CHAPTER 2 Secretary Jorge La Selva

Dealing With the New Secretary

The Head of the Department of Waste Management had a big head—literally and figuratively—for such a shitty department (pun intended). He was a recent hire direct from the Mother Country, so along with him was a lot of baggage.

His name was Jorge La Selva. His last name meant "jungle" in Spanish and was rather suitable since he always acted like he came from one and he was its king. He also had one of those big Hollywood actor heads like Ben Affleck, which looked handsome across the movie screens but was a humongous meathead in real life. Furthermore, he was a giant pain in the ass for everyone especially for the Chief of Staff Church, since it was part of his job to monitor all departments and department heads in the Colony.

Then newly appointed Secretary was brought in supposedly to fix the ills and deficiencies of the department, which mostly came from the insurmountable garbage that the Colony pooped out daily. He was facing a lot of administrative crap that desperately needed solutions: the department's low funds, the lack of manpower and resources, and the bureaucracy that it entailed just to get the job done. Once he took office, instead of finding ways to fix those issues, he made everything worse—much worse. He was a big shit hitting the fan that was the Colony and so much that he came to the attention of Chief Church.

He had managed to make his official workplace as a party station for the degenerate citizens of Neo Manila.

The Colony's lower and middle classes were his usual clientele. Hardcore druggers, former cartel members, rebellious rich kids from the higher class, and many drug fiends were the regular patrons. The whole Department of Waste Management building was refurbished and converted into a place where debauchery was celebrated. The department signage was stripped down—along with everything else that reminded of the department's official standing—and thrown away in the proverbial trash heap. The word "Waste" from the signage was the only thing that remained, albeit intentionally. So the appropriately named Waste was reborn to be a hedonistic paradise, an inclusive club available to the willing participants.

Once the club's reputation sprouted wings and flew to the ears of the Colony's Higher Echelons, it had become the central hub for partygoers, turning it to be THE Party Central of Neo Manila.

Chief Church had a man inside the secretary's inner circle, which was loyal to him and updated him on the club's activities. Chief Church had a hands-off policy from all department heads and usually doesn't overextend his governmental reach, but the news about the Secretary's "proclivities" was troubling each day. He had sent memos to the secretary's office every week. At first, the memos were cordial and congratulatory then progressively became harsher since the secretary didn't care enough to respond.

Chief Church's crux of the issue wasn't the increasing mounds of uncollected garbage or the department building's defacement or any of the administrative problems the Department of Waste Management supposedly had, he couldn't care less about any of it. What he cared about was power, plain and simple. It seemed that the secretary was out of and beyond his control. Being able to control every aspect of the Colony was how he had accumulated the power he enjoyed. Secretary La Selva was the joker in the deck of cards, a monkey wrench thrown into the machinery that was the Colony.

He had to be stopped.

###

Chief Church decided to get rid of the secretary. It was always his response to anything that he couldn't handle and control: to make it disappear. In his experience, bad situations were easier to fix, but stubborn people were harder to impart his special brand of reason. So he had a special place made for these kinds of people, which he labeled as "enemies of the Colony."

Officially, this place was a detention center where the detainees were re-educated on the doctrine and statutes of the Colony, which supposedly was rehabilitative. Unofficially, this was a dumping ground for the Colony's human trash and the concept of rehabilitation was thrown out the window. Rumors about this place were whispered to the ears of the Colonists for a long time but nobody knew anything substantial. No one was able to get a good description of the place and its whereabouts or talked to anyone detained there. It was an enigma wrapped in a mystery cloaked in executive privilege.

###

Chief Church summoned his man inside the Secretary's inner circle for a one-on-one meeting in his office.

There they plotted and conspired…

A Day in the Life of the Secretary

Secretary La Selva thought that life was good. His appointment as the Head of the Department of Waste Management came at the right time. He thought of himself as lucky to get this job in one of the Mother Country's most progressive Colonies. However, luck had nothing to do with it. He got this job because he was at the right place at the right time and had the right amount of money to bribe the right kind of corrupt people. If he put his mind on something, he usually did or got it. He had a cold-hearted determination to get what he wanted, by any means necessary.

