SNOWSHINE

Chapter 12

Three days later:

       It was exactly 7:00 AM when the first flake fell. It was right in the middle of rush hour and the streets were heavy with traffic and pedestrian commuters were on their way to work.

       At least, that's what the people thought for the first few seconds. But this flake was too large to be a snowflake but it flapped and flipped and turned in the wind as it fluttered slowly to the ground in exactly the same way.

       A few more papers fluttered and flew along in the winter wind. Someone picked one up.

       And the next moment, the air was full of papers, flying and falling and turning in the air as thick as real snowflakes. Everybody gasped as they witnessed this phenomenon and they grabbed for one to see who would be doing such a thing. A few looked up to try to see who would be doing this but this was downtown Pittsburgh and tall buildings abounded. There was no way to tell where they were coming from.

       The papers were round, small, about the size of notepad papers and holes had been punched through them at random to let the air blow through them and therefore carry them farther along than they would have if they had just fell. As well, if they were dropped again by people who didn't want them (as with many, this was the case) they were more liable to pick themselves up and blow along some more.

       The papers read:

www.snowshine.org

VOTE SNOWSHINE FOR MAYOR

EQUALITY, JUSTICE, TOLERANCE, CHANGE

STOP PROP 14

VOTE SNOWSHINE

www.snowshine.org

       The paper blizzard blew along the length of the thoroughfare for 15 minutes and then stopped as suddenly as it had started. The papers were blown everywhere. They flew around corners, flew down side streets, up the walls of buildings and were sucked into vents, trapped in doorways, and stuck in bike wheel spokes. A few blew into an open manhole and a few minutes later a sewer worker poked his head out like a curious rabbit and squinted at the paper and then marvelled at the faux storm. More than a few were spiked upon tree branches that quested up towards the sky, left bare by Jack Frost, that evil imp who is the slave of the Great and Terrible Ice King. Those ones could never be recovered but served as a constant and gentle reminder of those that could...and even then, some were blown free to begin a new journey again.

       As it is with all things, not all the snowflakes were picked up. Some were cruelly crumpled and throw away so they could never fly again by apathetic people or outright hostiles who were Stockwell supporters. Some, were let go again to glide away on the wind on a new journey, but not before the person had secretly memorized the website address. And still others were picked up, read, read again, and then tucked into bosoms, crotches, and pockets.

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       At 12 noon, in another part of the downtown area, part of which was the Police station where Stockwell hung his hat, the paper blizzard started again.

       Stockwell had missed the first volley in the morning as he was such a ramrod, straight arrow, control freak that at 7:00 he was already at work, at his desk and hunched over his paperwork far away from the first "snowfall".

       He would have missed this one too, as he was manically hunched over his desk facing away from the window going through his stack of paperwork. His eyes were shiny with rabid fanaticism.
       At precisely 12:02 PM his secretary burst into his office.

       "Oh Sir! Sir! It`s happening again! Oh, isn`t it wonderful!?"

       Stockwell was so absorbed that he started a little and blinked a few times as if awaking from a pleasant dream. In fact this was the case as he daydreamed almost constantly about being mayor now that the road was paved clear.

       "How dare you disturb me! What the hell are you taking about?"
       "Oh, but Sir! I felt sure you'd want to know! Didn't you see it this morning? Wasn't it beautiful?"

       Stockwell stood up in his tallest and most intimidating pose and put his hands on his hips. "Miss Simmons, what the HELL are you talking about!!? I didn't see anything this morning! You have three seconds to explain before your paycheck is replaced with a PINK SLIP!!" he screamed at his blond, curly haired, pleasingly plump secretary.

       The plump secretary cowered before her boss and tried to apologize. "Oh, Sir! I'm so sorry! I thought you knew! It's all over Twitter and Yu Tube by now and...and I was sure you saw this morning...well...well...just turn around! Out the window!"

       Stockwell did and screamed like a pig getting its throat cut. He was incoherent with rage.

