Chapter 3
“Stand over there, and face me with your toes on that yellow line.”
The president silently did as he was told. But he never lost that insolent and slightly bored, “pissed-off teenager caught doing something illegal, immoral or forbidden” look on his fleshy face.
Shawna opened a new file in the “Prisoner Intake” database, and went to work.
“Last name?”
"Kleiner-Dieb.”
“First name?”
“Dwayne.”
“Middle initial?”
“J.”
“That’s short for..?”
“Johannes.”
As it turned out, President Dwayne Kleiner-Dieb had no idea what his Social Security number was. He had people for that.
The same with his current address.
Which Shawna found mildly amusing.
The president of the United States – with less than no clue about the address of the White House.
“Tell you what, Dwayne. I’ll just type in 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You know the zip code?”
He shot her a look that clearly told the Chief of Police to get real.
“When the hell do I get to get out of here? You can’t do this to me! I’m the most powerful ruler in the free world, and you’re holding me like a common criminal!”
Shawna had heard just about enough. “Now, get this through your comb-over and deal with it, Snowflake. You aren’t going anywhere. You’re in here for committing three violent felonies either on me or at me. Now, you can have your one phone call, but not until we’re done processing you in, you get into your inmate outfit and you’re assigned a cell.”
“What about these damn handcuffs. They chafe.”
Shawna just shrugged and counted off on her fingers. “Hey, uno…dos…tres. Three violent felonies, Hombre. Count ‘em. Remember? The cuffs stay on until you’re locked in your cell.”
Kleiner-Dieb looked at her for a long moment, then he softened into a smile.
“I know what’s going on here, Chief. A shakedown, right? Ok, hey, you can get your beak wet if you want. How much would it take to make this whole stupid thing go away? Just name a figure.”
Shawna looked up from her computer monitor and broke into a huge smile.
“That’s it,” he crowed. “That’s what this is all about…isn’t it?”
“Could you repeat what you just said, Mr. President? Oh, and speak up just a little. I want to make absolutely sure that my body cam and this room’s video security system capture every last syllable…nice and clear.”
“Never mind,” he stammered. “I was just kidding, anyway.”
“Good,” she giggled. “It’d be a shame to see the most powerful man in the world wind up with another felony, like – I don’t know -- attempted bribery of a government official, added to his charges.”
Shawna went back to her database entries. And with the president’s help, it only took twice as long as usual.
She walked to the door, opened it and leaned into the hallway.
“Hey, Norman!” She called out. “You still there?”
Her aging mentor walked though the door before she even made it back to her desk.
In his arms was a clean, folded up, one-piece orange jumpsuit. Along with a pair of cheap canvas jail shoes, a disposable tooth brush, a towel, and a couple of sheets and a blanket.
He placed them on the counter and turned to the president.
“I’m going to pat you down. Do not resist. Inmates are not allowed any personal items. That means, no wallet, no money, no cufflinks, no car keys, no sunglasses…and no cell phones. Anything we find will be confiscated, inventoried and securely stored until your release.”
Kleiner-Dieb let his shoulders slump and gave off a heavy sigh.
“But I need my cell phone. I’m the leader of the free world, and I have to have it with me at all times.”
Norman shrugged. “The rules are clear on this. No cell phones. No exceptions. The country got along for more than two hundred years without yours. So, I guess we’ll just have to muddle through as best we can. Now, spread your feet shoulder width apart.”
Norman did a quick, efficient job of patting the president down.
He turned up a thick wallet stuffed with hundred dollar bills.
Along with a set of keys that included the front door key for the penthouse home he and his wife shared on his personal floor of the Kleiner-Dieb Aerie. An exclusive, extremely high-end condo tower on the upper East side of Manhattan.
Not to mention an expensive and from the looks of things, largely unused fountain pen.
Plus a smart phone that wouldn’t stop ringing.
Several different colors and flavors of Tic Tacs.
And a small surprise.
A .38 caliber snub-nose Colt, riding in a custom made holster on the waist band of his suit’s trousers.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, young man…” Shawna shook her head and wagged her finger at the most powerful man in the world. “Hey, I hate to further ruin what’s already been a crap-tastic day here. But…you got a permit to carry concealed for your baby howitzer here?”
“Permit? What permit?” Kleiner-Dieb shot Shawna a grin that couldn’t possibly have been more contemptuous. “I don’t need a freakin’ permit. I’m the president, for Christ’s sake.”