He awoke in his humongous 9'x9' Alaskan King-sized bed replete with intrinsically designer headboard, silk sheets, and countless luxury pillows scattered everywhere. He had brought the bed with him in his voyage towards his present residency in the Philippine Colony. He could've just left it behind to save the hassle of bringing an enormous piece of furniture through freight travel, but didn't. This was an exercise in his unflinching tenacity, pure and simple. He reveled in this kind of hair-brained scenario.

Along with him, still sleeping, were three "ladies of the night" that he had procured the night before to service his insatiable appetite for kinky sex. They looked very thin and haggard; they were hardcore druggers like most of the denizens in the Colony. They were also beaten and bloodied by him; his name again was evident for this fact because he was like a dangerous animal in the sack.

He arose and covered his naked self with a silk blanket and walked towards the window. His room was on the second floor of his office/club space; he had this bedroom built for secret sexual encounters and orgies. He glanced outside and realized it was already noon. He quickly dressed and went downstairs.

"Another memo from the Chief. Oh gawd!!," the Secretary groaned. He had maintained a small office at the back of the club, the only official space of the non-functioning Department of Waste Management. All official letters were delivered to this room and unceremoniously shredded in the paper shredder. The letter in question was from Chief Church on the top pile. This had changed his bedraggled demeanor into a frenzied state. "What a fucking asshole. Stevie! Where the hell is Steve?!"

Steve, his personal assistant, was nowhere to be found.

He walked outside the tiny office and regarded the entirety of his club: he had a hand in designing its interiors and was extremely proud of it. He adored Mediterranean décor and tried to emulate it, but unfortunately made it look tacky instead. It had a grimy and musky feel that was at times unsettling to new customers. The regulars, whose bodily constitutions were already hardened from the many vices offered in the club, were immune to the sleaze.

The regulars had started pouring in. Most were on a first-name basis with the Secretary and the club staff; they settled in like they were home. The ladies of the night also arrived, even though it was still in the afternoon. They spotted the hardened regulars and sat beside each of them.

The Secretary saw Steve sitting beside an unseen person, close to the dance floor. They were conversing like they were lovers, all lovey-dovey that almost made him puke. He shouted Steve's name and motioned him towards the small office.

"Stevie my little gay boy, who the hell was that guy? New boyfriend?"

He was looking for a fight, his agitated manner still apparent. However, Steve was used to his alternating mood swings and made light of the issue.

"He's nobody, Mr. Secretary. Just an old friend. He dropped by to say hi."

"Old friend, huh? So you did suck his dick at one point?"

"Yes, and it was huge."

"HA!! I was right!! I knew it!" he exclaimed, his sour demeanor suddenly diminished. "I really needed that Stevie. Thank you."

"Happy to help. So what can I do for you, Mr. Secretary?"

"Two things. First, get rid of those druggers upstairs. I got all what I needed from them. Throw them outside, for all I care. Also, get me some fresh ones for tonight."

"Fresh ones? In this city? You must be joking, Sir. It's like you're telling me to look for fresh flowers growing in the pile of garbage."

"Even so, just do it. Second, about this memo from Chief Church…"

"What about it?"

"I don't know what to make of it. Here, read it," he said and handed it over to Steve.

Steve unfolded the crisp paper and looked in the upper right corner at the embossed letterhead: the governmental seal from the Office of the Chief of Staff of the Governor of the Philippine Colony of the United States of America.

It was addressed to the secretary and dated the same day. The subject was stated as "FINAL WARNING," in all caps.

"Oh, this looks ominous," Steve muttered.

"Ya think? How did you know?"

"Spare me the sarcasm, Mr. Secretary. I'm trying to help. If you don't need me, then I'll have to leave."

"Shut the fuck up. If this is your attempt at joking, quit it. Just do what I tell you. So what are we going to do about this?"

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled. He didn't answer and stared at the aforementioned memo.

