Bad Company

by P A Duncan

  “Mine’s Tom Rim Man,” Terrell said. “Stir-fried shrimp and pork in a black pepper and garlic sauce.”

  “Spicy,” said the host.

  “Yours is Cari Chay, tofu curry with potatoes and coconut sauce.”

  Terrell spoke again in Vietnamese with the host, who bowed once more before leaving the table. They dished rice onto their plates, shared some of their food with each other, and ate for a while in silence. Terrell ate with his chopsticks, not suffering the indignity of asking Mai to cut up his food. He rarely wore his prosthesis when he was with her. Neither of them knew why.

  “So,” he said, “was it worth trusting me?”

  “Definitely. It’s delicious.”

  “High praise from the wife of a gourmet cook.”

  “He doesn’t do much of that anymore. Lubova kicked him out of the kitchen.”

  “I’ll pass commenting on that. Back on topic. Any conclusions about this guy?”

  She chewed some Cari Chay and thought for a moment.

  “I feel sorry for him. He’s alone, far from his family, sporadically employed, unsure of his future.”

  “Great. Here comes the bleeding heart.”

  “Snake, I asked you to lunch to bounce things off you. Sometimes I need to do that with someone other than the person I sleep with. I know how you feel about my political leanings, so limit your comments to pertinent subjects.”

  He pointed his chopsticks at her. “You asked me to lunch because you got left out of the Alexei-Nelson tete-a-tete.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him, but she said, “I think he’s ripe for being influenced by one of these right-wing groups I’ve studied.”

  “How so?”

  “They seek and recruit the disaffected. That’s true from here to the middle east to Ireland. They give you the answers you want to hear: It’s not your fault you can’t get a job or a girlfriend. It’s the minorities, the feminists, the Jews.”

  “Baby, we do the same thing when we recruit an asset. Our end game may be different, but the means are the same. Is he a true believer?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Intuition. He’s full of anger and frustration, but I don’t think he’s committed to any action.”

  “A dead end?”

  “Alexei thinks so, but…”

  “Ah, the famous intuition again. Tell me what you know about the Army buddy.”

  “Parker and his brother are long-time anti-government activists. On separate occasions they’ve tried to renounce their citizenship.”

  “Before or after Parker was in the Army?”

  “Before.”

  “The joys of a volunteer Army. You take any fresh body.”

  “Parker has also argued with credit card companies over unpaid balances. Since he claims he’s a sovereign citizen, he declared he had no obligation to pay a debt on money that wasn’t gold anyway.”

  “Jesus, you have to admire the balls to do that.”

  “As someone who pays taxes in two, no, three countries, I don’t.”

  Terrell pointed to her half-eaten meal. “You gonna finish that?”

  “Help yourself. It was delicious, but there’s too much of it.”

  “What kind of anti-government stuff were the Parkers into?”

  “Nothing spectacular. Handing out anti-government flyers at farm foreclosure auctions in the eighties, going to county council meetings and shouting down local politicians as ‘tools of the Jews,’ picketing the local Department of Agriculture offices, contributing money to ultra-conservative politicians. However, they’ve jumped to accept any agricultural subsidy they’re eligible for.”

  “That’s usually the case. The government’s bad until you need something from it. How’d you find out all this?”

  Her turn to be coy, she smiled at him and said, “Why, Mr. Terrell, I am a spy, after all. Actually, Analysis dug all this up. The older Parker brother likes to talk about his beliefs to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “So, Parker and Carroll met in the Army?”

  “In basic training. They joined on the same day, but Parker was in his early thirties, a father, married, but not to the person he is now.”

  “His age would probably peg him as the training platoon leader.”

  “He was, but he wasn’t good at it. Carroll replaced him.”

  “Ah, Parker didn’t have what it takes to be a leader. I’ll bet if Analysis dug deeper, they’d find the older brother was domineering. Were Parker and Carroll friends before the leadership change?”

  “Yes, and that seemed to deepen the friendship not endanger it.”

  “You told me Carroll was the middle kid between sisters, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe he thought of Parker like a brother, maybe enough that Parker converted him to his anti-government stance. That’s worth exploring further. Not critical now, and you’ll weasel that out of him in future meets. Tell me what you can about Parker’s Army career.”

  “After Basic, the two men were stationed in Fort Riley, Kansas—”

  “Jesus, what a hellhole that is.”

  “Parker applied for a discharge, citing a family emergency, and got it.”

  “What was the emergency?”

  “Parker’s first wife had divorced him and given him custody of their son. Parker’s mother watched the boy during Basic but didn’t want to continue.”

  “Well, even Hitler loved his dog.”

  “The one he tested the cyanide pill on? What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Even we right-wing nut-jobs can form human attachments. The guy cared enough about his kid to leave the steady income the Army offered him.”

  “But why join the Army, the most visible arm of a government you dislike?”

