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Everyone in Portland thought Don Pines had broken his leg during the riot. Explanations ranged from some poor sod getting a lucky hit on him, to the Cleveland Mafia using the riot as a smokescreen to try and grease the Don in preparation for a mafia takeover of Portland.
In truth, Hank hadn't even been a part of the riot. He had been busy that day trying to sort out a dispute between a local golf-course, a free-lance demon hunter, a kappa, and a small herd of kelpies who had taken up residence in a water trap off the 7th hole. Instead he had broken his leg slipping on a patch of ice outside of the police station on his way to go bail his mother out of jail. Who, ironically enough, was in jail for breaking legs at the riot.
Rumors persisted because no one was exactly sure what exactly had happened at the riot. What was known, was that a large crowd had gathered in front of Portland City Hall to protest a bill being debated in the Senate as to whether or not adoptions would be legally allowed to parents not of the same species as the child. Things had been surprisingly calm and peacefully. Right up until a counter-protest sponsored by a pro-nat segregationist group tried to move into the spot.
There had been so many glamours, charms, hexes, jinxes, illusions, and hallucinogenic substances being thrown around, that what people saw with their own eyes had to be taken with a grain of salt at best. The police witness reports read like Alice in Wonderland on LSD. Not only had people claimed to have seen Hank at the riot, they also claimed he turned into the Woodsmen and started chopping off hands. People also claimed that Alcor the Dreambender had appeared and proclaimed the end off all times, the sky turned magenta and was torn asunder, that the water turned green, and that a horde of zombie pigeons had swooped in and attacked everyone.
When the Portland Riot Police had shown up, they had simply arrested everyone still in front of the city hall. The logic being that anyone who didn't need to go to the hospital were there because they were part of the fighting. Hank's mom had been one of the people still swinging by the time the riot police swept in. She would have probably been released with everyone else, had she not cracked one of the cops over the head with her bat when one of them surprised her. Thankfully, the cop had been wearing her helmet, otherwise Mabel could have been in a lot more trouble.
As it was, Hank had received a call that evening telling him to come down to the station to collect his mother.
"It explains so much about you," Officer Hester had told him on the phone.
The patch of ice just outside of the police station caught him completely off-guard and sent him spinning head over heels, flat on his leg. It had been a pretty clean break, the doctors had told him in the emergency room, with any luck it should heal completely in a couple of weeks. A steady stream of visitors had dropped by while he was still recovering, all of them wishing a complete and speedy recovery. The entire Dinner Crew had even chipped in to buy him a walking cane, on the grounds that hobbling around on crutches would be undignified for a man of his status.
It was a very nice cane, Hank had to admit. Smooth black ebony, accented with gold inlay, and topped with a piece of polished amber containing a fossil spider. It was also highly functional. Whenever Hank grabbed it, he could feel invisible braces wrap around his arm, providing all the support of a proper medical cane. The piece of amber was even enchanted to summon a nasty surprise on Hank's enemies, Lucy Ann had assured him with a wink.
Now, Hank might not have been part of the riot, but that didn't mean he didn't feel its effects. In addition to his mom getting arrested, the riot had also shaken up the social fabric of Portland. While the city could never have been said to be a haven of equality and acceptance, the riot had brought up a lot of nasty feelings that had previously been only simmering beneath the surface. It was one thing to think that the preters were stealing people's jobs and corrupting the youth, it was another thing to start saying it out loud, accompanied by protest signs and rotten eggs. The pro-nat/preter divide was apparent in the city, now more than ever.
It didn't help that the municipal elections were just around the corner, and in light of the riot, every one of the candidates was trying to figure out which side of the divide they wanted to be on. Their were seven candidates in total. Amaria Jeweler, and Dave Sykes were the two radicals. Amaria was on the pro-nat side, arguing for magic users to undergo the same registration process as firearms and promising to cut municipal taxes by dropping city support to non-profit organizations who helped preters. Dave in contrast was arguing that the city should start sponsoring private magic schools, legalize the summoning of angels and demons for official city services, and outlaw any religion that couldn't demonstrate that their "god" actually existed.
As for the "moderates," Andrew Namar was arguing for the segregation of public facilities, on the grounds that it would reduce instances of racial violence and would ensure facilities could accommodate the various kinds of supernatural beings that lived in the city. George Heller had made the deregulation of the alchemy industry within Portland his flagship promise. Though he was careful to phrase it as an economic boost to a fledgling industry in the city, not as a preter/pro-nat issue. Kelly Oxhauler was championing the creation of "supernatural preserves" on the edges of the city limits as a way to limit conflict between humans and preters. Along with a promise to institute mandatory training in the handling of supernatural creatures to the city's animal control department, citing numerous examples when pure ignorance often resulted in people and creatures getting hurt or killed. Benjamin Jeckel was calling for increased funding to the police department to combat what he called "supernatural crime" that was apparently running rampant in Portland's neighborhoods. Alice Wu was looking to reform city bylaws in regards to haunted property and was promising to raise taxes for industries that polluted waters inhabited by supernatural beings.
