengers to enter the front door of the Residence.

Ghostly Senators and Cabinet members in handsome cabs followed Presidents and their families arriving in ornate coaches, showing no discomfort at the blowing snow. Valets in red vests waved horse-drawn vehicles forward, to form a long row north of the Colonnade.

Lori Lewis stood belly-to-back with December inside their costume and had both hands on her wife's belly. "What a trip," Lori whispered, as she craned her head to see through the eyes of Lucy the Dancing Unicorn. Their motor coach slowly crawled, as Union soldiers acted as traffic cops.

"Check that out," said December, as the motor coach slowly broadsided the long row of horses, each hitched to a cab or coach or carriage. Next to them, several carriages, each pulled by pairs of horses, sat at rest, the drivers and horses seemingly oblivious to the heavy snow.

Union soldiers motioned the motor coach forward.

December gripped Lori's hands and held them to her belly.

As the bus passed the North Portico, Doughboys of the American Expeditionary Force signaled for the driver to veer onto a path that led to the entrance of the East Wing. As the motor coach turned, it fell behind an ancient open convertible. Riding in the back was a tall, gaunt, bearded man dressed in black and wearing a top hat. He paid no attention to the blowing snow as he kept up a long salute to the AEF troops, in their soup-bucket helmets and long rifles and glimmering bayonets. The Doughboys waved motor vehicles into the protected main entrance of the East Wing.

The Hay-Adams coach arrived curbside at the East Wing entrance, and White House staff in thick coats stood at the doorway of the coach, helping guests exit vehicle. The two pantomime horses stepped into the late-January Blizz-pa-looza wind. Staff guided the horses to a rope line that led up the short flight of steps and into the East Wing's main lobby.

"Why do I have to be the back half?" came a familiar male voice, from the other pantomime horse.

"You have much more experience being a horse's ass," came a familiar female voice.

A short man in a green suit and a green beard grumbled as he carried a pot of gold. When he heard the two voices from the other pantomime horse, he hustled over and clung to one of the horse's legs. "Bill... Hill...? It's Robert.... I'm unlocked from the Cabinet!"

Julius Cesar bundled his toga tightly and led a contingent of Roman soldiers up the steps, past all others in line, and into the vestibule that opened up to the security area just inside the Main Lobby. After guards confirmed the spears and swords were rubber, the Romans entered the warm lobby.

Outside, a regal woman with flaming red hair and wearing a dress so wide that she could barely exit the coach, stepped onto the snow-blown entryway. A dashing man draped a heavy velvet cape over sleet, at her feet. The regal redhead smiled and carefully crossed his cape. "Ever the gentleman, Ralegh," she said, as he picked up his cloak.

Coaches let out steady streams of guests, before slowly driving off, into Blizz-pa-looza, to be replaced by more vehicle bearing guests from across the ages.

Beethoven and Mozart, arriving in a Maserati, stood behind Lori and December, talking about the pastry in Vienna, in the red velvet rope line. Beethoven repeatedly asked Mozart to repeat what he had said.

Looking through Lucy's eye, Lori saw Martin Luther King Jr and Abraham Lincoln climb out of a Lincoln Continental convertible, as an Indian woman in a sari climbed out from an early '60s Dodge Dart. Her sari looked as though it had been riddled with bullets.

"Firing squad?" asked Mr. Lincoln, pointing to the holes.

"Bodyguard," said the woman.

"Mine, an actor," replied one of America's three great presidents.

"It takes but one soul to change history," said King, handing keys to a valet.

"My son, Rajiv," said the woman.

Both pantomime horses approached a vestibule at the entrance to the Main Lobby of the East Wing. Lori's broad shoulders framed the wide rear portion of Lucy the Dancing Unicorn, the bouquet of fabric blossoms stitched where otherwise would be a faux saddle. Two white ears popped through holes cuts into a floppy straw hat. A third hole allowed a conical prismatic horn to rise nearly a foot. The straw hat could barely contain what may have been Lucille Ball's wig between the ears.

Both pantomime horses squeezed into the security portal, before being scanned.

"Par-don," came an accented French voice, and Lori watched as a short man in a thick blue-&-white wool military uniform and three-cornered hat took cuts in front of the horses and stood with his right hand thrust into his tunic.

Lucy the Dancing Unicorn bunched close.

"What's the plan?" asked Lori Lewis.

"Move through the crowd and every party winds up in the kitchen," said December. "Remember the dances we practiced."

Just ahead of them, a grotesque Joker swaggered towards security, with a wavy-haired sidekick that posed like a twenty dollar bill.

"Strong appearance on FOX, Senator," said a woman packed into a red, white and blue superhero outfit, with a golden lasso attached to her wide golden belt and peering through a tiny pair of opera glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck.

"Thank you, Wonder Woman, but I need to get this General inside," said the Joker. "Certainly, my own family voted his way."

"No," said the superhero, "I am, 'I Wonder Woman,' as in, 'hmmm, I wonder.' "

The Joker studied the superhero.

"I'm the most dangerous you'll meet at a masquerade party," she said, motioning to the wavy-haired sidekick. "No doubt President Jackson agrees."

"Do you hold some special pow-uh?" asked the Joker.

"I can tell," she said, lifting up her opera glasses. "No one can hide from me."

"Who's the leprechaun?" said the Joker, pointing to a short man with a green beard and carrying a pot of gold, standing next to one of the pantomime horses.

"The former Labor Secretary," she said, glancing through her opera glasses.

"Very useful," said the Joker. "And the horses?"

"You only get one for free," she said. "My price is high."

"I see," said the Joker. "I shall look for you lay-tuh."

The Joker pulled the dead president forward, through a metal detectors.

I Wonder Woman fell back, to join superheroes Bacon Boy and Spider Bite Man, entering the vestibule with a man with dreadlocks who wore a skin-tight blue suit, red shorts and a green cape – all marked with marijuana leaves and highlighting a lean, toned body.

"Wrong day to wear the Sup'a-Mon suit," said the hero, rubbing his hands together as he walked through the metal detector. "If I came as Bond Jamesbond, I could'a worn a tuxedo."

"Ed?" said December, looking through Lucy's eye.

"What?" said Lori.

"Oh, nothing," said December, silently scanning the crowd.

Lori and December peered from Lucy's eyes towards the superheroes, who moved toward a crowd of Communists, in gray suits and Bromberg hats, walking in silence, unsmiling – Leonid Brezhnev and Nikita Khrushchev, Vladimir Lenin and Joseph Stalin, with Vladimir Putin and Mikhail Gorbachev in the lead. Boris Yeltsin, hatless and with his shirt untucked, staggered behind the Soviet and Russian leaders.

"Stay away from the Politburo," said a familiar male voice from the back of the other pantomime horse, as Lori and December cleared security.

"And if Teddy asks you to charge up San Juan Hill," said the woman, "say no!"

"Unicorns do what they want," said December.

"May I have your attention!" said a woman with a White House credential clipped to her jacket, motioning guests to draw closer.

Lucy the Dancing Unicorn stepped towards the woman, as did the Soviets, Roman soldiers and superheroes.

"Pardon me," said Napoleon, pushing Vladimir Putin slightly, to approach the staffer. Putin glared at the former French dictator.

"On behalf of the Current Occupant, and Members of the Organizing Committee, welcome to the first-ever White House Lame Duck Masquerade Ball," said the Vice President's principal staffer. "Tonight will be like nothing ever seen at the White House... or anywhere."

Lori scrunched closer to December, softly sliding her hands onto her wife's hips and drawing them closer together.

"Let's move into the Garden Room," intoned Joe Biden's Chief of Staff, with the earnest tone one hears from a Disneyland Jungle Cruise tour boat operator. "Keep moving through the East Colonnade to the Visitors' Foyer."

The Joker and Andrew Jackson swaggered to the front.

Lori saw Marilyn Monroe, arm-in-arm with two men, dressed to dance the tango.

"How 'bout that?" said December. "Marilyn dumps JFK for a couple of Valentinos."

The pantomime horses walked alongside one another as they moved from the Garden Room into the long, covered colonnade that connected the East Wing to the Main Residence of the White House.

Lori and December maneuvered, with Napoleon and Soviet dictators alongside them.

"Excuse me, little man," said Vladimir Putin, "but didn't you invade Russia?"

"A little snow," said Napoleon Bonaparte.

"You and Herr Hitler both froze," said Putin.

Lori looked out, to see the superheroes walking alongside the other pantomime horse. On passing the Soviet premiers, Spider Bite Man held out his hand, and seconds later, a blotchy red mark appeared on the back of Vladimir Putin's neck.

"Good one, dude!" squealed Bacon Boy.

When the group reached the Visitors' Foyer that connected to the ground level of the Residence, the staffer motioned for party goers.

"As we go in to the Center Hall, we will take a right at the partition, and those stairs will take us up to the Main Floor of the Mansion," said the staffer, walking backwards, as the group entered the long, ornate vaulted hallway that ran the length of the ground level of the Residence. Standing on the lush gold-edged red carpet, alongside a wide marble stairwell, the staffer silently smiled and motioned up the stairs. "Have a wonderful time tonight."

* * *

"Hey-y-y-y-y!" said a beaming Joe Biden, standing at the base of the stairwell, welcoming guests in to the White House's Entrance Hall. "Arthur Fonzarelli," said the Vice President, in sunglasses and wearing a leather motorcycle jacket, a white tee-shirt and jeans. "Friends call me Fonzi, but you can call me 'Mr. Vice President,' " said Joe Biden, who made no effort to mask his face.

Fonzi walked up to the Joker. "Nice spot on FOX, Dick, but I didn't invite you."

The Joker looked at the man in the leather jacket and smiled.

Joe Biden pointed with both hands, and let out a long, "Heyyyyyyy."

Richard Nixon walked up. "I don't think we invited you," said the former President, to the Joker.

"I'm know," said Dick Bomber, sneering and walking off with Andrew Jackson.

"Makes frickin' Spiro look like an Angel," said Nixon.

"He works for three," said an Angel wearing a badge that read simply, "Rufus T. Firefly."

"Time to get back to work," said Nixon, turning to his wife. "Pat, we've got jobs to do."

Pat Nixon waved her drink. "East Room.... That way."

"Work on your timing," said Nixon, greeting guests streaming into the Entrance Hall. "Dick Nixon, how ya' doing."

"Baby," said December, "let's dance our way around this joint."

Lucy the Dancing Unicorn passed the man in the snappy tuxedo and woman pointed towards the East Room. The unicorn got cheers, and danced across the Entrance Hall and into the Cross Hall that links to the rooms of the Residence's first floor. As they rounded the last of the six massive columns that divide the Entrance Hall from the Cross Hall, Lori and December danced into another guest.

December peered through Lucy's eye and saw a man sprawled on the floor. "Oh, shit! Sorry, Mister...."

"Careful there, horsey," said a man dressed as a circus clown and who, despite heavy face makeup, still resembled George W. Bush.

"Unicorn!" said December. "Can't you see the horn?"

"Never thought of unicorns as dangerous," said the clown, turning to a balding man, dressed in business attire, standing nearby. "Check it out, Dick. A dancing unicorn."

"Right," said the former Vice President, turning away. "I've got unfinished business with Nixon." The man walked off, leaving the circus clown alone with Lucy.

"My Dad is running this party, so I am going in-cog-NEE-tow," said the circus clown. "Who wants to be in the circus after eight years getting beat up as ringmaster?"

"As a soldier," said Lori.

"You know what it's like being stepped on by a circus elephant?" said the clown.

"Uh, no...," said December.

"Me either, but I bet it hurts."

"Where's da food?"

"Food comes last," said the clown. "With this crowd, speech-i-fying and back slapping outrank food and dancing."

December watched as several Russian and Soviet dictators approached the clown.

"Watch out, I can see into your souls," said the clown, as Vladimir Putin, Nikita Khrushchev and Joe Stalin approached. The clown turned. "Dead men walking."

"Tough looking cookies," said December. "Need help?"

"Naw," said the clown. "I got a squirting flower lapel pin. Should do the trick."

Lori and December resumed their dance on the red carpet of the Cross Hall, towards the East Room, leaving the clown with the dictators. Lucy the Dancing Unicorn entered the largest room in the White House and looked around, to the three chandeliers hanging from the 20-foot ceiling, and two paintings, of George and Martha Washington, that dominate the wall.

Party goers began streaming in.

"Redcoats would've burned that one, if it weren't for my wife," said Little Jemmy. December turned to the slender, slight man with white hair, dressed in delicate silks.

"Any idea how long before the dancing starts?" said December.

"The unanimous decision was after midnight," said the small man, pointing to the stage. "That guy never shuts up."

"Check one..., testing... getting that out there?" said Richard Nixon, at a single microphone set up on the wide, low riser positioned between the Washington portraits.

December thanked the fourth president who defeated a King who demanded his colonies.

Guests filled rows of chairs set on the East Room's wood parquet floor, showing invitations to ushers, who in turn showed guests their seats.

"Let's sneak some food," said December. "I'm one hungry Mommy."

As Lucy danced back into the Cross Hall, a brass band broke into "Hail to the Chief." December and Lori peered, to see a group of U.S. Marines, in crisp dress uniforms, holding instruments and playing, as Julius Cesar and a contingent of Roman soldiers led other guests in the Entrance Hall in applause.

Walking down the stairway together were two tall black swans, the male using a crutch to help with an obviously exaggerated limp.

"Uh, thank you, everybody, lame duck," said the male, waving his crutch and wearing a tuxedo made from feathers.

The female swan was an incredibly toned, dark-skinned woman in a black ballet dress made of lace and feathers and which highlighted long, muscled legs and magnificent shoulders and arms. She wore a tiara which held back her flowing hair, and which contrasted with white face paint that was broken only by crimson-red lipstick and two black feathers painted over her eyelids and which stretched to her hairline.

"She is smokin' hot," said December.

"The First Lady is pretty spectacular," said a woman next to Lucy.

December and Lori saw a woman in a red, white and blue superhero costume, peering through a small pair of opera glasses.

"And who're we?" asked December.

The superhero looked through her glasses. "A couple expecting your first child," said the woman. "Do you want to know the gender?"

"No!" said both Lori and December, rushing away, towards the State Dining Room, where, upon entering, the two gasped at the food stations.

"Let's eat, Baby," said December.

Lori opened the flap behind the flowers on the unicorn's back and reached her arms through the opening. She lifted the costume's head off December and set it down on a loveseat. Lori then flipped the white faux-fur covering off of her back and stepped out of the costume's white leggings, leaving her in skin tight buckskin riding britches, a matching top and moccasins. Lori lifted the costume off of December, as her wife stepped out of the leggings.

December's skintight riding outfit showed a slight belly bump. December looked Lori up and down. "You definitely pass inspection, Soldier Girl."

The two looked at a conference table, perhaps thirty feet long, laden with platters, bowls, plates, and other dishes heaped full.

"We're not serving guests yet," said a kitchen staffer, all in white, who entered the room.

Lori stood behind December and put her hands on her wife's belly.

"I'm pregnant," said December.

"Congratulations are in order," said the staffer.

* * *

"Apologies are in order," said Richard Nixon, on stage, with a Cambodian surf guitar band behind him on the riser. "So the appropriate thing to say is, 'Let's get this party started.' "

As Dengue Fever blazed the music, hundreds of costumed party goers jammed into row upon row of chairs in the East Room. "I bet'cher wondering all sorts of things, like when's the great part start? What kind'a show is it gonna be? But what I bet'cher really wondering is, 'What's that son-of-a-bitch doing up there?' "

Audience laughed broke the tension.

"Last time I was in this room, it got to say goodbye," said the ghost, to a silver-haired man seated in the front row. "Henry's in the same frickin' chair, too."

Audience members laughed.

Henry Kissinger adjusted his eyeglasses and smiled.

"Came as yerself tonight, 'eh, Henry?" said Nixon.

"Yes, Mister President," muttered Kissinger, as partygoers continued laughing.

Marilyn Monroe, sitting next to Kissinger, gave the Secretary of State a playful shove.

"Didn't know you two knew each other," said Nixon. "Thought she's a Kennedy girl."

John Kennedy, sitting next to Julius Caesar, stood and waved, to vigorous applause.

"Careful sitting down," said Nixon. "Caesar's got a big spear, if ya know what I mean."

The Roman leader stood, and bowed in several directions, to polite applause.

"That's right, give unto Caesar," said Nixon, "but I've only got this tux until midnight, so let's pick up the pace."

* * *

December and Lori sat at a card table inside the Family Dining Room, as staff wheeled in enormous stainless steel catering units from the door that led to the elevator in the next room. In front of December was a plate of vegetables, avocado, grapes, cheese, and bread.

"Dee, Eat your vegetables," said Lori. "I gotta use the restroom."

"Hurry back, Baby," said December, as one of the kitchen staffers, dressed in white, brought a small plate of hot food to the table. "Could I get some milk?"

"I'll walk you to the lavatory in the Map Room," said the staffer, after instructing another staffer to bring milk.

* * *

"Can't take the heat, eh Joker?" said Nixon, as Dick Bomber – sans Andrew Jackson – made his way out of his chair and to the aisle, where a staff member from the Usher's Office escorted him the short distance from the East Room to the staircase off the Cross Hall that led downstairs.

"Since we're doing introductions," said Nixon, "let me introduce the other fourteen members of the Organizing Committee, starting with the Chairman... and I promise Al Haig's not in charge." The audience laughed with Nixon. "That's right, laugh it up. Where's George?"

Four people in Revolutionary War uniforms stood.

"Not that one!" said Nixon, pointing to George Herbert Walker Bush, seated next to the circus clown. "And he can walk right out of that chair, so his ADA may be the closest we've come for 'near-great' for awhile."

Bush, in a tuxedo and wild socks, slipped on a clown's rubber nose, climbed up the stairs, waved, and jumped back to his seat.

"This'll be a great party," said Nixon, "and the Chairman's got a long way to go before the Dead Presidents Society.... Give it up, for the Chairman...."

* * *

Lori and the kitchen staffer descended the stairwell and entered the Center Hall, where a stream of staff escorted costumed guests to either side of the Diplomatic Reception Room. "That's where I got my Unit Citation," said Lori, pointing to her left, and she saw the Joker being escorted on the other side of the hall.

* * *

The Marine Corps band, assembled in one end of the East Room, joined Dengue Fever in "Hail to the Chief," as a Black Swan, using a crutch, made his way on stage.

"I love that Marine Band," said Nixon's Ghost, looking to the front row, where his Secretary of State sat exactly where he had on his farewell. "Maybe... the Cambodians... deserved a little better...."

The surf guitar band leader offered loving respect to the current occupant of the White House, who stood like a Swan, between George and Martha Washington, waving to an applauding audience, while the ghost who had bombed the singer's country – in his secret sustained military action against a neutral nation – watched her, and looked to Henry, and pondered the smell of his own shit, of the ouster of her King, and the dissolution of her government, and the chaos of civil war and genocidal murders that drove a million Cambodians into the Killing Field, and sent her own parents into exile.

"Shit only stops smelling when the flowers blossom," admitted the ghost, smiling in his role as the emcee from Limbo, but inexorably buried in the tomb of his own ill deeds. "I wonder if Henry would plant an apology."

When the Marine Band and Dengue Fever ceased "Hail to the Chief," the audience went silent.

The Black Swan stood on stage and gave the emcee a short, backslapping hug. Tiny black feathers flew off the Swan's back as Nixon patted him back.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the ghost, "let's hear it for the Current Occupant of this great house... this truly great house... the President of the United States...."
Chapter Thirty-Five – Soldiers Fight Defense in the White House

Lori Lewis kept her arms extended, away from her buckskin top as she dried her hands. She stepped out of the women's lavatory, into the Map Room, where the kitchen staffer was waiting to escort Lori back upstairs. As the two passed a red sofa and a pair of red armchairs, a costumed figure stepped out from the doorway on their right.

"I didn't have to pay a superhero to know who that body belongs to," said the Joker, as he approached Lori and the kitchen staffer.

"Excuse me, but the men's...," said the staffer.

The Joker swiftly closed distance on the pair and threw a violent punch directly into the staffer's jaw, sending the worker to the ground. Lori began to run, but the Joker hastily followed and grabbed her by the wrist, preventing her to make it to the Center Hall. As she fought to free herself from the Joker's grip, he threw another violent punch, and Lori blacked out.

When Lori came to, she was laying on her back in a small room with a vaulted ceiling and scenes of sailing ships and dense forests depicted on the walls. Above her, the Joker was ripping off his own coat. She scrambled in a spider crawl to one corner of the small room, but stopped when she bumped up against the wall. She saw the Joker had also scrambled and was now using one foot to hold her leg down, by standing on her ankle, as he unbuttoned a green vest and tossed it onto the floor.

"There's no way you'll make it out of here," said Lori.

The Joker sneered, as he stood on Lori's ankle.

Lori rolled and with her free leg kicked the Joker in the thigh, freeing her ankle and sending him to one knee. Both managed to rise at the same time. The villain smiled.

"I hoped that this would not be easy."

* * *

"Uh, look," said the Black Swan with a crutch, on stage in the East Room. "I'm a duck!"

"That's great," said Richard Nixon, "but we're gonna work together to tell a story." Nixon deferred to the Current Occupant. "And what's it called, Sir?"

"The Lame Duckling," said the tall, young Black man standing center stage.

* * *

Lori grunted, as she kicked the Joker squarely in the chest, sending him against a wall. Before she could reach the door, she was tackled by the villain, who tore at her buckskin top, ripping it loudly. Lori spun and slammed her fist into the Joker's face, sending face paint and blood into the air.

* * *

"There once was a family of ducks," said Richard Nixon, as the Black Swan leaned on his crutch. "That's right, ducks. They were yellow or white, you know, whatever ducks are...."

* * *

The Joker caught Lori's foot before it smashed into his torso, twisting it and shoving it upwards into the air, sending Lori onto her side, screaming in pain. "Such delightful foreplay."

* * *

"But that duckling just never fit in," said Nixon, as the Black Swan moped about about. "Something must be wrong with himself, so he went to the doctor.... With Obamacare, even ducks can see a doctor...." The audience howled.

