{"id":376,"date":"2020-02-17T12:01:58","date_gmt":"2020-02-17T19:01:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.camdenparkpress.com\/laurynchristopher\/?page_id=376"},"modified":"2020-02-17T13:01:56","modified_gmt":"2020-02-17T20:01:56","slug":"gabardine-suit","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.camdenparkpress.com\/laurynchristopher\/gabardine-suit\/","title":{"rendered":"The Man in the Gabardine Suit"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

This free fiction appears here as part of The Infinite Bard<\/a> project. A new story is posted every other week, so be sure to check back often!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old Simon & Garfunkel song, ‘America,’ is one of my favorites; but for years I’ve wondered about ‘the man in the gabardine suit’ who is briefly mentioned in the third verse. Who was he? Why was he on that bus? What was his story? And\u00a0since the song wasn’t going to answer those questions, I decided to\u00a0answer them myself – and to honor the original inspiration by setting\u00a0 the story on that Greyhound bus…
– Lauryn<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Man in the Gabardine Suit<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Lauryn Christopher<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man the Agency referred to as \u2018Conrad\u2019 got on the bus in Chicago. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A folded newspaper poked up from the seat pocket in front\nof him. He glanced at the masthead. Cleveland\nPress, Wednesday, June 11, 1959<\/em>. A couple of days old, a bit crumpled, and\nwith grease stains from being wrapped around a previous passenger\u2019s lunch. But\na free paper was a free paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He flipped to the sports section. He was a White Sox fan\nhimself, but the paper\u2019s spotlight was all about the Indians\u2019 winning season,\nand Colavito \u2013 the team\u2019s current darling \u2013 hitting four home runs against the\nOrioles the night before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He held the paper open wide as he pretended to read,\ndiscouraging other boarding passengers from taking the vacant seat next to him;\nsurreptitiously watching them over the top of the paper as they made their way\npast him. When everyone was seated and the bus finally pulled out of the\nstation and he hadn\u2019t been dragged off in cuffs, he relaxed. But only a little.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It had gotten too hot to stay in Chicago. But New York \u2013\nyes, New York was a good city to get lost in. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd had chosen a spot about halfway back in the big\nGreyhound Scenicruiser. It was one of the newer buses \u2013 the fabric of the seat\ncover wasn\u2019t frayed, and the vinyl trim around the edges hadn\u2019t yet turned dry\nand brittle. The floor had only a handful of sticky spots, but the lingering\nsmell of tobacco told him that it had already seen more than a few miles\u2019 worth\nof passengers, as did the undertone of sweat that caught his attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d ridden in worse. Rickety old buses, the best he could\nafford for three summers straight, when he worked just long enough in one place\nto buy a one-way ticket to the next small town. There wasn\u2019t anything he\nwouldn\u2019t do for enough money. He\u2019d ridden in open-air cattle trucks and buses\nwith cracked windows that only stayed closed if you wanted them open and trucks\nwith holes rusted right through the floors. Extra ventilation, a driver said\nonce. And on a hot, dry day like today, the dirt kicked up by the tires would\nfilter into the bus, coating everyone with a fine layer of dust; mud splashing\nup through the floor on rainy days. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, the combination of buses and sweat and tobacco were\nall-too familiar. As the Greyhound pulled out of the station, Lloyd fished the\npacket of Lucky Strike cigarettes from the inside pocket of his dark blue\ngabardine suit jacket <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMind if I smoke?\u201d he asked the man across the aisle from\nhim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man looked up from his newspaper. \u201cGo right ahead,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cIf you do, no one will mind when I light up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The two exchanged a laugh. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Settling back into his seat, Lloyd lit up, the smoke\ncurling up to the ceiling and hovering there for a moment before spreading out\nand joining the thin layer of dingy film already beginning to tint the slick\nplastic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had no luggage, just the slim black briefcase that\nrested on the vacant seat next to him. That and the off-the-rack gabardine suit\nhe wore created the illusion that he was simply one of many businessmen who\nperiodically commuted between the larger cities, choosing to travel affordably\n\u2013 if slowly \u2013 by bus, and saving the pricey air travel for more pressing\nmatters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In truth, Lloyd would have preferred to take the train \u2013\nand if he\u2019d actually been a commuting businessman, that\u2019s exactly how he would\nhave traveled. But he\u2019d received a tip that the traitor he was seeking had purchased\na ticket on this bus, so here he was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He lifted his briefcase to his lap and opened it, grateful\nfor the high seat backs which helped keep the contents private from prying\neyes. He opened a manila folder he\u2019d been given along with the tip about the\nbus \u2013 all