The Retirement Party - Dime Story 1

This story was born by a single rhetorical question a friend of mine posed a while back: "What will happen when all of these home schooled children grow up and enter society?"

Anyway, thought I'd pay you all back for the enjoyment and knowledge I've gained in your stories.

All comments are welcome and appreciated.


Former President George Ryan stepped to the oak podium in the darkened auditorium, gently striking his glass with the silver knife as he smiled at his wife on the dais with him. The packed room slowly quieted, he seemed to feed on this moment, the moment when all surrounding him concentrated on what he was about to say, lent him their precious attention for this small piece in their lives. They stood as much for the toast as for respect for the de-facto leader of this great cabal.

The hall now to attention he raised his glass of champagne high above his head as if its height might speed his words to the Almighty's ear sooner. When the shifting of chairs had quieted, and all stood awaiting him, he continued.

"Brothers and Sisters, Ladies and Gentlemen, Citizens, I raise my glass this night in toast to you and ask that you do likewise." The President turned now to the flag of the Republic standing prominently on the side of the stage.

President Ryan closed his eyes now, I found this a trait that he and I shared as we were in moments of deep thought. It calmed the mind and focused the spirit. My hand found itself searching out that of my beautiful bride, to assure myself in some small way that she was still there with me in this important time. I always found the need to make sure she was still there when important moments were afoot.

"A toast, to the great Experiment, its Citizens, and the Lord Almighty who has seemed fit to bless this country.

Now a toast to you my brothers and sisters who have given so much to the great Republic.
To our parents most of whom now look down on us, part of the great chorus on high, we thank them for their ingenious foresight, bold action, and commitment in the great time of trials. For their plan, conceived starting this very night in this very room thirty years ago.

To the unnamed man on the street, that our guidance may pierce his heart with its wisdom and truth.

And finally, to our children, that they may dream bigger, and achieve greater goals, and have the grip to hold on to the gift we have given back to them.

Salut!"

"To God and Republic" answered back the room. Glasses were drained, smiles and hugs exchanged and we returned to our seats.

The low murmur returned to the room. I smiled and kissed my bride of twenty years, and wiped the tears from my eyes. I could hardly believe that so much time had passed, that so much work had been done, and yet, so little blood spilled in this great endeavor.

Our retirement party, the very though chilled me for some reason. The thought that my duty was done, and that this was the time to step aside seemed premature. Was the new generation ready? Had we taught enough in one generation to overcome the learning of so many other generations before them?

I closed my eyes and tried to remember my parents, all those nights ago, thirty years. It was hard now, time erases some of those memories, much to my dismay. I could see the room, the people, but I couldn't hear my mothers or fathers voices, those loving sounds were lost now, not to be regained I suppose until I joined them in the great choir. I opened my eyes again now.

To my left, my lovely wife Jiselle, to my right, my best friend of all those years ago, Julian Right. He smiled at me just as my wife had, his arm around his bride of one year, and gently raised his glass in my direction.

I returned the gesture and leaned closer. "I guess this is it my friend." He smiled and patted my shoulder.

"A rest well deserved."

I smiled back weakly, thinking of the sacrifices that he had made over those years.

The murmur, it struck me now, the murmur was the same now as it was then. The toaster was different, then John Paul Ryan Senior, we hadn't dared gather together in those dark years between when the grand plan was born and today, and our parents wouldn't allow it. They had sacrificed much, some had changed names, some had moved from this, their home, sold family farms over one hundred years old, some had hidden their true religion. Now we felt safe though.

Our retirement party. The very concept made me shudder. What now? I didn't like fishing, my hobbies of youth were long shelved in the pursuit of our ultimate goals. I guess I would just sit back and watch the grand opera of which we had played the opening symphony.

I stood up, feeling the need to move, and walked through the room.

