Richard's Point of View
"Shit!" The phone vibrated in his pocket.
Dreading what the message could be, Richard delayed taking out his phone as long as he dared, which was about thirty seconds.
"They want me at work," he muttered, reading the text like it was his own death warrant. "How'd I ever get myself into this situation?"
Richard Fairchild used to fancy himself quite the policy wonk. With a degree in economics from the University of Chicago and the student loans to prove it, he'd come to Washington with big ideas and big dreams. The only problem? He was flat broke.
There were signs here and there. Other staffers let things slip, vague allusions to trust funds or their dad paying their rent. Meanwhile, Richard was making hard choices about skipping meals, sometimes going whole days without eating. It was Washington's dirty little secret. Salaries for junior congressional staffers were simply not enough to live on, not in this economy. Politics just didn't pay, a job for rich kids now.
And the work? Don't even get him started. He spent more time getting coffee for people that actually mattered than on anything substantial. Even when they had him doing actual research that was relevant to real legislation, the bill was pre-written by lobbyists, and nobody bothered to read it anyway.
Is this really how our government works?
Turned out, the answer was yes.
He managed to stick it out for six months, until the stress of a low-paid, long-hours job accumulated to the point that he was dealing with depression and panic attacks.
So, one day, he didn't feel like getting out of bed and just...didn't show up to work, ghosting the job completely. Nobody even bothered to check on him, shows how much he mattered, zero.
On the third day, the need to eat food and not be homeless finally got him out of bed. As luck would have it, one of the dingier gay bars on Capitol Hill needed a new bartender. Walking in random places and asking for work was surprisingly effective. The boomers were right. Who knew?
Richard had never been fully closeted. Pretty much everybody in his life knew he was gay, including his hard ass dad who was surprisingly cool about it. You're a real one, Dad.
Daddy didn't have money, though, and acceptance didn't pay the bills. Bartending did!
Once he ditched the drab suits, got a haircut, and learned to dress a little better, your boy Richard was raking in the tips. Life was good! He could afford to eat every day! Then he helped someone in need. Big mistake.
It was a slow night. A few regulars trickled in, friendly faces he made occasional small talk with, but Richard was still bored out of his mind, counting down the minutes until closing time.
"Help me!" begged a man desperately.
The man left a puddle behind when he burst through the door. He was soaked. Red hair so dark it was almost brown clung wetly to his forehead. Was it raining outside? Richard didn't notice.
"Okay, buddy, calm down. Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?" Richard tried to remember that online emergency training he skimmed when he was hired.
"You've got to hide me! They're coming!"
Hide from what? Who's coming? Richard wanted to ask questions but the guy sounded so rattled he just quietly led him to the back and gave him a towel to dry off. Once the man calmed down Richard fully intended to send him on his way, somebody else's problem.
Not two minutes later, three imposing men in perfectly dry, immaculately cut silk suits barged in, eying the bar and its patrons suspiciously.
"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?" Richard asked, trying to sound professional.
One of the men, presumably the leader, gave a noncommittal grunt. They were clearly looking for someone. The wet man?
"Did anyone come in here?" one of them asked gruffly.
The short tone pissed Richard off. "A lot of people come in here. Who's asking?"
Cold black eyes stared him down and one of the men reached a hand inside his jacket. Did I just fuck up?
Apparently not, since the three men exchanged silent looks, gave the bar a final once over, and left.
Phew...that was intense.
Would that it ended there, for Richard's troubles were just beginning.
The wet man took Richard's hand in his. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he repeated. "You've done me, and my organization, a favor." He handed Richard a card. "If you ever need help, call this number."
Richard had no intention of ever doing that, but he pocketed the card out of politeness, and showed the wet man the way out, the back way.
As fate would have it, Richard never needed to call this "organization". They called him! Somehow they got his number, and wired several thousand dollars to his bank account as a "service fee".
What did I get myself into?
The money was good at least. It started out as favors: dropping off a package, letting strangers use the bar as a meeting place, that kind of thing.
Things fundamentally changed when the wet man, er, the redhead, brought his date to the bar.
Pretty hot guy, Richard noticed. He was tall, with high cheekbones, and dressed a lot nicer than was usual for that particular establishment.
"So this is the dive you like to hang out at?" the man scoffed.
Hey buddy! It ain't much but it's paying work!
