He had just begun the process of splashing himself with beer when his doorbell rang.
“Who the hell… ?” he muttered, slightly alarmed, because he certainly wasn’t expecting company. “Who is it?” he gruffly said through the locked front door.
“It’s me, ” a muffled female voice replied, and at first, Andy did not place it and thought of the serial killer who had left the evidence on his doorstep.
“Who’s me?” he asked.
“Hammer. ”
“Wow, ” he said in surprise as he opened the door. “I’m sorry I sounded rather unfriendly, but I had no idea it was you. I mean, I didn’t at first. So I almost didn’t recognize your voice, because I… ”
The blood didn’t seem to be flowing to his brain as he looked her up and down. Hammer was dressed like an Outlaws motorcycle gangster, all in black studded leather, black Dingo boots, and a Harley jacket. Slung over her shoulder was a Harley tote bag that no doubt contained a small arsenal. She had hardened her handsome face with gaudy layers of make-up, and her hair was teased.
“Don’t give me a hard time, ” she said right off as she walked inside the house. “The last thing I want to look like is a cheap motorcycle slut, but I had to do something. I’m just worried about our arriving by helicopter looking like this, ” she added as she took in his disguise. “And we can’t get any undercover troopers out to Tangier because the only pilots I have are you and Macovich, and both of you are busy, and the ferries aren’t running because of the goddamn restrictions the governor has imposed because of your Tory Treasure essay. That’s why I decided to drop by right away and ask you to consider if maybe we should reconfigure what we’re doing. ”
She followed him into the dining room, and they sat in his makeshift office. As Hammer noticed the computer, printer, filing cabinets, and piles of research materials, it gave her a strange feeling to realize this was the secret headquarters of Trooper Truth, even though she knew very well who Trooper Truth really was and where he worked and lived. It oddly occurred to her that even she had begun to bond with the fantasy writer and to wish she could meet him.
“This is ridiculous, ” she said.
“I know, ” Andy agreed. “I look pretty stupid and I’m sorry I smell like beer and haven’t shaved, and you’re probably right. A state police helicopter may not fit with our disguises. ”
“What I meant was, it’s eerie sitting in the place where you write your essays. I feel as if I’ve just walked behind the curtain and discovered the Wizard of Oz or am in the
Bat Cave or something. And I must say, a part of me is very disappointed because I think I must have started believing in Trooper Truth, too. Oh good God, don’t tell me I was becoming a fan!” She shook her head and sighed. “I must be losing my mind. In the first place, I’m a fan of no one and think being a fan of anything or anyone is irrational and silly. Why would a rational human being inflate someone to Mount Olympian proportions, think they’re a god, and hang up posters of them?
“How does it make sense for someone to adore and even want to go to bed with a perfect stranger?” she went on as Andy stared down at his hands, ill at ease and hurt that she had, perhaps, liked Trooper Truth better than him. “I guess what this means is there are probably thousands, if not millions, of perfect strangers out there who read Trooper Truth and worship him and entertain sexual fantasies about him, ” Hammer continued. “I know Windy certainly feels that way, only in her case, she’s convinced that Trooper Truth is at least eighty years old and has to use a walker. I guess the gig is up, ” Hammer announced by slapping her hand down on the table.
“What gig?” Andy replied with a hint of pain and anger. “There’s no gig and never has been. It doesn’t matter what nom de plume I use or if I use one at all. I’m still the one who has written the essays. I am Trooper Truth!”