Brett Rocket Runs For Congress

If you ask me, I’d say I was a fighter, even when the situation doesn’t look too good.  Heck, I was volunteering at Brett Rocket’s campaign headquarters, after all, despite his chances of winning the election to US Congress looking pretty bleak.  He was way behind in the polls to Michael Tordin, a career politician who’d been in the state legislature for years and was now looking to move up in the world.  Our only hope was that something would swing public opinion around in a big way – which actually happened, although I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here.

“Staying late again tonight, Morena?”

Campaign HQ was pretty much empty, with just little old me still hard at it.  Brett Rocket stood in the doorway to my office, flanked by his two bodyguards.  “Yes, Mr. Rocket!” I said, pumping enthusiasm into my voice.

He flashed me his winning smile.  “You might take one night off.”

“Not tonight!” I insisted.  “I have to get your message out, somehow.  I’ll keep working my contacts everywhere.  They just have to notice you!  I won’t let them alone until they do!”

“I appreciate your dedication, Morena,” he said.  “I really should be here with you, but I’ve got this function to attend.  A real bore, but I must mingle with our city’s top people, shake a few hands, kiss a few… babies.  People expect the personal touch.”

“Of course, Mr. Rocket!” I exclaimed.  “You go right out and get those connections established.  You can count on me to have some good news for you tomorrow!”

He smiled again, and made a few polite remarks before leaving.

Campaign HQ really felt empty now.  I dialed the number for the editor of our local newspaper, only to reach voicemail.  I frowned, beginning to wonder if he wasn’t simply avoiding me.  He was a staunch Michael Tordin supporter, and I’d been trying to argue him around.  Perhaps he’d had enough?  That was pretty bad; I mean, what’s wrong with a lively political debate?  Oh, well, time to try a TV station!

“Hello, this is Morena Vidal, calling from Brett Rocket campaign headquarters!  I’d like to invite you to send a camera crew down tomorrow, so you can see all us busy volunteers as we strive to put a candidate in office who’s properly in touch with the voters!  Did you know that if elected he plans to introduce a bill to designate the Sierra Peaks a protected wildlife refuge, while Michael Tordin wants to grant authorization for a real estate speculator to bulldoze… hello?  Hello?”

There must have been something wrong with the connection, since I knew the head of the Channel Six News Department wouldn’t hang up on me in midsentence.  Strangely enough, though, when I called back I went straight to voicemail.

What was it going to take to get a camera crew to HQ?

Perhaps Channel Eleven would be more receptive….

I stood up suddenly.  The building had been so quiet, but now I thought I heard something, the sound of someone moving about, and it wasn’t coming from outside.  But how had anyone gotten in?  The doors were locked… at least, they were supposed to be.  “Hello, is someone there?” I called out.  I moved from my office.  “Hello?  We’re closed right now, but if you’re looking for some Brett Rocket campaign material I can… hello?”

I glanced around, but the lobby was deserted.

“Must have been my imagination,” I muttered.

It wasn’t though.

He was dressed all in black, with a ski mask over his face.  He didn’t say anything, simply raising a finger to his lips and then pointing down at a nearby chair.

As I said at the beginning, I’m a fighter, but I realized I was pretty low on options.  He was as big as one of Brett Rocket’s bodyguards.  I had a brief idea of running back to my office.  I had a can of mace in my purse, and one touch on my phone would connect me to 911.

Unfortunately, another man in a ski mask blocked the way.

I was trapped, so what could I do?  I sank down in the chair without saying a word.

The first man shook his finger in warning.  It was amazing how expressive he could be, just using that one finger.  I couldn’t help giving out a gasp as his partner moved towards me, so he raised that finger to his lips again.

What I’m about to say next may sound odd, but I was actually relieved when the partner started tying me to the chair with white rope.  I say relieved, because I figured if they were binding me to the chair that meant they weren’t interested in me specifically and were merely trying to keep me from raising the alarm while they went about their business.

They were pretty thorough about it too, with three ropes around my black jeans, binding my legs together.  Another went over my lap and then under the chair seat.  Four went around my rusty-red sweater, securing me against the chair back and binding my arms behind my back.

No, I wasn’t going to raise any alarm, especially not once they silenced me with a strip of white cloth for a gag.

