“I’m writing a story for The Emancipator. Could I speak to you in private?”
He’s about to ask, Can you see that we’re in the middle of a meeting?, but she adds, “I’m investigating cheating at school.”
Never too busy to hunt his quarry, Mr. K. excuses himself and joins Samantha in the hall.
As soon as the door closes, the murmuring begins.
“He’s demented!”
“He’s psychotic!”
“How does a person get like that?”
“Obviously he was abused as a child.”
“Can’t we go to Mr. Hightower and say this has to be stopped?”
“Good luck finding him.”
“Then we should go to the superintendent. If the whole teaching staff goes downtown and protests—”
“Whoa, Nelly. I don’t know about the rest of you, but there’s no way I’m going to complain to the superintendent. I’m too old to start job hunting.”
“It doesn’t have to be unanimous. Who’s willing to go with me to the superintendent’s office?”
Four hands go up.
“I can’t believe this! You’re cowards!”
“What about you, Mr. Grantley? You haven’t said a word.”
“I’m staying out of it. That’s how I’ve survived here for twenty years. Let the storms rage on the surface; down here the seas are always calm.”
“Great. You’re an inspiration to us all.”
Miss Verp chirps her dissent. “Looks to me like some of you are on the cheaters’ side.”
“You—you just want Attila the Hun to ask you out.”
“It’s such a shame, such a shame.”
“If we could just—“
And so on. Now you can see why evil madmen and nasty politicians win as often as they do: because everyone else wastes time squabbling instead of uniting to oppose them.
While the teachers bicker among themselves, let’s see what’s up in the hallway.
“Yes, Miss . . . Abracadabra, was it?”
“Abrabarba. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
She whips out a memo pad, bound in black leather, with her initials on the front in gold script, S.A.
“Yes, I’m quite interested in this subject, as you know. And I appreciate your coming to see me. Now what information do you have for me in that little black book?”
She opens the pad to a blank page. “I don’t have any information yet. I wanted to ask if you’ve caught anyone since Ivan Fretz, and what you’re planning to do next. This is a really important story. If I do a good job, I might be able to sell it to the New York Times, as a stringer.”
Mr. Klimchock exhales slowly through his nostrils, venting his disappointment. “In other words, you’d like to publish my plans and alert the student body so they can take the necessary precautions.”
“I— what ?! Are you kidding? I hate cheaters. I’d like to see them all expelled. That’s why I’m doing this story—to expose them.”
“I see. Well, then, maybe we can help each other. Keep your eyes and ears open. Be cagey—don’t go around announcing what you’re up to. If you hear anything that could be useful, share it with me. And I promise, in return, if I have any news to report, I’ll give you the scoop. How’s that for a deal?”
“Okay, but are you sure you can’t tell me anything right now?”
He considers giving her a dramatic quote, something along the lines of “Let the cheaters be warned, the day of reckoning is near.” In the end, though, he sticks with his No Comment strategy. The goal, after all, is to catch them, not to scare them straight.
“I’m sorry, but secrecy is essential.”
She jots those words on her pad.
“But you do have a plan, right? Is that what you’re meeting about in there?”
It’s not hard to imagine Samantha, a few years down the road, thrusting a microphone in a disgraced senator’s face and asking, When did you first start taking bribes to support your drug habit?
“I have to ask you,” Mr. Klimchock says, with as much paternal benevolence as he can simulate, “not to even mention my plans. If you do, you’ll compromise the entire
He’s about to ask, Can you see that we’re in the middle of a meeting?, but she adds, “I’m investigating cheating at school.”
Never too busy to hunt his quarry, Mr. K. excuses himself and joins Samantha in the hall.
As soon as the door closes, the murmuring begins.
“He’s demented!”
“He’s psychotic!”
“How does a person get like that?”
“Obviously he was abused as a child.”
“Can’t we go to Mr. Hightower and say this has to be stopped?”
“Good luck finding him.”
“Then we should go to the superintendent. If the whole teaching staff goes downtown and protests—”
“Whoa, Nelly. I don’t know about the rest of you, but there’s no way I’m going to complain to the superintendent. I’m too old to start job hunting.”
“It doesn’t have to be unanimous. Who’s willing to go with me to the superintendent’s office?”
Four hands go up.
“I can’t believe this! You’re cowards!”
“What about you, Mr. Grantley? You haven’t said a word.”
“I’m staying out of it. That’s how I’ve survived here for twenty years. Let the storms rage on the surface; down here the seas are always calm.”
“Great. You’re an inspiration to us all.”
Miss Verp chirps her dissent. “Looks to me like some of you are on the cheaters’ side.”
“You—you just want Attila the Hun to ask you out.”
“It’s such a shame, such a shame.”
“If we could just—“
And so on. Now you can see why evil madmen and nasty politicians win as often as they do: because everyone else wastes time squabbling instead of uniting to oppose them.
While the teachers bicker among themselves, let’s see what’s up in the hallway.
“Yes, Miss . . . Abracadabra, was it?”
“Abrabarba. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
She whips out a memo pad, bound in black leather, with her initials on the front in gold script, S.A.
“Yes, I’m quite interested in this subject, as you know. And I appreciate your coming to see me. Now what information do you have for me in that little black book?”
She opens the pad to a blank page. “I don’t have any information yet. I wanted to ask if you’ve caught anyone since Ivan Fretz, and what you’re planning to do next. This is a really important story. If I do a good job, I might be able to sell it to the New York Times, as a stringer.”
Mr. Klimchock exhales slowly through his nostrils, venting his disappointment. “In other words, you’d like to publish my plans and alert the student body so they can take the necessary precautions.”
“I— what ?! Are you kidding? I hate cheaters. I’d like to see them all expelled. That’s why I’m doing this story—to expose them.”
“I see. Well, then, maybe we can help each other. Keep your eyes and ears open. Be cagey—don’t go around announcing what you’re up to. If you hear anything that could be useful, share it with me. And I promise, in return, if I have any news to report, I’ll give you the scoop. How’s that for a deal?”
“Okay, but are you sure you can’t tell me anything right now?”
He considers giving her a dramatic quote, something along the lines of “Let the cheaters be warned, the day of reckoning is near.” In the end, though, he sticks with his No Comment strategy. The goal, after all, is to catch them, not to scare them straight.
“I’m sorry, but secrecy is essential.”
She jots those words on her pad.
“But you do have a plan, right? Is that what you’re meeting about in there?”
It’s not hard to imagine Samantha, a few years down the road, thrusting a microphone in a disgraced senator’s face and asking, When did you first start taking bribes to support your drug habit?
“I have to ask you,” Mr. Klimchock says, with as much paternal benevolence as he can simulate, “not to even mention my plans. If you do, you’ll compromise the entire
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