       "LITTER! FILTH! GARBAGE! A MILLION LITTER VIOLATIONS RIGHT THERE! WHO'S DOING THIS! WHERE'S IT COMING FROM!!?"

       "Uhh, nobody knows, Sir!" quavered Miss Simmons, "They're flying around in the wind so much, there's no way to tell where they're coming from."

       "Don't just stand there! Get down there and get one of those...those...things! I want one of those things in my hand in 5 minutes or you and five other people, I don't like the look of....WILL BE FIRED!!!!!"

       Miss Simmons scurried off.

       Five minutes later, he was staring at a snowflake, a vein in his temple throbbing. With shaking fingers he punched in the website address.

       His face grew red...and then deeper red and then an interesting shade of purple. As it did, making no sudden movements, Miss Simmons backed up slowly, step by step, out of the room.

       "NNNNOOOOOOOAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!" Stockwell began to scream a raging, tantrum scream, all one breath that went on and on. A paperweight hit the wall near the right of the door, narrowly missing Miss Simmons. She slipped the rest of the way through quickly before her boss could throw something else at her and this time, not miss.

       She clicked the door shut and his scream was cut off abruptly. Miss Simmons breathed a sigh of relief and took a minute for a breather. She thanked her stars that she had soundproofed her boss' office a few years ago (on his dime of course). Privacy, morale, peace of mind. Some things didn't have a price tag.

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       A young and handsome collegian walked into a coffeehouse and bought a coffee and a Danish. He went over to a table and booted up his laptop. He put earbuds in his ears and plugged those into the machine. When it was ready he clicked on his browser.

       Furtively he glanced around. He hunched over his machine and double checked his ports. No loose connections. Good.

       CLUMP! CLUMP! CLUMP! Two policemen marched past as forbidding as Gestapo although not quite as stiff legged.

       The young collegian man flinched and hunched further as if he were on the run. Who knows? The way the police were acting, he might as well be.

       After they were past, the young man quickly punched in the web address he had memorized before letting the paper go to fly away to spread its message to another person. He pressed Enter.
       www.snowshine.org was fairly simple. A few links along the side. And dominating the site was a video that immediately started when you entered the site. A young man with blue eyes, white hair, and a white goatee wearing a white suit and a sky-blue tie stood before him.

"Hello. Welcome to www dot snowshine dot org. If you have come to this site, then you know what I want. My name is Snowshine and I want to be your next mayor. Due to circumstances beyond my control I cannot use my real name or appear in public and so I am going to run the first ever internet slash media based campaign. And, with your vote, I am going to win."

"As you may know, Chief Stockwell is currently running unopposed. He has done everything he could to make that happen. Currently, you have no choice. This is not democracy. This is dictatorship. And so, as a concerned citizen and a former police officer, I am stepping up to fill the void. I will be your other choice."

"Although I am unknown to many of you, do not worry. I am not unknown to my running mate and enemy." He waved. "Hello Chief Stockwell. I bet you were hoping I was in that car that exploded, taking my partner with it. Sorry, no such luck."

He returned to his speech. "According to Stockwell, his platform of Proposition 14 will bring about more freedoms, lower taxes and safer streets. However, this is only true if you are rich and heterosexual. The only version released to the public by Stockwell's campaign has been drastically edited and sanitized. The lower taxes he offers are made possible by raising the taxes of anyone professing to be homosexual. The safer streets and freedoms come at the expense of the homosexual community whose freedoms will be cut back to the point where they will have a virtual curfew. A full, unedited version of Proposition 14 is available at the link to your right. Please read it in its entirety and then e mail it to as many Pittsburgh citizens and voters as you can. Thank you."