I'm intrigued! I hope comments are ok, here in the story. I did not see a thread just for comments (course I did not look very well either, lol)

I think I may need .....oh say...... four or five more installments to decide for "sure" if I like it or if I love it. ;)

Very good start! In fact, I don't know why, but it brought tears to my eyes.

Oh, and if you don't want comments here, just let me know and I'll move them to a comment thread.

Yes I agree a few (or lot) more installments :).

thanks need more now, please

Veeeeeley interesting.

Thank you.

This seems to be a start of a great story. Your words are already painting pictures. Please give us more and thank you.

Thanks for those kind comments. Go ahead and keep them on this thread.

Part 2

To the right of the dais, Father George Gregoire, and Sister Angela Gregoire. Retired now and free to profess their love for each other. They were the odd couple out. They never had to perform the duties they trained all of their lives for, and I thanked God for it, for they were called Hammer and Tong respectively. The Father a trained sniper, expert in surveillance and marksmanship. Skeet with him just wasn't much fun. She, an expert in disguise, of the slight of hand, of the close up and intimately personal rendering of God's judgment here on earth. They had led thankfully boring lives and no doubt, if some history of all of this was written they would be the quiet footnotes.

They each shook my hand, exchanged pleasantries, and I moved on.

The next table, John Morris, Jack Johnson, Andrew Teig, Secretary of Education, Head of the NEA, Secretary of Education of California, I knew them only briefly from the racketeering lawsuit, good men all. They smiled and laughed, happy in the moment.

I moved again, finally to the left of the dais, the medal table, Jacob Trestle, Malcolm Middleton, Alicia Nichols, Commandants of West Point, Colorado Springs, and Annapolis. Jacob was the most changed by the years now, one eyed, one armed, Congressional Medal of Honor winner, his training of the next generation of our Army's officers had been crucial in this, the great reawakening. Jacob and his lovely wife of many years, the lead news anchor for the major cable news network, raised their glasses in my direction. "Mission accomplished your honor."

"Yes, so it seems Jacob", I replied quietly.

The next row of three tables were the Governor's row, second from the front. Minnesota, Wisconsin, Florida, Iowa, California, Pennsylvania, Minnesota, South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee and on, and on. These men and women represented families who had moved for the most part from God's country of Iowa to spread the seed of knowledge and power to all corners of the Republic. I made my rounds of each of them now, shaking their hands, clapping the backs of those I knew better.

I turned back to the front of the room, the dais was seated now again, enjoying the company and the rest of their fine meal. I closed my eyes.

In my mind I saw the parents faces, and the eager young children seated beside them. I smelled the smells, heard their long dead voices. It was hard, time had hidden some of the details from me, even those of my own mother and father.

It wasn't long after the third annual meeting of the Iowa Home School Network annual meeting that families started to move away. Some selling those precious Century farms. Parents gave up lucrative jobs in the trades, industry, government, all spectrums of life. I remember wondering at the time just what was going on to change even this seemingly stable part of the world while all else was descending into degenerated chaos. We had been such a tight group. To a young boy of sixteen it seemed that people were just giving up and moving on. It just didn't make sense, and it wouldn't, not until my father had taken me into his den one late night and explained my new reality to me. That long night he had given me just a glimpse at what awaited me and the part I was to play in this plan that had been hatched in a convention hall back room one night in Des Moines over my first glass of his best scotch.

One year after that night, Julian Right, my best friend in my short life, and his family had packed up and moved to California. The bewilderment at the "Plan" turned to hurt as my friend left for a new life.

A lawyer, ultimately a judge, that was my grand plan put up for me by the parents. I remembered being angry at times at having my future determined by someone other than myself. It wasn't just any judge though, just any lawyer. I was to achieve in a short time the ultimate prize. The decorated black robe of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.

From that point on, whether I felt like it or not, my education never ceased. Day and night my parents drilled into me right and wrong, deep soul searching lessons on ethics, debate, and law. Underlying this was another lesson I suddenly recognized now all these years later, how to listen.

