Political Pressure

7

Dr. Donald Lamble watched the replacement governor mumble his way through a press conference, his head hanging sorrowfully.

"He is talking to his shoes, not the reporters," Lamble observed.

"A shameful performance," agreed Dr. Lamble's campaign manager as she used a drapery steamer on his lapel. One corner wanted to curl. "Nobody is going to believe he's sorry about it," she added. "Best thing that could have happened to him."

"Yes. Exactly," Lamble said. The lieutenant governor had profited greatly from the screw-ups of his predecessor, including landing in the governor's seat when the scandal-plagued Bryant announced he would resign months before his term was scheduled to end. Bryant's death meant the lieutenant governor's chances of being indicted as party to the corruption scandal were greatly reduced, plus it gave his own administration credibility he would have otherwise lacked—and that added legitimacy to his campaign to be elected to a full term.

"The idiot thinks he has to look mournful," Lamble observed. "What he really should do is come out swinging. Tell the state they are better off without that man Bryant. Ouch!"

His campaign manager mercilessly triggered hot steam into the stubborn lapel, scalding his chest in the process. Lamble stood as straight as an arrow and grimaced through the pain. She wouldn't have stopped if he asked her to, and he wouldn't have asked her to. After all, he had to look sharp. He had to be perfect. Nobody could be cleaner cut than Dr. Donald Lamble. If he had to endure a minor burn to get his lapels to fall into place, then he would endure it.

His campaign manager, third cousin and occasional lover, nodded in satisfaction and stepped back, appraising Lamble critically. "Looking good."

"You're the best, Madge."

She flicked his nose sharply with one finger. "Contractions are for junkyard rabble!"

Lamble flinched. "Sorry. You are the best, Madge."

"Thank you. I know. Now go show them how it is done."

Dr. Donald Lamble was the picture of confidence when he stepped out into the crowded little room in his campaign headquarters. His campaign staff and volunteers applauded politely, but there was no mistaking the excitement in their eyes. They were Lamble's people.

They believed in him and his message. That faith was his fuel.

He greeted them with smiles, his backbone ramrod straight. He didn't need to be a humble man. He was a man with a message he knew was right, and there was no need to be humble about taking the ethical high road.

Only a few reporters were on hand, and Lamble knew that others had been turned away at the door. That was one of the techniques from the White Hand Book. It seemed like bad public relations until you thought it through.

Reporters were just nosy troublemakers who liked nothing more than getting what they couldn't have. The practice of letting in just a few journalists for important press conferences made Lamble's events all that much more newsworthy. The local media had begun getting competitive about who could and who should get in to his media events.

The other purpose was more subtle. No reporter, however jaded, however politically disenfranchised, could remain unenthusiastic when he was surrounded by a crowd of supporters. Today the handpicked media were all those who had begun to lean in Lamble's direction. He needed sympathetic ears -for what he was about to say. But the White Hand Book said this was the time for it. Lamble believed in the White Hand Book— he had faith in it. You had to have faith in the book to have faith in the party, because without faith there was only failure.

Lamble smiled, the picture of self-assurance, tolerating not even a glimmer of doubt to flutter through his head as he thanked his campaign staff and the reporters and launched into his comments on the assassination of governor Bryant.

"The violence visited upon the governor of our neighbor state today was a horror," he said. "But what we have witnessed today is a perfect example of how bad government is ruining this great nation. Ironically, Governor Bryant was a victim of the very violence that his corrupt administration allowed to flourish unchecked."

There was a murmur among the people. The reporters who had shown signs of being Lamble converts were now showing suspicion and surprise. Saying bad things about the recently deceased was a big political no-no.

No need to worry. The idea was on the table. Time to convince the people, including the reporters, to see the message in the same light as Lamble.

"Governor Bryant was a man who furthered his career through the corruption of his elected office. There are more than sixty corruption counts in the charges brought against his former staff, and yet Governor Bryant claimed he knew nothing of it."

Lamble knew what every person in the room was thinking—Bryant was never charged with any crime...

"My Washington sources tell me, in fact, that an indictment against Governor Bryant was delivered two days ago and ordered sealed by the courts—a legal stipulation that becomes null when the defendant dies. Therefore I can reveal now that this man was charged by the government of the United States with twenty- seven counts of corruption, racketeering, and misuse of public funds. These charges extend beyond the campaign scandal of his secretary of state term and include accepting bribes in exchange for state contracts, for state jobs, and for the commutation of harsh prison sentences against convicted murders."

There was a buzz in the room. There had been speculation of such things throughout the brief stint of Bryant's term as governor, and now there was confirmation. If Lamble said it, then it had to be true. If it was true, then Bryant was indeed a bad, bad man.

"Governor Bryant brought corruption into the highest office in his state. He made his own self-interests more important than the welfare of his people. He put murderers on the streets to make himself rich. He put his friends into jobs for which they were not qualified, then took kickbacks. These are not rumors or speculation, but the very words of federal prosecutors as written in charges against the governor."

The reporters were practically drooling and the campaign workers' eyes were shimmering with excitement.

"Governor Bryant allowed corruption to fester in his state, creating an environment for violence to thrive, and that violence killed him," Dr. Lamble intoned. "Is it any surprise?"

"No," answered some in the crowd.

"And this violence was visited upon him in the minutes before he could commit the most egregious and self-aggrandizing act of his administration—putting even more violent criminals on the streets," Lamble said. "I call it just deserts."

The applause was more than polite. They were actually buying it. "The message is this," Lamble said. "Those who live by corruption will die by corruption."

"Excuse me, Dr. Lamble," interjected one of the reporters.

Lamble made a show of stopping with his mouth open, smiling, clearly not taking offense at the interruption. His people would take offense for him. "Yes, Mr. Rode?"

"Are you saying you condone this violence?"

"Not at all."

"Are you saying that vigilantism is an unacceptable method of removing politicians from office if they are perceived as being corrupt?"

"No, Mr. Rode. When a Mafia boss is gunned down by a rival crime Family, that is poetic justice. When a gangbanger has one of his own cheap guns blow up in his face, that is poetic justice. And when Governor Bryant is assassinated along with a bunch of convicted murderers and rapists, it is poetic justice."

As smooth as silk, Lamble thought, as the applause filled the room. People were whistling. People were shouting. Their faces shone with their adoration. Even the rude reporter was nodding as he jotted down his messages and checked his audio recorder. It was a bold message and Lamble had delivered it perfectly.

Man, did he know how to push the good people's buttons or what?