the information the Agency had been able to gather about the\nsuspected traitor \u2013 who they\u2019d code-named \u201cConrad\u201d \u2013 contained on two sheets of\npaper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first page listed the information Conrad was presumed\nto have passed along to his Soviet contacts. Lloyd reviewed it, finding nothing\nhe hadn\u2019t been briefed on previously. A hastily-scribbled note at the bottom of\nthe page indicating that whether Conrad was a Soviet spy or a turncoat American\nwas still an unanswered question caught his eye and he shook his head in\ndisbelief. Six months chasing him, and they still had so little to go on. It\ndidn\u2019t bode well for their ability to catch him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd turned to the second page and studied the\nhand-sketched likeness, committing it to memory. It was the only image they had\nof Conrad, and it was so vague that the drawing might have been replaced with\nthe words \u2018white male, mid-forties, average height and weight, receding\nhairline,\u2019 for all the use the sketch provided.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at the picture and then at the man across the\naisle who was still reading his newspaper. He perfectly matched the description.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Problem was, so did Lloyd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The businessman across the aisle made Conrad nervous. He\nseemed polite, but not overly friendly, and after their brief exchange they had\nignored each other \u2013 him pretending to read his newspaper while the businessman\nbusied himself with the paperwork in his briefcase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe it was the suit. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He immediately dismissed that. Half the men on the bus \u2013\nhimself included \u2013 were wearing suits. Most of them had removed their jackets\nand stowed them in the overhead racks with their luggage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d kept his own jacket on in spite of the perspiration\nforming at the back of his neck and under his arms. If he didn\u2019t take it off, he\nwouldn\u2019t be delayed by having to retrieve it if he needed to leave the bus. A\nbus trip might be a slow way to travel, what with all the small town stops to\ntake on passengers, refuel the bus, and give passengers time to eat and relieve\nthemselves, but if it came to it, he could simply walk away at the next stop.\nYou couldn\u2019t do that on a plane. On a plane, he would have been trapped for the\nduration of the trip, with no opportunity to escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A bead of sweat formed at his temple, and he brushed it\naway, pushing it back into his thinning hair. He\u2019d waited too long. He should\nhave left Chicago weeks ago, when he first suspected that the Agency was\ngetting close to catching him. But when he told his new handler of his fears,\nthe cheeky Brit had simply told him that he\u2019d been watching too many spy movies\nand needed to buck up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So he\u2019d gritted his teeth and \u2018bucked up,\u2019 and turned\nhimself into a nervous wreck in the process. No surprise, that, him working in\nthe Agency\u2019s regional headquarters in downtown Chicago and surrounded by agents\nat every turn. But the Brit was right, analysts were the invisible drudges of\nthe spy world, and he\u2019d slightly altered the data about the mysterious Conrad to\nrender it useless, even as he continued funneling classified information to the\nBrit to pass along the chain to his Soviet contacts. He was right under their\nnoses, and the smug-suited spies hadn\u2019t blinked an eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then the Brit failed to answer him for over a week, and\nhe knew it was time to move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conrad looked across the aisle at the businessman in the\nsuit, who had closed his briefcase, finished his cigarette, and was now looking\nout the window. He didn\u2019t recognize him from the Agency. There was no telltale\nweapon bulge visible under the dark blue gabardine. So if he wasn\u2019t hiding a\nweapon, why hadn\u2019t he removed his jacket?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shook his head. Maybe the Brit was right about his\nimagination getting the better of him, too, and he just needed to buck up for a\nfew more hours. He leaned back in his seat, bracing his shoulder against the\nwindow, and closed his eyes, hoping the rolling rhythm of the bus would soothe\nhis frayed nerves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd stared out the window at the blur of refineries and\nfactories as the Greyhound stretched its long legs, taking them out of Chicago,\naround the lower shores of Lake Michigan, and turning east, the lake view shifting\nto the industrial district that seemed to represent most of Gary, Indiana. With\nthe change in scenery, the smells coming in through the ventilation changed\nfrom simple auto exhaust to the biting chemical scents of the steel mills, and\nLloyd\u2019s thoughts turned inward, on Conrad and how to catch him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He contemplated his options. He was no Sherlock Holmes,\nbut a large part of being an agent was about being observant, and he considered\nhis powers of observation to be reasonably well-developed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Assuming the sketch was even the least bit accurate, there\nwere seven men on the bus who fit Conrad\u2019s description.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ruled himself out, leaving six possible traitors. