Whatever Wrightman’s reasons, the impact had now touched the most basic aspects of life in new America. I now stopped at yellow lights, for example, in an effort to avoid attracting any unnecessary attention to myself. Me, who had always believed the yellow simply meant hurry up and beat the red. Boy, plotting to overthrow the government of the United States was a hard job! But as I’d learned from all my reading, strict adherence to the civil laws, even as those laws were adjusted and improved, was a hallmark of most totalitarian regimes.

The one common thread I found in all of those books, fiction and nonfiction, was that in each instance the dear and glorious leader established a law enforcement organization directly responsible to him. A quasi-Gestapo, whose bootsteps could be heard coming in the night. Obviously Wrightman had nothing like that. But what he did have was far more insidious: He had won the loyalty of law enforcement by giving officers almost free rein, granting them legal protection from any responsibility for overly aggressive actions taken to enforce existing laws. Existing laws were of course left open to a broad interpretation.

The message he’d sent by his appearance at the convention of police chiefs had been embraced: Those officers who didn’t get with his program were either given dead-end assignments or asked to submit their resignations. “Unable to fulfill the duties of a law enforcement officer” was the general catchall given to explain those dismissals.

Regular law enforcement had also learned to work with the militias. It was literally a shotgun marriage. There were some confrontations when legal jurisdiction and macho pride overlapped, but overall, they had figured out how to distribute authority. I have to admit the administration did a good job selling this program, using a wholesome young mixed-race couple sitting at the kitchen table with their two beautiful young children, preaching happily, “The law is the most powerful weapon we’ve got. Following the law makes us all safer. So remember…” They paused and looked sweetly at their children, who singsonged together, “When you see something, say something.” All of which had resulted in my now stopping at yellow lights.

Jenny was hard at work when I got home. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch in front of the TV, dressed in satin pajamas, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, her laptop appropriately on top of her lap. Loose pages and open books were strewn around her, as if she were a college student working late on a paper. She took off her glasses and smiled at me. “Hey!”

“Hey back.” I savored the moment. This was the way my life was supposed to be. Her coral satin pajamas resting casually on her curves said sex, the computer said intelligence, and her dazzling smile said everything else I needed to know. Home and hearth. It continued to amaze me how often I refell in love with her.

In that instant I decided to tell her the whole story. If I trusted Hack Wilson, my gym buddy, then I damn well better trust the woman I might marry. Someday. Sometime. In the future. It was time.