The Day of the Donald by Andrew Shaffer Page A

whole fiasco had been a mistake. Good to know he had a few fanboys out there. However, politics had never been all that sexy to Jimmie. Ever since his mother lined his crib with the National Enquirer , he’d been fascinated with the world of celebrity. Politics, even when there was scandal involved, just didn’t do it for him. This kid had him confused with somebody who gave two shits.
    “You said my life was in danger,” Jimmie said.
    Connor’s eyes danced furtively around the park. “The Donald’s last ghostwriter ended up in the Rose Garden with a broken neck. Somebody threw him off the roof.”
    “That would have been all over the news.”
    “A tourist accidentally caught it on camera. They turned it into a GIF, and it went around the dark web. Not a single ‘real’ news site picked it up. Granted, the video was dark and blurry . . . but this was no Loch Ness Monster.”
    “Say what you’re saying is true. What’s that have to do with me?”
    “The last guy in your position reached out to us. Apparently, he’d recorded some interviews with the president, and they yielded some game-changing information. His words, not ours. Unfortunately, he was dead before he could get the tapes out of the White House. Needless to say, whatever was on those tapes was big enough to kill somebody over.”
    “You have no idea what this information was?”
    Connor shook his head.
    “You keep saying ‘we.’ I assume you’re, what, Democrats?”
    “I’m a former Bernie bro.”
    “Former?” Jimmie said.
    “No one’s seen him since the Democratic National Convention,” Connor said. “But we’re carrying on his work. We don’t believe in the two-party system. While most of us are former Bernie bros, anyone is welcome to join the Socialist Justice Warriors. Anyone who believes America should live up to the inscription at our door: ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’ Trump doesn’t even care that the masses are huddling.
    “Help us,” Connor continued. “Help us make America great again—again.”
    Make America great again . . . again?
    “Sorry,” Jimmie said, “I don’t have any interest in joining your little after-school club. But your secret is safe with me—I don’t have any interest in exposing it, either.”
    “That’s good.”
    “Why? Because otherwise you’d have to kill me?”
    Connor shook his head. “It’s not us you have to worry about. And I think you already know that.”
    “I said it once, I’ll say it again: You’ve got the wrong guy.”
    “Really?” Connor said. “You’re a smart guy. Just look around you: The United States isn’t a democracy anymore—it’s a monarchy. We’re walling ourselves off from the world, and the world can feel that. Support for the presidency may be at an all-time high within our country, but resentment of our country internationally is higher than it’s been in decades. The resentment surpassed the W era a week into Trump’s presidency. A week . He called Angela Merkel a ‘dried-up six’ in his inaugural address . The Donald is a dangerous man. He has dangerous friends. He’s got his finger on the nuclear button, and he’s involved in some sort of Twitter war with Prince Charles. What if the Twitter beef spills over into the real world?”
    “So you think I can feed you some inside dirt, is that it? Something that will finally erode Trump’s support at home and force him out of office. And then what?”
    Connor said nothing.
    “We’re not going to war with the UK,” Jimmie said. “But if we did, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve fought them. AsTrump has said on Twitter, ‘We’ve kicked their ass before; we could do it again.’ I hope it won’t come to that, but you know how Trump is. He’s mostly full of hot air.”
    “Say it’s not just talk this time. The war won’t just be between us and the UK,” Connor said. “If a skirmish breaks out, Russia’s jumping in. Then