It was late in the day, late in an off-year when I heard the soft tapping of knuckles on the… It was late in the day, late in an off-year when I heard the soft tapping of knuckles on the glass door. And then she walked into my office and changed my life forever. She was cool and calm despite the sweltering heat of a dying Texas sun. She was wearing a simple green dress and her perfume wafted over, mingling with the lingering cigar smoke.

“My name is not important,” she said in a throaty whisper, “and I need to make this quick: I’m in danger and I need your help, mister.”

This lady was a stunning beauty, and I am in the habit of helping stunning beauties. I told her to call me Tom, stumbling over the words as I drank in her figure, and inquired as to how I could assist her. I had come far from my bug-killing youth; with close to 15 years on the job, I had gained a great deal of sway in this backwater town. There was not much I couldn’t do and people knew that. She stared at me, sizing me up, but her request nearly made me laugh in her face.

“All you want me to do is deliver a briefcase to a campaign office?”

“Yes. But you can’t look inside because it definitely doesn’t contain $190,000 in illegal political contribution money.”

“I see,” I said. “What’s stopping you, honey?”

“Let’s just say the liberals in charge of Texas have made it difficult for folks like me to help make this state stay safe for conservatives. That and the liberal-controlled media that really exists is suffocating me with their constant scrutiny.”

It was all she had to say. I knew all about the excesses of the liberalism, and its spread through my state of Texas was a little-known cancer that was slowly killing my beloved home. Before you could have said “wartime tax cut,” I was on the case.

I needed to evade the clutches of the Reds in charge; I needed to cover my tracks and conceal my movements. Costly preparations were needed, but the nameless dame seemed to have no limit on what she would spend. She was committed to delivering that briefcase and I was committed to never paying for meals.

I decided the best way to move undetected was to operate by hosting dinners with empathetic business leaders. Under the guise of dinner, I would explain to them my situation and they would blithely agree to help, as long as I could return the favor sometime in the future. I agreed and they each drove me a length of the way in the trunks of their company cars, dropping me at motels farther and farther down the highway. The travel was rough, but I had seen rougher and I was getting closer to my final destination.

As I walked through the door of this latest motel room, my heart skipped a beat. She was sitting to the left of the broken television, smoking a Virginia Slim. I have a strict rule about mixing business and pleasure, but I had no problems bending the rules in the past, and I had no problems breaking them for her.

I awoke hung over, alone and without a goodbye. My heart was aching over this manipulative broad. She was everything I had ever wanted. She was –

My thoughts of growing old in her arms were shattered by the caterwauling of sirens. They were on to me! I darted out of bed and deftly put on my clothes. I had to escape. I grabbed the briefcase and ran for the bathroom window. As I passed the threshold of the water closet, the case struck the door jamb cracking it open and spilling its contents everywhere. Stacks of crisp Benjamin Franklins spilled onto the dirty carpet. I dropped to my knees, scooping as much of the money as I could into its black leather recess, but it was hopeless. Before I could get a single stack into the case, the police started kicking at the door, splintering the mildewed wood. It was fight or flight time and I wasn’t used to the former, so I ran into the bathroom and scurried out the window.

As I ran from the motel my mind raced. It was a setup! I had been had. Blinded by the looks of a looker, I was unwittingly duped into committing criminal acts. I finally understood what was hidden in her words. The money was $190,000 in illegal political contributions! How could I have known?

I had to think fast. My fingerprints had to be all over the place. I felt hopeless, hopeless like a minority effectively disenfranchised by politically-biased redistricting. I hope my cellmate doesn’t like to cuddle.

This tale by Arun Butcher is brought to you by the giant elephant in the room that is the deterioration of American democracy. E-mail him at [email protected].