[b]Washington D.C.[/b]

Jim Sledge sat on a park bench in Dupont Circle. He hadn’t been in D.C. since the inauguration. Being here back in the capital seemed to rejuvenate him. Out in the wild running two-bit congressmen was a far cry from here in D.C. This was the seat of the country’s political power. Sure the states could pride themselves on their semi-independence, but D.C. was the hub with power spinning outwards like the spokes on a wheel.

A hotdog cart rolled by loaded with sizzling dogs. A summer breeze sent the appetizing scent of the food wafting through the park and made Jim’s stomach rumble. Among the dogs, buns, and fixings was a radio that played the hourly news update.

[i]“… violence was finally ended and the protest dispersed. At least two Negro protestors are in critical condition after the demonstration turned violent. Mississippi State Police superintendent Jefferson Davis Hood said the two men were resisting arrest, forcing his men to take action. ‘I’m all for peaceful protest,’ Hood said to CBN news. ‘But it has to remain peaceful. These… people were not being peaceful and we had to act. In other news, President Norman today signed into law the New England Weapons Nationalization Act. The bill, which had been stalled in the Senate just last week, nationalizes New England Weapons Industries. After signing the bill, President Norman went on to say—“[/i]

“Mr. Sledge.”

Jim looked away from the cooking hotdogs to a thin, bald man with thick, black-rimmed glasses in white, short shirtsleeves and a black tie. He looked vaguely familiar, but Jim couldn’t place him right off.

“John Mitchell. I’m Vice President Reed’s chief of staff.”

That was it, from the campaign. John was part of Reed’s staff during the campaign. He’d been with the VP a long time dating back to when Vice President Reed was Congressman Reed.  Jim stood and shook hands with John while he spoke.

“That's right, I remember you. How you doing, John?”

“I’ll be better if you’ll follow me.”

“Say no more.”

John led him across the circle to a black sedan with heavily tinted windows idling by the curb. A Secret Service agent stood beside the car and opened the rear door for Jim, who climbed inside and came face to face with Russell Reed, sitting calmly in the seat and reading a newspaper on his lap.

“Mister Sledge,” he said in that Georgia twang of his. 

“Mister Vice President,” said Jim. They shook hands while John got into the passenger seat and the Secret Service agent climbed behind the wheel.

“Hope you don’t mind if we talk on the run, Jim, I’ve got a luncheon at the Hay-Adams just down the road. I figured I would swing by and pick you up. We can talk in-depth later tonight. How are things in Chicago?”

“Easy,” Jim said with a sigh. “Too easy. Bill Barnwell is too complacent to be a good opponent, and Dickson is too hands off with the campaign. He doesn't care, but he’ll win the primary in double digits easily. His district is heavily Republican so he'll cruise to victory in November.” 

Smiling, Jim turned to the VP as Reed chuckled.

“How’s it living life one heartbeat away from the presidency?”

“Oh, you know,” Reed said with a modest shrug. “I go to the office every day and twiddle my thumbs until it’s time to go home. I advise the president when he asks for it, and I help with the legislative agenda but that’s it.”

“Mmmhmm… and those rumors I’ve been hearing about you being the power behind the throne are just bullshit?”

“You may very well think that,” Reed said with a smirk. “But I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“Right. So, did you just wanted to catch up? Is that why you paid for me to fly out here to meet with you? I know how much you hate small talk, Russ. What's up?”

“I have a very important job for you.” Reed fussed with his necktie, not meeting Jim’s gaze. “Wilbur Helms and Doug Collins. What do they have in common? Just off the top of your head.”

Jim ticked off points with his finger. “Both are senators, both are as old as fucking dirt, both are two of the longest-serving senators… other than that, I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. Different parties, different states, different guys.”

“Collins is a Republican," said Reed, "He’s from Montana, sure, but he's as thick as thieves with the Southern Caucus. The old bastards flock together like buzzard. He has a few western senators he caucuses with and was a pretty valuable ally across the aisle when I was Majority Leader. The big thing they have in common? Reelection in ’82.”

“A Montana Republican and a South Carolina Democrat,” Jim scoffed. “You need goddamn dynamite to get them out of office.”

“I was thinking of using another tool," Reed said coyly. "A Sledgehammer, perhaps.”

Jim raised his eyebrows at the Vice President’s grin.

“I want you to run two separate election campaigns for me, Jim. We need to find two Democrats, one in South Carolina and one in Montana. You’ll work and liaise with both campaigns and run them from D.C., money will not be an object. I have donors who love giving me cash and I’ll have John set up PACs for both races.”

Jim furrowed his brow and tried to wrap his head around it.

“How can you have donors in another state adequately fund two Senate races in states they have no stake in? Just trying to wrap my head around it.”

“You’d be surprised how much people are willing to give you money for campaigning when they think you’re the power behind the throne. My PACs are stuffed to the gills, Jim. Share and share alike, I say.”

Jim nodded slowly and let the angles play out in his mind. It didn’t make too much sense for Reed to want to do this unwieldy plan. He and Helms were close back when he was Majority Leader, and he was just talking up Doug Collins’ usefulness. They were two of the most valuable cogs in the legislative machinery of the Senate. True, Helms was a pain in the ass, but Collins was always a straight shooter. As far as committees...

“Judiciary,” Jim finally said. “That’s it, isn’t it? They’re both the ranking members of the committee, Helms was chair and now Collins is the chairman with the new Republican majority. You want to reshape that committee. Why?”

“That’s above your pay grade, I’m afraid.”

Reed looked out the window and checked his watch. The Hay-Adams Hotel was dead ahead.

“We can get down to the nitty-gritty tonight, talk logistics and payment and initial strategy. I got you a room here at the hotel for two days. We’ve still got two years, but I want to start on this as soon as possible. We hit the ground running and do no let up until election day. You don’t have to give me a yes or a no right now, but at least let me know if you’re intrigued.”

“You kidding?” Jim said with a laugh. “I said I wanted a challenge, and I sure as hell got one.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Reed said with a wink. The car pulled up to the hotel, Reed’s bodyguard climbing out to open the door for him. 

“Room service is on me, Jim. I’ll see you tonight.”

Jim nodded and stayed sitting as Reed climbed out the car and ambled into the hotel lobby to press the flesh.  The smiling, folksy person the people in the lobby saw and shook hands with was a far different creature that had just occupied this car.

“’84 or ’88?” Jim asked Reed’s chief of staff.

“What’s that, Mr. Sledge?” John asked from the front seat.

“Is Reed actually going to wait until ’88 to run, or is he crazy enough to actually challenge the president in ’84?