       "If you have seen my snowflake flyer, then you know my own platform in a nutshell as well. Equality for all, black, white, man, woman, gay and straight. Equal salary, equal taxes, equal treatment for all. Justice. I promise to root out any corruption in the police force of which I know from personal experience is abundant. My dream is to return our law enforcement system to its former glory. This would involve the immediate resignation and replacement of Chief Jim Stockwell. Tolerance of all races, creeds, and sexual orientations by those who still are unable to agree on these issues. Look folks, this is Pittsburgh, not Utopia. There will still be bible thumping, demon-seeing, extremist Christians, or just those of you who are homophobic in some way. But the gay and lesbian community is not going anywhere either. In every country, in every race there are born into them homosexuals back down through the dawn of time. Why do you think Leviticus spoke against homosexuality in the first place? Because, even then, even there, there were homosexuals! But I digress. My point is, even if you cannot agree with another's orientation, political view, race, religious view, whatever, if I'm elected I ask that you simply leave them be, just tolerate them. After all, in more ways than you might guess, they are tolerating you."

"In these ways, I hope to change the city we live in, from a normal, humdrum city into a shining jewel, a beacon by which other cities, states, and then, perhaps, the country can look to as an example, a blueprint of hope by which others can follow our example and change, making this world a better place."

This Election Day, Vote for Change. Vote Snowshine! Thank you."

       The video ended.

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       The burly collegian male clicked onto the link that brought up Prop 14 in its entirety. He read for a moment and then gasped in outrage. This was Proposition 14!!?  This was an absolute nightmare! This was akin to the bigoted happenings against the blacks in the 50's and to the Jews in WW II! The only thing missing were the ovens!

       The collegian did as Snowshine had asked, wrote a short letter that was as non-spammy as possible and attached Prop 14 and hit Send All.

Then he wrote a short e mail to the site showing his moral support and that he had his vote. If there was anything he could do (non financially, due to the poor economy, he was also extremely poor) to let him know.

       Nearly immediately he received a reply: Liberty Diner. Talk to Red. To show you want to volunteer I D yourself by working Big bad wolf into your order somehow.

       That was all. The collegian smiled. He closed his laptop and left.

       As he walked along he heard other laptops along the way and heard quite frequently: welcome to www.snowshine.org... Due to circumstances beyond my control....Stop Prop 14....Vote for Snowshine!

       The hunky collegian smiled wider. The message was spreading. It was spreading and he could tell that soon, nothing would be able to stop it.

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       Ding-a-ling!

       The door to the Liberty Diner opened and Michael strode in. He wore a contented smile and a smart suit with a white shirt, charcoal black slacks and blazer and a red tie. His step was confident and his shoulders were straight and tall and he exuded an air of confidence that he had not shown for many a year.

       Being Snowshine`s campaign manager definitely agreed with Michael. It gave him sense of purpose and a new meaning in life. And it turned out he liked being in charge and he was good at it too. And since the tables were turned so to speak, that is instead of constantly needing and trying and wanting to get others approval and attention, he now had everyone vying for his attention and approval and counting it lucky if he gave it to them. He wasn`t a flunky anymore, he was in charge and he liked it. And he was never going back! Best of all, nobody called him Whiny anymore thanks to Snowshine`s harsh penalty which had been circulated a short time after he had accepted the position. And yesterday, he had chosen his new name. It filled him with warmth and happiness and boosted his ego whenever it was used. He felt reborn and he loved his new life.

       He passed his gaze over the diner and sighed in contentment. The place was packed and it hummed with the sound of mixed conversations. Then his eye fell upon a lone customer in a booth and his breath caught in his throat. The guy was gorgeous!

       The "guy" was in his mid to late 30's, with a wide, gym built bod, huge arms and otherwise built like brick shithouse. He wore an orange sweater, a worn, brown leather jacket and jeans. His face was masculine but not overly butch or mean. He was clean shaven and his face was careworn with a few wrinkles  but was still extremely handsome. He wore wire rimmed glasses. The guy looked a little nervous and held a menu close to his face as if for protection.

       On impulse, Michael went up to him and asked, "Hi there! Can I take your order?"

