The Late Matthew Brown. Paul Ketzle

You forget to whom you are speaking. I am an independent.”

      “I think the word you’re searching for is ‘professional antagonist.’”

      “Political affiliation is such a fluid concept. I do believe Hugh has been, in no particular order, a Republican, a Democrat, and a Dixiecrat, as well as briefly flirting with both the Natural Law Party and the Libertarians. Not that anyone up on the hill cares. The party is apparatus. What matters is your district, how much money you have, how many connections you have. Not a soul or ideal they wouldn’t sell if the price was right.”

      “You’re ruining my faith in government.”

      “You’re the most naive political appointee I’ve ever met, Matthew. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”

      “I just choose to believe that others have more integrity than I.”

      “I suspect that may be your undoing.”

      Scandal currently rattled the state’s halls of government. The previous governor had recently been driven from office for offenses that thirty years ago would barely have merited a headline. A long career of bribes and cronyism, which had served so well to put him in office, ultimately had come back to destroy him. And it was Janice who had been the architect of his destruction, as well as of most scandals political and massive in this town, though most people didn’t know it.

      As a political stringer for the Capitol Times, Janice DeTreffant penned a weekly column under the pseudonym “Jefferson,” which kept her a relative unknown to the powerful figures in State government whom she routinely skewered. The pseudonymous “Jefferson” was a perpetual burr on their backside, as the House Speaker once labeled her, an honor she valued highly. Though the most powerful had long since ferreted out her identity, most casual observers in the capital—and even a significant number of operatives—had no idea she was even a woman, and even those who learned the truth were often too sexist to believe it. Just as many claimed that Janice herself was a front for some other, even deeper undercover investigative reporter. All of this gave her ease of movement, and the opportunity to pick up on pieces of information from relaxed legislators who might otherwise have been more careful about what they were saying.

      Janice and I weren’t connected by politics, though. We had met when I was still a struggling undergrad and she was in the process of revising her dissertation into a book, Political Tribalism and Cultural Identity in the American South (1865-1965). After achieving tenure, though, her interests had turned more forcefully to politics and reporting. Her association with the college was fairly perfunctory and tangential these days. She was also the closest thing in the world I had to a real friend, though I saw her infrequently of late and never bothered reading the copy of the book she signed for me. We could do each other considerable harm with the things we knew about each other, which had only helped our friendship grow.

      “How’s fatherhood treating you?”

      “It’s not exactly what I expected.”

      “What, exactly, has ever been what you expected?”

      “I mean it’s hard.”

      “I don’t think you fully grasp your situation.”

      “I grasp it.”

      “So where’s Junior?”

      “At home.”

      “I’m guessing without a sitter.”

      “I’m not concerned. She’s pretty mature for a twelve-year-old.”

      “That’s why you should be concerned,” she said, pushing her hair back away from her eyes. Her most prominent feature was that thick, brown mane of hair, arching and irreverent; she draped the length of it across her shoulders, so it lay thick and billowy, in the style of a ’40s movie starlet. No one would mistake her for a screen legend, however. A car saleswoman, perhaps. An evangelist. A sixth-grade teacher. She could easily be someone who makes children stand in front of a classroom and work long division on the chalkboard.

      “I’m feeling generous with advice today,” she continued. “Get out of politics, Matty, before it kills you.”

      “I’m not the one making enemies out of the most powerful people in the state. Remember, Governor Roberson sent a goon squad after you.”

      “Ex-Governor Roberson.”

      “Was it an ex-goon squad, too?”

      “People always blow these things out of proportion,” she said with a sigh, taking a long drag. “It wasn’t a squad. Just two guys coming round the newsroom making trouble. They were kinda sweet, too.”

      “Sweet goons, with guns.”

      “Pea shooters,” she said, flicking the cigarette butt into a small shrub. “Pathetic, really. Even I’m better armed than that.”

      “That’s why I feel safer just standing next to you.

      She cocked an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t, you know.”

      Back under the lights, Wally was rambling, thanking everyone for recognizing the important role that higher education served in our community, for opening up their hearts and wallets to such an important cause. It was the usual speech, and like the best of them, you knew the next word even before it left his lips. It made you feel smart and superior. You could recite along with him.

      “By the way, I hear you’ve got a special assignment. I’ll have to buy you a black hood or something.”

      “News travels fast. I only found out this afternoon.”

      “You could see it coming. Governor Van Garen is a novice, paying for the sins of his predecessor and in the fight of his political life. Nothing like a little show to satisfy the masses.”

      After dealing with the execution all day, I didn’t exactly have a strong desire to talk about it again. Instead, I asked Janice if she knew anything about the investigation at Environmental that Hal had mentioned

      She leaned in close. “Nothing to be worried about, I hope.”

      “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

      “Sorry. Occupational habit.”

      “I’m just anxious in a general sort of way. So you haven’t heard anything?”

      Janice shook her head in disinterest, almost bored, then took a long sip from her refreshed drink. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to quit this whole politics thing?”

      “This is my career. And I’m pretty good at it, if I say so myself.”

      She said nothing for a moment, starting at me with a curious look on her face. Finally, she said: “You see that unassuming fellow over there, Matthew, the one in the bow tie talking with the two Supreme Court justices? That, my political friend, is Bertrand Walker.”

      The man she pointed toward was a thin rail, his suit obviously too short for his body. He wore rounded wire frames low on his nose. He, too, could have been a school teacher.

      “Name sounds familiar,” I said, which only made Janice produce an exaggerated sigh.

      “Bertrand Walker. He is the proverbial ‘man behind the throne.’ The governor’s top political advisor. A more powerful person you will likely never meet in this state. They may have ousted Vern for his lawbreaking, but nothing seems to touch Walker, though his fingers are in everything. He was the power behind the last governor, this governor, probably the next one, too, whoever that ends up being. Anyone who expects to get anywhere politically in this state owes some kind of debt to him. You already do, whether you know it or not. And he’s not the kind of person you want to be indebted to.”

      “I’m too young to owe anyone anything.”

      “People like Walker are untouchable. They aren’t scared of the law. Like all cockroaches, they’re scared of the light.”

      “That’s