Forest Dwellers

Chapter 4: The Politician

"Sir? Sir!"

George Hunter grumbled and rolled over onto his side in bed, revealing a fleshy bottom climbing its way out of his bed shorts.

"Sir, I know I'm early but I thought you should see this. Mr. Hunter!"

"What, what is this?" he spluttered, jerking awake with a violent gasp. "What on earth...Jenkin! How many times...I tell you, the fact that you were once Nixon's assistant still amazes me, you useless lump, this had better be good or you can go apply for unemployment straight away! Don't touch me! I can dress my own goddamn self believe it or not!" he spat as Jenkin attempted to help him with his robe. Mr. Hunter waddled out of his bedroom like a great bear after hibernation, dressed comically in his blue striped bed shorts and now a shiny back robe. Jenkin scuttled behind him like a starved bird, fiddling with his own collar, then his wispy white hair, adjusting his round wire glasses and finally pulling a newspaper out from the inside pocket of his suit.

"Yes sir, I understand you don't appreciate being woken up this early but it's just _"

"Early?" shouted Mr. Hunter. "Ten o clock would have been early, alright? Nine would have been preposterous, okay? But eight? Either my watch is horribly wrong or you, my dear man are on a suicide mission coming to my suite at this time. It's a Sunday for God's sake!"

"Yes sir, I know that it's a bit early for you but _"

"And I know this watch isn't wrong," continued Mr. Hunter, tapping the crystal front plate. "Because I only bought it last week as an early birthday present to myself. Great deal too, only $300 instead of the $400 that bastard tried to strangle out of me! Ha!" he stood in front of an oval mirror and slapped color into his cheeks. "So I guess you've got some explaining to do, correct? Hurry it up!"

"Yes sir," Jenkin stammered. "If you remember sir, you...ordered me to inform you the next time your daughter was mentioned in the media."

Mr. Hunter's face twitched violently as he looked in the mirror. "Yes and what of it?" he snapped, looking suddenly frightened of his own reflection.

"Well sir, I've brought..."

"What, give me that!" Mr. Hunter snapped, snatching the paper out of Jenkin's fumbling hands and smacking him straight over the head with it. "Damned imbecile!" he grumbled, "I meant television, damn you! Something I could easily look at, the newspaper is hardly media anymore. Now I have to read through all this? Where do I start..." he flipped absently through the pages like a young child who's been given a thick novel without pictures.

"Here, sir." Jenkin gently pulled it from his grasp. As he read aloud, Mr. Hunter's face began a rapid succession of expressions. First was curious, then pleased, then haughty and knowing.

and he will not stop until he has proven he will be as dependable a president as he has been a senator.

"Yes indeed, yes very true...mhmm quite right. I love this reporter, who is he?"

"It was written by a woman actually, sir."

"Oh well...it's still rather good for a woman's writing."

But then as Jenkin continued on, at the very mention of his daughter's name, Mr. Hunter clenched his teeth and his face was broken into a frozen smile, evil and menacing in its stoic nature, like the quiet stillness in a tiger as it crouches down.

"The people are questioning her whereabouts? He muttered between the teeth. Jenkin had begun fidgeting again, folding the paper up, opening it again, and then folding it with rapid succession. "Is it not sufficient that she is not around and not involved? What more information do these idiots want from me!"