TWICE HE NODDED TO the Secret Service guy on the steps and the guy nodded back. Eventually the supervisor’s assistant came out on the front steps looking for the supervisor, as Walter knew he would. “You not doing anything, William?” the guy asked. Walter didn’t bother correcting him but climbed the steps and acknowledged that he was free. “Do you need a hand?” “Sure as hell do. Come on. The fucking supervisor thinks that cleaning’s beneath him.” “Does he?” Walter asked innocently. “Yeah. And my back’s killing me.” “Okay, I’ll give you a hand.” The assistant supervisor turned to the Secret Service guy and said, “I can’t do this alone. This is William, I need him to help me.” The Secret Service guy recognized Walter from days earlier when he had cleaned the church and this very guy was overseeing security. More good luck, Walter thought. But he corrected himself: This is more than good luck. He didn’t know the word “omen” except as the title of one of his favourite horror flicks, but he intrinsically understood and believed in the concept.
