“Miss Jones,” the officer said. “Do we need to put you in cuffs?”
Melissa fell quiet. Despite her distress, she was fully aware she was sitting in a police station in a foreign nation, and she could get in serious trouble if she pushed her protest too hard. She did want to go home. She did want to go back to Toronto, to her family, to her friends. Here she knew nobody, and nobody was likely to step up and defend her. Without Howie she was completely alone. There was her agent in L.A., but she hadn’t known her long and didn’t honestly know if their professional relationship extended to getting her client out of jail. She knew she had to play along. She knew she had to help them cover up the awful thing they had done. Perhaps once safely back in Toronto she could make a fuss, talk to the media, use her channel to tell her fans what really happened.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll play along. I won’t say anything to anyone if you let me fly home.”
“Good. Thank you, Miss Jones. I’m glad you’ve seen reason.”
“Besides,” Melissa added. “I don’t need to say anything. Howie’s fans will have seen the video of the shooting by now.”
“Howie’s… fans?”
Melissa laughed humorlessly. “You have no idea who you killed, do you?”
“Should we?”
“You’ve never heard of This is Howie Do? The YouTube channel? He has four million subscribers and every one of them is going to be pissed as fuck with you.”
“We’re prepared for some demonstrations as a result of this unfortunate incident.”
“Oh this is going to be like nothing you’ve seen before. And when my fans hear about it –”
“Your fans?”
“Yeah, I don’t have as many subs as Howie did, but I have a pretty big following too. You guys need to spend more time taking an interest in what your teens are watching. Even if I say nothing, Howie ain’t gonna go quietly.”
The officer sat stony-faced.
“Just remember,” he said, unmoved by Melissa’s outburst, “get your stuff from the hotel, go to the airport, say nothing to anybody. Do you understand?”
Melissa stood up. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. She stared at him defiantly as the lady cop opened the door to the room. Without a word, she turned and marched out, her head held high.
She took some time in the washroom cleaning herself up. Her escort waited outside for her this time. Then she led Melissa to the entrance and gave her back her things, including her cell phone.
“Can I have my luggage from Howie’s car?” Melissa almost choked when she said his name.
“Not today. The car is impounded at another location. Check back tomorrow.”
Melissa didn’t argue. She put on her jacket and placed her items in the pockets.
“For what it’s worth,” the lady officer said to her before she left the station, “I’m really sorry about what happened.”
Melissa smiled weakly. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something.
Outside on the street, a storm of reporters accosted her. Questions flew thick and fast as she fought her way through the throng to the waiting taxi.
“No comment,” she said at least a dozen times. It took well over a minute to travel just a dozen meters to the road. She had to battle to open the cab door against the crush of cameras and microphones. Eventually she managed to squeeze herself into the back seat and close the door, deadening the cacophony.
“Where to?” asked the driver, looking with concern at the crush of people pressed up against the side of his cab.
Melissa checked her phone. Her agent had booked a flight for her to Toronto leaving tomorrow afternoon, and a hotel for the night. She was exhausted, so maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t catching a flight right away. She wondered if she’d be able to sleep.
She told the driver where to go and carefully, he pulled the cab onto the road.
State Senator Tim Barns took the glass of whisky and raised it with a forced smile.
“Congratulations, Senator,” said the man who had poured him the drink.
Lionel Granger was, in Tim’s private opinion, one of the most repulsive men he had ever met. He was grey, slightly overweight and balding. His suit was immaculately tailored and very expensive, and everything about his office screamed opulence, from the marble desktop to the Henkel Harris chairs.
“I owe it all to you, Lionel,” Tim replied, trying not to grimace. It wasn’t true. He’d put in a shitload of work himself, and had a small army of staffers who had worked similar long hours to help get him elected. Still, brown-nosing his biggest campaign donor was the expected thing to do, and Tim knew how to play the game.
“Nonsense, my dear Tim. The people love you. You’re a natural and I know you’ll be the best senator Virginia has ever seen. One day you might be much, much more.”
It was all bullshit of course. But Tim played along.
“Well I can’t say I don’t have ambitions, Mr. Granger, but for now I’m happy to serve the people of this state in any way I can.”
Granger raised his glass again, and Tim followed suit. They drank. It was damn good whisky, so that was a positive.
Truth be told, Tim had dreaded this meeting ever since Granger first offered to help finance his campaign almost a year ago. Without Granger’s dollars, Tim would never have become such a well-known presence in Richmond, and it would have taken a miracle to unseat the incumbent. But Granger helped him pull off a miracle, and now it was payback time. The wealthy owner of a national chain of big box retail stores had not voiced the conditions of his backing, but he’d made it clear that all he wanted was the ear of a young, popular senator clued in to how the next generation felt. Tim wasn’t naïve enough to expect no demands at all, but he hoped Granger would keep his word and just provide some suggestions and engage in a dialogue with him.
“Tim, please, take a seat.”
Tim sat down in one of the enormously expensive chairs in front of the unlit fireplace. Granger took the vacant chair next to him.
“I’ve become very fond of you over the last year, Tim. I like your energy and I like the platform you ran on. The people voted for you because they want real change, and they believe you’re the man to give it to them.”
“I’m just one senator,” Tim replied, eager to remind Granger that his sphere of influence was still very limited.
“For now. Play your cards right and you could be Virginia’s next governor. That’s what I see for you, and I’m willing to carry on putting up the cash to help you get there.”
“Well I greatly appreciate that, Lionel.” It had taken him six months and constant reminders from the old man to stop calling him Mr. Granger. Tim still didn’t feel comfortable using the man’s first name. They were not friends. They did not hang out at the weekends or go fishing together. Their occasional rounds of golf and meetings in Granger’s over-the-top office were always pleasantries followed by business. Up until now, that business was about the logistics and strategy of getting Tim into the state senate. Now, Tim feared, Granger was going to want a much larger say in policy.
“So Tim,” Lionel said, still smiling. “I love your platform and the voters love it too. I know you’ve been working hard since you were sworn in and you’ve started bringing other senators around