As Rakshan stepped into a Starbucks to order a pumpkin-spice latte and escape the cold of the city, he picked up a copy of the New York Times.
HEARINGS ARE ENDING, BUT POLITICS REMAINS
By Harold Mueller
Christmas is next week, but Democrats still aren’t sure if Santa will have coal for them or not.
After years of campaigning, months of speeches, testimony from experts, and a narrow committee vote, Senate Majority Leader Manish Nagaraj (D-CA) made the unprecedented announcement that he might call an additional witness before calling for a full floor vote on the bill to legalize WP possession for minorities.
“This is ridiculous,” said Senator Charles Lungford upon hearing the news. “If there was important testimony, it should have been provided to all committee members before the vote.”
Mr. Nagaraj and his allies planned on holding a vote before Christmas, but now that plan may not hold as Nagaraj’s office floated the possibility of hearing from a new mystery witness. “Obviously there’s a fear that President Brooks will veto any bill,” said Mr. Nagaraj’s chief of staff, Roger Manning. “Senator Hammond could block this vote with the filibuster, but the president told him to let it go forward because they think they can embarrass us if this gets less than fifty-four votes [the number of Democrats in the chamber]. He’s setting us up to fail, so we have to make sure we can get to sixty. We’ve got a few ideas of how.”
For his part, Mr. Hammond’s chief of staff, Whit Pryor, said the idea that his boss would block a bill for partisan reasons was ludicrous. “Senator Hammond’s top concern is figuring out what is best for the American people. If this bill is the answer, as my Democratic friends tell me it is, let’s have a vote on it and see where the chips fall. It’s the Democrats who are playing politics with this issue, forcing another witness to speak after the committee’s already voted.” (continues on A9)
Rakshan tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his drink. What a dog and pony show, he thought. What witness could sway a half-dozen Republicans?
“Drake!”
Rakshan went to the counter to pick up his drink. His name had been butchered so many times over the years that it would’ve resembled a Viking battle scene if it’d been a person. After being called “Rake” in college once, he’d decided to go with Drake, instead. Easier to say and, every once in awhile, the server was dumb enough to think he might be the rapper.
The vote on WP legalization weighs heavily on Mr. Begaye’s mind for professional reasons as well as personal ones. It’s widely assumed he will announce his campaign for President of the United States soon after the New Year, with sources saying he’s already compiled a prospective staff list.
“The money will be there,” said one prominent bundler within the Democratic Party. “If he’s able to shepherd this bill through, the excitement will be there, as well.”
Putting the paper down, Rakshan walked out into Murray Hill. Sadiya’s neighborhood was far from his own, but he didn’t have anything else to do and being here made him feel close to her.
I’ll have my family soon. Sipping his latte, he walked toward her apartment, tugging at his ear stud. Then he sensed a familiar presence nearby. Darting a glance to the other side of the street, he spotted a Black boy at the corner of Thirtieth and Park pocketing a wallet from someone’s back pocket. Slithering between the crowd like a snake, the boy made his way into an alley.
Rakshan followed. The chance to play superhero was too appealing. Maybe some press will pick it up and Sadiya will read about it and be impressed I stopped a robbery. And maybe society will learn legalizing WP could lead to other good guys like me helping stomp out crime.
“Hey kid!” Rakshan shouted.
The kid must have been young and inexperienced, because he turned back to look. Recognizing the same boy he’d seen days ago in Brooklyn, Rakshan balled his hands into fists. The kid had WP in his side pocket; Rakshan could practically taste the energy surging from his leg. The drug shouted its presence like a bullhorn.
“Why’d you have to be such a fucking stereotype?”
Before the kid could respond, Rakshan launched himself.
Rakshan aimed his fist at the boy like he was Neo from The Matrix. Stepping to the right, the kid dropped to his knees and threw a fist into Rakshan’s hip. Flesh connected with flesh, but instead of being thrown aside, Rakshan dropped into a roll and stood up.
“I didn’t tell Spartacus anything important,” the kid said.
Rakshan frowned. He knows Spartacus? That asshole referred me to a terrorist for WP when he could’ve just sold me some of his? “Did Spartacus give you WP?”
The boy spit on the ground before answering. “Spartacus didn’t give me anything. I earned this.”
Rakshan laughed. “You can’t earn privilege.”
“But you can earn power.”
Ignoring his response, Rakshan asked another question. “What did you mean before, that you didn’t tell Spartacus anything?”
Standing tall, the boy answered. “Forget about it.”
“Careful, kid,” Rakshan said. “You don’t want to become some common skin grafter. Give the wallet back, and then I’d suggest giving the WP back, too.”
“I’m no thief. There’s no right or wrong in America, not anymore and maybe not ever.” Pushing his chest back, the boy showed off his broad shoulders and took a step forward. “Besides. You’ve got WP, too. I can sense it.”
“You read the news? One day soon we might all have it. Equality at last.”
“Yeah?” The kid rolled a knife as thin as a nail file around his fingers. It shimmered with flecks of WP, and Rakshan touched his own WP-infused necklace in response. “Well, I can’t wait for something that may never happen.”
Jumping into the air, the boy tucked the knife between his fingers and brought his fist down on Rakshan’s face.
Fuck, this kid is fast.
Rakshan barely had time to process the kid’s movements and roll to the other side of the alley. When he got up, he saw the boy’s knuckles had dented the steel dumpster sitting beside the brick exterior of the building.
I need to start training against other WP users. Dodging another blow, he tried to reason with the boy. “How do you know Spartacus? He can’t be trusted! Maybe we can help each other!”
Trying to avoid his fists is like trying to avoid the wind.
“I’ve learned to help myself,” the kid shouted as he back-handed Rakshan.
Rakshan’s back crashed against a wall. Touching the bricks behind him, he knew some had become dislodged.
How is he so strong with so little WP? Is it because his ancestors spent centuries picking it? Once given to Blacks, will the drug be more powerful for them than anyone else?
Breaking from his reverie, Rakshan watched the kid’s fists unfurl as he began to walk away. He thinks the fight is over? That I’m so pathetic I’m not even worth knocking out?
“You think WP is power?” Rakshan yelled after him. “You don’t know the first thing about power. A drug won’t make you Spartacus’s equal.”
The boy stopped, turning back. “What makes you think I want to be his equal? This stuff…it makes me so much better than him. Equality is a joke. Wearing that stuff,” lifting his chin up, he indicated Rakshan’s ear stud and necklace, “I thought you’d have learned that by now.”
Gathering his strength, Rakshan leapt to deliver another blow, only to be met with a roundhouse kick from the boy.
Rakshan woke up in the dented dumpster. Though his body ached, his spirit hurt even worse.
Fucking skin grafter. Hauling himself out, he took out his phone to text Dr. Clark.
All this research better pay off.