Capitol Punishment. Andrew Welsh-Huggins
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actually better than you’d imagine. But there’s only one problem with Hubbard.”
“Which is?”
“Something that you of all people can identify with. He may be governor of the most crucial swing state in the country, with a knockout first lady wife and two adorable kids, not to mention Core Convictions, but he needs an extra something before Rodriguez extends the invitation.”
“Like what?”
“A win, Woody. A big win. We’re not talking Big Ten championship crapola. Sugar Bowl, minimum.”
I considered this. “Triple F,” I said.
“Bingo. Hubbard gets his school-funding law passed, he takes Rodriguez to prom, otherwise known as Rodriguez-Hubbard 2016.”
“And if Triple F fails?”
“If Hubbard can’t deliver the bill, the governor of Pennsylvania is looking like a mighty fine consolation prize.”
“And that’s why you think you’re being followed? Because of the politics involved?”
“The stakes are pretty high. Objectively speaking, I think some of my stories have annoyed people with a powerful interest in seeing the education bill passed.”
“And they’re trying to stop you? Or what?”
“Not really sure. Though for starters, I’d guess they’re trying to find out who my sources are.”
“And who are they?”
“People whose identities I prefer not to divulge for now.”
“So I just avert my eyes and look the other way when you’re in the parking garage talking to Deep Throat?”
“Don’t worry about that part of it,” he said. “Just hang with me when I need you. They’ll get the message, whoever they are.”
“And you really have no idea who it might be?”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s Hubbard’s folks. Maybe it’s Rodriguez’s camp. Maybe President Ryan’s people are coming down from Michigan to make sure I’m not being followed by Rodriguez’s people. Maybe it’s nutso Tea Party types who want us to go back to slide rules and corporal punishment. I don’t know. But I care to find out. That’s why I came to you.”
“Are you worried, or just curious?”
He hesitated. “Normally, I’d say, you know, fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. I mean, it’s a free country, First Amendment, Fourth Estate, and all that.”
“But?”
“But it’s a bit of a scary world right now. A Charlie Hebdo world, if you know what I mean.”
“That sounds a lot more serious than someone trying to bust your sources.”
“For the record, I don’t think guys with black masks and daggers are out to behead me. It just seems like an overabundance of caution is the way to go.”
“Have you talked to the police?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I report it, it becomes a public record, someone writes about it. I report news. I’ve no interest in being the news. So what do you say?”
“How long are we talking?”
“Couple of weeks, tops. They need to pass the bill soon, ostensibly to hit the next budget cycle July 1, but also because Rodriguez is itching to make a choice. Hubbard’s on the lawmakers’ backs trying to get this done.”
“And what do you want me to do, exactly?”
“Tag along on a couple of assignments, act as my eyes and ears if I pick up a tail, provide a little muscle if things get rough.”
“Muscle’s all you’re going to get, since I don’t carry a gun.”
“That’s good, since firearms give me a rash. We have a deal?”
Despite a couple of rough edges I’d picked up on, and despite the way Anne had uncharacteristically swooned for the guy, I agreed that we did. I didn’t really have a choice, as my bank account could attest. Hershey handed me several of the twenties as a down payment, and I got his e-mail to send him a contract.
“So what’s the first job?”
“You know the Clarmont?”
“The steakhouse, on South High?”
He nodded. “First assignment is having a drink there with me, tomorrow night.”
“A drink?”
“Or two. Plus you’d be on the clock.”
“Why the Clarmont?”
“Legislature’s back in session after Memorial Day with the push on to pass this damn bill. Everyone in town will be there. One-stop shopping for tips. And suspects.”
“Half the state’s powerbrokers eat and drink at the Clarmont. Like one of them’s going to risk making a run at you while you’re sipping your gin and tonic?”
“First of all, it’s vodka and tonic. Second, how about we just call this ‘Department of Better Safe Than Sorry.’ Third, like I said, I want to send a message.”
“OK. What time?”
“Five o’clock. Pick me up?” He asked for my cell phone number, and texted me the address.
“See you then,” I said, starting to close the door. But Anne, coming back up the hall, interrupted.
“Oh, good, you’re still here,” she said. “I realized I had this with me.” She handed Hershey a paperback.
“The Android’s Dream,” she said. “By John Scalzi. I thought you might like it, you know, because of Philip K. Dick.”
“How kind of you,” Hershey said, beaming. “I’ll get right to it. Then we’ll have a perfect excuse for coffee.”
“I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
After we said our good-byes and I shut the door, Anne and I walked down the hall to the kitchen.
“Nice guy,” she said a little too enthusiastically.
“Right,” I replied, focusing on pancake duty. But what I was thinking, my face getting a little warm, was why did Hershey know the title of my girlfriend’s favorite science fiction novel, and I didn’t?
2
I PICKED HERSHEY UP LATE THE NEXT afternoon at his house in a modest, well-kept subdivision tucked between Hague and Trabue Avenues on the west side. The beige, split-level ranch was a little plain but had prettier landscaping, a neater lawn, and more flowers than I’d ever managed.
“Nice place,” I said as he got into my van.
“It’s all right. I mainly just eat and sleep here. Most of the time I’m downtown.”
“You have an office?”
“The nearest coffee shop. Plus a cubicle in the Statehouse pressroom.”
“Family?”
“Do multiple ex-girlfriends count?”
I didn’t reply. I drove slowly up the street, checking fore and aft for any company. Unless people walking their dogs while blabbing on their cell phones were considered a threat, we were OK for now.
“Have you been followed out here?”
“Couple times. Someone tailed me last