“Norman,” The Chief of Police smiled at her elderly assistant. “Perhaps you’d like to explain to the biggest brain in the world here, the tribe’s rules on carrying concealed around the reservation.”
“Happy to, Chief.”
He walked over to the computer and typed in a couple of keystrokes. A couple of seconds later, he began reading aloud from the screen.
“Any Indian who shall go about in public places armed with a dangerous weapon concealed upon his person, unless he shall have a permit signed by a Judge of the Oglala Sioux Tribal Court and countersigned by the Superintendent of the Reservation, shall be deemed guilty of an offense and upon conviction thereof, shall be sentenced to a period of labor not to exceed thirty days and a fine not to exceed four hundred and sixty dollars, or both such fine and imprisonment, with costs; and the weapon so carried may be confiscated. Any questions?”
“Uh, any questions, Mr. President?” Shawna had to repeat Norman’s request; the man’s eyes had glazed over, back around the words “Judge of the Oglala Sioux Tribal Court”.
“Huh?” The President came rocketing back to the land of the lucid. “No…nope. It’s all pretty self-explanatory.”
“You understand the wording?”
Kleiner-Dieb nodded and smiled. “Of course. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Beautiful piece of writing.”
“Then,” Shawna shrugged. “You also understand why we’re confiscating your weapon.”
“What? Why?! You can’t do that! That was a gift from a very good friend, who’s just about a member of the family. And you have no idea the strings he had to pull to bring that into his homeland. Especially when his own country has hundreds of millions of surplus weapons just lying around.”
“You heard the law, Mr. President. You brought a concealed weapon onto this reservation illegally. Then you transported it, fully loaded, in a car. The gun is history.”
“No! I’m the President, dammit! I forbid it!”
“Hey,” the young woman’s voice preceded her through the doorway. “I’ve got four little words for you, Mr. President.”
She held up a fist and as she counted off each word, she raised another finger.
“Pound…sand…white-eyes…”
Norman busted a gut and ended up laughing into his shirt sleeve.
“I guess maybe some introductions are in order here.” He smiled at both women. “Merry Washta, say hello to Nihun Osiceca.”
When the tribal council offered Shawna the job of being Norman’s hand-picked replacement, along with the responsibilities and perks that came with the slot, they also gave her a Sioux name.
A name befitting a woman warrior who could single-handedly, forcibly pacify every participant in a round of fisticuffs. In a crowded bar full of partying bikers.
The name they gave her was Nihun Osiceca.
They even had a small name plate engraved for her uniform, bearing the English translation: Mother Storm.
“Shawna held out her hand to shake, but Merry just shook her head and grinned. “Hey, screw the damn handshake, Mother Storm. I’m already a huge fan. You get the mother of all hugs.”
“Hey, what about me?” With his hands still handcuffed behind his back, all President Kleiner-Dieb could do at that moment was wriggle petulantly against his cell door.
And wish to Hell he had some Tic Tacs.
This second woman was even more beautiful and wild looking than the one he’d jumped in the Beast. “What am I, chopped liver, here?”
“Ok,” Norman did his best to pour a little oil on the waters. “Now, you’ve already met Shawna. She’s Chief of Police on this reservation. And this is Merry Washta, she’s going to be your –“
“A pleasure!” Kleiner-Dieb interrupted. “What are you doing when this is all over? I’d love to get to know you a little better. You’re beautiful.”
Merry shrugged off the pass, and looked at Shawna.
“He said almost the same thing to me in the back of the limo,“ Mother Storm shook her head. “Then he tried to do a pelvic on me…through my uniform pants.”
“When this is all over?” Merry looked at the President and laughed. “I’m your freakin’ prosecutor, Buddy. When this is all over, you could have a fifty-year ride, just from this. And that doesn’t even count the indecent exposure, or the assault on a police person, or the terrorist threat. Two more felonies.
“If you’re convicted on all counts, figure on around a seventy year time-out. Oh, and instant impeachment, since a felony conviction is grounds.”
“She’s making this whole thing up. People are saying Hillary put her up to this,” he gestured with his chin toward Shawna. “All I did was offer her a little hospitality…and she damn near broke my wrist. Honest! My word as President of the United States!”
“Was that the same “word” you used when you promised this country you were running for president to help the little guy?”
