Chapter 15 –
How many thugs does it take to write a constitution?
When I woke the next morning, I found I could sit up with only moderate pain. Life was getting better. As I sat on the edge of my bed, I thought I might perform a series of minor miracles such as taking a shower and changing into clean clothes. I discovered the cleaning lady had been in, and she had provided me with a pile of clean towels and clean clothes. Not bad for a hundred year old lady. She had also laid my pistol right in the center of the clean towels. If there was going to be a gun in the room, it should be neatly and appropriately placed. Fair enough.
The shower took forever. I was glad I wasn't paying by the gallon. I also discovered when the attacker had knocked me down and kneeled on my chest, he had ground some gravel into the small of my back. The fact that I had gone thirty six hours without noticing showed just how damaged I had been. I washed out the gravel and cleaned out those punctures plus the punctures I still had from the fight on the boat. When had I gotten my last tetanus shot?
Back in my bedroom I managed to get more bandages on various cuts, and this day got all the way dressed, complete with socks. I might have done a happy dance when I got the second sock on, but I still couldn't lift my feet very high.
Getting downstairs for breakfast was an adventure, but I made it, and found Margaret waiting for me. She immediately took charge of me, starting by taking a comb out of her purse and combing my hair for me. I had remembered to put socks on, was I supposed to remember to comb my hair too? She led me to a table, sat next to me, and held my left hand while she ordered breakfast for both of us. Coffee arrived first, accompanied by two more aspirin. The hotel was still managing my medicines.
What did Margaret have to say? Lots. She was pretty much nonstop from the moment I made it down off the last step.
"Have you read the diaries I emailed to you? It might be a few day before I get back to the archives to find others."
"I have read through the one by Marat. Interesting man. He loses the love of his life, finds the love of his life, and in between sees the ugly aftermath of the second battle for the Ohio."
"The Marats of Biloxi. There are hundreds of them now. Most of them are shop keepers, but we even have a few in the LNA."
"I wonder if the LNA folks have read his diary. He seemed pretty disturbed by what he saw happened to the British troops."
"I don't think they are too worried. You Americans aren't planning on invading again, are you?"
"Well the joint chiefs don't clear their plans with me, but if they did, I would suggest they wait until the weather is a little cooler."
"Thank you. That would give us time to finish our constitution."
"Your constitution?"
"Every country has a constitution. That is where I was yesterday and where I will be today as soon as I am sure you are okay."
"You are writing a constitution?"
"No, I am one of the hostesses chosen by the party. The writers are the delegates from Louisiana, Arkansas, and Colorado." People don't really fall off their chair when they hear remarkable news, but it felt like my chair had disappeared from under me. Colorado? I had guessed Louisiana would try to get Arkansas to go out with them, but Colorado? For starters, who would want it? The poorest province in the county, it's where every loony went after their divorce or after getting fired yet again. The only natural resource in the province was anger. I knew Elise had made many efforts to woo Arkansas to not secede, but I had never heard her or anyone else make any mention of Colorado. The assumption had been they would stay with Green Bay since that is where their welfare checks came from.
While I was processing this news about Colorado, Margaret kept going.
"It is so exciting. Imagine being in the same room while a constitution is being written. The delegates are working so hard, and they are making great progress. They think they might have a document ready for ratification within a week. Imagine that. If the provinces act quickly enough, we could have an independence day in September."
"Yes, that seems very fast." How can I describe her that morning? She was talking fast, obviously excited. She was a vision in white, wearing a pure white silk dress with half sleeves, the white broken by a blue arm band on her left sleeve. White ribbons in her hair bounced as she talked. She kept squeezing my hand as she spoke, her body turned to me, seeming to want me to share the joy she was feeling. Breakfast - crepes - had come while she spoke. I pointed to the plates.
"The butter is from Wisconsin. The maple syrup is from Quebec. Are you worried about losing any of that?"
"We can import butter from Canada, or from America, or from California. Relax, Shawn. This will all be easier than you think. But now I must go. I am pleased you are feeling better. If you wish to watch the constitutional convention, it is all being live streamed on many web sites. This is the most transparent convention ever held. Here is one web site you might use." She pulled a very professional looking book mark from her purse and handed it to me. Then she gave me a very long kiss. With her arms still around my neck she whispered in my ear, "I will come see you tonight." She got up on the side of her chair closest to me, her skirts practically in my face, looked down at me with a smile, and then left. Every man with a heart beat watched her all the way to the door.
I sat immobilized at the table. Wow, she had an effect on men. When I could breathe again, I finished my breakfast. Butter from Wisconsin. That was the best argument I could make for not creating a new country? Good thing I was into history and not into politics.