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man seated six rows behind him, who had boarded the\nbus with a woman of comparable age and two school-aged children \u2013 presumably\nhis wife and family \u2013 was an unlikely suspect. Not that a family man was\nincapable of betraying his country, or that a spy couldn\u2019t pull the wool over\nthe eyes of those closest to him \u2013 Lloyd knew just how possible that was, his\nown Eleanor still happy in the belief that he was a traveling salesman for a\nfarm equipment manufacturer in their home town of Kansas City.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the family man seated behind him was too relaxed, with\nnone of the watchful, guarded habits of even a deep-cover operative. He played\nwith his children \u2013 whose chatter provided details about the family trip to\nvisit cousins in Pennsylvania \u2013 argued with his wife about the undesirable\naspects of extending a reciprocal invitation to the aforementioned cousins, and\ngave off a convincing air of having few worries beyond those of the average man\nabout to spend his summer vacation with the in-laws.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd would continue to watch him \u2013 until he had Conrad in\ncustody, he couldn\u2019t be too sure \u2013 but crossed the family man off his mental\nlist of suspects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of the remaining five, the bus driver was an equally\nunlikely candidate. Not that someone in his position wasn\u2019t often privy to\ninformation they shouldn\u2019t have had \u2013 just as he was listening to the\nconversations around him, and had already formed opinions of the two women\nthree rows ahead of him who had chattered nonstop about their shopping trip\never since they boarded, or the sullen young man several rows back who was\nclearly contemplating a way of avoiding the draft \u2013 the bus driver would have\nample access to information.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the type of information he would glean driving back\nand forth across the country was seldom likely to be of any interest to the\nSoviets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That left four.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The now-sleeping newspaper-reader in the seat opposite him\nhad the pale complexion and slight softness of someone who spent most of his\ndays in an office. Depending on what kind of office he worked in, it was\npossible he might have access to information the Soviets would think useful.\nBesides, he\u2019d spent several minutes pretending to read the same page of his\nnewspaper before folding it up and stuffing it in the seat pocket in front of\nhim. He was nervous and twitchy about something, and would bear further\nwatching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd left him on the list, along with the other three\nConrad-candidates, who he hadn\u2019t yet had a good chance to study.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was going to be a very long bus ride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conrad had never intended to become a traitor. In fact, it\nhad actually started out quite innocently \u2013 accidentally, even. He\u2019d stopped by\na bar for drinks with a friend after work one evening last summer, only his\nfriend hadn\u2019t shown up \u2013 he later discovered he\u2019d gone to the wrong bar, but by\nthen the damage was done. Over multiple pints of beer, his tongue had loosened,\nand soon he was telling the bartender all about concerns in the intelligence\ncommunity about plans to transport freight from Turkey to Iran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next thing he knew, someone put a hand on his right\nshoulder while an accented voice whispered in his left ear, \u201cIf you hear\nanything else of interest, let me know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He never saw the man, only his hand as he placed a small\ncard with a phone number on the bar in front of him. But a few weeks later,\nwhen the evening news announced that an Army transport plane had been shot down\nand the crew members were being held by the Russians, his gut twisted in a knot\nand he barely made it to the bathroom before he was violently ill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had he caused this?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if in answer to his unspoken question, his telephone\nrang, and the voice on the other end of the line \u2013 the same one from the bar \u2013\ninformed him that the crew members would be released unharmed if he would agree\nto provide useful information on an ongoing basis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nine men\u2019s lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course he agreed. And every time he called the number, or\nthe next, or the next, as he was passed to different handlers, Conrad thought\nof the nine crew members whose lives he\u2019d saved. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He refused to think about how many deaths he was\nresponsible for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They pulled into Pittsburgh just after sunrise on Saturday\nmorning. Lloyd thought the sleeping city seemed almost peaceful, and regretted\nthe hustle and bustle of everyday life that would soon disrupt the early\nmorning stillness. