As Ferguson introduced them, Parnelli tried to crush Hook’s hand.

“Been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Hook,” he said.

His smile flicked on and off, like a muscle flexed, though it did manage to communicate a substantial satisfaction with himself. He was about thirty-five, Oliver had said, a fanatic jockstrap, a surfer, skin-diver, golfer extraordinaire, with some of his finest muscles between his ears. In contrast to Ferguson’s vested tan tweed suit and paisley tie, he was wearing a mod green, gold, and olive sport coat-slacks ensemble.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Hook asked them.

Parnelli’s attitude was palsy, confidential. “Well, to be honest, Mr. Hook, it just isn’t the kind of thing we can handle here with a few words. We just want to talk with you, that’s all. About a lot of things, you know? Get to know you. Let you get to know us.”

Hook looked at Ferguson and the little man’s eyes drifted away. He appeared uneasy, embarrassed. Apparently this get-together was not his idea, not his show.

“That couldn’t hurt anything, could it?” Parnelli pressed.

“I guess not.”

“Well, fine, then. Real great. What say we all go down to El Paseo and have a few drinkies? On me.”

“And get to know each other,” Hook said, deadpan.

“Right on. That’s the idea.”

Hook did not want to appear eager. “I’ve been waiting here quite a while to talk with Dr. Hammer.”

“Well, that’s the problem,” Ferguson slipped in. “He called up just a while ago, said you were here. And I’m afraid he doesn’t want to talk with you.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a very busy man,” Ferguson explained.

Hook smiled wryly. “That doesn’t leave me much choice, then, does it?”

Parnelli already had his car keys out, and now he gave them to Ferguson. “You take my car, Rich. I’ll drive with Mr. Hook.” He turned to Hook. “If that’s all right with you?”

“Of course.”

On the way, Parnelli sounded at first like a one-man chamber of commerce. What did Hook think of their little burg here, their paradise by the sea? It was one hell of a lot sunnier than where Hook came from, he was willing to bet on that. In fact, it was one fantastic town if you ever really stopped and thought about it. Everything a man could possibly want was right here. The sea. The mountains. Great people. Good schools. Clean beaches. Cleaner than ever, in fact. Then the chamber got down to business.

“But let me tell you, it ain’t like this in very many places anymore. Poverty, unemployment, pollution, racism—that’s the story in most places today. And you know what it’s going to take to fix it all—to make it all like this? Men like Jack Douglas. Men like him in government, that’s what it’s going to take.”

Finished, he slipped Hook a glance freighted with import, making sure his meaning had not been missed. It was like being reminded that one had just been run over by a truck. And it brought to mind something else Oliver had said about Parnelli, that he was not sure why Douglas kept him around, whether it was just for laughs or for his “name,” his by now strictly local celebrity, or whether Parnelli actually earned his keep—a possibility Oliver seriously doubted, because the man was outrageously accident- and lawsuit-prone, was forever totaling sports cars and settling barroom disputes with his fists, especially any involving the reputation of his boss, to whom he was ferociously dedicated. “He’s a violent sonofabitch,” Oliver had said.