My senior year the lessons took a different turn. My father and I started playing poker at night. We began to not just study law, but the criminal mind. He began to talk of subterfuge, control, and other darker points of the human mind. I felt almost dirty then, in constant need of a shower. Little did I know I was about to enter a dirtier world.

Oh, I like this one.

Wow! Very different from our usual offerings. Thank you very much.

Yes, very different and very good!

Oh my goodness! I'm also intrigued by this one. Very different and very appealing.

Yes this is a little different, in fact, not a shot will be fired, but perhaps preparing isn't just about preparing but doing what little you can at times.

3.The junior Senator from Oklahoma jostled me in his passing to the next table in my room survey, bringing my mind back to the here and now.

Now this table, I smiled when I saw who was sitting there now, should have known from the rolling laughter constantly pouring out from it to radiate through the room and lighten every ones mood.

Perhaps out of long habit John J. Jones rose to greet me and the Senator as we got closer. I'd swear for a second he was looking for a camera to see which way to face. I hadn't seen him since he interviewed me on the Tonight Show shortly after my nomination. His warm mellow tones had a way of melting any guest into his grasp, where, upon a whim, he could pry out what he wanted or turn any conversation toward his hidden goals.

At his table were probably the most recognizable faces in the US at the moment. Robert Cleary, fresh off his last blockbuster action film, one arm still in a sling I noticed the other around his wife. The famous actress, notorious blond bimbo, ditzy, oh yes, ditzy like a fox. I chuckled at my own turn of phrase. Probably only a handful of people in this room knew that she was the President-Elect to Mensa. She was always in character, in film or out, but that mind, like Roberts was always looking for the angle, the chance to use her fellow actors to provide the citizens and youth of America with "teachable moments". That actor and actress had been secret loves since junior high.

Always cracking a joke, blogger Andy Corstairs, his sidekick and all around rabble rouser Luther Archer. Where the actor and actress taught using their medium and living lives that seemed as big and honorable as the roles they took, Andy and Luther instructed with laughter, sometimes with biting wit. Fun to watch, but not fun to receive I had been told by many I had had the displeasure of talking to over the years.

They were diggers, miners, they found things...but we had quite a few of those in our midst.

My attention wandered to a table off to the side of the main crowd, almost in the dark, where they naturally tended to be. The real diggers, Jakob, Johanne, and Josiah Paxton. Dressed the same as usual I saw as I got closer. Black Stetsons, jeans, starched white shirts, and belt buckles the size of their dinner plates.

They rose to greet me as one. The brothers I knew of course, but it was Jakob that I knew the best. We had spent many long nights together. It was he that my father had introduced me to when it had come time to do one final project in my training under him before college. Jakob and I had been introduced to one other man that night, Judge Robby Roberts. The judge wasn't there that night, but we got to know him very well over the next few months.

"Jakob, son, this is Judge Roberts." My father had thrown down a black and white photo on his den table that night.

"Your final test, both of you, before two months have passed is to convince our dear Judge to retire." With that my father symbolically tipped over a castle on his chess board and I slipped further down the rabbit hole.

Good! Different! Good and different! Full steam ahead! Thanks.

Very different. Thank you.

You've got me hooked!
Please continue.
Matt

4

We called my sister Pix. She was only ten months younger than me but could have passed for twelve to the casual observer. We used to give her a pretty hard time about that. I regretted that now, looking back to her. She was forever twenty-one she sure gave some people a wakeup going out though. I chuckled to myself.

"Something funny your honor?" nothing escaped Jakob's gaze.

"Just thinking of Pix and Judge Roberts."

"Ah yes, I hear he has Alzheimer's now."

Jakob and I had taken our senior project quite seriously. The judge had caused quite a stir in our fine state with several controversial rulings regarding various sexual predator cases.

To start we reread the transcripts from each of the trials. Independently Jakob and I came to the same conclusion. The judge's questions during the trials made it clear to us that the outcome had been determined before the lawyers even stood for opening arguments.

