Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 452: Chapter 210: Cold Night

"Eat up and go."

The burly man pointed to a corner of the restaurant.

"The back door over there is unlocked. It opens into the loading alley. No cameras."

Luigi looked at the unfamiliar worker.

He saw himself in the other man’s eyes.

It was a kind of despair with no outlet.

He suddenly understood.

He hadn’t just killed a CEO; he had lanced the hardest boil on the nation’s body.

"Thank you," Luigi said, his voice hoarse.

"Get going." The burly man turned away, no longer looking at him, and walked toward a seat on the other side. "Don’t let the rain get you."

The cashier behind the counter called out a number.

Luigi walked over.

The cashier was a young Black girl with dreadlocks and headphones.

She placed a brown paper bag on the counter.

Luigi reached for it.

The girl’s hand held the bag down.

Luigi looked up, watching her warily.

The girl didn’t say anything.

With her other hand, she quickly pulled two steaming hot pies from under the counter and stuffed them into the bag.

Then, she picked up a marker and quickly wrote a line of text on the bag.

She pushed the bag toward Luigi, then winked at him and made a "zip your lips" gesture.

Luigi grabbed the bag and turned, rushing toward the back door in the corner.

He pushed the door open, and a cold wind rushed in again.

He stood in the dark alley, his back against the cold wall, gasping for breath.

In the faint light from the streetlamp at the alley’s entrance, he made out the messy script on the paper bag.

Welcome to the people’s city.

Luigi’s fingers traced the words.

He had seen reports about Pittsburgh on the news—about how the young Mayor was fighting capital and building workers’ unions.

He’d originally thought it was all just a political stunt.

But now, on this cold, rainy night, in a bag with a hot burger and coffee, he felt something real.

Luigi opened the lid of the coffee cup and took a large gulp.

Bitter, scalding hot.

His tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain.

...

Luigi Randall quickly left the McDonald’s.

The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with moisture. It mixed with the distinct, fishy smell of the Monongahela River, creeping along the ground and spreading through the streets.

He didn’t dare stay in a hotel or go anywhere crowded.

Even with a mask on, the constant feeling of being watched made his skin crawl.

Like a ghost, he stuck to the base of the buildings, moving through the shadows.

The soles of his shoes made soft sounds on the wet asphalt. With every step, he was on high alert for any movement around him.

The occasional wail of a distant siren made his nerves tighten every time. His muscles contracted instinctively, and his hand slipped into his pocket, gripping his pistol.

He hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in three days.

Exhaustion washed over his mind in waves, blurring his vision.

A light appeared up ahead.

It was an electronics store, open all night.

In the massive glass window, dozens of televisions of various sizes formed a glowing wall, all playing the same broadcast.

Luigi had intended to walk past quickly, but the voice from the televisions made him stop.

"...We now go live to Pittsburgh City Hall, where Mayor Leo Wallace is holding a press conference."

Luigi turned his head.

Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw that familiar face.

Leo Wallace.

The young Mayor who the news had dubbed the "radical new star" and the "savior of the Rust Belt."

On screen, Leo was wearing a button-down shirt. His face was clearly weary, with heavy bags under his eyes and a stubbled chin.

He didn’t look like a politician who held the fate of hundreds of thousands in his hands, but more like a foreman who had just gotten off a long shift at a construction site.

The reporters’ questions were sharp and aggressive.

"Mr. Mayor, just a few days ago in Philadelphia, the CEO of Apex Health Medical Group was assassinated. The suspect, Luigi Randall, is on the run."

A female reporter in a trench coat thrust her microphone in front of Leo.

"Some are saying that your long-standing advocacy of radical anti-capitalist, anti-elite ideology led to this extremist act. What is your response?"

"Do you consider this an act of terrorism? Will you, on behalf of Pittsburgh, publicly condemn this killer?"

Luigi stood in the cold wind, his eyes glued to the screen.

He had to know how this Mayor would answer.

On the television, Leo was silent for two seconds.

He didn’t avoid the reporter’s gaze, nor did he use slick diplomatic rhetoric to sidestep the question.

He simply began to speak, his voice calm.

"My ideology?"

"If you call demanding fairness, demanding that everyone can afford to see a doctor, demanding that workers can live with dignity—if you call that a radical ideology..."

"Then yes, I’m guilty."

"I have been advocating this ideology, and I will continue to advocate it until it can be heard in every corner of this city."

Leo placed both hands on the lectern.

"As for the assassination."

"I do not support violence, and I will never praise killing. Any act that takes another person’s life is wrong in the eyes of the law."

The reporters showed a hint of satisfaction. They thought Leo was about to distance himself from the act.

"But, reporters."

Leo’s gaze sharpened, piercing the camera lens.

"While we stand here righteously condemning the sound of a gunshot, shouldn’t we also be asking ourselves a question?"

"When those actuaries at the insurance companies, making their million-dollar salaries from their air-conditioned offices, deny payment for a child’s leukemia surgery simply because of a minor allergy that wasn’t declared on a form, and then stand by and watch that child die in agony..."

"Is that not a form of violence?"

"Is that not a more insidious, more cold-blooded, more bottomless form of terrorism?"

The room erupted in an uproar.

Leo didn’t stop. His voice grew louder, filled with a commanding pressure.

"As we hunt down the young man who pulled the trigger, shouldn’t we also be asking what kind of despair could drive a well-educated young man—who should have been working in an office—into a gun-wielding thug?"

"What made him feel that, short of a bullet, he had no other way to express his rage?"

"This isn’t just an individual’s crime. It’s the crime of a system."

"It is our society that has backed people into a corner."

Leo took a deep breath, composing himself.

He looked into the camera, as if through the lens and the glass, he could see Luigi standing in the cold wind.

"In Pittsburgh, we are dedicated to eliminating that despair."

"We are trying to build a city where you don’t need a gun to solve your problems."

"But to those who have already fallen into despair, to those who feel they’ve been abandoned by the world..."

Leo’s voice softened slightly.

"I want to say..."

"If you’re listening."

"Please believe that there are still places in this world where people will listen to reason."

"There are still people who are willing to hear your story. There are still people willing to fight that colossal machine for the sake of justice."

"Don’t give up."

The screen froze on Leo’s determined eyes.

Luigi stood outside the electronics store window.

The cold wind howled past his ears. His heart, which he thought had frozen solid, suddenly gave a violent thump.

THUMP.

The sound was exceptionally clear in the silent night.

He hadn’t been abandoned.

In this world full of hostility and wanted posters, there was a voice speaking up for him.

There was someone who understood why he had pulled the trigger.

Luigi reached out and gently touched Leo’s face on the screen, through the glass.

The cold sensation on his fingertips was both sobering and moving.

He realized he hadn’t walked into a dead end.

Here was a city that might just listen to what he had to say, a Mayor who might just understand his pain.

"Thank you," Luigi whispered, the sound vanishing into the wind.

Then he turned and disappeared into the depths of Pittsburgh’s labyrinthine alleys.

Like a drop of water in the ocean.