by Tom Fowler

Created on: July 24, 2008

Mr. Smith

1.

The doorbell rang and Danny cursed silently to himself. He hated to be disturbed during Monday Night Football, but this was not the first time. Reluctantly, he rose from his favorite chair and headed towards the front door. No mean effort for the portly Danny Mann.

Opening the door, Danny saw a distinguished, well-dressed man standing on the other side of the bullet proof storm door. Not the kind of character that usually shows up here unannounced, he thought.

"Mr. Mann?" The man spoke before Danny could address him first.

"Yes."

"My name is Tom Smith. I have something to tell you that you will be most interested in. May I enter?" Mr. Smith was exceedingly polite.

As an investigative reporter with over 40 years of experience, Danny Mann could size up people quickly and accurately. Something about Mr. Smith rang an alarm bell in his head, his demeanor not withstanding. Still, his instincts seldom lied and this time they told him to let Mr. Smith in. After only a moment's hesitation, Danny offered, "Please come in."

"Thank you," Mr. Smith replied, "I know you hate to be bothered during evening football telecasts, particularly when your beloved Chiefs are playing. Were they playing tonight, I would have come some other time."

Danny didn't know what to think of this man. Tom Smith was tall and slender, sporting a deep suntan and expensive clothes. He looked to be around 60 years of age, but gave the appearance of youth and vigor. His brown hair was well manicured and highlighted a slight graying around the temples. He wore a neatly trimmed mustache, which complemented blue eyes and bushy eyebrows. Whatever else this guy turns out to be, Danny concluded, he certainly is a cut above most people I meet in this business. But, how does he know so much about me? Though a famous man, Danny always kept his private life to himself.

Danny was in a state of mild bewilderment as he escorted his guest into the study. Rubbing his hand through thinning hair, he led the way through the short, dark hallway. Danny Mann was a lifelong bachelor and lived in a modest, but well kept, condo. The study was the biggest and best room in his home. It was where he spent most of his time. Though well kept, one noticed immediately upon entering the faint smell of whiskey and cheap cigars. Danny's housekeeper fought the valiant battle.

"Please sit, Mr. Smith," Danny said as he motioned to the large leather chair on the other side of his desk. Danny was very proud of the twin leather chairs

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