Chapter 2: Eminent Domain

One minute to air, and Bale Dilweg and Angela Kirk sat patiently as the crew finished positioning cameras and adjusting microphones. Well, Angela sat patiently while Dilweg continued trying to talk her into dinner and drinks. The bastard just couldn't take "no" for an answer, even after being shut down on each of his four appearances on her show.

"You know, as a Councilman, I can help you move up to the affiliate job in Spokane, or even Seattle if you play your cards right," Dilweg whispered.

Smiling widely, a slight wink. Christ, what a sleaze. He was hot, but didn't he know it?

"Thanks, but no thanks. When I move up, it'll be because I earned it on camera—not on you," Angel smirked.

"We're on in 5—," the director announced.

Dilweg shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Angela smiled brightly into the camera. "4, 3, 2, 1." The audience applauded as Dilweg recovered, also smiling.

"We're back, with freshman Duval Councilman Bale Dilweg," Angela said, slipping into TV Host mode and smiling at Dilweg. "Now, Bale, backstage, we were talking about a new initiative you're working on with the Duval leadership."

"Dullsville," nodded Dilweg.

"Right. Dullsville. Can you explain your project for our viewers who may be unfamiliar with the Dullsville community? You’ve been in quite a battle with them lately, haven’t you?"

"Well, Angela, ‘battle’ is a little strong, but yes, we’ve had some disagreements in recent months."

"Such as?"

"Bus service. They want us to extend Duval’s local bus route—which already loses considerable money each year—beyond the city limits by a good ten miles or so."

In Dullsville, Marshall Arcane growled at the idiots on television as he spooned cereal into his mouth. It was enough to put a guy off his Corn Flakes, watching these two.

After glancing at her audience in mild disbelief, Angela asked, "And what was it before? Sewage?"

Dilweg chuckled. "Sewage disposal. Before that, they wanted city water. And before that, they wanted paved roads and any number of other things. And they want the state and local governments to pick up the tab for it all!"

The audience grumbled, most in agreement.

"You sound very passionate about this, Bale."

"I am, Angela. I mean, I’m as sympathetic as the next guy, and God only knows the obstacles these people have had to overcome in their lives, but what it boils down to is this: the area that they’ve settled is farmland that was bought as a unit, and was never zoned for a residential subdivision."

"Can't the land's owner do something about it?"

"Well, he can, but he won't. He's one of them, and he allows this, this eyesore to get bigger and bigger and demand more and more taxpayer accommodations".

The audience continued to voice disapproval, getting louder even as Angela motioned for quiet.

"One of them?" asked Angela. "Those circus fr-, those circus folks. He owned a regional circus back in the 1930s and sold big to Barnum. He retired to Duval, where he was born, and bought a thousand acres outside of town when land was cheap. He's been letting that bunch squat there ever since."

More noise from the audience.

"So you're saying the people of Dullsville are squatters who want Duval, and the state of Washington to build them a community?"

Dilweg nodded, "Exactly. And I have to tell you, Angela, it’s not very smart on their part. If I were a squatter, the last thing I’d want to do is bring attention to myself, because it’s perfectly legal, should they decide to do so, for the state government to go in and bulldoze every trailer, shack, barn, and cabin in Dullsville. It's called eminent domain, and that’s a fact they’d do well to remember!"

The studio audience erupted in applause and cheers as Angela looked to the camera and, unheard over the noise, announced a commercial break.

Marshall set his cereal bowl down and stabbed the control toward the TV, turning it off. As he turn to take his bowl to the kitchen, his phone chimed from the bed.

"Bullshit detector!—Hey Bern, what’s doin’?—Hell yeah, I just finished watchin’ the pole-smoker. He’s not playin’ nice anymore, is he?—What?—Dunno yet. Is he still doin’ that meet ‘n’ bleat at the fair?—Great. I’ll probably see you there. Yeah, maybe we—"

Noticing the clock, Marshall continued, "Shit! Hey Bern, gotta go. Duty calls. Back atcha later!"

© 2026 Brian G Parker and Darryl Johnson