Fluffisms Revised

1. Fluffy is not just charting the course of lesser resistance, but charting the course of lesser resistance is part of the recipe.

2. Fluffy is not synonymous with pseudo-intellectualism, but pseudo-intellectualism is part of the recipe.

3. Fluffy is not synonymous with pseudo-sophistication, but pseudo-sophistication is part of the recipe.

4. Fluffy is not synonymous with moral superiority, but moral superiority is part of the recipe.

5. Fluffy is not merely superficiality over substance, but superficiality over substance is part of the recipe.

6. Humans generally balance sentiment and reason. The fluffy mind automatically rejects reason for sentiment.

7. Fluffy per se is not trendy, it is a long-term pattern. Fluffmeisters are however, reflexively trendy.

8. Before Hitler conquered Europe through brute force, he conquered the hearts and minds of his countrymen with a steady barrage of fluff.

3. A certain amount of self-delusion is part of the human condition. Mothers must believe their child is special and we must believe to one degree or another, that our experience is singular. When one  adopts self-delusion as a preferred lifestyle however, another fluffy mind is baptized.

4. My first crisis of perspective hit in late adolescence when I realized that not everyone shared my passion for truth. Soon I would learn that veriphiles are a distinct minority. Years later, that discovery still frustrates me.

5. Forget all those fancy personality tests. Do you really have to answer 20 questions to find out if you are introverted? The only important variable is comfort vs. truth and yes, the fluffy will cluster at the comfort pole.

6. Fluff follows fear, most often fear of disapproval.

7. The difference between simple and simplistic is the difference between wisdom and folly.

8. Observers tend to underestimate the convictions of fluffmeisters......

9. Fluffy is not always (characterized by) reason deferring to sentiment but it is often part of the recipe. Equation.

10. The problem with rooting for the underdog is that usually the underdog has attained his status from sloth, inactivity and failure to prepare.

11. Celebrities.

12. Laziness is a universal news media bias.

13. Bias against complexity--usually resulting in simplism rather than simplicity--is a universal   media bias.

14. Bias against resistance is a universal media bias.

15. Bias for consensus is a universal media bias.

16. Most parents would blanch at the idea that they are emphasizing the quest for popularity above all else in their children. Substitute the term "social development" for popularity and you will find them in agreement. (More concise: Social development is a fancy term for popularity.)

17. Like v. respect.

18. Capitalism is humanity's greatest social institutions. Capitalism abolishes famine. It allows its poorest citizens to live more comfortably than yesterday's kings and queens. For that matter it allows house pets to eat gourmet foods and receive better health care than foregone aristocracies. It makes poor nations rich so long as they stay the course. No other system, organization or institution does a better job of helping more people most of the time than capitalism.

Unfortunately, capitalism has one glaring weakness, one oversized  (elephantine)Achilles Heel. Capitalism cannot render itself fluffy. Thus, capitalism will never be embraced by fluffy minds.

19. An oversized heart does not compensate for an atrophied (lazy) brain.

20. A politician ignorant of the rudiments of economics is as dangerous as a jet pilot unaware of the law of gravity.

21. Eclecticism is the only enemy of religion. Persecution, discrimination, oppression, illiteracy, war and famine served to make religion stronger. Even the much-vaulted secularism could never empty the churches. But when people work and mingle with people of many faiths or zero faith or sporadic faith and they do not necessarily find virtue correlating with certain spiritual brand names...religion as we once knew it is forever diminished.

22. The bias against corporal punishment is not rational and it is not high minded or morally superior but it is fluffy.

23. The silliest proclamation in this age of nonsense is "I don't judge anyone." From the time we look up from our crib until the time we look out from our deathbed, we are assessing, evaluating, comparing and contrasting everyone we see and hear. Only the dead have stopped judging.

25. She said with no hint of irony that gay people have high rates of depression, drug abuse and suicide. I said that was unfortunate and probably avoidable but I challenged the idea of referring to suicidal depressives as "gay." It was a frustrating evening. I was called intolerant, old fashioned and a person whose name you would recognize, flat out called me a bigot.  I might have won the semantic battle but I lost the room in the process.

24. Semantics cannot be fluffy. Thus, semantics is a woefully unpopular subject.

26. If you want to learn psychology, study economics.

27. Fluffy eclipses matters great and small, universal and parochial, abstract and concrete. Politicians love monetary inflation because it makes citizens feel rich even as their wealth shrinks. Yes, the fluffy mind endorses fiat currency even if they don't understand it.

28. As surely as capitalism will be rejected by fluffy minds, collectivism in all its myriad labels, will be embraced by fluffmeisters.

29. Collectivism is collectivism is collectivism. Communism, Nazism, Fascism, Socialism, et al, are brand names of suicide pills with a common active ingredient.

30. Madison Avenue is not fluffy but they peddle fluff like a Goldstein peddling hams at Easter.

31. Fluff never sleeps.

32. Should you want to assemble an army of thugs, bullies, tyrants and larcenists, recruit people who frequently use the words 'fair' and 'fairness.'

