Unfit for Office

The following takes place following: No Refunds

After being kept away due to council business, The Master arrives at Town Hall a few days later to find Travers sitting back, enjoying a cigar while watching the GTA VI trailer yet again. He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt despite it being December.

Master Devlin: So, Travers, how is the outbreak response effort going? Have you sent out the iodine pills like I suggested?

Travers: Huh? I told Mr Konrad to deal with it. I've been... busy.

Master Devlin goes over to have a quiet word with Mr Konrad.

Master Devlin: How goes it?

Mr Konrad: The military have closed off Widdicombe. The pills should be rolling out imminently...

Master Devlin: Good. Thank you, Mr Konrad.

Mr Konrad: Yes, well... if I may be frank, Master Devlin, I don't think Mayor Travers seems particularly interested in doing his job. He seems far more preoccupied with his own hedonism and is completely oblivious to the crisis we face. You should know that after you left the other night, he sent for Miss Platt. Had her come over to "change the oil" while he watched that video game trailer on repeat...

Master Devlin: WHAT?? Sarah Platt was here??

Mr Konrad: Yes, sir. And she wasn’t the last. He’s had a string of women through here since, and visited nearly every brothel in town — all at the taxpayer’s expense. He even ordered me this morning to change immigration policy to begin mass-importing “buxom Latinas.” Then he snorted an alarming amount of cocaine and passed out.

Steam shoots out of the Master's nostrils. He storms over to Travers’ desk.

Master Devlin: TRAVERS!!! What the hell is the matter with you? You are a pit of despair. An absolute disgrace!

Travers: Huh??? What are you shouting out of turn about, Master Devlin?

Master Devlin: I have the media calling me at all hours asking where the fucking mayor is during a public health crisis — meanwhile, you're off snorting coke and getting serviced by every hooker in town!

Travers: Nooo... Master Devlin...

Master Devlin: STAND UP! I SAID FUCKING STAND UP, YOU SACK OF SHIT!

Travers, in his coke withdrawal state, stumbles to his feet. His trousers fall to his ankles. His love-heart boxers fully exposed.

Master Devlin: GOOD LORD, MAN. You are utterly hopeless...

Travers: Now, Master Devlin...

Master Devlin: SHUT UP. Pull yourself together, man! Have some self-respect.

Travers: It's not my fault. There's too much stress! I didn't sign up to be mayor of pandemic town... It's just rotten luck. Bad timing. Frankly, I'm about ready to chalk this whole thing up to a loss...

Master Devlin: Well shit, man, why did you sign up for the job in the first place?

Travers: Well, uh... the oil changes, mainly.

Master Devlin: You already got plenty as a lawyer!

Travers: Yeah, but I'll get even more now as mayor. Look, all I wanted was to stimulate the economy, boost tourism, and get more action for Travers Junior... But this whole flu situation? It’s really bummed me out.

Master Devlin: Stimulate the economy, eh? Well, let’s have a look, shall we? Mr Konrad, bring me the business ledger, please.

Travers looks worried as Mr Konrad hands it to the Master.

Master Devlin: So... what do I expect to find in here, Travers?

Travers: Well, um... I wouldn’t imagine it’s too good. There is a lockdown, after all... Your idea—I might add!

The Master opens it up and flips through pages and pages of entries showing mayoral funds spent on strip clubs, oil changes from a variety of girls, drugs, booze...

Master Devlin: You’re using government money to fund your habits? Mr Konrad, did you know about this?

Mr Konrad: I’m afraid so. I did advise restraint... but the mayor told me I was speaking out of turn.

Master Devlin: Care to explain yourself, Travers?

Travers: Well I... um...

Master Devlin: Do you have any idea what will happen if this gets out?

Travers: It won’t! How could it? Unless one of you betray me... and I don’t believe that would happen.

Master Devlin: You’ve been in the mayor’s office for less than a week and you’ve already spent... Mr Konrad, how much does this say?

Mr Konrad: £677,876...

Master Devlin: So just to be clear, Travers... in the last few days—despite there being a lockdown of half the city due to the flu epidemic—you have spent nearly £700k on hookers and blow?? How the... I mean... oh my god!

Travers: Well, uh... I am a passionate goblin...

Master Devlin: Travers, do you remember how you last got in trouble with the law?

Travers: My busy hands?

Master Devlin: Yes, but what else?

Travers: Taxes... paid too much tax?

Master Devlin: No, Travers. Because you paid ZERO tax!

Travers: Oh, yeah. Right...

Master Devlin: Do you know who gets audited most?

Travers: Dunno. Clowns?

Master Devlin: Close. Government members.

Travers: Really?? But not mayors, surely?

Master Devlin: Yes.

Travers: Oh... 😓

Master Devlin: If it were your own money, I’d just call it addiction. But you used government money. And the Treasury will notice there’s almost 700k missing.

Travers: Oh dear. Well... perhaps we can just say it got lost...

Master Devlin: HOW? Under a mattress? Down a well? Over a rainbow?

Travers: During the chaos of the epidemic. Maybe it got misplaced or... stolen?!

Master Devlin: By the mayor?