Kleiner-Dieb nodded vigorously. “Uh huh. S’help me…”
“Yeah?” Merry shook her head and chuckled. “Well, you’ll excuse me if I laugh in your face and call ‘bullshit’?”
“Tell you what,” Shawna worked her way in. “Why don’t we just have the prosecutor look at the recording and make the call?”
“Ok. Fine with me. You’ll see…you’re just making the whole thing up.”
Shawna unhooked the straps on the body cam and set it next to the computer on the desk. Then she connected the two with a length of USB cable.
“It’s been recording all this time, so I’m going to have to go back some.”
She finally found the beginning of the scene in the back seat of the Beast.
Pettitbone was leaning into the rear door. "Mr. President, I'd like to present Chief of Police Shawna Kretschman. Shawna, this is Dwayne Kleiner-Dieb, the President of the United States."
Shawna extended her hand. As the President reached to shake it, he was suddenly hit with a major league coughing fit. And launched half a handful of saliva and peppermint flavored Tic Tac chunks into his right hand. Then he completed the handshake. "I just HAD to meet you, Chief, uh...?"
"Kretschman," she corrected him. "Shawna Kretschman."
Kleiner-Dieb shrugged, like the name wasn't really all that important. "I just wanted you to know that you and I are going to have one incredible affair."
"Come again?"
"An affair to remember. You and me...It’ll be beautiful. No sense fighting it, Chief Kret..?"
"Kretschman," she corrected him a second time.
"Know why I ate all those Tic Tacs? I want to kiss you."
"Yeah, well I'm glad one of us wants that."
"But you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen...and trust me, Sheena --"
"Shawna," she corrected him a third time.
"Trust me, Shawna...I've had them all. Women just can't resist me. Maybe it's my wealth...maybe it's my power...maybe it’s--"
"Maybe, Mr. President, it's because you're a freakin' sexual predator who won't take no for an answer."
"Well, I bet this'll change your mind." He unzipped his pants. "C'mon, admit it, Shania--"
"Shawna, dammit."
"Shawna...I bet you'd just love to wrap those beautiful lips of yours around my mighty, blue-veined thumper here…wouldn’tcha."
“C’mon, Mr. President…I’ve seen more impressive equipment on a hamster.”
“But I’ve GOT to have you. Right here and right now.”
“But I don’t want to have you. Not now, not ever!”
The President stared out the window for a moment. Then he launched himself at Shawna and buried his hand in her crotch.
“You can’t say no to me! I’m the fucking president! You know what I could do to you? One call, Sheena. One call to some buddies in the Kremlin…that’s all it would take, and you’re fuckin’ history! I want your ass and I’m going to have you…NOW!”
Shawna grabbed the man’s hand and a couple of seconds later, he was lying face down on the Beast’s upholstery, with one wrist caught behind his back in a painful reverse wrist lock, while the other was being snapped into a pair of handcuffs.
She rolled the president back over and sat him up.
“Pay attention, Mr. President. One, my name is Shawna…Kretschman. Not Shania. Not Sheena. Not Shana…SHAWNA!
“Two, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk with a lawyer and have him present with you during questioning. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. Do you understand these rights?”
“On what charges?”
“Assault and battery on a uniformed police person. Indecent exposure. Attempting to solicit a lewd act from a uniformed police person. Making a terrorist threat to an officer of the law. And attempted rape.”
“Your word against mine.” President Kleiner-Dieb grinned. “You won’t be able to prove a damn thing.”
Shawna chuckled and turned off the playback.
“Well?” The president stood there, looking insulted and defensive, like a small town church deacon who’d just been caught with a school bus full of half-naked young girls. “She made it all up, didn’t she?” He looked at Merry. “What do you think? No, wait. Why don’t you tell me over dinner tonight?”
“Dinner? With you? Well. I was going to say ‘sure, just as soon as a pig gets elected to the White House. But you already made that one happen. So, let’s just leave it at, “not on your fucking life.”
She picked up the body cam and examined it for a moment, then turned back to the So-Called Ruler of the US.
“What do I think?” Merry took another quick look at the body cam and chuckled. “I think that once the jury gets a look at People’s Exhibit Number One here, you’re going away for a long, long time. Hope you look good in day-glo orange, Mr. President. Because it’s going to be your signature color for around the next seven decades.”