33. The founding of The Peace Corps was JFK's one homage to fluff in what was otherwise an excellent presidency.

34. Creating EPA, DEA, OSHA, wage and price controls, 55 mile per hour speed limit, suspending the production of chemical and biological weapons, removal from the gold standard...Richard Nixon was America's fluffiest president.

35. Bureaucracy is inherently fluffy in its inception, its implementation and its evolution.

36. Richard Nixon was America's first opinion poll president.

37. If through some tweak of fate, America starting worshiping Greek gods, Zeus and Aphrodite and Apollo would be upstaged by Mallow, the goddess of fluff.

38. Socially-sanctioned cliches are the lifeblood of fluff.

38 A. The inventive fluffmeister can transform cliches into chants and chants into slogans.

39. When a message is rejected or discredited, the fluffy mind does not alter the message but rather, it changes the message's label.

40. Journalists are the seraphim of fluff.

41. Never, ever underestimate the zeal of the fluffy.

42. Fluff enhances ardor by silencing doubt.

42. It is perfecter than perfect that Orwell selected the fluffiest animals in the barnyard--sheep--to represent students. "Four legs good, two legs bad" would get updated to "Four legs good, two legs better." Orwell's sheep would fit right in today with most American college students.

43. Given their youth, college students were always vulnerable to fluff but their professors were not so easily sold. That has changed. They might look moth-eaten and haggard but today's academics are fluffy to the core.

44. Before Hitler conquered Europe through brute force, he conquered the hearts and minds of his countrymen with a steady barrage of fluff.

45. Favoritism is the grandfather of all isms.

46. Capitalism's grossest failure is the journalistic industry. The profession is premised on integrity, courage and pertinence. Despite show biz salaries, the industry fails to deliver any of these things.

47. Fluffy people curse the candles.

Chapter 13 DWD Confesses

Chapter 13

Delbert Wayne Duncan Confesses

Dr. Steven Wu strutted around Mindy Watkins windowless gray office office with his chest extended. “He confess, Ms. Watkins! He confess!”

“It's not a confession until he signs all of his papers,” Mindy Watkins reminded her employee in a Sunday school tone. Mindy studied the monitor mounted on the wall to her left. A struggling and inept lawyer named Loqueenia Jackson sat across the table from her client, Delbert Wayne Duncan. Last week a woman impersonating Delbert Wayne Duncan's mother stumbled into Jackson's tiny office with five hundred dollars in an envelope begging the counselor to help her forsaken son.

Ms. Jackson met a frightened man who desperately wanted to confess his crimes. She agreed to accommodate her client's wishes and now she sat with a notary as Delbert Wayne Duncan signed paper after paper guarded by a seven foot Nurse Renee. Conspiracy this. Conspiracy that. It all gave Loqueenia a headache and she was grateful for Deputy Attorney Norman Nelson's assistance in highlighting with bright yellow sticky pads, those places that required her client's signature. And he agreed to stand by at his office in Memphis, should she need any further help.

Dr. Wu recited the saga once more and this time Mindy did not even pretend to listen. They had tried to use religious stimuli to threaten a lake of fire for Delbert Wayne Duncan should he refuse to confess his crimes. When that didn't work they threatened his sons with the infernal treatment should they not have their father's moral guidance.

When that tactic failed, Dr. Wu concluded that Delbert Wayne Duncan was either a minority non-religious personality or that he was brain damaged from his lifestyle choices. So they tried a different approach. They would morph an image of his real life son stating that he had cancer of the tongue and that if his father signed a confession, he could come home and deliver him into the care of a competent oncologist. The fish did not bite.

Dr. Wu had never had a patient so resistant to truth therapy. From the depths of despair Dr. Wu was struck by a bolt of insight. Delbert Wayne Duncan had responded favorably to the images of himself gumped into a fictitious commercial family. What if Dr. Wu morphed an image of his breakfast cereal son complaining of tongue cancer and pleading with his father to sign a confession to make his tumor go away? The instant success surprised even Dr. Wu.

Mindy Watkins held up a finger to signal for silence as she dialed Carlisle on her phone. She had decided to bail on the family vacation until the Duncan confession was extracted. Missy and Carlisle and the four kids were en route to Olympic National Park in Washington State. When John Joseph purchased the federally-owned passenger train system, he immediately added luxury options. Knowing that the prime advantage of rail transport was the slight marginal expense of adding each additional car, the soon to be renamed Joseph Rail Service added private cars at reasonable prices.

John Joseph viewed American tourism as an underexploited market. So many would be travelers, even upscale tourists, found America unwelcoming and difficult to navigate. Joseph produced yet another blockbuster with private cars and high end lodging along the tracks. So instantly successful were the European cars and the hotels staffed with Swiss and French staff that Joseph added cars for Asian tourists as well. They now allowed third parties to rent their own cars that attracted a largely American clientele.

As was their custom, the Joseph-based company sold the naming rights to the company itself as well as each train line, each train, each rail car and each stop along the way. For the next seventeen years the Joseph Rail Service would be called the Benjamin Franklin Financial Services Railroad. The Watkins had boarded the “Crime & Justice” car at the Supreme Burger Depot in Memphis. They would ride the Caffie Nation Energy Drink Train on the Success Seminrs Line  to Chicago's Real Ginger Antacid Depot, transfer to a “Crime & Justice: Hate Crimes” car aboard the Friendly Fire Probiotic Train that would travel the Immodium Supreme Line that terminated at the NatureLax Depot near the entrance of Olympic National Park.

