(no subject)
Canton Everett Delaware the Third was the kind of guy who liked tie clips. Well, and skinny silk ties and unbuttoned blazers and brushing his short and slightly thinning hair with such unnecessary vigor that Eddie couldn’t help but snicker at him- but mainly tie clips. He had eight, one for each day of the week and an extra one for special occasions- like meeting with the President. He was wearing that one today.
But what he loved even more than tie clips, or meeting the President, or even dressing remarkably dapper was his gun. She was a government-issued Winchester named Stella, and she was his favourite perk of being an FBI agent. Though he rarely actually shot it outside of the shooting range, his hand always flew to his holster at the first sign of danger and he went on missions- not quite guns-blazing, but certainly guns-waving. There was nothing a well aimed pistol couldn’t solve, at least according to him.
He straightened up his tie and practised his steely gaze in the bathroom mirror. It was a properly serious and menacing look and he would have to keep it on his face today. He had met with the President once before and he had backed down far too quickly. Lyndon Johnson had that kind of effect on people.
Canton swaggered back into his bedroom.
“Hello handsome” Eddie said groggily, eyes squinting against the bright lights.
“Hello to you.” Canton leaned over to kiss him.
“You look very spiffing.”
“Thanks. I have a meeting with President Johnson today.”
“And you smell nice too- are you trying to seduce him now?” Eddie laughed. “I know guys who keep their wives away from him- do I have to worry about you too?” He grabbed Canton’s tie and gave him another kiss.
“Hey- I’ve seriously got to go.” Canton laughed, swatting away Eddie’s attempts to undo his top button. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” Eddie faltered. “Hey-”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
Canton patted his holster, “Always am.”
“No-seriously, call up that pretty blonde girl you meet up with sometimes, keep people from getting suspicious.”
“Nobody’s suspicious. I’ll be fine.”
- - -
“So I hear you and I have a bit of a disagreement.” Johnson leaned against his desk, his scuffed shoes tapping against the eagle on the carpet.
Canton looked up at him and gave a half shrug. He was stuck in an uncomfortable yellow and white striped chair that stood mere inches above the floor- one that Johnson had to keep around just for antagonistic FBI agents, for it did nothing but make Canton feel short and insignificant. “That’s mostly true, Mr. President.”
“You speaking for the whole of the FBI?”
“Not really. But I’m right”
Johnson only nodded. Canton watched as he paced the office. It was as if he was playing up the grandiosity of the room in an attempt to intimidate Canton further- as if the chair wasn’t bad enough- by drawing his attention to the fact that he was President of the United States. Strolling past the desk that appeared in all the official photographs, treading pointedly around the Official Seal on the floor, brushing against bronze busts of famous Americans and wooden cabinets that were probably from the Jackson Administration.
“J. Edgar Hoover know you’re here?” he said finally.
“Why not? He seems to know everything anyway.”
“Did you tell him?”
“He- found out.”
“Hoover’s a bastard, we all know that.” Johnson tapped the wooden cabinet. “Now what do you drink?”
“Sir?”
He pulled open the door to reveal a fully stocked liquor cabinet. “I’m partial to Cutty Sark myself, but I’ve got others.”
“I’ll take whatever you’re having.”
Johnson poured them both glasses of the whiskey.
“So I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why keep Hoover in charge if you think he’s a...ah-”
“You can say it, you think it too. Not like I can get you in trouble- I’m not taping every conversation that takes place in here- what crazy President would do that?”
“Yeah. Well. If you think Hoover is such a bastard, why keep him in charge?”
“‘Cause it’s better to have someone inside the tent pissing out that outside the tent pissing in.”
“Fair enough.” He took a sip of the cheap whiskey.
“So I didn’t really read your report.” Johnson began
“Really?”
“I skimmed some of it. I just really wish you’d stop inciting your coworkers against me.”
“Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Sir- the FBI operates mainly outside of the Executive Branch. I technically don’t have to listen to you.”
“But this is outside your jurisdiction.”
“Sir- my job is to keep the you and the country safe.”
“As is mine.”
Canton gave him the well practised steely gaze and took another swig of whisky. “I know.”
“You are going to do what I say.”’
“Why?”
“I’m Lyndon Johnson.”
Canton was reminded of their last meeting. The so-called “Johnson Treatment” wasn’t something made up by weak-wristed politicians who needed an excuse for why they bent to Johnson’s will or sobbed uncontrollably. Canton had the bruises to prove it.
