Jailbird || Stranger Things

forty-three ➵ too quiet on the home front

The town hall was overrun by protesters. The small business owners of Hawkins and their supporters were trying to give their all in order to preserve their livelihoods. They wanted to show their mayor that while a mall was a fantastic addition especially to the kids, it was also detrimental to the fabric of the town's local business. Where did he get the money from to build it? Who was this benefactor? Why now? Why ever?

    Wasn't Hawkins just fine on its own as a little town? Hell, the lab had already been shut down, the locals didn't need more things to strip off their income. The government had meddled before, Kline didn't need to do it again.

    Did he really think he was going to get reelected like this?

    "Kline's a swine!"

    Again, and again, and again, the declaration was the only thing Jim could hear. Even from inside the town hall.

    He watched a heavy set man with a motorcycle jacket, boots, and helmet walked down the hall and past the front desk. Although curious, he was too busy caught up in his own world.

    He had a date with Joyce Hopper.

    Shit this cigarette was needed.

    "Jim?"

    He looked to the side, noticing the mayor's secretary walking towards him, heels neglecting to clack on the carpet. She flashed him a smile as she came to a stop beside him, just a few steps away to avoid the second hand smoke he exhaled. "Mayor Kline is ready for you."

    "Great."

    Extinguishing his cigarette, Jim followed her down the hall, walking through to the office of the despicable man he could call his boss. Somewhat.

    "Jim!" Larry Kline pushed himself out of his chair, a large grin overtaking his face as he approached the chief of police with an extended hand. "Thanks for coming by," he chuckled, taking Jim's hand into a shake.

    "I'm not doing it, Larry," Jim replied with a disinterested fake smile, pulling his hand from the business greeting as soon as he could without seeming entirely disrespectful.

    Kline laughed, throwing his head back a little, though Jim could tell it was all forced as a way to fake the niceties between the two men. "Calm down, now. You don't even know what I want," he backed away to his chair behind the desk.

    "You don't like your fan club out there, you want me to shut 'em down. Sound about right?" Jim asked, voice flat and void of emotion.

    "When d'you get so serious?" Kline's laughing continued, only serving to piss Jim off more, though he'd become pretty good at hiding his anger. "Take a seat."

    With a bit of dramatics, Jim did as asked, leaning back in the chair as he cleared his throat.

    "My fan club, as you call them, now, you know why they're out there, don't ya?"

    "They're not actually fans?" Hopper feigned shock.

    "They lost their jobs to the mall and blame me for making that happen," Kline theatrically admitted their protest. "Now, you go ask anyone else in this town. They all love the mall! It's helped our economy grow, brought in new jobs, and just see incredibly new stores," he listed the pros, ignoring the cons, which were coincidentally all Jim was thinking about. "Which is why they all stopped shopping at their—uh—mom-and-pops," he reached for a cigar. "Now, that's not me, Jim."

    "Mm-hmm?" Jim hummed in question, continuing to feign interest.

    "Uh-huh," Kline agreed, cutting the tip off the cigar. "That's just, uh, good old fashioned American capitalism."