Red's date had certain misgivings, but Richard was a good wing man. He let them have a drink on the house, played his "friendly neighborhood bartender" act to put him at ease, and did everything he could to make Red seem cool and help him get laid. It was the least he could do.
Richard was such a good wing man that Red started bringing all his dates to the bar, a different man every time, and never the same guy twice.
Damn, this dude gets around. Not that Richard was judging! He never commented on how Red was such a player. Maybe he should've asked more questions.
Now he was a member of "The Corps", pretty much The Dark Brotherhood from the Alter Scrolls games. At least, that's what he thought they were.
Red's job pitch made it sound so exciting, so adventurous, so sexy. In his three months at this job Richard hadn't had a single sexy adventure! More like terror!
He still had nightmares about the blonde widow, Alice in slasherland, ventilating Connor Oswald seconds after he received the best blowjob of his life. That girl was scary.
Alice was a stone cold killer. Looking back, was Red the same? From what he understood, it was the same honey trap MO.
It was horrible to think about. Was he really cut out for this? Alice had been so casual about the whole thing. One second Connor was alive and breathing and then BAM! He was bleeding out on the apartment floor. Alice didn't even blink. Alice was...was...
RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!
"Oh, hey Dick," she said conversationally as they walked into the day spa, "headquarters".
I really hate it when she calls me "Dick".
He followed her inside only to be greeted by "Dahlia", his boss.
"Richard, Alice! So nice of you to come, my dears!"
Yeah, like I have a choice.
"How's Brad and the kids?" Alice asked.
What followed was five minutes of the most surreal small talk of Richard's life. Dahlia (not her real name) had four children, a husband in the Navy, and they were trying for one more before they got too old. If you weren't paying attention, Dahlia was a mistress of assassins! Alice was a killing machine! She sure loved her boyfriend, though!
Why me...
"So, was Stevie Burke one of ours?" Alice asked meaningfully.
Dahlia looked like she thought about it for a second. "Information like that is compartmentalized, likely not. Too public. The Corps prefers something with a bit more finesse."
Alice nodded along, seemingly accepting that conclusion.
Jesus, you two! That happened a day ago! You're talking about it like the weather! Not normal!
"I'm sure you're both wondering why you're here," Dahlia finally got to the point.
"I usually work alone," Alice said. "We need Dick here to assist?"
Stop calling me Dick!
"Exactly right, my dear." Dahlia handed them both a dossier. "The target actually hasn't been decided. Our instructions are to infiltrate the campaign of Rebecca Rodriguez-Cooper."
The one running for president? Richard was stunned. He thought the Corps mostly dealt with small-fry. This is going to be dangerous as hell.
"Oh, RRC?" Alice said brightly. "Alex said he was going to vote for her in the primary."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "Alice, Alice," she chided. "We can't be playing favorites. Democrat? Republican? Socialist? Moderate? The Corps has done jobs for them all at different times. This assignment comes from the highest level."
"A target's a target," Alice said dismissively.
Their boss' glasses sank low on her nose. "Good attitude," she said approvingly. "Target selection will take place at a later date. Richard here will be inserted into the RRC campaign to gather intelligence and help us pick one for maximum impact."
"Why not RRC herself?" Alice asked bluntly.
Dahlia shook her head. "Too high profile, and she's still of use. The Powers That Be want her to drop out of the race, but still alive. You," she pointed to Richard, "will figure out how to make that happen."
"Don't I get a say in this?" is what he wanted to ask, but Richard knew better. His fate was sealed. "Give me the details," he said in resignation.
"Just like your dossier says, Richard dear. You are to infiltrate the Rodriguez-Cooper campaign. We've got you an interview to be her economic policy advisor. Your background indicates you're qualified. She needs a platform before Super Tuesday, so I suggest you get to work. Once you're close, start evaluating the people around you. Figure out what buttons to push, who is critical, who is superfluous, that kind of thing. Is there any single person we could hit to torpedo the whole campaign? If there is, you'll be the finger man for Alice. We won't deploy her until she's got a target. This is a long term assignment, lasting potentially all the way to the Democratic National Convention. But between us? It would be better if you could wrap things up before then."
Geez, no pressure. At least I don't have to kill anybody. He just nodded and started studying his information packet. There was nothing to say.
"Going too long without a target will be a problem for me, Dick. Don't waste any time," Alice said sternly.
Just what did I do to make her hate me? Richard wondered. "I'll get right on it."