Royal Digs by D. D. Scott Page B

understands green when it
comes to the American dollar and how many he has control of in his
foreign accounts.”
    I couldn’t have said it better. Wow. The girl
was damn smart. She was going to fit very nicely into my family’s
plan.
    “Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, that
there’s a life-altering message at this year’s DNC Convention that
would advance the causes of Mission Green Freedom, as well as make
it very clear who’s the best choice for President.”
    “Okay. I’ll bite. And of course we’re just
hypothetically speaking,” she said, sweeping a piece of hair out of
her eyes and tucking it behind her ear.
    Everything about this woman made my stomach
turn tight flips. I was used to living on the edge, but this was a
whole new sensation.
    “How many people could you reach with this
message through Mission Green Freedom’s social media circles?” I
asked, unsure of the PACs established reach.
    “Millions. And that would be internationally
speaking. Our online magazine alone has over nine million
subscribers. And with the addition of our super PAC donor list to
that audience base, we’ve grown to over twenty million followers
across all platforms in less than a year.”
    “Okay. Very good. Now then...how are your
acting skills?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Have you ever been a Thespian or whatever
they call it?” I stammered.
    I was way out of my league on this one, but I
knew Bunny needed this information to finalize her convention
plans.
    “Actually, I was,” she said, laughing. “At
one time, I dreamed of acting on Broadway.”
    Her olive skin took on a rosy glow that was
the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
    “Well, until I see your performance, I can’t
promise you Broadway. But, in the meantime, I can give you an even
larger stage.”
    “I’m not sure I’m following you.”
    “We’d like you to perform in a Mission Green
Freedom skit at the convention along with a friend of mine, who’s
quite a performer.”
    “This sounds interesting...”
    “Oh, it will be. Trust me.”
    “I’m not sure why, but I do trust
you,” she said without a moment of hesitation.
    I hoped she still did when all of this was
over, I thought. There’s a lot more I’d love to get to know about
her and Mission Green Freedom.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
     
     
     
     
    A s the lights dimmed,
so did the roar and chants of the convention delegates. They
returned their colorful signs to their laps or to the stadium floor
as they took their seats for what I’m sure they thought would be
just another convention-style video about President Ruvama and the
ideals he stood for.
    “I guess were about to give The Royal Digs a
whole new meaning, right y’all?” Grams asked, taking a huge swig of
her Southern sweet tea.
    She took her seat as well and enlarged the
picture on her monitor to full screen mode. She then made that
image fill the entire bank of oversized monitors in our secret
control room underneath the stage.
    “What do you mean?” I asked, at a loss as to
what she was referring to as The Royal Digs.
    “Well...this ain’t no show-us-your-posh-crib
reality gig from one of those entertainment and music TV shows.
You’re the royal family and, in this skit, we’re diggin’ on pretend
organic, earth-friendly farms. But not for produce, right?”
    Even after working with Grams on a couple of
cases now, I still couldn’t get used to the way her brain
worked.
    I watched the monitors, noting all of our
actors were in place, including Clito and Star Fish, who I was sure
would turn out to be the world’s first organic farmers in drag. Old
MacDonald had never looked so RuPaul fabulous.
    In a huge stage set-up made of a large
compost heap, a barn, real barnyard animals – hell, they even had a
cow and a couple of chickens too - the convention audience, and
soon the world, thanks to Grams’ and Bunny’s skills, would be
treated to a skit about much more than supporting farmers and
eating local food.
    “Did you know