One in Ten Ch. 03

"If you had an ounce of human compassion, you'd know why," Francesca replied.

"I don't see the need to brow beat Israel into granting me sexual favors. If we do decide to have sex, I'll let you know how good willing intercourse with him is like," Ms. Silverhorn stated. "Providing you ever have had willing intercourse with anyone that is." I had no idea why Francesca was doing this. It was beyond all expectations.

Sure, I knew women who had expressed all kinds of sympathy for me. Sympathy never translated into action. Before this, the only women to stand up for me were my Mother and Angel, and Angel was assigned to look out for me. Francesca was a total mystery.

"You need a drug test," Isobel threatened.

"But that's not why I called. The Mayor wants you to rectify this disaster. We are going to have a press conference reboot at 12:30. Create some sort of spin, give us a God damned head's up on what that is and get Israel ready. He had better not cause us a single problem either," Isobel ordered.

"Considering the day Israel has experienced, I can't endorse that," Francesca said.

"I don't give a crap how bad a day he's had, Israel had better keep his shit together and get the job done or it will be your head on the block, Francesca – clear?" Isobel snarled.

"He's my employee," Francesca snapped back. "After what he's been put through today, I should..."

"I've got this," I interrupted Francesca. "I'll do it for you."

"This isn't your call, Israel, but thank you. The professionalism of my department is my concern and you look like crap," Francesca assured me.

"That was not a fucking suggestion!" Ms. Diaz yelled then cut the connection.

"Israel?" Francesca looked me over.

"Doomsday Cult – society on the edge – have men watch out for men because women won't know what to look for," I read off my press points.

"I shouldn't – you aren't – you do realize we are supposed to make people feel better and make the Mayor look good, remember?" Francesca worked things out.

"The theory is by making bold statements, you develop a commanding presence," I stated from one of my sociology courses. "Leaders gather followers."

"We need to have something that is supportable, or at least something we can later claim to be misinterpreted," she clarified.

"That's your job," I smiled sadly.

"This is going to make it harder on men nationwide," Ms. Silverhorn noted.

"I know," I shrugged, "but sixteen young boys are dead. No matter how much I sympathize with those three men, what they did was wrong."

"I had a son," she studied me intently. "He didn't make it. Had he grown up, I would like to think he would have stood proudly and been strong. Not like you – you are all kinds of fucked up, but like that man who stood up to Isobel yesterday."

"Thank you," I smirked then winced. I was still in pain. "I guess that was almost a compliment."

"Get to work," she directed. After that, our office raced to put something together that had a remote acquaintance with reality. Bethany wished me luck as I left. Wanda, Selma and Francesca escorted me to the first floor bathroom where I prepped myself yet again. From somewhere, the office had miraculously produced a fresh set of clothes for me.

I had to assume they broke into my house to get them. My time with security had ruined the set I had. They'd pulled my pants down around my ankles but when I pissed myself, they'd been splashed and those stains would raise questions at the press conference too many people didn't want answered.

"Are you going to follow any part of our script?" Selma touched my arm to get my attention.

"I honestly don't know," I responded. "It depends on what they ask me."

"Why is he still working here?" Selma addressed Francesca.

"I don't know about you," Francesca mused. "This has been the most interesting 72 hours on the job that I've had in over a decade. Sure, Israel is self-destructing, but I still want to see how it ends."

We were all silent as I was handed off to the press secretary – Naomi List.

"Don't embarrass us," she whispered heatedly. By 'us' I guess she meant the Mayor.

"Too late for that," I responded quietly. She looked to me to see if I was joking with her. A fierce look crossed her dark eyes when she realized I was dead-serious. A cold streak of fear passed through me.

We didn't even get the first word out.

"Welcome back, Mr. Jensen," Eloise Granger greeted me. I had given my reply to this some serious thought.

"I'm going to get you for this, Eloise, if it is the last thing I do," I stated deadpan. "If you make it to Monday, you will probably be in the clear."

"Planning to have a tough weekend?" Eloise bantered. Naomi was about to bust a gut.

"You have no idea," I sighed.

"You would be surprised what I know," the reporter for the Sentinel grinned.

"Ah, shit," I groaned. I was told that went out live to twenty millions screens.

