2012

Chapter 20: Another Mega Donor Chips In
[Go to beginning]

Karl Rove hurried out of the Capital Republican Club and jaywalked across 1st street to the South Metro Station. He stood in the giant hall of the station and called Harold Simmons, one of the GOP’s big money men.

Simmons answered on the first ring. “Yeah, what’s happening Karl, my man?” Simmons drawled.

“Hi ya, Hal, it’s Karl,” Rove said unnecessarily. “Been wondering how you and Ann are holding up, what with all the election excitement.”

“Excitement?! You call this horse shit excitement, Karl? Why hell, I’ve done tractoring’s more excitin than this, boy.”

“What do think of Romney’s VP pick, Hal?” Rove asked.

“Good choice, far as I’m concerned. Boy’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Simmons said. “But I’m still not satisfied we’ve got this thing in the bag, Karl. The courts are giving us a hard timer on our voter ID push here in Texas.”

Judges had ruled that the costs of obtaining a voter ID would fall most heavily on poor African-Americans and Hispanics in Texas, a state with a history of voter discrimination, and that such groups would face unwarranted hardships if the law were to be applied.

“So I hear, Hal. But we’re making progress in the swing states, and that’s what’s important. Hell, there’s no way Texas electoral votes are going Obama’s way,” Rove crowed. “And speaking of that, we could use an infusion of money to help in some of our other election initiatives, and--”

“Now Karl, you know I’ve given a hell of a lot of money already.”

“Well, yeah, but a lot of that was--”

Simmons interrupted, “I know. It was for Santorum’s super PAC, but you told Annette the guy had a chance,” Simmons said. “And money’s, money, Karl. Besides which, I’ve given another mil to Romney.”

“And we appreciate it, Hal. We do. But it’s coming down to the wire and everything we can swing now will help ensure victory in November,” Rove said, speaking quickly to prevent another interruption from Simmons, and running a handkerchief across his sweating brow.

“What do you need the money for, Karl?” Simmons asked.

“We need to pay for lawyers and poll watchers in the swing states to prevent voters without the authorized identifications from voting in the election,” Rove said. “That’s a lot of feet on the ground, Hal.”

“No shit!” Simmons said. “But I guess that’s one good thing we can use lawyers for; the sons of bitches aren’t good for anything else,” Simmons said. “How much?”

Rove hesitated. Simmons had already donated more than $18 million dollars to various Republican candidates and super PACs. How much could he wring out of Simmons this time? “Well, with what I’m getting from Foster, I think another million would do it.”

Rove held his breath. He hadn’t hit up Foster Friess yet, but if he got the money from Simmons, he could then go to Friess and use Simmon’s contribution as leverage to get a similar amount from Friess. Rove knew that the GOP mega donors were competitive as all hell when it came to who was paying in the most money.

“Okay, I’ll have my fucking accountant make the arrangements. Shit, every time I talk to you it costs me money, Karl,” Simmons said.

“Well, I appreciate it Hal. Can I ask you one more thing?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve money,” Simmons said.

“No, no. I just want to reiterate how important it is to keep holding out on any job growth until after November,” Rove said.

Simmons headed up Contran Corporation a huge chemical and metals conglomerate that controlled millions of jobs across the nation. Simmons holdings included multinational conglomerates NL Industries, Titanium Metals Corp., Valhi Inc., Kronos Worldwide Inc. and Keystone Consolidated Industries Inc. Many of Simmons’ businesses were heavily regulated waste-control and nuclear-waste disposal businesses, and Simmons wanted people in power who would eliminate all the burdensome regulations that, in his opinion, limited his options on how to maximize profits.

“I hear ya, Karl,” Simmons said. “All our hiring has been off the books. But here again, it’s costing me a ton of money just to payoff all the lawyers I need to keep me out of trouble on this.”

“And we appreciate it, Hal. Imagine the impact we’ll have, though, when employment figures shoot up after Romney is elected.” Rove said, scowling at a panhandler that was sidling up to him.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2012

Chapter 19: Hire slowly, if at all
[Go to beginning]

“Look, Karl, we can’t hold off on hiring forever.”

“Charles, November isn’t forever. Can’t you hire, but delay putting new employees on the books?” Karl Rove knew that Charles Koch was a savvy businessman. There was no question in his mind that Koch could make Koch Industries employment records look like the great depression was still going on. Something else was on Koch’s mind.

