88
Wednesday, March 31, 2021, 11:30 PM Central Daylight Time
Mike sat stunned in his usual seat at the Bank Street Bar and Grill. He had been drinking silently, steadily, and slowly since early evening, trying to wrap his mind around the loss of Pete earlier in the day.
One of the regulars had walked up to him around seven o’clock and put his arm around his shoulder. Mike looked at him, expecting condolences.
“Listen, Mike,” Big Al had said. “A couple of us have been talking it over, and we think that maybe you need to find somewhere else to drink.”
“What?” Mike said, uncomprehendingly.
“We tolerated you mouthing off about the President for all these years because of Pete. Pete liked you, I don’t know why. So we accepted you being here. But now that Pete’s gone, we think you should probably go.”
Mike simply stared at him.
“You can stay for tonight,” Al said. “But I think it’s best for everyone if you shove off after that.” With that, Al took his hand off Mike’s shoulder and moved back down the bar to his friends, Jimmy and Chuck.
Mike simply looked at the place on his shoulder where Al’s hand had been. At the time he had thought, Perfect end to a perfect day.
***
By 10:30 or so, Mike was thinking about getting a cab. He didn’t care if they towed his car. He was not going to finish this particular day with a DUI. Knowing he would not be driving, he decided to order one last beer. He raised it, glassy-eyed, in the air toward the troika of Al, Jimmy, and Chuck, his exile committee.
“To Pete,” Mike said.
The three sons of bitches raised their bottles back to him.
Without Pete, he thought, there was not much to keep him here anyway. Maybe drinking less beer would not be the worst thing in the world. He suddenly realized he would miss Janet, and that realization was about to make tears appear in his eyes for the first time that night, when someone gave a long, low whistle, pointing to the big screen on which Wolf News had a breaking story.
“Holy shit,” Chuck said.
“They tried to assassinate the President,” Al said. “At the rally.”
The three of them turned toward Mike, with menacing looks, but he was staring at the screen, with his mouth open.
Ian Flannelly was on the air. They turned the volume up.
“…Sketchy reports at this time, but it appears that there was an attempt made on the life of the President at his rally tonight. We have a correspondent on the scene at the moment. Greg, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Ian, I can hear you.”
“What appears to have happened?”
“The word, Ian, is that an attempt on the President’s life was foiled by his security team and the Secret Service. The President is said to be unharmed. He has been whisked away by the Secret Service to an undisclosed location.”
“What exactly happened, and who was behind this attempt?”
“It is not known for certain, but off the record, a Secret Service agent has told me that someone dressed as one of his personal security detail, or perhaps several of them, were involved in this plot. One person was shot, a member of the security detail, the man who apparently foiled this attempt, the hero, as it seems, according to my source. His name was, is, Joseph Durcan. He has been evacuated to a hospital nearby by the on-site emergency medical staff that accompanies the President everywhere. At least one more shooter, apparently, is at large, and is said to be armed and very dangerous. The Secret Service has also taken into custody two other suspects in connection with this, what appears to be this expansive plot, to assassinate not only the President, but also the Vice President, the Speaker of the House, and, one must assume, the Secretary of State, the three people in line to assume the office of the Presidency in case of the death of the President.”
“This is incredible, Greg. Is there any statement by the President? Will he be appearing tonight?”
“That is unclear… wait, I am getting word that the President will be speaking to the press pool right now, from his undisclosed location.”
The screen switched to a makeshift briefing dais in what looked like a hotel or arena basement. The President walked up to the microphone and grabbed the rostrum with both hands. He appeared pale and in some pain. Cameras flashed and shutters rattled like soft gunfire.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I just wanted to come out here on the air to reassure America and the world that I am fine. This plot to kill me has failed. Unfortunately, we had one person shot in this attempt, and I hope he will be fine, he’s a tough hombre. The leftist violent forces that have wanted to end this administration, that wanted to kill your President, have failed. I will remain. In the next few days we will get to the bottom of this sinister plan to murder me. That is all.”
“Mr. President,” a reporter shouted at him. “Is it true that you were saved by the actions of a Joseph Durcan?”
“That’s what it looks like, yes.”
“Mr. President, an eyewitness says that Mr. Durcan said that Mr. Sweeney and Mr. King were part of this plot.”
“Who was that? That’s wrong,” the President said. “This was a leftist plot, probably with Democrat backing. They can’t stand that I won again. I’m just happy that this great patriot, Joe Durcan, he’s an Army Ranger and Delta Force Ranger, I believe, was there to protect me and others – and others – from this evil leftist plot. I pray that Mr. Durcan makes it. He lost a lot of blood, I’ll tell you, a lot of blood, you can see some of it’s on me, but I’m sure our medical team will patch him up and he will be back on his feet soon. That’s all for right now.” The President turned away from the microphone and walked behind a makeshift curtain.
“Well there you have it,” Greg, the Wolf News correspondent, said.
“Well that was something,” Ian Flannelly said. “Our President standing tall after an attempt on his life. Amazing stuff.”
Mike was sitting there, staring at the screen. The three men down the bar had risen up and were approaching him. He thought, I should get into some sort of defensive posture here.
But a second later, the three were pounding him on the back and shouting congratulations at him.
“That’s your son!” Al said.
“Your kid saved the President!” Chuck said.
Jimmy grabbed his shoulders as if about to give him a hug, then simply shook him. “Your kid is a hero!”
Mike was speechless.
“Are you going to go see him?” Al said.
Mike thought, I feel suddenly sober, but I’m in no shape to drive all night to see him – where do they have him, anyway?
He put his head on the bar.
Janet came up to him. “Do you need a ride home?” she asked.
“I think I do,” Mike said.
“I’ll close up and take you,” she said.
“Thanks,” Mike said.
“I can’t believe Cliffy’s son saved our President,” Chuck said.
Mike just stared at him.
“All right,” Janet said to the whole bar. “We’re closing. I need to get this guy home. All of youse, pay up and head for the exits.”
The bar patrons, who had dwindled to a handful aside from Mike and the three amigos, shuffled to their feet and reached for their wallets. Mike did the same.
“Yours is on me, honey,” Janet said. “Let’s go. Pedro,” she yelled toward the kitchen. “You lock up, right?”
Pedro appeared in the doorway and nodded.
Janet helped Mike to his feet and they went out the door.
© 2020 Nolan O’Brian