* * *

Lori managed to break past the Joker and threw herself against the closed door. Twisting the knob, she fell backwards into the Diplomatic Reception Room, onto a blue-and-gold carpet. The Joker leered. Lori attempted to rise up, but her ankle gave way under her weight and she toppled onto her side.

"This game was almost as enjoyable as sweet victory shall be," said the Joker, chuckling.

Lori looked about the large, ovular-shaped room lined with its fanciful wallpaper, showing depictions of an old-school America – land and seascapes of sailing and steam ships in a busy harbor, women standing at the shoreline in bustling dresses and men in tall hats and long coats, enormous trees and open skies and scenery no longer found in this modern America. She saw no salvation.

"We can thank Harry Truman for making rooms soundproof," sneered the Joker.

* * *

"For a duck, ya have some frickin' long limbs," said Nixon, as the Swan waggled a leg, to laughter. "The doctor said, 'You'll need support,' and so he gave him that crutch." The Swan held the crutch over his head, to cheers. "Everybody in this town's got a crutch."

* * *

"They'll throw you in prison," said Lori, pulling herself backwards on the blue-and-gold carpet, as the Joker approached. The women on the walls, in their bustling dresses, looked on silently, as the villain closed in on his victim.

"Even if I lose my liberty, for-ev-uh shall I shuck my mem-buh to the sweet memory of this coming victory," said the Joker, as he unfastened his belt.

* * *

December Carrera pushed aside her empty plate and set down her glass, after finishing her milk. "Could someone go with me to the bathroom?" she asked, and a staffer approached. "My girlie sure is taking a long time."

* * *

The Joker chuckled as he grabbed and twisted Lori's ankles, sending her into deep pain. "Oh, I'm sorry. It seems that must hurt." He twisted the ankle which earlier he had stood on, making Lori again wince. "Like all conflicts, this too shall end in ultimate victory."

* * *

"And when he went to the lake, he saw all sorts of giant birds, just like himself, and none of them had a frickin' crutch," said Richard Nixon, to the laughing crowd.

* * *

"Unconditional surrender is your only option," said the Joker, as he held Lori by the ankles and dragged her back into the tiny chamber off the Diplomatic Reception Room and closed the door.

Lori screamed.

* * *

December Carrera shrieked, as she and the kitchen staffer entered the Map Room, to see another staffer knocked out cold.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Richard Nixon, as he motioned graciously to the Black Swan, "the President of the United States of America."

* * *

The kitchen staffer who accompanied December into the Map Room stepped out of the women's lavatory, shaking her head as she approached December, who was trying to roust the unconscious aide. "Do you hear something?" said the staffer.

"In there!" said December, pointing to a door that led to the Diplomatic Reception Room.

* * *

"And so, um, what appears to be true, uh, may in fact... not be," said the Swan, lifting his crutch like a trophy. "I'm neither lame, nor a duck. There's plenty of gumption in this bird." The audience stood and applauded.

Richard Nixon, looking out to the adoring crowd, glowed.

* * *

"It is time for the final conquest," whispered the Joker, inches from Lori's ear, as he lay on top of her and reached with one hand to unfasten his pants.

As the Joker turned his head, there came a roar from behind him, and a ceramic object bashed into the side of his face.

"Take that, Batman!" screamed December, knocking the villain out cold.

Blood streamed down the Joker's face, blending and contrasting with the colors of the grotesque face paint.

Lori shoved the villain off of her and crawled away from the limp body.

The kitchen staffer helped Lori to her feet.

A moment later, the other kitchen staffer who had been knocked out by the Joker, gave the villain a kick in the ribs, before turning to the trio. "I'll get Secret Service."

"It's the Joker," said Lori, pointing to the unconscious villain.

"What?" said December, panting.

"Batman's the good guy."

"I don't fuckin' care," said December. "Nobody messes with my Baby."

* * *

Arthur Fonzarelli and the Black Swan stood at the center of a semi-circle, watching as Secret Service agents held down a handcuffed Joker. Allen Goodwrench, wearing the dress uniform of a Union army general, stood next to Fonzi. A medical orderly tore open a foil package containing a large antiseptic pad. "This is going to hurt a bit," said the orderly, dousing the villain's wounds. The Joker screamed. "Okay, a lot."

"Plausible deniability," said Fonzi, to the Black Swan.

"Okay," said the Swan. "I'll leave it to you, Number Two." The Swan exited the Diplomatic Reception Room, with an entourage of Roman soldiers.

"Lieutenant," said Fonzi, "handle this any way you wish, short of killing the bastard."

* * *

Eight blue-coated Union soldiers – two on each limb – carried the thrashing, pantless villain through the Center Hall, into the humid Palm Room and outside, to a snow-blanketed courtyard on the northwest corner of the Residence. The soldiers struggled as they carried the thrashing captive up a set of snow-covered stone steps.

* * *

"This is from the First Lady," said the kitchen staffer who had originally walked Lori downstairs, handing Lori a bag containing a black dress and leggings.

* * *

A guard inside the security post at the northwest corner of the White House grounds opened the automatic gate at the base of the elliptical driveway. On a count of three, the eight Union soldiers hurled the pantless Joker face down into a deep pile of snow. The gate closed."
Part IV – One Year

Chapter Thirty-Six – The journey of three thousand miles

Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim sat with Jeanine Howard, as the two leaned to Larry's speaker phone. The Mayor's pompadour glistened in sunlight streaming from the full-length window of the 14th floor office.

"It is true, yes," said Mayor Kim, "that a developer wants to move ahead on SEADIP."

"They're pushing for early consideration of a retail and residential high-rise development," added Jeanine, "so they can move the issue without you here to fight it."

"Uh...," came Larry's voice.

"You cannot vote by proxy," said Kim, "but of course if you call during the Council meetings, you will be included in the debate." The Mayor turned his chair, his face bathed in sunlight.

"But I don't know anything," said Larry, "except that everyone's yelling to Jeanine."

"Every constituent call, letter and email is either against to the entire plan, or an invisible process," said Larry's principal deputy. "I can write a script, but you can't just do nothing."

"What's the worst that could happen?" said Larry.

"They jam it through, you look like an idiot, and the people who are pissed about this whole horse thing start a recall petition to throw you out of office," said Jeanine.

The Mayor swiveled back to the desk. "You are lucky, Councilman Bix, to have a Chief of Staff who is both competent and candid."

* * *

"Done with yer little chit-chat?" said Lisa, gently releasing Buster's front hoof. She dropped a metal pick into the plastic bucket of grooming tools next to her horse, inside the stable stall, and rested her hand on the horse's shoulder. Buster lowered his face and rubbed his cheek into Lisa's hair. "You still wanna do this thing?"

"Yeh," said Larry.

"And the motley crew?"

"Only Maryann and the Eagles are mine," said Larry.

"And one more," came a voice from the entrance of the stable.

"Hey, Soldier Boy," said Lisa Steel, as Rusty Chops entered the stall.

"Ma'am," said the Major.

"Oh, you!" groaned Larry.

* * *

Larry walked in to the living room of the Tunis Orchards farmhouse, to find Maryann Maggie and her mom sitting on a couch with the three Eagles.

"Yo, Mister Politician," said Oscar.

"Isn't that your girlfriend up on the TV?" asked Tommy, pointing to the flat screen on the wall.

The television news showed General Allen Goodwrench walking briskly to a waiting SUV, with Lieutenant Lori Lewis close behind.

"General!" yelled a reporter, "isn't this tour meant to keep Lieutenant Lewis out of the public eye?"

"Did the President bypass Congress in promoting the Sergeant to an officer's rank?" yelled another.

"Is it true that you ordered soldiers to throw Dick Bomber off of the White House grounds during last week's controversial White House masquerade party?"

The General and Lieutenant kept marching.

"Lieutenant?" said Larry. "When did Lori make Lieutenant?"

* * *

Lisa Steel tossed an empty canvas saddlebag onto the dining room table, where Larry was thumbing a text on his phone. "You'll want this," said Lisa. "Buck gave me the credit card you gave him."

"I have that nylon one," said Larry.

"Nylon makes a horse sweat," said Lisa. "Think like a horse." She grabbed an apple from a basket of fruit on the table, taking a bite.

Larry stared.

"What?" said Lisa.

"When I see you, I think of...," said Larry.

"Dang it, Mister, I ain't no ghost," said Lisa, biting the apple, "so can that, or I ain't riding with ya."

Larry just stared.

"You giving the go-ahead to buy more pack animals?" asked the point rider. "I don't wanna ride all the way to Tucson without extra animals. Bad things can happen in the desert."

"Huh?" said Larry.

"Time to talk, Councilman," said Major Rusty Chops, nodding politely to Lisa Steel. "Ma'am."

"Soldier Boy," said Lisa.

Rusty Chops took a seat, and pulled a kiwi fruit from the basket. "You need to be a concerned about your best friend."

"S'cuse me, Major, got work," said Lisa, smiling, and walking from the table.

"Ma'am," said Rusty Chops, standing, as she stepped away. When Lisa left, the Major again sat. "Allen Goodwrench is an eligible bachelor, and he lets female junior officers know it."

"Lori?" said Larry, still watching Lisa. "She's married."

"Any officer – including General Allen Goodwrench – can fraternize with her," said the Major. "And he is a professional fraternizer, including to married women."

Larry pulled a banana from the fruit basket. "He's did the wedding."

"Not under the laws of Florida, or anyplace the Central Command operates in," said the soldier. "He isn't a brute, like Bomber, but he's persistent, especially with young officers on his personal staff." Rusty Chops bit into the kiwi fruit, skin and all, consuming half in one bite.

"She won't put up with that," said Larry.

Rusty Chops finished the kiwi and wiped fingers on his fatigues. "I was her commanding officer, Councilman. "Lewis believes in loyalty and service. She's a good soldier and highly deferential to rank."

Larry finished his banana and set the peel on the table. "But she's married."

"A lot can happen in the shadow of a giant," said Rusty Chops. "Goodwrench plays by the book, but he plays for keeps."

* * *

"What'cha doing?" said Maryann Moore, taking the seat across from Larry at the table.

"Texting my Chief of Staff," said Larry, not looking up to the teen.

"My mom drove ahead, to set things up for tomorrow, including for the new riders," said Maryann, peeling a Satsuma mandarin from the fruit basket. "Nice saddlebag."

"Lisa got it," said Larry, not looking up. A toe lightly grazed his calf.

Maryann pulled slices of the mandarin and ate each one. "She looks like someone famous," said the teen.

"Uh, Marilyn Monroe," stammered Larry.

"Right, her," said Maryann, her toe hovering Larry's leg. "So, texting, huh."

Larry swallowed. "Um, yeh."

"I bet you can hire anyone you want in your office, can't you?" said Maryann.

"Uh...."

"Thought so," she said, catching Larry's eyes. "Politics sure in interesting."

"Oh, God," said Larry, as he pocketed his phone and ran from the table.

* * *

"Senator!" yelled a mounted rider, as Larry bolted out of the farm house, and headed to the stables.

* * *

"Didn't expect to find you," said Lisa Steel, entering the stall where Larry was grooming his Palomino with a dandy brush.

"Had to just...," said Larry, "um, needed to do, uh... do the horse thing."

"The horse thing," said Lisa, climbing onto the rail of the stall, while Larry brushed the Palomino. "Horses see what you're made of. They can tell. You be good to them, and they'll be good to you."

Larry breathed deeply. "Right," he said.

"You got four pack horses and a mule," said Lisa. "Good, strong feet. Farrier's making shoes. Had the vet with me, so thumbs up on the heart and eyes. Seller sez they eat anything and like new places."

Larry continued with the dandy brush. "Great."

"It is great," said Lisa. "Would'a been hard riding to Tucson on what you had." Lisa watched Larry methodically brushing the horse. "Mrs. Moore is laying out hay at the next few stops, to keep the horses from getting colic, but these new ones are young and strong and seem good-tempered. Getting two saddles, and the tack-and-feed is FedEx-ing saddlebags to tomorrow's stop."

Larry said nothing and kept his focus on the horse.

"By the way, you got 65 riders, now," said Lisa.

Larry stopped brushing the Palomino. "Who's feeding them?" said Larry.

"You," said Lisa.

Larry stopped brushing for a moment. "Okay," he said.

"Be happy with 15 miles a day," said Lisa. "We can pick up the pace in February."

"I'll talk to that girl's mom," said Larry.

"There ain't no 'that' girls," said the point rider who looked like a movie star.

Larry said nothing.

"Okay," said Lisa Steel, climbing off the rail. "Maybe Buck was wrong about you."
Chapter Thirty-Seven – Word Gets Around

"Maryann told me you're giving her a job," said Oscar, as the three Eagle Scouts rode up to Larry, at the front line of the slow-moving herd of riders.

Larry stammered.

"You can do that?" said Lisa Steel. "Just give someone a job?"

"It's, um, not like... that...."

"Nuthin'z like that," said Lisa.

"Maybe you can hire me," said Tommy, batting his eyes at Larry, as the other two Eagles laughed.

Larry's face reddened.

Brent let out a loud laugh. "I knew it!"

The three Eagles galloped off.

"Is that what I think it's about?" said Lisa, gently swaying as she lightly held Buster's reins.

"No," said Larry, repeating the word several times, and several ways.

Neither spoke for quite a while.

"Got that little guitar?" asked Lisa. "I play fiddle, you know."

"It's a ukulele," said Larry.

"I know what a ukulele is," said Lisa.

Rusty Chops rode to the front line. "Forty more riders," said the Major. "You're at 110."

"Most'er just lollygagging," said Lisa. "They're peel after Tucson."

"I don't think so," said Rusty Chops. "They got bedrolls and full saddlebags."

"Tell Mrs. Moore," said Larry.

"She knows," said the Major. "She knows everything."

* * *

"What's all this?" said Larry, as the front line of riders came to a crest, and looked down onto a compound of farmhouses and outbuildings, jammed with news trucks, chuckwagons and a customized motor coach, with a logo of a horse and words that read, "We're Riding Across America."

"My mom's telling people," said Maryann, riding between Larry and Lisa.

"Telling them what?" said the dork.

* * *

"Councilman, meet Sal Manilla," yelled Maggie Moore, as the front line entered the compound. She pointed to a balding man in slacks and a short-sleeved, button-down dress shirt, standing outside of the huge motor coach. "He wants to talk to you."

Larry held the saddle horn and uneasily dismounted his Palomino.

Lisa, already dismounted, took the reins to Larry's horse and led both animal away.

Sal Manilla waved from the huge motor coach. "Welcome to a little home away from home," said Manilla, leading Larry into the coach. Instead of rows of seats, the bus featured a conference table, computer stations, a kitchen and, beyond that, three closed doors. Sal walked Larry through the coach, opening each door. "Bedroom..., bathroom..., studio." The man plopped into an conference table chair.

"So, um, why are you talking to me?" asked Larry.

"Look," said Sal Manilla, waving to dozens of riders on horses. "Do you know what this is?"

"Um," said Larry. "A bunch of people with horses."

"This is a movement, my friend," said Sal Manilla, reaching to a small refrigerator mounted next to his swivel chair. "A genuine, honest-to-God, grassroots movement... and we're going to ride it." Manilla pulled out a soda can and offered it to Larry. "Ginger ale? Good when your legs swell up. The quinine. Do your legs ever swell up?"

Larry didn't speak or move.

"We're going to ride this together," said Sal Manilla. "You're gonna lead. I'm a message man. By the time we hit Washington, people will beg you to run for President."

Larry's eyes widened. "I... I don't... I'm not...."

"And no one expects you to," gently said Sal, cracking open his ginger ale. "You're too young and weird and inexperienced, but that's what people want, and you're gonna give it to 'em, by God."

Gene Autry sang in Larry's pocket. He pulled out his phone and looked. "It's my office."

"This is your office on wheels," said Sal Manilla. "Put it on speaker."

Larry did as ordered.

"Rutland's got something to tell you," said Jeanine Howard.

"Hi, Councilman, how's it going?" said Rutland Judd, over speaker.

Larry looked at Sal Manilla, drinking ginger ale. "Okay, I guess."

"You're losing your mystery," said Rutland.

"Huh?" said Larry.

Sal Manilla put down his soda can and leaned forward.

"You talk too much on TV," said Rutland. "Say less, and people will be interested more."

"What?" said Larry.

"People love mystery," said Rutland.

"Bingo," said Sal Manilla. "Bingo!"

"Who's that with you?" said Jeanine.

"Sal Manilla," announced the message man. "I'm running the Councilman's media wagon, and you're right, you're right... mystery... bingo!" Sal pointed to Larry. "Like that four words sign!"

"Huh?" asked Larry.

"Four words says everything," exclaimed Sal Manilla. "Four words is plenty!"

* * *

Larry and Sal Manilla exited the media wagon and walked through the crowd, where news crews interviewed riders, and riders watched other riders getting interviewed. Larry herd greetings of, "Hey, Senator," and "Howdy, Congressman," and "Afternoon, Councilman."

"That four-word rule is a good shtick," said Sal Manilla, looking about. "An honest-to-God grass-roots movement."

"Hungry, Councilman?" asked a large man, holding tongs and a spatula, as he stood at a gleaming aluminum BBQ wagon. "Jim... Oscar's dad," said the man. "We met before you started the ride."

"Councilman," said Major Rusty Chops, holding a paper plate of hot food.

"I remember," said Larry, nervously.

"Maggie Moore made me chief cook for your army," said Jim, pointing to a grill, crowded with chicken, ribs, beef patties, hot sausages cooking in an aluminum pan deep in a bubbling sauce. Other pans held sauerkraut, grilled onions, roasted vegetables, and chili. A tall pot filled with ears of white corn was on a back burner.

"Awful generous to feed an army," said Oscar's father. "Hope two chuck wagons are enough."

"I don't have an army!" shot back Larry.

"You got a Division," said the Major.

"Sal... Sal Manilla," said the balding man, reaching to shake hands with the cook and soldier.

Jim held his cooking utensils.

All exchanged fist bumps.

"Beautiful, baby," said Sal. "Just beautiful."

* * *

"We're up to 150 this morning," reported Rusty Chops, to Larry and Lisa, each with a breakfast burrito. "Bands of five or six. The Eagles run between self-appointed group leaders to tell when to move."

"When we hit Tucson, they'll peel off," said Lisa. "I know it."

"Don't agree, Ma'am," said Rusty Chops, finishing his burrito.

Gene Autry sang out. Larry finished his burrito, and pulled out his phone. "Hi, Jeanine."

"More problems," said Jeanine, over speaker.

"I kind of have a lot here," said Larry.

"The high-rise development is agendized for next week's Council meeting," said Jeanine.

"I'm sort of tied up," said Larry.

"The candidate you beat will file recall papers if Council takes up the issue and you're not here," said Jeanine.

There was a long silence. "Okay, thanks," said Larry, pocketing his phone, as Maryann Moore ran up to Larry, Lisa and Rusty.

"Fight!"

The three ran behind Maryann until they reached a circle behind the media wagon.

Rusty Chops inserted himself between two fighters – an Eagle, and a bearded man in his 40s.

"What the Hell're you doing!" yelled Lisa, hitting the bearded man repeatedly with her hat.

Three riders held him back, as he flinched under Lisa's fusillade.

"I ain't taking orders from no gay boy!" yelled the bearded man.

"Hate spitter!" yelled Tommy, the Eagle Scout.

"Just try and hit me!" spat back the bearded man, "but ain't no gay boy giving me orders."

"Like, stop, okay...," said Larry, weakly.

"Stop!" shot Major Rusty Chops. "Or you get no food or water!"

Lisa continued chewing out the man, as Brent and Oscar held Tommy.

A piercing whistle blew.

Lisa and Rusty ceased their yelling.

Both Tommy and the bearded man stopped thrashing.

Larry saw Sal Manilla, leaning out of the driver's window of his coach, a whistle dropping from his lips. "If you're all stupid, this movement's over before it begins!" yelled the message man.

"Um," said Larry, motioning to Sal, who saluted.

"Not sure if you knew this," said Major Rusty Chops, picking up the bearded man's hat, "but Eagle Scouts who enlist enter the U.S. Army as E2s, because of leadership skills they've gained."

The man in his 40s grabbed his hat.

"I can't tell you not to hate," said Larry, exchanging a silent nod with each Eagle Scout, "but these kids are with me, so if you can't let them be leaders, then you gotta leave."

"Beautiful," said Sal, leaning out the window. "Let Them Be Leaders. Four words. Beautiful."

* * *

Larry sat on a stool in Sal Manilla's video studio. A woman with a great deal of body art and hair of many colors applied pancake to Larry's forehead.

"Just say whatever comes into your head," said Sal, clipping a lapel microphone to Larry's bolo tie. "We can boil it down to the essence... content for any platform."

* * *

Lisa Steel sat on the rail of a stable stall, as Larry picked away gravel from the Palomino's hoof. "It's getting weird out there," said Lisa.

Maryann Moore entered the stall. "I booked you a flight, but you gotta leave quick."

"What?" said Larry, lowering his horse's leg and stepping away from the animal.

"First it's an Uber and you get on a plane," said Maryann, showing her smart phone, "to make the council meeting."

Larry looked at the teenager, his mouth agape.

"Might want to shower in wagon," said Lisa. "You're pretty stinky."
Chapter Thirty-Eight – On a Ride Together

"Councilman Bix!" exclaimed Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim, as a man wearing dusty jeans, a dust-caked shirt, dusty boots, and wearing a bolo tie and Stetson hat stepped past a uniformed police officer, and headed towards the dais. "You are in time to lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance."

Several audience members – each holding part of a banner that read "Stop SEADIP Now" – booed, as Larry made his way to an illuminated nameplate that read, "Larry van der Bix, Councilmember."

An Angel and four dead presidents – all in western attire – watched Jeanine Howard make a beeline for Larry's chair, reaching it just as he did. She handed off a manila folder with letters and printouts. Larry brushed his hand on his shirt, sending up a small cloud of dust, before setting the folder on his desk. Larry placed his hand over his heart.

