Column - The Case of the Mystery Candidate

So I'm at my desk, reading old detective pulp, sipping a delicious Starbucks Via and wondering if product placement in my column could bring in a few bits, when she walked in.

The dame was tall and dark and sobbing. Tears fell from her high cheekbones into her all-natural hemp shopping bag, and made glimmering beads on a bunch of free-range Swiss chard. “What's the matter?” I asked.

“I think my life partner is cheating on me,” she said. “He says he's working late for some Democratic ‘mystery candidate' who is all set to run against Sen. Chuck Grassley. But it's just a clever ruse. I just know it.”

“There, there,” I said. “I heard about that. Democratic Party boss Mike Kiernan was on the public tube last week, bragging up some top secret ‘first-round draft pick' he has up his sleeve to take out Big G. The truth troops roughed him up, but he wouldn't spill the beans.

“But I'm a third-rate hack, not a second-rate gumshoe,” I said.

She looked up with those big, wet eyes. “If you can find someone to pay you for the stuff you write, you can find anything.”

OK, good point.

So I grabbed my fedora and hand sanitizer, in case things got rough, and hailed a cab. I was headed straight to party headquarters to shake some truth out of Mr. K.

During the drive, I did some thinking.

I don't like surprises, especially in politics. Ask Thomas E. Dewey about Truman's little shocker. Or how about Sarah Palin, a surprise that just keeps on surprising. Mystery candidates are like mystery meat. They can leave a bad taste in your mouth.

I like my politics like my columns, nice and predictable.

Sure, I can't blame the Dems for trying. Republicans have got all the juice. Grassley is still what passes for popular these days, and the two donkeys running don't exactly send a tingle up a guy's leg. The Big Lug is shrinking and Terry “Teflon” Branstad's back.

These Ds need a game changer.

Outside Mr. K's lair I found a couple of medium lugs with bulges in their overcoats - iPhones loaded with killer apps. They came at me like ACORN volunteers.

“We've been waitin' for you shamus," one of the lugs grunted. "Mr. K told us to give you a long ride in our Subaru Outback, to the restored wetland habitat, and fit you for a pair of concrete Merrells. Reduce your carbon footprint, so to speak.”

I had to think fast.

“Hey fellas. Isn't Rachel Maddow hosting ‘This American Life'? today?” I said. They dropped me like an NPR tote bag full of organic spuds and went looking for a radio.

That was a close one.

I think I'll just go back to my office, wait for the news release and enjoy a refreshing, ice-cold Coca Cola.

Todd Dorman's column runs Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Contact him at (319) 398-8452 or todd.dorman@gazcomm.com