Read Online Fletch and the Man Who by Gregory McDonald - Free Book Online Page A

for.”
    “Naw. I’m just one of the boys. Got a job people expect me to do, and I’m doin’ it.”
    “I think you’re pulling my leg.”
    Again The Man Who laughed. “Maybe. Now is it my turn?”
    “Sure. For what?”
    “For asking a question.”
    “Do I have any answers?”
    “We established last night you’ve taken this job on the campaign to feed some ideas into it. Last night, going to sleep, I was wondering what ideas you have.”
    “Really sticking it to me, aren’t you?”
    “Sometimes you know a man by his answers.”
    “Governor, I don’t think you want to hear Political Theory According to Irwin Maurice Fletcher, scribbler and poltroon.”
    “I sure do. I want to hear everybody’s political theory. Sooner or later we might come across one that works.”
    “Okay. Here goes.” Fletch took a deep breath.
    Then said nothing.
    The governor laughed. “Called your bluff, did I?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Talk to me. Don’t be so impressed. I’m just the one who happens to be running for office.”
    “Okay.” Fletch hesitated.
    “Okay?”
    “Okay.” Then Fletch said in a rush, “Ideology will never equalize the world. Technology is doing so.”
    “Jeez.”
    Fletch said nothing.
    In the small stateroom in the back of the presidential campaign bus,The Man Who looked at Fletch as if from far away. “Technology is equalizing the world?”
    Still Fletch said nothing.
    “You believe in technology?” the governor asked.
    “I believe in what is.”
    “Well, well.” The governor gazed at the steamy window. “Always nice to hear from the younger generation.”
    “It’s not a political theory,” Fletch said. “Just an observation.”
    Gazing at the window, the governor said, “There are many parts to that observation.”
    “It’s a report,” Fletch said. “I’m a reporter.”
    Only dim light came through the steamed-over, dirt-streaked bus window. No scenery was visible through it. After a moment, the governor brushed his knuckles against the window. Still no scenery was visible.
    “Run for the presidency,” The Man Who mused, “and see America.”
    The stateroom door opened. Flash Grasselli stuck his head around the door. “Anything you want, Governor?”
    “Yeah. Coffee. Black.”
    “No more coffee today,” Flash said. “Fresh out.”
    He withdrew his head and closed the door.
    The Man Who and Fletch smiled at each other.
    “Someday …” the candidate said.
    “Why is he called Flash?”
    “Because he’s so slow. He walks slow. He talks slow. He drives slow. Best of all, he’s very slow to jump on people.” The governor frowned. “He’s very loyal.” He then swiveled his chair to face Fletch more fully. “How are things on the press bus?”
    “Could be better. You’ve got a couple of double threats there, that I know of.”
    “Oh?”
    “Fredericka Arbuthnot and Michael J. Hanrahan. Freddie’s a crime writer for
Newsworld
and Hanrahan for
Newsbill
. ”
    “Crime writers?”
    “Freddie is very sharp, very professional, probably the best in the business. Hanrahan is utterly sleazy. I would deny him credentials, if I thought I could get away with it.”
    “Try it.”
    “
Newsbill
has a bigger readership than the
New York Times
and the
Los Angeles Times
put together.”
    “Yeah, but
Newsbill’s
readers are too ashamed to identify themselves to each other.”
    “So has the
Daily Gospel
a huge readership, for that matter.”
    “How did we attract a couple of crime writers? Did somebody pinch Fenella Baker’s uppers?”
    “The murder last night, of Alice Elizabeth Shields, was the second murder in a week that happened on the fringes of this campaign.”
    “‘On the fringes,’” the governor repeated.
    “They may not be connected. Apparently, Chicago police don’t think so. There’s a strong possibility they are connected. Strong enough, at least, to attract the attention of Freddie Arbuthnot and Michael J.”
    “‘Connected.’ To the