America 1982-Chapter 510 - 98: Beast Fighting

Miami, Intercontinental Hotel South Bay.

A dozen or so staff members were making the final adjustments to the lighting and some of the settings in the business conference center.

Evan Wood, the 32-year-old deputy manager and spokesperson of the Democratic Party candidate Rosario Kennedy’s election team, stood on the stage, behind him a giant portrait of Rosario had already been hung on the wall. He tapped the microphone lightly with his finger, and a loud tapping sound emerged from the speakers.

He stretched his arm forward, holding the microphone at level, trying to keep it as far away from himself as possible, then turned off his own earpiece and spoke softly in this awkward pose:

"Jennifer, I can smell the stupidity oozing from your brain two miles away."

Although the microphone was a bit distant and the reception slightly poor, his words were still transmitted clearly and completely. The other workers on site were taken aback when they heard this and involuntarily paused in their tasks to look towards the stage.

Evan brought the microphone closer to his mouth and turned his head towards the direction of the corridor:

"How many times have I told you to pay attention to the details, Jennifer? Do you want all our guests to know how melodious your moans are? Lower the volume on your earpiece to the lowest! Then replace this damned microphone with a more professional one designed for politicians! To prevent Rona from listening to prompts in her earpiece while the guests are also unintentionally tuning in!"

A middle-aged woman with work credentials, wearing glasses, dressed inconspicuously, who was in the corridor, got startled by Evan’s actions, but did not get angry. Instead, she couldn’t help but retort:

"Why couldn’t we choose the Four Seasons Hotel, Miami Convention Center, or Huna International Hotel? This hotel has too many problems with the details, the lighting, sound system, and the microphone that angered you."

"Considering the owner of this hotel, Steve Mus, is a Democratic Party supporter and he donated one hundred thousand dollars to Rona this time, I can tolerate all the vexing issues of the hotel and choose to criticize you more harshly instead unless you also donate one hundred thousand dollars," said Evan, loosening his necktie around his collar. "The poor owner has only this one request; he hopes Rona’s reception is to be held here. He wants the big shots to mingle in his hotel and then get acquainted with them through Rona’s introductions."

Tomorrow, a fundraising dinner for Rosario Kennedy will take place here. It is expected to be attended by some of the Democratic Party’s heavyweights and long-time Democratic donors. Although Evan was reluctant to put it bluntly, having been in the business for so long, the fact is just so: through the main character of the evening, introductions by Rosario Kennedy, rounds of mingling, and then on account of Rosario Kennedy’s hard work in connecting people, some large checks would be left behind as the finder’s fee.

That is the standard procedure for a fundraising dinner for an American political candidate — financial backers find a new political enforcer who can grab them more benefits, politicians find backers who can write large checks to get them higher up the ladder, and the organizers gain the common support of both parties.

"Evan, there’s a problem. We’ve received a message that someone is attacking her using a pilot bill Rona pushed two years ago," a team member hurried over, whispering in Evan’s ear. "Someone shot a gun at the rally to attract attention, and then they heavily publicized the bill Rona put forward two years ago..."

Evan turned his head to look at his colleague and interrupted before he could finish, "A shooting? Were there any civilian casualties?"

"No, someone fired into the sky," his colleague shook his head, replying.

A look of regret appeared on Evan’s face, "What a shame. If someone had died, we could have found an excuse to bite back at anyone attacking Rona over this. Why didn’t anyone die; was the shooter’s aim that bad? Never mind, not important. Find a serious enough excuse to keep the person locked up until the election is over."

"But the person has already hired a lawyer and arranged for bail to leave the police station," the colleague shared the latest information he had.

Evan Wood’s brows nearly knitted together in disbelief, staring at his colleague, "Has the police station gone fucking mad? With ’gun’ and ’rally site’ put together, even if no one was killed, you can’t just let a despicable shooter go so easily. At the very least, they should clarify the firearms issue before deciding whether to allow bail."

"It turned out upon inspection at the police station that the gun had no lethal capability; it’s a prop commonly used in movies that can emit a bang like a real gun and eject shell casings but can’t actually discharge bullets. For this reason, the lawyer insisted it was all just a hoax. Most importantly, many journalists captured this joke," the colleague explained with a sigh.

"Why the hell didn’t you tell me immediately!" Evan exclaimed, his eyes widening after hearing that the shooter at the rally had merely been playing a prank with a prop gun.

"You didn’t let me finish," the colleague now related all the information he had received in full detail, from the old couple’s son and daughter-in-law’s death, to their complaints to the city council being ignored, to the intrusion into a campaign rally on Coral Street in the Southern District today with the gun, and finally the candidate Jeff Rush taking away the couple’s grandson after delivering a short speech to the gathered public.