The Angel and dead presidents joined the audience, in standing.

"Ready...," said Larry, looking to the American Flag behind the Council dais. "Begin...."

* * *

"Item nineteen," said Tony Kim. "Staff report on SEADIP. Will the Clerk please read the item?"

"Item nineteen," said a curly-haired man at the end of the dais. "Staff report on SEADIP, providing draft language to amend the General Plan, governing the southeast region of the City."

The lights dimmed. A PowerPoint presentation went up on screen. A staff member began reading a report. Larry switched on a small desktop reading lamp, opened the manila folder and read constituent letters, writing notes in the margins.

"Staff recommends approving the negative declaration, so as to preclude the need for an environmental review document," said the staffer.

Larry looked up.

"The language drafted by the City Attorney would allow Planning to engage with...."

Larry raised his hand.

"Councilman, I don't believe the staff report is complete," said Tony Kim.

Larry kept his hand in the air, as the Mayor motioned to staff to continue. Larry waved his arm, as a smart first grader would do. A smattering of laughter rose from the audience.

The staffer stopped and sat rigid.

"Yes, Councilman Bix," said the Mayor, swiveling towards Larry.

"Could you repeat that, about staff recommending...."

The staffer looked down at her binder and re-read a sentence. "Staff recommends approving the negative declaration, so as to preclude the need for an environmental review document," said the staffer.

"But isn't an environmental review the only real way that people in the community can weigh in on the details of a project?" asked Larry.

"Yes!" and "Thank you!" and "Finally!" came from the audience, spoken at once.

The Mayor lightly tapped his gavel, silencing the people holding the anti-SEADIP banner.

"Members of the public are invited to address any item of business during regularly scheduled council or planning commission meetings," said the staffer, earnestly, "whether it is during the period each meeting that is dedicated to public comment or...."

"No one's listening by that point," said Larry.

The room went silent.

"That's how my dad made all his money," said Larry van der Bix. "By the time his developments came up for a vote in the planning commission or council, everyone knew who was voting how. How much can you say in three minutes that would change that?"

The Mayor looked away from Larry. "If we may continue," said the Mayor.

"I have 37 letters, and every one says we need more debate, not less," said Larry, holding up a folder.

"If I may," said a senior department leader, seated next to the planning department staffer. "Susan Stalk, Director of Development Services. The staff recommendation is based on the sheer volume of research already done on this area. Requiring a CEQA document would not substantially add to our understanding of the project area and would cost several million dollars to prepare and consume thousands of hours of staff time to oversee the process."

Larry held his hand up, using his other hand to prop his arm up.

"Yes, Councilman Bix," said the Mayor.

"I want to make a motion to, um, not approve this," said Larry, to cheers from the audience.

"I know you have come a long way to be with us tonight," said Tony Kim, "but can we at least hear the full staff report?"

* * *

Larry stretched in his first class seat, and looked out to the vast expanse of desert below the chartered jet.

"Your Coca Cola, Councilman," said the stewardess.

* * *

"Larry!" exclaimed Sal Manilla, standing at the mouth of his media wagon, with the Eagles, Maryann and Rusty, each holding a beverage. "Perfect timing!"

"Heya, Mr. Politician Man," said Maryann Moore, as Larry stepped out of a cab. She held an iced tea can wrapped in several layers of paper towels. "Nice trip?"

"The army is rested," said Rusty Chops, holding a bottle of water and studying Larry in the way a Master Sergeant examines a buck-ass private.

Maryann got close enough to sniff Larry. "Cologne?"

"All the horses are fed, watered and groomed," said Oscar, holding an Orange Crush.

"We have 200 riders now," said Brent, holding a Fresca. "They're ready to move."

"Washed your clothes," said Trent, with Cactus Cooler.

"And don't worry," said Sal Manilla, holding a tin can of Dole pineapple juice. "Each group of riders is registering with Mrs. Moore, and signs a pledge to work together."

"Liability waivers and joint responsibilities and all that shit<' said Maryann, as Larry appeared stunned. "Bet you thought I didn't know that."

"Whatever," said Larry.

"Each band of riders has identified a leader," said Rusty Chops, "so we can spread word up the line quickly."

"One group is all girls," said Maryann.

"Where's Lisa?" asked Larry.

"Out there," said Maryann, pointing with her can of iced tea.

"She and Buster don't like crowds," said Rusty.

* * *

Larry bounced as his Palomino trotted towards a pair of figures sheltering from the desert mid-day sun under a willow tree. As he drew closer, Larry heard the sound of ukulele strings.

"I'm back," said Larry.

"Guess the Palomino likes you better than that chestnut mare," said Lisa, plucking, leaning back onto her saddle, using a pilates mat as a cushion to lay upon, her legs across Buster's withers, each heel dug in to the horse's shoulder and rotating slightly as she played. "D'ja win?"

"Huh?"

"You left the trail," said Lisa, laying back on Buster. "It wasn't just to wash yer clothes."

"Won a little," said Larry, erect in the saddle. "Got the issue postponed."

"So, what? Next week, too?" asked Lisa.

"The Mayor said he'd call me when the issue is put on the agenda," said Larry.

"Then you won... for a little bit," said Lisa, hitting a right chord. "Losing means something gets jammed through and you couldn't stop it." Lisa repeated the right chord, pairing it with another right chord. "Keeping the Devil's baby from being born ain't called winning, but it ain't losing, neither."

Larry looked out to the expanse of Sonora desert, and, over his shoulder, to the pass that leads to camp. "People don't hate me as bad," said Larry, quietly.

"Good reason to rest the horses," said Lisa, finding another wrong chord.

Buster sang in response.

"Fight yer fight, and make people not hate you." Lisa found another right chord, which she paired with a string of other right chords.

Buster added a stanza.

"Will we cam do the whole ride, even though it's not like Buck told me it'd be?" asked Larry.

Lisa dug her heels in to Buster and flexed, bringing herself to a seated posture. "Mister, you paid me a ton of money and Berkshire Hathaway's already got it." She played well. "Not the year I'd like, but I keep my word."

Sal Manilla, in a hybrid golf cart, raised a spray of dust as he motored towards the willow tree. "Larry! Larry, baby!" came a voice, calling out from the golf cart crossing the open desert.

"I've had sucky years," said Larry, as Sal's cart – with dead presidents and an Angel holding on top – blurred as he circled the humans and colts, in his golf cart. "I want this to be a great year."

"You got me til winter," said Lisa, pointing towards the golf cart. "And maybe Mr. Media, too."

"I like that all these people riding with us, but that's why I need you," said Larry. "If you want more money, or to hire someone...."

"Told you, Boss, I ain't going nowhere," said Lisa, motioning to the golf cart, with the Angel and ghosts she could not see. "Yer gonna spend lots, but none more on me." Lisa played chords as a melody. "If yer hiring people other than Freckle Girl, then sign up the Major as my deputy, and pay the Eagles, or give 'em a scholarship, or something."

"Okay," said Larry. "It's just lottery money."

"The tack-and-feed and Berkshire Hathaway don't care where it comes from," said Lisa, ukulele in one hand and reins in the other, as she turned Buster and galloped away.

* * *

"Knock, knock," said Maryann Moore, standing at the mouth of Larry's three-person camping tent, jammed invisible with an Angel, Nixon's Ghost, Mr. Reagan, LBJ and Teddy. "Can I come in?"

Harpo honked lightly.

"Ya better treat her good," said Nixon's Ghost.

The teenager entered the tent without an answer. "Need more flights arranged?"

"You were incredibly helpful," said Larry, sitting upright on his sleeping bag, beside a small, folding table.

"Smile," said Mr. Reagan. "She's the co-star."

Larry set down his phone.

"I can do lots," said Maryann, zipping the tent flap closed. "Don't want bugs." After sealing the tent, Maryann pointed to Larry's sleeping bag. "Sal says you're welcome to the media wagon."

"I... prefer... this...," stammered Larry.

"Cozy, but a little lonely," said Maryann, picking up a white plastic disk, shaped like a candle. "What's this?"

"Be a nice bear," said Theodore, who had rescued one from a fire.

She turned it over, flipped a small black switch, and giggled at the flickering. "Nice nightlight," she said, putting the flickering candle back on the folding table. The teenager plopped down on Larry's sleeping bag. "I hear you have Oreos."

"Don't hide cookies," instructed the Texan.

Harpo honked vigorously.

* * *

"Morning, Councilman," said Maggie Moore, standing behind the serving line at the chuckwagon. "Pancakes?" She placed two on Larry's paper plate.

"Eggs?" asked Maryann, holding a large metal spoon heaped with scrambled eggs. The teen served eggs without Larry giving a response.

"Heya, Councilman, sausage or bacon?" said Oscar's dad, Jim.

"Go with both," said Lyndon Johnson.

* * *

"Listen up!" shouted Trent, on horseback, next to Rusty Chops and Lisa Steel.

The circle around Rusty, Trent and Lisa numbered maybe fifteen riders, most being men in their 40s or 50s; some lean, some stout; some tough-looking, some jolly; all tanned; each leaning in to hear over the sounds of horses, the base camp and the jangling of the "last call" chow bell.

"We can make twenty miles, if we focus on the mission," said Rusty Chops.

"Ain't made twenty yet," said Lisa Steel. "Let's surprise ourselves after two weeks."

"I'm still hungry," said Larry, pointing towards the chuckwagon.

"We're about to ride, Councilman," said Rusty Chops, "and what goes in, must come out."

"Let's charge!" commanded Theodore Roosevelt, his voice unheard by the new Rough Riders.

* * *

Larry spit dust and pulled his bandana to cover his lips. Lisa Steel and Rusty Chops rode on either side, and behind them were the Eagles and a line of lead riders. Behind leaders moved humans and beasts.

Maryann Moore galloped from the second line alongside Larry.

"Right beside ya," said Maryann.

Larry held the reins and nodded.

The two rode together silently.

The Angel Harpo, in his exaggerated attire and massive hat, watched the politician and teenager ride.

"Looks like ya got a scheduler," said Nixon's Ghost.

"And someone to ride with," said Mr. Reagan.

After several minutes, Maryann galloped off, with Theodore Roosevelt beside her.

* * *

"I really need to make arrangements for the night camp," said Maggie Moore, sitting in the driver's seat of her SUV, as Larry stood next to the idling vehicle, during a mid-day rest break. In the distance, horses grazed on a patch of grass alongside the highway.

"It's just that... um, your daughter," said Larry.

"Maryann's told me everything, Councilman," said Mrs. Moore.

"Everything?"

"She's so excited about being a scheduler," said Maggie Moore. "I've taught her how to get things done."

"Um, yeh, about that...," said Larry.

"No time, Councilman," said the advance organizer. "I've got to meet the farmers hosting our camp." She waited for an 18-wheeler to pass. "Maybe I was wrong about you," yelled Maggie Moore, speeding off.

* * *

"Heya, Boss," said Lisa, standing at the mouth of Larry's tent.

Larry sat upright on his sleeping bag and motioned to a single, folding chair that Sal had loaned him.

Mr. Reagan floated off the director's chair.

Larry dialed his lantern from "low" to "medium," as Lisa stepped in to the tent and zipped the flap closed.

"Scorpions," said Lisa, taking a seat in the chair and picking up an electronic candle from the table. "How come yer staying in a tent?"

"Frickin' good question," muttered Nixon's Ghost.

"People annoy me," said Larry.

"With you on that one," said Lisa Steel, setting the flickering candle onto the table. "We got 400 riders and I know almost all of 'em. It's my worst nightmare."

"So you're famous," said Larry.

"Only to people who can do me no good," said Lisa, turning the candle on and Larry's lantern off.

Lyndon Johnson slid into the sleeping bag and listened.

The flickering of the plastic candle bounced about the darkened tent. "Yer right. These are glowy." Lisa left the lantern off. "Looking like a ghost ain't being famous."

Harpo honked vigorously.

"Now, now, there you go again," said Mr. Reagan, to the Jewish Angel.

"The men want me to be someone else and the women are worried that I am," said the fiddle player who looks like a movie star.

"You look like Marilyn Monroe," said Larry. "Like, just like her."

"So tied of that," said Lisa, in the flickering candlelight. "That's all men see and women see their man stare."

"I'm sorry," said Larry.

"Why do you think I hang out with horses?" said Lisa Steel.

"I guess I'm sorry," said Larry.

"Don't be," said Lisa. "I'm grateful that God blessed me with all I got, but if it weren't for that ghost, I'd be 'Lisa the fiddle player,' instead of Lisa who looks like a movie star."

"The actress had to put up with hounding, too," said Mr. Reagan.

"Knock, knock... oh," came a voice from outside Larry's tent.

"Only good movie she made was Misfits," said Lisa.

Harpo disagreed, repeatedly honking to defend Marilyn's first scene, with Groucho.

"But she even trimmed one shoe half-an-inch to swing her hips more," replied Mr. Reagan.

The tent flap zipper slid down and Maryann Moore entered the tent. "Lisa?"

Larry looked out, to Theodore Roosevelt climbing off of a gargoyle.

"Yeh," said Lisa. "Talking the Boss."

"Me, too!" squealed Maryann.

"Ain't got nuthin' more, really," said Lisa, standing, unzipping the tent flap and exiting.

"Bye," said Maryann, as she zipped the tent flap closed. "Brought you something," said the teen, holding out her smart phone. "You won't like it, though. Push play."

Larry reached for Maryann's cell phone, and after he tugged lightly several times, the teen released her grip. Larry held the phone close and pushed a small gray arrow. An unflattering image of Lori Lewis was set against type that read, "Lesbian soldier's marriage annulled."

"Son of a bitch," muttered Nixon's Ghost.

"Oh my God, no," said Larry, as the teaser morphed into a news clip.

"In another story we're following on FOX...," said a blonde anchor, "a forced annulment in the marriage of two lesbians performed by a top general last October in Afghanistan. We go to our senior national political reporter, outside the White House...."

"This can't be anything good," said Lyndon, pulling the blanket tighter.

"Washington is abuzz on word that the marriage of two women performed at Bagram Air Base by General Allen Goodwrench has been annulled by a special military panel set up to look at the attack on the base last October," said a statuesque blonde in her early 30s, standing on the sidewalk that looked onto the south lawn of the White House.

"Bully," shot back Mr. Roosevelt.

"Unnamed military sources say that the panel also looked into allegations of unwanted sexual advances by then-Congressman Bomber against the lesbian soldier, during a 17-day congressional fact-finding mission that wrapped up at Bagram, on that fateful day last October," added the senior national political reporter, wearing a skin-tight dress.

"Oh my God," said Larry, handing Maryann's phone back to her and reaching for his own. He dialed Lori's number.

"...This is Lori, but I can't come to the phone," came Lori's voice.

"I'm so sorry," said Larry, repeating the words several times, before hanging up and dialing a second number.

"... Hello, you've reached me, and if this is my Baby, then leave me a nice, long, hot message...," said December Carrera. "Otherwise..., whatever."

"I'm so sorry," said Larry, several times into the phone, before closing it. He wept.

"Son of a bitch," repeated Nixon's Ghost.

"Oh, wow," said Maryann, "I didn't think you'd cry."

"They love each other," he said, the wetness on his cheeks highlighted when the electronic candle flickered. "She's my best friend."

"Guess the ride's more than a ride, now," said Maryann.

Harpo honked.

Larry wiped his face and blew his nose with a paper towel.

"You don't have to be alone," said Maryann.

The four presidents and the Angel watched the drama.

Larry sat upright on his sleeping bag, pulling the blanket off of Lyndon Johnson, and waved his hand to say, "No," but he made no effort to send Maryann away. She took a seat in the director's chair.

"Your tent is nicer than what the guys got," said Maryann, as Larry cried. "It's old scouting gear, not like your fancy new stuff." She reached down and felt the puffy, orange sleeping bag that Larry was sitting on and LBJ laid under. "Oh, and your sleeping bag... ooooo.... It's so warm. I can never get warm."

"It's too hot for me, actually," said Larry. "I sleep on top, cuz my heart runs hot."

"I have a better idea," said Maryann. "And it's probably good for your heart, too." Maryann slid off her boots, rose from the director's chair, stepped onto Larry's sleeping bag and laid down, next to him.

"Well," said Mr. Reagan. "She's quite the star."

"Let's spoon," said the young woman.

Larry stammered.

The presidents stared.

Harpo honked.

Maryann smoothed the sleeping bag. "It is warm," she purred. "C'mon, I'm not gonna jump you."

"I don't think...," said Larry.

"Bull pucky," said Lyndon.

"She's an frickin' grown-up," said Nixon's Ghost.

"I won't tell my mom," said the girl.

"I really don't think...."

Maryann gently patted the sleeping bag in front of her. "C'mon, we're on this ride together," she said. "Help me get warm."
Chapter Thirty-Nine – Proud of Rope Tricks

The climate changes, as Lisa Steel and Rusty Chops spent the spring keeping Larry's ever-growing army of riders moving, shepherding news crews to the media wagon, watching Larry leave to attend council meetings, working with Maryann's mom and Oscar's dad on feeding and housing the riders, but mostly keeping to themselves at the end of each day, and neither could see four dead presidents and an Angel watching them fall in love.

Outside of Tucson, the two began pitching their tents next to each other. By the time the riders reached Alamogordo, the two began taking long walks into the desert each night. Their kissing began while everyone camped for several days outside of Roswell, New Mexico, where the ghosts and Angel saw Martian flame burn in their heart. By the time the army reached Lubbock, its ranks had swelled to over a thousand, most of whom slogged through to Amarillo, and up to Oklahoma City, where a sprawling base camp was set up in a city park, while a smaller group staged a permitted protest in front of the state Capitol.

"Just four words, everybody! You only get four!" bellowed Sal Manilla, into his hand-held microphone that amplified his voice out of loudspeakers mounted to the exterior of the media wagon. In front of him were two hundred riders and four dead presidents, the vanguard of Larry's army. Local television crews lined up with network TV, photographers, and journalists, as a group of dismounted riders worked with Sal to pull out a retractable stage from the base of the customized media coach, while Lisa and Rusty kept the cavalry together. Behind the media wagon rose the stately dome and neoclassical façade of the Oklahoma State Capitol. Once the platform was secure, Sal stood center-stage – just below the words, "We're Riding Across America" – and repeated, "Just four words everybody.... You only get four... Don't forget your sign.... And that's our shtick."

Larry said more than four words, but not on stage.

"I'm riding across America, because I'm mad," Larry would tell reporters, while the line of riders would step up, say their name, show their sign, and speak their four words. "I have four words – just like everybody else." Larry held a piece of cardboard, with the words "Leave Lori Lewis Alone," handwritten in marker, while being interviewed. "Lori is in love, so she got married," Larry would say, "but strangers hate her." When Larry stood with ghosts who cheered him on, the crowd would hoot and holler and boo hatred ripping America apart. "Leave my friend alone.... Let them stay married.... Stop dragging them around!"

"She's my best friend," Larry would say, as cameras flashed and Martian tripods blew overhead flames. "Just leave her alone!"

In each city and country village, crowds cheered and booed as Larry wiped his face and handed Sal his microphone.

"Larry's not the only one who's mad, is he?" cajoled Sal Manilla. "Is he?"

"Ya bet yer frickin' dollar," would yell the ghost no one could see, and most would despise.

A roar of anger would rise from each audience, in anger so visceral it could be tasted, like dust on the lips. A thin blue line of officers would surround protesters, as Sal Manilla motioned to a grizzled man who stood at the front of a long line of riders, each carrying a sign.

"Just like everybody else... only four words, people," said Sal, as the grizzled man stood next to Larry on the media platform. "Okay, rider, you're on," said Sal, as he held up a sign that read, "We're Riding Across America!"

One after another, the long line of riders said their name and hometown, and held their sign, and read four words, and handed Sal the microphone. In half an hour, a hundred people paraded before adoring cameras, telling America and the world to "Let the Babies Live" and "Give Farmers More Water." Maryann carried a sign reading, "Proud Feminist and Equestrian." Trent's Eagle sign read, "It's Our World, Too." Oscar's declared, "My Dad i's Bacon King," with a strike out needed to cut the count to four words. There were variants of "Illegal Means Illegal, Period!" and "The temperatures are rising" and "God's Greatest Gift? Water!" One rider with extremely good salt-and-pepper hair waved a smile and carried a sign that read, "I Miss Bill Clinton."

"Well, sure," Nixon would say, routinely quoting Kojack in a concession to a fellow hated figure. "Who luvs ya, Baby?"

* * *

"We're spending about fifty thousand dollars a day, on meals, animal feed, and outhouses," said Maggie Moore, seated with Larry, Lisa, Rusty, Maryann, and Sal, at the conference table in the media wagon.

"Don't follow the money," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry spit out some of his Coca Cola. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," said Larry, reaching for paper towels.

"A five-fold increase from 60 days ago, and double where we were a month ago," said Maryann's mom.

"A million dollars a month for food and toilet paper!" thundered Sal. "It's nothing! Nothing!"

"If you're not paying for it, maybe," said Larry, wiping the table. "I won big and have a ton left, so I can afford it, but how much more is it gonna be?"

"We're about half way," said Lisa. "You got a little spring left, all of summer, and probably all the fall."

"Six or seven million and we finish one year before a nation election," said Sal. "Even double is great money."

"Time is inexorable," repeated Nixon's Ghost. "Use it or lose it."

Larry coughed and sputtered.

"Look what you get," said Sal, handing Larry another roll of paper towels. "You've put Dick Bomber on defense. You're influencing a Presidential race. The governors of every state we've been in – D or R, doesn't matter – wants to ride with you. I've got one hundred thousand emails begging you to run for President and twenty million hits on the YouTube channel."

"Wish Bull Moose had it," said Teddy Roosevelt.

"Wish I had it," said Mr. Reagan. "Could'a won the Oscar."

Maryann sat next to Larry, after giving his a Coke and a smile.

"Your hometown wants you as Grand Marshall in their Pride Parade next weekend and every network will be there! This is big! Big!"

