Dead Man Running (21 page)

Why should the liberal media elite spend any time on the pronouncements of a liberal politician when their columnists and commentators so much more forcefully and elegantly drive the left's agenda? 
And they do so e
very minute of every day.

Wiley smiled broadly as he gripped the lectern.  The usual tawdry group of NYC political bigwigs packed the stage.  Jan played the role of the spouse staring at the candidate with the mind numbing gaze.  The crowd did its part – of course
,
many were on the campaign payroll until midnight – with a chant of "two more years" or, even more creatively, "Wiii-leeeey".

The new
and
improved Wiley basked in the attention, at one point allowing himself the indulgence
of
picking out his next meal – a chunky wedge of a woman in the middle of the crowd, her flabby arms holding a Wiley campaign sign.

After a minute,
h
e finally waved his arms to silence the crowd.

Jan stood to Wiley's side as the man began his remarks by thanking his campaign workers. 
She noticed that
he
made eye contact with
a heavyset woman dressed in a pink pantsuit that was about two sizes too small.

It was only
later
when Wiley invited the woman to a personal meeting did Jan understand the true in
terest in this woman.  Dinner. 

Wiley's abilities were stunning – he was truly new and improved.  Whereas the old
, pre-dead
Wiley stumble
d
over names and faces, this better version seamlessly recognized all the politicians and money bags who shared the stage.

Finally, he turned his attention to Jan.  While gazing lovingly in her direction, he shocked her with his words.  "We haven't publicized this but my dear wife
recently died."  The crowd gasped in shock.  "It was a sudden illness and the Lord mercifully guided Eloise away from this shabby shell of a world to paradise
everlasting
in Heaven."  The crowd applauded loud and long, a tribute to the political wife and church mother.

"I want to announce today that I am ready and willing to move on."  He grabbed Jan's hand and raised it for all to see.  "With the help of special friends like Miss Jan Sugerfoot, I am fortified and stimulated, ready to move on as God's and your faithful soldier."

The crowd erupted.  As he continued his remarks – mostly boilerplate liberal doggerel – Jan didn't hear a word.  She floated somewhere above the crowd, more in love than she's ever been, with a man who fearlessly publically acknowledged her.  Finally, after what seemed like a minute but was more like a half hour, someone tapped her on the shoulder as
Wiley headed for the exit. 

It was time to talk to the First Lady.

Just offstage Wiley ignored the proffered hands and back slaps.  Given the surrounding noise he had to lean into
Mira
's ear to be heard.  He reinforced the words with hand gestures, first toward the crowd, then up.  The young woman nodded once, then again.  She smiled and led Mookie away.

ELEVEN

Michelle Obama sat in a straight back chair facing Wiley, Jan and Elias.  She smiled at the trio before turning toward one of the omnipresent Secret Service agents.  "Hey Cracker Barrel, I'm thirsty.  Get me some water." The man nodded and stepped away quickly.

"They have nicknames for all of us: my husband, me, even my babies.  Why shouldn't I give them nicknames?"

The man handed her a cold bottle of water
.  It was wrapped in a moist napkin.  Obama looked at the man, took the bottle and unceremoniously dropped the napkin to the floor.  The agent retrieved the napkin as the nation's leading lady took a hearty swig.  She once again graced the trio with that brilliant smile.

"Congressman, again I want to congratulate you on your win tonight and
appreciate
the opportunity to speak with you."

"It is an honor and a pleasure, Mrs. Obama, to be in your presence."

The woman took a moment to luxuriate in the praise.  "I'll get right to the reason I'm here.  We're nearly two years into our term and those damned liberals are nipping at our heels.  We passed the most sweeping health reform legislation in history, adding thirty-five million insured Americans, but that was not enough.  We passed a stimulus bill, pumping almost a trillion dollars into the economy, much of it going to poo
r and working class communities, the
places 'those people' care about."  She took a sip of water.

"Do you want to know what they
really
care about?"  She looked at each of the three in turn.  They knew better than to slow
a
sister's roll.  "They say we're not black enough.  They say Barack ain't really black, that the administration doesn't have enough black faces." She reached into her Louis Vuitton handbag and produced a small tape recorder.  "Yesterday this came in the White House mail addressed to my husband."

She pressed the button and the room was filled with the sound of old school soul.  Wiley's head bounced to the sound of Billy Paul singing "Am I Black Enough For Ya".  She let the song go for a couple of bars before killing the sound.

"I
believe
I advised the president a while back that perception is everything.  He needed to show the young people and black people – the keys to his victory – that he heard them and acknowledged them
,
"
reminded Wiley.  His former self had been fairly outspoken about the pale complexion of the administration.

The First Lady nodded.  "That's why I'm here congressman.  Frankly the president and I
didn't
appreciate your criticism, which you rendered both privately and publicly.  However, we are
now
prepared to act on the problem."

"What makes you see it as a problem now?" asked Elias.

"We're midway in what we hope is Barack's first term.  We have a tough election coming in two years.  The economy is in the dumps and there is no clear indication that it'll be any better by November 2012.  We're going to need all hands on deck for the election – young people, gays, blacks and Hispanics.  As your boss has advised many times, we can't take anyone for granted, not even our own people."  She stopped, turned her attention to the two white Secret Service agents stationed about the room.  She leaned into the three, as if sharing a secret.