  Terrell canted an eyebrow. “Why indeed?”

  She studied his craggy face, his wise, knowing eyes. “To recruit someone.”

  “It’s been done. Or this Parker guy gravitated to a lonely kid like Carroll, maybe somebody he thought he could dominate like his brother did him.” He looked at Mai and said, “I minored in psychology. You said Parker has a second wife.”

  “Yes, a Filipina teenager he picked from a catalogue. She was a senior in high school, and he was thirty-something.”

  “Listen to the value judgement from the twenty-year-old who married her thirty-five-year-old lover.”

  “I was a mature twenty, and he didn’t pick me based on a provocative photo in a magazine. Anyway, it took a year to get her visa approved. When she arrived in the U.S., she was three months pregnant.” Mai raised her eyebrow. “Parker hadn’t seen her in a year.”

  “How’d he handle that?”

  “He claimed the child was his on the INS forms, but Analysis discovered this past November, the child suffocated from a plastic bag over his head.”

  “Shit. Parker do it?”

  “The police ruled it an accident, but according to the police report, a guest in the home tried CPR. The guest was Jay Jenkins, an alias Carroll uses.”

  Terrell was contemplative again. “It could be one of two things. Either Parker had enough of a kid who wasn’t his or…”

  “Or?”

  “It was Carroll’s practice kill.”

  “Practice kill for what?”

  “If he’s got something planned, he needs to figure out if he can, you know, kill someone.”

  “He’s killed.”

  “In battle. That’s different. If you want to know how cold-blooded killing feels, ask your dearly beloved. He’s good at it.”

  “You know, I’m in a place right now where I like him most of the time. Talking about him that way will only piss me off.”

  “Noted. Racism is inherent to most of these right-wing movements. Maybe either Parker or Carroll couldn’t deal with a mixed-race child.”

  “I have intel that race isn’t an issue for Carroll.”

  “It’s one thing to have a battle buddy who’s black o
r brown and entirely another thing to see the result of race-mixing.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “Not at all. I’d be thrilled if some half-Vietnamese kid showed up with my hazel eyes. We all need someone to take care of us in our old age.”

  “Your eyes are more jasper than hazel, and you’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s why you tolerate me. Carroll told you anything about his family?”

  “We had an interesting phone conversation a few days back. His sisters got Valentine’s Day cards from his mother, but he didn’t. He called her a whore.”

  “A grown man pissed at his mommy for not sending him a Valentine’s Day card? Jesus. What did you say?”

  “I chided him, and he apologized.”

  “I’ve been chided by you, and if he took it without pushback, he’s starting to trust you.”

  “He opens up more with each letter and phone call. He can wax eloquent about patriotism and freedom, but not getting a card from mummy throws him off his game.”

  “Use that.”

  “God, you sound like Alexei.”

  “No need to insult me. I’m going to be the voice inside your head for a minute, though sharing space with the Russkie could throw me off my game. This interlude about the mother should tell you volatile emotions are bottled up inside this kid.”

  “Exactly what Alexei and the graphologist said.”

  “Yeah, well, be careful.”

  Much as she had with Alexei, she rolled her eyes. “I’m always careful.”

  Mount Vernon, Virginia

  When the monitor receiving the feed from the camera at the driveway entrance showed Mai Alexei’s Jaguar, she switched on her computer and managed to appear engrossed in research.

  Alexei entered the office, tossed his jacket on the sofa, and leaned down to kiss her neck, letting his lips linger.

  “I missed you at lunch,” he said.

  “No, you’re trying to smell Terrell’s aftershave on me.”

  She felt him smile against her skin, and he kissed her neck again before sitting at his desk.

  “How was lunch with Nelson?” she asked.

  “The food was excellent, but I forget how fucking devious he is.”

  “What was he being devious about?”

  He gave her his scrutinizing stare, flat, emotionless. “We have to give depositions about Yugoslavia.”

  “Good. They’re moving fast for a change. What’s devious about that?”

  “The depositions will be about Arkan in 1992.”

  She struggled to keep her face neutral as she pushed the memories back in her head. “When and where?”

  “Day after tomorrow. Here.”

  “Best to get it over with.” Mai shut her computer off and stood. “I’m going for a run.”

  Avoidance, they both knew. To her surprise, Alexei didn’t say a word.

  6

  Careful Planning

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  “Be careful with that, goddamnit! Do you know how much that’s worth?”

  John Addams, aka The Prez, lamented he’d ever fucked this woman. He couldn’t get rid of her. Well, at least now that she lived with him, he didn’t have to pay her. She was a passable cook, too. Nothing fancy, but filling. Christ, she had airs for a whore, though.

  “I know what it’s worth, Johnnie. You’ve only told me a thousand goddamn times,” she replied, her rouged lips pouting.

  He wondered if she knew that godawful lipstick had leaked into the lines around her mouth. Made her look like a clown. “Well, be careful with it, woman.”