Yep, they’d come prepared, just in case anyone had been in.

I watched them move into the offices.  They reappeared a few minutes later, apparently having found whatever they’d come for, and once again I was all alone.

………………..
I’m a fighter, as I keep saying, so I didn’t sit there quietly.  I pushed my toes onto the floor.  The chair scooted back a few inches, making a horrible scraping noise as it moved.  I pushed again, bumping up against the reception window.  The phone was on the other side, impossibly out of reach.

It was hard work, but I kept the chair moving, going up against the door that lead outside the building, pushing against it with one shoulder.

Locked.

We have plenty of volunteers with keys to the building, so someone must have been careless with theirs.  That explained at least how they intruders had gotten in so easily.  They’d even remembered to lock up after themselves.

I then moved to the door that led from the lobby to the rest of the building.  The doorknob was above my bound hands, so I tried raising myself by leaning forward and lifting the chair off the floor.  Unfortunately, the legs banged against the door.  I twisted sideways.  This time I was able raise up higher, but my hands were too far away from the doorknob.

I tried twisting about a bit more, but it soon became clear I wasn’t going to be able to open the door.

Well, if I couldn’t get to a phone like this, then I’d have to wiggle free of the ropes!

All I can tell you is that I tried, I really did, but those ropes were impossible!

What does a fighter do when there isn’t anything to do?  Was there anything I hadn’t tried yet?

Then the front door rattled.  Oh, no, were the burglars back?  Had they realized they hadn’t found what they wanted after all?”

“Morena!” Brett Rocket exclaimed.  “Thank goodness I came back to the office?  What happened here?”

“Mr. Rocket, I’m so glad to see you!” I gasped.  He untied my gag while one of the bodyguards unwound the ropes binding me.  The other went inside to check the rest of the building.  “Some burglars broke in and stole... well, I’m not sure what.  We’ll have to check and see!”

“Never mind that now,” he said crisply.  “The important question is, are you okay?”

“Oh, sure, I’m fine, but what about those burglars?  Michael Tordin must have sent them!”  I had no evidence that was the case, but really, what other explanation could there be?  “He must be trying to get some dirt on you!”

The second bodyguard returned.  “A few memory sticks are missing Mr. Rocket,” he said.

“There, you see?” I almost shouted.

Brett Rocket laughed.  “Don’t worry about it, Morena.  I don’t have any dark secrets.”

“All the same, we need to call the police.  If we act fast, maybe we can get those memory sticks back!”

“Yes, we will call the police,” he agreed, “although not because I’m worried about the missing memory sticks, but because of what they did to you!”

So the police came, and, along with them, camera crews from every TV station in town.  And so the media circus started.

CONGRESSIONAL CANDIDATE RESCUES TERRORIZED CAMPAIGN VOLUNTEER one headline blazed the next morning.

I didn’t really like that, since I hadn’t felt the slightest bit terrorized.  Still, there was no denying the publicity did wonders as Brett Rocket shot up in the polls, miraculously overtaking Michael Tordin.

………………..
“Wish me luck, Morena.”

“Gosh, you don’ t need luck, Mr. Rocket!” I exclaimed.  It was the night of the big debate, to be televised live.  Early voting would start the next day, so this was our last chance to sway any undecided voters.  “When the public hears you, no one will even think of voting for Michael Tordin.”

I was trying to sound upbeat, but I had a real worry.  Those stolen memory sticks were bothering me.  Of course, Brett Rocket didn’t have any dark secrets, but a sleazeball like Tordin could twist anything innocent all around!  I almost felt like going all Nancy Drew and having a snoop around Tordin’s dressing room.  It was a silly idea, though.  He surely hadn’t brought the sticks with him, and besides, he would have already gotten whatever information he needed off them.

Politics is a dirty business, all right.  That’s why I felt we really needed someone with moral integrity like Brett Rocket in office to clean things up in Washington!

“I can always count on you, Morena.”  He gave a big smile, and for a wonder, the two bodyguards managed a couple weak ones as well.  How about that?  They were almost human!

“I’m happy to do anything for you, Mr. Rocket!”

“Speaking of that,” he said, “I left my attaché case in my dressing room, I believe.  Careless of me to leave it lying around, so why don’t you run fetch it, so my guys here can hold onto it?  Don’t need anyone snooping around our secret campaign strategies!”

