path: root/missing-persons/_Cuts.txt

Truth be told, we'd all dropped our guards a little bit at this point because the talks were actually happening, rumor had it we would be out of there in a few days. I mean, that was the end right? Turned out that was true, but anyway... Still, flying is dangerous in and of itself, but shit, after you've been shot at while flying for three years flying with hardly anyone shooting at you seems like a piece of cake. Until someone decides to shoot at you again.



For every man he pointed out, Norm had a story; Dory the mechanic who had dropped a thousand pound bomb on the runway causing the entire airfield to evacuate or the time Ed Wald, who figure prominently into a number of the tales, had snuck into the base hospital and made off with two tanks of nitrous oxide to liven up the new years party. Chase tagged Wald in a photo and made a note that she would interview him at some point.


Throughout the conversation Norm had been some gracious and friendly she began to feel bad for ever suspecting that he had lied to her. Perhaps he really didn't know that man standing five feet from him in the photo. It was, she though as she drove toward Annapolis, entirely possible.
Still, she was worried about the results of her search. It seemed obvious to her now that Norm Canton had been lying. He was standing in the photo, a few feet from the blond haired man she suspected of being Lawrence, surely he as least knew the man. Yet Norm had been quite adamant, I'm sure *I never knew anyone named Reese, not the the whole war.* Most people lied to hide something. A few people lied just because it was easier than, for example, tell a sad story or revealing something awkward about themselves. Some people lied because they were pathologically insane, but Chase had never dated Norm so she was pretty sure he didn't fall in the later category. So why lie to her? She needed to go back. Awkward and uncomfortable though it would likely be, she need to confront Norm Canton about his lie. She needed to know why.

When she got home everyone at the office treated her like a pariah. The crazy girl that had bolted off to Europe to chase the Whitmore file. The girl that didn't know when to stop. Chase had been the one to suggest she take a day in the weekly coffee and donuts rotation, it might, he told her, help them feel a bit more like you're a human. In his typically sly manner, he had neglected to mention that it would also get him off the hook for Wednesdays.



Chase watched her staring out the windows the break room, wondering what she was thinking, he could see from his desk, even through the blinds, the furrowed browser and he could imagine the hard green of her eyes, the way they really did seem to glint when she narrowed them. 


She was still thinking about, anticipating it even, when she stopped for donuts and coffee  She knew the rest of the office was uncomfortable around her. 



I have seven open cases at the moment. I'm about to close one that is yes, a bit old and was fun to track down. But as for what I get next, you know that's up to Peters, not me. So go back out there, tell them that I have no desire to make them look bad, I just happen to really like this job. Tell them they need to fucking relax. Maybe get a life, garden, carve miniatures, golf, something, I don't know, live while you can, indulge yourself, do something you love, that sort of stuff. I mean, if most of them don't like this job, and I have gathered that impression in my brief time here, why the hell do they do it? And even more to the point, why do you do it Chase?


 Unlike most, it did not break her, it did not produce the mild sense of hopelessness the cut through the rest of Skull and Bones like a current of quiet despair. 


long bit introducing character of politican:

"That's no reason not to vote his way." Louis looked completely serious. For a split second Charley considered launching himself over the massive desk between them and trying to strangle Louis for being so pragmatic. It was like the man had no idea what principles were. But then that was part of why Charley depended on him. 

Charley always knew what he should do. 

Louis always knew what Charley needed to do.

"Louis, there are half a dozen reasons," Charley stood up wearily and walked around the front of the desk, slide an ornate fountain pen holder out of the way and sat down on the edge.  "My personal favorite though is that Bill Tyson is an asshole. The biggest asshole in the party if you ask me." Charley crossed his arms and leaned back. His office was bigger than what most junior senators were afforded. Charley knew his father was behind that somehow, though he had never been able to figure out precisely how. In the end he had given up and moved in. But he had insisted on bringing his own desk, his own bookshelves, his own chairs, all from the mayor's office back in Baltimore. The bookshelves were even filled with his own books, most of which Charley had actually read, something that never ceased to amaze reporters, who would notice the spine of some poetry volume or a novel and, thinking that Charley wouldn't pick up on a quote, would drop one in casual conversation when they could, to try to trip him up, add a little humor to their otherwise doomed for the back pages pieces. But Charley rarely missed the allusions and never the quotes. His sister was a poet, he read what she sent him. Eventually word got around that Maryland had a literate junior senator and, at least for now, the press had been almost universally kind. It had even started to move from the back pages. Of course it didn't hurt that he was the same age as John F. Kennedy had been at his prime or that he looked the part as well, slightly wavy dark hair that framed a face that had attracted no shortage of dates, though thus far no Mrs. Bradford.

"I could find you plenty of people with reason to say Charley Bradford is an asshole." Louis chuckled. His chair creaked as he leaned back and grinned up at Charley. "Shit, I meet people who think you're an asshole just because of your name." 

Charley cringed, but he knew Louis was right. As usual. It wasn't Charley, or at least it was rarely Charley. Few people who had ever met him had, to the best of his knowledge, ever called him an asshole. Some people didn't like the color of his skin, which was too white to be from Maryland and definitely too white to be running against an incumbent black president. But the reason most people didn't like Charley was because his father was rich, and by extension, in most people's minds, so was he. In truth he was rich. And in truth he had not earned any of the money. In a way I am an asshole, he thought. I should just give it away, give everything away and join a monastery and then after a while come back and say hey everyone, here I am, I have no money, I am poorer than you, will you have me now? But Charley knew they would not. The only thing more offensive to someone struggling to get by than being rich is to be rich and renounce your riches. Fuck you and, oh fuck you again. 

Charley sighed. "Goddamn name." 

Louis groaned. "Please. Spare me the hardships of being a Bradford." 

The smile had left his face and Charley realized that on the family score, even Louis had lost faith in him. 

"Look, just give the asshole your vote. Get his pork bill that no one cares about through the committee no one really cares about and we can nudge someone else to shoot down later if it really bothers you that much. Or you can get over it by then and focus on getting some face time in New Hampshire. Either way, we win and no one really loses." Louis smiled again. "But if you really want to fuck Bill Tyson," Louis raised his hands and sighed, "you can. I mean, don't let me stand in your way. But do recognize that you won't be fucking him very hard or very well. And he will come back on you. He'll turn around in fuck you like sailor on shore leave when we head up to New Hampshire. Shit, you won't even been able to get your face on a milk carton, let alone in the debates."

"All right, fine. I'll let it go... what else is there today?"

Louis pulled up his tablet and skimmed down the list. "A few signatures Ev will bring by when we're finished, you have a meeting with the ministers over in Chevy Chase this afternoon, and then we have a fundraising dinner, a couple hours to kill, which you can read as a chance to make some calls and raise a bit of money yourself and then we jump on the plane around midnight and make the hotel by sunrise. "

"Lovely," Charley's head hurt just listening to it, he knew it was going to hurt even worse byt he time he'd done it. "Did you schedule a nice walk on the beach when we get there?" He glanced mockingly over at Louis who was scribbling some sort a note to himself at the top of the day's itinerary.

"Would you like me too?" 

Charley glared at him, but before he could muster a suitably sarcastic response, Ev sauntered in the door, "Morning senator, sign here, here..."

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