McRiley blinked as he gave it some thought. It was John who answered first. “He’s going to label you as an out of control vigilante.”
Brew nodded. “Good, very good. That’s what I’d do. Then I’d get creative!”
“And lie,” I said, feeling like I was sucking a lemon.
“Andy doesn’t lie. He’s just morally flexible,” said Brew.
“Like a rubber pretzel!” I retorted.
John laughed. “Okay, get out of here the pair of you. I have to earn a living, you’ve got to make phone calls and answer emails, and you’ve got to figure out our response to Andy,” he said, pointing first to me and then to Brewster.
“Already working on it!” assured Brewster.
At the appointed time, Brew and I drove out for the rest of the day. As usual, once I had agreed to run for office, I had been driving either the Caddy or Marilyn’s minivan. The 380, my beloved 380, was up on blocks for the duration. The day after the election, one way or the other, I was going to drive it around! In the meantime, I had to be seen in an American car. If somebody commented on my driving around an expensive car, I usually said one of two things. “You got to love that big Detroit iron!” was the first thing, usually along with, “It’s a great car!” If they were still pissy, I would just say that I wasn’t going to apologize for being successful.
The WJZ interview was live on their noon news broadcast. The other two would be aired on the six o’clock news, as would highlights from the WJZ interview. Everybody wanted to know the gory details and how I handled the problem. I simply reiterated a few key points, like the fact that the first thing we did was call for the cops, that I had several black belts and knew how to handle myself, and that I simply did what anybody else would have done. The interview with the guy from WBAL was the last of the day, and by the time I did that one, Andy Stewart had just denounced me as a rogue vigilante. I was asked for a response, so I simply chuckled and said, “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious what Congressman Stewart would have done, and it’s the same thing he does on everything related to the safety of the citizens of the Maryland Ninth — nothing!”
Throughout the day, while I drove us around, Brew was busy yapping on his cell phone, a MicroTAC like mine, only he carried a pair of spare batteries around with him. He just smiled after we heard what Andy had to say, and then gave me marching orders for Friday. Marilyn and I were to meet him at the Westminster campaign headquarters at eleven in the morning, looking ‘presentable’ (by which I guessed a suit for me and a dress for Marilyn.) He had a grin on his face like a cat dining on a canary dinner.
As we drove over the next morning, Marilyn asked, “Do you know what Brewster has in mind?”
I shook my head. “Not a clue, but he is having way too much fun with this. He’s got something big planned.”
“He’s like an evil puppeteer!” she said, laughing, her hands making controlling motions over an invisible marionette.
“And I’m the puppet!” I agreed.
I wasn’t surprised when the campaign staffers applauded when we entered the campaign office, and then Brewster yelled out, “I give you the next Congressman for the Maryland Ninth!” which got me another round of cheers and applause.
“Thank you! Thank you! Now let’s make sure this happens!” I said back, smiling. “What do I need to do to help you do that?!” I wandered around asking what people were up to and making encouraging noises. You have to make sure the ‘little people’ know they’re appreciated, because there are no little people. The lowest level person in an organization, any organization, can screw things up royally if they get pissed at you. If you start treating them as little, you will be sorry, and sooner rather than later!
At half past, Brew bundled us back outside and into my car. “Will you tell me what is going on?” I asked.
He smiled at me. “We are going over to the Westminster Diner for a press conference…”
“At the diner?”
“… where the Chief of Police is going to endorse you for Congress!”
“Holy crap! That’s my first endorsement, isn’t it?”
Brew nodded. “With this one, I bet we can get a bunch of others. We’re also going to announce a $5,000 contribution to the local women’s shelter, and Nick and the waitress are going to be there, too.”
“Well, haven’t you been a busy little beaver,” I told him.
“So get in the car and drive!” he ordered.
I got in the car, and turned to Marilyn. “Did you bring the checkbook? Chuckles here is enjoying himself so much he never mentioned bringing the checkbook!”
“Drive!” ordered Brew. “And think of something nice to say on camera. ‘Thank you!’ would be appropriate.”
“Screw you, Brewster,” I said with a laugh.
It was only a few minutes to the Westminster Diner, and it was obvious that Brewster McRiley really had been a busy little beaver! There was a podium with several microphones on it out in front of the diner, with a Westminster Police car to the side, and several cameras in front, in position to catch both the diner and the police car in the background. Both WMAR and WBAL had vans in the back of the parking lot, and there were heavy electric cables running around the area.
There were several people in the doorway to the diner I recognized. Nick Papandreas was in a suit that looked a touch tight around his middle, Amy was looking nervous and had a large white bandage on the side of her head, and the Westminster Chief of Police, George Tilden, was standing there and drinking from a cup of coffee. I waved at them, but Brew held me back from going over to say hello. Both Amy and Nick waved back, and George nodded and gave me a two fingered salute.
Instead, Brewster went over to the trio and spoke to them, mostly to George, but also to Nick and Amy, gesturing towards the podium. Then he went over to a couple of television reporters, and after talking to them, moved out of the way. Suddenly, a pair of camera operators lifted their cameras and lights came on. For the next five minutes the on-air talent talked to the cameras and adjusted their hair and then did it all again. I assumed that this would end up being cut and edited before it actually went on the air.
Then it was time, and George strode up to the podium and set some papers on it. George was about ten years older than Marilyn and I, and I had met him several times over the last few years, usually when he was accepting a check for the police fund. Now it looked like it had been money well spent! Brewster whispered for Marilyn and me to move into the shot, but to stay back and to the side of George.
George glanced down at his speech, but then looked up and waited for the red lights to light up on the cameras. Then he started talking. “Thank you for coming. My name is Captain George Tilden, and I am the Chief of Police of the Westminster Police Department. Two nights ago there was an incident here at the Westminster Diner. Since then there has been a great deal of attention from the press as well as political interest in the case.”
“The facts of the case are as follows. On Wednesday night at approximately nine in the evening Mister Haywood Collins entered the Westminster Diner in search of his wife, Jolene Collins. Mrs. Collins had run away from her husband earlier in the evening. Mister Collins located her here at the Westminster Diner and attempted to forcibly return her to their home. Mrs. Collins resisted, attracting the attention of the owner of the Westminster Diner, Mister Nicholas Papandreas. Mister Collins then assaulted both Mister Papandreas and Miss Amy Smith, a waitress at the restaurant. At that point Mister Carl Buckman, a patron of the restaurant, subdued Mister Collins. Subsequent to this, paramedic and police units arrived on the scene to provide medical assistance and transport Mister Collins, Mrs. Collins, and Miss Smith to the Carroll Hospital Center.”