Travers: No... Perhaps we could arrange a truck to disappear? I don’t know! Don’t ask me! You know I don’t know anything about this stuff.

Master Devlin: Are you really this big a moron?

Travers: HEY! I’m no moron! I’m a lawyer, not a banker! It’s just not my area, that’s all. Now instead of insulting your mayor, how about some solutions?

Master Devlin: Travers... you are a dirty dog. Castration might be your salvation...

Mr Boothe: Mr Mayor, Miss Platt has returned. She’s looking for the… compensation you owe her. Shall I send her in?

Travers: Uh… Master Devlin, do you have £40 I can borrow? I said I’d have it by 3 o’clock.

Master Devlin: Why don’t you just take it out of the treasury? You've been doing that leisurely up until now. Another £40 isn’t going to change much. Mr Konrad, is there anything left in petty cash?

Mr Konrad: I'm afraid the safe is empty…

Travers: Look, I don’t care where it comes from. Just pay her. We can’t risk angering her — she might go to those commies in the press.

Master Devlin: What about your own money, Travers?

Travers: I don’t carry money. Wealthy people don’t actually carry cash, you know. It’s quite common — you get everything for free just for being rich.

Without thinking, Travers casually lights a cigar with a burning £100 note, then waves it to extinguish the flame.

The three men stare at him.

Travers: What?

Master Devlin: What are you doing, Travers?

Travers: Having a cigar. I’m stressed. You’ve been quite severe with me today, Master Devlin. I’m trying to calm my nerves.

Master Devlin: Do you realise how you just lit that cigar?

Travers: (looks at the charred note) Oh…

The Master walks to the desk, pulls out the waste paper bin, and finds it stuffed with crumpled notes of varying denominations.

Master Devlin: “No cash,” eh? Then where did these come from? Have you been stealing from strippers?

Travers: I... don’t recall. Look, let’s just move past it and focus on the future!

Master Devlin: Mr Boothe, please give Miss Platt a handful of these notes. Uncrumple them a bit, if you will.

Mr Boothe nods and exits.

Master Devlin: Right. First, we need to get this flu under control. After that, we’ll deal with the missing treasury funds — quietly. This can’t reach the press.

Travers: Excellent!

Master Devlin: So... are you finally ready to do some actual work?

Travers: Absolutely. This has been a real wake-up call, Master Devlin. I thank you. And you’re right — it’s time we dealt with this flu business once and for all.

Master Devlin: Glad to hear it.

Travers: And that means drastic measures. We need severe quarantine protocols...

Master Devlin: Hmm. What did you have in mind?

Travers: Neutralize the carriers. All of Widdicombe has to go… to save the city.

Master Devlin: WHAT?? Are you insane? You mean to execute them?

Travers: Hard decisions must be made. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten.

Master Devlin: Have you gone completely mad?

Travers: We are in desperate times! You wanted action — well, here it is. We must contain this plague! I'm thinking not just about the city, but the world. Lockdown isn’t enough — people will slip through. They always do…

Master Devlin: You can’t do this, Travers. I won’t allow it.

Travers: I’m the mayor — not you!

Master Devlin: You’re not yourself. I think it’s best if I take over for a while.

Travers' face drops, the colour draining from it. He shoots the Master an icy, suspicious glare. His voice lowers...

Travers: You just want the power for yourself, don’t you? Treacherous serpent! Well, it’s not happening. I’ll see this city burn before I let you rule out of turn!

Travers suddenly spins around, throws open the main window, and leans out. The press camped outside begin filming him.

Travers (yelling): My fellow Waldonians! The lockdown has failed… Widdicombe has fallen! The city is next... Abandon your posts! Get out if you can! Run for your lives! Fly, you fools!

He scans the crowd below in wild panic, eyes darting — then suddenly locks onto a familiar figure.

Travers: You! Miss Platt! Get your ass back up here! I could use one last oil change before the end! The press begins shouting questions. Sarah Platt, clutching her handbag, stares up at him in frozen disbelief. Travers turns around to find the Master towering over him. Devlin jabs a golf club into his gut, winding him, then cracks it over his head. Travers collapses.

Master Devlin (sighs): Mr Konrad. Mr Boothe. I’d say Mr Travers is clearly unfit to fulfil his duties. Do you agree?

Mr Boothe: Absolutely. A mania has taken him.

Mr Konrad nods.

Mr Konrad: You did what was necessary. What now?

Master Devlin: Duct tape. We’ll strap him to the chair and keep him sedated. Guard the door — the mayor is not to be disturbed.

Mr Konrad: What about the press?

Master Devlin: Oh... I don’t know. No comment.

Mr Boothe: If I may, sir — we could say the mayor was simply performing some Lord of the Rings live theatre from the window. A one-man show, to keep up morale during lockdown?

Master Devlin: Umm...Sure. Let’s go with that. Mr Boothe, you tell them. Assure the press everything’s under control. The city continues as normal. Key workers are still expected at their posts.

Mr Boothe: Yes, sir.

Master Devlin: Good. Mr Konrad, come with me. We're going to the Council grounds...

Season 6 continues in Housekeeping