This book is based on real events. Only the people, places, and events are fictionalized. The stupidity is 100% real.
Florida Governor Rhonda Santos was 30,000 feet above Central Florida on a private jet, her hands gripping her head in disbelief. She was enroute to a fundraiser in Palm Beach, where she’d also take the opportunity to visit the plastic surgeon on whose plane she flew. This was part of a larger, five-day trip through South Florida that would culminate in Miami Height’s groundbreaking ceremony before Griffin Elzos and his many billionaire friends. Accompanying her on the plane was Thing 0. His other Thing colleagues had been stuffed into a van to make the six-and-a-half-hour drive down I-75 from Tallahassee.
“How many casualties?” she asked slowly, trying to process the utter absurdity of what she had heard.
Thing 0 sat across from her on a plush leather seat, a portfolio with notes on his lap. The morning sun angled across his body through a small oval window to his left.
“There were eight casualties in total last night, Madam Governor,” explained Thing 0. “One Red Piller with serious burns to his hands. One Niño with a concussion and light shrapnel wounds. Another Niño with a broken arm—apparently, he was hit by a camera that flew off the drone. One Guardsman with a bullet injury to his foot, another with a severe concussion, and three with shrapnel wounds from wayward mortar rounds.”
“How the hell did they get a mortar onto the Bulge?” she asked incredulously.
“They smuggled it inside a crate of metal pipes.”
Santos shook her head.
“And how did all this even start?” she asked.
“Apparently, someone mistook a bird for a communist infiltrator.”
She let out a long sigh that transitioned into a moan.
“No one died?”
“No ma’am.”
“Thank God their target practice trainers were Storm Troopers.”
Santos rose from her seat, walked to a small bar set in a wall unit, and poured herself a tall glass of bourbon.
“There’s been chatter among our Red Piller, Niños Orgullosos, and Sunshine Guard channels that they might all declare war on each other in retaliation for the firefight.”
“Ugh!” cried the governor. She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m dealing with monkeys! They’re flinging shit at each other, missing, and covering everyone else in filth. We need to diffuse this situation before they start shooting up Main Street in their retardation.”
She took a deep swig of bourbon.
“I agree,” said Thing 0.
“I don’t give a shit if you agree,” snapped Santos. “What I care about is solutions.”
“I suggest we hold separate ceremonies for the Sunshine Guard, Red Pillers, and Niños Orgullosos,” replied Thing 0 nonchalantly. “Where we award all the wounded with some made-up medal for bravery…”
Santos snapped her fingers at Thing 0, glass in hand.
“That’s it! Something perfectly inane that sounds official…”
“Like the Florida Free State Medal of Freedom?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Santos. “And give the Sunshine Guard a unit citation. Put a gator on it for good measure. We’re also going to have to separate these feuding idiots so they don’t keep hurting themselves in their confusion. Let’s see…”
“We can deploy the Guard to Arizona. I hear they’re having trouble repelling an influx of Central American asylum seekers fleeing a civil war.”
“Great. Do that. In the meantime, the Red Pillers will be on strict rally security duty while we’ll put the Niños on the road to train the coconuts, twinkies, Oreos, and all the other grocery store minority militias in this fucking country. Keep everyone too busy to sit on their own bayonets.”
Santos walked back to her chair and sat down.
“A few outlets have inquired about reported explosions,” said Thing 0.
“Tell them it was just routine demolition,” she responded. “And, for God’s sake, please make sure we pick up all the drone pieces, the truck, bullet casings, and all the other toys these imbecilic boys left scattered in their playpen.”
“What do you want to do about security at the Bulge?”
“Have Elzos’ thugs take care of it. He basically has his own private army of baby murderers. He’s going to make billions off this deal, and we’ve subsidized him enough already.”
“Will do. Back to our previous topic,” said Thing 0, flipping a page in his notes. “I’d like to discuss the upcoming groundbreaking ceremony.”
“Hit me,” replied Santos, leaning back in her chair and downing another mouthful of bourbon.
“You’ll deliver your speech from a stage set at Miami Height’s summit, at the conclusion of which you’ll hit a button that’ll engage a pile driver which will push a 40-foot ceremonial golden spike into the ground.”
“I love the visuals,” said Santos as she flourished the glass at her aide. “Go on.”
“The stage will be surrounded by seating for 500. Elzos doesn’t want anyone with a net worth of less than one billion on the premises.”
Santos rolled her eyes.
“Elitist prick. How are we going to tell the poors about all the great things I’m doing for them?”
“We’re setting up three 50-foot-wide screens outside Miami Height’s perimeter fence that will broadcast the event live to stands that can hold an additional 5,000. This area will be open to the public and media.”
“Great!” she exclaimed. “Make sure you tell people that we’ll have free beer and hot dogs. I want those stands packed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“While on the subject of the media, have you heard anything new about our wayward little reporter?”
“Not since we lost her on the Brightline,” replied Thing 0. “She’s gone to ground. Our friends at Griffin Ventures believe she might’ve left the state.”
“Good,” said Santos, standing from her seat to refill her glass. “Stay on top of it. If and when she pops back up, I want to make sure we catch and fuck her.”