"And Barack
does
consider black people his people.  He
does
consider himself to be black."

"Could have fooled me," blurted out Jan.  She regretted the words before they left her mouth.

The First Lady smiled.  "That's the attitude we're facing.  The fear is that turned off blacks will stay home on
Election Day
.  Without their overwhelming numbers Barack will lose in the swing states."

"Michelle, how can I help?" asked Wiley.

"We need to get blacker.  How better
to do that
than to pull one of our biggest, most authentically black critics into the administration?"

"What would be my role?" Wiley asked.

"The president is prepared to ask for S
haun Donovan
's resignation as HUD Secretary.  It would be perfect for you – as a black politician the Senate won't spend five seconds on your confirmation hearing.  You'll be visible across
America
in the black community. 
And t
here's some stimulus money left so you won't be empty handed.  You can remind our people that one of their own is in the White House – the head nigger
in charge
– and that he is helping them."

Wiley considered the offer.  He looked at Jan and Elias, in turn.  "I would need to take the oath for the term I just won.  If not, we couldn't name a successor to the remainder of my term."

"We would time the announcement for next February.  The governor has already been contacted.  He's agreed to name who
m
ever you choose."

Wiley turned to his chief of staff.  "I cho
o
se my man here, Elias Turnbull."

Michelle Obama offered her hand to Elias.  They shook.  "Congratulations Congressman Turnbull."

She stood.  "So, Benjamin, we have a deal?"

Wiley stood.  "Deal. 
I look forward to serving this president."

"Wonderful.  I'll head back and tell Barack.  He'll be delighted."

The First Lady and her Secret Service contingent left the room.  Only after the door had closed
did
the group – which now included Mookie and
Mira
Hidar
– celebrate
.  Jan shrieked and hugged Wiley.  "I can't believe you're going to be a member of the Cabinet."

Mira
shook Elias' hand.  "Congratulations congressman."

"Thanks," said Elias, admiring once again the woman's fine self.

Wiley turned from the group, looked out over the breathtaking view of
New York
before his feet.  "I want to leave this place.  I need to re
charge
this body.  You need your rest as well
.  Tomorrow we will talk about what this means, how we can use it."  He turned to face the group.  His face was hard set into a fearsome mask.  Elias unconsciously took a step back.

"I want to make this plain. 
I
intend to become
the
most powerful man in
America
, the President of the
United States
."

"Whip whop wham," Mookie added.

Wiley smiled.  "Whip whop wham indeed, my friend.  Whip whop wham indeed."
  He laughed heartily.

Mira
and Elias sat together in the hotel's bar.  Wiley, Jan and Wiley's
undead shadow Mookie were headed back to Wiley's brownstone.  Elias wanted to talk to this woman
, this beautiful creature
who
had
just materialized in his life tonight. 

Yes, he was attracted to her – rare for him because he usually was a 'race man' and didn't date white woman.  But, more than that, he wanted to see if Wiley's plan to become
all powerful
bothered this woman.  He knew that deep inside – once he set aside his elation at finally becoming a member of Congress – it really bothered him.  Despite whatever magic that ha
d
cleaned up the man – Elias was still amazed a
t
how fluidly he spoke and how good his skin looked – he knew
Wiley
was still a monster
, one
that ate his friend Chi.

Chi.  As he sat in the darkened bar, surrounded by several Wiley supporters who seemingly did not get enough
of the
free drinks
that were
served by the campaign, the guilt hit him.  Chi had been bothered by Wiley, wanted to get rid of him but Elias had brushed him off. 

It would have been easy to stop Wiley then – distract Jan, chop his head off while the other
man held him down.  But now, he wa
s
aware,
agile and he
had
a
wingman
, the undead Mookie.  Elias felt remorse about that as well.  He remembered the living Mookie, yes, a degenerate, but mostly harmless if you weren't a whore.

Elias nursed a Miller Lite while
Mira
enjoyed a
Cosmo
. 
She looked at him with an amused curiosity.  She was well aware of his reputation as a player, both politically and with the women.  She sensed, however, more purpose to his invitation to have drinks than just a pursuit of her body.  She sipped her drink and waited for his approach to the topic that hovered above them.

"How did you do it?  How did you change Wiley?" he asked halfway through his drink.  He was unconcerned
with
the surrounding crowd of revelers or any stray press.  The space was so raucous, only they would hear what was said at their small table.

She leaned into his face.  Her breath combined scents of mint and Vodka.  Her dark hair cascaded toward her face and a quick flick of his eyes gave Elias a peek at her no
t
so unsubstantial breasts straining against her grey silk blouse.  He felt a bolt of attraction from his brain pan to his toes. 

He wanted this woman.

S
he reminded him of the ho' that did the sex tape with Ray J
and now was all over the TV
. 
He sensed
this white girl similarly had a taste for dark meat.

Only
, unlike the vacuous TV babe,
this beauty sat behind very intelligent eyes.