The incumbent, Mayor Davis, (whose first name literally was Mayor) was solidly centralist, and was trying his hardest not to get drawn too far to one side or the other. He promised to reform the city's transit system to accommodate people of significant weight and girth, carefully not mentioning that changes which could accommodate a four hundred pound person could also work for an ogre or a troll. He also promised to introduce mandatory supernatural awareness courses for all city employees, in order to stop people for making what he called "stupid mistakes" when dealing with preters. Along with the usual promises to reduce crime, lower taxes, and finally get the big pothole in Nightlight Street fixed.
---
A new candidate has just entered the mayor's race today. Don Pines announced his candidacy at witching hour last night, on the grounds that since he's already running this town, he might as well make it official. "It'll be a big change to be the one being bribed instead of the other way around," he allegedly stated.
According to anonymous sources, Don Pines promised to reduce crime in the city by eliminating his competitors, break corruption in City Hall, one kneecap at a time, balance the city budget by placing a sales tax on all black market transactions, and fix the big pothole in Nightlight Street.
"It's coming time to collect on the debts owed to me," Don Pines allegedly explained, when asked as to how he would fix the big pothole off Nightlight Street. "I figure by the time we've made our way down the list, we'll be able to fill that pothole up neat as you please."
---
The Portland Flotsam was not a big paper. Instead of reporting the mainstream news, it instead published an array of semi-serious articles satirizing local events. Politicians, of course, were a favorite target of theirs, and the municipal elections were far too big of an opportunity to pass up.
Now, the paper had never set out to deceive people. It stated outright on its website that all its articles were in fact parodies and should not be taken as a serious report on actual events. Most of its articles were ridiculous enough that even if someone didn't know beforehand, they usually figured it out pretty quick. Still there was always one or two people who took their words as truth, which often resulted in some very strange letters to the editor.
The writers at the Portland Flotsam had included Don Pines in their article more as a comment on the actually candidates, not because he was actually running. They figured they could get away with it because they weren't actually insulting the man overtly, and they also figured the odds of him actually reading the paper were slim. To be fair the majority of readers had realized right away that Don Pines had never even hinted that he would fill the big pothole in Nightlight Street with the bodies of his enemies. What was not anticipated, was the majority of people thinking that the campaign promises were the heart of the gag, and that Don Pines was actually running for mayor.
---
Hank stared down at the sign sitting innocently out in front of his neighbor's house. It was a cheap thing, made of printed plastic and thin wire stands.
"VOTE DON PINES!" It proudly proclaimed. "HE'S ALREADY RUNNING THIS THIS TOWN ANYWAY!"
He could already feel the headache coming on.
---
Brandon had never before had much interest in politics. In fact his usual level of political participation never went beyond spray painting racist messages onto the sides of buildings, and complaining with his friends about how the politicians were selling everyone out to the preters. But then Amaria Jeweler had announced her candidacy for mayor. For Brandon, it was an eye opener. Finally, a politician that knew what was going on, and wasn't afraid to say it.
The preters had been screwing humanity ever since they caused the transcendence. They were stealing jobs left and right because employers would rather hire a ogre that could lift a backhoe over its head, rather than buy the backhoe and hire a human to run it. Gnomes and pixies were everywhere, making messes of gardens and garbage bins, and spreading disease everywhere they went. That didn't even get into the vampires and werewolves stalking the streets and the demons tricking kids into killing their parents and siblings. The world was a mess, and finally someone was stepping up to try and fix it. Even if it was only at the city level, you had to start somewhere.
When a group of him and his friends had gone to a rally supporting Amaria Jeweler, he had been blown away by how much sense she had actually made. More sense than he had heard from a politician before in his life. After the rally, she had even invited those attending to join her for some drinks at the nearby bar. A bar that happened to be one of the few sanctuaries left that was free from the preters and their influence. Brandon and his friends had been impressed. Here was a politician that understood them, that wasn't afraid to sit down in a dingy bar and share drinks with them. She had even bought them all a round or two, but hadn't gotten snotty when Kevin returned the favor in kind. Brandon could respect that.
Then she had explained some things to them. There were ways people like Brandon and his friends could help her with her campaign. The preters of course, would try to protect their hold over the city government, so the only way to beat them was to make sure they didn't get around to voting against humans. She couldn't list them as volunteers or anything official, she explained, because the preters and their collaborators would use it to try and get her kicked out of the city. But every preter that was stopped from corrupting the voting was a victory for humanity.
