2030_ The Real Story of What Happens to America - Albert Brooks [98]
“What’s his name?”
Paul should have just told him and left it at that, but he made a mistake when he said, “Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why’? I was just asking his name.”
“Listen, Owen. He could get in big trouble for the stuff he’s telling me. I don’t know that he wants his name bandied about.”
“Bandied about? What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s me, for fuck’s sake.”
“Jack. Jack is his name.”
“Fine. Have a great time with Jack.” And Owen walked out of the apartment.
What’s wrong with me? Why did I make the name such a big deal? Paul knew the answer. He just didn’t want to think about it.
It was freezing cold at the Redskins game. Paul thought Jack Willman looked great that day. He had on a herringbone scarf, gloves, jeans, and cool retro sneakers. He didn’t remember Jack being that cute, but maybe that had something to do with his argument with Owen.
Paul really didn’t want to screw up this important contact. If they had a relationship and it went bad, who at Justice would ever give him this kind of information? But he couldn’t help looking at Jack as someone he might really, really like.
“These seats are incredible. I’ve never sat in seats like this,” Jack said.
And they were incredible. Robert Golden always got the best seats at every event. Golden wasn’t even a football fan, but when Paul Prescott said he needed great seats at the Redskins–Bears game, Golden had them in thirty minutes. The seats were at the forty-yard line, two rows behind the Redskins bench. You could actually hear what the coach was saying to his assistants. It was so clear that Paul wondered if the other team didn’t have guys sitting there, just to spy. “How long have you been a football fan?” he asked Jack.
“A long time. I wouldn’t call myself a crazy fan, but it’s like watching a car accident. I like that part of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“When these guys run into each other, I’m just happy it’s not me. I can’t believe they take this abuse and I can’t believe I get to watch it. I don’t feel that way from any other sport. I don’t know, sort of a vicarious thrill, I guess.”
“I never looked at it that way,” Paul said. “I’ll watch it with that perspective from now on.”
Jack smiled at him. “You know, we’re finding out all kinds of stuff on that suicide bomber. I’m actually going to write something up and give it to you. Just so you can understand who these people are.”
“That would be great. You mean like a profile?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s great. The more we know about these guys, the better chance we have of stopping them.”
“Well, you may not be able to stop them without some big changes in the law.”
“What do you mean?”
“Big cuts in medical for the seniors, less Social Security, the stuff that makes them crazy. That kind of thing.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Paul said. “Then we would have another issue that would get out of hand. The olds are capable of just as much violence.”
“You mean an old guy might walk in and blow up a kid’s birthday party?”
“Very funny, but there would be protesting and yelling like you never heard. They would throw any politician out of office who even suggested that stuff.”
“Well, personally, I think you’re going to have to throw a bone to these people. And a pretty big one at that.”
At that moment, the Redskins scored and the crowd went crazy. Jack leaped to his feet and cheered and Paul followed him up, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was thinking, What kind of bone could you throw a guy who’s willing to blow himself up?
* * *
The President’s mother was now ensconced permanently at the Compassionate Care Facility in Baltimore, Maryland. Compassionate Care was a very successful business, housing thousands of older people who needed sophisticated machines to keep them in their comas. Hospitals certainly couldn’t handle them and nursing homes had no place for people living on machines only. Plus, the equipment was so expensive