"Liam Jeffries is an undisciplined, arrogant, sonofabitch, and he’s never cared about authority or rules in his entire goddamn life," Carter says matter-of-factly. "And I can’t sacrifice the future of this state just so he can be seen as the hero by his drinking buddies up in New Kingston."
"You don’t mess with jobs," I tell Carter.
"Jobs won’t be worth a damn when everyone has asthma and their drinking water is poisoned," Carter shoots back at me.
"But you need to consider that maybe you just let him burn out then," I reply back. "You’ll still be here, but let him vent. And move on. Kill the factories with red tape."
Carter pauses for a moment. "Have you ever met Liam Jeffries?" he asks me.
I shake my head. I’ve never even bothered. He’s a mayor of a small town that’s a suburb of New York City. The population of New Kingston is around 45,000. Fifty minutes from a city of 8 million. My office didn’t even have a file for him.
"I’ve never met him nor dealt with him," I tell Carter.
"Well, then," Carter says pointing behind me toward the wall. "This is who you’re dealing with."
I turn around toward the television.
And for the second time that night, I gasp.
Tall, rugged, handsome, with a smirk that tells me he’s gotten his hands dirty too many times to count is a man that the headline says is Liam Jeffries.
I can see the vague trace of a tattoo on his right and left shoulder and one peeking up from his chest.
He’s speaking. The volume is lowered since there’s a party, but I can still hear.
"These factory jobs are coming to New Kingston," Liam says. "I don’t care what kind of environmental legislation they’ve passed up in Albany, but I can tell you this, that shit doesn’t mean a damn when you don’t have a job. And I’m bringing jobs."
I’m transfixed. I’m mesmerized. By his face. His eyes. His intensity.
"And I know I’m not supposed to curse on live television, but if the Governor is going to get his panties in a bunch over helping good people, then I’m going to keep saying what I said yesterday," Liam says to the camera. "He can go fuck himself. Or he can stop crying and suck a fat fucking dick."
"You see now what I mean?" Carter says to me, as if this should explain everything. "The man is a goddamn child. Not to mention he probably just cost the network $500,000 in broadcast fines for his cursing."
I’m listening. I’m thinking maybe I should pay a visit to New Kingston myself, you know?
Maybe understand the situation a bit more.
Because I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to get the facts and help them make a reasonable compromise.
It’s going to be hard because right now I want to do only one thing in the world.
Fuck.
Liam
"On the house, Mayor," the bartender tells me, pushing a giant mug of beer in my direction. I’ve already drunk a few glasses of whisky, but what the fuck, you don’t say no to your citizens. Especially when they’re slender brunettes with perfect breasts.
"Cheers," I thank her, taking the mug to my lips and drinking a long gulp. The beer goes down my throat softly, settling in over the whisky pretty easily. I already have a fucking buzz going on, but I’m not too shitfaced—exactly the way I like it. "Oh, come on," I yell at the TV, my voice joining a chorus of annoyed jeers. The fucking Jet’s QB just got sacked, and we’re already down by fourteen point
s. Sometimes I think I should have become a fucking football player and won the goddamn Super Bowl; I mean, I’d like to see the Jets win a fucking championship during my lifetime.
Everyone has their eyes glued to the TV, watching as the team struggles to reach the playoffs. This is why I love my city, New Kingston. I might be the fucking mayor and all that, but I can still hang out by the bar and be treated like a fucking regular human being. Yes, that’s right, I go to the same places the regular Joe goes to. Despite what all those gossip magazines tell you about me, I have my feet firmly planted on the ground; I’m not a snake in a suit, like the politicians New York presents us with. Sure, I’m fond of hard liquor and pretty women, but that doesn’t make me a fucking lunatic.
Take our governor, for instance, Carter Andrews. The guy had the fucking nerve to walk into my fucking office and tell me with a straight face that I couldn’t bring jobs to my own city. Fucking unbelievable. No wonder the country is in such a fucking disarray, if guys like Carter are the best we have.
"Another one," I ask the smiling brunette behind the counter, pointing at my almost empty mug. I should have ordered a whisky; you don’t have to drink your own weight to get drunk, but I decide to stick with the beer. It’s still early, and I want to be sober enough in case I decide to thank the young bartender for the free drink… I don’t have to be any more explicit than this, do I?
Another wave of jeers and boos takes the bar by assault, the opposing team scoring a fucking touchdown. Well, so much for this year’s playoffs. Then, something amazing happens; the whole bar quiets down, everyone turning their attention away from the TV. That’s almost a fucking miracle, taking into account that the patrons here are die-hard Jets fans. I turn around on my stool, trying to see what the fuck is going on, and my eyes find the most beautiful woman in the whole fucking universe. I know that I’m prone to some exaggeration now and then, but I’m fucking serious right now.