It was at that point that Mark, who had always been a bit of a wimp, had pointed out that there was no way the lot of them could stop a troll or an ogre from doing whatever the hell it wanted. Brandon had been about to open his mouth to protest, when Amaria answered. They didn't have to worry about the ogres or the trolls she explained. You could count the number of trolls in Portland on one hand. The real danger lay in the gnomes and the pixies. There were thousands upon thousands of those little pests in the city. If every gnome, pixie, and sprite in Portland was able to vote they would overwhelm the human voters allowing the preters to dominate no mater what the humans said.
Brandon had left the bar that night with a sense of purpose, and the feeling that he was part of something bigger than himself. Over the next week, he and his buddies had prowled the streets and backalleys of Portland beating down any preter that crossed their path. Provided the preter in question was less than six feet tall, and didn't have any claws, horns, or fangs.
On this particular evening, Brandon and his friends were breaking their way into a old warehouse. Which they knew happened to be the home of one of the gnome troops living in Portland. Normally Brandon and his cronies wouldn't have been so bold as to go after the gnomes in their own home. But a week of terrorizing the supernatural community of Portland practically unopposed, mixed with several bottles of cheap vodka, had boosted their confidence in their own prowess.
Their method was as unsubtle as they were. A pair of bolt cutters to the padlock on the warehouse door and they were inside. Unsurprisingly, the warehouse was completely dark, the gnomes not having bothered to reconnect the electricity for the lights. Instead a beam of moonlight shone through a skylight illuminating a crate with a lone gnome standing on it.
"Mr. Pines said you'd show up sooner or later," the gnome called out. "You're that bunch of idiots been going around beating people up?"
"Just putting you preters in your place," Brandon sneered. He and his buddies fan out, encircling the gnome.
"According to Mr. Pines, we have every right to be here." the gnome stated calmly. "We also have every right to vote in your elections. He said that we're to tell you that, and give you one chance to turn around and never hurt any of us again. Otherwise, he said we would have to permanently take care of you."
That got a laugh.
"What you going to do little man?" Brandon leered. "Kick me to death with you tiny little legs?"
"Oh not me," the gnome replied blandly. "We."
Several gnomes suddenly sprung out of the shadows and wrapped themselves around Mark. Gnomes who happened to be forming the hand of a gnome colossus.
One of five gnome colossus, which had taken advantage of the darkness to surround Brandon and his buddies.
---
Violence in Portland's streets has increased in anticipation of the upcoming municipal elections. There have been several attacks over the past several weeks on supernatural creatures and known supernatural supporters. The Portland Police Department has also confirmed that they have received several reports of people receiving threats designed to discourage them from voting. We caught up to one man who recently suffered from one of these attacks to get his report on what happened.
"I was walking home from work, when the next thing I know someone punched me in the face. As I'm lying on the ground, the asshole starts kicking the shit out of me, saying that if he saw me anywhere near the voting station I'd be coming back home in a garbage bag. I didn't even know I could vote! I'll tell you one thing. Now that I know I can vote, I know exactly who I'll be voting for. Don Pines doesn't put up with shit like this going on in his city. That asshole who beat me up? He's is the hospital right now getting his head surgically extracted from his ass. Talk about efficiency! The man's hasn't even been elected yet, and he's already making our neighborhoods safer!
---
Amaria Jeweler had been expecting Don Pines to send her a message sooner or later. Especially after he had sent all her "volunteers" to the hospital with their skeletons magically bent into a variety of very painful shapes. One guy had even had his legs tied into a fine example of a reef knot. It was painfully clear none of them would be getting out of intensive care before the election was over, and she had been unable to find anyone else to take their place. The local troublemakers all being in agreement that they didn't want to join their compatriots in the hospital. (Or the morgue for that matter.)
She had actually been expecting the message to be delivered through her front window, wrapped around a severed head. Instead she had received a politely written email asking if she could meet him at a local riding club to discuss recent events. That scuttled her plans to try and bring the police in on her side. No matter how she twisted the words, she really couldn't construe even a thinly implied threat out of the message. Not without sounding like a paranoid nutcase to the cops at least.
She would have to respond to this message. Even if she couldn't get the cops on her side, she could still deal with this. The riding club was a public venue, and all the trails surrounding it opened up to a nearby park along the shore of a large pond. There would likely be no shortage of potential witnesses. She would have a bring a bodyguard along just in case. But she doubted Don Pines would have her assassinated in public.
Don Pines was not waiting for her when she arrived at the riding club. Nor was there anyone waiting around to show her where to go. There was a horse waiting outside the main building though. A sleek black animal that had already been saddled up. There were bulrushes, lily pads, and pond weeds tangled in its tail and mane, Amaria noticed as she approached. Its fur even looked a little soggy. Had it been swimming in the pond or something? God, what kind of place were they running here if they didn't even take the time to brush the pond weeds out?
