Stuff Dreams Are Made Of Read Online Free PDF Page A

who’d been strangled at a revival meeting. These events seemed to be somewhat scary. Somewhat suspect. We didn’t talk the rest of the way home.
    James and I share a computer. And we pay for high-speed access, which is a considerable cost since neither of us makes much money. When we got to the apartment I ran a Google search and found about 15,000 hits on “death of senator Fred Long.” How we could have missed the story, I don’t know. I guessthe news in South Florida isn’t exactly the news of North Dakota or Washington, D.C.
    “Here’s the short version, James.”
    He’d stripped down to his baggy boxers and lay on the sofa sipping on his fifth or sixth beer of the night. I’d at least stopped at four. “Give it to me, pard.”
    “He was shot.”
    “Short version, sure enough.”
    “In broad daylight. He came out of an office building in Washington, was headed for a place he frequented for lunch, and somebody shot him.”
    “Jeez. He’s just walking to get some lunch and they nailed him? They got the guy, right?”
    “Not in the last three years. No one was sure where the shot came from or who the shooter could have been.”
    “Mmmm.”
    “Short-range shooting. Five or ten feet.”
    “Well, that’s got to be a Federal crime, wouldn’t you think?”
    “I would.”
    James belched. “So was there speculation? Did they have any suspects at all? Must have been some thoughts.”
    I scanned the news story, finally finding some theories. “Yeah. Everyone figured it was a nutcase, but there was a lot of speculation that it was fueled by the pressure from Cashdollar.”
    “Wow. Some guy in the senate gets killed and Cashdollar gets national press.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
    “But, dude, think about it. You want to get rid of somebody, but you don’t want to do it yourself. Think about the power the rev must have. Think about how much money he makes. All those people who want to buy into his aura.”
    “It says here that Cashdollar disavowed any knowledge of the shooting.”
    “No shit.”
    “And that he considered it a vile act. However —”
    “However,” James echoed.
    “He did make reference to the fact that God often takes matters into his own hands.”
    “He did what?”
    I refocused my attention on Cashdollar’s quote. “The reverend Preston Cashdollar said ‘While we are a peaceful people, while we do not tolerate violence, the Lord, in his own way, often takes matters into his own hands. And this may very well be one of those times.’ ”
    James stood up, stretched, and tossed the empty beer bottle into the trashcan in the kitchen, about five feet from the sofa in the living room. Our apartment is cozy. “So God took this matter into his own hands and shot the senator, huh? God is a marksman. Something I never knew.”
    I nodded. I didn’t even know Cashdollar, but here was a man of the cloth who found his fortunes rising when a prominent statesman was murdered. It was twisted and I had a hard time getting my mind around it.
    “A T-shirt slogan for Cashdollar, Skip. ‘Guns Don’t Kill People. God Does.’ ”
    “I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m supposed to be in by eight tomorrow morning. Some sort of training.”
    I wondered how I’d ever gotten involved in a situation like this. James was my best friend. Almost like a brother. But when his sales pitch started with — “There may have been a murder,” then I should have turned the other way and run as fast as I could. But no, James is my buddy. Couldn’t do it.
    “Tomorrow, amigo. You and me. We’re going into the tent.”
    “James, I’m not up for it.” The upcoming training meeting was already draining my energy.
    “I want to hear what he says about Barry Romans. If he’sgoing to crucify him, we should hear how he does it. Come on, pard. Should be good for a laugh. And we’ll have something to talk about when we play cards tomorrow night.”
    I thought about it. It had been a while since