He inspected the entire page carefully without reading as if trying to find something of value. Then he read it carefully, line by line, to grasp the totality of its purpose. He had always liked reading government memos because they made an effort to write cordially, even though the content was supposed to be dictatorial. They often interchanged unpleasant words for official-sounding words, like "stop" to "cease and desist."

"Well?! What?!" the Secretary exclaimed, becoming impatient.

"Same as the others. It looks bad Mr. Secretary, and serious. He's your boss, so we better do what he asks."

"Out of the question. No no no no no. No way."

"Maybe he just wants to talk."

"Talk?! Yeah right, then fire me out a cannon. He wants to get rid of me and take over Waste."

"You don't know that. Maybe he just wants to have an honest conversation with you."

"Hah! Don't make me laugh. Government people are reptiles, Stevie. Or more appropriately, snakes. Some are crocodiles, but most are snakes. And the Chief is the biggest of them all. He's an anaconda. He wants to take a bite and suck it dry."

"Since we also work in the government, it means…"

"Snakes. I'm like a python, and you Stevie…"

"What am I?"

"A spitting cobra."

Oh. Because I'm gay?"

"Ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha. Good one Sir. I'm going to get a drink. Since you just want to ignore the Chief and shred it as usual, can I please go?"

"No, we better think of something else to do."

"I don't want to partake in any of your hair-brained schemes. Please, just leave me out of it," said Steve and started to walk towards the door.

"Cease and desist Stevie! You're my assistant, so you will assist me in this. Sit down!"

"Maybe you're the one that needs to cease and desist. You know what I mean?"

"The memo? I said no Stevie. I won't stop. I'm a python and I need to look for something huge to swallow. And by 'huge' and 'swallow', I don't mean a big dick."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

And there, in the small and dingy office of the non-functioning Department of Waste Management, they also plotted and conspired.

###

They were done by six; by then, the place was packed. They walked out of the small office—the Secretary with a satisfied grin on his face and Stevie with a defeated countenance—in different directions.

Secretary La Selva's true calling as a master of ceremonies came to the forefront. He greeted each of the regulars like long-lost family members, hugging and kissing them as a father does to his children. He was boisterous yet caring, loud yet friendly. He told funny stories and quips and conversed with everyone and anyone. He took copious amounts of booze and drugs. He turned the club's energy up a notch. He did this for the whole night every night, until closing time.

Steve dragged his feet towards the nearest barstool, sat down, and ordered a single shot of malt whiskey. He quickly downed it and asked for another one, then another, and another. After a while, there were countless empty shot glasses on the bar, which he had constructed to become a pyramid. He was about to put the final glass on top to finish the wobbly structure—he was unflinchingly drunk, trying hard to concentrate on the task at hand—when someone clasped him firmly on his shoulders. He glanced back to see who it was: Jennifer Coolidge, a transsexual and a recent immigrant from the Mother Country.

She was a club regular and an old friend of Steve's and surprisingly, the Secretary. She looked stunning. She patterned her overall appearance from the actress (from which she took her name) and any trace of her old self as a former male was gone. She was now Stifler's mom from the America Pie movies, a stone-cold MILF. But she was still strong and Steve was momentarily snapped out from his drunken stupor by the shoulder slap.

Hey Stevie. Drinking alone?" She said. Her voice was still manly and deep.

"Zat hurt Jen. Howshit goin' pretty lady?"

"Oh, you're drunk Stevie. I would've wanted to talk to you about something, but how can we do it now?"

"Immat dat drunk Jen. Wha wouldja want to talk to me bout?"

"Well, we need to put some coffee inside you, something black and strong. Bartender, one large coffee please! Black no sugar!"

After drinking the coffee and getting himself the full exposure from the beguiling creature that was Jennifer, Steve seemed to have gotten himself out of the drunken funk. She had his full and unwavering attention and anything she said he seemed to take to heart…

###

Secretary La Selva had been keeping a wary eye on both of them from across the room. He was a good reader of body language and he didn't like what he saw. He had cause to worry because it looked like Steve was baring his soul to Jennifer. He took a mental note to chew Steve's ass when they were alone.