She poked her head inside the door of the main office. It was a small building, with one desk containing a single clerk who was busy talking on the phone.
"So just to confirm, how many did you say was in your party? Uh huh, no, no that won't be a problem. And how experienced would you say everyone is? Excuse me just a second." The clerk lowered the phone, placing her hand over the receiver. "If you're here to meet Mr. Pines, he's waiting for you at the lookout spot up the west side of the Pond Loop. Just follow the main trail and turn right at the first split. Sorry about that. So you were saying..." The clerk turned her attention back to the phone and whatever arrangements she was making.
Amaria crushed a flare of irritation. She did not like being dismissed. But she also knew better than to raise a stink about it during an election. It was a small thing, and making a big deal out of a small thing could come back to bite you big when it came to your public image. She turned to look up the wooded path that was helpfully signed as the "Main Riding Trail." Did that mean she needed to be riding? The black horse looked at her blankly. Was this horse set aside for her then?
What the hell, she decided. This was a riding club. If it turned out the horse wasn't set aside for her, she could claim it to be an honest misunderstanding. She hadn't been riding since she was twelve, but she found she still knew how to swing herself into the saddle. The horse, thankfully, seemed to be a placid creature and dutifully began plodding up the trail at Amaria's direction, the bodyguard following on foot.
She found Don Pines sitting on a park bench alongside the the trail. He had a cast on his leg, and was propping up his foot with a folding campstool. The only reason Amaria was sure it was him, was the hulking troll bodyguard standing in his shadow.
"I'm surprised you made it," Hank said, the moment she came into earshot. He seemed to be looking at her horse for some reason. "You didn't need to rent a horse, the trails are open to walkers as well."
Damn, looked like she might need to do some apologizing then. Well, so long as they weren't preters anyway. "What do you want to talk about? I've taken a lot of precious time out of my schedule to meet with you. So I hope this is important."
"I'll cut to the chase then," Hank replied. "We both know you are the one responsible for that pack of assholes who were going around beating people up. Every single person involved has been seen attending your rallies, and several of them admitted that it was you who told them to do this. I want this to stop, and I want this stopped now. You can say what you want during the debates, that's your right. But I will not tolerate you terrorizing my friends and neighbors."
"Is that a threat?" Please let it be a threat. She'd have the police on his ass faster than you could say 'busted.'
"It's a warning," Hank replied calmly. "A chance to take back a mistake before it becomes too late."
She couldn't allow herself to be intimidated. Mobsters like him relied on intimidation in order to push their way. If you didn't allow yourself to be intimidated, they lost much of their power over you. She needed to show him that she wouldn't be pushed around.
"That's rich coming from a preter fucker like you," she snapped back. "You have no right to tell me how I manage my campaign, or how my supporters should behave."
"Is that your final answer?" Hank replied.
"What are you going to do if it is?" Amaria snarled.
"Nothing," Hank answered, leaning back against the bench. "I'm not the one riding a kelpie."
A small strangled gasp came out of Amaria's mouth as her eyes went wide with terror. The horse flashed Hank a decidedly un-horselike smile, filled with decidedly un-horselike teeth. "A little thank-you for your help in sorting out that business with the kappa," it said in a gurgling voice. Then it reared around and bolted. A family of picnickers barely managed to get out of the way as it galloped down the path. Amaria was shouting and swearing in terror as she tried, futility, to get off the keplie's back. Her bodyguard meanwhile, was running as fast he could trying desperately to catch up to the galloping creature.
Too little, too late.
Hank watched as the keplie cleared the wooden fence around the pond in a single bound, and plunged into the murky waters; Amaria still trapped on it's back.
---
This week has been one of tragedy for those running in the Portland Municipal election. Last Friday, candidate Amaria Jeweler died while attempting to ride what reports claim was a kelpie. According to witnesses, Amaria Jeweler was last seen riding the alledged keplie along the Pondside Trails, just out back of the Green Meadows Riding Club. Witness claim that she was still riding atop the creature, when it plunged into the waters of Green Meadows Pond and never resurfaced.
Fellow mayoral candidates Kelly Oxhauler and Mayor Davis called the incident a senseless and preventable tragedy. According to both candidates, this incident is proof that supernatural education is vital to saving lives and preventing unwitting folks from falling prey to malevolent creatures. The Green Meadows Riding Club issued a statement advising all its members and customers not to ride any horse they do not recognize, and not to approach any animal that appears to have pond plants tangled in its hair.
