The Presence by T. Davis Bunn

get going.
    Nine days later, he called just as TJ was sitting down to breakfast. Got a pencil, Jeremy asked. Okay, take this down. TJ noted the address his friend gave him, asked, what is this? When you get to Washington, grab a taxi and tell the driver to bring you here, Jeremy replied. I’ve already made hotel reservations, TJ said. Cancel them, Jeremy said. It’s all taken care of. What’s been taken care of, TJ asked. Tell you when you arrive, Jeremy replied. Have a good trip.
    And then the world seemed to do everything possible to stand in the way of his going. It was one crisis after another. His law office lost three secretaries and two paralegals in one week, a senior partner had a heart attack, and an associate left for a three-week honeymoon. There was simply no one to take over the work, which meant he had to do it all himself before he could leave.
    Then his younger daughter, Elaine, caught a virus of the inner ear, which left her with such a severe case of vertigo that she could not stand up without support. Her husband was frantic, trying to hold down a full-time job and take care of two young children and a sick wife all by himself, which meant Catherine was needed there. So TJ had left for Washington alone and exhausted.
    ****
    â€œNice area, Kalorama,” the cab driver repeated. “Stayin’ long?”
    TJ turned away from the window and pushed himself into polite alertness. “I have a job with the new administration.”
    The driver smiled his approval. “Ain’t that nice. Gonna be living here for a while, then. Well, Washington’s a nice town. Got its bad areas nowadays, but still a mighty nice town. Good place to live.”
    â€œYou been here long?”
    â€œAll my life. Yessir, close on sixty-eight years.”
    TJ nodded. “Seen a few changes, haven’t you?”
    â€œThat’s the truth.” The man laughed. “When I was a little boy, I used to like watchin’ the old men come by an’ light the streetlamps. They was all gas back then, you know. Then in the mornin’ they had this little cup on a stick and they’d go ‘round turnin’ ’em off. That’s how much things’ve changed.” Once more he glanced at TJ in the rearview mirror. “You ever been here before?”
    â€œA few visits. Mostly official stuff, and never for very long.”
    â€œYou’ll prob’ly like it fine. Color don’t mean any more here’n anyplace else, and a lot less’n in some places I know. Fella got the right job, he could be green all over and not wear nothin’ but big purple feathers, people’d still bow and scrape.”
    TJ smiled at this. “Last I heard we were living in a democracy.”
    The driver laughed. “Yessir, I heard somethin’ ‘bout that too. Tol’ me we was all equal under the law, jes’ some is more equal than others.”
    TJ leaned forward and squinted against the gathering dark. “Is that the Potomac up ahead?”
    â€œThat’s her. I been drivin’ this same road for nigh on eleven years, and I still do enjoy this sight. That’s the Washington Monument over there, an’ the Lincoln Memorial. Then up there you can see the top of the Capitol.”
    â€œWhat’d you do before you drove a cab?”
    â€œNear ‘bout everythin’. My first memories’re all ‘bout work. I was still in school, you know, an’ this fella put me on a truck. That was the beginning for me. Life of hard work’s all I ever knowed. Twenty-five, thirty-five-pound blocks of ice. Used to take these tongs, sling that ice over my back, and carry it up four ‘n five flights of outside stairs—fire escape stairs—in all kinds of weather. Tough work. All my life’s been filled with hard work.”
    TJ leaned back, touched by the man’s words. “What’d you do after that?”
    â€œGot a good job after