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The family man got off the bus, together with his wife and\nchildren. Lloyd noted their departure, along with that of one of the other\nConrad-candidates \u2013 a factory man, judging from the heavy fabric of his\nshort-sleeve shirt and trousers and the thick-soled work boots he wore. He\nwalked with a slight limp, the knuckles of his leathery hands turning white as\nhe clutched the rail on his way down the steps and off the bus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wouldn\u2019t be the first time an operative had adopted a physically\nchallenged persona to help him hide in plain sight. Lloyd kept his eye on the\nfactory man as he collected his large duffel from the Greyhound\u2019s luggage\ncompartment, shouldered it awkwardly, and limped away, heading down the street\nrather than into the bus station. Lloyd watched him until he turned the corner\nand was out of sight, but the man never broke character, never resettled the duffle\nmore comfortably on his shoulder, never slipped into a normal stride. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd crossed him off his list.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The young couple got on in Pittsburgh. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conrad noticed them \u2013 how could he not, when they squeezed\ntheir way down the aisle, laughing and stumbling, arms wrapped around each\nother as though the thought of allowing the few inches of separation that\nwalking single file would require was somehow unthinkable to them. They\npractically fell into the empty row behind him, apologies for jostling his seat\nmixed in with their own giggles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shifted in his seat and considered glaring at them, but\nall that would accomplish was to fix him in their memory, and he preferred to\nbe invisible, unnoticed, forgotten. So he did his best to ignore them as they\nprattled on in hushed whispers and giggles about their grand cross-country\nadventure. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Belatedly, he thought he should have simply changed seats,\nbut by the time the idea occurred to him, the every row was occupied, less than\na third holding only a single passenger, like his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So he stayed where he was, wishing as the bus ate the\nmiles between Pittsburgh and New York, that the giggling newlyweds would just\nshut up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd followed one of the Conrad candidates when he got\noff the bus at the gas station just outside Harrisburg. He\u2019d watched him at a\nprevious stop as well, and after gleaning nothing of interest from\neavesdropping on the man\u2019s telephone call to his wife from a pay phone inside\nthe station, Lloyd crossed him off the suspect list. To maintain the pretense\nthat he\u2019d been hovering nearby waiting to make a call of his own, he slid a\ndime into the pay phone\u2019s slot, and placed a collect call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure the information is good?\u201d he asked when the\ndirector of the Chicago office got on the line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs sure as we can be. This guy\u2019s been slippery.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnything else you can give me to help me identify him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of the passengers match the sketch?\u201d the director\nasked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the problem. Too many of them do,\u201d Lloyd replied.\n\u201cI\u2019ve eliminated some of them from suspicion, but I\u2019m going to need backup when\nwe arrive in New York.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make the call.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks. Gotta go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Returning to the bus, Lloyd considered his options. He was\nleft with two possible suspects \u2013 the man across the aisle, and one seated near\nthe back of the bus, who he\u2019d had little opportunity to study. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Both of the suspects had slept through much of the trip.\nBoth appeared to be white-collar, office workers, and wore suits very similar\nto his own off-the-rack gabardine; though of the three of them, he\u2019d been the\nonly one to keep his own jacket on, rather than remove it in deference to the\nwarm June weather. It wouldn\u2019t have been a good idea to let his quarry \u2013 or\nanyone else on the bus \u2013 know that he carried a small revolver in a shoulder\nholster tucked up under his left arm, and a pair of handcuffs clipped at the\nback of his belt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was more than one way to have backup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now the couple behind Conrad were playing a game. One of\nthem would pick another passenger and make up some story about them \u2013 \u2018she\u2019s an\nactress,\u2019 \u2018he\u2019s a pilot,\u2019 and other similar silliness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were just passing Newark when he heard the woman say,\n\u201cHe\u2019s a spy<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked back, through the small gap between his seat and\nthe empty one next to him, and saw that she was pointing at the man in the dark\nblue gabardine suit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWatch out for the camera in his tie,\u201d her husband said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The couple again dissolved into a fit of giggles, but\ntheir laughter roared in Conrad\u2019s ears. And then, as though in slow motion, he\nfound himself turning his head and looking at the man in the suit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking at the agent, who was sitting right across the\naisle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking at the agent, who was looking directly at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello, Conrad,\u201d Lloyd said, his voice low, his eyes fixed\non the man seated opposite him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was moving even before he\u2019d finished speaking, sliding\nforward, out of his seat, across the aisle, and into the empty seat next to the\ntraitor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are you?