“Stand over there, and face me with your toes on that yellow line.”
The president silently did as he was told. But he never lost that insolent and slightly bored, “pissed-off teenager caught doing something illegal, immoral or forbidden” look on his fleshy face.
Shawna opened a new file in the “Prisoner Intake” database, and went to work.
“Last name?”
"Kleiner-Dieb.”
“First name?”
“Dwayne.”
“Middle initial?”
“J.”
“That’s short for..?”
“Johannes.”
As it turned out, President Dwayne Kleiner-Dieb had no idea what his Social Security number was. He had people for that.
The same with his current address.
Which Shawna found mildly amusing.
The president of the United States – with less than no clue about the address of the White House.
“Tell you what, Dwayne. I’ll just type in 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You know the zip code?”
He shot her a look that clearly told the Chief of Police to get real.
“When the hell do I get to get out of here? You can’t do this to me! I’m the most powerful ruler in the free world, and you’re holding me like a common criminal!”
Shawna had heard just about enough. “Now, get this through your comb-over and deal with it, Snowflake. You aren’t going anywhere. You’re in here for committing three violent felonies either on me or at me. Now, you can have your one phone call, but not until we’re done processing you in, you get into your inmate outfit and you’re assigned a cell.”
“What about these damn handcuffs. They chafe.”
Shawna just shrugged and counted off on her fingers. “Hey, uno…dos…tres. Three violent felonies, Hombre. Count ‘em. Remember? The cuffs stay on until you’re locked in your cell.”
Kleiner-Dieb looked at her for a long moment, then he softened into a smile.
“I know what’s going on here, Chief. A shakedown, right? Ok, hey, you can get your beak wet if you want. How much would it take to make this whole stupid thing go away? Just name a figure.”
Shawna looked up from her computer monitor and broke into a huge smile.
“That’s it,” he crowed. “That’s what this is all about…isn’t it?”
“Could you repeat what you just said, Mr. President? Oh, and speak up just a little. I want to make absolutely sure that my body cam and this room’s video security system capture every last syllable…nice and clear.”
“Never mind,” he stammered. “I was just kidding, anyway.”
“Good,” she giggled. “It’d be a shame to see the most powerful man in the world wind up with another felony, like – I don’t know -- attempted bribery of a government official, added to his charges.”
Shawna went back to her database entries. And with the president’s help, it only took twice as long as usual.
She walked to the door, opened it and leaned into the hallway.
“Hey, Norman!” She called out. “You still there?”
Her aging mentor walked though the door before she even made it back to her desk.
In his arms was a clean, folded up, one-piece orange jumpsuit. Along with a pair of cheap canvas jail shoes, a disposable tooth brush, a towel, and a couple of sheets and a blanket.
He placed them on the counter and turned to the president.
“I’m going to pat you down. Do not resist. Inmates are not allowed any personal items. That means, no wallet, no money, no cufflinks, no car keys, no sunglasses…and no cell phones. Anything we find will be confiscated, inventoried and securely stored until your release.”
Kleiner-Dieb let his shoulders slump and gave off a heavy sigh.
“But I need my cell phone. I’m the leader of the free world, and I have to have it with me at all times.”
Norman shrugged. “The rules are clear on this. No cell phones. No exceptions. The country got along for more than two hundred years without yours. So, I guess we’ll just have to muddle through as best we can. Now, spread your feet shoulder width apart.”
Norman did a quick, efficient job of patting the president down.
He turned up a thick wallet stuffed with hundred dollar bills.
Along with a set of keys that included the front door key for the penthouse home he and his wife shared on his personal floor of the Kleiner-Dieb Aerie. An exclusive, extremely high-end condo tower on the upper East side of Manhattan.
Not to mention an expensive and from the looks of things, largely unused fountain pen.
Plus a smart phone that wouldn’t stop ringing.
Several different colors and flavors of Tic Tacs.
And a small surprise.
A .38 caliber snub-nose Colt, riding in a custom made holster on the waist band of his suit’s trousers.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, young man…” Shawna shook her head and wagged her finger at the most powerful man in the world. “Hey, I hate to further ruin what’s already been a crap-tastic day here. But…you got a permit to carry concealed for your baby howitzer here?”
“Permit? What permit?” Kleiner-Dieb shot Shawna a grin that couldn’t possibly have been more contemptuous. “I don’t need a freakin’ permit. I’m the president, for Christ’s sake.”
