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“No.”
“No?”
“The answer won’t change just because you ask the question again. In the meantime, tempus is fugiting.”
“Is it because Sal won’t want me to run?”
“No.” The single hand on the clock passed 2.
“Is Atherton going to offer the chance to someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Bastard,” Phil said, but was it really a disappointment? Yes, but not a big one. He had his law practice, and it still engaged him. Nor was he crazy about leaving New Hampshire for Washington DC; he was a country mouse and supposed he always would be.
As he had fourteen years ago, Phil changed direction. “Will Sal and Jake like the TV?”
“Yes.” A brief smile flicked across the Answer Man’s face.
Having thought of Jake, another question occurred to Phil. It was out of his mouth before he realized he might not want to know the answer.
“Will my son play pro baseball?”
“No.”
The hand on the clock passed 1 and headed for zero.
“Any pro sport?”
“No.”
This was more disappointing than hearing he wouldn’t be asked to run for the Senate, but was it surprising? It wasn’t. Sports were a pyramid, and only those who were almost divinely talented reached the top.
“College ball?” Surely that would be in Jacob’s grasp.
“No.”
Like a gambler on a losing streak who keeps throwing good money after bad, Phil asked, “High school ball? Surely—”
“No.”
Phil stared at the Answer Man, mystified and starting to be worried. Starting to be scared, actually. Don’t ask, he thought, and one of his mother’s favorite sayings occurred to him: Peep not at a keyhole, lest ye be vexed.
The hand on the Answer Man’s clock reached zero and gave out its hoarse BRRRANG sound just before Phil asked his last question: “Is my son okay?”
“I can’t answer that, sorry. You were just a bit late, Just Phil.”
“I was?”
No answer. Of course not. His time was up.
“I suppose I was. All right, I’ll go again. I can do that, can’t I?” No answer, so Phil answered for himself. “I can, of course I can. The sign says per three minutes.” He bent and slipped the hundred out from behind his license. “Just let me… okay, here it is…”
He lifted his head and saw the sign now read $200 PER 3 MINUTES and NO FREE ANSWERS.
“Wait,” he said. “That isn’t what it said. You crooked me.”
As before—or almost—the Answer Man said, “Perhaps you crooked yourself.”