As the “Crime & Justice” cars were licensed by the producers of the franchise, passengers had unlimited access to the “C & J” library. The cars were arranged with toilets at each end and featured four cushioned viewing areas and a refrigerator stocked with sandwiches and cold beverages. Shades were pulled to guard one's focus from the distracting countryside. All night long the “Crime & Justice” jingle would percolate throughout the rail-bound Eden.

Carlisle was unsure where they were or what time it happened to be. As with Missy and the kids, he was lost in “C & J” wonder, oblivious to the outside world. They ate premade sandwiches named after their favorite show's characters along with a bottomless bag of Cheetos, washed down with cold Mountain Dew. The weary travelers looked forward to reaching their hotel in Washington so they could shower and maybe do a little sightseeing before settling in for more “C & J.”

Mindy stated that she might be able to catch a flight and meet them at the hotel. She fondly recalled last year's vacation. The family had taken a series of just-released “C & J” cars on a surreptitious route to the Grand Canyon. They started with the “Crime and Justice” pilot and watched the flagship series in sequence. Actors got older and the cast was reshuffled a few times.

They got to the Grand Canyon and were able to resume “C & J” viewing with a subscription feed. The family would eat breakfast together, spend a few minutes looking at the hole in the ground, and then they would rush back to their suite to resume “C & J.” It was at that hotel when everyone's favorite character, Monique Benz, played by Tamara Mansfield was written out of the script.

In real life Mansfield had held out for more money and the executive producer, Richard Fox, killed off the character to make an example for the remaining cast members. The funeral of Monique was controversial in its original showing and spiked the ratings in a manner that harkened back to a pre-cable era.

Carlisle had lost his mother two months before they replayed the episode at the Grand Canyon. He was ever so composed as he mourned his mom, thanking his heavenly father for all the lessons she had bestowed, all the comforts she had given. Then he watched Monique's funeral and the floodgates opened. Mindy recalled the loss of her own parents and Missy joined in their grief. It was an exercise in healing.

Mindy hung up the phone and looked at the monitor. “They are still signing papers? Damn I am so glad I never went to law school.”

Dr. Wu retold once more, the story of the confession. He again emphasized how strongly Delbert Wayne Duncan had identified with his commercial family. Mindy wistfully shook her head. “It's a shame he's going to prison, Dr. Wu. He would have been an excellent consumer.”

With a bittersweet expression, Dr. Wu added, “He would eat a lot of cereal.” At last, the signing of forms had been completed.

Chapter 10: Doggie Raid

SpringSummer

Doggie Raid

Steven Gouger wondered how things could possibly be worse. His buddy, Ronnie Del Veccio recently was forced to shoot a whole litter of pit bull puppies and he did not recover from it. Now, their team was raiding a fighting dog ranch. Dozens and dozens of canines were Ronnie's responsibility to eliminate.

Pop. Pause. Pop. Ronnie and Ronnie alone was assigned the horrid task. Pop. These were not pit bulls. They were a strain of miniature Turkish kangal that was making a mark in the New World. A fearsome stock that could look just as sad eyed and innocent as any other breed when a rifle was stuck in its face.

Steven Gouger knelt on one knee alongside the sole occupant of the house. 46-year-old Joe Hays was a small man who seemed to stylistically mimic Charles Manson. Long-haired and bearded, he wore a faded out gray T-shirt that years ago bore an insignia of The Biloxi Yacht Club. His spindly, undeveloped legs crept out from the openings of faded red shorts. Sandals made from old tires had fallen off his feet in the take down. Red, swollen feet and fungal toes twitched nervously.

It was the second hottest day of the year and Joe Hays did not own a functioning air-conditioner. It had rained briefly, but not enough to cool things off. Just enough to make things sticky. Pop. Pop. Pop.

"Please don't hurt my dogs, mister.”

"Shut up!" Steven Gouger roared above the gunshots and the droning dialogue of "Crime and Justice"coming from the flat screen a few feet away.

Pop. Pop. "Them dogs. They're my family."

Steven Gouger bit his tongue. The odors were making him nauseous. Old food. A sink full of dishes. Rotten wood. The mildew. Dog fur, dog urine, dog feces. Pop. Pop.

" Not my babies!" Joe Hays wailed.

Steven Gouger knelt beside his victim. "Shut. The fuck. Up," he whispered into his ear.

Pop. "Those are my children!"

Steven Gouger jammed his taser into Joe Hays's kidney and pressed the button.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

"You want a little more?"

Joe Hays gasped for air.

"I can't hear you," Steven Gouger whispered.

Zap!

The worst day of his life. Possibly the worst day of Ronnie's life. The whole day would have an “I can't move” nightmare quality to it. It would pass in queasy slow motion and for both men, it would kick off a new round of sleepless nights.