Four weeks of round the clock surveillance confirmed our suspicions. Our good judge had predilections of his own which had obviously influenced his professional decisions.

Four weeks to go then, two were all we needed. Well, Jakob needed about two days, he needed the rest of the time to convince me of the course of action. I felt like a real heel when Jakob only took 5 minutes to convince Pix of her part. I tossed and turned for the better part of that night, I remember, wondering if I should get my father's permission for the operation.

In the end, I figured that maybe that was part of the test. We'd have to move on our objectives over the rest of our lives mostly on our own with far less backup that we had planned for. We'd have no one but ourselves to confide in in the future. Duane parachuting behind enemy lines came to mind.

Two days later, a lone girl scout carrying her bag of cookie boxes strolled along the well appointed neighborhood in a large Iowa city. Her sales had been good and her bag was nearly empty when she came to the last house on her route.

The owner opened his door quickly after the bell had been rung, his kindly smile and smooth voice had the young girl into his kitchen for a cold drink rather quickly as he searched for his checkbook.

Twenty minutes can seem like an eternity. I've had many groups of twenty minutes in my life, broken down into little bites out of your soul. This was one of them.

Jakob put his hand on my shoulder, breaking my dream again. "I never told you, but Pix and I were engaged. Just thought you should know."

So the grim quiet farmer had a soft side somewhere inside him, I would have never suspected it, but maybe that's why he had never married after all these years.

"I couldn't imagine a better man to have for a brother-in-law. I'm sorry it wasn't in the cards."

"No, I'll see her again though, still do really, every day I guess."

I nodded and turned away, not trusting my voice at the moment. I walked a bit further away before Judge Robert's ghost gripped me again.

It was only two days later that the boy scouts happened to be making the same rounds in the same high end community. They weren't selling cookies this time, donations to the children's playground was the gig.

Their steps took them to the same house, and they were greeted, slightly more slowly this time by the same kindly gentleman. Five minutes of talking and the two were inside.

"I'm always happy to help you boy's out for a good cause."

"The kids will sure appreciate it sir," Jakob answered after a long drink of his iced tea.

"Here ya go then," the judge ripped the check from his book and handed it over with an almost imperceptible tremor.

"Thank you sir, very much." Jakob and I rose and headed to the front door.

"Oh," I turned to face the Judge, "just one more thing."

The Judge cocked his head in curiosity.

"Your receipt." I pulled the folded paper from my inner jacket pocket and handed it over.

The judge unfolded it and turned a color I had never seen before in a live person.

"I understand congratulations are in order on your upcoming retirement." I kept my voice calm and pleasant as my guts threatened to lurch outward.

"My retirement?" he finally croaked out after a long long pause.

"Your permanent retirement your Honor. Keep that photo as your golden watch."

We turned and left. During our time in those bushes two days earlier I thought it funny that my hand never left the grip of the 45 in my pocket and Jakob's hand never left the grip of the camera.

That night I knocked quietly on my sister's door and told her that the deed was done. I must have apologized for five minutes after that, tears in my eyes.

She told me to not think on it anymore, besides, she was never in any danger.

Pix patted the 22 pistol I had neglected to see that she was cleaning. I never did find out how she hid on that uniform.

Five years after that day I learned that the good Judge had a brief lapse in resolve. I had Father George ship a 12" wide piece of half inch plate steel to him. Written on it in paint pen was "1000 yards", scout kerchief neatly threaded through the half inch hole in the center of the plate.

There I am all caught up, thank you so much.

Just gets better and better. Thank you.

5

The ball room was suddenly too noisy and stuffy for me. My tie and shirt too tight around my neck. I had to get out for a while.

I found the exit without being waylaid by a long lost friend of one name or another and walked out into the carpeted hallway beyond. There was no balcony here to stand on and stare at the stars like at home. We were in the city anyway. More than likely you couldn't see the stars. The creaking of the men's room door drew my attention and shifted it away from my collar to other tightening bits of my anatomy.

