(And now for a preview from my upcoming book "Carpetbagger")
CHAPTER 1: F.Y.P.M
It was a frenzied crowd, the congregation of dazed onlookers and city emergency personnel packed the streets. Rubberneckers one and all, but who am I to criticize? I'm a journalist, that's who. Jeremiah Price, to be exact, and without my camera crew, about to make a written report. A written report on a man who I later learned was the, until recently, personal assistant to Roy "Minister of Offense" Boyington. I had every right to rubberneck, and every intention of getting a quote from Mr. Boyington himself. Boyington intrigued me; he was something out of an Ayn Rand novel, and something out of hell, which I know can be touted as being one and the same. Still, no one real estate or business giant could compare to Boyington, the Liberal "Donald Trump." Which of course if you did compare Boyington to Trump, he would have you killed, vice Trump merely swearing at you. In many ways, they were much alike. Both of which were born into a vast real estate fortune and were both business geniuses. However, Boyington was a supporter of civil rights, the Democratic Party and a widely outspoken "Cold-Blood Liberal." He'd shaken the hand of President Obama several times, and refused invitations to dinner events with President Bush several times more during his administration. As a man, you really couldn't tell Boyington anything without facts and information that supported your claim. He was not an "objectivist" but he looked at the world objectively and took every good idea into account. Boyington would seem like a rather likeable character, but he wasn't. As the crowd grew larger, someone noted that Boyington was also in the crowd with some of his aides, including Amy Park. Park was a shrew of a woman and a strong-willed over-achiever from a prominent Korean-American family that had no sense of humor when it came to making money. She was brushed aside when first looked upon as an assistant to Boyington. However, right about now, Park was glad she had been. Park stared up at Boyington's previous assistant, standing on a ledge about to take the proverbial "plunge." One couldn't help but wonder what drove him to the brink of such a horrifying act? I wondered this, elbowing my way through the throng of downtown Pittsburghers, several of whom called me a "jagoff" but I brushed it aside. I was willing to get trampled to get the oratory gold that was veined in the mouth of Boyington. Never had anyone ever encountered such an outspoken businessman and anything he said was news-worthy; if not to inform than to entertain. Squeezing through my last group of suicide spectacle revelers, I made it to Boyington around the same time a plain-clothed police officer approached him. I remained silent as the police officer, a short and slim man years past retirement in a cheap gray suit, asked "Mr. Boyington, I know you know this man. We called you down here in the hopes that you could possibly talk some sense into the boy." Boyington, taking a swig of his iced tea after a mouthful of popcorn, replied. "No thanks, let him jump."
"Can I quote you on that?" I shouted to Boyington. He nodded, saying "sure," with a disinterested shrug as if I'd asked him if he wanted french fries with his burger. The old police officer stood in dismay, still trying to hand the megaphone to Boyington. Boyington looked at him with a paternal gaze of disapproval, somewhere between pity and being sick of him. "Well I can't make you do this, sir. Just thought you had some more respect for human life." Boyington, growing slightly annoyed, said "I respect human life. That man, on the other hand, is a grabasstic piece of human wreckage who almost cost me a fortune. He was problematic, and he couldn't make coffee to save his fucking life. I mean, who does that? Who in fuck's name can't make a decent goddamn cup of coffee in addition to his other mistakes? So yeah, I respect life and trees and shit, but not him." Turning to me, he said, "Off the record, but that kid can eat dicks in Hell for all I care!" Behind me, amidst the chaos, I heard a small female voice screaming "Do it, faggot!" I whipped round to see a small blonde who introduced herself as Christine Wagner after I asked about her seemingly "personal" acquaintance with Garrison. As it turned out, Wagner was an intern who was consistently hounded and bullied by Garrison for everything from her work ethic, to her tacky shoes. "Fucker even said he wouldn't date me even if he was straight; the bastard." Giving credit where it was due, I did note to myself that her shoes were indeed tacky. "Were you trying to pursue something with him?" I asked as innocently as one could ask such a question. Wagner scowled at me, saying "No, why would I? With that big ass Jew-beak he calls a nose?" I frowned at the sexist and racist intern before asking "So, may I quote you on any of this?" Wagner shook her head, apparently a closeted racist/homophobe, and replied "Well, there is one thing that I'd like people to know about him, that Garrison was always afraid of someone stepping on his toes. He got jealous real easy. Nobody liked him anyway, he was a douche bag and he always got in my ass about 'taking too much initiative'." Wagner took a brief moment to screech "Jump" at the top of her lungs. She then turned to me, saying "The way I see it, don't get butthurt at me for having the testicular fortitude to take the initiative you apparently could not; you know what I'm saying?" I nodded, taking note of her massive metaphoric "balls." I noticed that after Wagner, everyone began to chant "jump-jump-jump." It was a group dynamic effect, whipped into a fever pitch. I can almost swear I saw a firefighter mouthing the words "jump" and as I turned my gaze upward to see the silhouette of Garrison against the overcast sky, he dove. Screams, cheers, jeers and noise erupted from the crowd as they watched Garrison. As if he had a second thought, Garrison's arms and legs flailed wildly before coming to terminus on the pavement below. Boyington raised his arms in triumph. Turning to me, he asked "Do you think he heard the 'thud' he made before he died? Because you know he's dead!" Boyington laughed boisterously; Park chimed in. "It was more of a pop if you ask me, I can't tell but I think his skull probably got busted open!"
"I swear to fuck that kid bounced; that was awesome." I couldn't help but stare at Boyington, rejoicing in a private victory or so it seemed. I couldn't help but wonder if a little part of me had just died inside. I pondered this, while simultaneously hustling over to get a quote from him as the rest of the media closed in on him. But Boyington pointed to me as the rest of the media gathered round him. He said "You, the short fella, you get to ask me the first question; I like your style." I smiled in acknowledgment. Hurriedly, I asked Boyington "How do you feel about the outcome of this?" Boyington shrugged happily. "Everything went better than expected." Another journalist, a redhead in a crummy red blazer raised a hand. Boyington pointed to her, asking "Yes, Red?" The redhead cleared her throat, obviously perturbed by his remark, then asked. "What makes this a victory? If it is indeed a 'victory'?" Boyington shook his head bitterly. "Garrison was a stoolie and selling our organization's secrets to the highest bidder; bidders who would like nothing more than to see me go under."
"What kinds of secrets?" One young journalist asked. "Well if I told you then it wouldn't be a secret, Einstein." The young journalist clammed up, his eyes downcast in a sort of "no, duh" shame that only a rookie can feel. "Will there be a memorial service, and who will be holding the service?" yet another reporter shouted. Boyington shrugged and replied "I dunno, his family I guess" with earnest apathy.
After fielding a few more questions, Boyington unceremoniously left for his car, escorted by his security. In the hustle, I managed to get the attention of Park, who looked me up and down bitterly. I smiled, making a vain attempt to put on the charm and asked "Will Mr. Boyington be attending the memorial?" Park shook her head and replied "According to executive scheduling, we are always having better shit to do anyway." With that, she brusquely turned and followed Boyington into his car.
(Coming Soon, tell your chums)