"Grand Marshall," said Larry, cracking open the soda can, and turning to the speaker phone. "What is Rutland doing?"

"He's your body person," said Jeanine Howard, over the conference call. "And I'm walking the Rolling Stone reporter with you."

"Ya can't blow this one," said Nixon's Ghost. "I'm beggin' ya."

"You're an international news figure," said Sal.

"You'll ride Carrot Cake," said Maryann, looking at notes on the table.

"Buck's made arrangements with the parade organizers," said Maggie Moore.

"If ya do something great, I get to resign," said the dead president, "and I'm freed from Limbo."

"The Pride Parade?" stammered Larry. "Carrot Cake hates me."

"Too bad it's not yer Palomino," said Lisa Steel, sitting very close to a Soldier Boy.

"Every network will be there, and crews from Europe and Japan, for Lori's hometown parade," said Sal. "You can't buy that kind of coverage to help your friend."

* * *

The Angel Harpo, in his Hundred Gallon hat and riding a gargoyle, held point, as more than a thousand rode behind him.

"You'll like this one," said Maryann, maneuvering her colt, Moore Mellow, close to Larry's Palomino, and extending her arm to pass Larry her phone.

Larry pushed play.

"Trouble in Iowa for a TEA Party independent," intoned a blonde anchor. "We go to Ames, and FOX political reporter Candy Bear.... Candy?"

The news clip went into a close-up of Dick Bomber, holding a baby, while the child's buxom young mother scowled. "It was the best of times... it was the worst of times... for Senator Dick Bomber." The clip showed Bomber's nose being squeezed by the baby in his arms. "Bring it on, Super Baby," said Bomber, as the crowd laughed. The footage then cut to protesters carrying signs bashing Bomber as a racist, homophobe.

Larry nodded and handed the wireless device back to Maryann, who pocketed the phone. "I gave Jeanine your flight itinerary." Larry nodded again, and Maryann fell to the second line of riders.

Lisa maneuvered Buster alongside Larry's Palomino. "We'll make Tulsa before nightfall, but Sal wants you to speak at the Will Rogers Museum, in Claremore, tomorrow."

"I do his rope tricks," said Larry.

"I'm sure ya do," said Lisa. "I'm sure you'll it'll be a great parade."

"Don't you mean, 'stupid parade?' " asked Larry.

"I didn't say that," said Lisa Steel. "People outta be proud of who they are, just like my parents are proud I could clear their mortgage. If they wanna have a parade, let 'em."

"You did what?" said Larry.

"This year already is great, and not sucky," said Lisa, brushing back the look of a ghost. "Maybe being proud is part of it."

Ahead, almost at the horizon, wavering in the rising heat, could be seen the visage of the media wagon being followed by a caravan of news vans and food trucks, all being shepherded by highway patrol escorts, with their lights flashing.

"Yeh," said Larry, not seeing the Angel or gargoyle directly ahead. "Maybe."

* * *

Larry lay on top of his sleeping bag, his eyes wide open, as a freckled arm wrapped itself across Larry's torso, under his pants, and held his enormous flaccid penis being rhythmically squeezed.

"Warm," purred a woman 15 years younger than the total dork. "Finally."

"Stop hogging the blanket," barked Lyndon Johnson.
Chapter Forty – What Would Will Rogers Say?

The Angel Harpo sauntered in his exaggerated wester attire and 100-gallon hat, to escort his brother, Groucho, and a dozen dead presidents through the massive audience of Larry's army.

"Great to see you," asked Ronald Reagan. "."

"Great to see anyone," said the Angel Groucho, blowing smoke to the audience who could not see the Angels and ghosts.

"Perhaps... a great society," said Lyndon Johnson.

"A bully pulpit," said Theodore Roosevelt.

"Let us hope not a war to end all wars," said Mr. Wilson.

"Or another revolution," said George Washington.

Calvin Coolidge, in an Indian hat, said nothing.

"Son of a bitch," added Nixon's Ghost, as the group followed Larry to the food court.

"Good luck on stage, Councilman," said Maggie Moore, in her white apron, serving breakfast, holding a pair of tongs. "You'll need carbs." She dropped three pancakes onto Larry's plate.

"He'll be great!" bubbled Maryann, offering warm syrup for the pancakes.

"Uh... no... that's okay," said Larry, pulling away from Maryann's syrup pot.

"Morning, Councilman," said Oscar's dad, the Bacon King. "Big, fat sausage?"

"Larry! Baby!" came a loud voice, and a second later, two hands massaged Larry's shoulders. "Big one tonight, big!" Sal Manilla accepted a plate from Mrs. Moore and nodded to each server, as he moved through the line with Larry, getting scrambled eggs, potatoes, fruit, banana bread, juice, and coffee. "Who just spent ten thousand dollars on breakfast?" exclaimed Sal, punctuating with, "Ha!"

"... Me...," said Larry.

"It's the frickin' money!" growled Nixon's Ghost.

"So, tonight, big, big!" said Sal, moving with Larry through a crowd of grizzled men and women, most of whom nodded, said "good morning" or otherwise greeted Larry as the pair walked towards a folding picnic table. "Fifty-three film crews... every network.... Comedy Central, Japan, China, Germany, France, England.... Daily Show is doing ten minutes on ya... And you'll be live on CNN and FOX."

"That's quite a show," said Mr. Reagan.

"You bet your life it is," said Groucho.

"I'm gonna be sick," said Larry, setting his plate and coffee onto the picnic bench.

* * *

Harpo mixed coffee and Groucho blew smoke, as Larry and Sal sat in swivel chairs in the media wagon, watching three mounted televisions. Outside, Theodore Roosevelt led a platoon of dead presidents mounted on gargoyles into a charge, upward, straight to the sky.

"We go live to Claremore, Oklahoma, and our national political reporter Candy Bear," said a blonde anchor, cutting to a live feed of a reporter standing between an American Flag and a squat, granite block, etched with the single word, "rogers." Behind the reporter was a statue of a man on a horse and, beyond that, a thick forest as far as the camera could see, and low rolling foothills on the horizon.

"I'm standing next to the tomb of humorist and political commentator Will Rogers, whose thoughts on government and American life reverberate still," said Candy Bear. Neither the reporter nor anchor could not see Teddy's Rough Riders charging across Okla-Okla-Oklahoma.

Sal clicked over to CNN, which showed nearly the same set-up shot, and a reporter saying much the same thing. On the local ABC affiliate, the shot showed rows of empty folding chairs and a stone building that could have been a church or a schoolhouse. Television crews had set up cameras in every available space between the chairs and building.

"Never seen anything like it," said Sal Manilla, turning to Larry's now empty chair. "Larry?"

The sound of retching and vomiting drifted from the closed bathroom door of the media wagon.

* * *

Larry shambled to Tommy, Oscar and Trent, who were outside the media wagon, drinking sodas. "Seen Lisa?" he asked.

"She's with Rusty, at base camp," said Oscar.

"They're interviewing muleskinners," said Trent.

"Why don't you ask Maryann," said Tommy. "She'll do anything for you."

* * *

"Hey, Boss, thought you'd be git'in ready," said Lisa, standing alongside Rusty, as three bearded men, sitting in folding director's chairs. One held an artist's portfolio case. Another held a thick folder. The third studied a wireless device. A chaotic mass of humanity surrounded the group. The whinnying of horses and braying of mules rose as a cacophony.

"I really need to talk to someone," said Larry.

Rusty gently touched Lisa's shoulder. "I'll see what these guys got," he said to her.

"K," said Lisa, turning to Larry, and motioning to walk. The two worked their way through the mass, walking past green, portable outhouses, past a row of food trucks and two chuck wagons, to a pair of tents set atop a small hill, overlooking the sprawling base camp. "What's on yer mind, Boss?"

"I can't do this speech," said Larry.

"I ain't gonna tell you what to do," said Lisa, staring. "I'm just along for the ride."

"There's TV cameras everywhere," said Larry, panting.

"And yer gonna walk away?" said Lisa. "Yer name will be 'mud,' and you'll kick yerself."

Larry sat between the two small tents.

Lisa crouched and produced a paper bag. She poured out apricots and handed the bag to Larry. "Breathe deep." Larry took the bag, as Lisa pointed to his mouth. "Slow." He took in long breaths.

* * *

"You are speaking at the Will Rogers Memorial Museum and Birthplace," said Jeanine, over speaker, as Larry sat next to Lisa's tent and watched her walk down the hill, to the base camp.

"What did you spend your entire campaign doing?" asked Rutland Judd.

"Uh... rope tricks," said Larry.

"What would Will Rogers say?" asked Calvin Coolidge, in a shockingly long comment.

* * *

Larry walked down Lisa's hill, holding his phone as he made his way through the crowd of riders, most of whom waved, greeted or gestured in friendly ways to him as he passed.

"...This is Lori, but I can't come to the phone," came Lori's voice.

"I don't know if it's going to help, but I'm giving a speech," said Larry, passing more smiling faces. "Hope I don't throw up on camera." Larry stopped in the epicenter of the hurricane. "Okay, well." Larry ended the call and dialed December.

"... Hello, you've reached me, and if this is my Baby, then leave me a nice, long, hot message...," said December Carrera. "Otherwise..., whatever."

"Can my scheduler fly you to California, to be in a parade with me?" said Larry, on voice mail.

"Another great hire," said Nixon's Ghost. "Little frisky, though."

* * *

"You'll be great, Larry, great!" said Sal Manilla, as Larry stood in front of a full-length mirror mounted on the door of the media wagon room used as a video studio. "The great thing about speeches is they happen in real time, and then you're done."

Larry stared in the mirror.

"Take a lickin' and keep on ticking," muttered the ghost.

"Shut up!" growled Larry, to the dead president, and adjusted his bolo tie.

"Hey," said Sal, quietly, "who luvs ya' baby?"

The dork patted the coiled lasso hanging from his belt and put on his Stetson.

* * *

December Carrera sat on her bed, holding a pillow to her belly, petting the black cat, flipping stations, before stopping at FOX. A scroll at the bottom of the screen read, "Live from Oklahoma... horseback army camps at Will Rogers ranch... Lottery Larry to speak at 7 pm EST."

The Angel Chico gently rubbed his wet nose into December's pregnant belly.

"Good Pussy," said December, scratching the cone-shaped earlobe.

"We go live to Claremore, Oklahoma, and our national political reporter, Candy Bear," said the blonde anchor. "Candy?"

"Larry van der Bix – a local politician from southern California – spent millions of his own lottery winnings to create a grass-roots movement that spread like a prairie fire," whispered the reporter, her back to the rows of now-filled chairs. "What months ago was a rag-tag group is now an army of a thousand, giving a collective voice to the anger, fear, and frustration so many Americans feel about their government." The sound of a microphone carried from the podium, next to the granite block, as Larry got introduced. The reporter, on cue, turned to the podium, where the director of the Will Rogers Memorial Museum and Birthplace shook hands with Larry.

"Woo hoo!" cheered December, holding the cat in both hands, to make Chico dance. "Go, Larry!"

* * *

Lieutenant Lori Lewis sat at a computer at the Forward Operating Base she was touring with Allen Goodwrench and surfed to CNN, streaming from Claremore. She adjusted the headphones and turned up the volume, as Larry stepped to the podium.

* * *

A dozen dead presidents and two Jewish Angels hovered around the statue of America's funniest cowboy, and watched a complete dork take the microphone.

Larry looked out to the setting sun, which bathed everything in a soft, golden light. He turned to the people seated in the rows of chairs before him, and to television crews and photographers and journalists packed into the site.

"Don't make Elvis wait!" yelled Nixon's Ghost.

"... Um..., thanks," said Larry, patting his lasso. "I don't have a speech. I threw up on it, so...."

The crowd laughed. Larry smiled faintly.

* * *

December held the pillow tightly.

"Forgot my sign, too," said Larry, to more laughter, "but I can remember four words."

"It's short," said Nixon's Ghost, hovering directly behind the dork. "It's what the people want."

"Everyone can remember four words," said Larry.

December reached for a plate of vegetables, with its dollop of Bob's Big Boy blue cheese dressing.

Chico licked at the dressing.

* * *

"People who've never met Lori are spitting hate at my best friend," said Larry, reading no speech. "Can't any soldier be in love? Be a parent? Be treated good?"

As Lori wiped her own eyes and listened to Larry, she watched a Staff Sergeant in the next computer station skype loved ones.

* * *

"Yer doing great," whispered Nixon's Ghost, hovering closer to the dork. "Just do it!"

"I'm mad, because my best friend and her wife are being dragged into a presidential campaign," said Larry.

"Give it all ya got!" said the ghost.

Larry stood silently for a moment, before patting his lasso.

"Just do it!"

Larry unsnapped the rope from its leather holder and within seconds, Larry – standing motionless – was twirling his lasso such that it hovered inches above the ground.

"There he goes again," smiled Mr. Reagan, straddling Will Roger's horse.

"Helps me to not be nervous," said Larry.

Audience members laughed, and applauded.

"I'm mad at politicians," said Larry, twirling his lasso such that it was perpendicular to the ground. "Not just one, cuz when sharks smell blood, they all feed." Larry motioned with his other hand, to the area behind the audience. "These cameras. Sharks smell blood."

* * *

Maryann and Maggie Moore sat in swivel chairs inside the media wagon, recording each broadcast over CNN, FOX and the ABC affiliate, as they drank milk and ate Oreos together.

"Everybody's mad about politics," said Larry, spinning the lasso harder. "Will Rogers said, 'After seeing us, George Washington would sue us for calling him, 'Father.' "

Neither Marryann or her mother saw George Washington nod, while having a cookie.

"The more you observe politics," quoted Larry, "you know each party is worse than the other."

"You got that right," said Maggie Moore, to the screen.

* * *

"The people riding with me got their own beefs, but if we're all mad, the only way to make this nation great is to work together and not cave in to stupid politicians making us more and more mad – Democrats or Republicans, doesn't matter," said Larry, his face brightening. "Will Rogers knew all about stupid politicians."

"Here, here!" said the Moose Party candidate who took second place a century ago.

The media audience chuckled.

"I'm proof that a fool and his money are soon elected," said Larry.

Reporters laughed.

"And proof you should never join a club that would have you as a member," said Groucho.

"But if stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?"

"Hire some frickin' clown," ordered Nixon's Ghost.

Sal Manilla, in the center of the front row, smiled broadly.

* * *

The Angel Chico purred.

"Go, Larry!" cheered December, dipping broccoli in dressing.

"Even though I got elected, I hate politics," said Larry, as the sun set, "and Will Rogers helped me be an anti-politician." Larry twirled the lasso such that it jumped upward, high into the air.

"Whoa Nelly," said Nixon's Ghost, who floated as the lasso sliced through him.

Larry kept the rope twirling, so that it never touched the ground.

Audience members applauded enthusiastically.

"We're angry, and not just about politics," said Larry.

"No duh," said December.

"We don't know what we want, but we'll bite somebody to get it," recited the dork, standing at stone feet that no one could see beginning to rock Mr. Reagan, like a ghost rodeo. "We beat each other up for having different views, as though only ours could be right." Larry explored his anti-political library of Will Rogers' teachings. "I guess it's true, that liberty doesn't work as well in practice as it does in speeches. So let's not take ourselves too serious, and never condemn another person for doing what we're doing every day, only in a different way."

"Damn straight," said Lyndon Johnson, watching Ronald Reagan riding the now-bucking bronco that also gave Will Rogers a smile.

Larry shifted the lasso so it twirled over his head.

"Ride 'em, Cowboy!" cheered reporters.

"Government's important, but it's a small part of life," said the newly-elected politician. "Things in our country run in spite of government, not because of it. Our greatest difficulty is how we treat each other. It's hard changing things, but the best way out of a difficulty is through it."

December ate her vegetables.

* * *

Lori sat rigid in her chair, no emotion on her face, as Larry continued.

"We've got to find ways to not be so angry," said Larry, "but people are banging the drum of hate. Lori and December are hated today, but who will be next? We've forgotten how to talk to each other, to work together, or even to listen. Instead, we yell. This nation cannot be great with flaming and trolling and snarking and tweets of hate. Maybe it's texting instead of talking, or a phone, instead of seeing the sky."

Lori looked to the Staff Sergean skyping.

Larry motioned to a sun, now hanging heavy, over distant foothills, and pointed to Will Rogers, behind the granite block. "We're each entitled to our views. That's the greatness of America. But we all need to stop shaking our fists and start shaking hands. The only way to build a barn is the way you build a nation – by working together."

The twilight darkened. "People who fly into a rage always make a bad landing," said Larry, looking straight to the comedian who taught it. "We will never have true civilization until we have learned to recognize the rights of others.' "

* * *

Sal Manilla smiled broadly, as Larry turned to questions.

"Councilman," said FOX reporter Candy Bear, "you have spent millions feeding and housing this growing army...."

"It's not an army," said Larry. "Lori Lewis is in the Army. I'm just on a horseback ride."

"If this horseback ride is meant to influence the outcome of the presidential election," asked the reporter, in follow-up, "shouldn't you be filing financial reports with the Federal Elections Commission?"

"Larry, a hundred thousand people are begging you to run for president," yelled another reporter. "Is that what this whole thing is about?"

"Larry," yelled a third, "is Dick Bomber right when he says...."

"Stop!" yelled Larry.

A hush fell over the audience.

"Stop being sharks," said Larry. "Okay, Bomber... I'll stick with Will Rogers, who saw plenty like him, when he said that, 'The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected.' "

Laughter rose politely.

"The Senator doesn't follow Will's advice," said Larry, "to, 'Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip.' "

Sal Manilla watched the back and forth, nodding.

"I'm not telling people how to vote, so I won't file money reports," said Larry, to the FOX reporter, "but I don't buy the Senator's declaration of independence, cuz, like Will said, 'There is no more independence in politics than there is in jail.' "

Harpo, holding his massive hat, honked on a bucking gargoyle.

Larry twirled his lasso high over his head and sent the rope through the air.

"A frickin' genius," observed Nixon's Ghost, as the loop landed around Ronald Reagan, who laughter on the statue of Will Rogers, as Larry pulled the rope tight.

The audience applauded.

* * *

Sal Manilla stood to one side of Larry, as Jon Stewart joked with the Councilman, while a Comedy Central staffer adjusted Larry's lapel mic. When the staffer retreated, Stewart nodded to Larry and smiles evaporated from both their lips.

"Councilman, thank you for granting our little comedy network some time tonight," said Stewart. "Say! Nice tie."

"Thanks," said Larry, his eyes widening somewhat, as Stewart reached across and touched and then stroked the bolo. "Um... like Will Rogers said... uh... 'Everything is changing. People are taking their comedians seriously and the politicians as a joke.' "

Stewart pulled his hand back. "Are you trying to bring back the Ulysses S. Grant look?"

"Um, I just, uh, didn't pack razors and shaving cream," said Larry. "You know, I've been... riding... for months."

"I like the mountain man thing," said Stewart. "Looks good."

"Great," said Larry.

"Talk about Dick Bomber and your friend, the Olympic swimmer, LT Lori Lewis," said Stewart.

"I just want everybody to leave her alone," said Larry. "Just let her live a boring, normal life."

"Do you believe allegations that the Senator sexually assaulted your friend?" asked Stewart.

"Um, whoa, uh," said Larry, "A remark... generally hurts... in proportion to its truth." He paused, and then nodded. "That's it."

"You're a man of few syllables," said Jon Stewart.

"Never skip a good chance to shut up," said Larry, citing America's most popular comedian.

"Perhaps this clown should be called a Groucho Marxist," said the genius with round eyeglasses.

Sal Manilla smiled broadly.
Chapter Forty-One – Home for the Harvest

"We'll hold down the fort, Boss," said Lisa Steel, alongside Major Rusty Chops.

"We'll hug the Ohio River," said the Major. "Peel numbers to the devoted few."

"Revolutionaries go home to harvest," said the supreme commander who lost almost every battle.

"Hail, hail, Freedonia," cheered the Angel Groucho.

Larry put a napsack into the rear storage area of Maggie Moore's SUV and climbed into the back, joining the three Eagles. Maryann rode shotgun, as Mrs. Moore started the engine.

"Strap in, everybody," said Maggie Moore. "Next stop, Dallas."

"And don't worry about Clark Gable," said Mr. Reagan, pointing to Major Rusty Chops. "Officers never ditch the Calvary."

LBJ and Theodore Roosevelt, also on a gargoyle, whooped with Mr. Reagan.

Nixon's Ghost and the two Jewish Angels held tight on another gargoyle, and flied beside the SUV.

"Let's see," said Maryann, looking at her phone. "Distance... 286 miles.... My Mom driving... I'm guessing two hours, fifty minutes."

"Three hours, ten," said Brent.

"Three hours even," said Oscar.

"You all want her to get a speeding ticket," said Tommy.

"Why Dallas, again?" asked Larry.

"Tulsa would've meant layovers, and no charter was available, so Mom is dropping us off in Dallas to catch a non-stop," said Maryann, showing a map. "Way faster."

"See?" said Mrs. Moore. "You get a half-time scheduler who'll be a full-time college student."

"We'll cover the same distance in a three hours that we did in a month," said Oscar.

"And no one's gonna beat us up," said Trent.

"Thanks for asking us to be in the parade," said Tommy.

"Yeh... sure," said Larry.

"I've never ridden with a Grand Master," said Maryann.

"I am so looking forward to sleeping in my own bed," said Trent.

* * *

"Got everything?" asked Jeanine Howard, standing with Rutland Judd, at the LAX white zone.

"Loading and unloading only," said a police officer, as Larry texted December from the white zone.

"We're all carry-on," said one of the Eagles.

"Pack in," said Rustin, outside a pink SUV.

"I need to stop at the office, first," said Larry.

Larry looked out the window, and saw Nixon's Ghost, floating in the air, whooping and swinging his own cowboy hat.

"At least even Angels get seen at great White House parties," said Groucho.

* * *

"Show me our office!" said Maryann Moore. "My office."

"Always great going to the haunts," said the ghost, returning to the new one after being emcee at the old one.