In addition, candidate Dave Sykes had his soul devoured by Alcor the Dreambender on Wednesday, when he attempted to bind the demon to his will. According to an anonymous source, Mr. Sykes intended to use the power of the Dreambender to secure his victory in the election. While there are currently no laws dealing with supernatural interference in electoral maters, State Judge Cathy Formar issued a statement that attempting to utilize demonic power to influence the outcome of an election is still constitutes tampering and falls under the applicable laws.
Finally, candidate Alice Wu was found dead in her home yesterday. According to the official release, she apparently choked on a piece of pastry and was unable to summon help. According to witnesses, she was last seen returning home from a meeting with fellow candidate Don Pines to discuss matters concerning her promise to reform housing by-laws.
Coincidence? Probably. But you never know.
---
"A vote for Don Pines is a vote for your life."
"That's a good one." Vivi remarked as she picked another campaign flyer out of the pile. "How about this? 'Vote Don Pines and you'll have nothing to fear but him.'"
"The thing I don't get, is who's producing all these?" Hank said, staring in disbelief at the pile. "Everyone we talked to all claimed to have gotten them from a friend of a friend. Printing everything can't have been cheap. Of course the bigger question is why? I'm not running for mayor! I never was a candidate!"
"Beats me," Vivi shrugged. "Everyone I've talked to seems to think you've always been running for mayor. Something about making the reality official."
"We need to do something about this," Hank decided. "I've already got half the town thinking I'm killing off the other candidates."
"What about...?"
"That was the keplies acting on their own!" Hank protested. "I was as surprised as everyone else when she showed up riding one of them. What happened to Mrs. Wu was a coincidence. As for Dave Sykes, well... he had it coming."
---
If there was one thing George Heller was sure of, it was that he was a dead man walking so long as he stayed in Portland. Three of his fellow candidates dying within a week of each other was no coincidence, and the fact that Don Pines was starting to lag in the polls was even less of one. He was next, he was sure of it. It wasn't just the fact that he was running against the man in the election either.
It root of the problem went back over fifteen years, to when George had been working for the customs and imports office in Seattle. He had been barely a week into the job when he had been approached by a representative from the local mob. In short, George agreed to accept several bribes in return for looking the other way in regards to certain things.
At first it hadn't been a bad deal for George. The bribes added a nice bit of padding to his paycheck, and the stuff he was looking the other way on was just perfectly legal goods that the mob was trying to avoid paying import duties on. Then he got a promotion, and he suddenly started to discover that 'gifts' from the local mafia tended to come with very large strings attached. Suddenly, the stuff he was being asked to overlook wasn't simply legal goods the mob didn't feel like paying taxes on. Suddenly, instead of giving him fudged numbers with a nudge and a wink, he was getting shipping crates filled with suspicious cargo that he was discouraged from inspecting too closely. George knew better than to find out exactly what his 'patron' was smuggling. But he knew illegal drugs were a big part of the cargoes, at least at first.
George had no problem turning a blind eye to import tax evasion by the mob. Even drugs didn't bother him too much. It was when the cargoes started including people that he began to have second thoughts. From the little he knew, most of them were refugees seeking to escape the wars engulfing Western Asia and Africa. What happened to them after they left the docks, George didn't know and was afraid to find out. The final straw came when the Seattle mob got into smuggling alchemy ingredients. This wasn't stuff like mandrake roots, or garlic flowers picked under a full moon. There was no money in smuggling something anyone could grow in a flowerpot on their windowsill. Instead what was being smuggled was stuff like unicorn horn, dragon bones, and nymphs blood. Unicorns may have been jerks of the first order, but they were still thinking and intelligent creatures. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.
So the next time the man from the mob came by to drop off his bribe, George had explained that he simply couldn't keep accepting their boss's generous gifts. He had expected warnings, threats, maybe even a gun being shown off threateningly. He hadn't expected the man to simply say, "We're very disappointed to hear that," and simply leave. He was also not expecting his cousin to be attacked a few days later and have both his legs broken with a sledgehammer.
The message was clear. When the man from the mob came by a the next day to offer his "condolences," George bit his tongue and accepted the bribe. He thought he had finally broken free of them when he got transferred to Portland, where all illegal traffic through the port went under the scrutiny of Don Pines. Who, at the very least, had no tolerance for human trafficking and the trade in extremely illegal alchemy ingredients. There was little he could do for the Seattle mob while he was in Portland, and he had hoped that as long as he kept his mouth shut, they might forget about him. It wasn't to be so.
The whole running for Mayor thing was actually the mob's idea. So was his main platform. Deregulating the alchemy industry wouldn't legalize the murder of supernatural beings, but it would mean a good deal less scrutiny for the mob to sneak around and make it a lot harder for the authorities to track them. When George had politely pointed out that controlling the alchemy industry in Portland would mean nothing so long as Don Pines controlled the whole city, he had simply been told that Don Pines would be taken care of.
