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especially for Alan, who rolls his eyes when he gets to hear the same lines for the umpteenth time.
    â€œYes, that’s what she said happened.”
    â€œNo, I don’t have anything yet to prove it.”
    â€œYes. I’m trying to get it.”
    â€œNo, if it’s not there, we don’t have much else.”
    About this time another call comes through on another line and Alan picks it up. It’s the airport guy, so I quickly hang up and prepare for the reels to stop where they may.
    People have a tendency to want to join in on the good fortune of others, especially when they believe they are the source of that fortune, however indirect. I suppose it’s just human nature. You feel satisfaction, so they feel satisfaction; you can hear it in their voices. The security officer is considerably more animated on the call back and he’s excited to share because he’s found what I am searching for.
    Yes, there is a report of an assault that occurred in one of the terminals—Concourse Bravo, he calls it—between the ex-husband and the girlfriend. It apparently began with an argument that evolved into a shouting match and escalated into the slaparound. There was a busted lip, some blood and a short trip to the carpet for the girlfriend. Although the report doesn’t mention how or if the case was resolved, and makes no reference to an actual arrest, it is better than I had hoped.
    Alan and I do not relish the pain or misfortune of victims. If you ask us, a man who’s responsible for that kind of abuse should get everything that’s coming to him and probably more. But it’s not for us to decide. Our job is simply to find, document and collect. The judges and juries lie within the voting booths and campaign offices.
    Like anyone who enjoys his job, we take pride in our work and feel a certain sense of gratification when the task at hand results in success. So when the now-helpful airport security officer says he will be glad to fax the report to our office, I feel good.
    The client or candidate for whom we work generally has the next move. With a report like the one we’ve just provided, the scenario might go something like this:
    A mutual friend of both the incumbent and his potential opponent makes a friendly visit to the potential opponent and explains that a “situation” has arisen that could cause him some embarrassment and bad publicity. The friend offers a few details about the incident and says it would probably be better if he considered backing off his intentions of running against the incumbent. At this point, the potential candidate acts surprised and insists he was not involved in any such incident. He tells the friend that he has every intention of running. His insistence quickly turns to silence when the friend pulls out the incident report and hands it to him.
    Within a couple of weeks of passing along the faxed report from airport security, Alan and I get an e-mail telling us that the ex-husband has decided, in so many words, to stay put.
    â€œDid you read this?” I ask Alan, almost in passing.
    â€œYep. Pretty good,” he responds without looking up from his computer. Nothing more is said.
    During a campaign season, Alan and I walk through dozens of airport terminals, and every time I pass through Concourse Bravo, I’m reminded of front-porch exes and the things they know.

Chapter 3
Alan
    T wo plainclothes cops in an unmarked patrol car roll to a stop in front of the Jersey City train station and motion for us to get in. As I open the back door, Michael whispers something that I don’t fully understand, other than the words “make it back.” I don’t really need to hear the rest because I’m pretty sure I’m thinking the same thing: We’re breaking the law just by getting into this car. I hope we make it back uneventfully.
    The last time I climbed into the back of a police car, I was in my early twenties. It