Fallen Angels, Season 3 (In Progess, Reverse Order)

“I didn’t try to fight it,” Dick said as he and Jane sat watching the skaters at the Sculpture Garden.

”You never mentioned you got a girl pregnant just days before she went off to college”

“We did it together, ” Dick replied robotically.

“And let me guess, Dicky Dearest. The upstanding members of the Doe family paid dearly to make the whole mess go away.”

“The child and its mother will want for nothing.”

“Want for nothing! You sound like those ghouls your father hired to draw up our prenups.”

“I suppose he looks like you,” Jane added.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You should’ve told me you were a father.”

“You didn’t ask,” Dick replied.

Jane and Dick met working in the Trump White House. They didn’t expect honesty from each other.

“When I overheard Mom call you a bullshit artist, I cried my eyes out,” Chelsea said.

“She’s SO evil. You have no idea what I put up with.”
Jane had her smile set on autopilot. She’d learned years ago never to let on when she’s wounded.
“Sometimes the truth needs to be improved, Chelsea. That’s what your Uncle Dicky and I do for a living.”

Chelsea hung on her aunt’s every word.

“Weren’t you happier when you believed in unicorns?” Jane asked. “And isn’t it better to tell girls they look cute? And don’t the Hallmark movies we watch together make you glad there are orphans to rescue?”

“Mom said you and Uncle Dicky made up fake news about that big-deal election when I was in 4th grade.”

“Someday, Chelsea, history books will show patriots like Dick and me faced great personal risk to protect Americans from truths that would only confuse them.”

“You’re really pretty,” Chelsea replied.

The assignment to scam inner-city voters into thinking election deadlines had been extended came, as always, without a face or name attached.

Jane and Dick didn’t like its odds of success.

“Inner-city voters are savvy about election-day tricks,” Dick said. “They’re voting early to protect themselves.”

“Got an idea,” Jane said, “instead of targeting minorities, let’s try our first ‘false-flag’ operation.

“We blanket red voting districts with emails filled with woke phrases and plant conspiracy theories that they came from Antifa.”

“Totally,” Dick said. “False-flags would look awesome on our capabilities list.”

“Do we need a client sign-off?”

“No idea who the fuck they are,” Jane said. “Besides, their Zelle posted on our offshore last night.”

We don’t tear wings off flies, Dick and Jane often told themselves. We’re nice to widows and orphans.

Spinning the truth at the White House? They considered that a duty taxpayers paid them to do.

Hadn’t Forty-Five been elected president? And didn’t honchos from Honest Abe’s party line up every morning for their freshly baked talking points?

When Iranian drones rained down on Ukrainian civilians under orders of a man they were being paid to promote, they retreated into code-red denial. We didn’t order those strikes, they assured themselves.

Coincidence or not, that’s exactly when Dick was ambushed by a near total inability to keep food down.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mr. Doe,” the diagnostic team at Mayo agreed. “It‘s psychosomatic.”

“If you put that on my records,” Dick warned, “I’ll destroy you on WebMd.”

JANE: Let me be first to address you as ‘Senator Elect.’”

CLIENT: Don’t jinx me, I’m down in the goddamn polls.”

JANE: Relax! If you lose we scream dead voters, undocumented voters, two-time voters, big-city homo voters. We’ll stage fake videos of fraud at polling sites.

CLIENT: Violence?

JANE: [INAUDIBLE]

CLIENT: I’m told this ain’t your first cluster fuck.

JANE: Me and Dick masterminded the Big Lie (fact: they were minor players). We convinced Red states to pass laws (true) so they can toss out ballots for the other guy.

CLIENT: Meanwhile, here I am…my ass getting kicked.

JANE: It’s all good! How folks vote in your race is going to be less important than how we count them.

CLIENT: What’ll your ‘voter integrity’ package cost me?

JANE: People will line up to donate the minute you‘re sworn in, Senator. It’s morning again in America.