Sure enough, not even a week later, Don Pines was at a restaurant with his inner circle when a someone opened fire on the building from the window of a passing car. It was a miracle no one was killed, though several people had been seriously wounded. Pictures of a little girl, who couldn't be more than five, clutching a bullet wound in her stomach had been all over the internet before the police got around to pulling them. That night Don Pines had gotten a group of his people together and they had driven off in the middle of the night in the direction of Seattle.
Word reached George the next morning that the head of the Seattle mob was dead, along with all his inner circle and anyone who might have been able to step into the dead boss's place. It appeared that instead of the Seattle mob taking care of Don Pines, Don Pines had taken care of the Seattle mob. This would have been terrific news to George, except for the fact that there was a good chance Don Pines might take care of him as well.
From what George had heard and seen of the man, he was not one to do a sloppy job of anything. If Don Pines was going to take down the Seattle mob, he was going to make sure they stayed down. George may not have been part of the Seattle mafia's inner circle, but the fact they were sponsoring him for Mayor of Portland might paint a different picture. Not to mention that by taking care of him, Don Pines could take care of one more competitor in the race towards the Mayor's office.
Which was why George was hiding out in a hotel room on the other side of the city from his house. He already had a plane ticket to Miami booked, and had already prepared a statement notifying of his withdrawal from the mayoral race. He didn't care about being mayor, he cared about staying alive.
"Holy crap! Is that a dragon?"
The walls of the hotel weren't exactly thin, but to George's paranoia fueled mind it might as well have been shouted right into his ear. He peeked an eye out from between the curtains of his room, just in time to see a wall of scales fly by his window.
There was only one dragon in Portland. That it was here, now, could only mean one thing. Don Pines had found him. He seized his valise and bolted for the door.
George hadn't bothered to hire any bodyguards. The former boss of the Seattle mob had employed five at the very least, and they hadn't done him a single bit of good. Instead, George had rented a fast car with bullet-proof windows, and had paid a professional driver an exorbitant sum of money to wait at the ready all night just in case of this exact situation.
He practically leaped down the emergency stairs, and threw himself through the doors of the underground parking garage. The sleek black car he had rented was waiting for him. The engine idling and the door open. George lunged inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Where to boss?" the driver asked, peering back over the seat.
As far as George could recall, the driver he hired didn't have horns or glowing purple eyes.
"Stop by the convience store on the corner of Granderson and Lowlund," Hank Pines replied. "I need to pick up some ice-cream and milk before I head home."
George could do nothing, but sit there frozen in place, as the car pulled up to a corner convenience store, the driver got out and opened the door for Don Pines, and the man got out, limping slightly and leaning on his cane. All George could think about was that the man had broken his leg, and still managed to annihilate a rival crime syndicate. He carefully tried the door. Child-locked, of course. After fifteen long minutes, Don Pines reemerged from the store carrying a plastic bag containing what indeed appeared to be a jug of milk and a tub of ice-cream.
"Alright," Hank said as he carefully maneuvered himself back into the car. "I need to get home before the ice-cream melts. So we need to make this quick. Talk."
George talked. He told Don Pines everything. Everything he knew about the Seattle mob's activities, which of his former co-workers were also accepting bribes, and which companies were acting as fronts for the mob's operations. He told Hank how his involvement with the mob had gone from looking the other way on tax-evasion to being a reluctant participant in human trafficking and alchemy smuggling. How the mob had been sponsoring his campaign for mayor and deciding his policies. How he wished he'd never accepted those first bribes, and how if he hadn't his cousin wouldn't have gotten his legs broken with sledgehammers.
He had just finished the last of his breathless explanations, when he suddenly became aware that they were now parked outside the departures terminal at the Portland International Airport.
"Your flight leaves in five hours." Hank stated. "Lucy Ann will help make sure you don't miss it. I would suggest staying away from the west coast for a long time, and if I hear anything about you getting involved in shit like this again..." He pointedly tapped a small golden symbol of Alcor pinned to his shirt. "Are we clear."
It was well known that Don Pines commanded the allegiance of the Dreambender. George nodded frantically. "Crystal clear. You'll never see me again."
"Good."
The passenger door suddenly opened. George nearly fell flat onto the pavement outside the terminal. His valise followed after him. The car door slammed shut and the car drove off into the night, leaving George sitting there outside of the airport, scarcely able to believe that he was still alive.
He still couldn't believe he was alive even after he had gotten off the plane and set foot on Miami soil.
---
The electoral race has narrowed yet again. Candidate George Heller has recently announced that he is withdrawing his bid for the mayor's office. In a press release sent from Miami, he stated that he had withdrawn from the race for "Personal reasons." Personal reasons that presumably do not involve fellow candidate Don Pines.
