The Tower of Endless Worlds

  “It all began in a Wal-Mart,” said Thomas Wycliffe. He folded his arms over his chest and looked over Lake Michigan’s choppy waters.

  “Congressman?” said Eddie Carson, fingering his tape recorder.

  They stood on the far end of Chicago’s Navy Pier, the waves lashing at the concrete. The pale blue sky faded to purple as the sun dimmed, outlining the downtown skyscrapers. Couples wandered arm-in-arm past Carson and Wycliffe, along with groups of teenagers heading to the Pier’s Ferris Wheel. Eddie supposed that he and Wycliffe looked like just another pair of corporate drones strategizing over coffee.

  He disliked the idea.

  He wanted nothing to do with Wycliffe.

  “My political career began in a Wal-Mart,” said Wycliffe. He stood a head shorter than Eddie. His lower jaw jutted beneath his upper lip, and small scars pockmarked his face. Narrowed brown eyes watched Eddie from behind thick glasses. He wondered how such an ugly man had gone so far in politics. “It began that day, in that Wal-Mart. Please, Mr. Carson, do you mind if we sit? My back has been troubling me lately.”

  “Of course,” said Eddie, gesturing at a table near the railing. They sat, and Wycliffe sighed in relief and took a sip of his coffee. He stared at Eddie for a while, a small smile on his lips.

  “Why don’t you work for my campaign, Mr. Carson?” said Wycliffe.

  Eddie glared at him. “I’ll tell you. Because,” he ticked off the points on his fingers, “first, your ideas on tax reform are absurd. Second, your foreign policy views are racist, aggressive, and downright silly. Third, your positions on abortion and gay rights are archaic. Fourth, there are your alleged ties to the Russian Mafia. And fifth, Mr. Wycliffe, I find you personally offensive.”

  “Ah,” said Wycliffe. “And you’re firmly committed to Senator Fulbright, as I understand.”

  “Yes,” said Eddie. “Senator Fulbright will do what is best for the people of Illinois. I’m not so sure about you.”

  Wycliffe chuckled. “Yes, yes. We all know about Edward Carson, the bold popular political columnist and reporter. That razor-sharp pen of yours has caused me a lot of damage, you know.”

  “Good,” said Eddie.

  “Whatever happened to objective journalism?” said Wycliffe, spreading his arms to the sky. “Did honest reporting die with our fathers? William Randolph Hearst no doubt smiles benevolently upon you from his place in hell.”

  “I didn’t come here to be insulted, Mr. Wycliffe,” said Eddie. “You said over the phone you wanted to give me an exclusive interview.”

  Wycliffe folded his hands. “I did, didn’t I?” He smiled. “I’m a man of my word, Mr. Carson.” Eddie tried not to laugh. “I’ll answer any questions you want…but first, let me give you a bit of background. No doubt it will make a fine story for your paper’s readers.”

  Eddie reached into his jacket pocket and clicked on his tape recorder. “Go ahead.”

  Anno Domini 1994/Year of the Councils 954