I never liked living in Missouri. It was the people. They were mean and bitter in a way that you don't find elsewhere in the Midwest. At least that's what I think. Other people tell me that it's just my imagination, or that I'm biased in my thinking because of what happened to me down there with Anne. But this has nothing to do with Anne. I just don't like the place.

In any event, I do have something interesting to relate in terms of the work that I was doing back in those days. I worked for a company called NJC Printing that was based out of St. Louis. You know, we were living in Quincy because Anne wanted a quiet place where she could do her writing. So the commute was horrible. But it was good work, for the most part, and I wasn't expecting to find anything decent to do in Quincy.

What I'm about to tell you took place in the winter of 2005. Normally I didn't handle client calls, but we were short on staff that day because of some flu that was going around. They were telling people to stay home if they felt at all ill so that they wouldn't spread their germs around. I think a lot of people took advantage of the situation, but I suppose you should expect that happen in that sort of situation.

So I'm working on a layout at my desk when they put a call through, and at first I thought it was someone else in the office. You know, my phone didn't have something to tell me where the calls were coming from. So I pick up the phone and say, "Yes?" and the guy on the other line is quiet for maybe twenty or thirty seconds.

Finally, I hear a faint voice say, "Who is this?"

"Who were you expecting?" I asked him.

"They put me on hold, " he said. "I don't know who I'm talking to."

Immediately I understood. "I'm sorry, " I said. "I don't normally speak to clients. I'm a designer."

"Maybe I should call back another time, " the person said.

"No, it's fine, " I said. "Tell me your name. Why don't we start there?"

"I'm Moyer, " the voice said. "That's all you need to know."

"Well, Moyer, have you worked with us before?" I asked.

Moyer sighed, obviously annoyed. "I'll call back later, " he said.

"No, no, I'm sorry, " I told him. "If you're new, that's great. We can do a lot for you, I'm sure."

"A friend recommended you to me, " he said. "But maybe this wasn't a good idea."

"We have the best people in the city here, " I told him. "Whatever kind of work you're looking to do."

"That's just it, " he said. "We need to meet in person."

"I'm afraid that might be difficult to arrange, " I told him. "Our agents are all out in the field or ill."

"What do you mean by 'ill'?" Moyer said.

"There's something going around, " I said. "It's going around the whole city, from what I hear."

"Well, I haven't heard anything about it, " Moyer told me.

"Maybe it's all made-up, " I said. "I'm just telling you what they tell us."

Moyer paused for a moment. "Do you know where Bradford's pub is?" he then said.

"Sure, I think, " I said. "Right off the highway. It's close by."

"You be there in an hour, " he said.

"You don't understand, " I told him. "I'm a designer. They won't approve of this."

"You'll want my business, " Moyer said. "Believe me. So you should think of bending your rules this one time."

It was late into the afternoon, so it would have been difficult to slip out without a good excuse. So I did what was easiest and feigned being sick. My manager told me to shut down my workstation and leave immediately. It was too easy.

Bradford's was a lousy place in a lousy part of town. The regulars were already drunk, having showed up probably as soon as the place opened. Most of them were old or receiving social assistance of some kind or another. People who couldn't find work anymore. They periodically growled at one another over this or that story in the newspaper.

I stuck out with my dress shirt and tie, and Moyer spotted me at my table right away. He was an older man, but in good health. He wore a smart black suit and, incongruously, he had a blue duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I stood up for some reason when he approached. Moyer dropped the duffel bag and we shook hands as if we were about to do important business.

"I apologize for me behaviour earlier, " Moyer said as we sat down. "I'm bad at using the phone. I hate the thing, to tell you the truth."

"I don't know if anyone likes using the phone, " I said. "We all just tolerate it."

"Though for who knows how much longer, right?" Moyer said. "There are many ways to communicate these days."

"Yet you wanted to meet in person, " I said.

Moyer smiled. "You're sharp, " he told me. "That's good. I had a good feeling about you when we talked. I know how I sounded. But you didn't flinch even though I was giving you such a hard time."

"I didn't know I was being tested, " I said.

"That's why the test worked, " Moyer said. "But it's crazy, you know? I don't even know your name. I was thinking about that on the way here. I'm coming out here to meet this guy, I'm thinking, and I don't even know his name."

"Burroughs, " I told him. "Nothing special."

"You have a family, Burroughs?" Moyer asked me.

"I live in Quincy with my partner, " I said. "We're not married yet. No kids."

"There's time for that, " Moyer said.

"She writes, " I told him. "She had a novel published, but nobody bought it."

Moyer laughed loudly. "That's not nice, " he then said.

"She'd admit it herself if she were here, " I said. "She sold it to one of those presses that nobody buys from. A local outfit that gets into the bookstores nobody goes to. She gets upset thinking about it. She blames herself for selling her work short. You know, taking it to a publisher that couldn't do anything with it."

Moyer nodded, grimly. "But she's still working, " he said.

"She writes articles, mostly, " I told him. "She still dabbles in fiction. But it's hard."

"I can only imagine, " Moyer said.

"But we're here to discuss what you want from us, " I said.

"Right, right, " Moyer said. He then reached down and grabbed the duffel bag off the floor and dropped it on the table. "You have no idea how big a deal this is, " he said.

"I suppose I don't, " I told him.

"What I have in here, " Moyer said, tapping the bag. "You know, it's going to go out to all kinds of important people. We have oil companies in Saudi Arabia, for instance. And high-tech companies in Israel. It's going to go places."

I was surprised, of course, to hear such news. But I didn't quite understand what he meant. "You'll have to elaborate, " I told him.

"There are different materials, " he told me. "We have materials that will go to one place, and materials that will go to another. Or we will combine them in different ways. But this is information. Important stuff that we need to circulate."

"So this has to do with political conditions, maybe?" I said.

"We have policy documents, " he told me. "But there are all sorts of materials. It's a mess. That's what I should tell you at first. Here, have a look."

Moyer unzipped the duffel bag and waved for me to come closer. Inside there were binders and folders, some notebooks, and even a few scrap bits of paper. "It is a mess, " I told him.

"We'll need to get it all organized, of course, " he said. "We can start by dropping everything into categories. Political stuff, like you said. That would be one category."

"I don't understand it, " I said. "Who do you work for?"

"We do research, " he told me. "We write. Like your wife."

"She's not my wife, " I said. "Not yet."

"It's that kind of world, though, " Moyer told me. "She writes novels, we write this sort of stuff. The key is distribution."

"We do printing, " I said. "We don't do distribution. Though we can make recommendations."

"The printing comes first, of course, " Moyer said.

I pulled the duffel bag towards me. It was so stuffed that I couldn't believe that Mayer had carried it in so casually, as if it didn't weigh a thing. "You should bring this into the office, " I told him. "I'll set something up."

"That sounds great, " Moyer said. "This is important. These materials, I mean. They are important. Do you understand that?"

"I think so, " I said.

"You'll be doing important work, " Moyer said. "Think about that. Think about it."

"I'll try, " I told him. "I'll let it sink in."