Fletch and the Man Who Read Online Free PDF Page B

an answer to your every question, however obtuse and trivial, and generally, to say things about me I’d blush to have to say myself.”
    “He’s a complete crook,” said the man wearing the
Daily Gospel
badge.
    “Now, I know some of you miss ol’ James,” continued the governor. “I do too… more than you’ll ever know.” The governor pulled his touch-of-sentiment face. To Fletch, seeing the expression in profile, it seemed the governor was too obviously clocking the seconds he held the expression. “But, as you know, ol’ James decided he wanted to go somewhere more agreeable.”
    “Yeah,” Lansing Sayer said. “When anyone goes to play tennis, James wants to go play tennis.”
    “So,” said the governor, coloring slightly behind the ear, “I’ll leave ol’ Fletch in your hands.” Walsh had told Fletch to ride the press bus that morning. “Try not to chew him up and spit him out this morning. Can’t promise you that lunch is going to be that good.”
    “Hey, Governor,” shouted Joe Hall. “Any response yet to the President’s statement on South Africa last night?”
    Waving, the governor left the bus.
    Fletch picked up the microphone. The bus driver turned on the speaker system for him.
    “Good morning,” Fletch said. “As the governor’s press representative, I make you the solemn promise that I will never lie to you. Today, on this bus, we will be passing through Miami, New Orleans, Dallas, New York, and Keokuk, Iowa. Per usual, at midday you will be flown to San Francisco for lunch. Today’s menu is clam chowder, pheasant under glass, roast Chilean lamb, and a strawberry mousse fromMaine. Everything the governor says today will be significant, relevant, wise, to the point, and as fresh as the lilies in the field.”
    “In fact,” Fenella Baker said, trying to look through the steamy window, “it’s snowing out.”
    The other side of the motel’s front door, Doris Wheeler was climbing into the back of a small, black sedan. Today the campaign would head southwest in the state; the candidate’s wife would go north. The governor would ride the campaign bus, in front of the press bus.
    “Any questions you have for me,” Fletch continued, “write backwards and offer to your editors as think-pieces. Just ask your editors to label such fanciful essays as ‘Analysis.’”
    “Fletch, is it true you’re a crook?” Roy Filby asked.
    “No,” said Fletch, “but if any of you run short of cash, just ask me and I’ll put you in contact with people who will supply you with all you want at a modest charge of twenty-percent interest daily.”
    “Oh, you work for a credit card company, too?”
    “Is it true you saved Walsh Wheeler’s life overseas?” Fenella Baker asked.
    “That’s another thing,” Fletch said. “I will never evade any of your questions.”
    He turned the microphone off and hung it up.

7
    “How does it feel to be an adversary of the press?” From her seat on the bus, Freddie Arbuthnot grinned up at Fletch.
    “Some people,” announced Fletch, “think I always have been.”
    “This is Betsy Ginsberg,” Freddie said about her seatmate, a slightly overweight, bright-eyed, nice-looking young woman.
    “Terrific stuff you write,” Fletch said to her. “I’ve never read a word of it, but I’ve decided to say things like that on this trip.”
    Betsy laughed. The diesel engine straining to move the bus out of the motel’s horseshoe driveway was making as much noise as a jet airplane taking off.
    Freddie pressed her elbow into Betsy’s ribs. “Move,” she said. “Let me be the first to sink teeth into this new press representative.”
    “You’re just saying that,” Betsy said, moving out of her seat, “because he’s good-lookin’.”
    “Is he?” said Freddie. “I never noticed.”
    Fletch slumped into the seat vacated by Betsy. “I don’t know,” he said to Freddie. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it as a member of the establishment. It’s all