37 dogs were slaughtered and Steven would not escape carcass removal duties. There was a lot of hooting and cheering when a pile of cash was found under a dog house. Steven and Ronnie paused from their tasks at hand to watch wheelbarrows of money pushed into a secured truck. “Not a dollar for us,” Steven said bitterly. “Not one fucking dollar.” 

Chapter 9: Truth Therapy

SpringSummer

Truth Therapy

Although the room was cool, Dr. Wu sweated profusely. He had never before encountered a patient as resistant to Truth Therapy as Delbert Wayne Duncan. Dr. Wu's truth protocol usually started with the least intrusive methods. Subliminal messages that said the word "confess" throughout the day's audio output. A one per 5 second interval vocalization that slowed to 6 second intervals and then 7 seconds until at last, there were 15 seconds between subliminal pleas to "confess."

Then, like a distended rubber band the rhythm snapped back until there were two suggestions per second. Then the elastic would be stretched once more. A few days of this and the patient was more amenable to copping a to whatever complicity was being offered.

Should the subliminals fail, as they had done so with Delbert Wayne Duncan, Dr. Wu proceeded to Phase II. Delbert Wayne Duncan had earned videogram privileges and The Unit archived them as a courtesy to their inmates. Dr. Wu had used a new copy of Videomorph to fabricate screen to screen conversation with first Robby James and later Steven Dale.

"Why don't you come clean, Dad? Why not just tell them what you did so you can come home?"

Delbert Wayne Duncan was tricked by the technology but he stayed resolute. "Do not discuss the case," he would say pausing on every word for emphasis.

The faux sons would tell their father how much they missed him. They would tell him that their mother cried at night. That mean kids bullied them and they needed their father to sharpen their fighting skills.

Delbert Wayne Duncan would choke back the tears. He never wanted his sons see him cry. He would review martial arts skills he had already taught his sons. He would dish out fatherly advice but if one of the kids mentioned, "the case," Delbert Wayne Duncan would terminate the call.

Dr. Wu looked around his cramped battleship gray workstation. He moved to tablets from a travel size aspirin bottle in with a fluid motion he covered his mouth in a mock yawn and placed the pills on his tongue. He clutched a 16 ounce plastic cup of water and swallowed the contents.

The pills were not aspirin. Dr. Wu purchased large quantities of the underground drug called Smart, a cognition enhancer that was unfortunately, highly illegal. Dr. Wu took the precautionary measure of compressing yellow – brown powder into tablets that resembled salicylic acid. He even imprinted the word "ASPIRIN" in a circular pattern.

Amerijail policy prohibited personnel from bringing OTC's onto the Unit, to say nothing of illegal Drugs like Smart. But if one of the coaches found a few aspirin on Dr. Wu and he claimed that he had a terrible headache and without aspirin vital work could not be performed for Ms. Watkins, the matter would be resolved swiftly and quietly without a lot of fuss.

Dr. Steven Wu turned to see the diminutive Mindy Watkins standing in the doorway, arms crossed in a display of frustration. He had greeted her earlier today. No need to say hello every time they crossed paths.

Mindy Watkins may Dr. Wu feel uneasy even when she was in a good mood. Visibly frustrated, she challenged Dr. Wu's Asian stoicism. The windowed closet was a bit claustrophobic even without someone blocking the doorway. When that someone was a flaming redhead in a green dress with brass buttons, the situation seemed even more confining.

"Did you have a nice lunch?" Dr. Wu asked. Silence.

Dr. Wu would never get used to the red hair. He had grown up in Nashville an immigrant family and spent most of his time with other Chinese-Americans. Young Steven Wu was intrigued with blonde hair and black skin but he had never seen a redhead until he was 15. A Goliath of an adolescent with tangerine hair walked up to his friend Lon as they waited for a school bus.

For no apparent reason the freckled behemoth with sharp, pointy flames extended his tennis racquet hand and knocked Lon's books to the ground. Then as Lon tried to pick up his belongings, the redhead kicked in stomped on the books. Young Steven thought that he might be next but one of the brute's followers pointed to something down the street and they dashed off in that direction. Steven Wu never forgot the expression on the monster's face and he would never feel comfortable around gingers of either sex.

"Not everyone responsive to religious stimuli," Dr. Wu said nervously. He was American-born but Steven Wu spent most of his formative years with immigrants and his dialect was a bit third world at times. At college he trained himself to pay attention to things like tense and articles and infinitives and possessive nouns and pronouns. He had made strides but when he got flustered he sometimes reverted to earlier habits of speech.

Dr. Wu glanced at Mindy Watkins who remained as calm as a scarecrow..

"Voice of God work ninety nine per cent.”

Silence.

"We tweaked the God. Use Jesus instead of Old Testament guy... Not everyone know God of Abraham."

Briefly, Dr. Wu wondered if Mindy Watkins had turned into a pillar of salt. She was as motionless as she was muted. Had she died on her feet with her eyes open?

"Now, sons beg father to confess crimes. Look. See," he said pointing past Mindy Watkins.

