A Lady and the Southron

I have a story in mind I’d like to tell, but I’m a terrible story teller. I’m too impatient for it and lapse into daydreams about the plot before managing to write anything down. I’ll try to outline it here:

I’d like to open on a peaceful park in Alexandria Virginia where two self-important men are seated on a park bench, arguing in hushed tones. They’re hashing out an evil plot to have the granddaughter of the late Jessie Helms assassinated. She’s been carrying on the spirit of her grandfather and, thanks to her beauty and charm, has achieved some success in swaying the public. Both men are corporate types, careful not to soil their hands with the nasty business. They need it to look like an accident. The one man has arranged for a nasty team of South African henchmen. The other owns a local news agency. Ms. Helms is scheduled to speak there the following day.

“We need a driver to pick her up from the airport. While they’re in traffic, my South African men will run into them – a head on collision should kill her and the driver. Do you have anyone you’d care to sacrifice?”

The news man thinks. He remembers a young southern photographer was hired a few months back. The guy didn’t fit with the agency and already had a complaint filed against him for making a bigoted remark to one of the female anchors. His accent was embarrassing and he seemed slow witted. Perfect.

They end their meeting and go their respective ways.

(…and here ends my attempt at outlining the story. You all can imagine what happens next).

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