I was curious about this constitutional convention. What did it look like? Why had I not known it was going on? I finished breakfast, went back to my room, and got my computer to the website Margaret had given me. In the process, I took a closer look at the book mark. This was not something that had been rushed into production. Plastic coated, it had the colors of the Heritage Party, and pictures of leading Heritage thugs. Andrees got the biggest likeness, but LeBeck was there too. They even called the bookmark a "commemorative souvenir" to be kept for "your grandchildren." These guys thought of everything.
The website was nicely done. There was a camera in the corner of the room that showed a large conference table surrounded by very ornate, antique chairs. This was to look like an historical event. On the walls were framed pictures of leading historical figures, interspersed with the current crop of thugs running the Heritage Party. Apparently the morning session had not started, but there were men walking around the room assuming serious poses, very much aware of the momentous undertaking they were engaged in. I wondered how long they had rehearsed to get their current facial expressions. For that matter, I wondered who had done their stage design. I had to believe Elise was wondering the same thing as she watched from computers monitoring events from Green Bay.
Besides the camera view of the room, the web site had onscreen buttons that led one to the current draft of the constitution, convention schedule, biographies of convention delegates, and the history of the Heritage Party. The latter made me wonder, were no other parties represented? Heritage did not even have a firm majority in Louisiana. I was pretty sure it was even less popular in Arkansas. As for Colorado, who knew? But how was it one party, and a minority party at that, could be drafting a constitution for a new country? Where were the other parties? Where were the other elected officials? This was all very odd, but I suppose it should not have been too surprising.
I checked the on-line schedule and saw the morning session would not begin for half an hour. In the meantime, I brought up the draft constitution to see what it entailed. What was I looking for? I suppose I expected something to jump out at me explaining how the top weasels were to get million franc monthly allowances, or something, but I could see nothing out of the ordinary. They had pretty well finished the sections on courts and legislatures. Those portions of the document were filled with edits an
d comments, all to demonstrate that this document was the work of many hours and careful deliberation. And I saw nothing out of the ordinary there. Each of the three main provinces would have a local branch of the national court, and each province would have substantial representation in the legislature. Even though Louisiana was far and away the most populous province, it made sure that Arkansas and Colorado would not be overwhelmed as legislation worked through the system. Unless I was missing something, the document looked pretty fair. If I were a citizen of Arkansas or Colorado, I would feel pretty comfortable with how well my rights and interests would be protected.
So at this point I had to admit one of two things was true. Either the Heritage thugs were actually honest people with the best interests of their fellow citizens at heart, or I was missing something. My money was on the second option, but I just couldn't find anything.
In the meantime, the room was filling up with delegates. Whatever store was selling white wool suits was cleaning up. Each delegate wore an identical suit and matching white shirt with a tie in the blue and white stripes of the Heritage Party. Maybe they just had a closet down the hall with a long rack of white suits and these guys just grabbed one as they got ready to go on stage. Interspersed among the white-clad men, were a few female delegates. They all wore the same shade of pale blue dress, silk by the look of it, so that as you looked at the long table of delegates you got the party colors. Subtlety was beyond the grasp of this bunch. The only thing they were missing was a constant rain of blue and white Heritage Party balloons descending from the ceiling. Okay, we get it. This is a Heritage Party event.
I counted thirty two delegates. Once they were all seated, there was a long -- very dramatic -- pause, and then Paul Andrees entered the room. Immediately all the delegates stood. He was wearing a darker blue suit to distinguish himself from the mere mortals. He stood behind his ornate carved wooden chair at the head of the table, and then asked the delegates -- and viewers at home - to join him in prayer. It was predictable, but it had the virtue of being short.
"Heavenly Father, bless the people in this room, give us wisdom as we seek to protect the citizens of our country, grant your blessings on this bountiful land as you have in the past. Amen." Maybe that was all he could manage to memorize. He then took his seat. To my surprise, his first act was to introduce Margaret.
"Citizens of Southland, as we discuss the details of governing this great new nation, we wish all people to witness our discussions and to participate in them. To that end, we have introduced a variety of technological vehicles for you. To explain those vehicles again, and to show you once again how you might participate in these deliberations, I introduce Ms. Margaret Riemard, Chief Archivist at the Louisiana Provincial Library, a noted historian who understands and works constantly to protect and honor the history of this fine region."
At this point Margaret stepped into the view of the camera. She was stunning. Some genius with lights and makeup presented her as well as any woman has ever been presented. She stood, her hands at her side, and spoke directly to the camera. How could anyone not listen to a person that beautiful?
