election. I had him beat.”
It seemed likely. His rival was an aging baby boomer with unnaturally white teeth and the angry tan of a pro golfer. Before becoming a congressman, Stan Byers had run an insurance company into the ground. He called his state
Missoura
, winked a lot, and warned his God-fearing constituents that without his stewardship, they could kiss the Second Amendment good-bye. Which was nonsense—Nolan was hardly some urban liberal. He was born and raised in Missouri farm country and had won marksmanship trophies in high school. At Princeton he’d been head of the debating society, where he’d learned skills he’d put to good use in his current position as state senator for the Twelfth District.
In a sense he’d been working toward this election for as long as I’d known him—paying his dues, working to perfect the strange art of becoming a national figure. The election was still half a year away, but his lead in the latest polls was more than the margin of error. Surely he’d begun letting himself imagine the confetti falling and the marching band playing in his victory parade.
My own dreams lacked that sort of spectacle. But they were mine, and I’d been working toward them with quiet diligence.For a moment I entertained the idea of recording Jeffrey without his knowledge. Maybe I could coax him into a confession that exonerated Nolan and me. It wouldn’t be hard. The band this afternoon had left in a hurry, so the main recording room was already miked. If I could get Jeffrey into the recording room, and if I were in the control room alone and could load up the reel-to-reel …
It would never work. For one, Jeffrey now seemed convinced that we all shared responsibility for what’d happened. He was being very egalitarian that way. But also, I knew I couldn’t scam my friend—even Jeffrey, even now, even if it meant saving myself. I had neither the talent nor the constitution for subterfuge.
Nolan looked at his watch. “Fuck, it’s getting late. I should’ve called Ronnie before we busted the goddamn phones.” Ronnie was his campaign manager. “I know it’s bad timing, but if I don’t check in with him and he can’t reach me on my cell, he’s going to panic. And trust me—we don’t want Ronnie panicking.
“You’re probably better off calling from a pay phone anyway.” I told him there was a phone at the gas station two blocks away. “But can I call Cynthia first? She goes to bed early when she’s at her sister’s.”
This was completely illogical of me. Time was precious. But I had a sense it might be the last time I spoke to her as a free man.
He nodded. “Try to make it quick, though.”
I told him I would. Then I hesitated. “Do you think it’s at all strange that the robbery hasn’t been on the radio? When I was in the car, I kept listening for it.”
He thought for a moment. “I think every single thing about this fucking situation is strange.”
I went into one of the stalls and came out with a roll of toilet paper. “Do me a favor.” I tossed him the roll. “Take this in to Jeffrey . And try not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”
11
I had change on me, but not enough. The gas station attendant changed a five-dollar bill for me. (
Sure, I remember the guy
, I pictured him saying to the police.
Gave him twenty quarters
.) The phone was attached to the station that only partially blocked the wind that’d kicked up. I called Cynthia’s cell, and when the electronic voice told me how much money to deposit, I began to feed the telephone with quarters.
Since our niece regularly woke up at dawn, spending the next fourteen hours wearing everybody out, Cynthia went to bed early when she stayed there. She could already be asleep. And even if she were awake, she might let my call go through to her voicemail , not recognizing the number.
Then I heard that single word—“Hello?”—and my chest tightened . A giant chasm opened up between what I knew and what
It seemed likely. His rival was an aging baby boomer with unnaturally white teeth and the angry tan of a pro golfer. Before becoming a congressman, Stan Byers had run an insurance company into the ground. He called his state
Missoura
, winked a lot, and warned his God-fearing constituents that without his stewardship, they could kiss the Second Amendment good-bye. Which was nonsense—Nolan was hardly some urban liberal. He was born and raised in Missouri farm country and had won marksmanship trophies in high school. At Princeton he’d been head of the debating society, where he’d learned skills he’d put to good use in his current position as state senator for the Twelfth District.
In a sense he’d been working toward this election for as long as I’d known him—paying his dues, working to perfect the strange art of becoming a national figure. The election was still half a year away, but his lead in the latest polls was more than the margin of error. Surely he’d begun letting himself imagine the confetti falling and the marching band playing in his victory parade.
My own dreams lacked that sort of spectacle. But they were mine, and I’d been working toward them with quiet diligence.For a moment I entertained the idea of recording Jeffrey without his knowledge. Maybe I could coax him into a confession that exonerated Nolan and me. It wouldn’t be hard. The band this afternoon had left in a hurry, so the main recording room was already miked. If I could get Jeffrey into the recording room, and if I were in the control room alone and could load up the reel-to-reel …
It would never work. For one, Jeffrey now seemed convinced that we all shared responsibility for what’d happened. He was being very egalitarian that way. But also, I knew I couldn’t scam my friend—even Jeffrey, even now, even if it meant saving myself. I had neither the talent nor the constitution for subterfuge.
Nolan looked at his watch. “Fuck, it’s getting late. I should’ve called Ronnie before we busted the goddamn phones.” Ronnie was his campaign manager. “I know it’s bad timing, but if I don’t check in with him and he can’t reach me on my cell, he’s going to panic. And trust me—we don’t want Ronnie panicking.
“You’re probably better off calling from a pay phone anyway.” I told him there was a phone at the gas station two blocks away. “But can I call Cynthia first? She goes to bed early when she’s at her sister’s.”
This was completely illogical of me. Time was precious. But I had a sense it might be the last time I spoke to her as a free man.
He nodded. “Try to make it quick, though.”
I told him I would. Then I hesitated. “Do you think it’s at all strange that the robbery hasn’t been on the radio? When I was in the car, I kept listening for it.”
He thought for a moment. “I think every single thing about this fucking situation is strange.”
I went into one of the stalls and came out with a roll of toilet paper. “Do me a favor.” I tossed him the roll. “Take this in to Jeffrey . And try not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”
11
I had change on me, but not enough. The gas station attendant changed a five-dollar bill for me. (
Sure, I remember the guy
, I pictured him saying to the police.
Gave him twenty quarters
.) The phone was attached to the station that only partially blocked the wind that’d kicked up. I called Cynthia’s cell, and when the electronic voice told me how much money to deposit, I began to feed the telephone with quarters.
Since our niece regularly woke up at dawn, spending the next fourteen hours wearing everybody out, Cynthia went to bed early when she stayed there. She could already be asleep. And even if she were awake, she might let my call go through to her voicemail , not recognizing the number.
Then I heard that single word—“Hello?”—and my chest tightened . A giant chasm opened up between what I knew and what
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