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Thaddeus Duke · (08-11-2020)

The Illuminatus Compound || Old Saybrook, Connecticut

Things at home are as busy as ever. It was expected. I do a thousand things every day that no one ever sees. A lot of it, mundane and irrelevant to the big picture. Some of it you get to see. The bigger stuff. The important stuff. Today for example, I have a board meeting, or cabinet meeting, if you prefer with my Ministers concerning The Ares Project, the militia that wants me dead.

Ho hum, right?

Being the head mother fucker in charge, I get to see it all. I’m not bragging, so much of it is discussion and fact finding and learning. Pretty boring stuff normally. Planning is what I like. Taking all the information I learn from my various sources and formulating a strategic operation to act on that information. That’s what I’m best at. That’s what I enjoy about this job.

Today also marks the first time Liz will sit in on the meeting. She’s learned all she needs about the background stuff and she didn’t hightail it back to New York. That’s as good a sign as any that she’s willing to be my partner for the long haul.

”They’ve moved to a location near the border in El Paso,” says my Minister of Defense as he highlights their suspected location on the map on the big screen in the situation room. ”Our best estimates is that they’ve been there roughly two weeks.”

”I’ve laid low for nearly a year and these guys are still moving around?” I ask in frustration. As good as my military is, and they’re good, we’re only as good as our Intelligence allows us and thus far, Illuminatus Intelligence has been pretty fucking dumb.

”They’ll well funded and paranoid, sir,” he answers me.

”Do we know who’s funding them yet? It’s been a fucking year!”

”Nope,” says my Intelligence Minister, Lincoln Tritter. He gets a name. He’s important.

”I thought you were good at this,” I fire back at him sarcastically.

”I am… The fact is, Thaddeus… they move their money so frequently… and it changes hands so often, that we’ve yet to track down the original source.”

”Is it possible they change sources as to throw you off the trail?”

Tritter considers a moment before answering.

”Now you get it.”

Before moving on, my intercom buzzes.

”I’m in a meeting, Dave,” I tell my assistant. ”It has to wait.”

”Thaddeus it’s the Office of Child and Family Services,” he replies. ”From the state of New York.”

I look at Liz and we both exchange a confused look.

”They’ll have to call me back,” I say before ending the exchange on the intercom. ”Okay so it’s been two weeks so they’re likely to move again soon...”

David buzzes in again.

”God dammit Dave!”

”It’s about a Francis Robert Rickle,” he replies to me and my heart drops to my stomach.

Frankie.

”Put it through,” I order him, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

”The lady says...”

”PUT IT THROUGH!” I reiterate much clearer and louder, and quite likely with a bit of panic.

After a click and a short pause, the call is put through.

”Yes, hello? Is Frankie okay?” I ask, probably more panicked and frantic than I intended.

”Mr. Duke, this is Elaine Cooper from the New York State of...”

”Yeah, yeah, is Frankie okay? What’s wrong?” I ask again, cutting her off.

”He’s fine, sir. I don’t know how else to tell you this, but Frankie is in our care,” she says. I give out a sigh of relief as I slump back in my chair. I’d have gone ballistic if anything happened to that boy.

”Could you lead with that next time? I was scared to death!” That’s true but I still have no idea why she’s calling me and why Frankie is in their custody.

”Sir, he requested we contact you.”

”For what?”

”Frankie’s father, Keith Rickle… He’s been arrested on murder charges and with no surviving grandparents...”

”Wait what!? Why was Keith arrested for murder?”

”Sir, he’s been arrested and charged in connection with the death of Frankie’s mother Danielle Schneider.

“He’s been orphaned.”

My heart hurts at the news. I had no love for Keith Rickle and I neither met nor have any affection one way or the other for Danielle. But the boy? I love that boy. We’ve spent time together away from the prying eyes of the XWF cameras. Sometimes, in front.

He’s a sweet kid and I can barely put into words right now just how fucking awful I feel for him.

”Mr. Duke?” Elaine says, cutting the silence I’d been giving her.

”What can I do? Does he need money? Do you need money? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it. Take care of him!”

”We have it covered,” she says. ”If no family or friend can step up to foster him, then he’ll become a ward of the state.”

”How does fostering work?” I ask. I really don’t want him placed in the system. I’m an absolute mess inside right now just thinking about it.

