The Shadow Killer

“Your experience isn’t unique. I didn’t have a lousy relationship with my father-I didn’t have any relationship with him.

“He was a big shot in politics, and he was never around. I tried everything to get him to pay attention to me. I wasn’t an easy kid. I was born with a birthmark that covers half my face. In a weird way, being a freak was liberating. I had nothing to lose-so I took a lot of chances. My mother used to say that I didn’t have friends, I had fans. Other kids hung around me just to see how far I was going to push it.

“What I’m trying to say is that I grew up fine without a father. You can too. There are people who can help you, 1121. I can help you. Just call. You have our number, 1-800-555-2333. Please just call.”

CHAPTER NINE

I stare at the two rows of lights in front of me. Each row has eight lights- one for each phone line. The bottom light goes solid when Nova answers it. When she puts up the line for me to take the call on air, the top light goes solid. When we’re going full tilt that means sixteen greenish-yellow lights are blinking at me. Tonight there’s nothing. The lines are dead. The lights are dark.

Nova sends the intro for the next tune. I open my mike and announce the title on air.

“Here’s Madonna with ‘Papa Don’t Preach.’ If any of you out there can weave a connection between what our troubled friend is going through and ‘Papa Don’t Preach,’ you can have my job.”

Through my earphones, Madonna sings of an unmarried girl pleading with her father to accept her decision to keep her baby. I stare at the phone lines. The first three lines are for local callers. If 1121’s call comes in on one of those lines, we might be able to get to him in time.

But the lines stay dark. Madonna’s nearing the end of her song. I glance at the control room. It would be reassuring to make eye contact with Nova, but this isn’t my night. And there’s a new and unwelcome development. Howard Dowhanuik has come into the control room. My father has always dominated every room he enters, and the control room is no exception. He has the body of an aging linebacker-tall, somewhat stooped but still powerful. Suddenly even the cops seem small and vulnerable. My father says a few words to them, bends to speak to Nova and then bingo, he walks through the door to my studio.

I’m not in the mood for company. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer. He just moves toward my desk and stands there, towering over me.

“Get out,” I say.

He locks eyes with me.

“Not until you hear what I have to say.” His voice is deep, gruff and commanding- a good voice for a politician.

“Make it fast,” I say. “I’m back on the air in fifteen seconds.”

“I was listening to your show when I was at Nighthawks. I’m pretty sure I know who loser1121 is.”

I open my talkback.

“Nova, Howard thinks he can identify…”

Nova is curt.

“He told us. I’ll keep playing music till you’re ready to go back on air.” She pauses. When she speaks again, I can feel her anxiety. “Charlie, don’t let your feelings about Howard get in the way. He’s all we’ve got.”

I turn to my father.

“Okay. Shoot.”

Without being asked, Howard takes the chair we use for guest experts.

“Is there any information you’re not making public?” he asks.

I open the email note from 1121. After my father reads it, I open the attachments- the picture of the carving knife and finally the blueprint with 1121’s route marked out. I turn to Howard.

“Does this fit what you know?”

“It fits.” My father picks up the newspaper I bought at the drugstore, folds it so he’s looking at the photo of the political Rising Star and his family. Howard’s hands are rough-the hands of a man who still likes to chop his own wood and maintain his own vehicles. His forefinger taps the picture of the boy staring down at the picnic table. “That’s 1121,” he says. “Josh James Kirkwood. I don’t know the girls’ names, but the mother’s name is Marion.” Howard moves his forefinger to the image of the Rising Star. “You’ll recognize this prick. He’s the man destiny has sent to save my party from itself-Josh Kirkwood.”

I take the newspaper from him and stare at the picture.

“How did you make the connection?”

My father massages the back of his neck. It’s the same thing I do when I’m tense.

“There was a meeting at Kirkwood’s house a couple of weeks ago,” he says. “I’ve been shooting off my mouth about how much I hate the direction the party’s going in, so I guess they were hoping to win me over. It didn’t work. Kirkwood is a self-righteous, condescending asshole. He was pissing me off, so I left. I was getting into my car when the kid came running after me and asked me if I was your father. I said I was, and the kid-Josh-said that I must be really proud of you.”

“What did you say?”

My father is used to answering tough questions, but this time, he hesitates.

“I said that I didn’t know you.”

I thought I was past being hurt by this man, but apparently not.

“At least you didn’t lie,” I say.

My father moves closer. I can smell his aftershave. In the days when he was drinking heavily, he used to drench himself in it. For a kid, it was overpowering, but tonight I find the scent surprisingly comforting.

“There’s more,” he says. “Josh said I should get to know you because you were a really great person.”

“So we know that Josh’s not much of a judge of character,” I say tightly.

My father pounds the table with his fist.

“God damn it, Charlie, this isn’t about you and me. This is about Josh.” He picks up the earphones on the desk in front of him and puts them on. “Turn on our mikes. Let’s do what we need to do.”

I flick on our microphones and lean into mine. My voice is tense.

“We have a guest-Howard Dowhanuik, a political legend in our time, and my father. Howard and I are going to talk about what it’s like for a boy to grow up in his father’s shadow.”

My father’s been staring at his hands, but when he hears my words, his massive head jerks up.

“Politics was just my job. I never made a big deal of who I was.”

“You didn’t have to,” I say. “There were people who did it for you. You were always surrounded by hangers-on, telling you how terrific you were, how brilliant your last speech was, how the country would fall apart if you didn’t win the next election. You were always away-righting wrongs and drying every tear.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he says quietly. “I was around. Besides, you didn’t need me. You had a lot of friends.”

“They weren’t friends. They were kids who wanted to catch my act-see how high I’d go or how fast I’d drive or how many chances I’d take. Everybody noticed me except the one I wanted to notice me.”

Howard looks dumbfounded.

“Is that really what all that crazy behavior was about?”

I grab his arm.

“It wasn’t crazy behavior. I wanted you to pay attention. I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to really see me. 1121, I hope you’re listening. This isn’t an act. This is the truth. I know how you feel. I know what it’s like to be lost in your father’s shadow.” My voice breaks. “I know what it’s like to have a father who’s larger than life.”

Howard’s eyes are hooded.