“I’ll get it right away, Mr. Rocket!”

First the stolen memory sticks, and now a missing attaché case!  “I think Brett Rocket needs someone to look after him,” I mumbled to myself.  The dressing room contained a celebratory bottle of champagne for after the debate and a change of clothes.

No sign of the attaché case, though.

“That Michael Tordin has gone too far!” I fumed, my immediate thought being his goons must have struck again.  Well, they weren’t going to get away with it, not this time!

I hurried down the hall and opened Tordin’s dressing room.  I could always say I’d stumbled into the wrong room if anyone was inside.  No one was, though.

My heart was hammering as I looked around.  I expected at any moment for the door to open and for someone to demand to know why I was there.  Given the fact that Tordin’s goons had tied me up the other night, they might do that first and worry about asking questions after!

That didn’t deter me from proceeding with the search, though.

He also had a celebratory bottle of champagne ready, which made me laugh.  How out of touch could he be?  He’d also brought several neckties with him, apparently waiting until the last minute to decide which one to wear for the debate.  A small thing like that can make a big difference, apparently.  Brett Rocket had done the same.  Interestingly enough, they were all either red or blue ties.  For some reason, men in positions of power always wear red or blue neckties.  Seriously.  Google a big politician or corporate CEO right now, if you don’t believe me.

The sight of all those neckties made me think again of Tordin’s goons.  They could use those neckties to tie me up.  I had to be quick, get out before anyone found me.  But where was that attaché case?

Then my worst fears came true.  The door swung open.  “What are you doing here?”

He looked bigger than both of Brett Rocket’s bodyguards put together.

“I… I… I…” I tried to explain.  It wasn’t easy finding the words, when I had the image of this enormous man crushing me in his massive arms as he bound me with the neckties.  He’d probably stand over me, laughing with glee, as I pleaded, making incoherent noises through the necktie gagging me!  “Such is the fate of all Brett Rocket supporters!” or something cheesy like that, he’d say.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Who are you?” I fired back.

“I’m Tippy Hills, Mr. Tordin’s head of security.  Mr. Tordin’s not in his dressing room,” he explained, completely unnecessarily of course.  “I can arrange it so you can meet him when the debate’s over, if you like.”

He thought I was a Tordin fangirl, and this wasn’t the time to correct him.  “I’ll come back later.”  I bolted from the dressing room, like a mouse getting a reprieve from a cat who’d decided he wasn’t hungry after all.  More like a saber-toothed tiger, really.

“What kind of a grown man calls himself Tippy?” I asked myself.  “A mountain of muscle no one dares laugh at, that’s who.  Oh, well, I’ll never see Tippy again.”

I was wrong about that.

……………….
So, where was the missing attaché case?

The answer turned out to be completely anticlimactic.

I finally found it in the Production Control Room.  Apparently Brett Rocket had left it there when he’d gone in to talk to them, making sure they had the right lighting or whatever for him.  Anyhow, there was no one there then; apparently they had set everything up and had gone out until the big show was about to start.

“Testing, testing, one, two, three!” I said into the microphone.  “This is Morena Vidal urging everyone to cast their vote for Brett Rocket for US Congress!”

Not that anyone heard me, of course.  I hadn’t flicked the switch to activate the mike; otherwise, the whole building would have.

I grabbed the attaché case, only to have it swing open and papers scatter everywhere.  “Whatever happened to the paperless future?” I grumbled, stuffing them into the case haphazardly and hoping Brett Rocket wouldn’t be too upset with me.  “He could easily call up all these graphs and charts on his mobile… oh, no!”

In my haste to jam everything into the attaché case, I’d turned a large envelope upside down, spilling legal documents everywhere.  “Proposal to sell Brett Rocket’s Real Estate holdings in the Sierra Range Region to Consolidated Developers, Inc.”  I took a deep breath.  “But that can’t be right.  That’s the company that’s planning on ruining the nature preserve!”

“Morena, are you in here?”

I jumped at the sound of Brett Rocket’s voice.  You know, I probably should have handed Brett Rocket his attaché case and carried on as if I hadn’t noticed anything.  That’s not what a fighter does, though.