Mindy Watkins turned and approached the table but positioned herself out of Delbert Wayne Duncan's line of vision. A new nurse suit-- the only model crafted to resemble a nubile woman, Nurse Cynthia-- was a 7 foot brunette who purred and cooed when she talked. She was equipped with soft hands that warmed to 110°Fahrenheit.

The model was currently operated by a diminutive African-American man named Willie Divine. Pressing Delbert Wayne Duncan's left hand into her ball glove extremities, Willie made the model purr like an oversized kitten.

Sweat poured from the patient on the table. Confession patients expressed no pain but their hearts would race and they sometimes endured panic attacks when they prepared for a second treatment. Delbert Wayne Duncan had grown pale and he seemed to shiver ever so slightly.

"Would you like to make a confession, Delbert?"

"Hell no!" he roared.

Dr. Wu felt his lunch returning and dashed to the waste can in the cramped office. Once. Twice. Once more. He knelt on the floor and looked up to see Mindy Watkins standing over him.

"You are paid for results, Dr. Wu," she stated with exaggerated calm. Then she was gone.

Springsummer 6. Mindy Updates Carlisle

Springsummer

6. Mindy Updates Carlisle

Mindy Watkins lay prone on her queen sized bed basking in the glow of Carlisle's slow but efficient love. She fluffed the pillow that was adorned in a liner that celebrated the original cast of “Crime and Justice.” “This was a wonderful evening, Carlisle.”

“It sure is ending nicely,” Carlisle purred. He was wearing only his plush purple St. Martin robe. A man of many interests, Carlisle busied himself in the carriage house kitchenette refining a herbal tea recipe. Carlisle had started with the Kurt Saxon base of skullcap, chamomile, valerian and hops and had personalized it over the years. He added minute doses of cayenne, ginger and sugar to the blended sludge. Sometimes he ate the freshly-blended concoction with a spoon but tonight he was steeping the oven-dried mixture to make an aromatic tea.

“Your brew doesn't have that medicinal herby smell. It actually smells pleasant tonight,” Mindy Watkins commented on the formula.

“I might have found the ingredient that could upgrade all herbal tea,” Carlisle responded.

Mindy crossed her arms and waited. After a playful silence, she spoke. “Oh excuse me. Did I miss my cue to say 'whatsoever might that secret ingredient be, Sir Carlisle?'”

“You did indeed miss your cue. You need to study your lines a little closer, my love.”

Mindy repeated the question with even more dramatic flourish. “Tea,” Carlisle answered. Old fashion commercial grade pekoe tea.”

“Doesn't tea contain caffeine?”

“Yes, and minute doses of caffeine promotes a more restful sleep.” This was followed by a sort of scientific lecture as to the mechanics by which caffeine can induce relaxation.

This is the man Mindy Watkins had fallen in love with. Smart but never smug. An active mind that always challenged itself and playfully challenged everyone around him. Still, Mindy Watkins no longer enjoyed sleeping with her husband.

A couple years back, Carlisle had started expelling flatus in the deeper clutches of slumber. His snoring had gotten worse and his skin no longer felt sweet. It didn't smell bad, it just didn't smell like it used to. Sleep was a solitary pursuit and Mindy Watkins had grown to appreciate that fact. She enjoyed her one night a week with her husband but one night was plenty.

Mindy cleared her throat which Carlisle recognized as a change for the serious. “I want to bring you up to date on things before we drift off to sleep. We got the right inmate on the table, this Duncan fella. Unfortunately, he hasn't responded just yet. Dr. Wu suspects brain damage that might interfere with his receiving and processing microwaved signals.”

“Well that's too bad. But the good news is that the checks cleared for all six members of the Nelson family who are seeking political offices.”

“How many of them do you think will win?”

“None.”

“Not even the brother...”

“Not even the brother who holds an incumbent office.”

“I want to be a political consultant in my next life.”

“It's the perfect profession, My batting average is smaller than my hat size and every year my business grows.” Carlisle handed Mindy a “Crime and Justice” mug that featured the original cast of the first spin-off and he placed his “Crime and Justice: Animal Patrol” Season Three on his nightstand and crawled in next to his wife. The kissed gently and then reviewed their perfect evening together.

It was so rare when the entire family could do things together. Carlisle and Mindy could juggle their schedules but the kids had fewer options. On this evening Sarah would perform with her bassoon quartet and everyone else would dress up and enjoy the show.

Sarah had turned 15 two days earlier and there wasn't much of a celebration. Mary and Elizabeth both had golf matches and Jason had a competitive debate as his high school team had moved on to the Regionals. There was a late nigh “Happy Birthday” with a few gifts and some ice cream and cake but it was all so obligatory. A weary epilog to a busy day.

The bassoon concert was not called a recital because a recital was something people were expected to attend whereas a concert was something people wanted to attend. The audience might include more than faculty and relatives. Sarah attended the newly founded William Faulkner Academy. Her music teacher, Louis Armstrong Mason, had done a masterful job of rendering a bassoon quartet accessible to a general audience. He reworked some Vivaldi, some pop, some Coltrane and some Clifton Chenier to fit his group. Of course, he gave each performer multiple solos to satisfy even the most fickle relative.