”Well, we’d have to see if he wants to go with you first. If we suspect he’s afraid of you for any reason, we couldn’t let you take guardianship of him. But since he specifically asked for you, odds are he’s not afraid.

“The next step, is you come get him. You fill out and sign an application to become his legal guardian. As that goes through the courts, you’re granted foster parent status in the interim, giving you certain, but few rights in the eyes of the law, meaning if natural family would step into the game late, they’d be given guardianship priority.”

I’m barely hearing anything she’s saying. My heart is entirely shattered for Frankie and I can think of nothing else.

”Once legal guardianship is granted, sir, you could file a petition for adoption if that was something you wanted.”

With a tear running down my cheek, I look over at Liz, asking her without actually saying a word. She nods quickly. ”When can I come get him?”

”You can’t make it by the time the offices...”

”Stay in the office, Elaine. I’ll make it worth your while.”

”No, you don’t understand. He’s with a foster family and not only do you have to fill out the applications, we have to observe you with him, we have to clear time with the family, we have...”

”Elaine, stop.

“Here’s the thing about me that you need to know. I get what I want. Make this happen. I will make sure it’s worth your while, I will make sure it’s worth the families while too,” I conclude just before a random question pops into my head.

”How long has he been in your custody if he’s already with a family?”

”Four days.”

”And you’re only calling me now?” I yell out unintentionally.

”Sir, Frankie wouldn’t say a word for the first three days. He sat quietly wearing his superhero mask and barely moved.”

I broke down. I couldn’t handle the thought of Frankie in pain and surrounded by strangers he didn’t know. Just a nine year old boy, broken, scared and all alone in the world.

”Please, Elaine,” I plead with her as Liz holds me from a standing position. She’s gotten to know him a little too. He’s an easy kid to love. ”I’ll do anything. I can’t stand the thought of him feeling so alone with nobody he knows, and no one’s arms to cry into.”

Silence.

”I’ll stay late and see what I can do,” she says with a sniffle. ”I can’t make any promises though, Mr. Duke. I can’t force the family to agree to this without 24 hours notice.”

”Work magic if you have to, Elaine. I’m on my way.”

I end the call without another word.

”Nathan,” I say, turning to my chief air force minister. ”Call the boys, get the chopper gassed up.” He nods in affirmation, turning to the desk phone in front of him.

”Sir, we still have a...”

”The meeting is over,” Tritter says, cutting off my Defense Minister. ”As if you couldn’t tell.” I’m not sure if he was supportive just then or pissed off. Anyway, I don’t really care.

Gotta love Lincoln Tritter. Unabashed. Unfiltered. Uncensored.

I’m a man possessed at the moment. Determined to get to Manhattan as soon as humanly possible. I’d fly myself if I could. I mean, I can fly helicopter’s but two things are stopping me. One, is my emotional state. I’m a wreck and in a hurry to get to Frankie. Not a good combination. Two, of all the things I’m good at, flying a fighter jet for one thing, flying a helicopter is not one of them. Today, it’s best to leave it to the professionals.

I grab Elizabeth’s hand as I remain seated. I kiss it softly then pull it to my cheek.

”Thank you,” I say to her. We’re still “new” together. Bringing a child into the mix and her agreeing without hesitation is just another reason among the list too long to count that I love her. We’re still growing and learning together but sometimes, outside forces dictate your path forward. It’s not an ideal hand, but it’s the one we’ve been dealt.

”Let’s go get Frankie,” she says as she wipes away a tear of her own. Compassion can’t be taught.

I stand from my chair at the head of the table and hand in hand, Liz and I make our way through the sprawling mansion toward the roof. As we exit the door leading to the roof, Galileo Two touches down waiting for us to board. After sliding the door shut behind us, we strap ourselves in. I look at Liz and she at me. I again lose my composure and she cradles my head in her chest.

”He’s gonna be okay,” she says, her voice cracking a little over the emotional toll this has taken. ”We’ll get him through this together.”

She’s certainly reassuring. The thing is, no one knows how he’ll get through this. Everyone is different. Some grow up to be criminals. Some grow up with drug or alcohol problems. Some grow up, overcome the unfair hand they’ve been dealt to be well-adjusted adults. Which statistic will Francis Robert Rickle fill?

Just then it occurs to me, I’m still barely not a kid myself. I have no business trying to bring up a child. I have no idea how I’m going to juggle this.