“What’s this?” I shouted, shoving the papers into his face.  “You’re against this development.  You said you’d protect this wildlife area.  That’s a campaign promise!”

“Campaign promises are made to be broken.”  And then, immediately realizing he’d made a bad reply, added, “Think of the economic good the development will create, Morena.”

“That sounds like something Michael Tordin would say!”  I could feel myself actually shaking with anger.

He shook his head sadly.  “I was hoping you’d take the news better, Morena.”  He glanced at one of his bodyguards.  “Take care of her.”

The big man twisted a finger, indicating I was to sit in a chair.  It was the exact same motion from a few weeks earlier.  “My God, it was you behind the break-in at campaign headquarters!”

“Sit in the chair, please, Morena,” Brett Rocket said.  And I did.  It was just like that other night.  What else could I do?  “Although no one could prove anything, the natural assumption would be that my opponent would be behind the whole thing.  Hopefully, that would lose him a few votes.  Plus rescuing a lovely damsel in distress did wonders for me in the opinion polls.  As you know, of course.”

“Just… just shut up!” I shouted.

“No, it is you who will shut up.”

As he watched, the two bodyguards tied me up again.  They used electronic cables this time, thick ones around my legs and torso, and thin ones to bind my hands against my back.  Several strips of black electrician’s tape were plastered over my mouth; not a perfect gag, but enough for him to talk over me.

“It was so cute, the way you bought into my act, that I was running for Congress because I had all these lofty ideals,” he sneered.  “I had so much trouble trying not to laugh sometimes, wondering how anyone could be quite so naïve.  How could you imagine I was interested in getting elected for any reason other than for my own profit?  Believe me, this is only the first of many deals I plan to push through.”

I kicked my heels and said something angry.

“Now I have to do something about you.  Don’t worry, nothing too drastic.  Drop you off in the wilderness, so that when you find your way back to civilization in a day or two I’ll have arranged things with the local police that they won’t take you seriously.  We’ll put out word that overwork gave you a nervous breakdown.  Any fantastic story you tell will look like a plea for attention.  Yes, I think that’s the perfect plan.”

The two bodyguards nodded their big heads in agreement.

“You’ll never get away with this!” I said, despite the tape over my lips.  It’s a terrible cliché, but that’s what came out.

“But I have gotten away with it,” he said.  “I believe there’s a service entrance we can use to hustle you out and then…”

“What’s all this about dropping some girl off into the middle of nowhere?” a new voice demanded.

It was the big guy from Michael Tordin’s dressing room, you remember him, Tippy.  I screamed as loud as I could, trying to attract his attention.  He looked right at me and frowned.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are,” Brett Rocket said, “but you haven’t seen or heard anything here…”

“Everybody’s heard everything here,” Tippy interrupted.  “It’s been broadcast all over the building.”

Brett Rocket gave me a dirty look, finally realizing I’d switched on the mike without him noticing.  He switched it off now.  “Get him, guys!” he snarled.

I screamed in alarm as a bodyguard sucker punched Tippy in the solar plexus.  I needn’t have worried, though.  Tippy didn’t even blink.  The bodyguards didn’t stand a chance as two blows flattened them.  “Don’t try anything,” Brett Rocket warned.  “I’m due on stage for the debate…”

“There isn’t going to be any debate,” Tippy informed him.  “The police will be here in a minute, and I think they’ll want to talk to you, instead.”

Brett Rocket raced from the room.

“He won’t get far,” Tippy informed me.  “The cops will nab him.  You okay?”

I nodded my head.  Despite being such a big person, he was quite gentle as he unraveled the cables and peeled the tape from my mouth.

………………..
This story doesn’t have a completely happy ending, at least not yet.

Yes, the police arrested Brett Rocket, but after that development, Michael Tordin won the election by a landslide.  There wasn’t any third-party or independent candidate who gave him any real challenge.  Fortunately, there seems to be enough opposition in Congress to prevent him from pushing through the Sierra Range deal, for now.

And he’s not going to have another chance, because he’ll be out in two years.  He’ll face formidable opposition from someone who’s determined to shut him down.  Someone that you know will do the right thing for that nature preserve.

Me!

Yes, I’ll be running for US Congress.  Like I said at the start, I’m a fighter!