Assassination By Association.

This is a work of fiction, inspired by the fantastically close North Carolina Senate race in 2014.

The alarm woke him at 0430.  He swung his legs over the edge and sat groggily, aware only of the dark and the stench, emanating like a freshly opened sepulcher from his rotten mouth.  He smiled into the dark.  It would be a good day.

                Heaving himself to his feet he carefully groped through the hotel room to the tiny kitchen, snapped on the cool florescent light, dragged a small pot out of a grocery bag and placed it on the stove.  He tossed in four garlic cloves and some dehydrated anchovies he’d picked up at the Korean market.  He snapped the burner on medium and dumped in a jar of dill pickle brine.  Reaching into the bag he pulled out a plastic quart container, splashed in a healthy dollop of whiskey and stirred in a smear of limburger cheese.  The space filled with the odor of unwashed feet and burnt corn. 

                He sat naked at the writing table, reviewing his calculations from the night before.  He was certain his counterpart was making the same preparations up in Raleigh right now.  The things we do for friends, he chuckled to himself.  It was Election Day, and the Tillis party meant to win.

                There are nine million people in North Carolina.  Statistically, maybe half would cast a vote. Of the four-point-five million voting, easily a third lived in two counties, Mecklenburg (home to the banking center of Charlotte) and Wake (center of NC government in Raleigh) - one million four hundred eighty-five thousand voters in each county.  Up to today, the polls showed those voters closely split along party lines, seven hundred thirty-nine thousand Republicans, seven hundred forty-five thousand Democrats, with a few Asheville Libertarians thrown in.  Republican Thom Tillis, the capitalist’s contestant, was up against incumbent Democratic Senator Kay Hagan, the working man’s champion.  Thom’s top lieutenants were sent to break the tie: if they each could sway .5% of the voters their way, just six thousand, four-hundred twenty-five hesitant sheep, the rest would be history. It was a desperate number that called for desperate measures. Last day – Election Day - it was time the gloves came off, time for fourteen straight hours of foul, furious, fevered stumping; time to find out what issues constituents really cared about!

                The brine began to bubble; he heaved to his feet, shambled to the stove top and scooped the softened garlic and fish into the cheese-liquor gravy, swirling it quickly a few times.  He popped on a lid, placed it carefully in the bag, and padded toward the bathroom to perform his morning ablutions. He shaved with his electric razor, because he wanted an early five-o-clock shadow, but used a blade to make a small nick near his Adam’s apple, to which he applied a dot of tissue. He washed his face then blew his nose, leaving one small, white booger just visible in the stiff, tangled hairs. He checked the mirror.  Perfect. 

                He dressed quickly in a dark, tailored suit, red silk tie with a matching kerchief peeking from the left breast pocket, Baume and Mercier black alligator watch, black leather Ferragamo shoes bossed to a liquid shine and a large “I Heart Kay Hagan” button on the right lapel – he knew most right-handed people will look to the right when they shake hands.  He slipped a small spritzer bottle filled with saline into his coat pocket.  He loaded his Oldsmobile with the redolent grocery bag, a tent, two tables, boxes of Kay Hagen pamphlets, two bags of cheap Dum-Dum suckers, and most importantly, a kerosene heater.  He stood a moment taking stock, smiled grimly, slammed down the trunk lid and slid behind the wheel.  He took a big breath: Show Time!

                Voters lined the sidewalk at the downtown library despite the early hour, shivering in the cold; breath hanging in the air as they murmured.  He backed his car into a slot near the entrance and greeted them cheerily as he popped the trunk. The nodded and watched as he removed the tables and tent, breaking into applause as the heater appeared.  He chatted amiably while nimbly erecting his display, the heater tucked in back.  Once the tables were covered with brilliant red Vote for Kay Hagen cloths he dumped out the Dum-Dums and messily spread the pamphlets.  With his back to the spectators he surreptitiously peeled off the lid from the noxious concoction and placed it at the base of the heater, hidden behind the bold tablecloths; the foul stench of kerosene and garbage-heaped tidal flats immediately suffused the small tent.  Coughing a little, his eyes watering, he moistened his hands with the saline then turned to the crowd with a fatuous, beefeater grin and invited them to share his warm tent.  They shambled over, red cheeks wreathing smiles of gratitude, crowding into the tiny space.  He performed a few damp handshakes then launched into his canned speech praising Senator Hagen’s 98% record of voting with Obama, her “reaching across the aisles” to encourage bipartisanship, her tireless efforts on behalf of education reform.   Silent glee spread through his chest on observing the smiles fade in the front row, replaced with gasps and flailing elbows as they fought against the press from behind, casting occasional horrified looks over their shoulders at the moss covering his teeth and the booger shining in his dark, hirsute nostril like a beacon.

                That scene played a continuous loop throughout the day: thousands swarmed in and just as quickly stumbled out.  The unnerved escapees would gulp fresh air and whisper together as they hurriedly made their way to the Vote for Thom Tillis tent where Thom’s friend and fellow Little League coach - the handsome and gregarious Senator Jeff Tarte - held forth on Thom’s virtues over hot chocolate and fresh snicker doodles while two heaters blasted in the background.

When the polls closed the lieutenant was hoarse and his hands were pruney, but he had nearly as many suckers and pamphlets as when he’d begun.  He was smiling as he wearily packed up the tent, trashed the brine solution, loaded his car in the dark and headed to the hotel. He undressed quickly, stuffed his clothes into trash bags, took a long, hot shower and collapsed into bed.

He was snoring deeply at 11:30 p.m., when the winner of the North Carolina Senate race was announced: Thom Tillis carried the vote by 48.8% over Kay Hagen’s 47.3%, the closest race in NC history.  Ms. Hagen was teary and a bit befuddled during her concession speech – the polling numbers up until that morning had her victorious by a slim margin – what had changed the people’s minds?

  Senator Tillis isn’t above quoting the occasional folksy aphorism, but there’s one in particular he swears by: Bad Company Corrupts Good Character.  Hot limburger liquor and re-constituted pickle-fish don’t help much, either!