the woman who had set it up has a pit bull herself and she thought it would be a neat cause.”
Dutch shook his head. “Next time they schedule meetings like that for you, you tell me about it.”
“I will.”
“But what about Marcus Rance? Did his name come up?”
“It came up, yes, that’s what I was saying. Mrs. Feingold bought it up herself, comparing the plight of pit bulls to the plight of people on death row. She knew I opposed capital punishment of any kind. And she asked if I would want my brother’s sentence commuted to life.”
Dutch closed his eyes as soon as she said that, and then reopened them. “And of course you said you would?”
“I said I was against the death penalty for any reason and for anybody, so yes, I said I would. Not because of my kinship with Marcus Rance, such as it is, but because of the principal of capital punishment itself. That was it, Dutch, I declare that was it.” Then she stared at his troubled eyes. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing, except that Marcus Rance’s sentence has just been commuted to life by Mrs. Feingold’s husband. Thanks, according to the press, to your intervention.”
Gina couldn’t believe it. She just stood there staring at Dutch.
Dutch exhaled. “Damn,” he said.
“But it was nothing!” Gina insisted. “It was just an offhand comment.”
“Gina, how many times do I have to tell you to watch what you say around here, offhand or not?” Dutch exhaled, ran his hand through his thick mop of black hair. “It was no issue, you know it and I know it. But the press, they don’t know that. Little offhand comments like this are their bread and butter, and don’t you forget that!”
Gina stared at Dutch. Her fed-up with this town meter was slowly moving off the charts. “What can I do?” she asked in a deflated tone, because she knew there was always some sick, political, pandering way to make it up.
“Max suggests you go to one of those victims of violent crime centers here in DC and meet with some of the victims. That way you’ll look more sympathetic to the victims rather than the perps.”
“I am sympathetic to the victims.”
“You know it, I know it. We need to make sure the public still knows it.”
Gina shook her head. “But to have me going to a victim center after the commutation, like the American people are stupid or something. That is so bogus, Dutch.”
“I know it is. But do it,” he ordered, looking her dead in the eye.
Gina nodded, still reluctant. “Yes, sir,” she said.
Dutch kissed her lightly on the lips, and left.
“Shoes,” Gina said aloud, and went back to her rack of gowns.
***
Two days later, after visiting two of those victim centers in the DC area and actually learning something she thought was rather profound, she made a decision. That night, alone in the residence with Dutch, she tried to figure out a way to tell him about it.
“How did it go today?” she asked him. They were in the residence dining hall eating dinner. Dutch at the head of the table, Gina sitting to the right of him.
“It was the usual unusual, you know how it goes. Plans are being drawn and redrawn, the economy is beginning to pick up some steam, and we’re finally having some private communications with the hostage takers.”
“The media would broadcast it live if they found out.”
“Some already know. The big three networks know, but for the safety of the hostages they have agreed to keep it under wraps.”
“Really? And you expect them to keep their word?”
“It’s happened before. As long as they know the hostages’ lives are at stake, they’ll remain silent.”
“I pray you’re right.”
“Also,” Dutch said a little less enthusiastically. “My mother phoned.”
Gina bit
Dutch shook his head. “Next time they schedule meetings like that for you, you tell me about it.”
“I will.”
“But what about Marcus Rance? Did his name come up?”
“It came up, yes, that’s what I was saying. Mrs. Feingold bought it up herself, comparing the plight of pit bulls to the plight of people on death row. She knew I opposed capital punishment of any kind. And she asked if I would want my brother’s sentence commuted to life.”
Dutch closed his eyes as soon as she said that, and then reopened them. “And of course you said you would?”
“I said I was against the death penalty for any reason and for anybody, so yes, I said I would. Not because of my kinship with Marcus Rance, such as it is, but because of the principal of capital punishment itself. That was it, Dutch, I declare that was it.” Then she stared at his troubled eyes. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing, except that Marcus Rance’s sentence has just been commuted to life by Mrs. Feingold’s husband. Thanks, according to the press, to your intervention.”
Gina couldn’t believe it. She just stood there staring at Dutch.
Dutch exhaled. “Damn,” he said.
“But it was nothing!” Gina insisted. “It was just an offhand comment.”
“Gina, how many times do I have to tell you to watch what you say around here, offhand or not?” Dutch exhaled, ran his hand through his thick mop of black hair. “It was no issue, you know it and I know it. But the press, they don’t know that. Little offhand comments like this are their bread and butter, and don’t you forget that!”
Gina stared at Dutch. Her fed-up with this town meter was slowly moving off the charts. “What can I do?” she asked in a deflated tone, because she knew there was always some sick, political, pandering way to make it up.
“Max suggests you go to one of those victims of violent crime centers here in DC and meet with some of the victims. That way you’ll look more sympathetic to the victims rather than the perps.”
“I am sympathetic to the victims.”
“You know it, I know it. We need to make sure the public still knows it.”
Gina shook her head. “But to have me going to a victim center after the commutation, like the American people are stupid or something. That is so bogus, Dutch.”
“I know it is. But do it,” he ordered, looking her dead in the eye.
Gina nodded, still reluctant. “Yes, sir,” she said.
Dutch kissed her lightly on the lips, and left.
“Shoes,” Gina said aloud, and went back to her rack of gowns.
***
Two days later, after visiting two of those victim centers in the DC area and actually learning something she thought was rather profound, she made a decision. That night, alone in the residence with Dutch, she tried to figure out a way to tell him about it.
“How did it go today?” she asked him. They were in the residence dining hall eating dinner. Dutch at the head of the table, Gina sitting to the right of him.
“It was the usual unusual, you know how it goes. Plans are being drawn and redrawn, the economy is beginning to pick up some steam, and we’re finally having some private communications with the hostage takers.”
“The media would broadcast it live if they found out.”
“Some already know. The big three networks know, but for the safety of the hostages they have agreed to keep it under wraps.”
“Really? And you expect them to keep their word?”
“It’s happened before. As long as they know the hostages’ lives are at stake, they’ll remain silent.”
“I pray you’re right.”
“Also,” Dutch said a little less enthusiastically. “My mother phoned.”
Gina bit
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