Andy watched him touch the keyboard, then saw the brass letter molds drop from the magazine to the travel belt on their way to the holder. Then the spacebands falling into place at Gunnar’s deft, strong strokes.

Gunnar swiveled out of his chair, crouched across the room, and locked the door. Then to his desk where he removed a bottle of vodka and two small glasses. He poured them half full and gave one to Andy.

They clicked the bottoms and sipped. “Andy, I liked the Garcia story,” he said. “He was a mean old man but you made him tolerable.”

“Thanks,” said Andy. He’d been worried about the Garcia obit, wondering if he’d gotten enough truth into it. “Maybe a little heavy on the creative writing.”

“You know, he advertised with us for twenty years, always paid his bills. We can afford to let you polish him up.”

Andy nodded and sipped more vodka. His father and mother were liberal drinkers and Andy felt at ease with the stuff, like it was natural for him to drink it. Actually liked the flavor. Never felt thick or out of control. Just stabilized. With a slightly lower center of gravity. Sometimes a little goofy. Though J. J. Overholt, the Times publisher, would fire them both in a heartbeat if he walked in on this. Overholt didn’t drink.

“Nixon was in again yesterday, talking with J.J.,” said Gunnar.

“Amazing that the vice president of the United States has time for the Tustin Times,” said Andy.

“He wants to be president. Badly. He’ll do anything.”

“Stoltz with him?” Andy asked. “Stoltz is the guy who’s going to be president.”

“No, no. Stoltz just wants to make money and fight Communists.”

“Stoltz got Nixon this far,” Andy said with conviction.

Andy wanted to know things. He read the Los Angeles Times and the Santa Ana Register and every magazine he could get his hands on. Listened to the L.A. radio news while he did his homework. Liked the politics. Thought he was getting to know the way things worked.