"How about we let Naomi here do her job?" I recovered. No one objected so Naomi stepped up and did her spiel, which boiled down to our city sent its condolences to Denver – yay.

"Are we in any danger here?" a reporter from a conservative blog asked.

"No," Naomi assured the audience. "We are on the alert for any MRA activity."

"What do you think?" Maribel beat Eloise to the punch, asking me for my opinion. I groaned.

"I don't believe this was an MRA action. That was a ruse and nothing more. As far as I know, there is no MRA anymore. There hasn't been an established action by the terrorists of the MRA in eleven years," I pointed out. I waited a few seconds for security to come and whisk me off the stage.

"I believe these three deranged individuals used the guise of the...," I continued when security failed to gag me. "Those three men used the guise of the MRA to buy time with the Denver tactical unit. They used the time to ensure those poor young boys were unrecoverable. Those boys were dead seconds after the last woman left the building. Those men blew themselves up to escape arrest."

"What makes you say that?" Eloise grilled me.

"They hated you – women, that is – and your society. They wanted nothing less than the death of our species, a decision reached undoubtedly after decades of female abuse," I explained.

"But what makes you make that assumption?" Eloise persisted.

"I studied their actions, what they did and what they failed to do. Coupled with my personal experiences, this was the only logical conclusion – twisted as it is," I said.

"You have no police or psychological experience that we are aware of," a fourth reporter stated.

"No, I have something much better," I answered.

"I'm a man and I am deeply in tune with their sense of hopelessness and depression. I sympathize with their perceived plight, but I taking the lives of those poor children was a pathetic gesture that will not make the situation any better," I countered. "They didn't deserve to grow up in this world, but they didn't deserve to die at the hands of androcidal maniacs either."

"Are you confessing to being in the MRA," the conservative prodded.

"No," I shook my head. "I don't think there is an MRA and if there was such an organization and I was invited to join, I'd run to the police," I explained, "and that's saying something since I think the majority of the police are a bunch of misandristic, brutal thugs."

"I wouldn't join the MRA because they are murderers. The second I start seeing my fellow humans as objects instead of people, I've become just as bad as most of the women I've ever known," I committed myself to blasphemy.

"You sound like you hate us," Eloise smirked. She was a smart cookie alright.

"I don't hate women. I don't know most of you, but I can explain my issue with your gender with three examples. For starters, empty both your hands," I suggested. A few did. "Okay, reach out to the woman next to you and put your hand on her crotch." I thought four or five actually did it. The few victims swatted the hands away.

"What is that supposed to prove?" Maribel was losing her patience.

"Well, most of you didn't do it, but if you were groped understand I go through that fifty times a day, every work day. When I'm walking down the street, standing in line or on the metro and even in this very building," I told them. "Every day."

"I noticed the few who were actually groped protested. I can't. No one will listen. Theoretically it is against the law, but I challenge you to cite the last time a woman was convicted of unwanted sexual contact," I added. "As women, what do you do when you see a sister pat a man on the ass or bump against his package? Do you call her on it? Do you ask if he's okay? Do you assume that since she got a free feel you can get one too?"

"That's one. Number two, last night I went on my first date in three years – sadly enough with the same woman who was my last date three years ago," I related. "Among the other fascinating aspects of this encounter, she was kind enough to inform me that during the two and a half day sexual marathon she had orchestrated to milk me for the benefit of society, I serviced 41 of her sorority sisters. Among the other fascinating aspects of this encounter, was the revelation that eighteen of those women became pregnant and I have sixteen children that I knew nothing about until last night."

"It sounded pretty insane to me too. If you don't believe me you can check out the facts. It was the Theta Omega Sorority in the fall of my freshman year. The membership and birth records should be public record. That's not the point. The point is I wasn't even informed of my own children's births. I wasn't informed because in your eyes, fathers don't matter," I reasoned. "The decision to steal our children is totally your fault."

"Example three came this morning when Steve, I guy I barely knew, threw himself in front of the metro at our station right in front of me. He waved to me right before he leapt to his death. Why would he take his own life? I think the poor, dumb bastard grieved for his departed wife. Your society dictated his time to mourn. Instead of being given time to recover and move on he was dosed with drugs to ramp up his libido and primed him for harvest," I stated frankly

"The law decided that he was essentially a fuck toy. He decided to fuck you back and escaped by the only means available – death," I was growing both crazier and angrier.