“Norman,” The Chief of Police smiled at her elderly assistant. “Perhaps you’d like to explain to the biggest brain in the world here, the tribe’s rules on carrying concealed around the reservation.”
“Happy to, Chief.”
He walked over to the computer and typed in a couple of keystrokes. A couple of seconds later, he began reading aloud from the screen.
“Any Indian who shall go about in public places armed with a dangerous weapon concealed upon his person, unless he shall have a permit signed by a Judge of the Oglala Sioux Tribal Court and countersigned by the Superintendent of the Reservation, shall be deemed guilty of an offense and upon conviction thereof, shall be sentenced to a period of labor not to exceed thirty days and a fine not to exceed four hundred and sixty dollars, or both such fine and imprisonment, with costs; and the weapon so carried may be confiscated. Any questions?”
“Uh, any questions, Mr. President?” Shawna had to repeat Norman’s request; the man’s eyes had glazed over, back around the words “Judge of the Oglala Sioux Tribal Court”.
“Huh?” The President came rocketing back to the land of the lucid. “No…nope. It’s all pretty self-explanatory.”
“You understand the wording?”
Kleiner-Dieb nodded and smiled. “Of course. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Beautiful piece of writing.”
“Then,” Shawna shrugged. “You also understand why we’re confiscating your weapon.”
“What? Why?! You can’t do that! That was a gift from a very good friend, who’s just about a member of the family. And you have no idea the strings he had to pull to bring that into his homeland. Especially when his own country has hundreds of millions of surplus weapons just lying around.”
“You heard the law, Mr. President. You brought a concealed weapon onto this reservation illegally. Then you transported it, fully loaded, in a car. The gun is history.”
“No! I’m the President, dammit! I forbid it!”
“Hey,” the young woman’s voice preceded her through the doorway. “I’ve got four little words for you, Mr. President.”
She held up a fist and as she counted off each word, she raised another finger.
“Pound…sand…white-eyes…”
Norman busted a gut and ended up laughing into his shirt sleeve.
“I guess maybe some introductions are in order here.” He smiled at both women. “Merry Washta, say hello to Nihun Osiceca.”
When the tribal council offered Shawna the job of being Norman’s hand-picked replacement, along with the responsibilities and perks that came with the slot, they also gave her a Sioux name.
A name befitting a woman warrior who could single-handedly, forcibly pacify every participant in a round of fisticuffs. In a crowded bar full of partying bikers.
The name they gave her was Nihun Osiceca.
They even had a small name plate engraved for her uniform, bearing the English translation: Mother Storm.
“Shawna held out her hand to shake, but Merry just shook her head and grinned. “Hey, screw the damn handshake, Mother Storm. I’m already a huge fan. You get the mother of all hugs.”
“Hey, what about me?” With his hands still handcuffed behind his back, all President Kleiner-Dieb could do at that moment was wriggle petulantly against his cell door.
And wish to Hell he had some Tic Tacs.
This second woman was even more beautiful and wild looking than the one he’d jumped in the Beast. “What am I, chopped liver, here?”
“Ok,” Norman did his best to pour a little oil on the waters. “Now, you’ve already met Shawna. She’s Chief of Police on this reservation. And this is Merry Washta, she’s going to be your –“
“A pleasure!” Kleiner-Dieb interrupted. “What are you doing when this is all over? I’d love to get to know you a little better. You’re beautiful.”
Merry shrugged off the pass, and looked at Shawna.
“He said almost the same thing to me in the back of the limo,“ Mother Storm shook her head. “Then he tried to do a pelvic on me…through my uniform pants.”
“When this is all over?” Merry looked at the President and laughed. “I’m your freakin’ prosecutor, Buddy. When this is all over, you could have a fifty-year ride, just from this. And that doesn’t even count the indecent exposure, or the assault on a police person, or the terrorist threat. Two more felonies.
“If you’re convicted on all counts, figure on around a seventy year time-out. Oh, and instant impeachment, since a felony conviction is grounds.”
“She’s making this whole thing up. People are saying Hillary put her up to this,” he gestured with his chin toward Shawna. “All I did was offer her a little hospitality…and she damn near broke my wrist. Honest! My word as President of the United States!”
“Was that the same “word” you used when you promised this country you were running for president to help the little guy?”
