CHAPTER 12: CAMEL RIDING
DOC’S MANUSCRIPT
New Orleans, December 18, 1987
Charles swaggered to his car. He would not have done so had he realized the swagger
of a fat man looks like a waddle. He opened the car door and dismissed Mark with
an imperious wave. As the trio roared out of the parking lot, they joked, laughed,
told whoppers, and argued about where to go for lunch, acting more like high-school
kids on a class trip than old guys working on a church project.
Charles heard his inner voice as he drove. In soothing western tones, it told him
he was in charge, and if the media did their job, after this pageant he’d be able
to branch into politics, consulting—anything he wanted to.
Bill, shortest of the three, ran his hands over the supple leather covering the back
seat of the