So Warfare has come and gone and not only did some out of shape jagoff get the better of me, but Chris Page and his boytoy Bobby Main decided to put their nose in my business. They wanted to draw blood and I knew it. If it wasn’t for dear old dad hanging out in the rafters for some damn reason, then I might be in a world of fucking hurt right now.

Gee, I wonder why he was up there in the first place. Couldn’t have anything to do with the Brian Storm, Griffin MacAlister match that was canceled could it?

Clearly, we digress.

So here I am a week later recovering from the beating that Robbie Bourbon gave me to face him for a second straight episode of Warfare. Normally, I might be a little irritated with this unenthusiastic booking shit show but here’s the thing: the better man didn’t win last Warfare. The better man didn’t win the MVP award.

Because the better man is me.

Robbie Bourbon was the victor and that much is true. It’s clear to me that I underestimated Robbie’s desire to even be back here in the XWF and that’s a mistake I’m not making again. Warfare is his stomping grounds, and its my playground. He might not like it, but he’s just gonna have to share because I’ll be damned if that fat oaf is gonna claim my show for his own.

Robbie has a lot to say… when it’s convenient for him to say it. I’m beaten up, for sure. I’m not gonna lie about it. But where’s the colostomy bag he promised? He talked a big game about being the big bully and making sure that he pulverized me yet here I stand, ready and willing and able to fight him again.

There’s nothing worse in this industry than spewing a whole bunch of drivel that’ll never happen just because they sound good in small soundbites. Robbie clearly doesn’t do small bites. It’s like saying ‘ohhh come the next show imma murder you.’

No.

No you aren’t.

I’m not laid up in a hospital in France and I’m not eating meals through a fucking straw and I don’t have a fucking bag. None of that happens, but it suffices as good verbal assaults in today’s XWF. Now, I never claimed to be good at verbally assaulting people and I never have, but he talks about the Big Dumb. The idiocy. There’s very few things more idiotic than talking a whole shit load of nonsense that has no basis in reality. There’s really only two other things that are worse and it would be out of character for me to tell you what those are.

Yet people eat it up. Robbie, clearly more than most.

See, he had a ton to say about my childhood and my father and everything else that might, again, sound good in a small soundbite but if he actually knew what the fuck he was talking about rather than just trying to be funny, he’d know that no actual childhood ever existed for me. He doesn’t care about that. I don’t even care that he doesn’t care but for fucks sake have the fucking common decency to know something about your opponent aside from who his dad is.

I mean, I learned a great deal about Robbie our last go round. He’s tougher than I thought, I’ll give him that. He won, I already conceded that. It was a good match. A great match even. Besides squeaking out a close victory, he didn’t do anything he said he would. I mean, that’s one more thing than I said I would do, but here we are and wrestling matches aren’t won with words. Clearly, they’re decided in the ring and next Warfare won’t be the same as the last.

I don’t spit fire like a fuckin’ dragon as some do around here, but you put me against anyone, they’ll know I was there. I can go head to head, toe to toe with anyone in this fucking company and it’ll be a five star instant fucking classic because that’s what I do. See, Robbie thinks I’m irrelevant and that being the Television champion should matter to me, but neither of those things are true. I’m not irrelevant. I’ve kicked ass, took names, and collected titles every single time I’ve come back to this company and one thing I have never been is irrelevant.

Again… soundbites.

And I still don’t care that I’m the Television champion. Someone sure does though and I’m not talking about Robbie.

Here’s winkin’ at you, Page.

There’s a lot of differences between Robbie and I and I know he’d agree with that statement. It’s fact. He claims he’s at the top of the food chain and he might be, evidenced by his ample girth. I know, I know, low hanging fruit and I should be above that.

He’s not.

Listen, I don’t hate Robbie. I don’t think he hates me, but I wouldn’t care if he did. I don’t care about Robbie and I’m fairly certain he doesn’t give a shit about me. It’s the nature of the business. He thinks winning is all that matters and while winning is great and its fun and all, that’s not what turns me on about this business. I win pretty frequently but putting asses in seats, contrary to Robbie’s bloated opinion of my irrelevance, is something I have done since I first stepped through these doors and its something I continue to do today… that’s important. Putting on a show like no one else can… that’s important. Hearing the roar of the crowd when my music hits, or when I hit a big move or when the match is over and my hand is raised… that’s what turns me on about this business.

Belly up to the buffet table, Robbie. The only thing you’ll be eating at Warfare is the teeth I just kicked down your throat.

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