Kleiner-Dieb nodded vigorously. “Uh huh. S’help me…”
“Yeah?” Merry shook her head and chuckled. “Well, you’ll excuse me if I laugh in your face and call ‘bullshit’?”
“Tell you what,” Shawna worked her way in. “Why don’t we just have the prosecutor look at the recording and make the call?”
“Ok. Fine with me. You’ll see…you’re just making the whole thing up.”
Shawna unhooked the straps on the body cam and set it next to the computer on the desk. Then she connected the two with a length of USB cable.
“It’s been recording all this time, so I’m going to have to go back some.”
She finally found the beginning of the scene in the back seat of the Beast.
Pettitbone was leaning into the rear door. "Mr. President, I'd like to present Chief of Police Shawna Kretschman. Shawna, this is Dwayne Kleiner-Dieb, the President of the United States."
Shawna extended her hand. As the President reached to shake it, he was suddenly hit with a major league coughing fit. And launched half a handful of saliva and peppermint flavored Tic Tac chunks into his right hand. Then he completed the handshake. "I just HAD to meet you, Chief, uh...?"
"Kretschman," she corrected him. "Shawna Kretschman."
Kleiner-Dieb shrugged, like the name wasn't really all that important. "I just wanted you to know that you and I are going to have one incredible affair."
"Come again?"
"An affair to remember. You and me...It’ll be beautiful. No sense fighting it, Chief Kret..?"
"Kretschman," she corrected him a second time.
"Know why I ate all those Tic Tacs? I want to kiss you."
"Yeah, well I'm glad one of us wants that."
"But you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen...and trust me, Sheena --"
"Shawna," she corrected him a third time.
"Trust me, Shawna...I've had them all. Women just can't resist me. Maybe it's my wealth...maybe it's my power...maybe it’s--"
"Maybe, Mr. President, it's because you're a freakin' sexual predator who won't take no for an answer."
"Well, I bet this'll change your mind." He unzipped his pants. "C'mon, admit it, Shania--"
"Shawna, dammit."
"Shawna...I bet you'd just love to wrap those beautiful lips of yours around my mighty, blue-veined thumper here…wouldn’tcha."
“C’mon, Mr. President…I’ve seen more impressive equipment on a hamster.”
“But I’ve GOT to have you. Right here and right now.”
“But I don’t want to have you. Not now, not ever!”
The President stared out the window for a moment. Then he launched himself at Shawna and buried his hand in her crotch.
“You can’t say no to me! I’m the fucking president! You know what I could do to you? One call, Sheena. One call to some buddies in the Kremlin…that’s all it would take, and you’re fuckin’ history! I want your ass and I’m going to have you…NOW!”
Shawna grabbed the man’s hand and a couple of seconds later, he was lying face down on the Beast’s upholstery, with one wrist caught behind his back in a painful reverse wrist lock, while the other was being snapped into a pair of handcuffs.
She rolled the president back over and sat him up.
“Pay attention, Mr. President. One, my name is Shawna…Kretschman. Not Shania. Not Sheena. Not Shana…SHAWNA!
“Two, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk with a lawyer and have him present with you during questioning. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. Do you understand these rights?”
“On what charges?”
“Assault and battery on a uniformed police person. Indecent exposure. Attempting to solicit a lewd act from a uniformed police person. Making a terrorist threat to an officer of the law. And attempted rape.”
“Your word against mine.” President Kleiner-Dieb grinned. “You won’t be able to prove a damn thing.”
Shawna chuckled and turned off the playback.
“Well?” The president stood there, looking insulted and defensive, like a small town church deacon who’d just been caught with a school bus full of half-naked young girls. “She made it all up, didn’t she?” He looked at Merry. “What do you think? No, wait. Why don’t you tell me over dinner tonight?”
“Dinner? With you? Well. I was going to say ‘sure, just as soon as a pig gets elected to the White House. But you already made that one happen. So, let’s just leave it at, “not on your fucking life.”
She picked up the body cam and examined it for a moment, then turned back to the So-Called Ruler of the US.
“What do I think?” Merry took another quick look at the body cam and chuckled. “I think that once the jury gets a look at People’s Exhibit Number One here, you’re going away for a long, long time. Hope you look good in day-glo orange, Mr. President. Because it’s going to be your signature color for around the next seven decades.”