The bathroom was stark white marble, almost hurting the eyes after the dimmed lights of the ballroom.

It was quiet here. Quiet was what I needed at the moment. I didn't need quiet to relish in the moment of the celebration of our accomplishments, nor for the need to absorb the enormity of it all. I needed quiet for another reason, for the reason that many people seek the solitude of the forest, or the men's room for that matter, quiet time to let my mind adjust and catch up. Too many thoughts at once, too many emotions, good and bad.

"Nice party Justice Dalton."

I wondered if I had been standing in front of that urinal doing nothing useful for a bit longer than I thought. My wandering mind was apt to get me in trouble at this rate.

I turned and zipped up a bit faster than was wise. No fun for the wife tonight. My thoughts of my bored wife were quickly squashed by the two linebackers standing behind me.

Too many years of sitting on the bench made my mind immediately think the worst of the two bruisers, but after a moment they began to look familiar. The ear buds sealed the memory.

"Secret Service?" I asked.

"Agents Rollins and Barker at your service."

"Ah, I should have realized that you'd be around somewhere." I was beginning to get a little nervous again. I sensed a moment of damage control coming on, thinking of who I could drag in here for support.

A rumbling sound broke the moment and Barker dashed towards an open stall, slamming the door behind him. Rollins more easily took the open urinal.

"Man that water's cold Rollins cracked." Barker grunted in answer sounding almost in pain now.

"Going to sit back now and write your memoirs now Judge?"

I recalled a similar conversation with a first year clerk who had worked with me my third year on the Supreme Court bench. She played the game well too, and had me guessing for a long time.

"Oh I don't think that would be very exciting reading." I was nervously washing my hands now trying to buy time for my mind to calm and catch up with this potential problem.

"I disagree," Rollins flushed. "I think the youth of today could learn a great deal from your book, maybe with about 99 co-writers."

"We've taught a generation all we had to offer Mr. Rollins. Its up to them now to prove whether or not they've learned their lessons well."

"A final test?"

"Consider it a two hundred year final, yes. Maybe about that time someone can publish our story."

The agent pondered that picture.

"Think of it this way Agent Rollins. Its not so much what we have done, its the fact that its been done to them again that would disturb John Q. Public. In the end, we only did in reverse what had been done to Mr. Public over the past one hundred or so years."

Rollins looked me hard in the eyes at that. He seemed to be trying to tell me something.

"You really didn't think we wouldn't find out did you?

I shrugged.

The sounds emanating from the stall were now bordering on the humanly impossible.

"Hold on your Honor, this is unbearable." The agent zipped up and removed a humidor from his inside suit pocket, extracting a large green cigar. He was right, I could have sworn that a cape buffalo had moved into the stall and was relieving itself of a week's contents all at once.

Once lit I wasn't sure that the clouds of blue smoke were much of an improvement. "Smoking inside a public building Agent Rollins?" I gave him a smirky look.

"Oh, I forgot, forgive me." With that he pulled a collapsible baton from another pocket and whacked the smoke detector off the ceiling.

"Why Mr. Rollins, I do believe that's illegal too!" I was laughing now, but the tears in my eyes weren't from the laughter.

"Please, do you know how many laws you folks have broken over the past twenty years?"

"You know, I never thought to count."

Rollins puffed away for a moment. "I'm pretty sure I could come up with a list given enough time.

Agent Rollins offered me a cigar, which I declined. He then tossed it over the stall wall to the buffalo.

"Man, you had to get those nasty green things out didn't you? Do you know where that landed? Agent Barker was starting to sound annoyed.

"Well, fish it out man, that was a fifty dollar cigar."

Rollins put his hand on my shoulder now and tapped his ashes into the urinal. "A few years ago though, we all decided that we'd rather take a bullet for an honorable criminal patriot than a politician. Thank you for all that you've done, well played. Besides, " he turned to look at the missing smoke detector, "its a brave new world out there again."