Candidate Andrew Namar has also withdrawn from the race, after suffering from a mental breakdown during the candidates debate. During the opening lines of the debate, Mr. Namar suddenly screamed, "Oh what's the point!? Don Pine's is just going to kill any us the surpass him in the polls! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Followed immediately by huddling in terror under his podium until mental health first responders arrived. Candidate Namar released a statement yesterday, attributing his breakdown to campaign stress, and announcing his withdrawal from the election for health reasons. According to friends and family his mental state has stabilized, but he is being warned to avoid stressful situations and excessive caffeine consumption.
Don Pines did not attend the debate, allegedly citing that there were important people he needed to take care of.
---
This month had been hectic one for Hank. Just one incident after another. First the business with the kappa, the kelpies, and the golf course. Then the riot, his mom getting arrested, and him breaking his leg. Followed afterwards by Amaria Jeweler and her wannabe goon squads. Then the Seattle mob tried to kill him with a drive-by while he was out for dinner with his friends. It was a miracle that no one was killed, and the only people hurt were the ones to whom a bullet wound was no big deal. (Rodger, the elephant seal selkie, was more worried that the wound wouldn't leave a cool scar, and Lucy Ann enjoyed playing up the traumatized child act when the cameras started to come out.) He had been lucky the supernatural community of Seattle was sick and tired of their own criminal syndicate and had been willing to help him when he showed up in the city to deal with the mob.
Then he got the call in the middle of the night telling him that an unspeakable eldritch abomination was trying to force its way into our world through the big pothole on Nightlight Street. It took nearly an hour for him and his friends to beat the abomination back into incorporeallity, which still left the problem of the dimensional weak-point located in the bottom of a large pothole in the middle of a busy municipal road.
Hank had honestly though it would be a lot harder to rent a truck full of gravel and an asphalt spreader on short notice at four in the morning. However the moment his name got mentioned, people suddenly got both a lot more cooperative and understanding. They didn't ask a lot of questions either. In fact they seemed to actively avoid getting any answers for anything, loudly proclaiming that they "didn't want to know," whenever Hank tried to explain.
They decided to get the gravel sanctified. Only the closest thing they could find to a priest happened to be the night-shift spiritual counselor from the Muslim community center two blocks down. Hank didn't speak a word of Arabic, but he was pretty sure the man was reciting a funeral prayer. Still whatever he was doing it was evidently working, as nothing else was trying to force its way through the half-ton of gravel being poured into the pothole. (It was a big pothole.)
As the asphalt spreader began laying a layer of pavement over the hole, Hank glanced up just in time to catch several curious faces peeking out a him from the window of a nearby apartment complex. In fact, now that he was paying attention, he could see other faces peeking out from gaps in the curtains, and between the slats of the blinds.
He could only imagine what they thought he was doing out there at four in the morning.
---
Residents of Nightlight Street woke up this morning to discover that the big pothole in the middle of the street had been filled in during the night. Witnesses report seeing Don Pines supervising the work himself, along with several individuals known to be part of his inner circle.
In the course of this election, Don Pines has frequently demonstrated that actions speak louder than words, and has become famous for the speed in which his has fulfilled his campaign promises. A feat made all the more astounding by the fact he hasn't even been elected yet. To date Don Pines has already taken large steps to make the streets safer by putting troublemakers into the hospital, has combated organized crime by foiling a mafia takeover from Seattle, and has now even filled in the big pothole in Nightlight Street.
Mayor Davis released a statement today, congratulating his opponent on his sense of civil pride. He also added that now the big pothole in Nightlight Street was fixed, the money previously budgeted to its repair to be better spent subsidizing childcare services in the city.
Don Pines could not be reached for comment, nor has any explanation been forthcoming as to why he choose the middle of the night to fill in the pothole. It is however, fairly safe to say that Don Pine's list of enemies has likely gotten significantly shorter.
---
"Alright," Hank announced, "It's time I did something. About the whole mayor situation. I can't let people think I'm running for mayor when in fact I am not."
"Why not?" someone asked. "Why not seriously run for mayor and let people vote where they will?"
"Because, one, I don't want to be mayor of Portland." Hank shuddered. "And two, because I'm not actually registered as a candidate. Anyone would puts my name on their ballot will just have their votes invalidated because I'm not on the list of options. They'd be wasting their votes essentially."
"Oh..."
"Exactly. I hoped that if I didn't show up at any of the debates or do anything to promote myself the whole silly rumor would fall apart. That didn't happen. According to the polls I am neck in neck with Mayor Davis, and I haven't done a single second a campaigning."
"So what are you going to do about it?" Lucy Ann asked, learning forward with an interested look on her face.
"Well, I think it's time to change some things. How do you all feeling about doing some campaigning?"
