Free The Gambit by Allen Longstreet

dad’s when he had mentioned that.
    “It probably will…” I admitted.
    There was a silence. I was finished with my chili and Grey was still working on his. He kept glancing up at me as he ate his food. Almost like he was afraid to break the tension in the air.
    “So, how was the chili?” he asked awkwardly.
    “It was great, man, I really appreciate the meal and everything else, too.”
    “Anytime, man. What are friends for?”
    “I don’t really know anymore. I work too much to have many of them.”
    “I find that hard to believe,” Grey said.
    “Why?”
    “Because you are social, and one of the best flirts I’ve seen with women still to this day.”
    “Women are different, man. I’m almost tired of how many know my name in D.C. It’s almost like, how am I supposed to build any kind of relationship when the press makes me out to be this good-looking hero whose shoes I can’t even fill. If only they knew it was just an idea. It all began with an idea. I’m no hero. I’m just like everybody else.”
    “Have you been seeing anyone?”
    “No, man, unfortunately no. Just one night stands with women I meet out at the bar. That I’ll probably never see again.”
    Grey shook his head and laughed. “I wish that was my problem, you cold-hearted bastard.”
    “Well, maybe if you’d shave that possum off your face you could get some.”
    “You wish you could grow a beautiful beard like this,” he mocked, dramatically caressing his scraggly beard.
    “I’ve never tried. I would grow one if I didn’t have to uphold an appearance and could work from home, you lucky shit.”
    “I’ll trade places with you, pretty boy.”
    I stared at him with a deadpan expression.
    The humorous smile faded away from his face.
    “Actually. I take that back,” he mumbled.
    “I thought so.”
    In the background of our conversation, the TV was on low volume, still playing the repetitive stream of information they had been looping all day. A couple hours had passed. Part of me had relaxed, and the other part was worried sick that the CIA would come barging through the door.
    “So, Owen…what is your plan?” Grey asked, staring at me from across the table.
    “My plan?” I stammered.
    “Did I stutter?” he laughed at my zoned-out response.
    “I mean. No, I don’t. I don’t have the slightest idea of what to do, or where to go.”
    Hearing my verbal surrender to the situation I was in made me sick. It was against my nature to give up, to quit. It didn’t feel right .
    “Well,” he said slowly, with a smirk growing on his face. “Maybe I can help you. Maybe we can make a plan.”
    “Elaborate.”
    “Owen, do you even realize the gravity of what is going on here?”
    “Yes, Grey, I do. I’m the most wanted fugitive in the US. Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”
    He shook his head, dismissing me.
    “What was the first thing you said to me when I asked you if you did it?”
    “Fuck no—that was the first thing I said,” I answered him.
    “Then after, you told me how someone must have created this lie, that it wasn’t just a mistake.”
    “Yes…”
    “Do I really have to piece this together for you, Owen?”
    “Oh, come on Grey, stop this storytelling shit and spit it out!”
    He grabbed our bowls and put them in the sink, and when he came back he remained standing.
    “Owen, think about it. Perhaps the people who were behind the Confinement are behind this lie, too. Why else would they frame an innocent man? You and Cole are the leaders of the party. Don’t you see how your party’s existence threatens the continuity of their own?”
    “I’m following you,” I said. Grey was getting worked up. He paced in the dining room and moved his hands around as he spoke.
    “Here is the thing, Owen. If they win, if they convince the public long enough that you are the enemy, then you will become the enemy. If the truth never gets out, that it’s all a sham, then your cause will be lost. Everything you