Corbin turned to me. “So what exactly was it you were trying to do? How come you’re so important?”

I glared at him. That punch to the side of my head had rattled my noggin and my brain was still banging around in there. Or something was causing the throbbing pain. I didn’t say a word, just glared at him.

Corbin couldn’t stand the silence. “I mean, come on, with that chair and everything, what could you be doing?”

Ah, the beauty of low expectations. I picked my words carefully when I responded, “We’re taking back our country.”

“Oh?” Once again he raised his eyebrows; apparently that was his go-to expression. “You think so, huh? Let me tell you something, pal,” he continued, his voice rising. “That ain’t happening. This country is just fine, thank you. There are some people like you trying to cause trouble, but thank God we have people like me to stop you.”

Okay, so maybe the rumors are true. People are starting to fight back. I checked my rearview mirror. The Caprice was holding steady four car lengths behind. I turned and looked directly at Dick, then yawned. I yawned long and loud, my mouth opened as wide as I could manage, and sighed.

It took a few seconds to register, but then Corbin yawned. To get to Lake City that early, he and Russell must have left Washington in the middle of the night. The early afternoon sun glaring through the windshield added to that sense of fatigue. But Dick kept babbling, maybe to help himself stay awake. “I haven’t seen Americans this united since … since whenever. Oh, man.” He yawned again. “I mean, nobody’s saying that Wrightman is the brightest bulb in the chandelier…” He lazily pointed his finger at me. “You didn’t hear that from me. But c’mon, look what all those smart guys did; Kennedy and Bush and Clinton and Trump…”

I looked at him skeptically.

“Okay, maybe I’m just kidding about Trump. Just wanted to make sure I had your attention.” He rattled on for several more minutes, continuing his long monologue on the state of the nation: People were satisfied, the economy was coming back, there was a feeling that someone smart was in charge, and “You got to admit it. There are more great shows on TV than ever.”

Just to make sure he knew I was still in his game I interjected an occasional uh-huh or Really?

Corbin was describing his favorite Netflix series, something about earthlings trading places with their duplicates on our mirror planet (which ironically was how I sometimes felt in Wrightman’s America), as we came around a gently sweeping bend. I checked again; the Chevy was steady in position. The road grade was rising and we were heading directly into the sun. Dickie leaned forward and snapped down his visor, and when he settled back in his seat, he turned and looked at me and saw the Glock in my left hand, pointing at his head.