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

Dick and Jane were given no choice.

They had to accept the assignment before being informed that Volodymyr Zelensky and Ukraine’s war effort would be the targets of their smear campaign.

Yes, they admired the courage of the totally hot, blond Ukrainians they saw on cable TV; however, they had a conspiracy business to get off the ground.

They’d made their bones working for the Putin-Trump tag-team, first denying interference in our elections and then later denying that their former boss had strong-armed the Ukrainian president.

”Putin claims Zelensky’s a Nazi,” Dick said.

“He’s a Jew!” Jane insisted.

“A Nazi AND a Jew!” Dick replied

“That’s beyond unbelievable!” Jane shot back.

“We’re not paid to make people believe,” Dick said. “We’re paid to make them doubt.”

“ I’m sorry you’re suffering, my son.

“I know you’re not Catholic but don’t worry, you don’t even have to be Christian to be forgiven.

“How have you sinned?” The priest asked.

“I did messaging for the Trump White House.”

“Ouch! No wonder your conscience is killing you.”

“I made folks believe 2020 was stolen and incited a coup. I betrayed ancestors who fell at Bunker Hill. I’m desperate to confess and stop these headaches.”

“You might need a defense lawyer more than you need a priest. Crimes are above our pay grade.

“But I can help with your sins.

“Are you ready to ask forgiveness and resolve to never again commit your sins.”

A silence hung over the confession booth.

“Hypothetically,” Dick asked, “how long does ‘never again’ have to last?”

Jane had shared mimosas with a friend who owns a film-prop house in Arlington and brought home a vintage WWII uniform that had caught her eye.

It was more for laughs than anything else.

But she and Dick soon discovered that dressing up and channeling Joseph Goebbels stimulated their ability to come up with conspiracy theories.

They recited his quotes—about how to lie to stupid people—out loud to keep themselves grounded.

If Herr Goebbels’ principles worked for the Third Reich, they figured, they‘d work on Americans docile enough to believe the election was stolen.

Then, suddenly, the blinding headaches started.

“I’m cursed for bringing Goebbels back to life,” Dick told Jane. “This isn’t like our naughty, little Viking-ravages-harem-girl cosplays,” he insisted. “This is evil!”

“What’s wrong with evil?” Jane asked.

What better place to kick around gas-lighting ideas than the Maryland shore. Dinner at Flamante would follow of course.

Jane and Dick’s clients were school district administrators from the Old South.

“You can sanitize your textbooks all you want but your can’t totally erase the history of slavery. There are photos of slaves all over social media,” Jane pointed out during their first text chat.

”When your students visit the Lincoln Memorial,” Dick added, “don’t let them read his inaugural address. He presents slavery in such a bad light.”

“What you need is a catchy meme!” Jane said.

“Like slaves got free rent! And fresh air and exercise! And they sang gospel classics all day long.”

“Don’t worry about credibility. “ Dick told them. The more you repeat a meme, the truer it sounds.”

Virginia Thomas fell under Dick’s spell at the widely attended 12/19 prayer-and-cocktail happy hour convened to overturn the election.

Dick was working his way into an inner sanctum of donors able to pay serious retainers for disinformation and gas-lighting services.

Call me ‘Ginny’ Mrs. Thomas insisted, aroused that the square-jawed, young man held her hand longer than necessary when they were introduced.

“Come to dinner,” she suggested on the spot.

“Absolutely no fucking way!” Jane exploded when Dick told her about the invitation.

“They’re super, super connected,” Dick argued.

“I faced an incredibly painful, private choice as a teen that I’ve never told you about, Dicky.”

Ginny and Clarence were all prettied up and ready for whatever when Dick texted his regrets.