“You’re asking me to cook the books, Karl?” Koch was having fun. He liked to hear Rove, the little weasel, whine and whimper.

“No, no. Please don’t put it like that, Charles. That sounds like fraud. I’m--”

Koch interrupted. “But Karl, isn’t that exactly what it is? You want the jobs picture to look worse than it is in order to hurt Obama’s chance of reelection.”

Rove ignored Koch’s barb and finished his sentence. “...simply asking you to delay a little longer, a month or two, until the die is cast, if you will.” Rove sighed. “You and David are running a one hundred billion dollar company. How hard can it be to slow down the bookkeeping on recording new hires?”

“It’s a big risk, Karl,” Koch said.

Here it comes, thought Rove.

“We could be audited. I don’t know. I’d want some sort of assurances.”

“What kind of assurances,” Rove said.

“Well, suppose Obama wins the election, God forbid, then what?”

“Jesus, Charles, we don’t even want to consider that,” Rove said.

“I have to consider it, Karl. As distasteful as the prospect is. So what I’m asking is, what is the Party going to do for Koch industries should such a disaster befall the country?”

Finally, the old bastard gets to the point, Rove thought. “You know the Party has always supported business, Charles. That’s not going to change, even with a Democratic president. I mean, look what we did to Obama up to now. He can’t get anything done.”

“Karl...,” Koch let the name hang there, “I want specifics. I want a pledge that a Republican Congress isn’t going to let these damned environmentalists pass more onerous regulations, I want additional offshore leases opened up, including off California, I want that goddamned pipeline built. Are you hearing me?” Koch was getting angry just thinking about all the government intrusions he imagined would occur in a second Obama term. He took out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiped his brow.

“I hear you, Charles. Of course. There’s no way we’re going to--”

Koch had taken a breath and now interrupted Rove again. “And for god’s sake let’s put this global warming bullshit to rest once and for all, Karl!”

“Well...,” Rove said. His sense was that Republicans were getting leery of being seen on the wrong side of the global warming debate when much of the Republican constituency, from Texas to Mississippi was suffering the worst drought since the dust bowl.

Kansas Corn, 2012

“Well, nothing,” Koch said, pouring water from a pitcher on his desk into a glass filled with melting ice. “Do you know how much money David and I have poured into the Heartland Institute? Do you?”

“I imagine it’s a lot,” said Rove. He knew that reports showed that the Kochs vastly outdid ExxonMobil in giving money to organizations fighting legislation related to climate change, underwriting a huge network of foundations, think tanks, and political front groups that some had called, “The Merchants of Doubt.”

“You’re goddamned right, it’s a lot. Look Karl, I want you and that dimwit Priebus to get out here and sit down with David and I. I want this face-to-face, you understand?”

Rove opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Koch was rattling on.

“We’re going to start with a statement of principles, and then lay out what we want item by item. And once we’re agreed, I want McConnell and Boehner to sign on the dotted line. This needs to happen ASAP. I’ll have Kevin call you.”

“Kevin?” Rove said.

“Kevin Gentry, he’s one of the more articulate free-market types and we need his thinking on this.”

“Fine, fine, Charles, but getting back to the reason for my call--”

“Yeah, yeah, Karl. We can keep holding back on full-scale hiring and we’ll make sure that putting new hires on the books takes place with glacial speed. That satisfy you?”

“You bet. Thanks , Charles, I really--.” Rove stared at his cell phone. A lighted panel said, “Call Ended.”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2012

Chapter 16: Grassroots, like arson is spontaneous combustion
[Go to beginning]

Reince Priebus hurried across D Street and into the Tortilla Coast Restaurant. He was shown to a corner table by the window. It was an overcast day, threatening rain. He hoped it held off until he’d grabbed a bite to eat and was able to get back across the street to RNC Headquarters.

Priebus set up his laptop and was opening Internet Explorer, when the waitress arrived with a menu, a foldout showing drinks and desserts, and another piece of plastic covered cardboard showing the day’s specials.

“Hi! Welcome to The Coast,” she said, with such enthusiasm it forced Priebus to actually look at her.

Priebus pushed away all the menus and said, “Bring me Combination Three and a Dos Equis.” Then he went back to staring at his laptop.

Undaunted, the waitress gathered up the menus and said, “Water?”

“What?” Priebus said, preoccupied.

“Would you like water?” the waitress said.