"You say 'escaped'," Maribel countered. "He sounds like a poor, sick man in need of care. He was a suicide, not a failed romantic."

"Sick implies that you will get better or die," I met her gaze. "He was never going to get better. The cure for him was time and you weren't giving him any. The fact is, Steve committed suicide. By now the police have his suicide note and should be able to answer your questions about what his final thoughts were."

"Steve's suicide will continue to have impacts on the other men in our city. It certainly had a major impact on me. I was questioned at the metro station, I argued with the police, and was brought by a GED detective – Somerset Trainer – to City Hall," I scanned the room. "Because I had witnessed a suicide, Detective Trainer instructed building security to strip search me then anally fist me. Maybe they were afraid I had a bomb up my ass."

"I pissed on myself, cried and pretty much felt nearly worthless before my boss rescued me," I related. "I'm sure you know Stella. It was her fist and wrist inside me. Make sure to thank her for keeping you safe from a crackpot like myself, but you might not want to shake her right hand."

"That story sounds absurd," Eloise reminded the group. "Unfortunately for some people, I find you interesting Israel. I know you left the station with Detective Trainer and I know you were escorted to security room three by guards Stella Richards and Barbra Nazari and held there for over forty minutes. Afterwards, a sanitation engineer was dispatched to the room to clean it up."

"That doesn't prove anything, of course," Eloise murmured, "but it does beg the question why you, one of only a handful of men in city government, was singled out for special attention." Maybe it was the fact that we were on the national stage, Eloise added, "Maybe it is because you called Isobel Diaz a monster after she made you expose yourself in her office."

I had clearly stepped into a shit pile and I had no idea how to get out.

"Well, Mr. Jensen?" Maribel requested confirmation. "Did you call the Mayor's Chief of Staff a monster after she sexually harassed you?"

"Excuse me," I rubbed my forehead. "I need to go and clean out my desk now. Ummm...support the Mayor. She is most likely the lesser of two evils."

"Oh my God," Naomi groaned. "You did not just say that."

"Mr. Jensen," several voices called out. Ironically, I chose that moment to forget I had a microphone on.

"I flee with neither dignity nor poise," I muttered. I didn't know where the quote came from but it felt fatalistically appropriate. Selma had the presence of mind to disconnect my hook-up.

"Francesca, what angle are we putting on this?" Selma muttered.

"A simple statement that Mr. Jensen became unhinged by the suicide this morning seems reasonable," Francesca sighed. She was right.

"That won't counter what Eloise Granger said," Selma pointed out.

"Maybe we could ask Ms. Diaz to issue a formal apology," Francesca looked at Selma.

"Let's try not to stray into the realm of fantasy," Selma sighed. "Israel, is there any way you could simply disappear – forever?"

"Considering that my brethren have been vanishing steadily for the past six months, that's not a far-fetched prospect," I nodded.

"Shit," Selma muttered.

"Shit," Francesca echoed but for a different reason. We had exited the elevator and walked right into Detectives Trainer and Seger. My first thought was that they were going to shoot me. Then I recalled that I had an interrogation coming my way.

"Come with us, Mr. Jensen," Somerset commanded. I went along. I was hardly brave about it. I was scared and sweating. Even then, I couldn't find it in myself to regret the words I'd used earlier. The feeling that came from speaking my mind felt too good.

"Mr. Jensen! Mr. Jensen!" a short, young woman with big glasses and thick, wavy russet colored hair came running my way as I reached the conference room door.

"Miss," Gayle interposed her body between the woman and me, "this is a police matter. Back off."

"Well, I'd hope so," the woman huffed. "I'm Capri O'Hara from the Public Defender's office, Mr. Jensen's legal counsel."

Holy Hell. Was this the lawyer Angel Kristi had steered my way? She looked barely out of high school, much less law school. The four of us entered the conference room and Gayle shut the door.

"We are recording this interview," Somerset began. "Interview one with Mr. Israel Jensen, age twenty-one."

"Oh yeah," Capri peeped. "I should do this too – record the conversation that is."

"Do this much?" I turned to her. She was to my left, Somerset was across from me and Gayle was opposite Capri.

