Capitol Punishment. Andrew Welsh-Huggins
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 what he had told me.
“And you have no idea who it could be?” I said.
From behind us came what sounded like the beginnings of an argument at the breakfast table. “Excuse me,” Anne said. “I have to see to the troops. It was nice meeting you. We’ll have to have that coffee.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Hershey said, doing that bow thing again.
“So,” I said, once Anne was gone, trying not to dwell on the way Hershey’s eyes followed her progress down the hall.
“OK,” he said. “Ever heard of Triple F?” I shook my head.
“It stands for Fair Funding Focus, otherwise known as Governor Hubbard’s school-funding plan.”
I thought about this. “The acronym is all F’s?”
“Leave it to the Democrats. After they realized their mistake, they tried changing the name to ‘A Better Collaboration,’—ABC, get it?” he said. “But it was way too late. Serves them right, in my opinion.”
“I guess. So what about it?”
“It’s the biggest story in the state at the moment. And one I’ve been kicking ass on, pardon my French.”
“It’s big because—?”
“Ohio’s school-funding system has been ruled unconstitutional so many times it’s practically got ‘Return to Sender’ stamped on the first page. Hubbard thinks he’s finally got the numbers right. Enough to appease the state Supreme Court, anyway. Get it declared fit for duty once and for all. That alone would be huge.”
“And someone’s following you because of this?”
“I’m getting there. The thing is, enacting Triple F into law has another aspect to it.”
“Namely?”
“The eensy-weensy, itsy-bitsy side benefit of providing the feather in Hubbard’s cap to win over Senator Rodriguez.”
“JoAnn Rodriguez? The presidential candidate?”
“One and the same.”
“What’s she got to do with any of this?”
Hershey winked at me. “You know how, in high school, the prettiest girl, by amazing coincidence, always goes to prom with the quarterback?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“I bet. So imagine Rodriguez as our cheerleader captain. The hunk she really wants on her arm at prom—her choice for veep, in case I’ve lost you—is our very own Thomas Huntington Hubbard. They’d make such a cute couple—conservative Democrat from California and a moderate midwestern governor. Rodriguez brings the Latinos and women, Hubbard delivers the unions. Voila!”
“OK, match made in heaven. I get it.”
“Hubbard’s even got a best-selling book, which no doubt you’ve read. I know Rodriguez’s people have, cover to cover.”
“I think my Kindle shorted out that week.”
“Core Convictions,” Hershey said. “Biographies of great American populist politicians. Comes with a nice long personal essay that puts him square in that tradition just in case the allusion