Vance took a last puff of his cigarette and squashed it out. It was almost time. He had parked his car up here more than an hour before, half a block away from the Briar Street Theater. His mission was simple, to disrupt a political rally by any means possible. The candidate was a relative unknown, but he was supported by the Tea Party and that was enough for him, or, for his bosses anyway.
Vance's contact was nothing more than a voice, but he sure paid well. The call had come from a blocked phone a week before. If he was successful, and he usually was, a significant deposit would be made into one of his accounts. Cracking his knuckles and neck, he secretly hoped to get into a fight. But something wasn't quite right. He had been monitoring the sidewalk traffic for almost an hour and had seen no one approach the theater. Checking his watch again he saw it was only 15 minutes before the meeting was to begin. "These guys sure are running late tonight", he thought. Just then his phone rang....
Charles quickly ascended the podium. He stood smiling and nodding to acknowledge the crowd. With a raise of his hand the cheering stopped.
"First of all I would like to thank a few of you who somehow were able to book us at this beautiful edifice! Let's have a cheer for the Bank of America Theater!" As the crowd roared Charles nodded to a few people against the back wall who were smiling broadly.
"....What do you mean I've got the wrong place! This is the address they sent me!"
The voice on the phone rose in pitch and volume for a few moments, then calmed. Vance listened intently as the muscles in his neck tensed.
"Yes sir, I'll try and do better next time."
Vance got out of the car and paced back and forth on the sidewalk. Now what? He had fallen into disfavor with his bosses. Someone must have known what he was up to and led him on a wild goose chase. He'd been had. That realization worked its way through his mind and enraged him. "All right, two can play at that game. I know a few people too!" His phone came up to his ear and in a moment he was speaking in hushed tones to a man on the other end....
Charles held up the front page of yesterday's newspaper to display the headline.
"Tonight we will be talking about politics and the economy. First I want to explode a myth to you. A lot of times we see politicians in the news saying something like, 'We're going to put people back to work!' Or some variation of that. It doesn't matter what political party they represent. They're lying! The fact of the matter is this-governments do not and cannot create jobs. People do. We can see from a couple of thousand years of history that the powers of government have tried all kinds of different things to affect, or control the marketplace. And do you know how many times they have succeeded? Zero! An obvious lesson for us, isn't it? The best thing any government can do to promote economic growth is simply to get out of the way."
From his vantage point against the wall, his campaign manager had an excellent view of the crowd. They were fully engaged with Charles as he spoke. They smiled at his witticisms, nodded as he made each point and applauded regularly. The hard work their campaign had put in for the last year was showing. From the very beginning Charles had insisted on recording every talk he made. Not out of conceit, which was absent from his persona, but to help him get better. Every answer, along with his body language and facial expressions were examined in detail. Charles had honed his skills like a craftsman. The truth was that he already had many of the best qualities in place. He was friendly, personable, self-effacing and intelligent. He had a way of speaking to the issues softly but powerfully and could inspire confidence in just about any audience.
But tonight was something special.
His speech drew a standing ovation and Charles easily moved into the question and answer portion of the evening. Unlike most candidates at so called town hall meetings, none of the questions were screened. Charles stayed on the platform for this while some volunteers worked their way through the audience. Each one carried a portable camera so the questioner's face could be broadcast on the big screen up front. His answers were straight from the shoulder with no notes. His grasp of the issues, though considerable, was stretched to the limit. Questions covered every major and minor issue. Charles was able to keep upbeat and positive through it all.
Before long the meeting wound to a close. Most people filed out, but some stayed, hanging around in small groups with the largest around Charles. Like every meeting, (time permitting, of course) he would not leave until he had talked personally with everyone. It was past eleven o'clock when they finally shut the lights in the auditorium down. Charles had been there for over five hours and the fatigue was showing on his face. All that was left was to sign a few papers. His campaign manager would perform this task. Charles left first.
A few minutes later his manager came out of the theater, trotted across West Monroe and turned left. Their car was just up the street. As he walked his mind was thinking about the next day's schedule. They would start early at Good Day Chicago. That meant very little sleep tonight. But there would be an opportunity to catch a few winks on the flight back tomorrow afternoon. Just then his thoughts were interrupted. Something was going on up ahead. Some kind of struggle. He paused for a moment, not out of fear, but curiosity. Then he shouted at the top of his lungs and took off running. Some thugs were attacking Charles!
"Hey!" he shouted, "Leave that guy alone!" One of the masked men turned his head toward the manager and pointed a pistol in his direction. Seeing the gun he dove to the side, just in time to see the muzzle flash out the corner of his eye. He heard the whine of the bullet as it passed through the space where he was a moment ago. There was no fear at the moment. That would come later. He rolled to his feet and saw that Charles was being hauled into a van. The door slammed shut and tires squealed as it took off. The manager ran out into the street unable to do anything except watch as the van disappeared into the night.
"Help! Help!" He cried into the air with tears streaming down his face.
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