Political Timber Read Online Free PDF Page A

business and that it was a privilege to have the city’s most controversial deejay making fun of his relatives and stuff over the air. Sol was very skinny all over except for his belly, which poked out from under a T-shirt that never quite managed to reach all the way down to his belt-line. His stomach was very hairy, like a sweater, and he never smiled. Like a jazz musician or a boxer, Sol could have been thirty-five or sixty-five, you couldn’t tell. What was very clear was that his attitude had already reached retirement age.
    Sol didn’t like me at first.
    “See that cable there. If you touch it, you’ll get electrocuted. Touch it if you want.”
    Sol, I was to learn, felt that every curious kid who walked in the door was after his job.
    “Hey, Sol,” Matt yelled when I first walked in. “Pack it in, old boy, your replacement’s here.” Which didn’t help.
    “You think it’s all fun, right?” Sol asked as we were setting up for my first night of actual live-on-the-air work after two dry runs. “You kids, you think the audio techs just kick back, push buttons, drink coffee, and listen to the jock make an ass out of himself. Then we collect a fat check, cash it at the White Hen across the street, and take the dough around the corner to the bar, where we tell all the girls we’re a hot-shit radio professional.”
    On the rare occasions you run into a guy as blunt as Sol, it is hard not to give him the same in return.
    “That’s exactly what I think. Except I didn’t even know the White Hen would cash my check. That’s cooler still.”
    The first I’d seen of Sol’s sinister smile curled over one corner of his square mouth. I heard a low rumbly laugh as he went on with his preshow prep. Then he pulled a microphone and stand out of a green plastic trash barrel full of knotted wires and gadgets. He set up the mike right in front of me.
    “What’s the deal here?” I asked as I began playing with the equipment. “Test,” I barked. “Hi, Mom.”
    Sol just continued that unsettling little chuckle.
    “No, really, Sol. Why do I have a microphone? I didn’t have one during dry run.”
    On the other side of the glass wall that separated the technicians from the on-air talent, Matt strode into the room and took his seat at the desk.
    Matt turned toward me, gave me two thumbs-up.
    I waved, then pointed to the microphone in front of me, mouthing, What is this?
    He thumbed me up a little farther, ignored my question, and flashed an incandescent smile.
    I noted that he had spectacular teeth for a guy who was on radio instead of TV.
    “Goooood evening, boys and girls!” Mad Matt yelled into his microphone. It pierced my eardrums. Sol handed me a stick of gum.
    “Have I got a treat for you, loyal fans. Right here in our studio, and for an extended engagement, we have got THE NEXT MAYOR OF AMBER! ”
    Matt swung around to leer at me, eyeballs as white as his teeth.
    “Jesus Christ,” I yelped, and I heard it in my headset. I was on the air.
    “There you go, Amber, another politician with a messiah complex. Boy’s a natural for the job.”
    I held my head in my hands, staring straight ahead at Mad Matt. Beside me, Sol’s laugh picked up a little speed and volume. Sounded like a twenty-year-old Chevette idling at a stoplight.
    Matt waved at me to speak. When I didn’t—couldn’t—he helped me out.
    “Word has it the kid’s a juggernaut. First he’s going to sweep the high school president’s race, then stop by and pick up the conveniently available mayor’s job. Can the White House really be far off? And why shouldn’t he have it in his blood? Do we know who this boy’s grandpappy is? I’ll tell you who he is, he’s... whoa, whoa, slow down there, Mad Matt. You haven’t even let the boy introduce himself. Tell us, scion, what is your name?”
    “Gordie,” I chirped.
    “Is that sweet, or what? Amber, meet Mayor Gordie. Huh? Won’t work, ya say? Okay. Yo, Gordie, think you could let us in on