“No, I want beer,” Priebus said, not looking up.

Priebus stared at the map he’d brought up on his laptop screen. It showed a color-coded map of the United States, with the states trending Republican in red, and those trending Democratic in blue. The states considered up for grabs were tan. There were a lot of them.

His data were from DCI Group, a powerful public relations firm, whose leadership had strong Republican ties. DCI maintained a gigantic database that Priebus had been using to sharpen the RCN’s focus on swing states in the 2012 Presidential Election, as well as congressional and senate races the GOP had targeted.

Priebus picked up his cell phone and punched in Karl Rove’s number. Rove answered on the first ring.

“Yeah, Reince, what’s up?” Rove barked into his cell as he forked a Maguro Nigiri Zushi into his mouth, and chewed the raw tuna while he waited for Priebus to launch into one of his usual pleas for more PAC money.

“Karl, hey, you know I’m looking at our 2012 state-by-state projections and wondering what you’re thinking now that Romney is the candidate?”

“I’m looking at that now, Reince, and I’m thinking we need to put some serious money into some key swing states.” Rove was sitting at a rear table to the left of the long counter in Sushiden, a Japanese restaurant on 6th and 49th; a block over from Fox News New York offices. He had his laptop set up on the table, which seated four, so left him plenty of room to work.

“For ads,?” asked Priebus.

“Ads?” Rove said. “Yeah, ads,” Rove said dismissively, “but I’m talking about some hard core stuff, like our voting rights actions, and ballot initiatives. You know, stuff to get out our vote and depress theirs.”

Rove had developed data for three U.S. maps, one for Romney, one for Santorum, and one for Gingrich. During the Republican campaign he had used the maps to show the GOP leadership just how hopeless a Santorum or Gingrich presidential run would be. In both cases, Obama would exceed 300 electoral votes. Romney ran closer, but was still lagging Obama by at least 36 electoral votes under the most optimistic scenarios.

Priebus was rattling on and Rove picked up the thread about midpoint, “and so I was wondering if you’ve talked to Synhorst about generating some grassroots support for our initiatives in some of the bible belt states to outlaw...” Priebus paused as the waitress set down his beer. “...medical marijuana. You know, sort of preempt the legalization of marijuana. It’s a hot button issue with a good part of the base.”

Tom Synhorst was a principal at DCI group. He’d started the company in 1988 and grew it from a basic PR firm to a powerful lobbying and consulting firm with connections to some of the Republican Party’s movers and shakers. Synhorst basically invented ‘ghost grassroots’ initiatives, which was grassroots like arson was spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah, well we’re looking at some of these get-out-the vote initiatives, Reince. We can’t back ‘em all. Gotta prioritize,” Rove said, looking around for the waitress.

“Well, dope is a good one, Karl. And ties in nicely with immigration reform,” Priebus said.

“Huh?” Rove said. “How’s that?”

“Well, it’s the Mexicans bringing in the dope,” Priebus said. “We could pair the anti-dope initiative with one to give police the right to stop people who look illegal and demand proof of citizenship; like Arizona.”

Rove sighed. Priebus had a tendency to get carried away. “Reince, we’ve gotta be careful here.” Rove was painfully aware that Hispanic voters had supported Democratic candidates 2 to 1 over Republicans in 2008. He wanted to even that up in 2012. “We have a chance to make some inroads

with Hispanics in 2012 as a result of the bad economy.” Rove said.

“Well...” Priebus said. He was thinking about all the Republican candidates supporting the idea of a 2000-mile-long fence on the U.S. border with Mexico. “You know the fence thing doesn’t help.”

Rove interrupted, “Yeah, yeah, nobody takes that seriously, Reince. Once we’re into the campaign against Obama that’ll go on the back burner. Except maybe in the border states. What we’re focused on, Reince, are independents in the swing states.” Rove pushed around some papers on his kitchen table, looking for a report he’d been reading earlier.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Priebus said. “We’ve got some --”

Rove found what he was looking for and interrupted Priebus. “Yeah, I have a survey here that shows independents aren’t buying Obama’s fairness argument. We need to --”

“It’s class warfare,” Priebus chirped, happy to hear Rove parrot the GOP’s sound bite.

“...stress how Obama’s failed policies have contributed to the economic downturn,” Rove went on. “Blunt the focus on wealth inequality.”