       The gorgeous man started and looked Michael up and down. "Do you work here?" he asked curiously, "I mean...well, you're not dressed like a waiter."

       "Well, no, I guess you got me there. But my Ma's head server here and I picked up everything from her. I can take your order and pass it on to her. Beats waiting around, don't it?"

       "Hmmm, I guess so. But I -..." the man looked around furtively, "I was kinda hoping to talk to Red."

       "Oh. Well, that's definitely OK! Red is my Ma. Anything you wanted to say, you can tell me as well."

       "Oh, I see. Well, I guess I was going to get something. I guess a cheeseburger. And a coke."

       Michael made a note of that in a small notebook that was now perennially in his breast pocket. Not a waiter's one, just a notepad)

       "So, I guess I was going to ask....That burger is all beef right? There wouldn't be any...big bad wolf in it?"

       Michael smiled. "Ahhh. Not to worry Sir. All our burgers are 100% beef. I'll give your order to Red right away. And don't worry sir, our kitchen is very clean. We have an Exterminator on hand." At the same time, he was writing furiously on a second piece of paper. At last he finished and ripped it off. He sat down across from the man and slid the paper over to him.

       The man read: WELCOME. WE'LL NEED TO SWEEP YOU FOR BUGS BEFORE WE CONTINUE. YOU'RE A HUNK. I'M MIKE. YOU?

       The man smiled and wrote one word on the paper in response.

       BEN.

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       That evening at rush hour, another paper snowstorm hit. Thanks to the crowded streets, many of the flyers were picked up eagerly. Later, in many bars, both gay and straight, it was discovered that dozens of snowflakes had quietly replaced all the coasters. And at precisely 1:00 AM, just when the place was the most crowded, the crush of bodies most dense, the vents that took in air from the roof began to spew out white papers as thick as a snow machine, like white bees, creating a mini snowfall within Meathook. It was a spectacle that could not be ignored.

       The next morning revealed a new wonder. Along whole city blocks at a time, and especially glued over every single Vote Stockwell poster was a new poster. It was a sky blue poster with a single, large white snowflake in the center. On the top it said in capital and large white letters: VOTE and on the bottom in larger but slightly smaller letters: FOR SNOWSHINE. And on the very bottom was the website address.

       When Stockwell saw what had been done, he was speechless with rage. He tried ordering the ones that had been plastered over his own poster removed but it was discovered that the glue that had been used was too strong. If Snowshine's poster came down, so did Stockwell's. So the effort was abandoned after a little while.

       Stockwell stormed into City Hall and demanded to see the registration records. It was revealed that two days ago the proper paperwork had been filed under the name John Smith.

       "That's not his name!" raged Stockwell, "It's Justin Taylor and he's a wanted criminal! He can't run for mayor!"

       The city worker who had processed the form was summoned.

       "Ahhh yes, I remember him. White hair. Blue eyes. But young. Rather strange that. He was represented by another man. Oh, he filled out the paperwork, showed his ID and badge. Everything seemed to be quite in order. But he never said a word. His campaign manager in a dark suit, green eyes and curly black hair did all the talking for him."

       "Well, it's NOT in order!" shrieked Stockwell in a tantrum, "Whatever his credentials were, they were forgeries!"

       "I looked over everything three times VERY carefully," the worker said haughtily, "If they were forgeries, they were very good ones, especially the badge that YOU gave out, Chief Stockwell! Are you saying your badges are unreliable identification?"
       Stockwell couldn't answer as there wasn't one and besides he was too angry to do anything except hear the roaring in his ears and feel the vein in his temple throb.

       "Granted, it is a little irregular that he has decided to use an alias publicly. But it's not unheard of to use a pseudonym to protect his privacy especially on the Internet and there's nothing in the rules about it. I've checked. As far as I'm concerned this application is approved and will remain so. In fact..." The worker reached under the desk and brought out a strange, oversized stamp and added to the already APPROVED  stamp on the application. THUMP! The new stamp read SUPER APPROVED.

