SHIRTLESS, I went down the hall to my study and sat down at the computer. I didn’t spend as much time here as I once did, when I was writing science fiction novels. I still had the room decorated with SF toys and souvenirs—I’d recently put a framed Fantastic Voyage poster on the wall: orange with yellow lettering, some people spilling out of a guy’s eye, pretty cool, really—but they weren’t proving to be as inspiring as they once were. Someone being mischievous, Angie probably, had left a Batman action figure sitting on my keyboard. A Post-it note had been stuck to Batman’s chest, and written on it were the words “Make up with Mom.” The handwriting, I realized, was Paul’s.

I set Batman aside and fired up the e-mail program. I had a couple of dozen messages, most of them offering various services to enlarge my penis, drugs to enlarge my penis, or Rolex watches that would allow me to time, to the millisecond, how long it would take my penis to reach its full potential (i.e., become big enough to wear a Rolex, if some of the other e-mails were to be believed). Also, some businessmen in Nigeria were seeking my assistance in helping them transfer millions of dollars to North America, and if I could supply them my bank account information, thereby allowing them a place to hide their cash, I could keep a healthy percentage for my trouble.

And then there was one from Brian Sandler.

I clicked on it. His note read, “Dear Mr. Walker: This is me and my supervisor Frank Ellinger talking about the situation. I believe you will agree that it is very damaging for him and also for me, but I am playing a role here to get him to say what he does, which you should make clear in your story. I’m the whistleblower here, you understand. Brian Sandler.”

I opened the attached file and clicked on the tiny triangle pointing to the right. There was a small delay, and then the conversation began. It took only a moment to figure out who was who.

Ellinger: Yeah, sure. Grab a chair. Want one? (sound of rustling bag)

Sandler: No, no, well, sure. (more bag rustling) You got a sec?

Ellinger: Yeah. You see that game last night? Fuck.

Sandler: Yeah, that was something. Talk about coming from behind.

Ellinger: Fuck, yeah. Wassup?

Sandler: Oh, same old. You know. Busy.

Ellinger: Yeah, busy. Things good at home?

Sandler: Oh yeah, sure. You?

Ellinger: Just got a hot tub. You should come over. Fuckin’ awesome.

Sandler: Sure, that’d be fun. Listen, you got a sec?

Ellinger: I said yeah, sure, you gonna sit down or just stand there?

Sandler: Yeah, thanks. So, about Mrs. Gorkin.

Ellinger: Oh yeah. Some hunk of woman. (laughs)

Sandler: And those daughters of hers. The twins.