\u201d Conrad asked. \u201cWhy are you following me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know perfectly well why I\u2019m following you, Conrad<\/em>.\u201d Lloyd said, putting extra\nemphasis on the code name. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conrad shifted, as though to put up a fight, but Lloyd\njabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. \u201cYou don\u2019t want to be making a fuss,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cIt would be a shame if I had to shoot you before your trial. The United\nStates government would so miss the opportunity to execute you for treason.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know all the agents in the Chicago office,\u201d Conrad said\npetulantly, trying ineffectually to push Lloyd away. \u201cYou\u2019re not one of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKansas City,\u201d Lloyd said. \u201cSpecial assignment.\u201d He\nreached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his battered Lucky Strike packet,\nletting Conrad get a glimpse of the butt of his revolver. He held the packet\nover toward Conrad. \u201cI\u2019ve only got two left. Want one? It might be your last.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conrad accepted the cigarette, holding it between\ntrembling fingers as the agent lit it for him. They were so close, only minutes\nbefore the bus dove down into the Holland Tunnel, crossed the Hudson River, and\nthen came up into New York. He\u2019d been looking forward to that part of the trip\nsince he was a boy, and even more so now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d almost made it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took a long drag on the cigarette, filling his lungs\nand holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling, trying to steady his\nnerves. Okay, so he was sitting next to an agent. That was bad. And the agent\nhad a gun. That was also bad. He wasn\u2019t great with guns, but if he could get it\naway from the agent \u2013 maybe while they were in the tunnel, and everyone was\ndistracted by the novelty of the passage \u2013 maybe then he\u2019d have a chance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because after that, there wouldn\u2019t be any more chances.\nThe Agency would have men at the station and they would take him away and\nexecute him, and as much as he didn\u2019t want them to do it, they would be right\nto do so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But right now, there was only one agent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had to try.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

# # #<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lloyd had expected more from Conrad. At the very least,\nhe\u2019d expected the traitor to put up a struggle \u2013 more than the half-hearted\nsquirming and whimpering when he\u2019d first slid into the seat next to him. But\nthe desk-bound turncoat had just collapsed into himself, and now sat there,\nquietly smoking, his hands shaking so bad he could barely keep from dropping\nthe cigarette.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the bus descended into the Holland Tunnel, some of the\npassengers \u2013 from the sound of their voices, Lloyd identified the young couple\nbehind him, and a scattering of tourists \u2013 let up a cheer. He supposed it made\nsense, it was something of a novelty after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then his leg was burning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the\u2026!\u201d he swore as he looked down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The idiot, Conrad, had dropped his cigarette into Lloyd\u2019s\nlap, and it was burning a hole in his slacks. Lloyd slapped the offending\ncigarette from his leg, and only then realized that Conrad had taken advantage\nof the distraction to reach across him, and was in the act of drawing his\nrevolver from its holster. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He grabbed at Conrad\u2019s hand, and the two of them struggled\nfor several seconds, each fighting for control of the weapon as the lights from\nthe tunnel flashed past. Conrad was holding onto the gun with his left hand and\nwas awkwardly trying to transfer it to his right hand without letting Lloyd get\nit away from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBad idea,\u201d Lloyd growled, wrapping his own hand around Conrad\u2019s,\nand twisting the revolver\u2019s barrel until it was facing the traitor. \u201cWhen\nyou\u2019re told to \u2018buck up,\u2019 that\u2019s not<\/em> the time to go to pieces. If you\u2019d\nheld on just a little longer, we\u2019d have gotten you out of there. But the Agency\nwill more than likely give me a commendation for catching you, so I win either\nway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conrad\u2019s eyes widened, \u201cYou\u2014\u201d he began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But whatever he was about to say was lost in the roar of\nthe gunshot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

– End –<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The Man in the Gabardine Suit<\/em> \u00a9 2018 by Lauryn Christopher. Originally published in Fiction River: Editor Saves<\/strong> (WMG Publishing). Reprinted by permission of the author.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

* The old Simon & Garfunkel song, ‘America,’ is one of my favorites; but for years I’ve wondered about ‘the man in the gabardine suit’ who is briefly mentioned in the third verse. Who was he? Why was he on that bus? What was his story? And\u00a0since the song wasn’t going to answer those questions, … <\/p>\n

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