Fallen Angels, Complete Series

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.”

“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.

“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.

“Ever bite the head off a live chicken, Mr. Doe?”

The impeccably dressed man who initiated the meeting at the Korean fusion place on 5th NE did not introduce himself by name.

“If you accept QAnon’s offer,” he said, “they’ll turn you into a carnival geek conning small-town rubes on the midway.

“You’re a force of nature, Mr. Doe.

“You’ve convinced millions of Americans that the most secure election in our history was stolen.

”We’re prepared to pay you handsomely to promote the idea that concentrating power in the hands of voters is not what the Founders had originally intended.

He paid in cash and left a gratuity meant for Dick to notice.

“Does Mrs. Doe like nice things?” He asked.

“Two thirds of them still say the election was stolen,” Jane said as she dug into her crab-cake Po’ boy.

“The ones in power know better but pretend they believe anyway,” Dick noted.

“It’s about avoiding primary challenges.”

“And ‘owning’ the libs.”

“Nobody does fear better than you do, Dicky.

“Pedophiles! Pedophiles! Pedophiles!”

”And nobody does inferiority like you do.”

“It‘s easy to get folks to look down on unwed mothers and immigrants who aren’t from Nordic countries.”

“I think you’ve found your calling,” Dick told Jane as he reached for a packet of horseradish.

“Move over George Orwell,” she laughed.