Larry grimaced, and led four teenagers walked into the 14th floor of Long Beach City Hall, into the horseshoe of offices that serve the city council and Mayor.

"He picked a great staff," said Nixon's Ghost, floating alongside the Angel Harpo, who honked to Jeanine Howard, Rutland Judd, and Maryann Moore.

"Councilman Bix!" came a voice from the far end of the horseshoe.

Larry and the group turned, to see Tony Kim, dressed in a bright, Cambodian shirt and jeans. "There are, yes, many Pride parties tonight," said the Mayor. "I hope you will be my guests."

"I really want to get home," said Brent.

"Me, too," said Tommy.

"Makes three," said Oscar.

"Jeanine, can you drive them home?" said Larry.

"Not me," said Maryann. "I'm partying with my boss!"

"Figures," said Tommy.

"Maybe a little too frisky," said the ghost.

"Stick with iced tea," said Trent.

A camera flash illuminated angst on Larry's face.

"Back to work, Councilman," said Rutland Judd, shooting Larry, in his dusty riding clothes. "Rolling Stone is waiting."

* * *

"Marvin Whiskey, Rolling Stone," said a middle-aged man in an outfit meant for someone younger. "I know you just got in. Thanks for making time."

"As in... Rolling Stone?" said Maryann.

"That's right, sweetheart," said the fat man.

"Nobody calls me that," she said.

"Rutland, will you give Maryann a tour while Larry speaks to the reporter," said Jeanine.

"She's great," said the ghost.

"C'mon," said Rutland, walked off with the new scheduler.

Jeanine walked Larry and Marvin into the Councilman's private office, closed the door, and put her blank pad on the conference table, as the two men sat. Larry set down his Stetson.

"So...," said Marvin Whiskey.

"Um... so...," said Larry.

"That's right," said Nixon's Ghost. "So...."

Harpo honked.

"I imagine you've heard of the magazine," said the reporter.

"Who hasn't?" said Larry.

Whiskey smiled. "Never know these days." He took out a small steno pad and a digital recorder. "May I record?" On Larry's nod, the man pressed record. "Marvin Whiskey, Larry van der Bix, Chief of Staff, Councilman's office, May 20, 2015." The man looked to Larry and Jeanine. "How much time we got?"

"Let's go short," said Jeanine.

"Okay, let's jump into it," said the fat man, producing a pen. "Who are you, Larry? Where were you born? Where'd you go to school?"

"Long Beach," said Larry.

"Born here? Went to school here? College? Jobs?"

"Lowell. Will Rogers. Woodrow Wilson. Cal State Long Beach. This is my first job."

"First one?" said the fat man. "Local guy does great." He wrote notes. "You know what a Pride parade is?"

"Yeh," said Larry, "I mean, haven't been, but, yeh, I know."

"Are you gay?" asked Marvin Whiskey.

"Uh... um... I don't think so," said Larry.

"Seems like something you'd probably know," said the reporter.

"K well, no, I guess," said Larry.

"Don't fuck around," said the ghost.

"I don't fuck around," repeated Larry.

"Oh," said the reporter, amused, while adding to the notes.

Jeanine held her lip.

"Your friend is, the swimmer," said the reporter, lifting the digital recorder, confirming it was functioning, and setting it down. "Hate when I forget to push the right buttons, you know?"

* * *

"Councilman Bix!" said Mayor Tony Kim, sitting with Maryann Moore and Rutland Judd, as Larry and Jeanine emerged with the Rolling Stone reporter.

Harpo, in western attire, walked as one would at the OK Corral, with the Mayor approached.

Larry passed directly through the Angel, and shook hands with the Mayor, who pulled the dork for a hug. "Time magazine asked me for comment." The Mayor let go of Larry's arm, but stayed close. "Time!"

Larry again passed through the Angel.

"I'll see you in the morning, Councilman," said Marvin Whiskey.

"Are you not joining us tonight, yes, for the Pride parties?" said the Mayor. "Everyone wants to see his smiling face."

The fat man lightened. "That's a kind offer."

"I got kids to feed," said Jeanine. "See you tomorrow."

"Mr. Bix, you will have a better time if you stay dressed just as you are," said the Mayor. "Cowboys are popular at the parties."

"And cowgirls," said Maryann.

"Boo!" said Nixon's Ghost, causing Larry to shudder. "Even frickin' ghosts go to certain parties."

* * *

"Palos Verdes, yes?" said Mayor Tony Kim, to Maryann, pointing towards the peninsula rising behind the port of Long Beach and Los Angeles.

"PVE," said the cowgirl. "Fewer people, more horses."

The Mayor leaned back into the leather seat of a town car. "And scheduler for the Councilman is your first job?"

"First paid job," said Maryann. "During that Great Recession, all I could get was volunteer work, cuz only college students got summer jobs or fast food."

"It was a hard time in America," said Tony Kim.

"Still is," said Larry.

"That's a funny thing to hear from a guy who won three hundred million dollars," said Marvin Whiskey, sipping club soda.

"The Councilman is very funny," said Tony Kim, smiling. "Yes... very funny."

"The cowboy's a frickin' clown," added the dead president, "but maybe the way to save America is to make people laugh."

The reporter wrote in his steno pad words he could not see or record being spoken, but would never forget having heard.

* * *

The Angel Harpo honked and smiled and flirted with a throng of incredibly beautiful women outside of the Executive Suite, and like the Red Sea, the waters parted, as a woman in her fifties emerged from the door. Mayor Tony Kim greeted her with kisses and a wide embrace.

"I want you to meet the Grand Marshall for Sunday's parade," said the Mayor, pointing to Larry, who stood with Maryann, each in worn a long day's riding attire.

"A mountain man?" asked the woman.

"That's Councilman Mountain Man," said Maryann, using her smart phone to take a photo of the Mayor and Larry with the club owner. Marvin Whiskey stood back a few steps, snapping a shot of Maryann taking a shot, while also dangling his recorder and writing in his notebook.

"And a reporter... for Rolling Stone," said the Mayor, pointing to the fat man.

"As in the Rolling Stone?" asked the woman.

"Bingo," said Nixon's Ghost. "Rule number one in politics.... If they know ya, they know ya."

"You are all my guests." The woman looked at Maryann. "You are 21, right?"

* * *

The darkened upper floor of the Executive Suite was dominated by a long bar that ran the length of the far wall, and an enormous dance floor, which was jammed with revelers. A disco ball sprayed light of all colors onto the gyrating mass on dancers.

"Nothing like a great lesbian bar to make a fat man happy," yelled Marvin Whiskey.

"What?" yelled back Larry.

"Nothing! Like!" screamed the reporter, before waving his hand, and dropping the subject. Marvin Whiskey flipped off his recorder and made his way to the bar.

Larry leaned close to Maryann, and spoke into her ear. "You told me you're 20," he said.

"Next month," said Maryann, smirked. "Fake ID."

Larry gasped. "That guy's a reporter from a national magazine!"

Marvin Whiskey walked back to Larry and Maryann. "It's not worth the wait for club soda."

"Actually, we're leaving," yelled Larry, and he moved with the scheduler, towards the exit.

"Catch you tomorrow, Councilman!" yelled Marvin Whiskey.

* * *

"I didn't know your address for the Lyft," said Larry, as the driver closed the trunk.

"You don't have to drive me home," said Maryann, looking directly at Larry. "It's so far."

* * *

"I'll be right back," said Larry, as Lyft pulled up to the Moore compound.

Maryann sauntered slowly with Larry, past a barn and corral.

"Wanna see my pony?" asked Maryann. "You can see anything."

Larry kept walking, toward a large, ranch-style home.

"We'll, I guess we're done for the night," said Maryann. "You're awful nice. I sure do like you."

"Okay, so, um...," said Larry.

"I could'a stayed at your place tonight," said the teen. "I like being warm."

"... Yeh, um, okay, bye," said Larry.

Harpo honked flirtatiously.

"Good thing yer a clown, cuz that reporter would eat yer shit and spit it into the national press," said the ghost, who frequently stank on every front page in America.

* * *

On entering his magnificent penthouse apartment, Larry rushed over to his window, where he saw a series of gargoyles landing. He rubbed his eyes.

"Get some sleep, Cowboy," said the ghost, navigating through the mountains of hoarded crap. "Got a busy day in the field tomorrow."

Larry looked at stacks of newspapers, and boxes of other debris, and went into the kitchen, bringing out a trash can. The dork began sifting, quickly filling the trashcan. Larry collapsed face down onto the low-grade couch.
Chapter Forty-Two – 76 Trombones for the Big Parade

Larry gently rubbed Carrot Cake's shoulder, as he groomed her with a dandy brush. Next to him, Tommy, Brent and Oscar, in their Eagle Scout uniforms, and Maryann Moore – with long ponytails, like Pippi Longstocking – also groomed horses. A sixth animal was hitched to an empty, ancient buggy, clearly capable of holding just a couple of passengers. Attached to the wagon was a printed sign that read, "December Carrera (Mrs. Lori L Lewis), Co-Grand Marshall."

"Lisa Steel must'a turned you around," said Buck Rogers, standing near Carrot Cake's cheek.

"Yer doing great, Cowboy," said Nixon's Ghost, whispering into the mare's receptive ear. "Maybe yer helping me do great..., or, 'near-great' anyway."

The Angel Harpo smiled to the ghost, and gave a honking thumbs up.

"Councilman!" called out Jeanine Howard, approaching the horses, with two wide-eyed daughters. The three waited for a group of men with rainbow face paint and dressed in nuns' habits to wave to Larry. The nuns stopped at the horses, handed Jeanine several cell phones, and she took group shots with Larry.

"Great speech, Cowboy," said one nun, kissing Larry on the cheek as they departed.

"I can finish dandy brushing for you," said Buck Rogers.

Larry walked to the front of the animal. He gently placed his hand on the horse's face, and said kind words to her. Carrot Cake offered soft horse-language words of agreement.

"Morning, Councilman," said Marvin Whiskey, wearing loud shorts and a louder shirt, and sporting strings of beads and a 35mm camera around his neck. "Nice looking horses."

"They're Buck's," said Larry.

"Wouldn't that make them antelopes?" asked Whiskey.

The Angel Harpo slapped his leg and visually laughed.

"Buck Rogers," said Buck, extending a hand. "These're my horses." Buck draped a fabric sign that read, "Grand Marshall Larry van der Bix."

"Are you gay, too?" asked the reporter.

"Better ask my wife," laughed Buck, as he hefted a saddle onto the animal.

"I've ridden with Buck 15 years," said Maryann. "He treats you like he wants to be treated."

"So, Councilman," said the reporter, "you've never been in this parade, but your district has a lot of gays and lesbians...."

"I don't know the numbers, but, yeh..., a lot," said Larry.

"Long Beach is fourth largest GLBT population, after New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco," said Jeanine Howard, watching her daughters walk to Carrot Cake.

"Ya got a great staffer," said Nixon's Ghost. "Knows her shit."

"Are you gay?" Whiskey asked Jeanine.

"I'm... no, I am staffing the Councilman," said Jeanine.

"Knows what's not shit," added the ghost.

"I am," said Rutland Judd, approaching the reporter with several cameras hanging around his neck, "and so is my husband."

Ricky Toledano, camcorder in hand, waved and smiled.

A black Lincoln town car slowly made its way through the parade line-up, and stopped when it reached the horses. A visibly-pregnant December Carrera climbed out of the car, with the driver's help.

"Larry!" yelled December, and the two hugged tightly.

"Who on God's green Earth are you?" said the Rolling Stone reporter, his eyes hidden by a camera.

"Marvin," said Larry, to the face he couldn't see, "this is my friend, December."

"As in the Sergeant's wife?" asked the reporter.

"My husband's an officer," said December Carrera.

"Councilman!" said a gray-haired man in glasses and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. "Congressman Alan Lowenthal," said the man, embracing the newly-elected dork.

"I know who you are," said Larry. "Everyone...."

"What a great speech in Oklahoma..., just great," said the Congressman, posing with Larry, as the photographers for the Congressman and Councilman shot what could generously be called "candid" photos. "If only more people thought like you.... And Will Rogers...."

"Damn straight it was a great speech," proudly said the ghost, claiming credit for words he'd never have delivered.

The Congressman sauntered off.

"Councilman, do you have any reaction to today's comments from Iowa by Senator Dick Bomber," said Marvin Whiskey, extending his recorder.

Larry helped December to the horse-drawn buggy, after she gave a thumbs-up on the banner.

"What comments?" said Jeanine Howard.

The Rolling Stone reporter worked with his phone, bringing up video.

Larry and Jeanine looked at FOX's "Washington in Focus" chat-show.

"While that first-term rodeo clown plays with queers and homos, I'll enjoy the warm hospitality of the fine and beautiful people of Iowa," said Bomber. "And that is not just a practical joke."

"What an incredibly bigoted thing to say," said Jeanine Howard.

"He's just banging the drum of hate," said Larry.

"I like that," said Marvin Whiskey, putting his cell phone away, and grabbing a pad from his pocket. "I like that." He wrote notes.

"Maybe George Wallace gets to spook the race, too," said Nixon's Ghost, who had earned a close victory by running a stark "southern strategy," to usurp the hatred spewed by the Governor of Alabama, who ran a strong third in the 1968 election.

* * *

The Angel Harpo walked like a circus performer, honking as he followed a man on stilts.

"Okay, people, we're moving," yelled the man on stilts, standing alongside the horseback riders.

A cluster of people in their sixties and seventies standing in front of the horses lifted a banner emblazoned with the words, "Long Beach Pride Parade."

The man on stilts held a gong in one hand and struck it with a mallet.

Harpo repeatedly honked his horn.

The seniors carrying the lead banner marched and waved.

Nixon's Ghost floated along Larry, who gently rocked the reins, and Carrot Cake began a slow walk.

Behind the point rider, Buck Rogers rode the horse hitched to the buggy that now carried December. December pushed "play" on a boom box sitting beside her. A sign on the side of the buggy read, "December Carrera, wife of Lt. Lori Lewis. 32 Weeks."

Maryann and the three Eagle Scouts rode behind the buggy.

Rosie and the Originals sang for the crowd.

"It's just like Heaven, being here with you...."

The wide sidewalks of Ocean Boulevard swelled with thousands lining the route of the Long Beach Pride Parade.

"You're like an Angel, too good to be true."

A huge cheer went up as the lead banner passed, and people from the sidelines screamed out to Larry, as the horses rode on.

"But after all, I love you, I do."

"Yeehah, Cowboy!" whooped the ghost.

"Angel baby, my Angel baby...."

Jeanine Howard and her daughters walked alongside the buggy, and Rutland Judd and his husband ran in circles to capture photos and cam video of the Councilman and horseback riders and December.

"Lar-ree! Lar-ree!" chanted a group near the start of the parade.

A clearly pregnant woman in a rainbow leotard ran out to the buggy carrying December Carrera, handing strings of beads, to a huge cheer. December stood and demonstrably held her belly with both hands. The cheering got louder.

"Might be a son, might be a daughter," said Nixon's Ghost, "but definitely not a soldier's bitch."

Larry spun on the saddle, growling, and saw a ghost lifted by a lighter soul, answering the question, "How low can you go?"

Along the route, people held signs, reading, "Hatred's Full of Shit," "Don't Hate Thy Neighbor," "Leave Lori Lewis Alone," and "Everyone wants a boring, normal life!"

Marvin Whiskey walked alongside the horses, using a 35mm camera to shoot images.

Larry waved and smiled, as the chant of his name spread along the route.

"And here is our Grand Marshal, Councilman Larry van der Bix," announced a blonde man in a blue blazer and rainbow tie, sitting atop the grandstand in Bixby Park, a site that had been named after Larry's great-great grandfather, a hundred years earlier.

The Angel Harpo and the ghost waved to the adoring crowd, erupting in deafening roars.

* * *

"You got fans, Councilman!" yelled Marvin Whiskey, shooting alongside Rutland Judd, as Larry dismounted Carrot Cake, in the parking lot across from the Villa Riviera.

The Angel Harpo shot upward and a cloud of smoke that only a ghost could see erupted outside of Larry's penthouse apartment.

On climbing off horses, Tommy, Brent and Oscar ran to Larry and smothered him in a group hug. Maryann and Buck helped December Carrera climb out of the buggy, her chest buried in strings of beads.

Marvin Whiskey shot more images.

"Councilman Bix!" exclaimed Long Beach Mayor Tony Kim, running to Larry. "You were... fantastic! Great! Yes..., really great!"

"Mr. van der Bix?" said a man in a tee-shirt and shorts.

"Um, yeh," said Larry.

"Larry van der Bix?"

Larry nodded.

The man handed Larry papers, as Martin Whiskey fired the camera, and the man quickly rushed off.

Larry unfolded the papers, looked confused, and handed them to his Chief of Staff.

"Dick Bomber is suing you for slander," said Jeanine, handing the paper back to Larry.

"Son of a bitch," said Marvin Whiskey, capturing the image of Larry reading.

"The bastard throws gut punches and brags," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Please find a lawyer," said Larry, handing a credit card to Jeanine. "It's poison."

Jeanine nodded.

"Keep her," said the ghost, as Jeanine clung to her daughters. "Never let go."

Larry hugged December, and each of the Eagles and Maryann.

Marvin and Rutland shot photos.

"I'm getting back on the trail," said Larry.

"You are going?" said the Mayor.

Larry nodded.

"I see," said the Mayor.

* * *

"Your Coca Cola, sir," said a stewardess, as Larry looked out to the expanse of browns and reds and smattering of greens below the chartered jet. In his lap lay a copy of Time magazine, which featured a close-up of Larry, delivering a speech in Claremore, with the headline, "The Angry American."

Nixon's Ghost crept close to Larry's shoulder, to read the lead piece of national press.
Chapter Forty-Three – Walking Alone, with Others?

"Where're the kids?" asked Major Rusty Chops, as Larry van der Bix climbed out of a taxi parked next to Sal Manilla's media wagon.

"Home for a while," said Larry, paying the driver. "Where's Lisa?"

"With Buster," said the Major.

Nixon's Ghost shook hands with the Angel Harpo, who lifted his 100-gallon hat, and then flew straight upward on the gargoyle.

"Is Sal there?" asked Larry, pointing to the wagon.

Rusty nodded.

Larry made his way into the media wagon.

The ghost floated behind Larry, who turned, and ordered Nixon's Ghost to not follow.

"Son of a bitch," said the ghost, as Larry entered the media wagon.

"Beautiful parade!" said Sal Manilla, swiveling his chair to face Larry.

"I told you I'm not running for president," said Larry, throwing Time onto the conference table. "You still told everybody about those emails."

"Go ahead, be mad, but you got three pages in fucking Time magazine," said Sal, sipping ginger ale. "Sorry about the email thing, but it wasn't me who wrote hundreds of thousands of messages."

"I want you gone," said Larry.

"Excuse me?" said Sal.

"Out!" yelled Larry. "Go."

"Don't do it!" yelled a ghost who only Larry could hear.

"And you do this alone?" said Sal, leaning forward in his chair. "You need me."

"I don't need this," said Larry. "I don't want this."

"Send me packing, and you're done," said Sal, his hands grasping the table, leaned further forward. "Your army is finished."

"This isn't an army," said Larry. "We're not fighting a war."

"That is where you're wrong, my friend," said Sal, picking up Time. "You're not an army of one. You are neck deep in the clash over who will control this country, and without an operation behind you, the best you can hope for is six inches in the hometown weekly, after you pass through."

"I want you gone," said Larry.

"I'll be gone tonight," said Sal Manilla, "but you don't know what you're doing."

"Good," said Larry.

"When the Bacon King and your advance person and Miss Marilyn Monroe are gone," said Sal, "your best friend loses everything."

* * *

"We're doomed," said the ghost, as Larry walked toward the chuck wagon.

"Where'd Sal go?" asked Maggie Moore, serving pancakes at the breakfast line.

"He left last night," said Larry, waving off syrup, but grabbing several pads of butter.

"Whatta ya mean, 'He left?' said Mrs. Moore, not giving any eggs.

"Left?" asked Oscar's dad, Jim, not lifting sausage or bacon.

"Both, please," said Larry, pointing to the hot food.

"Is he coming back?" said Maggie.

"Who cares?" said Larry.

"What about the kids?" ask the parents, holding spatulas.

"Completely doomed," muttered the ghost.

* * *

"Won't take long," said Rusty Chops, as Larry took a seat next to the Major, at one of the long, folding aluminum picnic tables. "You don't get sued unless you're pissed someone off."

"Can we change the subject?" asked Larry, spreading butter on his pancakes.

"The kids coming back?" said Rusty.

"Who knows?" said Larry.

"Those kids are helpful," said the U.S. Army Major. "Like you said, why not let them be leaders."

"This is a horseback ride," said Larry.

"Not to them," said Rusty, motioning to riders eating. "They're gonna tell their grandchildren."

* * *

"What the Hell are you doing here?" said Larry, as Marvin Whiskey stood up at a table, next to a chuck wagon, with two plates piled with breakfast.

"Nice to see you, too, Councilman," said the reporter. "I'm not done with my piece."

"Time beat you to me," spat Larry.

"Time is inexorable," said Nixon's Ghost, staring with lust at the plates of food.

"The Time piece was crap," said Whiskey, in rumpled jeans and a Ramones tee-shirt. "They came at it from a totally different angle than what I'm doing."

"I hate the press," said Larry.

"You don't know shit of hunting the truth," said Marvin Whiskey, looking at the sprawling camp. "I talked to Lori's parents, you know."

Larry was silent.

"You paid their mortgage, just like that," said the reporter.

"I spent every day there, growing up," said Larry.

Marvin wrote on his pad. "Money you gave Lisa Steel paid her parents' mortgage," said Marvin.

"Berkshire Hathaway?" said Larry.

Marvin Whiskey flipped through his notepad. "Thousands to a guy who gives bike to poor kids," he said, thumbing through. "Fully paid for a city park and for a warm-water pool for kids physical therapy. A kitchen at the school for homeless kids and industrial coffee machines for places feeding the homeless. Fish tanks at two aquarium. An endowment for the municipal band so they perform the Charleston."