Priebus scrolled down a new page on his laptop, found what he was looking for and quickly said, “Have you seen today’s gas prices? Hell, that’s a major campaign issue for us.” Priebus put his hand behind his neck and stretched. He checked his watch. He was scheduled for a sit down with Fox & Friends in an hour. “Listen, Karl, can I get back to you? I’ve gotta run.”

“Well, hell, Reince, you called me,” Rove said, and ended the call.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2012

Chapter 11: I'm not a fucking magician
[Go to beginning]

While he drove to his meeting with Buddy Roemer, Karl Rove talked into his digital recorder. He was trying out graphic adjectives with which to lace his fliers and ads lambasting Obama and his policies. He’d always been good at this, and he rattled off a series of zingers. “Profligate spending, record deficits, monstrous health-care costs, huge bailouts, distortions, demagoguery,” he said, as he turned off 16th Street NW onto Colorado Avenue. He drove past the Rock Creek Tennis Center and parked in the southwest section of the parking lot adjacent to the Carter Barron Amphitheater. His was the only car there.

Rove put on the heavy coat he’d brought and put the recorder into his left coat pocket. He checked his calls and email, and then put his smart phone and BlackBerry into his briefcase. He got out, walked around his rental car, and put his briefcase in the trunk. He leaned against the car and checked his watch. It was a few minutes after three o’clock. Roemer was late.

#

Buddy Roemer watched for Rove from the bleachers of the Rock Creek Park Tennis Center. He looked through binoculars as a car drove past the tennis center and parked in the far southwest section of the lot. The season was well past and the amphitheater parking lot was deserted. He saw Rove get out of the car and put his briefcase in the trunk. When he was sure no one was with Rove or following behind him, he walked down to his car. He opened the door and put the binoculars under the seat. He took a digital recorder and an audio jammer from his glove compartment. He put the jammer in the left pocket of his trench coat, and the recorder in the right pocket. Then drove over to where Rove was waiting.

#

The sky was overcast and a cold wind blew across the lot gathering leaves in a series of small whirlwinds. Rove hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets. He watched as Roemer parked and walked over.

Rove stuck out his right hand and switched on his recorder with his left. Roemer stuck out his right hand and switched on his jammer with his left. The two men shook hands.

“Karl.”

“Buddy.”

“Let’s take a walk,” Roemer said.

“Fine,” Rove said, and they started down the trail towards the amphitheater. The trail was bordered by dense foliage that protected the men from the chill wind, but made the trail seem dark and the area somewhat threatening. Good place to off someone, thought Rove.

They sat down at the left rear of the amphitheater seats and each scanned their surroundings before Rove spoke up. “Buddy Roemer you picked a cold, lonely place to meet,” Rove said.



“It’s a beautiful spot in the fall, Karl, but this time of year, not so much.”

“Well it’s too damned cold out here to beat around the bush, so let me get right to the point. I can offer you significant financial support for a third party run, and should we see a Republican elected president, a cabinet position,” Rove said.

“Which?” Roemer asked.

“Health and Human Services, HUD, or Labor,” Rove said. “Depends on who gets the nod and who owes what to whom,” he added.

“How much?” Roemer said.

“How much what?” Rove said.

“How much financial support will I get and when will I get it?” Roemer said.

“Well, you know that Republicans with deep pockets contributed to Ralph Nader’s campaign in 2004, and they are willing to do that again for you,” Rove said.

Roemer opened his mouth to say something, but Rove held up his index finger and hurried on. “In addition, we will help you raise the required matching funds in at least 20 states so that you qualify for matching public funds.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Roemer said.

“Hell, Buddy, we have PACs, Super PACs, grassroots support groups...you name it. Raising the money’s no problem. Laundering it is the problem.”

“I’ll need one million up front to get off the ground,” Roemer said.

“One million?! What are you getting off the ground in, a Lear Jet?” Rove said, with a guffaw.

Roemer just looked at Rove.

“Okay, we can manage that. You’ll want to look as if you have some substance,” Rove said.

You crass son of a bitch, Roemer thought.

#

Rove went on to outline the next steps in moving the dishevelled mob that was Occupy Wall Street towards the formation of a third party. "Look, Buddy, we're not trying to get these bozos to come to a consensus or anything like that. For Christ sake, they can't agree on what they're protesting. We're just gonna insert a few people in the mix, get them some attention, and then have you announce your third party candidacy and have these people endorse it," Rove said.

