The senator was having a decidedly bad day. Well, it followed an absolutely amazing night, but as the night was the main cause of the bad day, it put a sour taste in his mouth.
The hangover was bad enough - but the fallout was worse. He had been caught there, passed out on the bed with... well, he didn't know her name, but that didn't matter. The drugs on the table, now, that might make a difference. Along with the fact that the bed in question was located in a rather shady side of town. Putting it lightly.
His aides all buzzed around him, trying to figure out a way to "spin" a way out of the mess. He folded his arms on his desk and laid his head on top of them. His arms, not the aides.
Several hours later, one of the aides gingerly poked the sleeping senator with the eraser of a sharpened pencil. After all, it wouldn't be very polite to use the pointy end. It would ruin a nice suit, and might get bloodstains on the very nice carpet. He admitted to himself, though, that using the blunt end wasn't near as satisfying as using the sharp one would have been.
Reaching for the glass of "water" on his desk with a moan like a drowning wildebeast, the senator acknowledged the aide with a half-hearted grunt and a drink of what everyone in the room knew was most definantly not water.
The aide started speaking, "I think, at this point, since the picture has already been sold to the press and authenticated, instead of denying that you were there we need to pin the blame on someone or something else."
Another aide, this one a female, spoke up from the back, "What about the communists?"
A third aide, the one who poured the glass for the senator and who looked like he was either embezzeling some of the alcohol or in serious need of some, said, rather harshly, "Honey, since the communists that were fun to blame things went home in the late '80's, we don't have any decent Red candidates to pin it on. Unless you have a good case for a Cuban cigar salesman forcing the good senator into that room."
The first aide, seriously considering using the fun end of his precious pencil on either of the other two aides who had spoken, offered up, "What about the Chinese?"
The third aide had started eyeing the half-full glass the senator was blissfully unaware of, and almost reached for it until the senator saw the look the aide was giving the glass and gave off another wildebeast call. Instead of taking the glass, the aide sighed and turned his attention to the first aide, "You mean the country where the majority of parents abort their female children so they can have strong male heirs to carry on their name? Why would they bother a senator over here when they're busy enough over there looking for a girl that's not ancient, married, or aborted?"
The female tried again, "If communists won't work, what about terrorists?"
The third aide, turning his attention from alcohol to another vice much more enjoyable and much harder to obtain without money and a moderate risk of infection, agreed with her completely.
The first aide, who realized what was going on and decided he wanted a slice of the vice as well, if it was going to be given out, also agreed with her.
So, having taken a "vote" in the most informal sense of the word, the trio began deciding how best to implicate terrorists.
The senator had a very vivid dream involving being eaten alive by lions next to an African watering hole...
*******
He didn't even knock before he came in. He didn't exactly have to, because they called him. Besides, his entrance was so much more dramatic this way.
He was a little over average height, but appeared much taller then he actually was becasue of his rod-like posture. His hair was cut close, and he was wearing a white, knee-length labcoat. He was wearing glasses, and carried a leather doctor's handbag. It looked extremely old, with it's cracking leather and faded gold lettering that was peeling and flaking off; much older, in fact, then the man carrying it.
He gave each of the aides in turn a look, and, following that look, each of them got up and walked out of the door. After the last one left, the doctor walked over to the door and carefully closed it.
The senator, not quite as hung over as he was, started the conversation, "So you must be Dr. ..."
"My name is of no concern at the moment. Not that you don't deserve to know it, but if you don't know it then if you're called in and interrogated you won't have any chance of incriminating me."
"You seem almost as careful as I am..."
"But I don't let myself get caught asleep in an awkward position. Assuming you catch my meaning," he said while sitting in a chair across from the senator.
"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't get down to business... although I'm honestly not sure what exactly your business is?" the senator said. It was a sentence, to be sure, but it was phrased like a question. Hence the punctuation mark.
The man in the labcoat replied, "I am a... purveyor of exotic chemicals. Your associates called me because they thought I might be able to help you in your... situation"
"OK, I was very nearly unconscious while they were talking about this... how exactly are you going to help me?"
The doctor sighed, undoing the clutch and placing some objects fro his bag on the desk. "You need an excellent excuse for why you found in that position. I'm going to give you a dose of rohypnol," he said, pointing at the bottle of pills. "Twenty seconds after you take it, you're going to take some ipecac, and throw up into your personal toilet and flush it. This will simulate the dose that would be left in your body this long after the pictures were taken. After you finish that, you're going to inject this into your arm," he pointed at a syringe, "It's a nice cocktail of diluted heroin, cocaine, and some methamphetamine made with Russian, French, and German chemicals."
"I understand the Russian and German, they sell their crap to anybody. But why French? I didn't think they made meth..."
"Oh, mousiour," the doctor said, in a mock French accent, "we Frehnch du not make ze messamphetamine! Seeleey Americans (this word was said with not-quite masked contempt) take our Frehnch chemicalls and make eet in their fahncee 'otel rloooms. Ze only reeson ve even make zee chemeecalls is because ourl deleecate Frehnch noses require deecongestents..."
The senator started laughing quite a bit louder then he really should have.
The doctor, assuming a serious tone, said, "Congressman, -"
The senator interrupted, "Son, I am a senator, and as such, expect distinguishing from my lesser colleagues in the House of Representatives!"
"My apologies, Senator. As I was saying, in your campaign you claimed to be God's man. You've been a church-goer all your life... why not ask for forgiveness? Both from your constituents and from God? If I may say so, this move you're making is incredibly risky. You could very easily die if something goes wrong... wouldn't you rather salvage your reputation and admit to being flawed? Most of the voters in your district would understand - a great many of them have messed up as well."
The congressman replied, angrily, "Don't give me a lecture on morality! If you're done, leave the drugs and go! I can handle it from here!"
The doctor bowed slightly and said, "Remember, take the roofies first, then wait twenty seconds and use the ipecac. After that... you can guess the rest."
He opened the two bottles and placed a pill from each in front of the senator, afterwards placing the bottles back in his handbag.
"I have told you this, so that when the time comes you will remember that I warned you. Good evening, senator. I trust you can, indeed, handle it from here. In the meantime, I'm going to excuse myself and ensure I can't be called as a possible witness. I think I might join your associates at the bar down the road. Farewell."
And with those words, he left.
******
As he walked out of the room, the doctor closed the door, crossed himself, and said, "You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter. Because you have turned away from the LORD, he will not be with you and you will fall by the sword. Will such a man live? He will not! Because he has done all these detestable things, he will surely be put to death and his blood will be on his own head. If a righteous man turns from his righteousness and commits sin, he will die for it; because of the sin he has committed he will die. But if a wicked man turns away from the wickedness he has committed and does what is just and right, he will save his life. Because he considers all the offenses he has committed and turns away from them, he will surely live; he will not die."
He knew, though, that as he said that, the senator was already injecting the chemicals into his bloodstream. There was, in fact, cocaine, heroin, and methamphetamine in the syringe. But there was also potassium chloride, the chemical used in lethal injections to stop the heart. The doctor knew that the aides would not remember calling him, knew that they would come into work the next day hungover and find the senator slumped in his chair, dead of an apparent drug overdose. In fact, given the pictures that had recently been published of him, it was unlikely the coroner would check for something like potassium chloride. Even if it was found, it would not be thoght significant - many street drugs are laced with other chemicals.
"To keep a godless man from ruling, from laying snares for the people."
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