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“I said nothing to her. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“She says you’re a CIA assassin who’s left bodies all over the world, including one in a taxicab outside the U.S. embassy in Vienna.”
“Poor thing,” Edgar said. “She’s obviously bereft of her senses. In my work as a shepherd of souls I have learned that often happens to ugly old women who have finally given up all hope of finding a mate with whom to walk down life’s path.”
“If you’re not a CIA assassin, who are you? Got any identification?”
“My card, sir,” Edgar said, taking one from his wallet. “As you can see, I am the Reverend Edgar Delchamps, religious director of the American Association of Motorized Wheelchair Manufacturers.”
“Well, Reverend,” the cop said, handing the card back, “just as soon as the ambulance gets here, we’ll get you to the hospital. You can sign the charges there.”
“You mean the Old Ebbitt is giving me a bill after I have been criminally assaulted by a crazy woman on their premises?”
“No. I mean you sign the charges against the crazy woman who thinks you’re an assassin and did this to you.”
“Heavens, no! To err is human, to forgive divine,” Edgar said. “That poor crazy woman has enough problems without my adding to them. Just make sure she’s given a thorough psychological examination before she’s released.”
“You’re a kind man, Reverend.”
“So I have been told. God bless you, my son.”
[TWO]
The Presidential Apartments
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
1320 21 June 2007
“I’m very sorry to interrupt you, the First Lady, and the First Mother-in-Law at lunch, Mr. President,” Robin Hoboken said.
“What is it, Hoboken?”
“Mr. Danton is here.”
“About damned time.”
“He was just dropped off at the gate, Mr. President. Drunk.”
“What do you mean, dropped off drunk?”
“Someone the Secret Service described as an individual with Asian characteristics dropped him—actually pushed him out of a Yukon—at the gate and then drove rapidly away. Drunk means intoxicated with alcoholic spirits to the point of impairment of physical and mental faculties.”
“Plastered or not, I want to see him,” the First Mother-in-Law said. “Bring him up, Hackensack.”
“Mommy dearest, why do you want to see him if he’s in his cups?” the First Lady asked.
“Because I want to hear what happened in Las Vegas.”
“Mother Krauthammer,” the President said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“You wouldn’t know a good idea if I hit you over the head with one,” the First Mother-in-Law said. “Go get him, Hackensack.”
