As he reaches the shower, he hears a familiar voice calling to him. Senator Cy Abelman, looking rumpled and damp, there being no way to pick through this jostling crowd of athletes without acquiring a thin layer of perspiration in the process, emerges from out of the jubilant ruckus. T.K. isn’t surprised to see a United States Senator here. A good public relations man can open all manner of doors, including the one on a football team’s locker room. After a game, particularly after a winning game, dignitaries and celebrities, anxious to be seen on television in the company of a victor, usually cram inside. Since Senator Abelman has gone frequently on record as being above such cheap-shot publicity, T.K. deduces it’s something other than a wish for media exposure that drew him here today.

The senator removes a large red bandanna from his shoulder bag and does as good a job as he can of mopping the droplets of sweat from his cape. “I’ve been trying to buzz you up at home, but I can never seem to get through.”

T.K. hangs his towel on a hook outside the shower entrance. “My answering service screens for me during the season. I get a lot of calls from people trying to sell me one thing or another.”

“I’m sure. But still, I’m hardly a…” Abelman gets T.K.’s meaning. His messages were received, just never answered. “Never mind. You heard what happened to me at the Attorney General’s office, I suppose.”

T.K. reaches in and turns on a shower. “I couldn’t help it. It was on every newscast and in all the papers.” He gives the senator a firm, appraising glance. “You look a lot better in real life than you do in the media.”

“I was conned. The Attorney General is in on the whole thing. I suspect he’s trading his cooperation for media support in the forthcoming election.”

“You’re the man with the quick solution. Go somewhere else. Try the football commissioner. Or the President. I hear he’s quite a football fan. He’d probably love to sit through your act.” T.K. steps inside the shower, letting icy cold water cascade down his back and across his buttocks.

“I can’t go someplace else. My original tape disappeared. I suspect the Attorney General has destroyed it. I can’t get another one. As I understand it, shortly after this one was stolen from them, the network ceased the production of all such incriminating records and also, as a precautionary measure, destroyed all the ones remaining in their files.”

“Put the pressure on your squealer. The Deutsch guy,

The senator takes a long time to respond. “Deutsch is dead.”