It was a brutally hot day in Maricopa County, hotter than the hell sure to be reserved for well-meaning liberals.

As I sat in my air-conditioned office, I eyeballed the stranger across from me. He was a white-haired gentleman who smelled of the East Coast. He said, “You might be familiar with my work. I wrote “Showdown with Nuclear Iran: Radical Islam’s Messianic Mission to Destroy Israel and Cripple the United States.”

“I’m not familiar with that one,” I said.

“Well, perhaps you’ve read “Atomic Iran: How the Terrorist Regime Bought the Bomb and American Politicians”?

“I don’t do much reading,” I answered. “The brutally hot Maricopa County heat makes the pages stick to each other.”

He shrugged, and then his eyes began to twinkle. “I’m the Swift Boat guy.”

I nodded. I now understood the type of man I was dealing with: a man capable of of disrupting the campaign of a major Presidential candidate is a man who should be afforded respect. It’s the way things work all over the world, and Maricopa County is no different.

He leaned over the desk in conspiratorial manner, and passed an envelope my way. “I’ve been to the press,” he said. “Nobody seems interested I this. They were for a while, but it seems like every street, every avenue, every boulevard, every cul-de-sac…leads back to Hawaii.”

I stared at the documents. If true, this could be big, bigger than the sun as it brutally beat down on Maricopa County.

They call me Sheriff Joe. I carry a badge.