"And what are the real Occupiers going to say about that?" Roemer said.

"Who gives a shit," Rove said. "First of all, they don't speak with a single voice, and second, by the time they realize what's happened, absentee ballots will be in the mail."

"So you have no intention of really trying to coalesce the Occupy Wall Street movement into a coherent political party? Roemer said.

"Hell no!" Rove said. "I'm not a fucking magician."

#

Both men were quiet as they made their way back to their cars, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in the pockets of their coats, as each mulled over what had just transpired.

They had agreed that in the future, face-to-face meetings would be kept to an absolute minimum. No use taking the chance that someone would spot them and wonder what was going on.

DC was a hotbed of rumors and it didn't take much to get one started. Rove had purchased a couple of anonymous prepaid cell phones, activating them from a phony address. He'd given one to Roemer, and told him how to buy another when the activation expired. Mostly, they'd coordinate their activities by phone.

When they reached their cars, Roemer shut off his jammer and switched on his recorder. Rove shut off his recorder and stuck out his right hand, "Nice doing business with you, Buddy," Rove said as the two men shook hands.

As they turned to their cars, Roemer said, "Hey Rove, one more time. Just so I have this straight. Quick run down on the plan."

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2012

Chapter 5: What would Roemer want, besides the Presidency, that is?
[Go to beginning]

Buddy Roemer said nothing. Karl Rove was staring at him, willing him to react to Rove’s statement about a viable third party candidate ‘gestating.’ Roemer considered it an unfortunate metaphor.

“We think someone could run with the Occupy Wall Street movement,” Rove finally said. You know, say all the things the protesters want to hear, form a legitimate party, coordinate with a PAC to--”

“That’s illegal,” Roemer said, interrupting Rove.

“Well, you know, not exactly coordinate, but...”

“Uh huh,” Roemer said.

“Look Buddy, I have some serious money behind this idea. We just need the right guy out front. Not someone like Nader. He’s all hat and no cattle. Know what I mean?” Rove loved using cowboy idioms, which he’d picked up from the Texas crowd.

“Uh huh,” Roemer said. Spit it out Karl, Roemer thought.

“Well, who do you think could do it?”

Roemer said nothing.

“Dennis Kucinich? You know we’re redistricting him right out of a job.” Say something, you fuck!

Roemer shook his head. “He may be far out there on some things, like that ‘Department of Peace’ idea, but he’d see right through your scheme.”

“How about Russ Feingold? He’s dying to get back in the mix. Even considered a run for the Presidency.”

“Maybe,” Roemer said, sounding doubtful.

“Well, Buddy, give me a name,” Rove said, sounding exasperated.

“What’s your pitch to the guy going be, Karl? I mean, how to you get someone to go through all that hardship; all the scrutiny, all the speeches and fund raising, recruiting volunteers. All with malice aforethought?”

“Malice aforethought?” said Rove.

“Knowing it’s a sham. A scheme to draw votes away from Obama.”

Rove thought about this. What would Roemer want, besides the Presidency, that is? “What do you think we ought to offer, Buddy?”

I wonder if the shit is recording this, thought Roemer. “I’ll tell you what, Karl. Let me think about this over the holiday weekend and I’ll get back to you on Monday. You think about how you’re going to make this worthwhile for your spoiler, okay?"

Roemer saw that Rove was about to say something, and preempted whatever it was. "I mean, it’s Thanksgiving, Karl. Let’s go home and give thanks that you and I will be dead before future generations are questioning the legitimacy of our birth because we ignored global warming.”

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2012

Chapter 3: Les Feuilles Mortes 
[Go to beginning]

Karl Rove looked out the window as his taxi drove along Bedford Street. Trees along the river were losing their autumn leaves and they raced along the street in a whirlwind of color, but Rove wasn’t paying attention to what was going on outside. He was thinking about the 2012 election.

Rove was concerned about how Republican candidates were faring on the debates. If it was up to him, there’d be no debates. It just gave the snarky media a chance to criticize the candidates, to say nothing of the candidates themselves making one gaffe after another. As far as Rove was concerned, it didn’t much matter who got the GOP nomination, but Rove was hoping it wouldn't be Perry. Perry was pliable, and if he could keep the dunce from stepping on his dick, he might swing two terms with him, just as he’d done with Bush. But he'd had a falling out with Perry in the Nineties, when Bush was governor, and the relationship, although superficially cordial, was still fraught with simmering hurt and distrust. Still, Karl felt sure he could support a Perry candidacy and end up back in the position of chief Architect for Perry's election. That's what he did -- get people elected.

