Final Escort

President Miller stood at the window of the oval office. He held a drink in his hand and stared out over the lawn. Early results were in and, unless some miracle occurred, it was over. Even with all the scheming, the cheating, the lying, even with every dirty trick in the book, it seemed to be over.

Kiley sat silently on the overstuffed pink sofa. There was nothing helpful he could say.

“So, I’m a lame duck, is that it?”

“Sir, it’s not over yet. Some late tabulations could be in your favor…”

“But there’s not enough to make a difference. It has to be close. That’s what you told me, remember?”

Kiley nodded.

“I’m gonna lose by 15 points. That’s what it looks like…”

Kiley nodded with a slight shrug.

“And now I have to stick around doing this shit-ass job for the next two and half months.”

“You don’t really have to do much.”

“I didn’t want this job in the first place, you know that, right?”

“Sir, you did a great job-”

“Yeah, sure. By the way, where was my angry mob? Where was my civil war, or at the very least, my civil unrest?”

“You didn’t want that, that was just a form of getting out the vote.”

“Yeah, that worked out great. The only vote we got out was the opposition.”

“Kinda backfired, didn’t it?”

“Yes, Kiley, it did. Don’t look so smug.”

“To be honest, I doubt if anything was gonna work. The pandemic wasn’t your fault.”

“The fuckin’ pandemic. Sometimes I think I have the worst luck.”

Except for being born with millions.

“So, I’m supposed to concede, is that it? And I’m supposed to do it with grace, is that it?”

“And then you can relax. You can take your foot off the gas pedal,” said Kiley.

“And lose my get out of jail free card…”

“Presidents don’t go to jail, nor do ex-Presidents. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Are you sure because the last thing I want is some time in prison. I only have so much time left. Look at me.” Miller looked tired, in fact he looked exhausted.

“I think I’m going to bed. I have a long day of conceding and looking like an asshole in front of the entire world. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Miller turned with a wave and then turned back and pointed at Kiley. “And, remember, win or lose I’m going to the Bahamas on Thursday. Maybe I’ll play a little golf…”

Tom Kiley nodded and President Walter Miller left the room.

Kiley knew it was over, he knew there was no chance. Their own internal polls, no matter how you saw them, demonstrated that. Hopefully, Miller would be able to pull it together.

Kiley figured Miller was more worried about being broke than prison, anyway. The idea of no longer being a rich man was galling. It was his whole identity. To go from a billionaire King of the World to a broke commoner. Kiley didn’t see how Miller was gonna take it.

But, soon, that problem would no longer be Kiley’s problem.

Kiley couldn’t sleep. The votes kept arriving in the form of texts on his open laptop. Unfortunately, there was no miracle comeback. If anything the totals had only gotten worse. Secretly, Kiley was happy to see it over. The money was good but Miller was such a jackass to work for.

Miller had never stopped hustling but not for the good of the American people. His tax problems that everyone had assumed were true were now out in the open for everyone to see in black and white.

His behind-the-scenes terribly inappropriate comments about the military and religious leaders and even his own followers had been revealed in numerous books by those once theoretically close to Miller. The curtain had been pulled back and what the public saw was not pretty.

He’d gone from a virtual tie to a fifteen point deficit in less than six months. Almost everything he’d tried had backfired spectacularly - and no one could tell him anything.

He’d never run for office until he’d decided to run for President. His political instincts were nil and they didn’t improve over time. He thought he was the ultimate genius politician, but Kiley saw him as literally the worst politician he’d ever seen. And the dumbest part was, he never got any better because he never learned.

Kiley stayed up a few more hours checking his phone and watching the various news networks looking for some signs of life.

Where were Miller’s flying monkeys? Did they really exist? Kiley knew why they didn’t show up. Ultimately, most of ’em were virtual tough guys, not actual tough guys. Most of ’em talked about how great it was to own the libs but that was as far as it went. Screwing with the libs was one thing, but going to jail for Miller was quite another.

So, the charge of the whites brigade had fizzled out. Very few who signed up showed up and those that did were generally arrested. Because Miller had proudly announced what he was up to when it came to cheating the vote, his supporters couldn’t act even if they wanted to. The numbers on how many actually existed was also suspect. Probably most of them were bots that apparently existed just to prove that Miller had supporters. Tik-Tok teens had also been suspected, they’d pranked Miller a few times.

Ultimately, some people did vote for Miller because there was no danger in that. Just not enough people.

Kiley woke up to his alarm and immediately checked his phone. No miracle had occurred. The media, even Fox had declared Miller a one term President.

Only one tweet was on Miller’s Twitter feed, “Fake news!!!” Shockingly, he hadn’t conceded yet. The tally with eighty-four percent of the vote counted was Chapman 57% and Miller 39%, not near close enough for a recount. It was over.

Kiley wished Miller would just give it up and do the right thing, but that wasn’t something Miller liked to do - the right thing, that is. Kiley expected at least another week of childish behavior and denial.

However, maybe his Bahamas trip will calm him down a bit, maybe he’ll come to grips with some semblance of reality. Unlikely, but maybe. At this point, Kiley didn’t really care. It’s all over on January 20th and somebody normal would be president. The chaos would be over, at least for the time being.

