If I become Beefcake’s supply line to cold hard cash, he’ll trust me. Then, while he gazes admiringly on stacks of twenties, I’ll scurry around behind his back and destroy his campaign.
What happens after that—how I also rid myself of his bullying presence back at the strip mall—well, that’s a little tricky. If Beefcake did become Mayor, he’d be out of my hair. But if he’s Mayor, then he’ll be able to be horrible to thousands of people instead of just me. Plus, he’d win something he wants badly. Above all else, that’s something I can’t allow.
Beefcake may never know I’m the one who ensured failure. I go back and forth on whether I should set this up so it leads back to me, so he understands I’ve dealt out my revenge for his meddling in my business and his shoving me against a wall, or whether it’s better to arrange events so he winds up feeling puzzled by his failure and blames himself.
Both scenarios hold merit and delight.
Jill Riddell is a writer in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute and has a weakness for nature, magic, and pennies abandoned in sidewalk cracks.