       "SUPER APPROVED!!!" screamed Stockwell, "Are you fuckin' kidding me!!?"

       "Mr, Stockwell, please!" the worker admonished, pointing to a sign on the wall. Stockwell swore he could feel steam coming out of his ears,  he was so mad as he read one of his own placards that he had set up in all government buildings, even though technically he had no right in doing so yet. NO SWEARING.

       There was nothing more to be said, nothing more he could do. The chief of police spun on his heel and strode out of there, seeing everything through a red haze, his mind filled with revenge and bloody murder.

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       For the next three days, three times a day, each time in a different, yet heavily populated area, there was a paper snowstorm. Every morning a different area 6 blocks square was postered. The first day an enraged Stockwell joined in the effort at ripping down the posters even if it meant ripping away his own as well. That night, a video went up on YU Tube called "Your Tax Dollars at Work, showing 5 minutes of Stockwell and Co., maniacally ripping down posters. At the bottom of the vid throughout was a simple caption: YOUR NEW MAYOR? The link to the vid was posted/ on Snowshine.org. It went viral.

       As soon as Stockwell saw the video and all the hits he went viral with rage but after that he left the new posters alone. As if by unspoken agreement, the day after the first day that the posters went unmolested, the new posters went up but they stopped posting over Stockwell's posters.

       On the fourth day in the morning, the paper snowstorm started as usual. People everywhere were tense and in the area where it did start, people cheered madly to be the ones to witness the day's spectacle. And when the paper snowflakes finally reached them, they were pleasantly surprised to find that today's snowflakes carried a different message.

TONIGHT

AND EVERY NIGHT @ 7:00 PM

A LIVE MESSAGE FROM SNOWSHINE

Q&A ETC. FOR 1 HOUR

ONLY @ WWW.SNOWSHINE.ORG

       Almost instantly, cell phones went on, texts were sent, passed on, relayed to yet more people. Short e mails were sent by phone or soon after that, by laptops. News about Snowshine finally going live spread across the city like wildfire.

       Deep in the basement of Liberty Diner, Blake was monitoring the website's traffic as he was in charge of doing so. Over the next hour he had on a permanent, wide smile on his face as he watched the site traffic give a sharp upward spike, beyond what they ever experienced to date.

       On the other side of the coin, the viewers of the website were delighted to find something new on the site. On the top center of the screen was a large 12 hour countdown.

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       Brian stood where he was, sick at heart.

       This was because he stood before Stockwell's office door. Being in that place, before that door, and/or in that man's presence, always made him feel that way now, sick at heart and in stomach.

       If he had hated that man before, it had been like nothing. He hated him ten times more than that now. Loathed and despised were not strong enough words. He hated him as if he were Hitler. Which, in a strange, modern-day kind of way, he was.

       But he was there because Snowshine needed him there and he was providing his organization with vital information that only he could get as Stockwell's campaign manager could get. Thanks to him they knew Stockwell's every move, every public appearance, every plan. They were a fly on the wall on every meeting that Stockwell held, no matter how confidential, because as campaign manager Brian was always there. And if there was ever a meeting that he wasn't invited to (although that hadn't happened yet) he had long ago bugged all Stockwell's conference rooms and office with the bugs that Blake had provided him. They were even smaller and yet more sensitive than the ones Stockwell had used on him.

       The day after Brian had got back from Snowshine's lair, Brian had had it out with Stockwell for bugging him. When asked how he had found out and where had he been all this time, Brian made up this cock and ball (uhhh, bull) story about being kidnapped by the Stop Prop 14 crew. He had been knocked out, blindfolded, taken underground somewhere, where he had been de bugged, tied up, interrogated and tortured for information. Brian claimed he had given them half true bread crumbs of information in order to stop them from hot pokering his one remaining testicle. (He had lost one to cancer.) However, the majority of Stockwell's more sensitive information remained safe.