I nodded in respect and relief. Seemed that our secret was safe a while longer.

"Well, I'd better get back to the party gentlemen." I turned and walked through the door, Agent Rollins and the green cigar in tow.

We met John Jones heading in. "I see the smoking lamp is lit." He sounded amused.

Ten seconds later he rushed back out of the men's room door. "You guys seen any potted plants around here?" He and I were both wiping our eyes now.

I turned back to Rollins. "If you're ever in the neighborhood make sure you stop by for supper."

"That I will your Honor, I'm thinking of retirement myself." We shook hands and parted ways, I returned to the party, Rollins and his cigar in search of more smoke detectors.

Very good thank you.

About to wrap this one up, I've fleshed this concept out about as much as I had planned. Hope its made somebody somewhere think about life's possibilities.

Very appreciative of all the kind comments.

6

The party was in full swing still as I returned to the darkened ball room. The President was leading the front of the room in a raucous rendition of "The Old Grey Mare", silliness for its own sake. I guess retirement was bringing the kid out in some of us tonight.

The kid in me was feeling in need of escape from it all. I had a long drive in front of me tonight. My wife and I were due to move into my parent's old house on the farm, and there was much to do to open up the old house that had sat in mothballs for almost fifteen years now.

Entering the room from the back I spotted a table that I would have to visit before I could take my leave.

It was so typical for the man to choose a table in the back, out of sight, where he could sit and observe those around him. He was no doubt even now committing to memory the many events of the night, maybe even jotting some notes in the ever present notepad he habitually carried.

I took a seat across from the Professor as we called him. He had gone bald in the past few years but it only served to improve the image people naturally had of him.

The professor got up and walked to the bar, retrieving two bottles of Guinness Extra Stout then placing one on a napkin in front of me.

"How'd you guess?" I already knew the answer. It was a game.

"I never guess, you know that Dalton." His speech sounded a little slower I then noticed the six other bottles off to the side.

"Feeling ok John?"

"Oh I feel just fine tonight. In fact I think I could almost float tonight."

"Hope you're not driving tonight."

"Oh no, thought I'd stay here tonight and then maybe walk around town in the morning, see what's changed."

"Keep up at this rate and you won't be doing anything in the morning."

The Professor just smiled.

The man was kind of a mystery to a lot of people. He really wasn't even a professor. No MA or MS behind his name, in fact, he was probably the lowest paid man in the room. No, the man across the table from me was an editor, assistant editor to be exact about it. He was a glorified copy clerk.

John Faust shunned the public spotlight, never gave interviews nor did public speaking engagements, in fact, I wasn't even sure he had even ever been on a real date.

John was unknown to 99.9% of the American public. I also considered him to be the single most powerful man in the room, eclipsing even perhaps the President. If his influence wasn't great before, his would bear fruit such as we had never seen in the years to come. At least that was the plan.

John was the widest read individual I had ever met. If you wanted to talk about the composition of bee's wings, or the ritual customs of samurai, he was your man. He also happened to read every textbook written in the United States in the past twenty-five, and had controlled 100% of the content of those books for the past twenty.

John just happened to be the assistant editor to the California and Texas Textbook Commissions. The purchasing decisions made by those boards essentially dictated to the rest of the country what textbooks they would use, and John happened to dictate to the boards what they would decide.

The Professor was the ghost in the machine so to speak. He was the nameless editior that liberal writers had grown to hate and curse as their books were rejected, unknowingly edited, or subjected to wholesale rewrites.

John also happened to run the complaint line. I once visited his office years ago. Sitting squarely on the front of his desk was one of those kitschy demilled handgrenades with the sign "Complaint Department Please Take A Number" the number 1 tag still on the pin.

"John, I just have to know, how did you get such sway over the boards?" I leaned over the table to get closer to him.

