great state of Ohio . . .” the governor said, but stopped, immediately drowned out by another chorus of cheers.
“Almost time,” I said.
“Shut up.”
“Pick or choose.”
“Shut up.”
“The best person I know to lead this wonderful country which I love so much . . .” the governor said, even louder now, and was once again interrupted by yells and applause.
“It’s over,” I repeated.
I waited in vain for a reply. The only noise came from outside. Maybe I was too late: maybe it really was finished. Just not the way I’d hoped. Then I heard a new sound, of footsteps hitting the wooden floor hard: the sound of someone running toward me, fast, with nothing left to lose.
1
“YOU EXPECTING SOMEONE?” ANNE SAID, looking up from the table at the sound of the doorbell. Memorial Day, almost three weeks earlier.
“Not if they know what’s good for them,” I said.
I let the spoon I was holding sink into the bowl of pancake batter on the counter and stumped down the hall. To say it was rare to have a morning together with my two sons, my girlfriend, and my girlfriend’s daughter was the understatement of the year, and I wasn’t in the mood to miss a second of it.
I opened my front door and eyed the man standing before me.
“Yeah?”
“Well, heck, you’re not nearly as ugly in person,” he said, grinning.
“I gave at the office,” I said, and started to close the door in his face. He wouldn’t be the first person to track me down at home and attempt a debate over my two-decade-old college football career. I had no interest in entertaining the latest incarnation, especially so early on a holiday.
“Hang on, Woody,” he said. “I’m not stalking you. I just want to talk.”
“It’s Andy. And why would I want to talk to you?”
“Fine, Andy. Let’s start over. I’m a paying customer. I want to hire you.”
“For what?”
“Personal protection,” he said. He was about my height, maybe a few years older, a little heavy around the middle and in his jowls, but with a handsome, clean-shaven face and a relatively full head of trim, gray hair. He wore a blue button-down shirt, tan chinos, a navy sports coat, and penny loafers, which all seemed a bit natty for that time of day but which he also carried off well.
“Protection from what?”
“Someone’s been following me.”
“Who?”
“I knew, I wouldn’t need to hire you.” He handed me a card. Lee Hershey, Public Reporting Enterprise.
“That’s you?” I said. He nodded. “So what is this?” I asked.
“My business. I’m a freelance reporter. Worked at a bunch of places and now I’m on my own, online. Future of journalism is digital, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I think I read that in the paper,” I said. “You’re being followed because you’re a reporter?”
“As far as I can tell, given that I’m up to date on my alimony payments. Something we can bond over, if I’m not mistaken.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Reporter,” he said, grinning again.
I thought about the crowd in my kitchen and the pancakes I needed to make and the fact I don’t like to be reminded of my two separate divorce proceedings at any time of the day or night.
“Listen,” I said. “Is there some other occasion besides first thing on a holiday morning at my front door we could talk? Maybe you could call and make an appointment like a normal person?”
“Fair enough. I realize it’s early and all that. But it happened again last night, and I know of your work, and I figured it might just be faster this way. Plus I’m kind of used to knocking on doors.” He pulled out his wallet and retrieved several twenty-dollar bills. “I can pay up front if you need. I’m not trying to blow smoke or anything.”
I hesitated, eyeing the money. I’d spent most of the previous day taking pictures of an insurance company honcho walking into the northside condo of a woman not his wife. I’d gotten the money shot, but the fee for that bit of heartbreak would keep gas in my Honda Odyssey and kibble in Hopalong’s bowl for a few weeks, max. I had to admit my prospects were otherwise thin at the moment.
“OK,” I said. “Just speed it up a bit. You think this is something to do with your job?”
He was about to reply when Anne came up the hall. I introduced them, a little reluctantly, and Hershey shook her hand with a slight bow. It would have been hopelessly pretentious if I tried it, but, like his outfit, he somehow pulled it off.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said to Anne. “You teach science fiction, don’t you? At Columbus State?”
“That’s right. How did you know that?”
“Big sci-fi buff. I saw you gave a lecture recently on The Day of the Triffid. I love the book, though the movie’s awesome too.”
“They’re both great in their own ways,” she said, and to my amazement I noticed she was blushing.
“Isn’t The Sparrow your favorite book?” Hershey continued. “Probably my second favorite, at least science fiction–wise. I went to a Jesuit high school, so I always sort of empathized with the main character. Father—?”
“Emilio Sandoz,” she said.
“That’s it. We should have coffee some time, when this is all over. Love to pick your brain.”
“That sounds good,” she said, with more enthusiasm than I cared for. “But what’s your first?”
“Sorry?”
“You said The Sparrow was your second favorite.”
“So I did. I’m a big Philip K. Dick guy. So I have to go with Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”
“Love that book,” she said. “And if you like that, have you read—”
I cleared my throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” I said, which was not strictly true. “You were saying something about being followed?”
“Of course,” Hershey said. “Sorry to get carried away.”
“Who’s following you?” Anne said, with concern in her voice. Hershey repeated
