Read Online We're with Nobody by Alan Huffman - Free Book Online

across what appeared to be a connection between the opponent and several people rumored to be involved with organized crime, which, not surprisingly, was extremely difficult to prove. It was only after Michael and I began receiving phone messages from a Chicago number warning us to back off that it became clear we were on to something, which was both exhilarating and unnerving. In the end, the very act of digging sent ripples through the campaign, as word got around that we were researching the opponent’s possible mob involvement. Though it’s hard to say whether that significantly influenced the election, the opponent lost. I don’t remember what Michael found in Maryland, though he still complains about the cinderblock motel and the one small window in his room that looked out on a dumpster.
    Soon after that we found ourselves being paid to roam the country, scrutinizing all kinds of politicians. It was like researching and writing an extended series of investigative and human-interest pieces, without the bylines. We were generally aware of the stereotype of opposition researchers—smarmy guys who plumb the depths of society for damaging tidbits about politicians that are then used to sully the political process. To some extent, this is true. But not all of us are smarmy and our work is not necessarily subversive.
    We started our business, Huffman & Rejebian, in a tiny office in an art deco high-rise in downtown Jackson that by the time we moved in had become “affordable.” We shared a single laptop and took turns sitting behind a desk bought from a used office furniture store—an old metal husk from the forties, scarred and dinged, for which we purchased used aluminum office chairs to tastefully match the period. When we finally got a second computer, we set up our office like a miniature newsroom, facing each other yet shielded by our monitors so we didn’t have to stare directly at each other all day. The shielding worked so well that in a subsequent office a friend came in toward the end of the day and remarked to Michael, “Wow, nice shiner!” at which point I realized that I, a professional investigator, had failed to notice that the person sitting across from me for the last six hours sported a black eye. It was like a marriage, in its way; unavoidable familiarity at times made us oblivious of each other.
    The rest of our floor was vacant and the hall lights were always off, seeming to emphasize that we were outside the mainstream, which we liked. When we occasionally had visitors we’d hear the echo of their footfalls in the dark, empty hallway before their silhouettes appeared at the frosted glass window of our door, which gave our office a decidedly noir atmosphere. It was clear that we inhabited a fringe realm. Similarly, our being located in Mississippi seemed to confer a mysterious, offbeat air on us in the minds of campaign workers in places such as New York and California. We were, in a sense, inscrutable, yet with a reputation for delivering. We had no website, no promotional materials, no cold-call list. Clients came to us through word of mouth only.
    There weren’t many people doing what we did, and there still aren’t, for many reasons, including the corrosive effects of looking for the bad side of everyone and the volatility of the people you encounter, who range from noble public servants to destructive parasites. There is also the seasonal nature of the income. But the main reason is that most people are not that good at getting to the bottom of things. Few people have clear ideas about the origins of . . . well, much of anything. FedEx delivers a fruit basket during the holidays; a link is forwarded by a Facebook friend; someone on TV hurls a rotten tomato or a pipe bomb from an angry crowd. Where, really, do these things come from? Most people don’t have a clue. Who has time to try to get to the bottom of things, what with Sandra