"Wasn't difficult really. All of those liberal political appointee's on the original boards when we first started were fertile ground for the Paxton brothers. An affair here, the occasional murder of passion, but the California board, that was the linchpin. We took them lock stock and barrel." John took another long swig from his bottle. "One member of the board had the bad habit of being a very good bookkeeper. His accountings led us to find the funds being transferred to every member of the board under the table from that billionaire Hungarian." He smiled and waved in the air.

"I hear that he was pretty pissed about that little takeover." John pulled out his notebook now and scribbled something down. I wondered if he'd be able to read it in the morning.

"Now there was a man that I haven't thought about in a very long time. Odd that little bit never came out in his trial." I sat back and almost drifted back to that time.

"He was your first high-profile prosecution wasn't he? I sat through the whole trial you know. Too bad he didn't live to see some time behind bars, but I hear that those two lawyers of his are not federal guests."

"Oh yes, I noticed, and yes they are. I enjoyed that trial, too bad I couldn't prosecute theirs myself.
"
"I've been thinking of writing a book on the Treason Trials, under a pen name of course." John paused. "Then again, the librarian position is open down the road from you in Charles City."

I laughed, "The secret service guys already asked me if I was going to pen my memoirs."

John leaned forward a bit unsteady. "You met Agent Rollins I take it. Oh yes, he was one of the first we had to convince in that agency. Just about caused us all a lot of trouble, but in the end, he saw the light. He and I actually play chess quite regularly now days."

"Well," I stood now, and finished the last of my bottle, " Perhaps I'll stop by the library and we'll take up the game ourselves. He did promise to visit."

"You do that Dalton."

Thank you. I like stories where the reader has to supply the details from their own experience as to the intent. Each of us then, takes away a bit different thought provoking lesson.

Hadn't thought about it in that way while I was writing it, but now that you say that I can see it clearly. I'm going to have to ponder that for a while.

We'll rehash some of this at the close of the story. Can't wait to share some of my thought on my first completed story and what posting it means to me. Or, maybe, I just like to hear myself talk lol.

Very good story. Looking forward to more!

Thank you for the addition :).

7 - Final Chapter of the Retirement Party

As I faced the podium from the far end of the room I was able to survey the full extent of my cohorts. What I saw before me, in various states of celebration, contemplation, laughter, hugging, wasn't the future of the great Republic, nor was it the past, nor even the present. We were now in a kind of limbo.

It was an odd feeling to have after wielding so much power. Yes we tried to wield it gently, tried our very best to do what would be right in the eyes of our parents, our forefathers, and the Founders. I felt my wins as much as I felt my slip ups, my foolish screw-up's, yet, when weighed against each other, I felt that the scales were nowhere near to even. My time with the statue of justice I felt was well served.

I spied my rock at the front row of tables, sitting quietly entertaining my long lost friend and his new wife of six weeks. She was there, she was always there through all things, bad and good. She stood by me during the challenging Treason Trial, she stood by me when I became the Attorney General, and then capping it all, she stood at my side when I placed my hand on the Bible with the President and was sworn in as the Chief Justice.

Yes, she was always there, in the background, holding her tongue, lifting the heavy loads of our children largely alone as I played God in the realms of law and politics. Now, I thought, no, promised to myself, now was her time.

Whatever she would want for I swore now that I would give her. My lovely wife, now as much the love of my life as when we first dated at 17. How did she only get more beautiful every year? I walked forward, not hearing nor feeling those around me.

I stood not ten feet from the table now, my mind reeling with memories and hopes, my wife side by side with my friend.

Julian? Oh, I hadn't forgotten about him. I looked into his eyes and saw great joy, yet I also saw a haunted look. I wondered if his new wife knew of what he had gone through in the past decades.

Julian moved to California all those years ago to take up acting. Not acting like Robert Cleary. Julian's stage was the bedroom, the boardroom, the back room where the deals were struck and the money was passed.

Julian had infiltrated one of the most powerful groups of our times. It was a case I guess of hate the sin and love the sinner? I know that at the time there was a lot of debate on just what to do about that particular group, but in the end, the same names kept coming up as the puzzle was completed.

