Apparently, Mickey’s threat was echoing in the Senate. For supporters of the bill, he was the dramatic proof they needed to argue that lack of support for veterans had gone too far.
The senators opposed to passage called Mickey a terrorist and a blackmailer.
“They do this after every big war, you know,” Mickey shouted at the cameras around 10 p.m. “Congress gets all gung ho to spend to fight. But when it’s time to take care of the vets, they claim poverty because of how much they spent on the war. It happened after the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, World War I, and World War II.
“The Vietnam vets? They got screwed, too. So did the ones who fought in Desert Storm. And now it’s happening all over again for the soldiers who served in Iraq and Afghanistan. When is this going to stop? When are they going to fulfill their promises?”
A cheer went up from behind the bus, back out on Northeast Drive where a crowd—many of them veterans, it seemed—had gathered to lend Mickey support.
At 10:20, we heard that debate over the veterans’ bill had been closed. An up or down vote was underway. Fifteen minutes after that, with the ongoing vote leaning 44–40 against passage, a panel van parked on Northeast Drive. Thomas Hawkes rolled out the back in a motorized wheelchair.
Officer Larson led him around the security bunker, lowered the steel barrier, and let Hawkes wheel toward his son.
“Jesus, Mickey,” Hawkes said. “You sure know how to cause a shit storm.”
Mickey smiled, but his jaw was trembling. “I learned from the best.”
“No, son, I think you’ve got me beat by a long shot.”
Mickey didn’t reply.
“You gonna blow yourself up?”
A long moment passed before Mickey answered, “If I have to.”
Hawkes looked pained and used his remaining arm to bring his wheelchair closer.
“I don’t want you to,” he said, quiet but forceful. “I want you to stay in this world. And…I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away. I need you, Mick.”
Mickey started crying again, but stood still.
“You hear me?” his father said. “The whole goddamned world needs men like you, willing to take a stand. A warrior if there ever was one.”
Back by the road, claps and whistles of approval went up from the crowd, many of whom were also watching live updates on their smartphones.
Mickey wiped at his tears, and looked over his should
er at Kate Williams, who shook her head ever so slightly.
“Give up, Mick,” his mother called. “I promise, I’ll be better. We’ll be better.”
“Listen to her,” Hawkes said. “We both need you in our lives. And we both can change things, if you’ll just—”
Suddenly a shout rang out from one of the broadcast journalists. “Passed! It passed by two votes!”
“You did it, Mickey!”
The kid hung his head and leaned on the barrier, sobbing. His father wheeled toward him while his mother tried to get around Mahoney, who held her back.
“Not until my people have defused that vest,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kate said, wiping tears from her eyes. “There’s no bomb.”
Bree, Mahoney, and I all said, “What?”
“Sorry, Doc,” she said, laughing and shaking her head. “I know a real IED when I see one, and I knew right away he was wearing a fake. That hot-shit, nerves-of-steel kid just bluffed the whole goddamned thing!”
Chapter 35