A freezing wind was blowing off the Merrimack River as Rove exited his Taxi and clutching his briefcase to his chest to keep his coat from blowing open rushed into the SEE Science Center. Why the hell Roemer wanted to meet here instead of the country club that he had suggested was a puzzle to Rove, but then Buddy was eccentric, which was exactly why Rove was approaching him.

Rove’s meeting with the ‘Bush Pioneers’ at the Armstrong Ranch had been encouraging. He had money in hand from several donors and contingent pledges from others that would help fund a third party candidate start up. Once supporters saw the handwriting on the wall, more money would come rolling in, and with transparency of Super PACs being what it was, no one had to know that his PAC was supporting a spoiler candidate.

Rove moved through the Science Center looking for something called the ‘Seasons of Change’ exhibit where Roemer wanted to meet. Rove’s mind was racing as he went over his pitch to Roemer. Buddy was a bit off the wall, but he was no dummy. The occasion called for some subtlety.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2012

Chapter 2: A hunting we will go

[Go to beginning]

Karl Rove hated hunting, or any kind of outdoor activity for that matter, that involved ‘getting close to nature.’ He shuddered at the memory of George W. Bush making him follow along as Bush cleared brush on his ranch at Crawford. Yet, here he was at the Armstrong Ranch in South Texas dressed for ‘the hunt.’

Rove was having a ‘pow-wow’ with party luminaries who had the money and influence to help him set up the false flag operation that would lead to a split Democratic presidential vote in 2012. Katharine Armstrong, a ‘Bush Pioneer’ and daughter of the heir to the King and Armstrong ranch fortunes, was hosting the event. Her high pitched laugh could be heard coming from the kitchen, where other members of the hunting party were finishing their breakfasts.

Rove looked up from the newspaper he was reading. “Listen to this Huff, he said to the man sitting across from him in the front room of the hunting lodge. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and read from the newspaper. ‘It is Main Street that creates the majority of jobs in America; it is Main Street that sends our brave young men and women to war; it is Main Street that hurts when another manufacturing plant closes only to be re-opened in China; it is Main Street that is being foreclosed on; and it is Main Street that is suffering while the greed of Wall Street continues to hurt our middle-class.’ Who do you think said that?” he asked.

James ‘Huff’ Huffines was an exceptionally influential and often controversial figure in Texas and national politics. He was currently a bank president and COO, had loads of money, big money connections, and important political ties with Republican high rollers. In 1999, Huffines served as chairman of George W. Bush’s Inaugural Committee, donated hundreds of thousands of his own dollars to Bush’s campaign and, with Armstrong, was another ‘Bush Pioneer.’ Huffines was largely responsible for getting Rick Perry the Texas governorship after Bush left to become ‘leader of the free world.’ In return, Perry appointed Huffines to the University of Texas Board of Regents, where he was soon elected chairman.

Huffines had always disliked Rove, whom he considered a bumptious little blowhard, but he had to hand it to the guy -- the 'Turd Blossom,' as Bush called him, could generate some serious negative shit to sling at political opponents. “Some bleeding heart liberal, sounds like,” answered Huffines, taking another puff on his cigar.

“Buddy Roemer,” Rove said, studying Huffines’ face for a reaction.

“Roemer? Isn’t he making a presidential run? He’s a Republican, isn’t he?” Huffines said, looking puzzled. “No, wait. Roemer, he’s a Democrat. Former governor of Louisiana. Right?”

Rove chuckled. “Right both times. Buddy Boy was the Democratic Governor of Louisiana. But he switched parties in 1991 and then lost to Edwin Edwards in the gubernatorial contest. He tried again in ’95 and came in a poor third. Now he’s a kinda born again conservative promising to clean up politics.”

“Well, he sounds like a half-baked liberal to me,” said Huffines.

“What if we could get Roemer to switch parties again?” Rove said, almost as if to himself.

“You mean go back to being a Democrat?” asked Huffines, leaning forward in his leather chair.

“Huh? No, no. I mean run as a third party candidate. An Occupy Wall Street candidate,” said Rove.

Huffines studied Rove. The crafty sun of a bitch, thought Huffines. “A spoiler,” said Huffines.

“You got it.”  

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.