The people in charge were part of the grand plan to destroy us, to reset the Grand Experiment into something twisted like the old USSR, or the very worst of the EU. They probably would have slipped under the radar if they hadn't pushed their agendas quite so hard.

Julian had assumed a personality that probably kept his parents up late at night until the days they died. I always wondered if they wished that their son hadn't been quite so successful in his endeavors. Julian had become the president of the American Homosexual Alliance, and after ten years, had turned all the evidence over to my assistant. The tapes, the account numbers, the pictures, all had gone into the trials. All in all we won 36 of 37, that last one though, well we didn't pick the court quite right. Julian had just slipped away after that and disappeared. Or rather, the man that Julian had become did. Julian himself kind of reappeared in a way. He was a simple hired hand for the Paxton brothers for the past three years hiding in plain sight.

They were just a smaller conspiracy bundled up inside the bigger one, a moon circling a planet without even knowing.

The masters didn't make a move without months of planning. We didn't make one without a generation. We carefully metered out the scandals, the trials, the books, and movies to keep America's outrage at a well controlled simmer, if we'd boiled it, we would have lost control and nobody wanted that.

That was all we home schooled backwoods farmers did. We took down their house of cards and left in its place the tools for the children of America to rebuild her greatness.

I walked to my table, took my lovers hands in mine and pulled her to her feet into a deep kiss. My fingers ran through her red tresses down to her neck. As I ended the kiss I whispered into her ear.

"Time to go home my love."

"So early?" She pulled back mildly surprised.

"No, its late."

"Hmm. Whatever you want dear."

"No, from now on its whatever you want."

I waved and saluted to the President as manner of goodbye, he looked at his watch, but then saluted back and raised his glass to me.

I admonished Julian and his bride to join us at the house next week, and with that, the love of my life and I took our leave.

In the quiet of the hallway, on the way to the parking level we passed Agents Rollins and Barker seated playing cards while guarding a well battered pile of smoke detectors.

"Calling it a night your honor?"

"Yes we are Agent Rollins, it was a pleasure meeting you, make sure you don't forget my invitation."

"Count on it Justice Dalton."

"Call me Jack, I'm retired, didn't you hear?"

END LINE
SHMILY


Jack Dalton's Tomb - Dime Story
Jack Dalton Takes a Picnic - Dime Story
Jack Dalton - 135 in a 70 - Dime Story
Jack Dalton Takes a Wife - Dime Story
Jack Dalton - Fire and Brimstone - Dime story
Jack Dalton - Steam Burns - Opus 1

A few words from you humble author.
This is but a small bit of entertainment compared to some of the other greats you see published here, and I would like to thank Deena in GA for the opportunity to post this.

This is not the first story I've written, but it is the first I've finished and published in the public, and only the second I've published in this genre. Wish I could share some of the others with some of you. Writing something and showing it to someone else is a very personal thing. You kind of feel like you're standing around a crowded room with your fly unzipped.

My little girl saw me typing this story earlier today and asked me if I wrote it. When I told her yes, she just said "Cool". Boy if that isn't enough to make your heart burst with pride.

As much as you as a reader are tempted to refresh the page to see if a new part to a story is published, I as an author felt the same urge just to see if someone read it and put up a comment. Comments are that important.

This especially goes out to you lurkers out there, you non-members. Join up! Give us your thoughts and contribute. It's that important!

I lurked and occasionally commented at FS on the stories there before the great purge. This is but a pitiful attempt to pay you other authors back for so many late nights.

Thank you.

Methos, thank you for sharing your story with us and I hope you will consider sharing the others with us as well. I really enjoyed it, and would love to know more of Jack Dalton's story.

Hello Methos, Just found your story, I really enjoyed it and am going to read your other dime story's. Thanks for sharing your talents and gift with us.
Wayne

very well written story, begs to have a sequel