Sarah was the youngest and most talented of the foursome and Mr. Mason had stated that she had an excellent chance of winning a scholarship. This information was given to Carlisle shortly before the start of the concert and brought a big smile to his face. “Now if we can get someone to pay for her wedding,” he said with some sincerity.

Shortly after Jason turned 13, he started accompanying his father at various civic functions—County Council meetings, planning boards and the like. Sometimes father and son would play “Who said what?” on the drive home and Jason had become adept at remembering verbatim patter. Carlisle insisted that his children learn Gregg shorthand and Jason had become proficient at it. He would proudly read back transcripts of School Board meetings and include coughs and yawns.

One night at an annual county library board meeting as the assembled awaited the commencement of proceedings Carlisle turned to his son and whispered, “You can sit there like a dipshit adolescent or you can work the room.” Carlisle had already made introductions to the gentle patrons and Jason had seen his father break ice at every function he attended. On this night, Jason's time had arrived.

Despite the fatherly tutelage, Jason was not a mingle prodigy. At Spelling Bee, Science Fair or Talent Night, people seemed confused if not annoyed at the child with the extended hand. But flesh was pressed and skills were honed. He assisted his father in file keeping and printed up some business cards that read:

Jason Watkins

Political Consultant

The cards listed Jason's personal email address, his MyFace account, his personal phone number and his father's business website. Following his father's advice, Jason only handed out cards to people who requested contact information but he did flex that policy a bit with teenage girls.

Tonight was the night it all seemed to jell. Flanked my Mindy and Mary on one side and Missy and Elizabeth and Jason on the other side, Carlisle craned his neck and shot his son the look. Jason sprung to his feet and got to work. Why this night when a child no longer looked childish?

The newly-constructed performance hall was impressive by almost any standard. Varnished wood with serrated walls and jagged ceilings and plush burgundy curtains and comfy burgundy seats. A perfect backdrop fro the wizard's apprentice to work his crafted magic. In his blue suit and white shirt , diagonal-striped robin egg over lemon tie and his thick tufts of dark hair, Jason looked the part of a young man with an enviable future.

Jason found his way to the first row on the audience's right. There, he struck up a conversation with a stately brunette in a full length indigo gown who would later be revealed as a 22 year old grad student intern. Mindy pressed Carlisle's left hand and Missy squeezed his right. Then the lights were dimmed and Jason seated himself in the front row next to the intern.

Petite Mary and chubby Elizabeth were dispatched to slip in front of the stage and snap photos of their poised brother. Each time Sarah performed a solo the intern touched Jason on his shoulder and pointed to the stage. The sisters would be perfectly positioned to capture each episode of contact with their phone cams.

After the show the sisters joined the adults where they had been seated as Sarah loaded up her instrument and Jason did his wrap-up schmooze. He introduced himself to Mr. Mason and complimented him on bringing out the best in his younger sister. Sarah would confer with the other performers backstage and watch glimpses of the show that had already been posted online. She would catch up to her family in the locker-lined hallway where she would study Jason's craftsmanship. They would be the last civilians to leave, escorted out the door by the custodian, Hank Hankins, who chuckled at Jason's witticisms as he locked the door behind them.

In the van, Carlisle waited on Jason's announcement before turning the key. “Sarah, your hard work and perseverance have paid dividends. I will never have your talent but I am so very proud to be your brother. I thank you for inviting me to your performance.”

Carlisle and the twins purred with pride. They savored the lone moment of silence and finally the driver said, “Does anyone have anything else to say?” Elizabeth congratulated her older sister and the grown-ups scoffed at her awkward verbiage.

Then Mary said something cute and everyone but Elizabeth laughed. The ignition ignited and “Crime and Justice” was piped through the screens for the ride home. The perfect evening.

Mindy's eyes were growing heavy. Carlisle was already snoring. The tea had done its trick. She knew she was headed for a sleep so restful and so pleasing and so refreshing but she wanted to hold on to the evening. The perfect evening.

SpringSummer 4 Khalid Is Warned

SpringSummer

4 Khalid Is Warned

Khalid Christopher had slept for roughly an hour when he got a call from his brother, Ahmed. “Call me back on this number from an untraceable.”

Khalid climbed out of bed and transcribed the number into a mini notebook that he kept in the nightstand drawer. He said “Give me a couple,” to his brother and ended the call. Khalid dug into a satchel hidden in the bottom dresser drawer and removed one of the three disposable phones.

Groggily Khalid Christopher stumbled into the TV room and fell onto the loveseat. He powered up the throwaway and secured pad and pen. A proprietary jingle and the phone was ready to go.

Ahmed picked up on the first ring and apologized for calling so late, yes he was aware of the time change, this is important. And Khalid meekly responded,"Yes” and Ahmed proceeded with the purpose of the call. The Organizers could find themselves in a civil war. A faction of the South led by Rabi Dog had decided to break away from the California mother ship.

That explains why Rabi Dog would do something so brazen as to Rob an Organizer bank. That explains why he he had gone missing. It explained a lot of things. Ahmed also warned his brother about T Rex.”Act normal. Don't let anyone know you got your heads up. There is only one man you can trust, Pharaoh.

