“Where are you taking us?” asked Odelia. The men assumed a dignified silence, though. She turned to Chase. “Where are they taking us?”
“To see the President. I hope.”
He didn’t seem worried, so Odelia tried to relax. If the hardened cop wasn’t worried, she probably shouldn’t be, either. But she couldn’t help it—she was worried.
“I think they found out I’m a reporter, Chase,” she said now. “They must have scanned my face or something and got a hit in their database and now the secret is out. It’s just like I told you: they’re taking us out back to give us neck shots and bury our mangled corpses in the woods!”
“And how would our corpses end up being mangled?” asked Chase, amused.
“They’ll torture us first! Try to find out what we know!”
“Know about what?”
She flapped her arms. “I don’t know!”
He placed a reassuring hand on her lower back. “See? You don’t know. So there’s no need for them to torture you.”
“Okay, I’m taking back the mangled corpses thing. So they’ll just shoot us and bury us. Where we’ll never be found.” She took out her phone. “I need to tell my parents.”
“Tell them what?”
“Where we are! If they have a last known location maybe they can tell Uncle Alec to come and find us. Give us a proper Christian burial!”
“I think you’re overreacting, honey. The President of the United States doesn’t kill people in his backyard. At least not as far I know.”
At this point, the Men in Black—or Agent Smiths—seemed to have entered the final straight, for they were talking into their wrists again, muttering incomprehensible jargon under their breaths. And then she saw it—or rather, she saw him: the POTUS.
They’d arrived at what looked like an animal enclosure. It was a circular area, cordoned off by a three-foot-high fence, and offered the weirdest sight Odelia had ever encountered, and in her days as a reporter she’d encountered many weird sights.
This one took the cake, though: the President of the United States was… wrestling with a very large hog, both of them down and dirty in two inches of mud, and they were really going at it, the President holding the hog in a death grip, and the hog kicking its legs and desperately trying to escape.
Both man and beast were covered in mud from top to toe, but that didn’t seem to bother either. And then Odelia saw that a second hog had entered the fray, and was now jumping on top of the President, presumably to open a second front and save its buddy.
“What’s going on here?” Odelia asked as she watched the proceedings, wide-eyed.
“The President is wrestling a hog,” said Chase, who seemed more amused than surprised. “Two hogs, in fact. Oh, look, there’s number three. Raising the stakes.”
About a dozen Secret Service agents guarded the hog enclosure’s perimeter, their expressions inscrutable, and their stance vigilant and alert. If those hogs tried any funny business they’d be on them in a heartbeat, that stance seemed to indicate.
The leader of the free world, meanwhile, still had the upper hand, but with three hogs against one human, he was having to fight hard to maintain his advantage. The hog he was holding onto slipped out of his grip, perhaps due to the slippery conditions, and the President now rose to his feet and assumed a wrestler’s pose, the hogs circling him warily. And then one of them moved in for the kill, squealing like… a pig, and went on the attack!
The President simply stepped aside and then landed a crushing blow to the hog’s back! Hog and man went down in a splash of mud, and now the other pigs joined in.
“I can’t watch this,” said Odelia, who’d never been a big fan of wrestling.
“My money is on the President,” said Chase, who seemed to enjoy the show tremendously. But then suddenly it was all over.
From the house, a woman came hurrying over. Odelia recognized her as Rima, President Wilcox’s wife of five years. She was a former model and looked absolutely stunning. Tall and willowy, with raven hair, a dark complexion and one of those hourglass figures you read so much about but rarely see in real life, she came teetering over on high heels, dressed in a skintight sparkly number that revealed some stunning décolletage.
“Van!” she was yelling, her voice plaintive. “Oh, Van!”
Van, who by now was holding the three hogs by the necks, looked up at the sound of his wife’s voice. “I’m a little busy here, honey!” he yelled.
“Ooh, not with the piggies again, Van,” she said as she surveyed the scene with a look of distaste. “How many times have I told you not to fight the piggies. You get dirty.”
“And I love it!” her husband yelled, and got up, allowing the hogs a little break.
One of the Secret Service agents handed him a towel, and the President wiped the mud from his face.
“It’s the President of France, Van,” said his wife. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” said the President.
“But he’s called three times already. He wants your advice on a very important matter.”
The President rolled his eyes. “What is it this time? The war in the Middle East? Russia? North Korea? A NATO emergency?”
“He wants to paint the Elysées Palace white. And he wants to know what paint he should use. He wants to make it look just like our White House.”
“Ooh! I know that!” said the President, snapping his fingers. “He should use Whisper White exterior paint. Yup, that’s it. It’s manufactured by Duron. Tell him to look for Duron Exterior Alkyd Oil Gloss Whisper 248 paint. That should do the trick. Oh, and tell him this information is gonna cost him.”
“I’ll send him the bill,” said the First Lady, then happily tripped away again.
“He who works for free is a dumbass,” said the President with a wide grin, handing back the towel to the Secret Service agent. “Now how can I help you folks?”
Chapter 16
“We’re investigating the murder of Dick Dickerson,” said Chase.
The President, a large man with a square face and a blond mane, stepped out of the enclosure and straight into a large kiddie pool that had been set up right next to the hog enclosure. Steam rose from the pool surface. He submerged himself into the warm water and sighed happily. “Aaaah,” he said, luxuriating. “This is the life. Who are you, by the way?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Chase Kingsley, and I’m a detective with the Hampton Cove Police Department. And this is Odelia Poole, our civilian consultant.”
At least Chase hadn’t mentioned that Odelia was a reporter, she thought with a silent sigh of relief. Her fear of being shot had lessened somewhat but was still at the back of her mind. “We understand Mr. Dickerson was a good friend of yours, Mr. President?”
“Just call me Van,” said the President. “So you’re Miss Poole, huh? I know about you. You work for the Hampton Cove Gazette.”
Shoot!
“You wrote that article about the ten richest people in Hampton Cove.”
“Guilty as charged,” she said meekly, nervously glancing around at the Secret Service people and hoping they wouldn’t go for their guns.
“I loved your article, Miss Poole, but I don’t understand why you didn’t give me top billing. I am the richest man in Hampton Cove, after all.”
“Yes, that has been brought to my attention, Mr. Pre—Van.”
He wagged a finger. “Don’t tell me. Otto Paunch, huh?”
“He has been calling me,” Odelia admitted.
“Good old Otto. He looks out for me.”
“So what’s up with the… hogs?” asked Chase.
The President laughed. “Have you ever been President of the United States, Detective Kingsley? Don’t answer that. It’s a rhetorical question. But if you had, you’d know that Washington is a tough town. Really tough. Those monkeys on the Hill fight dirty. So to be prepared I’ve been wrestling hogs. It’s working, too. I think I got those politicians licked.”