But what really worries me is Kingsley Scab, Hatch’s vice president. Next to him, Reverend Jones may someday seem like a lovable crank. This guy has really got some shady connections. The guys don’t take him seriously. They call him Gucci Two Shoes behind his back, and make fun of his womanish manners, which didn’t surprise me because, regardless of their gay-bashing, the conservative movement is loaded with queers. But I think this guy has some crazy plans for the country, and if he ever gained power, God help us. He never said a thing when Jones and the rest attended these meetings, clearly out of their minds. He just sat there with his patrician sneer, in those white slacks and black blazer, toying with his Phi Beta Kappa key. A Yalie. But I could tell that he had nothing but contempt for these guys. Sure, he tried to come on like a regular fellow, quoting the ball scores and all that and wearing good-old-boy caps, and bragging about his recipe for Texas Red, and bowling with the secret service, but I saw through it. One of my friends in the C.I.A. told me that Scab belongs to some secret organization called the Sons of New England or some such thing. They meet in secret and read poetry by some guy named Robert Frost. I’m an Edgar Guest man myself.
Why didn’t I come to the country with what I knew? Call a press conference? Why did I wait so long? Well, you remember all of those books that came out about Dutch, the traitor who negotiated with the reds back there in the late 80s? They clearly damaged the office of the Presidency, and I thought, even if these guys around Scott were fools, they were our fools. But now I’ve just about had it. Things have become so weird in the White House that I plan to call a press conference tomorrow and spill all I know about the Terrible Twos. Yeah, you guessed it. Clift was right. But I didn’t say anything because I wanted to stay on and see how far these guys would go. Clift dug a hole for himself when he said that Nicholas told him. I guess he had to say that in order to protect his deep throat, but I tell ya, when he made that speech that night, I started to join him. I didn’t do it because I just didn’t think that the country could take another scandal after Nixon, Reagan and Bush, then Clift’s removal from office. But now is the time to break the scandal.
Tonight I’m going to be roasted at the press club. Bob Krantz is picking me and the missus up. I’ve grown fond of the kid, much to Reverend Jones’ annoyance. Reverend Jones thinks he owns Bob since he saved his life. I’m trying to tell him that Reverend Jones doesn’t own him. And that he should break from Jones. If they knew I was writing this letter they’d — oh damn, somebody’s at the door. I had to put some double locks on. The missus said that she saw some guys prowling around the neighborhood. People have been calling recently, but when I pick up the phone they hang up.
After serving thirty days, Elder Marse had been released from Club Fed for good behavior, and had announced his plan to inaugurate Xmas Forever, a plan that would draw shoppers to the department stores all year around … Rock and roll star Boy Junior had announced to the world his find of a winged reptile fossil proving that birds descended from the dinosaurs. The D’Roaches, a derisive term given the Amerikander Party led by a forty-year-old skinhead named Termite Control, was gaining in the polls, but all of the pundits agreed that this party, which was on the ballot in twelve states, didn’t have a chance. The American people weren’t that stupid. Jesse Hatch and Reverend Jones called for national unity and promised that the kidnapers of Dean Clift would be brought to justice … Tonight, Xmas Night, Reverend Jones would lead the nation in prayer for the recovery from the Terribles which have plagued the nation since Dallas, November 22, 1963.
Oakland, California
November 7, 1988