Khalid was familiar with Pharaoh. He was a squat, dark-skinned guy originally from Sacramento. He was now second in command in Mississippi. “Pharaoh's on our side but he's playing Blunder and T Rex for the time being. Pharaoh will introduce you to everyone you can trust. In the meantime, act like nothing's wrong. “You keep this together and you might be back in the Officer's Club. I'll be in touch."

Khalid knew he would not be going back to sleep. Too much to think about. He realized he would be a target being Ahmed's brother. It might happen sooner or it might happen later. The rebels were probably still too disarrayed to clean house.

Khalid turned off the lights and sat near the room's only window and stared into darkness outside. All in all it was good news. Yes, there would be bloodshed but Rabi Dog would pay for what he had done in those narcs who buffaloed his love would pay-- one way or another-- and Khalid would once more be able to buy nice things for Kathy.

Khalid lifted himself off the loveseat and bounded back to the bedroom with the floors squishing beneath his feet. He was sick of this house with its low ceilings and spongy floors and zigzag layout. He hated the mildew and he hated the memory of the robbery and the cloud that hung over this dwelling ever since.

More than anything else, Khalid hated the trash. What kind of place doesn't have a trash pickup day? And why the hell would someone build a house so far from the road? You had to pack a lunch to check your mailbox, much less bring your trash to the curb.

Khalid was of the strong opinion that serious men did not clean houses are empty trash. Cathy's head injury soften him on those subjects. He patiently waited for the toilets to get scrubbed. It could be months until she felt better. No use stacking dirty dishes in the sink all that time. They would just have to eat off paper plates until that day arrived.

The trash could not wait much longer. Khalid had wrapped their garbage in Hefty bags and threw them in the backyard. That worked well enough during the cold weather months but now it smelled and rats and mice scampered across the colossal waste pile.

Khalid had recruited an online task contractor from the Internet and paid him handsomely to carry the dozens of trash bags to the roadside where he hoped garbagemen would retrieve it. But a week passed in the nine-month accumulation of black trash bags remained where it had been piled. Khalid called the nearest municipality and got a voice-mail recording. He called more numbers and they referred him elsewhere until finally he spoke to a woman at the County Clerk's office who seem to talk in slow motion. “You gotta take it to the dump.”

What dump? How y'all get there? No I don't have a truck. Turn at the road at that place where you brother used to work? No I don't know where that is. No I don't know where that is either. Which Walmart you talkin about? I don't go to no church. A dumb sticker? Oh, a dump sticker. Where I get that? It cost how much?

Khalid called the same worker to return to putrid mass of trash bags to the backyard. A middle-aged white man with a Santa Claus beard wore no work gloves or special clothing. He just smiled and drag bag after bag to the backyard and there he somehow managed to stack them neatly.

Stealthily, Khalid put the phone satchel back in its drawer without turning on the bedroom light. He tiptoed over to Kathy and kissed her left cheek as she lay sleeping. He slipped out of the room and gently closed the door behind him. With a grin in his step he pranced out to the foyer to see his other baby.

There she was! A solid black Silent Runner motorcycle. An ad caught his eye and Khalid manged to scrape together enough cash to buy a used Silent Runner. The Silent Runner was an engineering marvel still struggling to find its marketing niche.

The Silent Runner could be used off road or on. It wasn't designed for motocross launchings and landings but it handled mud and turf and hardened sand as well as anything on two wheels. It wasn't as quick as racing bikes but the SR could top out around 100, a little higher if you tweaked the motor. But who needs to go 160 to get away from a cop only to find another cop waiting down the highway and then another and then another?

With and SR you could cut across a foot trail, a golf course, a highway median, a vacant lot, a cemetery, or a suburban lawn and leave the police cars behind. An advantage that any motorcycle had over any automobile was its off-road mobility. The SR was the most versatile two wheeled vehicle in history.

In Khalid's view anyone who fancied himself a gangster knew how to ride. Even more important than mobility was the stealth factor. Anyone can identify a car by the chrome logo and a lot of people can even give you the make and model at a glance. Most people cannot identify a street bike. They might be able to pick a chopper or a Ninja out of a lineup but good luck describing a nondescript black bike zipping by in the night. It gets even trickier if the rider puts colored tape around the wheels and gas tank and removes the tape when he gets home.

License plates are smaller on motorcycles and easier to forge. Most states track motorcycle sales differently than they track cars and trucks. You can build a car from the ground up but it is an order of magnitude easier to build a bike from scratch.

A player can hide a bike in bushes or shrubs while he takes care of business. Try doing that with a drop-top Benz. But the very best stealth feature is mandated by law in some states. Full face helmets make identification damn near impossible. A riding suit and gloves will keep skin tone a mystery.

Feeling energized, Khalid his black helmet, black gloves, black boots and black overalls out of a hallway closet. He pulled a box cutter from a kitchen drawer and squished back to the TV room. He threw his riding gear onto the loveseat and dressed in a ritualistic way. Dressed and ready to ride, he silently pushed his bike outside.