Larry ate a piece of bacon. "So?"

"Look, I don't say this very often, Larry, but you are a great American," said Marvin Whiskey, raising his styrofoam cup in a toast.

"Look at 'em when he's taking to ya," ordered the ghost.

"I'm just... rich," said Larry.

"You're not an angry American," said the reporter. "You're a great one."

"I don't want this," said Larry.

"This, what?" said Marvin Whiskey, unrolling the napkin holding his plastic cutlery. "Attention?"

"I hide when I vomit," said Larry, pushing his plate aside.

"Then do this," said Marvin Whiskey, chowing down food. "Ride through every town and don't say a word – you or the army – silence speaks volumes."

"This is not an army," said Larry.

"And you're no general," said the man from Rolling Stone, "but people are following you, and not just on the horses... out there." The reporter pointed to the distance with his plastic fork. "People will pay attention, even if you don't say anything."

"Ya can't be called stupid for what ya don't say," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Don't follow me," Larry said to the ghost.

"You mean me?" said the reporter.

* * *

Larry and his Palomino followed the sound of a ukulele until they came upon Lisa and Buster, below a tree, alone on a patch of grass, far enough from the base camp that the sound of people and beasts was a din, like water or traffic. Buster was laying down, and occasionally leaned his head forward to bite at the grass. Lisa laid against Buster's belly, playing a song.

"We'll be doing a hoedown cuz of yer little guitar," said Lisa, strumming.

"The party's over," said Larry.

"Party ain't even started," said Lisa, as Larry dismounted.

"I only wanna ride," said Larry.

"And what'ta'ya think I wanna do?" said Lisa, "but every now and then... you gotta let loose." Lisa resumed improvising her song. "Writin' a rag fer Rusty."

"Keep the ukulele," said Larry, sitting on the grass, as the Palomino grazed. "I don't know music."

"Babies don't know how to walk, but they learn," said Lisa, strumming. "D'j'ya think a ukulele plays itself?" She rolled through a succession of chords that made Larry smile. "See?"

"I told Sal to leave," said Larry.

"He's from a planet I don't live on," said Lisa.

"If the other riders want to continue, that's fine," said Larry, "but I just want to finish this thing."

Lisa adjusted the tuning on one of the ukulele strings. "I think we need a barn dance."

Larry picked up a stone, and hurled it, and hurled another, and another, hitting the same spot.

"You got a good arm," said Lisa.

"It's all I can do," said Larry.

"Must'a won stuffed animals," said Lisa.

"I gave 'em to Lori," said Larry.

"You like her, in a big way," said Lisa, playing softly, as Buster made soft horse sounds.

"I love her more than I've ever loved anyone, except my grandmother," said Larry.

Lisa stood. "C'mon, Buster." The animal stood. In a swift, fluid motion, Lisa mounted Buster. "You oughta let that Maryann girl be nice to you," she said.

Larry sat silently, picking at the grass.

"She likes you," said Lisa, holding the reins.

"I'm fifteen years older," said Larry.

"Rusty's thirteen, but he gets me," said Lisa. "When someone gets ya, a number's just a number."

"She's too frisky," said Larry. "I don't know what to do."

"I got me Buster, but I got me my man, cuz I could spot 'em both," said Lisa. "Open yer eyes."

"Tell me about Berkshire Hathaway," said Larry.

"My folks owed for a harvester and a well," said Lisa. "Collateral was the deed. Recession hit. You can't grow crops on words, so the money bought ten months to figure out what to do next."

"You gave a year's pay to a banker for someone else's debt?" asked Larry.

"My folks ain't someone else," said Lisa, "and you don't know what 'ain't' means."
Chapter Forty-Four – Music on the Osgood Farm

Larry stood shirtless at a wash basin, next to outhouses, a razor in his hand. As he removed his beard, fellow riders greeted him warmly.

"Ya gotta take this shit more seriously," grumbled Nixon's Ghost.

"Leave me alone!" yelled Larry, cutting his chin.

A group of smiling women riders looked confused, walking toward the chuck wagon.

* * *

Larry sat on his Palomino, looking to the morning sky, as Rusty Chops yelled out, "Let's move!"

No rider spoke.

No reporters were there to bark questions.

No media wagon played oldies music over a loudspeaker.

There was only the dull thunder of four thousand hooves pounding the ground.

Rusty and Lisa formed the thin second line, followed by a mass of humanity and beasts, slogging slowly, silently.

* * *

In Joplin, Missouri, the silent riders passed through town without speaking a word.

No one held a sign.

People gathered on sidewalks watch the long line of riders slowly make their way.

Hoofbeats, coughing, and the squawks of police sirens from escort vehicles were the only sounds.

It took almost an hour for the riders to make their way through town.

* * *

In Springfield, people on the sidewalk held up signs, some reading, "This land isn't YOUR land," "Go back to ur queers & homos," and "George Washington is the father of MY country."

Larry pulled the bandana over his shaven face.

* * *

St. Louis city officials denied a permit for a base camp, and Larry had paid ten thousand dollars to a farmer, to let riders camp overnight on a fallow field.

* * *

The only thing people would remember about Larry paying $50,000 to use a county fairgrounds overnight in Terra Haute was him repeatedly yelling, "Go back to Limbo! Leave me alone!"

* * *

"It's getting awful," said Maggie Moore, as she, Rusty, Lisa and Larry poured over a map of the Ohio River, sprawled across the hood of her SUV.

"We're just riding horses," said Larry.

"We need us a barn dance," said Lisa. "I ain't the only one with an instrument."

"We don't even have predictable food," said Rusty.

Mrs. Moore smiled faintly. "That can be arranged," she said.

Lisa drew up close to her soldier boy.

* * *

As riders passed silently through Brazil, Indiana, town folks held signs saying, "Go Home!" and "Socialist Libtards!"

The riders arrived just before sunset at a 600-acre corn and soy bean farm.

Hired hands and riders worked together to erect the small city the base camp had become, in a rag tag army that had swelled to two thousand. Food trucks and the chuck wagons lined up. Flatbed trucks offloaded portable outhouses, opposite the food trucks.

"People're gonna drink, but there can't be no liquor at this thing," said Lisa, as she sat on Buster, next to Larry, on his Palomino. She turned to Rusty, next to her. "You're not gonna get toasted, are ya?"

"I'm not throwing away everything I want," said Rusty, gazing at the ghost of Marilyn Monroe.

Lisa smiled, in a way that made her eyes twinkle, like a movie star.

* * *

"It's nice of you to make your soy bean field available, Mr. Osgood," said Larry, standing on the porch of the farmhouse, shaking hands with a tall, muscled man, with a deep tan.

"Call me Dory," said the man, in a baritone voice. "We better talk about this barn dance, though, cuz I got some concerned neighbors."

Lisa Steel ran onto the porch, as Larry moved into the front door.

"We gotta talk," said Dory Osgood, looking to the base camp being erected in the distance.

* * *

Larry, Lisa, Rusty, Maggie, and Oscar's dad, Jim, sat at a dinner table, with the farmer and his wife. The map of the Ohio River region lay spread under plates of sandwiches and pitchers of tea and lemonade. Larry finished his tuna fish sandwich.

"You paid plenty for a couple days, but let's be serious about some barn dance," said the farmer.

"Please, I'm begging," said Lisa Steel.

"Someone sure is good at organizing," said Mrs. Osgood, looking at Maggie Moore.

"You're begging?" said Larry.

"Mad riders get ugly and stay ugly," said Lisa.

"Hey, isn't that your friend on TV?" said Oscar's dad, Jim, pointing to a flat-screen mounted on the wall of the farmhouse.

Larry saw a nearly life-sized image of Lori Lewis, as she followed General Allen Goodwrench towards the tarmac of Bagram Airbase. Military personnel and vehicles filled the screen, as Lori moved toward a Chinook helicopter.

The farmer watched Larry eat. "My neighbors don't like your army."

Larry swallowed tuna, his mouth full.

"They don't like your message," said Mr. Osgood. "They don't like you."

"Um... sorry," said Larry. "You want us to go?"

The woman stood up and walked into another room, returning a moment later with a photograph in a frame. "This is our daughter, Dolly...."

"She lives in Oregon," said the man. "Me two syllables, her two..., letter D."

Larry looked at the couple.

"She married a girl," said Mrs. Osgood.

"You pay no heed to our neighbors," said the man.

The farmer's wife stepped into the kitchen, and returned with a bowl of ambrosia salad. "It's an honor to help with what you're doing."

* * *

Lisa Steel – wearing a crisp, white, long-sleeve blouse, tan riding britches and tan hat – held Larry's ukulele and stood on plywood laid atop bales of hay. She looked at a thousand filling a massive barn and overflowing to the area of food trucks and outhouses and tents.

An incredibly tall and thin man, standing next to Lisa on the plywood stage, held a fiddle and bow. A stout man with a red beard, standing next to a mic stand, wore a harmonica holder around his neck and held a mandolin. A woman in her 60s or 70s, sitting on a chair on stage, held an autoharp on her lap. A bull fiddle player stood on another sheet of plywood.

A man in a top hat and overalls, with a red shirt and blue tie, held a microphone close to his lips. "Don't know 'bout you, but this is the first barn dance I've ever seen where Lisa Steel isn't top fiddle!"

The crowd erupted.

"What'chu got there, Lisa?"

"Larry's ukulele," said Lisa.

"Hit it!" said the man, and Lisa Steel counted 4-3-2-1 and the band broke into the uke-led rendition of Hank Williams "Honky Tonkin," with the mandolin player singing and the bull fiddle player laying down the bass.

Hundreds swarmed the dance floor, pairs waltzing, groups line dancing, and individuals boogied. The band slowed, with "The Tennessee Waltz," the musicians slowly tapping and strumming and fiddling. The band moved into, "Wildwood Flower" and straight into "Wabash Cannonball," which prompted a group of women riders to form a line, making chuka-chuka movements, a locomotive moving its wheels. The women wound through the barn, picking up passengers.

"C'mon, Lisa," said the man in the top hat, after the number ended. "Fiddle some."

The tall, thin man handed Lisa his bow and fiddle, and picked up a steel guitar. The mandolin player adjusted a harmonica holder. Lisa counted off and jumped straight into "Orange Blossom Special," sending chuka-chuka dancers back onto the tracks. When the mandolin player added harmonica to letting out steam, the locomotive added a line of riders. The band slipped into, "I Still Miss Someone," and the mandolin player doubling on harmonica.

Lisa stepped over to the mic and silenced the crowd. The tall, thin man twanged out the opening notes of a Tammy Wynette, and Lisa sang.

"Sometimes it's hard to be a woman | Giving all your love to just one man...."

Major Rusty Chops – in fresh jeans and a plaid, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up – made his way along the edges of the dance floor, to a hay bale close to the musicians, where Larry sat, his attention focused on his cell phone. Rusty grasped and shook Larry's arm, sending the crowd into laughter. "Lar-ree!" Larry looked at the Major, at the band, at the dancers, and then his phone, which he pocketed.

Lisa looked at Rusty and Larry, smiled, and continued singing.

"And if you love him, be proud of him | Cuz, after all, he's just a man...."

* * *

The man in the top hat climbed onto the stage, pulling the microphone cord, which was connected to a single, small amp, set atop a hay bale, next to the musicians. "How many'a'ya want Lisa fiddle more?" asked the man, his hand over Lisa's head. The audience erupted in a loud cheer. The man hopped off the stage and crossed quickly to Larry, putting his hand above Larry's head. "And how many'a'ya wanna hear this politician give a speech?" The barn filled with boos and hisses. "Sorry, Senator, but you lose tonight."

"That man is no Senator!" came a booming voice entering the barn.

Dancers and revelers parted, and United States Senator Dick Bomber entered. Behind him, with a snapshot camera, were several aides in suits and tie, photographing the scene. "That joker's barely a Councilman!"

Hundreds booed angrily at the arrival of the Senator, crossing the dance floor, but the sea parted, as though for Moses lifted his arm.

"I'm sorry, but exactly who are....?" said the man in the top hat.

Hundreds of cell phones were held aloft.

Bomber grabbed the mic, put a leering smile on his lips, and turned to the crowd. "Evening, folks, Dick Bomber...."

A cacophonous chorus of simultaneous cheers and hisses rose from the crowd.

"Was in Indianapolis, and heard y'all were having a big dance," sneered the Senator. "Thought I'd stop by.... Is that all right?"

Hisses beat the cheers, but the volume stayed high on both sides.

Bomber looked directly to Larry. "Now, you may'a heard that I am suing this man for slander," said the Senator, pulling the mic a few steps closer to Larry.

Major Rusty Chops blocked the path.

"I'll tell ya," said Dick Bomber, "that ain't no practical joke."

Scattered laughter fell to hissing.

Bomber pointed to Larry. "He's the joke!"

"Shut yer trap, Mister," said Lisa Steel, on stage, as she rapped a fiddle bow on the Senator's head.

Dick Bomber turned to Lisa Steel, and gave an exaggerated expression of surprise. "I came he-ah cuz I heard you'd be, and even had lipstick."

No one laughed. Most were silent. Rusty Chops burned with fire.

"Do we play music when you blab?' " fired Lisa.

Cheers went up.

Dick Bomber bowed to Lisa Steel, and came back up with a leer. "You are right, Missy," he said. "I'm gonna be quiet and talk to people. Is that all right?"

Lisa offered no reply.

Bomber smiled to the man in a top hat, offering the microphone.

"No, it ain't all right," came a deep, baritone voice from the entrance of the barn.

Again, the waters parted.

Dory Osgood crossed his own dance floor, and stood face-to-face with Senator Dick Bomber. "You're saying all sorts of hateful things about my daughter, and plenty of other folks' daughters and sons." Dory Osgood breathed deeply, as a bull would before a charge. "You get off my land. And you do it now."

Dick Bomber stared at Dory Osgood.

A moment later, Mrs. Osgood joined her husband, linking her arm with his.

Bomber, his lips tight, stood his ground briefly, and, with a turn, was again smiling. "This old Marine is making my way, but you all have a jolly time... with this joker."

Booing beat all other sounds.

When the Senator reached the mouth of the barn, he turned, and with the same air of victory as Richard Nixon displayed on Aug. 9th, 1974, when he boarded Marine One for the last time, Dick Bomber lifted both arms high, smiled, and flashed peace signs, before spinning and walking off, into the night.

* * *

Larry made his way from the barn, towards the food trucks, smiling and shaking hands with riders, in the way Bill Clinton would do on a rope line.

"Mr. Van der Bix!" came a woman's voice, from behind him.

Larry release a handshake and turned.

The farmer's wife walked quickly towards him. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" asked Larry.

"For tonight... for my husband... for our daughter," said Mrs. Osgood. "Thank you."

* * *

"I wrote a ukulele rag, and so you all shoot this for YouTube," said Lisa Steel, "and it's going out to a certain soldier." Lisa looked over to Larry and Rusty, each holding a soda. Major Rusty Chops smiled. For two minutes, Lisa Steel played a solo ukulele declaration of affection to the man some years older. When hoots and applause following the final chord ended, Lisa smiled, waved to the crowd, and climbed off stage.

Lisa quickly reached her soldier boy, and kissed him big, to a hollering crowd.

The band on stage immediately slid into a cover.

"Soldier boy, oh my little soldier boy, I'll be true to you."

Lisa pulled Rusty close.

"You were my first love, and you'll be my last love."

The crowd cheered wildly.

"I will never make you blue," sang the tall man, tipping his top-hat. "I'll be true to you."
Chapter Forty-Five – We're Riding Across America

As summer melted into the humidity of July and August, hoof beats continued to echo storefronts of Main Street, America. Larry's army of riders silently moved their horses through towns across Indiana and Ohio. In Indianapolis, Larry watched as a man in his fifties swung a sign that read "AIDS is God's punishment," striking another man on the head, sending him to the ground and making him drop his own sign that read, "My gay son is fighting in Afghanistan." Larry slowly made his way past the scene, while police in riot gear forcibly separated the men. In Dayton, the signs read, "Out of work and angry," and "Who's Riding for Me?" and "Throw All the Bums Out."

Larry's army grew to 2,500 by the time the cavalry made its way into Columbus, where thousands waited in a light summer rain, to march on foot with the column. As the riders approached City Hall, a screaming mob ran towards the marchers – their signs wilted in the rain – and the police separated the riders from the marchers, and Larry had to watch as protesters beat one another, and scurried in all directions, when police fired tear gas.

* * *

"And in Columbus, Ohio, a violent clash today between protesters and police...," squawked Mrs. Moore's phone, as she streamed FOX news, while standing with Larry, Lisa and Rusty, near the SUV.

"Turn it off," said Larry.

"Everyone's demanding a hundred grand to set up camp for the night," said Maggie Moore, as the column approached Zanesville, Ohio.

"It's just money," said Larry, standing with Maggie, Lisa and Rusty, while riders set up tents and workers deposited outhouses in a line, next to a caravan of food trucks.

Moore pointed to portables. "Every outhouse and every food truck has to be insured," she said.

"Okay, you can...," said Larry. "Can you do that?"

"That's the kind of thing Sal did," said Maggie. "I don't do this. I wanna go home."

Everyone looked silently at everyone else, and only Larry attempted to speak.

"Um, okay...," said Larry, but since it took him awhile to continue talking, everyone had time to look at everyone else again. "If you want to.... If anyone...."

"Maybe you can give everyone a first class ticket to say 'thanks,' don't'cha think?" said Lisa Steel.

"Maggie and Jim?" said Rusty Chops.

"So, yeh... of course," said Larry.

Lisa and Rusty moved closer together, and then held hands.

"The Mayor is putting the development project on the agenda next week," said the Councilman, "and I probably won't win, or even stop it...."

"Yer doing yer thing," said Lisa Steel.

"It'll take a couple meetings to hash it out, and people in my district – they hate this thing – so maybe if I gotta do my thing...."

"If you want a few units, I can select some platoons," said the Major. "You you gotta let the Minutemen go home."

"And Minutewomen," said Maggie, dialing her phone. "Jim, we're by the SUV, really important." Mrs. Moore pocketed her phone and said nothing, but didn't make anyone else say anything. Quickly, Oscar's dad, Jim, rounded the SUV. Maggie again spoke. "Larry, say what you were saying."

"What, about the Mayor?" said Larry.

"The first-class flight tickets," said Maggie.

In the vacuum of silence, the soldier advanced. "I'll go select platoons," said Major Rusty Chops.

Lisa Steel ran beside him.

Larry looked to Maggie and Jim.

In the distance, moving far from the SUV, marched the silhouetted pair, holding hands.

* * *

Ghosts who led a Revolution, saved an imperfect Union, charged up a hill, preserved democracy, and defeated America's greatest foes sat atop the gargoyles that no riders could see – not even the dork who wasn't looking through clear eyes – but General Washington, Mr. Lincoln, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt sat in greatness, with Mr. Wilson, Theodore Roosevelt, and Mr. Reagan, each gazing to the Ohio River.

"Do what'cha gotta do," said Lisa, standing with Larry and Rusty, atop a slight rise that overlooked hundreds of tents of a base camp below.

"A Company's better, to push towards Morgantown," said the U.S. Army Major, forced to a career's end, six months before earning retirement. "We can cut across the 68, or stay put.... Yer call."

"Keep moving," said Larry.

"We lost the kids, and now Maggie and Jim, and yer gonna be gone for three weeks," said Lisa.

"Maybe two," said Larry.

"You've got almost three thousand people," said Rusty, standing close to Lisa. "When leaders leave, armies grumble."

Larry nodded.

"You'll be lucky if there's a Platoon, let alone a Squadron," said the Major.

"This isn't an army!" said Larry.

"Learn, Councilman," said Major Rusty Chops. "A good commander starts with an army of one."

George Washington nodded from his gargoyle.

"He's doomed," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry jerked his head up, to the sound no one else could hear. "Leave me alone!" he yelled.

"Don't fire a gun if you can't aim," said Lisa Steel, turning to Rusty.

"I don't shoot a gun," said Larry. "We've only got words – four words... for everybody."

"Words are more dangerous," said Rusty. "Guns only fire once. Words explode 1,000 times."

"Sounds like a frickin' Russian," said Nixon's Ghost, of a novel he never read.

"Send 'em all home," said Lisa Steel, looking to both men. "You paid me, so meet me in a month, on the other side of the Appalachias." She looked at her soldier boy. "Me and Rusty'll cross, with anyone who wants to ride to the other side of the mountains."

"She's a Rough Rider," said Theodore Roosevelt.

"Deserves a frickin' medal," said Nixon's Ghost.

FDR lit a cigarette.

Larry said nothing.

* * *

"Your Coca-Cola, sir," said a stewardess, handing Larry a soda, and handing Oscar's dad, Jim, tonic water, a single-serving bottle of gin, and a small saucer containing lemon slices.

Maggie slept.

"That was a nice vacation from a courthouse," said Jim, "but I didn't work as hard as Maggie."

"I'm gonna give you guys a lot more money," said Larry.

"You paid us plenty," said Jim, pouring the tonic and adding the gin. "Lawyers need a break, too." Jim squeezed lemon into the glass. "Oscar needs to know folks go to bat for him. It's more than money."
Chapter Forty-Six – A Long War with Short Battles

"Will the Clerk please read the item," said Mayor Tony Kim, as Larry sat at the Council dais, in a new ill-fitting blue suit.

* * *

"... And that concludes the staff report," said a female staffer, closing a white binder in front of her, as the lights in the Long Beach City Council chambers rose.

"I will take discussion first from Councilmembers," said Tony Kim. "Councilman Bix."

A group in the audience holding a "Stop SEADIP Now!" banner tightened their eyes, as Larry adjusted his microphone.

"In the months I've been gone, nothing's changed," said Larry van der Bix, holding aloft his binder. "The proposal's the same. The staff report is the same. The developer's arguments are the same. So my motion is the same, to deny the proposal."