"This is my first independent case," she admitted.

"Been a lawyer long?" I asked.

"Two months. I failed the BAR the first time out, but most law school graduates do. Don't worry."

Worry? Why would I worry? The cops were going to gut me like a trout.

Fuck getting put on a 72 hour psychiatric watch. I was about to be institutionalized. By the smiles on Gayle's and Somerset's faces, they were thinking the same thing.

"Why are we here today?" Capri grinned.

"We are getting to that, Ms. O'Hara," Somerset replied. "Mr. Jensen, we want to question you about the disappearance of thirty men in the city."

"What are the victims' names?" Capri interrupted.

"We are getting to that," Gayle growled.

"Provide my client with a list," Capri stated firmly. "He'll review it and let you know if he recognizes any of them."

"We are trying to determine if he knows any of them right now. Since he is in the potential victim pool, we need to question him," Somerset explained in a chilly tone.

"So you brought Mr. Jensen in because he is a male, aged between 18 and 25," Capri verified. "That's gender profiling. You can't do that. It is illegal."

It seemed that Capri was, despite her youthful cuteness and small size possessed fearless, ferocious and an obstinate tenacity, the Jack Russell puppy of lawyers.

"Listen you," Gayle half-stood. "Men like him are vanishing and we need to find out why. The fate of the human race is at stake. How dumb are you?"

"That's a nice excuse," Capri responded calmly, "but hardly a valid legal reason for detaining my client. Mr. Jensen, do you wish to cooperate with the police at this time?"

"No way in hell," I blurted out quickly.

"We are done here," Capri stated with self-assurance. She stood to go as did I.

"You are not going anywhere," Somerset sneered. "If Mr. Jensen doesn't cooperate we have little choice but to put him under a 72 hour watch." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'll have him out before you finish processing him and then slap you both with an unlawful imprisonment suit," Capri growled right back. "You can't put a person into what amounts to a prison on a hunch, Detective. How has he acted irrationally or against the public interest?"

"Did you listen to that fucking tirade at the press conference?" Somerset stared at Capri.

"An expression of free speech, no matter how unpalatable to the ruling elite, is still guaranteed by the First Amendment," Capri noted. "A swing and a miss. That's strike two. Care to try for three?"

"Listen up, you pipsqueak," Gayle trumpeted.

Whatever else she was going to say was lost as the Mayor, Ms. Diaz and two flunkies I wasn't familiar with entered the room.

"Excuse me," the Mayor gave us her best artificial smile. "I wanted to make sure that Israel was okay."

"He is not being very helpful," Somerset got out.

"We have established that there is no reason for him to be here in the first place," Capri jumped in.

"There shouldn't be a problem," the Mayor smiled with a suspicious satisfaction in her eye. "I talked to the District Attorney and she's agreed to hold the review of this case over until Monday."

"Madame Mayor," Capri kept fighting, "there is no case."

"Miss?" the Mayor turned frosty.

"Ms. Capri O'Hara, Public Defender's office," Capri stuck out her chin defiantly.

"Ms. O'Hara, Mr. Jensen is under investigation by a joint city/federal task force over allegations of sexual misconduct with an off-duty police officer," the Mayor's smile returned.

"I remain his legal counsel until all such matters are resolved," Capri insisted. "I hope law enforcement keeps that in mind before they detain, transport, or interview him."

"It shouldn't be a problem," the Mayor kept looking at me. "I'm sure the District Attorney will clear up this matter on Monday. No charges will be filed. I look forward to seeing you Saturday night, Israel."

There it was, the 'fuck you'. If I refused to go the Isobel's freak show, not only were they coming at me with the full force of the law, they were going after Angel as well. I was emotionally confused where Detective Kristi was concerned. I felt something for her, but I didn't want to. I'd lived in emotional isolation for three years and it had become my status quo.

"I – I look forward to it," I stuttered. It was a poor lie. Four of the women in the room giving me smug smiles only added insult to injury.

"Glad to hear it," the Mayor smiled and nodded. She turned, took her people and exited.

"This interview is concluded," Somerset snickered. "Good job, Israel. You folded like a good little boy."

"Need a tampon for your ass?" Gayle chuckled. I looked away. The two GED detectives were laughing as they left the room.