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Authors: Robert Ellis
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could have been killed, Ozzie. What’s happened to you?”
Olson’s eyes stirred, the judge waiting for some kind of response. He wouldn’t give him one. The question was too stupid. The answer too fucking obvious. He’d been ruined. Humiliated. Dragged through the coals by Frank Miles.
“I brought you into my chambers as a favor,” the judge said. “The press is out there waiting to take another shot at you. I wanted to spare you the embarrassment. So you ran for the Senate and lost. It’s been two years. Who was that guy who screwed you? Frank Miles. I remember now. You used to be a good lawyer. A smart attorney. You need to get over it, Ozzie. You need to put this behind you.”
Olson glanced at the wall and spotted a photograph of the judge standing with Senator Helen Pryor, his opponent in the election. They wore big smiles and it looked like their teeth had been capped. Averting his eyes, Olson hoped the judge hadn’t noticed that he’d seen it. He had a headache chipping away at the right side of his head. He didn’t want the man’s sympathy. Not now. Not ever. And he’d worked in the building enough during his former life to know where the exits were located so that he might avoid the press.
“I appreciate the favor, Your Honor. But I filed my paperwork two hours ago. I’d like to go home now.”
Judge Taylor dropped the file and gave him a long look. “Bitterness isn’t the answer, Ozzie. You need counseling. Lots of it, I’m afraid.”
Olson wanted to say “fuck you,” but didn’t. Instead, he took the easy route. He agreed to counseling, both psychological and religious. He had the shakes and needed whisky. He would have agreed to anything just to get out. And he did, five minutes after Judge Taylor signed his release. Olson walked through a rear exit, up an alley and grabbed a cab when he hit the street.
Chapter 20
There was a new wrinkle in the Mel Merdock/Lou Kay race for the Senate that Frank hadn’t anticipated. A special interest group he had never heard of was entering the contest without an invitation. Apparently they had enough money to produce ads and get them on TV.
Frank sat in the media room, watching a copy of the spot with Tracy.
An actress playing a girlish housewife stood before the stove making dinner in a dress and jewelry. Her husband, another actor, sat at the kitchen table ignoring her and their infant child while reading a newspaper. When Frank noticed the crucifix on the wall behind them, the picture became complete. It was a distorted view of the past, a horrific view of the way things were and should be.
“I was talking to Jane today,” the wife was saying, “and I forgot why we’re not voting for Lou Kay.”
The husband lowered his paper and looked at his wife as if she were his misguided daughter. “We’re not voting for Lou Kay because he’s bad, honey.”
“But why is he bad?”
The husband smiled. “Lou Kay doesn’t share our values.”
“He doesn’t share our values,” she repeated.
“You tell Jane that’s all she needs to know. I’ll talk to Dick on Sunday.”
As the wife nodded, good girl that she is and was, the voice-over kicked in and church bells rang. “Paid for by the Committee for the Restoration of American Values and Ethics,” the announcer said.
Linda burst into the room laughing. “What was that ?”
Frank hit the remote and smiled at her, wondering if the ad would change the dynamics of the race. The spot was clearly against their opponent, Lou Kay. But it was embarrassing, and too poorly made to give his client Mel Merdock any lift. If the ad was played enough to be seen, some people would laugh, but others might become angry. The spot could potentially backfire, blowing up in his client’s face. Under the First Amendment, independent expenditures had the right to say anything they wanted to say. But Frank couldn’t help them deliver a professional product. He couldn’t even contact
Olson’s eyes stirred, the judge waiting for some kind of response. He wouldn’t give him one. The question was too stupid. The answer too fucking obvious. He’d been ruined. Humiliated. Dragged through the coals by Frank Miles.
“I brought you into my chambers as a favor,” the judge said. “The press is out there waiting to take another shot at you. I wanted to spare you the embarrassment. So you ran for the Senate and lost. It’s been two years. Who was that guy who screwed you? Frank Miles. I remember now. You used to be a good lawyer. A smart attorney. You need to get over it, Ozzie. You need to put this behind you.”
Olson glanced at the wall and spotted a photograph of the judge standing with Senator Helen Pryor, his opponent in the election. They wore big smiles and it looked like their teeth had been capped. Averting his eyes, Olson hoped the judge hadn’t noticed that he’d seen it. He had a headache chipping away at the right side of his head. He didn’t want the man’s sympathy. Not now. Not ever. And he’d worked in the building enough during his former life to know where the exits were located so that he might avoid the press.
“I appreciate the favor, Your Honor. But I filed my paperwork two hours ago. I’d like to go home now.”
Judge Taylor dropped the file and gave him a long look. “Bitterness isn’t the answer, Ozzie. You need counseling. Lots of it, I’m afraid.”
Olson wanted to say “fuck you,” but didn’t. Instead, he took the easy route. He agreed to counseling, both psychological and religious. He had the shakes and needed whisky. He would have agreed to anything just to get out. And he did, five minutes after Judge Taylor signed his release. Olson walked through a rear exit, up an alley and grabbed a cab when he hit the street.
Chapter 20
There was a new wrinkle in the Mel Merdock/Lou Kay race for the Senate that Frank hadn’t anticipated. A special interest group he had never heard of was entering the contest without an invitation. Apparently they had enough money to produce ads and get them on TV.
Frank sat in the media room, watching a copy of the spot with Tracy.
An actress playing a girlish housewife stood before the stove making dinner in a dress and jewelry. Her husband, another actor, sat at the kitchen table ignoring her and their infant child while reading a newspaper. When Frank noticed the crucifix on the wall behind them, the picture became complete. It was a distorted view of the past, a horrific view of the way things were and should be.
“I was talking to Jane today,” the wife was saying, “and I forgot why we’re not voting for Lou Kay.”
The husband lowered his paper and looked at his wife as if she were his misguided daughter. “We’re not voting for Lou Kay because he’s bad, honey.”
“But why is he bad?”
The husband smiled. “Lou Kay doesn’t share our values.”
“He doesn’t share our values,” she repeated.
“You tell Jane that’s all she needs to know. I’ll talk to Dick on Sunday.”
As the wife nodded, good girl that she is and was, the voice-over kicked in and church bells rang. “Paid for by the Committee for the Restoration of American Values and Ethics,” the announcer said.
Linda burst into the room laughing. “What was that ?”
Frank hit the remote and smiled at her, wondering if the ad would change the dynamics of the race. The spot was clearly against their opponent, Lou Kay. But it was embarrassing, and too poorly made to give his client Mel Merdock any lift. If the ad was played enough to be seen, some people would laugh, but others might become angry. The spot could potentially backfire, blowing up in his client’s face. Under the First Amendment, independent expenditures had the right to say anything they wanted to say. But Frank couldn’t help them deliver a professional product. He couldn’t even contact
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