Literatures hottest detective team Barack Obama and Joe Biden isback in action.
1 suspect is gunned down.
Excerpt fromHope Rides Again, by Andrew Shaffer
1
What a bunch of malarkey.
Credit: Quirk Books
Some two-bit hack had written a potboiler starring yours truly, Joe Biden.
Not only that, but the money-grubbing publisher had the gall to slap my mug on the cover.
Now, six chapters in, my initial assessment of the its literary merit was unchanged.
Sometimes you’re free to judge a book by its cover.
I might as well have flushed my fifteen bucks down the crapper.
My cab screeched to a halt, sending the book tumbling from my hands.
The cabbiea dead ringer for Bears legend Mike Ditkalaid on the horn.
Traffic had been stop-and-go since Midway.
What should have been a twenty-minute drive into Chicago had already taken double that.
Is there another route?
Ditka shook his head.
St. Paddys Day Parade.
Your friend Obama picked da wrong morning for his ecumenical forum, if you ask me.
Economics, I said.
Its a global economics forum.
Ditka glared at me in the rearview mirror.
My driver redirected his attention accordingly.
I should have expected the zaniness.
Outside of Boston, there wasnt another American city that took more pride in its Irish heritage than Chicago.
By noon, the sidewalks would be stained with spilled Guinness.
We started moving again.
I groped around under the front seat for the book.
My fingers brushed it, but the cab braked hard and it slipped away.
Thank God I hadnt eaten anything this morning.
If I had, it would have been all over the backseat.
There was a reason cab seats were made of vinyl.
Lose something back there?
Ditka asked, craning his head around as we inched forward.
The hedgehog on his upper lip was dotted with spittle.
Nothing important, I said.
The book belonged under the seat.
Id read cereal boxes with better character development.
In the parlance of Tony the Tiger, the book was not grrreat.
Wave after wave of pedestrians were now jaywalking around us, weaving between cars.
Horns honked, with little effect.
Traffic had come to a complete standstill.
I couldnt see the Tribune Tower, but I knew it was situated along the river.
A mile away, give or take a city block.
If I were still in office, I could have arranged a helicopter extraction.
Good ol Marine Two wouldve gotten me there faster than you could say Scott Pruitt.
I glanced at my watch.
The prayer breakfast would be wrapping up shortly.
If I hoofed it from here, I still had a chance to catch the keynote address.
I might miss Baracks introduction, but I wasnt in town to see him.
I cleared my throat.
Just let me out here.
No sweat off his stones.
I paid my fare in cash, stepped out onto the curb.
A cool breeze rolled off Lake Michigan.
All I had to do was head west until I hit the Magnificent Mile, then turn north.
In the midst of a city-wide bar crawl.
Be careful out there, Ditka shouted through the open door.
I threw them a gentle wave, which only instigated another chorus of honking.
Snake weather, huh?
I said, lingering at the open door.
Supposed to warm up into da fifties today, Ditka said.
First nice weekend of spring is always the most dangerous.
The city thaws, and the snakes come out.
Gangbangers with itchy trigger fingers.
Criminals of every stripe.
A solitary green feather floated past my face.
I batted it away.
He might have been yanking my chain, but I didnt think so.
There was something in the air.
The Midwest had been under a blanket of snow and ice since early December.
Four long months of tension simmering below the surface, unleashed by Mother Nature.
Dont worry about me, I told him.
This isnt my first rodeo.
It wasnt until I shut the door that I remembered Id never been to a rodeo.
2
Every city has its own springtime fragrance.
Visit Wilmington and youll wander into a botanical paradise not unlike my wifes shampoo.
Washington would forever be associated in my mind with the sweet smell of blossoming magnolias and cherry trees.
Back before global warming had made it a necessity.
I ducked into a souvenir store for a little St. Paddys flair to blend in with the downtown crowd.
I was already strapped for time, but I would be in real trouble if anyone recognized me.
I modeled a green-and-white striped scarf in a mirror.
Behind me, I caught a glimpse of a short, squat fellow with a reddish chinstrap beard.
Green jacket: check.
Newsboy cap: check.
All he was missing was a pot of gold.
The clerk was waving me up to the counter.
I handed the clerk a twenty.
Keep the change, I said.
I dont need a bag.
His hand was still outstretched.
Its $34.99, sir.
Its a nice scarf.
He motioned to a display of garish green socks adorned with shamrocks and mugs of green beer.
Two pairs for ten bucks.
If youre looking for something on the cheap side .
I handed him another twenty.
This time I asked for the change.
Nobody gave me so much as a second look over the next eight city blocks.
It wasnt because of the scarf.
I was merely another white-haired Irish American in a city swimming with Celtic cud chewers.
A small crowd of twenty or thirty Occupy activists were milling about, wielding posters attacking the usual suspects.
NO BORDERS, NO BANKS.
MR. OBAMA TEAR DOWN THIS WALL (STREET).
Not exactly the homecoming welcoming committee.
Not exactly surprising, either.
A pair of cops on horseback was watching the fracas.
They paid no attention as I skirted around them.
They were only one line of defense, however.
A thick-necked character in a too-tight suit was standing in front of the main entrance doors.
Had to be private security.
Id never seen a Secret Service agent with the Van Heusen label still stitched onto their sleeve.
A black man in an ivory suit and fedora barreled out of one of the revolving doors.
He brushed past the security guard, and I stepped to the side to avoid being bowled over.
The man met my eyes as he passed.
A VIP pass hung on a lanyard around his thick neck.
He wore a look of determinationhe had somewhere to be.
And by the way his eyebrows were angled, he didnt look too happy about it.
I removed my shades and turned to the guard.
An Irish and an American flag were flapping above us in the wind.
Need to see your pass.
I should be on the list.
If youre not wearing a pass
The revolving door behind him spun again.
The woman who emerged was wearing a sharp blue top.
I noticed she didnthave a conference pass clipped to it.
And Michelle Obama did whatever the heck Michelle Obama wanted.
This was her world.
The rest of us were just living in it.