Audience members holding the banner cheered loudly.

"Do I have a second for Councilman Bix's motion?" asked the Mayor. There was a long silence. "Is there a second?" More silence.

* * *

"How much?" said Larry, holding his cell phone, as he stood in the well of the Long Beach council chambers, during a break. "Okay, Lisa, whatever..., pay it."

A thin woman in her fifties waited for Larry to finish his call.

"Collie Junebug," said the woman, quickly and unpleasantly. "I'm sure you remember me."

"Of course I do," said Larry. "We each ran."

"I was wrong about you," said his opponent. "It's important to admit when you're wrong."

* * *

"We have one motion that has died for lack of a second, and no other on the floor," said Tony Kim. "Do I have a motion to continue this item to our next meeting?"

"So moved," said Councilman Anders Andersen, the Dane, seated next to the Mayor.

"Second," said Councilwoman Lena Martinez, next to Larry.

"There is a motion and a second," said the Mayor. "Seeing no further discussion, Members, please cast your votes." The names of the nine Long Beach city council members were projected on a large screen behind the dais.

Eight lights showed green.

Larry – casting the sole "nay" – showed as red.

* * *

As the warmth of late summer turned to the chills of autumn, perhaps only the Governor of South Carolinian and his Argentinian soul-mate paramour took a greater enjoyment from the Appalachian Trail than did the cross-country rider, Lisa Steel, and her soldier boy, Major Rusty Chops, who led a band of sixty riders across hundreds of miles of densely-forested mountains and valleys.

The cavalry continued passing silently through towns as they hugged the Mason-Dixon line.

News trucks turned away after short interviews, when Rusty Chops repeatedly told the press that only Lisa Steel would be available, until Councilman Larry van der Bix again joined the column.

During the day, Lisa and Rusty led their horses on foot, with pack animals linked together in a train. The five dozen hearty souls who continued on the ride ate as Lisa and Rusty did, from dehydrated foods, powdered milk, and canned items, heated on portable camp stoves, or from surplus meals ready to eat, provided by a PX that catered to the odd nostalgia for MREs that afflicted some service personnel recently returned from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

At night, the flickering of a half dozen electronic candles bounced about Lisa's tent, which had become the chosen location for Lisa and Rusty to sleep, as it was bigger and more durable than the single-person model brought by the Major.

"Lay down with me, you square-jawed man-of-a-man," said Lisa, offering herself and taking him at the same time, in what wasn't so much wrestling each night, as it was rolling, and rustling things about, and kissing, and making love.
Chapter Forty-Seven – Returning to Battle

Larry sat on his newly-purchased, high-priced, brand-new sofa, centered in the empty living room of his clean apartment, and looked out to the gargoyle statue outside his window, and surfed TV.

"With only three months before the critical Iowa presidential caucuses, the race for the Republican nomination is tightening," said a blonde FOX News anchor. "Three Senators each stake a political future on the bet that conservative activists will unite around their own campaign."

Larry surfed.

"In Washington, Senator Mary Traynor, of Hawaii, continues marching ahead with legislation to formalize the President's controversial promotion of a lesbian soldier...," said CNN.

Larry turned down the TV volume, to answer his phone, vibrating on the pillow next to him. "Hullo?" he said, looking out to the gargoyle, not seeing the Angel who sat guard. "Where are you guys? Where is Hagerstown? Should I come out now? Okay, rest the horses. I'll see you in two days."

Larry dialed his office.

"The Office of Councilman Larry van der Bix," said a female voice. "This is Maryann Moore.... How may I help you?"

"It's me," said Larry.

"Hey, Boss," said Maryann.

"I need to fly, to join Lisa and Rusty," said Larry, using the remote control to scratch his back. "They're less than a week out of Washington."

"Can me and the Eagles go, too?" asked Maryann. "You don't have to pay me."

"I want the arrival to be small," said Larry.

* * *

Larry, Maryann, her mother, the three Eagles, and Jim were the only paid passengers in first-class. Larry didn't look and others could not see several dead presidents, floating over the front row.

"Your Coca-Cola, sir," said a stewardess.

Larry smiled weakly, and watched a streaming news broadcast.

"Our top story.... A growing mob is gathering outside of Hagerstown, Maryland, awaiting the return of an anti-politician, leading a horseback army to Washington," said a blonde FOX anchor. "We now go to our national political reporter..., Candy, are you there?"

Maryann leaned close to Larry, to watch.

"Will congressional testimony by General Goodwrench be thrown under a bus over war at home?" asked Candy Bear.

* * *

"This looks like it," said Maggie Moore, behind the wheel of the SUV, rented when they arrived at Reagan National airport.

"Doesn't look like anybody's here," said Larry. "Sure this is the place."

"They're supposed to be right on the edge of the Antietam National Battlefield," said Maryann, checking her GPS.

As the vehicle continued, two figures on horseback were visible on a rise in the distance.

Maggie Moore took the SUV off-road, and made her way towards the two.

Lisa and Rusty looked toward the SUV, and Lisa gave a wave.

Mrs. Moore stopped a hundred feet from the pair on horseback. Everyone climbed out and walked toward the horses.

"I thought you had people with us," said Larry, who stopped when he reached Lisa and Rusty. Below, on a wide, flat field, were hundreds of tents, masses of horses, and countless vehicles.

Parked in the center of the camp was Sal Manilla's media wagon.

"The Battalion's waiting for you," said Rusty.

* * *

"You gotta let me be part of this," said Sal, at the conference table. "This is what I live for."

"I'm not running for president," said Larry.

"I know that, baby, I know," said Sal, drinking soda, "but I can help you close the deal and help your friend."

"Alright," said Larry.

Sal leapt out of his chair, put his hand in the air, and waited. He stayed motionless, smiling, standing as a statue of enthusiasm.

"Sock it to him, Cowboy," ordered the dead president.

Larry tepidly pressed his hand against Sal's.

"Who love ya, baby!" hooted the message man.

* * *

"Check one..., testing...," said Sal Manilla, at a single microphone on the wide, low stage that jutted from the media wagon. "Get out here!"

Larry – holding a burrito – stood next to Sal.

"Here we go." Sal looked at the burrito. "You might wanna finish that."

Larry looked out to the riders, journalists, and hangers-on, in a mid-October twilight.

Sal cleared his throat, and waved up Lisa and Rusty.

Larry wiped his fingers on his jeans, after finishing the burrito.

"Get them up here," said Sal, pointing to Lisa and Rusty. "Let's do it."

One of the Eagles ran to Lisa and Rusty, and the three jogged together to the media wagon.

"Alright, everybody," said Sal, into the microphone, his voice booming across sacred soil that countless thousands of Americans – in Blue or Gray – had marched upon a hundred and fifty years earlier, to kill, or to be killed.

Mr. Lincoln, on a gargoyle, watched somberly, beside fellow Commanders-in-Chief.

"Here's your anti-politician-in-chief... ," said Sal, "... Councilman Larry van der Bix!"

A deafening roar rose, causing Larry to cover his ears.

Sal gripped his upper arm, and walked Larry to the microphone.

The roar subsided and dead presidents watched.

"Uh...," said Larry.

The battlefield was silent.

"Yeh, okay," he said, looking around.

"Do it, Cowboy," muttered Nixon's Ghost.

"How about... a big hand for Lisa and Rusty."

Another roar rose from the crowd.

"And for Sal," said Larry. "Right here."

A crickets near the stage could be heard.

"At least he's trying," said Mr. Reagan.

"Okay, well..., how about for you? All'a you? You didn't have to be here. Clap for yourselves."

And people did, politely at first, and quickly into a loud fury, and again finally silent.

"Okay, um, we're back marching," said Larry.

People yelled agreement.

"We all want what we want, but alone, no one will ever hear us." Larry motioned to TV cameras separating the stage from the crowd. "If you not here, they wouldn't be."

Applause went up.

"Money buys speech, and I spent plenty," yelled Larry, "but food trucks and outhouses are a better investment than super-PACs and TV ads."

The crowd erupted.

"Our numbers are our power," said Larry.

Sal Manilla smiled.

* * *

Larry, Lisa, Rusty, Maggie, Jim, Maryann, and the Eagles crowded around a conference table, as Sal surfed the three TVs set into the wall of the media wagon. The Eagles maneuvered recordings.

"The original 'Angry American' today exhorted followers to stick together," said Candy Bear. "Councilman Larry van der Bix told thousands that power comes from numbers."

"Horses as free speech, on the Antietam battlefield," said a CBS network news reporter.

"What's the end game?" asked Rusty.

"Councilman?" said Sal.

"Um," said Larry, "uh... guess we go to Washington."

The Eagles cheered.

The grown-up nodded.

"Boss, I think they mean, when we get to Washington...."

"It'll be when General Goodwrench is testifying in Congress," said Sal, moving a hand in a circular motion, as though he were telling a driver to keep moving. "Maybe, uh, we picket outside the Capitol?"

"You would set a Calvary around the Capitol," said Rusty Chops.

"Permits," said Sal. "Gotta do permits."

"What about marching, all silent and everything?" said Lisa.

"They couldn't ignore us," said Brent.

"Everyone would come out," said Oscar.

"Think of the TV," said Maryann.

"But for how long?" asked Tommy.

"It could be like that Bonus Army thing," said Sal, "although that one turned out kind'a bloody."

"Bloody?" said Larry.

"Patton, MacArthur, head-cracking," said Sal. "The Army beat up the Bonus Marchers, but 1932's ancient history."

"Frickin' 1972 is," said the crook who bought his historic win with slurs and lies.

"So you're silent, holding signs, and the House and Senators drive past you," said Maggie.

"Each day, yer voice gits louder," said Lisa.

"Anyone else got another idea?" asked Jim.

* * *

Larry sat on the hill, overlooking the base camp. His phone vibrated and he looked at the screen, which read, "lori lewis."

"Oh my God," said Larry, answering. "It's been so long!"

"It'll be hard for my boss, Larry," said Lori.

"The ride?" said Larry.

"I'm staffing the General when he testifies," said Lori.

"I'm not telling him what to say," said Larry. "Or you."

There was a long silence.

"Will I be able to see you?" asked Larry.

"The office is freaked there will be a showdown," said Lori, "and force the General out."

"It was nice riding with December," said Larry. "Her belly was very popular."

"She had a good time," said Lori. "Thanks."

"I'm just beating up Dick Bomber," said Larry. "Can't I beat him up a little?"

"The JAG who helped at Bagram will file charges," said Lori, "so I'll smack him plenty."
Chapter Forty-Eight – Making a Final Push

Larry pulled the bandana over his mouth and looked to hundreds of riders behind him.

Lisa, Rusty, Maryann, and the Eagles formed the second line.

Above the masses who followed hovered a row of ghosts, each on a gargoyle.

Larry nodded, and the second line yelled, "We're moving!"

The army lurched forward.

Ahead, in the distance, drove the media wagon, followed by a caravan of food trucks, news vans, RVs, motor homes, and passenger vehicles.

"On the frickin' road again," sang the ghost. "Just can't wait to be on the frickin' road again."

* * *

"We hug the Potomac until we pass Sugarloaf Mountain," said Rusty, riding alongside Larry, and pointing to the mountains ahead, to their left. "We can either cross into Virginia, and come up Bull Run, or cut inland to Germantown and take the 270, toward Bethesda."

Larry rode, saying nothing.

"There's another seventy riders waiting at the next camp," said Lisa, riding on Larry's left.

"Puts us over eight hundred," said Rusty.

* * *

"Sources say that explosive legal charges may soon be filed against U.S. Senator Dick Bomber," declared FOX political reporter Candy Bear, as Larry sat with Sal in the media wagon.

* * *

"Got another rider," said Lisa, approaching Larry, as he used a metal tool to pick stones and dirt from his Palomino's hoof. Larry looked up.

"Maryann started on her fifth birthday," said Buck Rogers. "Think I'd miss her 20th next week?"

* * *

"Councilman!" yelled FOX political reporter Candy Bear, standing at the base of Sal's mic stage, with dozens of other reporters, film crews and photographers.

Larry stared outward, but did nothing.

"What's your response to Dick Bomber's threat to lead his own horseback army through Maryland, to meet you outside of Washington?"

"It's a free country," said Larry.

"Is your army dividing Americans?" yelled another reporter.

"Like some hate-spitting bastard isn't?" said Larry.

Sal smiled.

* * *

"Bacon or sausage?" asked Jim, standing at a chuck wagon, with Larry and Buck in line.

"Both," said each.

* * *

Signs held by protesters as the cavalry rode silently through Germantown told Larry to go home, to not divide Americans, to let God's will prevail, and to stop helping Al Qaeda.

The counter demonstrators' signs supported Lori Lewis, called on Americans to be tolerant and decried hate speech.

Police in riot gear forcibly separated the protesters, as the column silently passed.

* * *

"Violence in Germantown, Maryland, tonight," intoned Candy Bear, over one of Sal's TVs, with three Eagle Scouts recording the video.

* * *

Larry sat next to a tree, on a small hill, close to Lisa's tent, which flickered with the glow of electronic candles, silhouetting two figures inside. Larry looked down, to the sprawling base camp. Maryann Moore climbed up the hill.

"Hey, Boss," she said. "Aren't you cold up here?"

"I always run hot," said Larry, his knees drawn up, his arms folded across them.

Maryann sat down next to Larry, and scooted in so close that the two shared body warmth. The young woman rested her arms on her knees, and looked out to the camp. "Are you glad it's almost over?"

"Yeh," said Larry.

"Wanna go get warm together?" asked Maryann.

* * *

"Pancakes?" asked Maggie Moore.

"Yeh," said Larry, in the breakfast line with Buck and the Eagles.

"Hot syrup?" asked Maryann, holding a coffee pot.

"Sure," said Larry, holding his plate out. "Happy birthday tomorrow."

"That's not until midnight," said two women who each manage schedules.

* * *

Larry rode silently, alone, at the head of the cavalry column. Maryann rode her horse in a gallop and handed her phone to Larry as soon as she was close enough. He pushed play.

"Senator Dick Bomber led forty riders on horseback out of the District of Columbia, today," said a blonde FOX anchor. "We go live to Candy Bear." The streaming clip showed Candy, seated on a horse, but not moving. "I'm here in Friendship Village, just outside of Bethesda, Maryland, where a small band of riders who've saddled with the Senator and presidential hopeful Dick Bomber is now moving towards Rockville...."

"Probably riding with Andrew Jackson," said Theodore Roosevelt.

"Could be," said Mr. Reagan.

"Son of a bitch doesn't care who's with 'em, so long as the bastards kill their fellow Americans," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry stared at the ghosts, and handed the phone back to Maryann, who rejoined the second line. Larry motioned to Rusty and Lisa, who each rode up alongside him. "Bomber's headed to Rockville."

"We ride through tomorrow," said Lisa.

"What are they carrying?" asked Rusty. "Anyone know?"

"News didn't say," said Larry, reaching for his phone.

"Beer and a pistol," growled several ghosts.

"What could forty riders do, anyway," said Larry, dialing. "We're over a thousand."

"A sharp tip can slice through a line," responded the Major.

"We ought'a tell 44 to retire that soldier properly," said Ronald Reagan.

"He got robbed by that son of a bitch," said Nixon's Ghost.

"Sal," said Larry, ignoring the ghosts who no one else could see. "Did you... okay, you saw." Larry listened for almost a minute, said he agreed, and hung up. "Sal thinks they're gonna harass us."

"They ain't bringing picnic baskets," said Lisa.

"We need the whole line edged strong," said Rusty.

* * *

"Testing one..., testing one, two, three... okay, Councilman," said Sal, standing on the stage of the media wagon, next to the mic stand.

"On your phones, you know Dick Bomber is riding to meet us," said Larry, at the microphone.

The crowd stood motionless and silent.

"Us and him will be in Rockville tomorrow."

Phones captured video.

Larry looked to an enormous audience of riders, some of whom had ridden several thousand miles. He turned to Lisa and Rusty, standing with the Moore women, the King of Bacon, and three Eagle Scouts. "Tomorrow will be dangerous. We know what anger feel like – we're each angry – so let's be careful.

The phones continued shooting video.

"We can't let Dick Bomber win just cuz he's a Hater-in-Chief," said the anti-politician.
Chapter Forty-Nine – The Arrival

"Welcome to FOX's Washington In Focus, the news magazine that tells you what's really happening in our nation's capital," said a man in a dark blue suit and red tie. "Today we're following news of an expected clash between forces loyal to Senator Dick Bomber, and an enormous mob, led by a west coast anti-politician...."

Larry turned off the television. "Just record it," he said, to Sal.

"Yeh, eat with everyone and show you're proud," said Sal. "They need that."

* * *

Larry and Buck ate, with Brent, Oscar and Tommy nearby, none talking.

No one talked about missing their first semester of college, or whether Brent should join the Army, and how great it will be to get home.

Lisa and Rusty sat across from Larry and Buck, and maintained the silence.

"C'mon," said Sal, setting two massive plates onto the table. "Don't the food taste good?"

The Eagles talked about bacon.

"Front and back are strong," said Rusty, drinking coffee. "Trouble would be a charge in the line."

No one else spoke.

"There'd be a stampede," said Lisa Steel, finally.

"Lots'ud get hurt," said Buck.

"Some could be killed," said Rusty.

"I don't want kids out there," said Larry.

The Eagles, engrossed in an argument about which of their parents make the best bacon, stared for a moment, but paid no heed to grown-ups.

"We could rest the horses," said Lisa. "Bomber'ud stew a couple days."

"That's sensible," said Buck, drinking orange juice.

"That's a terrible idea," said Sal, digging into the food. "Every day, he gets stronger. More press, more riders, more sympathy, give him chutzpah he don't got today." Sal dug into his potatoes. "Face-to-face in real time, and he's got no idea what's gonna happen."

"That guy knows his shit," said Nixon's Ghost.

Larry steamed, looking at the ghost no one could see.

"If we don't own time, he can plan the attack," said Sal.

"Militarily accurate," said Major Rusty Chops.

"We just ride through?" said Larry.

"Either we ride through Rockville," said Buck, "or he rides through us."

* * *

"What do you mean, we're not riding today?" said Brent, with the other Eagles, and Maryann.

Larry turned to Rusty.

"You're the Commander," said the Army Major. "Give a fucking order."

"This is the day we ride into Washington," said Oscar.

"This is the last day," said Tommy.

"This is my birthday," said Maryann.

"It's gonna be really dangerous," said Larry.

"Some are gonna get hurt," said Rusty.

"Like that couldn't happen the last six months we rode together?" said Maryann.

"I don't want you hurt, none of you," said Larry. "People could get killed."

"Duh," said Oscar.

"Like that would happen," said Tommy.

"We grew up on horses," said Brent.

"We're Palos Verdes kids," said Maryann.

"I'm not changing my mind," said Larry.

* * *

"Where're the kids?" asked Lisa Steel, atop Buster, alongside Larry.

"I took 'em off the trail," said Larry.

Lisa rode alongside Larry for a spell. Neither talked. Lisa pulled Buster off the front line.

A dozen riders who crossed the Appalachias together formed the second line.

The rest of the original band of riders made up a third line, and behind them rode a large group of farmhands, cowboys, and rodeo riders. Weekend equestrians made up the back of the column.

Larry reached for the phone vibrating in his pocket. The screen read, "lori lewis." Larry flipped open the phone. "Yeh," said Larry.

"I'm doing it," said Lori.

"Doing what?" said Larry.

"Gillie filed the papers," she said.

"Who?" said Larry.

"My lawyer," said Lori. "Gillie Ross.... My jag.

"That's good," said Larry.

"Larry, you've spent all year fighting for me," she said. "I can't watch you go into battle alone."

* * *

"We go to Rockville, Maryland, and reporter Candy Bear," said a blonde FOX anchor.

Larry held Buck's phone closer, and saw that behind the reporter were scores of horseback riders, many carrying poles, bearing Confederate flags.

"Only a few miles – and hundreds of state troopers and local police – separate Senator Dick Bomber, and his band of riders, from the angry mob led by Councilman Larry van der Bix, who insists on completing his cross-country trek to our nation's capitol," said Candy Bear.

"Fuck," said Larry.

"The Senator's attention, however, may be elsewhere, as an attorney for Lieutenant Lori Lewis filed charges against the Senator, stemming from last year's congressional fact-finding trip to Afghanistan."

Buck watched Larry bond to his Palomino.

"It'z cer-tun-lee a beautiful Fall morning for a horseback ride," said Dick Bomber, to Candy Bear.
Chapter Fifty – The Battle of Rockville

Larry, Lisa and Rusty led a thousand riders along Frederick Avenue, as the column passing Gaithersburg High School, where hundreds of students stood on sidewalks to watch the parade.

The sky turned steely gray.

Ahead, the flashing lights of a hundred patrol cars lit the wide strip of asphalt, and colors bounced from lush foliage on either side of the roadway.

Larry pulled the phone from his jacket and dialed Maryann. "Where are they?" he said.

"South of Rockville," said Maryann.

"What're reporters saying?"

"They're all focused on the rape charges," said Maryann.

"Huh?"

"Your friend," said Maryann. "Lori filed criminal charges that Bomber repeated attempted to rape her in Afghanistan."

"Oh, yeh," said Larry. "Call me back."

"Will, Boss," said Maryann.

Larry pocketed the phone and zipped his jacket against the sharp wind.

Buck rode to the front line, with Candy Bear, straddling his own saddle.

"Thought you only ride with hate?" said Larry.

"Am covering the 'love angle,' too," said Candy, her arms wrapped around Buck Rogers.

"So where's your camera crew," said Larry.

"A mile ahead," said the reporter.

"Where's Bomber?" asked Larry.

"We lost him a few miles back," said Candy.

Larry kept steady pace with the Palomino.

"Aren't you nervous?" asked the FOX reporter, aiming her smart phone.

"You're not?" said Larry.

"Do you expect people to get hurt?" asked the reporter.

"Dick Bomber's a beast," said Lisa Steel. "Wild pigs never don't attack."

