Disraeli's Gambit

Disraeli's Gambited

Trigger Warning - Death of a baby.

Disraeli's hands tightened on the wheel. He leaned forward slowly, avoiding the horn, and rested his head against the steering wheel. He had to stop letting himself get triggered whenever he saw a child who made him think of Washe.

A young girl had crossed the road dragging a little boy who was likely her brother to school.

He would be six years old this year, grade one. He breathed through the grief spreading from his chest.

Peeeeeeeep! Peeeeeeeeep!

As suddenly as it always went, sound returned and he looked into his rear view mirror and saw that he was holding up traffic. Cars were honking and filtering around him. Some drivers were yelling and some were glancing at him with concerned looks. He held and released five deep breaths and he kept on moving.

He slid into his reserved parking bay. Pulling out his bottle of scotch he took a deep swig. He leaned back and chewed some spearmint gum.

He walked down the corridor smiling at everyone he passed. He got to his new office and looked at the new shiny brass plaque on his door. 

Disraeli Jembere

Editor In Chief

He gave it a quick discreet polish with his elbow. Maud was at his heels listing and dropping his messages on his desk as soon as he sat down. He had kept the same PA from when he reached a position that warranted a personal assistant and had stuck with her as he had moved up the ranks. She was pretty, well-groomed and efficient. She hovered waiting for instruction or dismissal.

"Thank you Maud."

"Yes sir." She nodded and left.

He didn't need to look up to know what her ass or her legs would look like walking away. He had the image memorised from looking at it these past few years. Such a position, with such a secretary, in such cute sexy business outfits had been a fantasy years ago but now it seemed... too late. The urge to look at the picture came back. No no no. He would concentrate on work.

Twenty minutes later he sighed, opened his desk drawer and looked. His love affair with Otilia had burned very hot. It seemed he had found his soulmate. He had initially viewed her as a rival. An attractive rival. They were both journalists, he was with The Sentinel, she with The Citizen, his dream publication. Always trying to out scoop each other. Covering the election had brought them together, following the campaign trail meant their spending long periods of time together. They tumbled into love.

But that white hot burning fire burned itself out very quickly. But they were already married by the time the embers began to cool and eventually died and they had begun to quietly sticking it out. He was waiting for her to throw in the towel first and leave him.

Their rivalry didn't go the same way as their love. Each was still always trying to get the scoop on the other. That's how while walking down Albion he was handed a flyer for a traditional healer type who promised many things from recovering lost love to curing all manner of STI's to helping you accumulate untold riches. He could write a two parter. First a light but informative story on how these charlatans were exploiting the desperation of the masses and how they never seemed to use their magic to help humanity as a whole or to enrich themselves but were willing to turn men into millionaires for relatively little payment. Then he would write about how the desperation was being caused by the economic slump those in power were responsible for. He would do a serial about the strange ills the economic situation was creating. He sent a WhatsApp message to the contact number and made an appointment.