Chapter 4 Chapter Four

His greatest admirer was Dan Quayle, the man whose name he often used as his touchstone. "I don't care what people say about Quayle, he's the only politician who really has a social code. Family - that's his social code. Without a family code, the country would be a mess. Young people these days are always unmarried. That's shocking. No wonder there's so much crime. If Quayle ran for president, he'd have my vote." It's a pity, he thought, that he couldn't vote because of that stupid law.But no matter what, he has always supported Quill. He has four children.Son Bailey, eight years old.And three daughters: Amy, Clarissa, and Susan, aged ten, twelve, and fourteen.They were wonderful children, and his greatest joy was with them, what he liked to call "no time wasted."His weekends are all devoted to his children.He helped them barbecue, played games with them, took them to the movies, played ball, and helped them with their homework.The little ones around here looked up to him.He often helps them fix bicycles, repair toys, and invites them to have picnics with his family.The little ones nicknamed him "Daddy".

※※※ On a sunny Sunday morning, he sat on a patio at the sports field, with his wife and daughter beside him.They are watching a baseball game.The weather was perfect, the sun shone warmly on the earth, and the cumulus clouds in the sky were mottled like white fluff.His eight-year-old son, Bailey, was on the field, wearing his tiny uniform and looking like an adult pro.Dad's three daughters and his wife are next to him.There is nothing better than this, he is very happy inside.Why can't other families be like us? This is the second half of the eighth inning.Two hits to miss out.Bailey is home now, three pitches in total, and he's out on two misses.

Dad encouraged him loudly: "Catch them, Bailey! Watch out for throws!" Bailey waited for the opponent to throw the ball.The opponent throws the ball fast and low.Bailey catches the ball with all his might, but misses. "Miss three strikes, out!" the referee yelled. The second half is over. Parents and their friends on the sidelines mingled with whining and whining.Bailey stood there despondently as the teams switched courts. Dad shouted: "It's nothing, son, there is another time!" Bailey smiled reluctantly. Team leader John Cotton is waiting for Bailey. "You're out of the game!" he said.

"But, Mr. Cotton..." "Let's go. Get off the field." Bailey's father was surprised to see Bailey leave Ball Young, and his pride was hurt.How could the leader do that, he thought.He should give Bailey another chance.I have to talk to Mr. Cotton and explain to him... At this moment, the big brother next to him rang.It took four rings for him to answer.Only one person knows the number.He knows I hate being disturbed on weekends, he said angrily in his heart. Reluctantly, he pulled out the antenna and pressed the answer button. "Hey?" The other party spoke in a low voice for a few minutes.Dad listened carefully, nodding from time to time.Finally he said, "Okay, I get it. That's on me." He put the phone away.

"What's the matter, dear?" asked his wife. "Yes. I'm afraid so. They want me to work weekends. But I was planning to go to the barbecue tomorrow." His wife grabbed his hand and comforted him: "Don't worry, your business is important." Not as important as my family, he thought stubbornly.Dan Quayle can understand. His hands began to itch uncomfortably, and he scratched desperately.How could this be?He really doesn't understand, I have to see a dermatologist in a few days. John Cotton is an assistant manager at a local supermarket.A tall man in his fifties who had agreed to lead the club association baseball team because his son was a baseball player.His team lost that afternoon because of Pele Jr.

The superstore was closed, and John walked to his car.Then a stranger came up to him, carrying a bag in his hand. "Excuse me, is that Mr. Cotton?" "yes?" "Can I have a word with you?" "The mall is closed." "Oh, it's not about business. I wanted to talk to you about my son. He was very disturbed that afternoon when you threw Bailey out of the game and told him he would never play again." "Bailey is your son? I regret putting him in this game. He'll never be a baseball player." Bailey's father said seriously, "You're being unfair to him, Mr. Cotton. I know Bailey, and he's a really good baseball player, and you'll see. When he plays next Saturday..."

"He won't play next Saturday, he's out." "But……" "There's nothing but. That's it. Now, if you have nothing else to do..." "Oh, yes." Bailey's father opened the bag in his hand and took out a bat.He said earnestly, "It's the bat Bailey used that afternoon. You see, it's broken, so it's not fair to punish him because..." "I said, sir, the bat has nothing to do with me. Your son's out." Bailey's father sighed unhappily. "Are you sure you won't give him a chance?" "There is no chance."

Cotton reached out and was about to open the door when Bailey's father suddenly swung a bat and smashed it at the rear window of the car, shattering the glass. Cotton froze. "You... what the fuck are you doing?" "It's kind of a warm-up," Bailey's dad explained.He swung the bat again and it hit Cotton on the kneecap. John Cotton screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. "You're crazy!" he yelled. "Help!" Bailey's father knelt on the ground on one knee and said softly to him, "Call out again, and I'll smash your other knee."

Cotton stared up at him in pain, terrified. "If my son isn't on the field next Saturday, I'll kill you and your son. Do you hear me?" Cotton looked the man in the eye and nodded.He fought back the pain desperately to keep himself from screaming. "Very well. Oh, yes. I don't want to say anything about it. I have plenty of friends." He looked at his watch.He still had time to catch an overnight flight to Boston. His hands started to itch again. ※※※ At seven o'clock on a Sunday morning, he walked past the Phantom sculpture and Copley Square, then came to Stewart Street, wearing a vest with a waistcoat and an expensive leather briefcase.Walking half a block forward from the Castle Square Convention Center, he entered the Boston Trust Building and walked up to the security guard.There were dozens of tenants in the building, and the security guard at reception couldn't recognize him.

"Good morning," he said. "Good morning, sir. Any help?" He sighed. "I'm afraid God can't help me. They think I have nothing to do but work on Sundays that someone else should be doing." "I feel the same way," said the security guard sympathetically, pushing a work log forward. "Please sign here." He signed and walked to the elevator. The office he was looking for was on the fifth floor.He took the elevator to the sixth floor, then walked down one floor to the corridor on the fifth floor.On the door of the office was carved "Lancaster-Lancaster-Fitzgerald LLP."He looked around and after making sure that there was no one in the corridor, he opened his briefcase and took out a small chisel and a tensioner.It only took him five seconds to open the door.He hurried into the room and closed the door.

In the reception room, the decoration style is simple and conservative, which is very suitable for a first-class law firm in Boston.He stood for a moment, familiarized himself with the surroundings, and then moved inside.There is an archive room there, and all the documents are there.The room contained a set of metal filing cabinets, each with a lettered label on the front.He tried to pull the locker marked "RS," but it was locked. From his purse he produced an imprinted key, a file, and a pair of pliers.He pushed the stamped key into the lock and gave it a gentle turn.After a while, he pulled out the key and looked carefully at the tooth marks on it.Gripping the key with pliers, he carefully filed away the black dots.He put the key in the lock again, and turned it back and forth as before.While working, he was humming a little tune unconsciously.He smiled triumphantly, because he suddenly realized the lyrics he was humming: on the other side of the vast sea, there are so many strange places...those strange places are calling me over and over again. I must take the whole family on vacation, he thought happily, a real vacation.I dare say the kids would love going to Hawaii. The lock of the file cabinet was unlocked, he opened the drawer, and quickly found the folder he wanted.He took a tiny camera out of his bag and got to work.After ten minutes, he was done.Then he pulled a few Clinex paper towels out of his briefcase, went to the cooler to wet the paper towels, went back to the filing room, wiped off the metal powder that had been filed off the floor, locked the filing cabinet, and walked out the hallway go.He closed the front door of his office and left the building.