slight, that you and I might end up in the line of fire in the event of a guilty verdict. So late last year – this was long before we learned of Ms. Payne, mind you – he used some of his influence to create these.”
Singer opened the envelope she’d taken from the table. From it she produced a small plastic card and handed it to Alex.
“This is yours.”
Alex looked down to see his own face looking back at him from a Saskatchewan driver’s license. The name on the card was Alex Wolfe, born July 22, 1982.
“Alex Wolfe?” he asked.
“Charles said it was important that you keep your first name, rather than trying to get used to someone else’s. People tend to get suspicious when the new fellow in town doesn’t answer to his own name. As for Wolfe, it was Charles’s mother’s maiden name.”
“Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that this isn’t batshit lunacy. What about you?”
“Leo and I will be safely aboard a cruise ship some six thousand miles from here two days from now. We’ll be gone for eight weeks, which should give our boys in blue ample time to get the situation under control. If not, we’ll simply extend our stay.”
Alex’s hangover had given way to a dizzying sense of unreality. The trial was over – he was supposed to get on with his life as Alex Dunn, not Alex Wolfe. Dunn had a lot of work to do, women to chase, a bestselling book to write. Wolfe didn’t fit into those plans.
“That’s all well and good for you,” he said. “You’re semi-retired . . . ”
“ Fully retired as of today,” Singer said gravely.
“The point is, I have a life. Plus I think the sum total of my bank accounts is something in the neighborhood of two grand. How far is that going to get me on the run? Plus I’ve got a mortgage and bills to pay, not to mention a job where my boss might get a little peeved by the fact that I haven’t shown up to the office for a couple of months!”
Singer made a patting motion with her hands in the hopes of soothing him. Alex noticed the old girl’s face was flushed, and this time it wasn’t from alcohol.
“I understand, my boy. And that’s why I didn’t ask you to come with Leo and me.”
Alex blinked stupidly. That thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
Singer smiled wanly. “You have every right to be upset, Alexander,” she said. “You’re quite right that this is asking a lot of you. But Charles and I both understood that you’re not the running sort. I would like to believe that I wasn’t either, in my salad days, but that’s neither here nor there. With age comes some wisdom, yes, and perhaps even a modicum of courage – how else could we face the slow, steady betrayal from our own bodies? – but age also brings with it a kind of low-grade paranoia, a belief that danger lurks around corners and in alleys, and that our bodies no longer have the capacity to save us from it. Fight ceases to be a viable option; only flight is available to us.” She sighed heavily. “The fact is that today, I am an old coward. You are not. You’re frightened, of course, but even so, you want to see how this will all resolve itself. Perhaps you’ll even be a part of that resolution. It’s your nature, my boy. Charles saw it, and so do I. It’s why you’re such an exceptional reporter.”
Alex didn’t know what to say, so he took another sip of his drink. It had started to dull the edges of his fear, but did nothing to subdue the unreality of the situation.
“I took the liberty of phoning Mr. Shippobotham while you were driving over here,” Singer continued. “He is in complete agreement with me, and he assured me that your job is secure. However, the Chronicle won’t be able to pay you during your absence; something about union rules, I believe.”
Alex ran a hand down his face. This was crazy – wasn’t it? It was like something out of a movie, the kind with a stupid premise that made you suspend disbelief to a ridiculous degree. Ben
Singer opened the envelope she’d taken from the table. From it she produced a small plastic card and handed it to Alex.
“This is yours.”
Alex looked down to see his own face looking back at him from a Saskatchewan driver’s license. The name on the card was Alex Wolfe, born July 22, 1982.
“Alex Wolfe?” he asked.
“Charles said it was important that you keep your first name, rather than trying to get used to someone else’s. People tend to get suspicious when the new fellow in town doesn’t answer to his own name. As for Wolfe, it was Charles’s mother’s maiden name.”
“Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that this isn’t batshit lunacy. What about you?”
“Leo and I will be safely aboard a cruise ship some six thousand miles from here two days from now. We’ll be gone for eight weeks, which should give our boys in blue ample time to get the situation under control. If not, we’ll simply extend our stay.”
Alex’s hangover had given way to a dizzying sense of unreality. The trial was over – he was supposed to get on with his life as Alex Dunn, not Alex Wolfe. Dunn had a lot of work to do, women to chase, a bestselling book to write. Wolfe didn’t fit into those plans.
“That’s all well and good for you,” he said. “You’re semi-retired . . . ”
“ Fully retired as of today,” Singer said gravely.
“The point is, I have a life. Plus I think the sum total of my bank accounts is something in the neighborhood of two grand. How far is that going to get me on the run? Plus I’ve got a mortgage and bills to pay, not to mention a job where my boss might get a little peeved by the fact that I haven’t shown up to the office for a couple of months!”
Singer made a patting motion with her hands in the hopes of soothing him. Alex noticed the old girl’s face was flushed, and this time it wasn’t from alcohol.
“I understand, my boy. And that’s why I didn’t ask you to come with Leo and me.”
Alex blinked stupidly. That thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
Singer smiled wanly. “You have every right to be upset, Alexander,” she said. “You’re quite right that this is asking a lot of you. But Charles and I both understood that you’re not the running sort. I would like to believe that I wasn’t either, in my salad days, but that’s neither here nor there. With age comes some wisdom, yes, and perhaps even a modicum of courage – how else could we face the slow, steady betrayal from our own bodies? – but age also brings with it a kind of low-grade paranoia, a belief that danger lurks around corners and in alleys, and that our bodies no longer have the capacity to save us from it. Fight ceases to be a viable option; only flight is available to us.” She sighed heavily. “The fact is that today, I am an old coward. You are not. You’re frightened, of course, but even so, you want to see how this will all resolve itself. Perhaps you’ll even be a part of that resolution. It’s your nature, my boy. Charles saw it, and so do I. It’s why you’re such an exceptional reporter.”
Alex didn’t know what to say, so he took another sip of his drink. It had started to dull the edges of his fear, but did nothing to subdue the unreality of the situation.
“I took the liberty of phoning Mr. Shippobotham while you were driving over here,” Singer continued. “He is in complete agreement with me, and he assured me that your job is secure. However, the Chronicle won’t be able to pay you during your absence; something about union rules, I believe.”
Alex ran a hand down his face. This was crazy – wasn’t it? It was like something out of a movie, the kind with a stupid premise that made you suspend disbelief to a ridiculous degree. Ben
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