“Where are we going?” I asked as Welland pushed the car north.

“Nowhere in particular,” Sebastian said. “Just toodling about.” He finished the candy bar, wadded the wrapper down into a tiny ball, and tossed it to the floor. There was no other trash there, so I guessed Welland’s duties included more than just driving.

“This’ll make quite a story,” I said. “‘Prison Boss Kidnaps Standard Reporter.’”

“I don’t think you’ll write that,” he said, moving his tongue over his teeth, getting the last little bits of chocolate out of the way.

“Why not?”

“Because you haven’t heard my proposal. Once you have, I think you’ll be feeling more kindly toward me.”

“What sort of proposal?”

He reached out and touched my knee. “First of all, I totally understand if you don’t give me an answer today. I know you have a lot on your plate right now, what with this unfortunate business of your wife.”

“You know all about that,” I said.

“It would be difficult not to,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news. I believe some reports are calling you a ‘person of interest,’ which has always struck me as a nice way of saying ‘suspect.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”

“How soon did Reeves call you after he left the police station?” I asked.

Sebastian grinned. “I will grant you, the only thing that travels faster than good news is bad news. But then, in your line of work, you probably already know that. Tell me this. Why do the media only focus on the negative? It’s so discouraging, dispiriting even.”

“When a plane lands safely, it doesn’t tend to warrant a headline,” I said.

“Yes, that’s true. Good point. But look at my situation. Here I am, offering a needed service, willing to bring jobs and prosperity to your little shithole town, and all I get is grief. At least from the likes of you.”

“But not my paper,” I said. “It’s been very kind. Have you made a deal yet with Madeline to buy her land?”

Sebastian smiled. “Star Spangled Corrections is exploring a number of options, Mr. Harwood.”

“What makes you think that my current problems will stop me from writing about your plans?”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about journalism, but I think even a minor newspaper like the Standard would have qualms about having a murder suspect actively reporting on the news. My guess is you’ll be on a leave before long.”

Was that something he actually knew? Just a guess? Either way, he was probably right.

“And frankly, even if your current problems, as you call them, should happen to disappear, I don’t think it’s in your interests to pursue this any further.”

“And why would that be?” I asked.

“Let’s come back to that later,” Sebastian said. “What I’d like to do now is get to my proposal.”

“By all means,” I said.

“I wondered how you’d feel about a career change.”

“A what?”

“A career change. There’s no future in newspapers. Surely you must be considering your options.”

“What are you getting at?”

“When Star Spangled Corrections does set up here-and we will, let me assure you-we’re going to need a sharp media relations officer. Someone to deal with the press. I think someone familiar with how the media operates is the way to go.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am. Do I strike you as someone who likes to joke around, David?”

Up front, Welland snickered.

“No,” I said.

“I’m being quite sincere here. I’d like you to be my media relations officer. I can guess what you’re being paid at the Standard. Seventy, eighty thousand?”

Less.

“Your starting salary would be nearly double that. Not a bad wage for a man with a wife and young son.”

He seemed to linger on “son.”

“You haven’t even broken ground yet,” I said. “I guess, in the meantime, I’d still be doing stories about the opposition to your prison.”

“As a matter of fact, there’s so much prep work involved, I’d need you to start right away if you’re agreeable,” Sebastian said. When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “Look, David, neither of us is stupid. I don’t want to insult you. I’ll be honest. If you take this job, you solve two problems for me. Your editorial campaign against my facility ends, and I end up with a bright young man with a lot of media savvy. It’s the old axiom about having your enemies in the tent with you pissing out, instead of being outside pissing in. I’m asking you to come into the tent, David, and I’m prepared to compensate you well for your trouble.”

After a moment, I said, “As you said, I have a lot on my plate right now.”

He leaned back, nodded. “Of course, of course. What must you think of me, even making such a proposal when you’re going through such a difficult time.”

“But I can still give you an answer now,” I said.

“Oh,” Sebastian said, taken aback. “Well then, let’s have it.”

“No.”

He looked disappointed, but it seemed feigned. “In that case, that leaves just one other item of business. I had hoped, had you accepted my proposal, this next thing would be a simple matter. But now I suspect it may be more difficult.”

“What’s that?”

“Who’s your source?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Who was it you came up here to meet?”

“I didn’t come up here to meet with anyone,” I said.

Sebastian smiled at me as though I were a child who had disappointed him. “Please, David. I know that’s why you came up here Friday. I know a woman was in touch with you. And I know she didn’t show up. Now you’re up here again, only two days later, and you’d have me believe it’s not for the same reason? Were you stood up again?”

“I’m not here to meet with anyone.”

Sebastian sighed and took in the scenery flashing past his window. Without looking at me, he said, “Do you have time for a story, David?”

“I’m something of a captive audience,” I said as the limo continued down the road.

“One time, at our facility outside Atlanta, we were having trouble with an inmate who went by the nickname of Buddy.”

Welland glanced at his mirror.

Sebastian said, “He got that name because everyone wanted to be his friend. It’s not that he was the life of the party or anything. It’s just that everyone thought it was in their interests to stay on his good side. He was a tough character. Buddy was a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, a white supremacist gang that’s insinuated itself into correctional facilities across the country. Are you familiar with them?”

I just looked at him.

“Yes, of course you are,” Sebastian said. He shifted slightly to the center of the seat and called up to his driver. “Welland, given that you are our resident expert, how would you characterize the Aryan chaps?”

Welland glanced into the mirror. “Scariest motherfuckers who ever lived.”

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “A fair assessment. Welland, would you like to tell this? I’m always afraid when I do it sounds boastful.”

Welland collected his thoughts a moment, licked his lips, and then said, “Mr. Sebastian had a problem with Buddy. He was an expert at piss-writing.”

“At what?” I asked. All I could picture was taking a leak outside as a kid, writing my name in the snow.

“You can use piss to write, and it’s like invisible ink. When you hold the paper up to the light or heat it, you can see the message. Mr. Sebastian found out Buddy was sending a lot of messages this way, communicating with his associates, and he didn’t want him to do it anymore. It wasn’t conducive to the smooth operation of the facility.”

That made Sebastian smile.

“So Mr. Sebastian here had Buddy brought to his office, keeping him cuffed, of course. One of the guards, he undid Buddy’s pants, pulled ‘em down around his ankles.” Welland coughed, cleared his throat, like maybe he didn’t enjoy telling this story. “And that was when Mr. Sebastian put fifty thousand volts to his package.”

I looked at Sebastian.