Page 48 of Truly, Madly Viking

But Mag-he and Dock-whore Hairy were staring at him with decided interest. And Jorund realized just how much he'd revealed... secrets he would have much rather kept to himself. Now Mag-he would be asking him all kinds questions: What do you think of your dead wife? What did you think of your daughters? What did you think of the famine? What do you think, think, think. And he had given her that ammunition.

For the rest of their visit to the wall, Steve was somber, but no longer anguished. In fact, he shared information with those around him about how he'd become a Navy SEAL. And he had some of the men listening, bug-eyed, while he related stories about his baseball career.

"Hey, aren't you Steve Askey?" someone asked suddenly.

"Uh-oh!" Maggie exclaimed. She had been deeply touched by both Steve's and Joe's stories, but now she saw trouble approaching in the form of the middleaged reporter, who had been sitting on the bench.

He was now staring fixedly at Steve, eyes narrowed as if to boot up some distant memory.

"I'm Jack Farrington from the Galveston Daily News," he said, showing a press card for identification. "If you'd just give me a minute for a few questions...?"

Steve backed away a step or two, as if he'd been attacked. "No, no, you've got the wrong man."

Even though he used his real name, everyone at Rainbow knew that Steve had been hiding out from his family and the public for the last ten years, and they'd respected his privacy. Apparently that was about to change now.

Meanwhile, the reporter's camera was flashing away. "Hey, Steve, I don't mean any harm. Just let me get a picture or two. I saw you play in Dodger Stadium back in sixty-nine... your second and last season.

Man, oh, man, what a day! You hit three home runs. Some people say you were better than Mickey Mantle and Ted Williams combined... that you could've been the greatest baseball player of all time. Hell, that was just before you went off to 'Nam and..." The reporter's face went red as understanding hit. He glanced at the wall, at Steve, then back to the wall.

"I am not that man."

"Why is Steve saying he's not Steve?" Fred asked at that inopportune moment. He had been counting the names on the wall since their arrival, but apparently this was more interesting even than his obsessive-compulsive needs.

"Shut up, Furr-red," Joe said with a glare, which caused Fred to scurry back to the wall. Then he addressed the reporter. " 'Tis time for you to depart."

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" the reporter asserted belligerently.

Oh, no! Please. Don't say it.

"I am Jorund the Viking," Joe declared. Maggie and Harry both groaned at the same time, and the two attendants stood at the ready, in case there was a need to rush the group back to the bus quickly.

"Jorund the Viking?" the reporter mocked. "Yeah, and I'm Joe DiMaggio."

"Fortunate you are that I do not have my sword with me. You would be missing a tongue for your insolence."

"Ha! You don't scare me," the newshound cried out as he took one last photo, then literally ran away.

He must have recognized the threat in Joe's stance, not to mention his ill-chosen words. Over his shoulder, Farrington shouted, "Hey, Steve, did you know the Baseball Hall of Fame has been trying to locate you?"

"I think Steve's had enough of walls and halls for one day, don't you?" Maggie observed to Harry.

"Should I chase him and lop off a body part?" Joe asked her then.

"No!" she shouted.

He frowned at the vehemence of her response. "Holy Thor! I was just jesting."

Then he seemed to think of something else. "I have set back my healing a pace or two today, have I not?"

"Or twenty," she commented drolly.

"I need a beer," Steve said.

"I need an ale," Joe said.

"I need to get out of here," Maggie said.

Boot Scootin' Cowboy was a huge success.