Running for the Guv

By Duane L. Ostler

Blake Guv is a starving young attorney fresh out of law school, desperately trying to get new clients. As a last hopeless gamble to obtain some publicity and a few clients, he foolishly enters the race for Governor of his state as an independent candidate. But then a series of unexpected events shove him to the front of the race, and Blake is forced to start taking the campaign seriously. However, that is the last thing in the world Blake wants--since he hates politics with a passion!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duane L. Ostler
• Release date: May 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310587061

Duane L. Ostler

Duane L. Ostler was raised in Southern Idaho, and has lived in Australia, Mexico, Brazil, China, Utah, the big Island of Hawaii, and—most foreign of all—New Jersey. He practiced law for over 10 years and has a PhD in legal history. He and his wife have five children and two cats.

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RUNNING FOR THE GUV

Copyright 2015 Duane L. Ostler

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, copied or distributed without the express permission of the author.

Formerly published under pen name Silas Flint

Cover art by Udo J. Keppler, 1913.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

Blake Guv was sitting in his law office. It was 3:07 in the afternoon. Light from the window danced heedlessly across his law book shelf, glinting brilliantly off the gold lettering on the spines of the books. His computer hummed merrily. A mass of legal papers were dashed impressively across his desk. Every appearance suggested that this was a very busy day.

But it wasn’t. Blake had been staring at the same fly on the wall for the last twenty minutes. (The fly had only moved two inches). The law books with their gold lettering were never used, since they were just there for show. The computer always hummed merrily when it wasn’t being pounded to death, or used at all. The legal papers on the desk were only there to impress anyone who unexpectedly might drop in, to make it look like Blake was hard at work as an attorney and had a lot to do.

In spite of appearances, this was NOT a busy day, although it was typical. It was, in fact, a ‘dead’ day. Dead in the sense that Blake had no clients, no work, and nothing to do.

So, life’s that bad for you too, eh? said Blake unexpectedly to the fly on the wall. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no money that can be earned, no way to make tomorrow’s car payment, no way to tell the wife that this isn’t going to go on forever, no way to be able to say to the kids they can have the things they’re always begging for, since there’s no money … His voice trailed off.

Suddenly he looked sharply up at the fly. But who am I to complain? You’ve probably got 10,000 kids. I’ve only got two. He paused. Pardon my insult, he added. You’ve probably got 10,000 maggots. I didn’t mean to insult you by calling them kids.

Talking to yourself again Blake? came a sudden female voice from his telephone. Blake jumped up so fast that his chair tipped over.

Blast it, Marilyn! he yelled in the direction of the phone. I wish you wouldn’t listen in to my office all the time!

What else is a receptionist supposed to do? answered the phone voice, which belonged to the 61 year old receptionist stationed down the hall from his office door. Listening to the other offices on this floor is so boring—they’re always talking about easements and custody disputes and collections. But there’s always something interesting going on in your office!

You mean I’m always saying something stupid to myself, since I never have any clients come in here, and never have anything to do! cried Blake.

The phone voice sounded hurt. I don’t think you say stupid things, she said. Off the wall, maybe, or insane, or ridiculous or bizarre—but never stupid!

Why don’t you do your job, and just answer phone calls? yelled Blake.

Because, just like you, I don’t have anything to do, now that Rench and Fleece law firm got their own receptionist. You and the internet geek are the only ones using me as a receptionist anymore! And it’s been five years since the internet geek had any contact with a human being!

Which was true. The internet geek came in every morning at precisely 7:17 a.m., pounded on his unfortunate computer all day, and left at 6:02 p.m., without saying a word to anyone. If you tried to talk to him he would just grunt, look at the floor, and nervously fidget with his I am a geek wristband.

Well, I don’t have contact with humans either! said Blake grumpily. Over and out! He yanked out the phone cord, cutting off the conversation abruptly.

He didn’t dislike Marilyn. At least her voice came over the phone, which otherwise sat there dead as a doornail. But today he just wasn’t in the mood for commiserating chatter. In fact, he felt downright grumpy. And for good reason too.

Six months now. It was six months today from his passing of the bar exam, and setting up his law office in this building. Six months he had sat here in great expectation, waiting for his expensive ads to work, for some referrals from his few friends to come through, for new legal clients to develop somehow, for SOMETHING to happen to break up the monotony, and give him some badly needed income.

But nothing had happened. No calls. No referrals. No mail, except for bills. No clients. Nothing. Meanwhile, the bills kept mounting, and his Dad kept asking (begging actually) when Blake was going to move his family out of the tiny one bedroom condo his Dad owned and was letting them live in for free, until Blake started earning.

Blast it! Blake grumbled, rising from his chair and pacing to the window. What’s a guy to do? Is there anything I haven’t tried? Is there anything I wouldn’t be willing to try?

He stared down at the people moving along the sidewalk, four floors below. Maybe if he dropped his flower plant on one of their heads, then rushed down and offered to represent them in a case against the guy who dropped it?

Of course he knew that idea was insane--he’d obviously be suing himself! And that meant the victim wouldn’t get a dime, since all Blake had were debts, not money.

He shuffled back over to his chair and slumped down with a groan. Looking up, he suddenly found himself staring at the picture on his desk of his wife Trudy. What a trooper. She had supported him every step of the way. She kept telling him he was going to succeed, to just be patient and wait a little longer, that all would be well. She kept assuring him that his law degree was worth it, that clients would one day come pouring in, and that they would eventually have all the money they so desperately needed.

Poor girl. He had made her so used to eating noodles she was starting to develop an oriental accent.

In a sudden fit of exasperation, Blake grabbed up the newspaper on his desk and swung it wickedly at the fly. But the fly obviously had more brainpower than he did. It was long gone from its former spot on the wall before the paper even came close.

Blake looked down at the paper in his hand. In sheer depression he kept reading one of the headlines on the page over and over without comprehending it. Last Day to File for Governor Race … Last Day to File for Governor Race … Last Day to File for Governor Race … Last Day to File for Governor Race …

Something suddenly clicked in Blake’s slow mind. The governor’s race? You mean a bunch of governor’s were getting together for a marathon? Blake scanned through the article. Nope. It was the last day to file to be a contender in the upcoming governor election. That was all. Just another item of boring politics. Blake tossed the