Why are we even here? What were you thinking?
“It’s okay,” Jack said. “We’re minding our own business, right? We’re just passing through.”
At Stan Budding’s campaign headquarters the man who’d greeted Jack and Danny was black. But then, so were most of the people working at the headquarters, which made sense to Danny. Stan Budding, like Danny, was black.
The little man who’d greeted them seemed oddly energetic. He was wearing a Stan Budding for Mayor T-shirt over his wrinkled button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He appeared dumpy, needed a shave, talked rapidly, and was on edge, as if strung out on caffeine. The room reeked of burned coffee and, making a face, Jack had nudged Danny before gesturing toward the coffee maker in the corner, rolling his eyes for affect, as if to point out an obscenity. Jack did that all the time, like everything insulted his delicate senses. It took some effort for Danny to keep from laughing.
Jack felt obligated to help out. It’s …