“I don’t think a fiction writer would dare create a week like we’ve gone through,” my spouse said this morning. We both chuckled, for two reasons. It really was our first opportunity to reflect on the chaotic real world, having been consumed with the goings on in France and some yearly summer bike race. More importantly, no fiction writer would dare construct a plot so outrageous without some modification that made it more…believable.
It’s no secret that a fiction writer often begins with a real-life occurrence, and folds it into a plot or, as is often the case, builds an entire plot around it. I’ve sold books and made money - not a fortune, but some - starting with (for example) an airplane crash in Oshkosh. Reading a pamphlet led to a book about drones and radicalism. Then, there was an employment upset that led to an angry manuscript that just seemed to flow onto my laptop’s screen from a dark heart.
Buried in that last manuscript, for no other reason than it seemed a safe place to put it, were some reflections on my experience at the 2008 Democratic National Convention that took place in Denver. While it is safe to say that week was one of the jewels of my law enforcement career, it predated my efforts at blogging and, so… To keep many of the more interesting moments from fading forever, I gave Amy Painter a role in an event in Flatiron Valley and populated it with some of the people I met at the DNC. There it has sat.
And then, some young man with a rifle took several shots at Donald Trump from the roof of a nearby building in Butler, PA. Inexplicable (and conflicting) explanations were offered for how that might happen while he was protected by the Secret Service. Partisans leapt to blame everything from the slope of a roof (our oldest daughter, a roofer in Florida for a year or so after college, just shook her head) to intentional gaps in security. The death of a rally attendee, the wounding of Former President Trump and others in the crowd, all seemed to dress the set for social media fever dreams and pseudo-expert hyperbole. People who were conversant (or greater) in Parkinson’s disease only a week before now were gifted and experienced in ballistics, drones and dignitary protection.
With just over a week to digest all of that, President Biden came down with COVID, left to recuperate on the beach (I applaud his choice of places to convalesce) and promptly withdrew from the race for re-election. At least, that’s what someone posted on X. Joe himself was unavailable for comment.
The politics of the election are not the subject of this article. Nor is the firestorm of charges, counter-charges and theories that have flooded social media. I wish President Biden nothing but good health. I’m also not a presidential biographer.
But, in Amy 3, someone will take a shot at… I haven’t decided. Probably a Senator, maybe from Hawaii. He/she is clipped, there are some serious questions for the Secret Service they stumble at answering and…
“Can I please speak with Amy Painter,” the male caller said. His voice is rich, calm and has a whisper of a southern accent.
“Speaking,” she says.
“Hi, my name is Josh Timmons. I’m an assistant to President Harkins. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“About what?” She is immediately wary, suspicious.
“The President has ordered the formation of a commission to investigate the attempt on the life of Senator Inouye. We are building a cadre of experienced investigators to assist.”
“I’m no longer a police officer,” she said.
“President Harkins asked for you, specifically. Some of her Secret Service protection detail remember you from the speech in Colorado, said you are a person who understands confidentiality.”
“I’m—”
“Mrs. Painter, the President is asking you to serve.”
We’re off…