America 1982-Chapter 486 - 91: How Much Do You Love Him?
(Given the sensitivity around religion... let’s fast-forward through the process of fundraising from cults and move on to the next phase of our bizarre campaign journey. I actually quite like those quirky American cult materials, after all, I made a special purchase of an American non-mainstream sect-published pseudo-Bible, which is pretty interesting. The author can be called a master of sophistry, but the safety of this book is the most important. Let’s keep this little pleasure to myself.)
Tommy, holding a can of Coke, stepped into Martin’s newly rented office and looked around, commenting, "Looks good, now this is the vibe a campaign office should have." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞
The spacious yet untidy hall had partitions dividing seven or eight workstations, with a wall in front piled up with twelve television sets forming a video wall, broadcasting different TV channels.
The scattered campaign materials featuring Jeff’s portrait, and five or six workers wearing badges and baseball caps emblazoned with Jeff’s campaign slogan "Say No to Cubans" buzzed around the hall. Some were on the phone, holding the receiver and signaling their colleagues to keep it down, while others stared at one of the televisions on the wall, which showed various live talk shows from the Miami area, ready to call the hosts as soon as a show ended to chat about getting on their program.
"I can’t get through to the ’Good Morning, Liberty City’ program on BT Miami; the show finished half an hour ago, but the line has been busy the whole time!" A young worker gently knocked on the door of an office at the end of the hall before pushing it open and poking his head in to speak.
Martin sat in a luxurious leather swivel chair in the office, his back to the door, staring at the whiteboard on the wall. Upon hearing the worker, he didn’t budge and said, "Then keep dialing the host’s and the program director’s numbers. Your sole job today is to track them down for me. Tell them we’re not short on money! If those candidates can talk at length with them, so can Jeff."
As the worker left, Martin gazed at the roughly sketched map of the electoral districts on the whiteboard. He first marked an X over Little Havana, then picked up his phone and dialed a number, ranting, "Mr. Page, how’s the billboard installation going with those ’Negroes’? Three got beaten by Cubans, two of them are now like vegetables... Those Cubans are savages. Pretending? Are you sure they were pretending and not actually beaten by Cubans? You used a taser to test them? That’s my half-brother, for God’s sake! Damn it... Are you planning to give every black man in the Hawk Family a taste of your taser?"
"How much did my poor brother say he wants? Three thousand bucks? Three goddamn thousand? Great, take that elephant trunk of a taser and give his manhood a zap for me! If he isn’t dead, have him come see me, I’ll zap him again! After you’ve taught him a lesson, the next batch of black workers should be arriving. Keep the cameras rolling to capture the Cuban atrocities. Don’t let those stupid old vets help fight the Cubans! No! Even if they volunteer, don’t let them. Block those alcohol-addled fools! Tell those meddlesome old men if they dare shoot the Cubans, Jeff can kiss his election goodbye forever!"
The door behind him opened and, infuriated by the news from Page, Martin covered the receiver and roared without turning, "How many times have I said it? Mind your manners! I’m the boss of Hart Consulting Company! Show me the respect I deserve, or you interns can forget about getting a recommendation letter from me! Get out!"
"Sir, the Hawk family sent me to inform you, they need your help at the millstone," Tommy said, leaning against the glass door, smiling.
"Holy shit!" Hearing the familiar voice, Martin dropped the phone and stood up from his chair, explaining to Tommy with trepidation, "Boss? You’re back from proselytizing? I thought you wouldn’t return until after Jeff’s first primary nomination. And about what I said just now... I didn’t mean it. I was cursing those workers, mostly rude interns who think my office is as accessible as their girlfriends. But your office next door is untouched, as pristine as a virgin."
After saying all this in one breath, he then noticed Tommy was alone and curiously asked, "Where are Nick and the others? We need them now. We need cameras in Little Havana capturing the Cubans destroying Jeff’s billboards, the more footage, the better."
"Nick took a break after visiting seven churches with me. He’s gone back to Los Angeles, but he said the new person in charge should be arriving today to take over," Tommy looked at Martin, now dressed in a business-like outfit. "This attire makes you look more like a big shot than all those gold necklaces and rings did when you were in Los Angeles pretending to be some black gangster."
Martin, standing there in a smoke-grey dress shirt with the top button undone but cuffs buttoned, a subdued business watch, black dress pants, and black leather shoes, complemented the minimalist grey style of the room, appearing more agreeable to the eye than the old Martin in Los Angeles, who would ostentatiously wear gold chains around his neck and ten gold rings on his fingers, trying to impersonate a black mobster. Martin still rambled on, but he looked better doing it now.
