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.

“Too over the top,” Jane said, “and besides generic drugs are off strategy for this assignment.”

“Yeah, but they cost our clients billions in sales.”

Dick seldom overreaches.

No one hides lies and half-truths more cleverly. He buries them deep inside mostly true statements.

“Your turn,” Dick replied. “What’s your spin?”

“It’s the patriotic duty of God-fearing Americans to shell out twice as much for prescription drugs as Europeans do,” Jane said.

“And when those good, God-fearing folks complain about subsidizing countries richer than us?”

“We do Land of the Free, Home of the Brave!”

“No way they’ll buy that shit,” Dick said.

“They believed 2020 was stolen,” Jane replied.

She had the cabby keep the meter running.

”We’ll pay your retainer and out-of-pocket in cash. No questions asked. Destroy your receipts — we know it’s expensive to have friends.

“I’m the only contact you’ll have. No one will know you’re doing conspiracy work for us.

“Your first mission, if you accept it, Mrs. Doe, is to provide protection against school shootings.

”A SWAT team thing?” Jane asked.

The woman laughed. “You won’t be protecting children against AR-15s, Mrs. Doe. You’ll be paid to protect the gun makers that manufacture them.

“Teachers could step up and solve the problem if they cared enough.” Jane spit-balled.

“You just earned a signing bonus,” the woman replied. Their sidewalk encounter ended as quickly as it had begun.