“Why are we still in Vietnam, sir?” he challenged.
“Do you want to know? Do you want to know the real reason? Have you met Jumbo?”
“I’ve heard tell.”
Johnson walked over to him, hand fumbling with his zipper.
“I did vote for you sir, but this is going a bit too fast-” an amused look flicked across his face, “My that is impressive. But I don’t think you want to start comparing penis sizes with me.”
“That’s insubordination, Mr. Delaware.”
“Sorry. I don’t think you want to start comparing penis size with me, sir.”
Johnson smirked. “Care to go for a drive?”
“Uh- sure. Who’s driving?”
Johnson took a long sip of Cutty Sark and wiped his mouth off with his sleeve, “I am.”
- - -
“So, the Secret Service really lets you do this?”
“Yeah, piss on them a few times and they’ll let you do what you want.”
“Alright, sir.” Canton shrugged.
Johnson swerved to avoid a mailbox and ended up driving up on someone’s front lawn.
“I like you Canton. I know few people actually do.”
“I seem to make a lot of enemies.”
“Like Hoover for example. He warned me about you.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you have a problem with authority.”
“Only when it’s not me.”
“Well I like you, and I think you’ll do the right thing.”
“I think I already have, sir.”
“Listen.” Johnson grabbed Canton’s collar and stared right into his now slightly terrified eyes. “I am your President- don’t you ever forget that. You can be as much of a smartass as you want but in the end you’re going to get behind this war- or at least shut up about it.”
“Look out for that car.” Canton managed to squeak, and Johnson snapped back to the wheel, swerving wildly to a chorus of angry, blaring car horns.
Once the car straightened out and the color returned to Canton’s face, Johnson took another swig of Cutty Sark and asked, “Well, what do you say.”
“Whatever you say Mr. President.”
- - -
“Hey Mr. Delaware.” his secretary perked up when he stalked into the office.
“What?”
“Mr. Hoover wants you in his office.”
“He does?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Now?”
“He said the minute you got in.”
Canton stalked down the narrow halls of the building. He hated himself for giving in-again- to Johnson so quickly. All he wanted now was to head down to the shooting range and lay a few rounds on the unfortunate target. What could Hoover possibly want?
“Hello- Mr. Hoover?” Canton stepped into the office. It was an eerie and spacious room, more befitting of a cinema villain than the director of the FBI.
“Ah, Delaware, sit down, sit down.” Hoover said from his spot behind the desk, his back turned to the door.
Canton took the seat in front of the desk, and Hoover spun around to face him.
“Communist.” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Oh nothing. Did you have a nice chat with Johnson?”
“Yes sir, he’s a rather interesting man.”
“Why didn’t I know about this meeting?”
“But you did, sir, you sent me that nasty memo.”
“Why did I have to find out about this meeting, why wasn’t I notified?”
“Look-”
“I’m sick of you going over my head and ignoring my command- you are insubordinate, immature and trigger happy. Something has to be done about you. And you people need to get in line.”
“You people?”
Hoover shot out of his chair, “Communists! Reds! Soviets! Spies! UN-AMERICAN AMERICANS! I know you’re one of them, and I can get rid of you just like that.” He leaned over the desk and snapped haughtily to prove his point.
“Sir, you know I’m not a communist.”
Hoover settled back into his seat. “Yes, you’re right. You’re not a communist. But don’t think you’re safe. I know what you really are.”
“Really?”
“Do you happen to know a man by the name of Edward Crowley?”
And just like that his life, or at least his life as he knew it, was over. He wished he could just punch Hoover’s smug smile off his face, and afterwards he often had fitful dreams where he did. Everything worked out better in the long run, to be sure, but at the time nothing felt more terrible.
“I was nice enough to type up your resignation letter for you. You just have you sign your name.” Hoover slid him the letter.
“How did you find out?”
“I know pretty much everything about pretty much everyone. Why do you think everyone is so afraid of me.” he passed Canton a pen. “Now, sign it.”
Canton did.
“And your badge.”
He flung the badge onto the desk. “I actually looked really good in that picture.”
Hoover appraised it half-heartedly. “Eh- not particularly. Now come on, the gun too.”
“You can’t take Stella.”
“Delaware. The gun. now.”
He tossed the gun on the desk as well. “What else do you want.”
“I’ll get Security to escort you out.”
“Fuck you.” Canton muttered.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”