Jimmy Carter made it to 100. I wonder how the world would be different today if he had been elected to a second term as President, instead of losing to a Hollywood actor? We’ll never know. But a superb creative author might one day write a book, set in 2025, that proposes fictional answers to the question. I wish I had the creativity, skill, stamina, editorial support, and sufficient inclination to write that book. I don’t. I’d read it, though. Or listen to it being read. But the story might not be the one I’d like to permit to settle in my head. Right-wing fanatics might have begun their furious efforts to control the world years earlier. We might have had a President by now whose slogan was “Peace Requires a Pause in Democracy” or “Kill Soon or Die Sooner” or “Absolute Power is Absolutely Necessary.” Hmm. We’ll see whether one of those slogans is adopted in the year ahead.
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Plans for yesterday’s chemotherapy went awry, thanks to a 0.8 g/dL drop in my hemoglobin level. Any further drop (which chemo tends to cause) would necessitate another blood transfusion, which the oncology specialty nurse wanted to avoid; so did I. By the way, my oncologist was away on vacation; another oncologist from the practice was present in a supervisory capacity—it wasn’t like I was left with an trainee. So, instead, I was given more IV fluids (along with various other fluids to improve miscellaneous measures of my health) and told to return next week for chemo (assuming a hemoglobin improvement). No chemo yesterday means no post-chemo injection today; so, today, it’s just another radiation treatment. I had hoped the steroids (which I think were included in yesterday’s IV drip) would improve my energy. Alas, my early afternoon nap lasted from around 1 or 2 PM until about 4:30 this morning, with a couple of 2-minute breaks overnight.
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Ginger Pinkwell’s election as Guerneville’s mayor was a shock to Skazer Tartman, even more of a shock than Ginger’s recovery from her near-death experience five years earlier. The officer who shot her did not recover so well; he had been confined to a rehabilitation center, where doctors suggested he would remain until the rest of his organs failed. They said the taser had essentially fried the cop’s brain, cooked his heart to medium-rare, and seared holes in his stomach and intestines. The incident in front of King’s Sport & Tackle held the attention of the townspeople for more than a year. Initially, few people believed Ginger’s claim that she had absolutely no memory of the experience. But, when she finally testified in court, her testimony convinced the majority she was telling the truth. And the overwhelming majority of the people thought the cop had stopped Ginger Pinkwell at the unjustifiable direction of Skazer Tartman.
Pinkwell’s platform, while running for mayor, included the replacement of the Pinto Force, despite the fact that Tartman had kept them in perfect running condition during his term as chief of police. Pinkwell’s political manifesto not only called for retiring the Pintos from the police department, she wanted to replace them with brand-new Hondissan police cruisers. Tartman had publicly denounced the very idea.
“Hondissans are conservative-built trash! My Pintos were built to last—in union plants by union workers [no one ever bothered to check his claims, of course]. The only reason you see so few of them on the road is because of Ronald Reagan and his henchmen! These pieces of crap built by Hondissan are slow and unreliable. They were designed by Russian and North Korea motorcycle “experts” who were commanded to make them comfortable so cops would fall asleep driving them! My cars are rugged!”
Tartman’s scathing attack on Hondissans was modest, compared to his condemnation of Pinkwell. To him, Pinkwell was not only a danger to the fleet, but a serious menace to every single member of the police force…including Tartman.
“If that…woman…is elected, the citizens of Guerneville can kiss safety and security goodbye! She will purposefully dismantle the best fleet of police cars in the state—maybe the country—and replace it with foreign-built trash created to support criminal escape! And the real-world trained police officers you rely on now—and have relied on for years—will be replaced by wet-behind-the-ears college grads with bachelor’s degrees in sympathy and forgiveness! If she gets her way, Guernevillians had better be frightened of walking the streets, day or night! She doesn’t give a damn about you! She just wants power OVER you!”
Despite Tartman’s attacks on Pinkwell, she was elected. The moment the results were announced, Tartman began packing his office in preparation for his move to…somewhere else. He obviously would be ready to walk out the door the moment her inauguration was complete. But he was not quick enough. Before the ink was dry on the inaugural papers, the paperwork for hiring a new police chief and new officers was in place. And before Tartman could move on to…somewhere…he was escorted to the town jail by Oksana Esperanza Chusovitina, the new police chief and Ri Sol-ju, the new assistant police chief. Both the chief, whose friends called her Hope, and the assistant chief had been officers in Arcata, California. The assistant chief, known by her peers as Kimmy, was rumored to be Hope’s wife.
The local charges against Tartman were dropped within a matter of hours, replaced by Federal charges: sedition, terrorism, drug-trafficking, counterfeiting, and child pornography. Tartman immediately was transferred to the Sonoma County jail. Most of the charges were dropped within a day or two. Terrorism and drug-trafficking remained, though, for the duration of his fight against what he called “the most obscene case of injustice ever brought against an innocent man, goddamn it!”
(to be continued or forgotten)
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I see evidence, outside my window, that pink skies can morph into light blue. I have no proof, but I have belief.