"We've crossed this nation in peace," said Larry, picking up pace. "You know what he stands for."

* * *

"We're holding tight," said Rusty, returning to the front line. "Where is he?"

"Maryann says the Eagles might'a spotted a cluster on the other side of the Wintersgreen Shopping Center, wherever that is," said Larry.

Protesters in front of a CVS pharmacy held signs that read, "Sorry you wasted your time, Larry," "America doesn't want you," and "Do you support Obamacare, too?"

Patrol cars crept slowly along Highway 355, and only the sound of thousands of hoof beats and of horses whinnying filled the air. Police blocked each intersection, preventing cross traffic as the cavalry rode. As the column passed the Montgomery County civic center, hundreds of supporters on foot began marching alongside the column, on either side of the highway, as police escorted horses slowly through Rockville.

"I don't want them here," said Larry, pointing to the hundreds of people on foot, most carrying signs or umbrellas.

"They have the same freedom of speech and assembly we do," said Rusty Chops.

Snow began to fall.

"This feel not good," observed Lisa. "Very not good."

"I'm with you," said Rusty.

Larry kept silent, at the tip of the spear.

* * *

Larry bundled his jacket, as he passed an IHOP, and looked to a monument sign that declared, "Wintergreen Plaza Shopping Center."

The point rider and Major rode close to Larry.

"Mrs. Moore is on the other side of town," said Rusty, as they passed a Taco Bell.

"We ought'a rest the horses a couple hours, before the final push," said Lisa.

"What will Bomber do?" asked Larry.

"Pierce the column," said Major Rusty Chops, as they approached a Best Buy. "Cause panic."

The light snow began to cover the ground in a blanket of white, including the grounds of the Woodmont Country Club, across from the Best Buy.

Larry, Lisa and Rusty – approaching a McDonald's – turned immediately when screaming began.

Each saw the blur of dozens of horses at full gallop penetrate the center of the line.

Riders got thrown.

Horses bolted.

Protestors on foot ran screaming.

Horses with riders scattered.

Lisa, Larry and Rusty turned their animals, as had the second line, as the three row galloped toward the middle.

Buck Rogers gave a fierce order and his horse charged.

Once breaching the line, forces carrying Stars-and-Bars regrouped, and made the return charge. Confederate war flags rippled.

The leaders watched helplessly, as Dick Bomber, using a flag as a lance, led the return charge.

Within 90 seconds, it was done.

The attacking band disappeared into the thickly forested Woodmont Country Club, tracks soon covered in the snow.

Lisa and Rusty dismounted and ran towards the scene of horror.

Larry sat alone.

"Get over there, Cowboy!" yelled Nixon's Ghost.

"H'yah!" shouted Larry, and rushed toward Buck Rogers.

Blood stained the snow across the highway.

Animals lay on their side, bleeding.

Riders lay on their backs, writhing and moaning in pain.

Broken protest signs and umbrellas were scattered.

Lisa and Rusty ran to help the injured.

The sound of ambulances wailed in the distance.

"Oh my God," said Larry, racing to Buck, both throwing themselves off their horses.

Larry fell to his knees.

A moment later, after being struck on the back of the neck, Larry blacked out.

* * *

When he awoke, face down in the snow, blood on either side of him, Larry was able to lift his head only enough to see the blood and to watch police and troopers swung batons to manhandled riders and supporters.

He could not get up. His hands were cuffed behind his back.

"You have the right to remain silent," yelled a voice, standing over Larry.

"What the Hell'ur you doing?" yelled Lisa Steel, to an arresting officer. "We're the victims."

The officer shoved Lisa Steel down, sending her to the ground, and retracted his baton, which he held above his head, yelling. "Back off, lady!"

Rusty Chops took the officer down, with an old-skool, mid-waist, flying football tackle.

Two troopers began beating the Major.

Mrs. Moore and her daughter, three Eagle Scouts, and Oscar's dad, Jim, arrived at the melee, jumped out of the rented SUV, and ran towards the ambulances.

"Councilman!" yelled Maggie, seeing Larry. "Major!"

"Boss!" yelled Maryann, dropping to her knees and cradling Larry in her arms.

Larry spit out snow.

Another trooper ran over, holding a baton in the position one does before using it.

"What?" yelled Maryann, quickly, holding Larry, "you gonna hit a girl on her birthday?"

Jim ran up. "I'm the Councilman's lawyer!"

Maggie picked up a broken flag pole, bearing a flag of an violent open rebellion.

"Get Sal," cried Maryann.
Chapter Fifty-One – Coffee and Sandwiches at the White House

Sal emerged from the media wagon, helping the bandaged Larry van der Bix down the steps, and to the stage. Sal used the broken flagpole to push up the retractable awning over the stage, sending a flurry of gathered snow to the ground, in front of a line of TV cameras, reporters and photographers, gathered in a parking lot of the Montgomery county campus of Johns Hopkins University.

Jim, Maggie, and Maryann stood with Larry, on stage.

"We weren't doing anything... just riding," said Councilman Larry van der Bix, wincing in pain. "Dick Bomber led a violent charge of hatred."

* * *

"He attacked me," said Lori Lewis, standing outside a Washington, D.C. civilian courthouse, with Army Captain Gillie Ross. "Repeatedly. Violently. Dick Bomber is a violent hate criminal."

* * *

"I am being attacked," said United States Senator Dick Bomber, to journalists, photographers and a FOX film crew at the steps of the United States Capitol. "Liars and jokers are shredding my good name, for the raw purpose of denying voters a chance to elect a man who knows the truth as their president."

* * *

"Who does one believe?" asked Candy Bear, in a FOX News teaser. "Is United States Senator Dick Bomber right, when he says that 'liars and jokers' are wrongly accusing him of violence? Or is the Senator a beast, who defiled an Army soldier and led a bloody rebellion across peaceful protesters?"

* * *

Larry and Sal walked together through the hallway of the Johns Hopkins University medical center.

Rusty Chops, bruised and bandaged, stood guard outside Lisa Steel's room.

Three Eagle Scouts hugged each man.

A doctor came out of the room.

"She'll be fine," said a doctor, "but lost the child." The doctor put his hand on Rusty's shoulder.

A moment later, the doctor was gone.

Rusty Chops collapsed and wept.

* * *

The JHU parking lot resembled a crime scene, or a circus awaiting the erection of the Big Top.

Riders sat atop horses, or stood in front of them, holding the reins.

Vehicles of all sorts – some pulling horse carriers – were parked in no order.

Doctors and nurses moved from rider to rider, triaging, sending some inside.

News crews lustfully captured the scene.

Larry stepped outside the media wagon, parked in the center of the chaos.

"You cannot tell us not to ride tomorrow!" said Tommy, standing with the other Eagles, and Jim, and the Moore women.

"We are so riding!" said Brent.

Oscar looked to his dad, and to his fellow Eagle Scouts. "We have to," said Oscar.

"You just have to," said Oscar's father, the lawyer who has been voted as the King of Bacon.

Larry nodded, and stepped back into the media wagon, filled with the sound of Sal's voice.

"No, Mister, you don't understand," yelled Sal Manilla, into a cell phone. "You'll burn in Hell!" Sal looked up, saw Larry, held up a finger, as one does when completely pissed, and launched into a new call. "Candy... Candy... Sal Manilla... yeh, fine... I'm the only one who didn't get beaten by fuckin' thugs."

Larry stepped out of the media wagon and sat on the edge of the stage.

Maryann Moore sat next to him.

Each scooted closer to one another.

* * *

Hundreds of reporters, photographers and TV film crews walked backward, as Larry, alone at the head of a reformed column of riders, signaled to Buck, Maryann, and the Eagles. The five – who comprised the second line – yelled out, "We're moving!"

The dull, clip-clop of hoof beats and snorting of the animals were the only sounds from the cavalry, as they slowly moved forward.

* * *

"More from Rockville, as inside sources on site at Johns Hopkins report the death of an infant fetus, belonging to legendary long-distance rider Lisa Steel," said a blonde FOX anchor, wrongly displaying a photo from the film, Misfits, showing the ghost of Marilyn Monroe, in a white blouse and tan hat.

* * *

"They'uhs nuthin' like your own people making life utterly difficult, is there, General Goodwrench?" said Dick Bomber, leering at Second Lieutenant Lori Lewis, as the Senator passed the two soldiers seated at the testimony table, on his way to the dais of committee members.

"The Senate Armed Services Committee shall come to order," said the gentleman of Michigan, tapping the gavel. Cameras flashed and photographers scuffled on their knees, in the well between the dais and the soldiers, and the din of conversations in the committee room. The Chairman again rapped his gavel, until the standing-room-only crowd quieted. TV film crews lined along two walls. "We have important business, but before we hear from our military leaders on the status of America's wars, let us together decry the violence and rancor that yesterday touched us, so close to our nation's Capitol."

Dick Bomber smirked.

"Murderer!" yelled a woman in a pink outfit, who stood and pointed, perhaps to Allen Goodwrench, or, beyond him, to the seated Senators.

The Chairman rapped his gavel, ordered the woman to be taken from the room, and waited until the doors had closed after two Sergeants-at-Arms had physically carried the screaming protester from the hearing room.

* * *

Army Captain Dorsey Spaulding and Lieutenant Lori Lewis muscled forward, keeping the tip of a tight triangle, moving General Allen Goodwrench and Senator Mary Traynor (D-HI) towards the Members Only elevator, outside the Armed Services Committee hearing room.

"Have you read today's Rolling Stone piece on the Lieutenant's friend?" yelled one reporter.

"Can you confirm you were at Bagram Air Base last October to investigate whether Dick Bomber repeatedly tried to rape Ms. Lewis?" yelled another.

"Is it true that you personally negotiated a silence agreement at Bagram?" yelled a third.

"Are you keeping the Lieutenant on your personal staff, after her court filing?" yelled another.

General Goodwrench, his junior officers, and Senator Mary Traynor kept a brisk pace until they reached the elevator. The pack of journalists encircled the General and Senator, their yelling voices fading only when the doors to the ornate, small elevator had closed and the carriage began to move.

* * *

"Thank you for the birthday present, yesterday," said Maryann, riding alongside Larry, and handing him her new phone.

Larry pressed play.

"Vice President Joe Biden today weighed in, on the controversy surrounding Dick Bomber," said a CNN anchor. The clip cut to the Vice President, standing in a snowy courtyard on the White House grounds. "It makes you wonder 'What's next' and that's no way to unite a country," said Biden.

* * *

Larry, Maryann, Buck and the Eagles Scouts – riding six abreast – looked to the snow-covered District of Columbia, in slow march, just outside of Washington. Monuments and the United States Capitol dome beckoned.

The phalanx of media ahead held their ground, as Larry gazed out to the nation's Capitol.

The Eagles read print editions of Rolling Stone, as they sat on horseback, between Larry and Buck.

Maryann checked GPS and Google maps. "Stay on 16th Street, which takes us to the White House, and then cut to Pennsylvania Avenue, to get to Sal and my mom, on the National Mall."

* * *

"Pure bull shit," said Senator Dick Bomber, as he exited Room SD-G50 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, keeping a brisk pace down the long, ornate corridor.

"Easy to tell when his fancy shoes are coated," said the Angel Groucho, visiting Washington from another unending workday in Limbo.

Journalists extended digital recorders towards the Senator and yelled questions.

"Does the death of a pregnant woman's child raise legal questions of your own role at Rockville?" yelled one reporter.

"Does Rockville make your own presidential run impossible?" yelled another.

"I was not in Rockville," said the Senator, walking briskly. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Do you deny that multiple cell phone videos show you leading the charge?" yelled another reporter.

"I wasn't there," said Bomber.

"Senator, there's videos," repeated the reporter.

"Photoshop trickery," said Bomber. "Just like Soviet propaganda times."

* * *

"If you're riding a horse, this is the place to do it," said Mr. Reagan, leading the invisible front row of dead presidents.

"Bully, indeed," replied both Roosevelts, each also seated on a gargoyle.

"Let us hope we shall overcome," said LBJ, "for otherwise, we shall suffer blood on the street."

The lead gargoyle rider honked and straightened his 100 gallon hat.

Larry – in the lead position that all could see – sat silently, watching a streaming clip on Maryann's phone, as horses moved slowly along 16th Street, passing the Capitol Hilton, at K.

"While hundreds of peaceful horseback riders make their final descent into the District of Columbia, after thousands of miles on the road, Sen. Dick Bomber is denying any involvement in yesterday's bloody clashes in Rockville," said FOX anchor Candy Bear. "We go to Candy Bear... Cicero...."

"I'm here at Lafayette Square, across from the White House, and in the distance can be seen the horses and humanity that make up Larry van der Bix's angry equestrian army," said FOX national political reporter Candy Bear. "Oh! Look at the snow."

The Angel Groucho smoked a cigar, and blew a large colorful puff towards the Hay-Adams Hotel.

In the distance, still within eyesight, a moving mass inched towards the White House.

The flashing lights of police escort vehicles twinkling like distant stars, visible, but only as a few pixels set against a huge universe.

"Meanwhile, Senator Dick Bomber is denying involvement in the bloody clash in Rockville, despite videos – dozens uploaded to YouTube – that show a man very much resembling – indeed identical – leading the initial charge, and, moments later, the return charge that resulted in more than 200 injuries and, ultimately, the death of a pregnant woman's unborn child."

FOX cut to a clip that began with footage of riders passing Best Buy, and screaming was heard. The cell phone holder turned to the right, where a band of riders emerged from the densely-forested grounds of the Woodmont Country Club, and charged at full gallop across a wide, snow-covered knoll.

Flagpoles bearing Stars-and-Bars were used as lances, as charging riders sliced the peaceful column, leaving an enormous gap in the line, bodies of animals and humans writhing on pools of blood. The video showed the small band of riders regrouping and violently returning through the shattered line.

The rider clutching a flagpole as leader of a violent open rebellion appeared to be Dick Bomber, in a winter coat flapping wide-open, with clothing that matched his appearance on the Washington In Focus chat show earlier in the morning.

"Too much film," said Lyndon Johnson, as he saw Larry watching a ghostlike reiteration of violence of the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

When the video finished, almost two minutes later, and the news feed returned to live footage, the mass inching down 16th Street appeared larger. The camera operator zoomed past Candy Bear, to show a column of riders, six abreast, moving down the city street, escorted by police escorts. Massive throngs of people lined the sidewalks.

* * *

Sal and Maggie Moore sat in the media wagon, watching Larry's army ride down 16th Street in a live stream shown on one TV set, while another was broadcasting live from outside the White House. "I find it difficult to see how the Senator can credibly make the argument that he was not present, when witnesses and video place him squarely at the scene," said the President, answering a reporter's question, yelled out during a photo op, with the visiting Prime Minister of Denmark.

Another reporter asked how the White House would respond to the impending arrival of the cavalry. "Coffee and sandwiches," said the President.

* * *

Thousands lined the sidewalks on both sides of 16th Street, cheering Larry's army, as it approached the White House.

As riders made their way through the snow-covered pathways of Lafayette Square – past the statue of General Andrew Jackson, the Indian Killer, rearing on horseback – they saw a series of high tents, against the North fence of the White House.

People in orange vests motioned for riders on horseback to enter the tents, where servers dressed in white stood on ladders.

Larry and Maryann approached the first tent, and servers handed each a covered cup and a brown paper bag.

The people in the orange vests motioned for the riders to keep moving, down Pennsylvania Avenue, toward the National Mall.

Larry took a sip of coffee.

* * *

"So what'ta we do now, Boss?" asked Maryann, as she and Larry dismounted and walked their horses towards the media wagon.

"I don't know," said Larry, looking inside the paper sack, pulling out a sandwich. "Eat, I guess."

Standing next to the media wagon, in a dress green US Army uniform, was Lieutenant Lori Lewis. Maryann took the reins from Larry and he ran toward his best friend, the two embracing, like parted siblings. "You are the craziest guy I've ever known," said Lori.

Larry pulled her close. Lori hugged him. "My neck," he said, breaking the embrace. "Still hurts." He pulled Lori by the hand, into Sal Manilla's media wagon. "Sal... Mrs. Moore...," said Larry. "This is my best friend, Lori."

The organizers stood, shook hands, and Sal motioned for them to sit at the table.

"Actually, I can't stay," said the soldier. "I had to see Larry before we fly back to Florida."

"Thanks for your service to this grateful nation," said Sal. "Nice to meet ya."

"You really are as beautiful as they say," said Mrs. Moore.

Lori lowered her eyes, thanked both organizers, and walked out with Larry, who introduced her to every person between the media wagon, and a waiting black SUV, where Captain Dorsey Spaulding stood.

"Captain, this is my best friend, Larry," said Lori Lewis.

The two men shook hands.

Lori and the Captain climbed into the SUV, and drove off with the Four Star General.

Larry returned to the media wagon, where Sal and Maggie were watching the news channels. Larry sat with them. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

"We watch a grown man crumble," said Sal Manilla, pointing to a television. "He's doomed." Sal finished his root beer. "Most political careers end in failure, anyway. He's just the latest one."

"Bastards get what's coming," said a crooked ghost who knows.
Chapter Fifty-Two – A Last Act in the White House

Lisa Steel's platinum blonde hair glowed in the warm cascade of midsummer sunlight flooding into the Palm Room of the White House. Lisa stood dressed in white, her lips crimson, her eyes sparkling, like a movie star, as she held hands with Major Rusty Chops, in dress greens, his tunic bearing a Presidential Unit Citation and a document in his pocket, signed by the Vice President, granting unpaid service credit for the ride across America.

Lieutenant Lori L Lewis, also in dress greens, stood alongside the resplendent December Carrera, in a form-fitting gown, her skin deeply tanned, her eyes the embrace of her Angel baby, her long hair cascading in raven-black waves over her shoulders.

Each couple held hands, standing in front of a latticed and ovular-shaped artwork, showing Union, the depiction of America's hope and fidelity restored.

Buck Rogers stood to one side of the two couples, in his freshly-washed, strongly-starched riding shirt and jeans, shined-up boots, and holding a Holy Book in one hand.

Larry sat with Sal Manilla and Mayor Tony Kim on one side, and Jeanine Howard and her daughters on a tightly packed bench.

Maryann Moore and her mother stood next to the Councilman's bench, with the three Eagle Scouts.

The Marine Corps Band broke away from the wedding march, upon the arrival of the President and First Lady, and moved into a fast rendition of "Hail to the Chief."

"I just love that band," said a ghost who no longer doomed to an eternity in Limbo, but can now serving as an invisible usher inside his own Heaven.

The First Couple greeted Lori and December, cooed to the infant, and greeted Lisa and Rusty, before shake hands with guests seated on the modest benches utterly beloved by children and grandchildren of generations of First Families.

December's mother wiped away tears and repeatedly apologized that her husband did not attend, but the tall First Lady simply danced in an exaggerated goofy fashion in front of Riley Lewis Carrera Beach, causing the grandmother to smile and the infant to giggle.

Vice President Joe Biden and his wife, Jill, entered the lattice-lined Palm Room, hand-in-hand, and embraced each newlywed standing in the sunshine, before taking a seat, next to the First Lady.

The President stepped forward, to the two couples, and the Reverend.

The room went silent.

"We celebrate the official union of two couples," said the President of the United States, a tall man of dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair. "It doesn't matter who they are, or who they love."

Rutland Judd and Ricky Toledano stood to the side, with White House photographer Pete Souza, taking pictures and video.

Larry was not alone in wiping away tears, as Mr. and Mrs. Osgood, with their daughter, Dolly, and her wife, Sarah, each wiped their eyes.

"All that matters is whether people love one another, and are willing to walk life's journey together," said the President. "Who knows where their paths shall lead, but embarking today, each becomes stronger, better, more complete." The President then turned to Buck Rogers, and motioned him forward. "Pastor."

* * *

Larry handed an envelope to Lisa Steel, who opened it and looked with confusion at the contents.

"They don't have to worry about Berkshire Hathaway anymore," said Larry.

Lisa spent a moment digesting that the lien on her parent's mortgage had just been paid off.

Larry handed her a second envelope.

Lisa wiped her eyes.

"The place next to your folks was in foreclosure," said Larry. "There's grass and a barn, and a house, you know, for you and Rusty."

Lisa Steel threw herself around Larry.

"And for Buster...."

* * *

Lori Lewis and December Carrera did not release Larry from the group hug for a long time.

"I owe you the world," said Lori.

"You owe me nothing," said Larry. "If you ditch a friend, what kind of person are you?"

"I know what kind you are," said December, humming. "Angel baby... my Angel baby."

December's mother brought the baby, and demanded a photo.

"Learn to say, 'Funny Larry,' my little Angel Baby!" said December, to her son, as she and her husband and the smiling grandmother all hugged Councilman Larry van der Bix.

Rutland Judd shot the photo.

Maryann Moore walked up, cooed to the baby, and turned to Larry. "C'mon, Boss, I found someone to walk us around together."

The two shook hands with the President and First Lady, and with the Bidens, and walked together through French doors, where a man with a banana-shaped nose escorted Larry and Maryann out, to the sun-drenched blossoming Rose Garden.

"Always a beautiful day... for a White House wedding," said Nixon's Ghost.
Epilogue

Joe Biden, in a heavy winter coat, sat on a recliner that had been set on the stage of the media wagon, parked on the National Mall.

"Everyone get four words."

And Joe Biden listened.

One after another, each horseback rider stood at the microphone and looked directly to the Vice President of the United States, said a name, and declared exactly four words, just like everybody else.

Joe Biden sat smiling, beams of light emanating from his teeth, as a blonde man with a windblown hairpiece growled the words, "Make America great again."
Final Frame

Mrs. Carrera stood alongside a baby grand piano, holding a large frame. She used a piece of crumpled newspaper to wipe away Windex. Across the room, in an armchair, sat December's father, a newspaper in his hands. Mrs. Carrera set the frame onto the piano. The frame showed her in the Palm Room, with Lori and December, holding their Angel Baby, and everyone hugging their goofy friend. Behind them, shown in another photo of the married couple, stood Joe Biden, now hugging his wife, Jill.