       Of course, none of this was true. As you might remember, Brian had never been tortured, had sung like Pavarotti, and after the conference and the talk with Michael, had helped Snowshine with a bit more work, had had dinner in the Diner. Then he had taken Snowshine's hand again and together they had gone down to the basement again into the secret room. The big, long room was empty now and Snowshine had led him to a third door which had led into a large room with a king size bed and other bedroom accessories in it. Snowshine shut them in and for the rest of the night they had made love, sucking and fucking each other until they were both sobbing, and then screaming, sweating hunks of quivering desire and then pure pleasure.

       Looking back, Brian had remembered the way Snowshine had skilfully assplayed him without him even noticing until it was too late. Before Brian had realized it, his ass had been itching and twitching and aching until he had willingly bent his legs up and hooked his ankles behind his neck. This bit of surprising contortionism earned him a round of applause from Snowshine and a topping of a lifetime as Snowshine had proceeded to plow him, gently at first and then so hard and fast that Brian's eyes rolled back into his head and when he orgasmed, he blew a huge load without touching his cock.

       And that night, when the workday was over, Brian had gone home, walked around the block, and snuck stealthily up to the flower truck. Without warning, he yanked open the back door and yelled BOO!!...to all the spying surveillance people inside. They were furthermore UNpleasantly surprised when Brian picked up a bucket of water that he had stashed there earlier and threw it all over them and their computers and equipment. Sparks flew, small fires broke out and all the screens and computers went dark.

       "Now...your finished! Through! Done!" Brian growled up at them dangerously, "I'm sick and tired of you spying on me! I've known you were there for weeks but it ends now! And if I ever see another truck of any kind, parked across my street, the next thing I will be throwing is gasoline and a lighted match!" And with this dire threat, he had slammed the door closed with all the soaked technicians still staring at him with their mouths dropped open comically in O's of surprise. Brian stood there and waited on the curb until the truck had started up and drove off into the distance. It did not return.

       Of course, the next day, he caught shit for it. (That is, the second day of preparation before the boom fell.)

       Now, up till now, Brian had taken a lot from Stockwell, and I mean a lot, but up till then he had been alone, without hope, without love and without the Fugimoto account. Now he had reunited with his love and had all this and more. And so, at least with this little nugget, Brian stooped to playing a little monkey handball and flung the shit right back.

       "Brian, I don't understand. That truck was there for your protection. Now, I'm going to order them back into position tonight and we'll forget this ever happened," Stockwell dictated in a patronizing, mealy mouthed tone.

       "Like HELL you will! Listen, Stockwell, this is total bullshit! If that truck was there for my "protection" then why was it disguised as a flower truck and placed there without my permission!? Why was it filled with surveillance equipment!? You were spying on me, plain and simple! And I meant what I said! I'd known they were there the whole time! I only put up with them because..." he paused, hating that he had to humble himself before this dick of a man.

       "Yeeeeeesss????" asked Stockwell in mock interest.

       "Because I needed this job," Brian admitted quite honestly, "But I don't anymore." In satisfaction he informed Stockwell about the huge Fugimoto account. "That account will keep my business busy and me on Easy Street for the rest of my life! I don't need you anymore! In fact, YOU need ME! It's too late in the game to get another campaign manager and nobody else would put up with your asinine, bigoted bullshit! So you better straighten up and start treating me right and if I EVER see another "flower truck" (he air quoted viciously) near my building again, I will make good on my thr - promise!" He smiled ferally.

       Stockwell saw he was serious and realized he was right. He gulped quietly and quickly changed his tune.

       "Brian! Of course not! My goodness, I had no idea you felt so strongly about this! Of course we don't have to put the truck back!" Stockwell's voice had changed into a fatherly, comforting tone. It was the one he used on his kids if one of them was afraid of the dark. "You must believe me, I only put it there to watch over you, for your protection. And after all, even with it that bastard outlaw, Snow White managed to have you kidnapped and tortured. Are you sure I can`t assign you another security detail?"

