“Not that long ago. Not really. What’s it been? Five years?”

“Ten.”

“Okay, ten. If it’s been ten years, then it’s time for you to get back into the fray.” The cripple smiled.

“Don’t you presume to tell me—”

“You won’t believe this idea of mine,” continued the cripple. “You must hear what I have to explain to you and see what I have to show you in private. It’s extremely important you see the videotape. It’s also important that it be just the two of us. After you hear what I have to say and see the tape, you’ll understand. I promise you, I absolutely promise you, you’ll beg me to let you do my program idea posthaste. You’re the one person alive who’s smart enough to understand what I intend to show you and do something about it.”

A passing ambulance’s screaming siren momentarily stopped the two men’s exchange. During the lull, the producer thought to himself, maybe this creep will go away peacefully if I just speak calmly and nicely to him.

“Look, old man,” he said calmly and nicely, even trying to smile a bit, which was difficult, for the producer never smiled, “you’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t have all the contacts with the networks and syndicators I used to have. I would have a hard time getting an idea of my own done these days. Believe me, that’s true. Good-bye, old man.”

The producer turned and started to walk away.

“That’s bullshit,” yelled the old cripple, limping after him.

Vera Bundle decided to make herself a cup of afternoon tea in the kitchen of her home in Steubenville, Ohio.

Steubenville’s just across the Ohio-Pennsylvania border on the Ohio side, a bit west of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and north of Wheeling, West Virginia. Like Pittsburgh, Steubenville’s a steel town. They make a lot of it there. Or used to. They also have some fairly large paper mills in Steubenville and more whorehouses than most cities of comparable size. Steubenville’s a gray, depressing city. Its population has been trending downward since 1980. Roughly twenty thousand people live there now.

Dean Martin grew up in Steubenville.

Vera Bundle did too.

Short and plump, Vera Bundle was in her midseventies and still relatively spry for her age. She was never seriously sick and had good color. Her hair was frizzy and naturally brown. She kept it cut short and worn in a pageboy. The bangs running across her forehead resembled dead weeds, making Vera appear even more dowdy than she was, which was seriously dowdy. Vera Bundle tended to wear plain, formless dresses, usually under an apron tied in the back. She always wore sensible shoes on her slightly large feet and favored small hats when she went out. Vera had a nice smile but didn’t use it often. That’s because Vera Bundle rarely had a lot to smile about.