Sleeping Dogs Read Online Free Page A

away from the talking points, he tended to wander and sometimes get lost. Time was a big factor—a sixty-second response in many instances—so he had to be concise.
    I wanted to get up and pace. Sort of tough to do when you’re sitting in a theater chair. I had a bad feeling about tonight. But then I had a bad feeling about every night. I suppose it’s the consultant’s version of flop sweat.
    The debate was only a few minutes away, the audience packing the seats, the three journalists in place onstage and ready with their questions, and the microphones being tested and tested again. The atmosphere was that of a prizefight.
    Kate leaned in and said, “I wish I’d gotten drunk for this.” She was feeling the pressure, too.
    â€œJust smoke a couple of joints.”
    She smiled and socked me in the arm. “Can you imagine what the press would do if I lit up a joint now?”
    â€œThey’re just as worried as we are,” I said, indicating the row where the upper echelon of Lake’s staffers sat.
    â€œIf they are, they’re hiding it better.”
    And that was true. Our half row of people was decidedly reserved, where the Lake people were laughing and grinning and jabbering away at people around them. They were treating this like party time.
    Gabe was staring off. If he was interested in anything around us, he wasn’t letting on.
    The woman representing the university then walked to center stage with a hand microphone. She offered a pleasant, studied smile to the anxious audience and then went to work.
    â€œI’m very happy to see that we have a full house for this very important debate tonight. I’d first like to thank the Wellington people
for letting us use this beautiful new auditorium and for helping us bring this event to the public. They went above and beyond in making sure that we got everything we requested. And the same for state public television. They sent some of their best people here for three full days to give the candidates a chance to get used to the stage and the lighting and standing at the lecterns. The two gentlemen we’re bringing you tonight are under a lot of pressure to do well this evening, so having the opportunity to be familiar with the physical setup is a blessing for all of us, not just the crew.”
    She moved downstage to where the three reporters were sitting at a long desk. Because they faced the stage, we could see them only by watching the big monitors suspended from the ceiling on both sides of the apron.
    She introduced each journalist with abundant praise and then said, “Now let me present our guests for this evening.”
    They appeared quickly, resolutely, both of them swollen with fake confidence and toothy swagger, both blue-suited, hair-spray neat, red-white-and-blue happy to be here among the voters. They’d both likely peed their pants twice already.
    The walk to the lectern went fine until Nichols stumbled when he was about three feet away from it. The audience gasped when it looked as if he might fall, then laughed when he not only righted himself but risked a courtly bow. He’d saved the moment. No need to put the cyanide capsule under my tongue just yet.
    â€œThat was really nice,” Laura whispered to me.
    â€œOh, yeah,” I said, “you can’t underestimate the value of a good stumble.”
    â€œOh, you.”
    The hostess kept the bios brief. Each man got fulsome applause from his side of the aisle. They stood firm accepting it, gripping the lecterns as if they were guiding a ship through turbulent waters. They
knew better than to smile as their applause peaked. It would look too Hollywood.
    The debate, though it really wasn’t a debate at all, just a Q&A, began with the downstate reporter asking Warren if he regretted cosponsoring a bill that would have lessened mandatory prison terms for first-time drug users. “No regrets at all. If it’s proved that they