job well done. And when it turns out to be a job that serves the community, that makes this country a better place to live, well, what's wrong with that, exactly?"
"I'm not on a one-man crusade, Mr. Sebastian." He looked hurt, my not calling him by his first name. "But there are a lot of people around here who don't want your prison coming to Promise Falls. For a whole host of reasons, not the least of which is that you're taking what has traditionally been a government responsibility and turning it into a way to make money. The more criminals that get sentenced, the better your bottom line. Every convict sent to your facility is like another sale."
He smiled at me as though I were a child. "How do you feel about funeral home directors, David? Is what they do wrong? They make money out of death. But they're providing a service, and they're entitled to make money doing that. Same for estate lawyers, the florists you call to send flowers to loved ones, the man who cuts the lawn at the cemetery. What I do is, David, is make America a better place. The good citizens of this country are entitled to feel safe when they go to bed at night, and they're entitled to feel that way knowing they're getting the best bang for their tax dollar. That's what I do, with all the facilities I run across a great many of these wonderful United States of America. I help people sleep at night, and I help keep their taxes down."
"And all you get out of it is, if last year is any indication, a $1.3 billion payoff."
He shook his head in mock sadness. "Do you work for free at the Standard?" he asked.
"Your company's actively involved in trying to see minimum sentences raised across the board. You're telling me your only motive there is to make Americans sleep safe at night?"
Sebastian glanced at his watch. I thought it might be a Rolex, but the truth was, I'd never seen a real Rolex. But it looked expensive.
"I really must be going," he said. "Would you like me to make a copy of the check for the purposes of your story?"
"That won't be necessary," I said.
"Well then, I guess I'll be off." Sebastian rose from the bench and started walking across the grass back to his limo. He brought his take-out cup with him, but even though he walked right past an open waste bin, he handed it to Welland to dispose of. Welland opened the door for him, closed it, got rid of the cup, and before getting into the driver's seat he looked at me. He made his hand into a little gun, grinned, and took a shot at me.
The limo drove off. It was looking very much like they weren't going to be giving me a lift back to the paper.
FIVE
Ten days after our dinner at Gina's, Jan got us tickets to go to Five Mountains, the roller-coaster park. It seemed the perfect metaphor for her moods since our dinner at Gina's. Up and down, up and down, up and down.
She'd been doing her best to be herself around Ethan in the ten days since she'd said I'd be happy to be rid of her, and my tactful suggestion that she might be paranoid. If Ethan had noticed his mother was not well, he hadn't been curious enough to ask what was up. He usually asked whatever question came into his head, so that told me he really hadn't noticed. Jan had taken a couple of days off from work in the last week, but I'd still taken Ethan to my parents', thinking maybe what she needed was time to herself. She'd never actually come out and said she wanted to kill herself, but I still felt a low-level anxiety when I thought about her home alone.
The day after Gina's, I snuck out of the office for a hastily booked afternoon appointment with our family doctor, Andrew Samuels. When I called, I told the nosy receptionist, who always wanted to know why you were seeing the doctor, I had a sore throat.
"Going around," she said.
But when I was alone in the office with Dr. Samuels, I said, "It's about Jan. She's not herself lately. She's down, she's depressed. She said she thinks Ethan and I would be better off without
"I'm not on a one-man crusade, Mr. Sebastian." He looked hurt, my not calling him by his first name. "But there are a lot of people around here who don't want your prison coming to Promise Falls. For a whole host of reasons, not the least of which is that you're taking what has traditionally been a government responsibility and turning it into a way to make money. The more criminals that get sentenced, the better your bottom line. Every convict sent to your facility is like another sale."
He smiled at me as though I were a child. "How do you feel about funeral home directors, David? Is what they do wrong? They make money out of death. But they're providing a service, and they're entitled to make money doing that. Same for estate lawyers, the florists you call to send flowers to loved ones, the man who cuts the lawn at the cemetery. What I do is, David, is make America a better place. The good citizens of this country are entitled to feel safe when they go to bed at night, and they're entitled to feel that way knowing they're getting the best bang for their tax dollar. That's what I do, with all the facilities I run across a great many of these wonderful United States of America. I help people sleep at night, and I help keep their taxes down."
"And all you get out of it is, if last year is any indication, a $1.3 billion payoff."
He shook his head in mock sadness. "Do you work for free at the Standard?" he asked.
"Your company's actively involved in trying to see minimum sentences raised across the board. You're telling me your only motive there is to make Americans sleep safe at night?"
Sebastian glanced at his watch. I thought it might be a Rolex, but the truth was, I'd never seen a real Rolex. But it looked expensive.
"I really must be going," he said. "Would you like me to make a copy of the check for the purposes of your story?"
"That won't be necessary," I said.
"Well then, I guess I'll be off." Sebastian rose from the bench and started walking across the grass back to his limo. He brought his take-out cup with him, but even though he walked right past an open waste bin, he handed it to Welland to dispose of. Welland opened the door for him, closed it, got rid of the cup, and before getting into the driver's seat he looked at me. He made his hand into a little gun, grinned, and took a shot at me.
The limo drove off. It was looking very much like they weren't going to be giving me a lift back to the paper.
FIVE
Ten days after our dinner at Gina's, Jan got us tickets to go to Five Mountains, the roller-coaster park. It seemed the perfect metaphor for her moods since our dinner at Gina's. Up and down, up and down, up and down.
She'd been doing her best to be herself around Ethan in the ten days since she'd said I'd be happy to be rid of her, and my tactful suggestion that she might be paranoid. If Ethan had noticed his mother was not well, he hadn't been curious enough to ask what was up. He usually asked whatever question came into his head, so that told me he really hadn't noticed. Jan had taken a couple of days off from work in the last week, but I'd still taken Ethan to my parents', thinking maybe what she needed was time to herself. She'd never actually come out and said she wanted to kill herself, but I still felt a low-level anxiety when I thought about her home alone.
The day after Gina's, I snuck out of the office for a hastily booked afternoon appointment with our family doctor, Andrew Samuels. When I called, I told the nosy receptionist, who always wanted to know why you were seeing the doctor, I had a sore throat.
"Going around," she said.
But when I was alone in the office with Dr. Samuels, I said, "It's about Jan. She's not herself lately. She's down, she's depressed. She said she thinks Ethan and I would be better off without
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