State of the Union

State of the Union by Rick Shelley

The Senate hearing room was packed with reporters. It was a slow news day. Even the prospect of listening to a mad scientist testify before the organized crime committee was welcome.

At the moment, only one member of that committee was missing from the chamber. Since the missing man was Josiah Hitch, the ranking minority member, the session had not yet been formally opened even though everyone else had been in place for twenty minutes. There was a noisy buzz in the room as reporters talked about whatever they had to talk about. At the witness table, a single man, obviously still on the sunny side of forty, sat waiting patiently. Part of the twitter among the reporters was because the witness had come in without even one attorney. In Washington, that was news almost on the level of Man Bites Dog.

Josiah Hitch eventually arrived, scowling as always, and muttered pro forma apologies for being “unavoidably detained.” Both the scowl and the apology were garbled by the Churchill cigar in his mouth. His colleagues were too polite to snicker. Everyone knew what had detained Hitch, what always detained him. He spent so much time in men’s rooms that his less sympathetic colleagues had started talking about “going to the hitch.”

Chairman Robert Tavish banged the gavel. As soon as the daily formula was complete, Tavish introduced the witness and Dr. William G. Wilson, Jr. was sworn in.

“Mister Chairman,” Hitch interrupted. “Before we go any farther, I would like to make a statement.” He used his cigar as if it were a conductor’s baton, gesturing wildly with it, making certain that thick clouds of smoke were generously distributed. During the previous Congress, while the Republicans were still in control of both houses, the ban on smoking had been lifted. Hitch had ignored it even while it was in effect. He represented a tobacco state. Vigorously.

Tavish quickly suppressed the instinctive frown and nodded. “The chair recognizes the deputy chair.”

“In all my many years in public life, I have never, never, seen such an incredible and unconscionable waste of time and taxpayers’ money,” Hitch said, fixing Dr. Wilson with his most malevolent stare and poking his cigar toward the witness table. Wilson had no business sitting there looking so smug and handsome and young. “That is quite a statement, since we all know that this body has witnessed some extraordinary wastes of both.” He paused to make sure that the reporters were at least making a pretense of listening to him. He saw red lights on three video cameras. That was enough to let him continue. “Dr. Wilson, you have the temerity, the absolute gall, to come before this august body and claim that you have single-handedly wiped out major organized crime in this country?”

Wilson’s smile showed more than confidence. It was the smugness of a man who knew without checking that his fly was securely zipped and all was well with the world. The smile was the result of his best efforts at moderation. Left to his natural inclinations, he would have laughed his head off. He was not the least bit nervous about this hearing, or the ranking minority senator.

“Not exactly, Senator, ’’ Wilson said. “I did not, personally, wipe out all of major organized crime in this country. But,”—he continued when he saw that Hitch was about to launch another oration—“I am responsible for it being wiped out. I created the mechanism and made it possible.”

“I fail to see the distinction,” Hitch said.

“I came here to explain that,” Wilson pointed out. “The committee has already seen much of my data. That was the reason for the hasty scheduling of these hearings, despite the fact that some individuals obviously feel that I am unhinged.”

Chairman Tavish cleared his throat. “That is true—I mean, that these hearings were scheduled so quickly because of the data we have seen, and because of the obvious evidence that major organized crime does seem to have virtually disappeared over the past few weeks. And I fear that this is getting beyond simply making a statement.” He glanced at Hitch. Hitch’s scowl deepened. There was more he wanted to say, about the idiocy of wasting time with this witness’s claim that he had invented a time machine, but the ranking Republican member of the committee nodded his acceptance of the chair’s observation.

“Dr. Wilson, I believe you have an opening statement to read?” Tavish said, turning his attention to the witness.

“I do, sir,” Wilson said.

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

“Thank you.” Wilson positioned the text of his statement directly in front of him, and started to read.

“My name is William G. Wilson, Jr. I have dual doctorates, in physics and mathematics. I am currently a tenured member of the physics faculty of the University of Chicago.” Wilson spent just a few minutes establishing his professional bona fides, then looked up from his text.