“Yeah, I’m afraid it’s only getting worse. You probably should just concede at this point,” said Kiley.

“What if I never concede? What can they really do?”

“Escort you out of here, possibly in cuffs if you don’t go quietly.”

“I doubt it…” said Miller.

“That’s the procedure.”

“The secret service won’t do that, not to me.”

“You seem to be under the illusion that the guys in the secret service actually care about you. I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Miller stood up and asked to no one in particular, “Where is the loyalty?”

“The secret service are loyal to the constitution.”

“Ya know, it ain’t too late for me to fire you.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, so go ahead,” said Kiley.

“Oh, I see. Now you’re all brave,” Miller said as he stood at the Oval Office window.

“It happens when one has less than 90 days on the job left, no matter what.”

Miller glared at Kiley and said, “Okay, you can go now. I’ll let you know when I need you.”

Kiley walked down the hall away from the Oval Office. He imagined Miller was worrying, worrying about his post presidency, the time when he was likely to face all kinds of legal issues, even ones where he might end up in prison.

Kiley knew he was unlikely to go to jail, even this President was unlikely to go to jail, but if any President were to go to jail, Kiley could see Miller being the first.

The more likely embarrassment was Miller going broke, losing properties, becoming the sort of disgrace Miller had spent his entire life avoiding. His chance to make things right during the last four years he’d somehow managed to fuck that up as well.

Kiley smiled. What a fuckin’ dumbass.

Kiley spent the next few hours in his office, sitting at his computer, watching the various news feeds. There were also three large screens high on the wall across from his desk - CNN on one, Fox on the second, MSNBC on the third.

He saw Roger Chapman smiling, waving, the crawl below his face declaring him the new President. It was hard to imagine that final total being beatable with 94% of the votes counted and Chapman currently holding a fifteen point lead. His electoral total was 457 and how could that possibly change in some way that could help Miller?

Sure, Miller could claim fraud and probably would since that was his go-to. Kiley had received a message that President Miller would be holding a Rose Garden press conference at three PM EST. Kiley imagined what a disaster that might be. The lies, the recrimination, the accusations, the blame. In other words, the usual.

Where were the armed and dedicated Millerites? It appeared to Kiley, his so-called tough guy armed militia were just a whole lot of internet tough guys, paper tigers as it were. Of course, Miller did exactly the wrong thing by pointing a spotlight on these people. Shockingly, although undoubtedly Miller fans, these fans didn’t want to end up in jail. So, they ran scurrying into the shadows when that light came on. And, once again, Miller had been fuckin’ stupid and counterproductive.

It was almost three and the cameras were pointed at the podium in the Rose Garden. Miller walked into the screen from the right. He was dressed in a blue suit. There was a light breeze, his dark brown hair occasionally moving with a gust of wind.

Miller stepped up to the podium, and leaned into the microphone. “Hello everyone. How are you doing?” He smiled.

Kiley sat straight up in his chair.

“Everybody OK? Yeah? Glad to hear it. Anyway, I’m here to congratulate our new President, Roger Chapman, and to wish him well. I’m sorry we didn’t win but we didn’t and it’s time for me to concede.”

The crowd of reporters audibly gasped.

Kiley leaned forward in disbelief.

“Yep. It’s time for the next guy. And everybody, I’ll see you soon. I’m still here for another almost three months.” Miller abruptly left the microphone and quickly walked back in the White House, waving as he went.

Kiley could hear a rising din of voices in the hallway. Someone knocked on his door with a quick rapping.

“Come in,” said Kiley, smiling.

“Did you hear?” said an aide.

“I did.”

“Nobody can believe it. What happened?”

“He grew the fuck up? Fuck if I know…”

The various talking heads on the various channels also seemed to be in shock. It seemed that everyone believed Miller would go off the deep end, that he wouldn’t be rational and reasonable. Everyone including Kiley.

In the past, Kiley had spent hours trying to cajole Miller into behaving, approaching situations with techniques that were helpful, rather than stupid and decidedly unhelpful, but he rarely cooperated or complied. Usually, any attempt would often start out half-hearted and then spiral out of control. And this was especially true when it would be so much easier if he’d just do the right thing.

“Anyway, I got stuff to do, so if you don’t mind?” said Kiley.

The aide left the room.

After about thirty seconds, Kiley started to think, what if this is total bullshit? He wasn’t the only one, he noticed postings already doubting Miller’s veracity.

A Fark headline read, Somebody pretending to be Miller acted like an adult and did the right thing. Another one asked, Who was that masked man?

Conservatives on Twitter weren’t having it. “Giving up so easily? Is this the a-hole we’ve dedicated our hatred to? Why Walter why? Did somebody put something in his Diet Coke?”

But, of course, what did Kiley expect? Where were the elaborate conspiracy theories? This was just disappointment in the form of angry posts. Kiley was still suspicious, but so far he saw nothing. It was just a feeling he had.

Miller continued to act uncharacteristically conciliatory, reasonable, and restrained. His followers continued to be dismayed, distraught, dazed, and confused. They had nowhere to put their hate. They were still ready to challenge the vote, to go all the way to the Supreme Court if they had to.

Miller’s tweets were respectful as if someone other than Walter Miller were writing them.