Khalid stood in the dark with his helmet and night visor on. He had not ridden in the dark for a long time and he knew he had to retrain his eyes. He crept around the backyard and removed a large black trash bag from the Hefty Wall. He Returned to the Driveway and Started the Silent Runner.

Khalid had forgotten how much fun riding at night could be. There was hardly any traffic on these back roads but there was some fog. Khalid eased the SR in a series of S-patterns watch full of debris and potholes.

At 1.2 miles from his house, Khalid spotted a primary school he often drove by. The entrances to the parking lot were sealed off by lock and chain suspended for metal posts. This might keep a car or truck out but Khalid darted his bike between a steel pole and a line of trees and seconds later he was on the playground.

On the ball diamond, Khalid idled his SR near home plate. He removed the box cutter from the left front pocket of his coveralls and cut the garbage bag lengthwise. He then gunned the two wheeler down the first base path and down the right field line. The object of the game was to scatter the garbage as thinly as possible without getting much refuse on himself and getting none at all on the bike.

Khalid returned home seven times and grabbed seven more trash bags. As a matter of Organizer and personal policy, Khalid always shredded anything that had his name or address on it prior to tossing it in the trash. Leaving eight trails of fetid litter ranging from home plate to various points in the outfield, Khalid imagined a bunch of mean old white men on their hands and knees, looking to his chicken bones and coffee grounds in search of identifiers.

Khalid wrapped up his mission about an hour before sunrise. He washed the SR with a garden hose and wipe down his riding gear with alcohol pads he did not feel even slightly tired they took a prescription stimulant anyway, just in case he got groggily later in the day.

Khalid and pulled a foldout lawn chair from the shed so that he could enjoy his breakfast next to his Silent Runner. The sun rose in a cloudless blue sky. Over microwaved chili dogs and nacho chips he spoke ever so gently to his new love. “There will be other evenings. There will be other targets. You will make me a happy man.”

SpringSummer Chapter 3: The Changeling

SpringSummer

Chapter 3: The Changeling

“Yes, I will sign a confession stating that I conspired with members of the Mexican Alliance to distribute tons of methamphetamine throughout Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee and beyond...

“Yes, I did personally distribute more than one hundred kilos...

“Yes, I did deliver an ounce of methamphetamine to James Charles Pearce on two separate occasions...”

Dr. Wu worked his persuasive magic on the inmate strapped to the table who admitted to running an Escobar-sized operation. Wu's team would have to scale back the details of course. Meantiwhile the confessor admitted to conspiracy, to running an ongoing criminal enterprise, showed a willingness to implicate other conspirators, a willingness to firm up the cases against a few convicts who wanted to appeal their convictions ...another giant leap for Dr. Wu, or so it seemed.

The problem, which would not be discovered immediately, is that Dr. Wu had the wrong inmate on his confession table. Delbert Wayne Duncan, inmate # 101793, was the intended subject of the confessional. Instead, inmate # 107193, Delmore Wade Duggin, was having his cranium bombarded with horrific images.

Mr. Duggin had received many diagnoses over his twenty seven years but two recurring terms were “schizoaffective” and “paranoid.” For reasons unclear even to the perpetrator, Delmore had returned home after a lengthy psychiatric hospitalization and immediately took an aluminum bat to the stained glass windows of an Episcopalean church. He was instantly remorseful to the point of cutting his wrist in a sincere suicidal effort. How could a man who loved his Savior and who prayed to him incessantly, commit such an act of barbarity? No one could explain it.

As the changeling experienced visions of Delbert Wayne Duncan's sons burning in Hell with accompanying sizzles and screams and pleas of “Daddy help me!” the genuine Delbert Wayne Duncan studiously consumed video material on The Unit's new and improved Education Ward. There, he was captivated by images of his childhood head flawlessly graphed on the neck of a child actor as the tussin-tenor voice-over filled his triangular cell.

“Remember when you tasted your first bowl of AM Cereal and every kid wanted to be your friend?”

Yes, it was coming back to him now. In those days children were told to stay away from kids whose fathers were in prison and young Delbert Wayne often played by himself. Then his mother brought home a box of “American Morning” cereal and every kid in the world wanted to play with him.

The screen cut to his adult head flawlessly gumped on an athletic body reading the label of an “American Morning” cereal box. His shopping cart is overflowing with giant turkeys and hams and apples the size of cantaloupe and extra-yellow bananas...Delbert Wayne Duncan places the titanic box of cereal into the depths of the stainless steel cornucopia with a blissful smile on his face...cut to an exterior of a large, luxurious house...cut to a bright, sunny dining room where a smiling Delbert Wayne Duncan sits at the head of a sprawling table. Seated next to him is his wholesome model wife, a handsome teenage son and two daughters on the cusp of womanhood. The child models are all within ten years of his wife model.

The family is enjoying American Morning cereal and Happy Start pastries. Delbert Wayne Duncan silently pledges to devote himself to his family and stay out of trouble. His older son had grown into a fine young man. Not sure where his younger son might be. Hope he isn't in trouble. His wife must have been pregnant with twin girls when he got sent away. They all want to see their father and enjoy American Morning cereal with him.

“Things will be different next time around,” Delbert Wayne Duncan said aloud. “Things will be different.”