---
Kathy May was a stay-at-home mom with three kids. A pair of nine year old twins and a seven year old. At the moment, all the kids were in school and she was sitting at the kitchen table trying to sort out the tax return for the year. The knock on the door was so unexpected that she nearly jumped out of her chair in surprise.
She was even more surprised when she opened the door and came face-to-chest with eight feet of troll wearing a suit.
"Good morning," the troll said, holding out a pamphlet. "I represent the "Don't vote for Hank Pines," movement, on behalf of Mr. Pines."
"...What?"
"Mr. Pines," the troll continued, "would like everyone to know that he was never nominated as a candidate for the municipal election, and disavows any promises he was alleged to have made. All material saying otherwise has been made without Mr. Pine's knowledge or support. He therefore urges the people of Portland not to vote for him in the upcoming election."
"...You're serious?"
"Completely." the troll answered. "This pamphlet has information on all candidates that are currently in the race so that you can still make an informed decision if you need to change your vote. Have a good day."
Kathy watched the troll head back down her front walk. "... What just happened?"
---
A sudden twist in the mayoral ran today. A new movement called "Don't Vote for Hank Pines," has recently launched a smear campaigned to discourage voters from voting for Don Pines. To further confuse matters, the key sponsor of this movement is in fact Don Pines himself. In addition, Don Pines released a statement today, asserting that he was never a candidate in the mayoral race, and thus any votes for him will merely be invalidated and not counted towards any candidate.
"Don't waste your votes," Don Pines stated in the release. "I am not, never was, and probably never will be running for mayor."
Three deaths, two mental breakdowns, and now the mob candidate is launching a smear campaign against himself. Got to love municipal politics folks.
---
Election day finally arrived. Voting stations opened up across the city, and people began lining up for their chance to vote. Candidates waiting with tense anticipation, ready to grieve or rejoice, as the situation warranted. Several celebrations had been planned, along with several riots. The latter of which never came to fruition due to a combination of the Portland Riot Police and the Dinner Crew being out in force. The riot police were determined to avoid another riot and were posted around all the voting stations and any major gathering places.
The Dinner Crew had responded by hosting a "community picnic" in a park just outside one of the major voting stations. Potential troublemakers were quickly put off by the thought of tangling with a dragon. Nevermind the ogres, the trolls, and the family of oni that had just immigrated from japan.
Hank got smug enjoyment in reminding the riot police that this gathering had been approved by city officials months ago, had all the proper permits, and was in no way an attempt to intimidate voters. In fact many supernaturals would later report that they felt a lot safer going to vote, when they saw that Hank Pines and the Dinner Crew were keeping an eye on things.
At the end of the day, when the voting stations closed, nothing had happened. Which considering the tensions that had been simmering throughout the city since the elections began, was a miracle in itself.
---
"Congratulations on your victory in the election Mayor Davis," Vivi said, raising her wine-glass in salute.
"Thank you Vivi, Hank," the mayor replied, raising his own glass to his two dinner guests. "And congratulations to you Hank. It's not everyday that a person wins nearly twenty five percent of the vote in an election they weren't even a part of. Nevermind one in which they actively sabotaged themselves."
"Thank you, I suppose. I still have no idea who was producing all those pamphlets and banners." Hank remarked. "No one seems to know where they originally came from."
"Mysteries like that are all too common in this day and age," Mayor Davis shrugged. "Now that the election is over, it's possible that we may never find out."
"Too true," Hank agreed. "We did find out who started the rumor though."
"Really?"
"It all starts from a story published in the Portland Flotsam," Vivi spoke up. "They were apparently just as surprised as we were when people actually took it seriously. By the time they realized what had happened, the "fact" that Hank was running for mayor was already spreading under its own power and being accepted as common knowledge."
"Toby went in to renew his subscription to the paper, and next thing anyone knows the chief editor is fleeing down the fire escape with a suitcase under his arm." Hank remarked, taking another sip of his wine.
Mayor Davis chuckled at the image. "Well, no harm done it seems. You managed to escape having to take my job, and I still managed to weasel into another term in office. I think this will be my last one though. I think I'll probably retire when this term is up." He smiled. "That will be your chance to make a real run for the Mayor's Office."
Hank shuddered. "No thank you. I am quite happy working with City Hall as an outsider rather than a city employee. Besides, I think I do the most good for everyone that way."
A warm smile crossed the mayor's face. "We really are lucky to have someone like you here in Portland you know. You've done a lot for this city. I really think you could do a lot of good if you actually did run for Mayor. But..." he held up his hand to forestall Hank's protests. "That's still years away. A lot can change in that time. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to continuing to work with you in helping to make this city a better place. Too a brighter future and a happier tomorrow!" he announced, holding his wine glass up in a toast.
"Too a brighter future!" Hank and Vivi echoed.