"Once again today we will have cameras constantly on the room, so you can look and listen for yourselves as history is made. But as you should see on the screen now, we will also have an area for text messages. You can comment, and you can ask questions as this convention takes place. I will be your hostess for the audience participation area of the web, and I will attempt to answer questions where I am able, or I will catalog and refer your suggestions to the delegates. I have several assistants, and we will tabulate suggestions hourly and present them to the head of the delegate committee at the appointed time on the convention schedule." She then paused and smiled at the camera. "Thank you for participating in this historic moment for our nation." Wow. How could you not want to be part of a country that had her as its hostess? I was half ready to turn in my own passport.
Margaret disappeared from camera, but I quickly saw her name along the bottom of my screen in a new box marked "Text messages to delegates." She opened the box with "Margaret Riemard is ready for your questions and suggestions." They must screen the messages sent her way, because I would bet she instantly got a thousand men asking if she was free for dinner. The messages that made it to the bottom of the screen were more appropriate and began with many messages of thanks for the opportunity to comment, and congratulations to all for creating this fine new county.
Meanwhile, the weasels around the table got going on their deliberations. They were reviewing edits that had been suggested over night, and commenting with great pleasure on the helpful suggestions the citizens of the county were providing during this historic process. In other words, they were being as boring as hell. I found myself drifting from the comments and looking at the people around the room. They looked stiff and pompous, but there was nothing I could see that indicated they knew this was all a sham. Basically they looked exactly as you would expect them to look. Andrees sat looking paternal, rarely commenting other than to tell some delegate "That is a great point." Every motion of his face told the world, "You are in good hands with this strong leader at the helm of the ship of state."
If there was a misstep anywhere in this carefully choreographed political drama, I wasn't seeing it. But then I saw it. I was looking at who was in the room. I hadn't been noticing who was not in the room. LeBeck. Where was weasel number two? Wouldn't you think he would want face time before his adoring citizens too? Why was he not here? Even Rene Malroux was there representing Colorado. Surely if a lowlife like him could get a seat at the table, LeBeck could be there. I paged through the delegate biographies and saw he was not on the list. Why not? Was the party in the midst of a purge? Had Andrees decided he could go the final miles on his own?
I have to admit this was not one of my more productive days. I hadn't posted anything to my blog in days, and the second diary sat in my email inbox along with a couple thousand other messages I would probably never read. Instead, I sat and stared at the website. It was mesmerizing. I would listen briefly to the delegates discuss appeal courts, and then I would see a text message on the bottom of the screen that looked interesting, or I would read one of Margaret's responses. There was always just enough going on that I kept watching. I watched all morning, skipped lunch and watched all afternoon, and was still watching as they wrapped up for the day and Margaret came back on screen to sum up the number of messages received (over eleven thousand by her count), and the process that would be used to aggregate all main themes and communicate them to delegates.
I was still watching when the camera switched to a street scene. Apparently the delegates liked to stand out in the sun after a great day deciding the future of their country. There was an area outside the provincial courthouse they were using, a plaza with a few raised steps where they could stand together, shake hands in public, and let themselves be seen by adoring fans.
Most of them were assembled when the shooting began. In the replays shown thousands of times over the next days and weeks, you can see a fairly large sedan cruise down the street, pull up to the curb in front of the courthouse just as dozens of other cars had pulled over, only from this one three men emerge. Each is wearing body protection and is armed with an automatic weapon. They wait until all three are standing and ready, and then they open fire into the delegates. Their weapons set on full automatic. They empty their first clips into the delegates, then stand and reload. By the time they start firing their second clips, they are already being hit by return fire from a swarm of security guards who are running to the street, firing as they charge. But most of the second clips are fired in the direction of the delegates, and most of the rounds hit home. More delegates go down, and those already down take additional hits.
Having fired two full clips into the delegates, the assassins now turn to flee. Two take head shots before they get back to the car. One make
s the car, and he and the driver start down the street, only to be met by a continuous hail of gunfire from the guards who are now charging from every direction. The car is quickly disabled. Both men jump out of the car but are hit multiple times. They collapse on the street and are quickly surrounded by guards still pointing their weapons at the bodies.
Cameras from multiple angles now show the plaza where the delegates had assembled. The scene is horrible. Bodies are slumped down the stairs. I recognize Rene Malroux as one of them. Blood flows in streams in every direction. The wounded sit dazed, or sit screaming in pain. One man slowly collapses to the pavement, falling face-first down the stairs. And there, to one side, sits Paul Andrees, his arms wrapped around a woman who has been shot multiple times. The camera comes in closer to see he is crying, screaming really. And in his arms is Margaret Riemard.