       "No!" returned Brian shortly. Shit! He knew that was going to come back and bite him in the butt! "Besides, I don't think that will happen again. "I got the feeling they felt they got everything they wanted out of me."

       "Isn't that the truth," came Snowshine's smug voice into his tiny, invisible earphone, "Remember how I milked you dry without even touching your cock?"

       Brian hid the hitch in his breath as pleasure and remembrance coursed through him and he came a little in his underwear right there in front of his greatest enemy.

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       Now, four days into Snowshine's campaign, Brian stood at Stockwell's door and after checking with a glance at Miss Simmons, knocked. The last person who had knocked and entered when the man was in a rage had been knocked unconscious by one of Stockwell's Police Chief of the Year awards.

       "Come in!" yelled Stockwell. He always yelled now. Nowadays, he had two moods: angry and furious.

       The police station had become a battle zone. Every one walked on pins, needles and eggshells. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Everyone who could be out in the field, got out there as fast and as much as they could. Anyone who was there doing paperwork cowered in their cubicles. And nobody, but nobody wanted to run into Stockwell on purpose or by accident.

       Stockwell had become a rageoholic. He huffed and puffed and snuffed a strange snorting kind of breathing as he walked the corridors. He slammed every door he came across now. And remember baby, this was the Cop Shoppe! There were a lot of doors. And heaven help you if you got caught in an elevator with him or worse yet were called into the evil troll's office! Stockwell's office became nicknamed the Bridge and going inside became known as ‘Going under the bridge.' A person who was called in and went "under the Bridge" rarely escaped with their job. The only one who could pass under the Bridge safely was Brian, and that was because Stockwell believed he needed him.                        

       Responding to Stockwell's "gracious invitation", Brian opened the door and went under the Bridge.

       "Well!!? What is it?" yelled the evil troll that had been Stockwell.

       "I have the latest poll results," said Brian.

       "Well!?? What are they!!?" yelled Stockwell.

       "You're about 20 points ahead."

       "SAAAY IT!!" the troll huffled.

       "Say what, sir?" God, how he hated calling him sir!

       "YOU KNOOOW....SAY IT!!" the troll snuffled.

       Brian sighed long-sufferingly. "You're still the Top Cop in all the land," he said in a bored monotone.

       The troll snuffled in self satisfaction. Then he snorted unattractively.

       ‘Wait! Twenty points? I was forty points ahead yesterday evening!"

       "Well, that was yesterday. Snowshine has been climbing steadily since his website came out and he's catching up. I figure with this latest stunt he's pulling, it'll put him over the top." Brian was unable to keep the smug satisfaction out of his voice.

       "WHAT! NO! THAT'S IMPOSSIB-...WAIT!? WHAT STUNT!!?" Stockwell yelled.

       "It was on the flyer from the latest snowstorm," Brian informed him with supreme, barely disguised satisfaction. He showed him one. "He's going live tonight."

       "NO! NO! NO! This cannot be! This cannot happen! I must stop him! I must do something! We must think of a plan, Brian! Think! Think of something! Oh, it's not fair! We both know it's that wretched Justin Taylor! He shouldn't be allowed to run in the first place! Oh he makes me so mad! ARRRRRRRGGGGH!!!!! I COULD JUST....." He snatched up his HUMANITARIAN OF THE YEAR award and spun quickly and threw it at Brian with deadly force.

       But the award only hit the door instead. It broke into several pieces. Stockwell roared in impotent rage.

       You see, as soon as Stockwell had begun to rant, Brian had wisely backed toward the door. By the time Stockwell had uttered his first roar of rage, he had reached it, and before Stockwell had even reached for his makeshift weapon, Brian was outside and clicking the soundproof door shut behind him.

TBC