“A little of both, I suppose.”
“Okay,” I smiled, tightening my grip. “Honesty I can take.”
We shook hands, and I tried to take Lowe’s measure, feeling his spirit as our palms touched. The contact felt open, and I knew the fight was over. Good, I thought. Maybe it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and get back to work.
“So,” I asked as our hands broke contact, “any ideas on who’s got it in for you this week?”
“No. Not really. I can name plenty of groups and individuals that might like to see me disappear, but no one I can point to and say, ‘They’re the ones.’”
“Too bad. Oh well, let me get a grip on this. Why’s so much heat coming at you, anyway?”
Hubert took over.
“’Cause Andy’s the perfect target. He d-don’t want to play ball with the machine. He’s runnin’ on a clean record