  “You could get your fat ass up outta that chair and do it yourself.”

  “Put the goods out, June, and quit making a fucking scene.”

  Addams looked around the VFW hall. The usual. Mostly shit vendors, a few quality ones, but no one who could match his goods. He’d begged, bartered, and stolen some of the most highly collectible guns in the world. That collection would be assessed at more than a million dollars, though most of it was uninsured. Many pieces he couldn’t establish ownership of, and others weren’t legal. Of course, only the legal pieces with paperwork came inside with him to gun shows; the others were for the parking lot deals. He prided himself in the quality of his merchandise. Clean and well-oiled, even his used pieces looked as good as the day they came off the assembly line.

  No one would think that about him. In a tattered undershirt and stained coveralls, he looked like a hick. Didn’t bother him. That’s what he was.

  June carped on and on about something else, but he tuned her out. His eyes swept the hall again, looking for competitors to bad-mouth. “Shit,” he muttered, almost tumbling from his folding chair.

  “What is it, honey?” June asked.

  “Nothing. Gotta piss. Finish setting things up. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know you got that flask with you.”

  “So what? Let me go make room for some more of it.”

  Addams had never liked preachers. Hypocrites most of them. Say one thing in the pulpit on Sunday and do another with your widowed mother on Saturday night. This preacher was different. No hypocrisy about him. Maybe because he preached about politics and patriotism not sin. Addams would sit all day in a church to hear about how to fix this country.

  He made a note of the exit the preacher took and followed him—like he’d been told. When they stood next to the dumpsters in the cool night air, Addams said, “Good evening to you, sir. God bless.” Addams didn’t offer a hand to shake; that would impose on a good man’s grace.

  “Good evening, Mr. Addams. Yahweh praise be, it’s a fine evening.”

  “Yes, sir. How can I help you, sir?”

  “I’ve noted your regular contributions, and I’ve read your letters offering help.”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. All you gotta do is ask.”

  “I’m asking, Mr. Addams. You remember the special project I mentioned?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have identified a potential recruit.”

  Addams’ heart began to beat an erratic tattoo of hope. “Is it the one you had me cozy up to?”

  “Yes. You’re a good judge of Aryan warriors. You confirmed his qualifications.”

  Addams allowed himself a smile of pride. “I’m glad to help, sir.”

  “He’s not all the way over yet, but you can help with that. Your farm is only a hundred miles or so from my place, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I believe you’ve mentioned it needs some work.”

  “Yes, sir, but I can’t get around like I used to.”

  “I can see that. The recruit is going to be at this show. I want you to offer him $5,000 cash to come put your place right.”

  Addams frowned; he didn’t like parting with his cash, but if it were for the right cause…

  “Work him hard, Mr. Addams. Day and night.”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t see—”

  “When the time comes to pay him, cheat him out of it. Work him over verbally, abuse his ego, push his buttons, get him angry, tell him how useless he is.”

  “Oh, I see. Then, he’ll come to you and be beholden.”

  “And you get your place cleaned up for free.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “I don’t need to say, of course, he shouldn’t know you and I are acquainted.”

  “No, sir. I’d never let on. I’ll start working on him as soon as I see him.”

  “I knew I could count on you. I won’t keep you from your business any longer.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Addams called to the preacher’s back. “I won’t let you down.”

  The preacher stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “No, you won’t, Mr. Addams,” he said, and walked away.

  Unsettled by the tone, Addams knew he wouldn’t make it inside to a toilet. After he urinated against a dumpster and took a good, long drink from his flask, he felt calmer.

  As soon as the fir
st lull in the crowd arrived, John Carroll covered his table and headed across the VFW hall to The Prez’s booth. The Prez always had the best guns. Vintage pieces and some rare ones, too. Carroll had drooled over a number of them. He’d had his eye on a mint condition Colt 1911, but it was beyond his budget. One could dream, though.

  “Hey, Mr. Addams,” Carroll said, when he walked up.

  Addams had tipped back in his chair, and a slutty looking woman stood next to him.

  “Hey, son. How are you? Haven’t seen you since Las Vegas last year,” Addams replied.

  “I had to go home for a while. How have you been?”

  “Christ, getting old sucks, son. Don’t do it.”

  Carroll looked over the guns on the table. His heart sank when he didn’t see the 1911.

  Addams laughed and said, “I didn’t bring it on this trip, son. I think the only reason you come over here is to look at my guns.”

  “No, sir,” Carroll said with a grin. “You tell good stories about guns, too.”

  “And here I thought you came to see me,” said the woman, her hand resting on Addams’ shoulder.

  Addams gave her a disgusted look and said to Carroll, “How’s your sales going, son?”

  “Not good. It’s vicious circle. I need good stock to make money, but to get the good stock, I have to have money.”

  This was the third show in a row where he’d sold nothing. He had to buy gas and pay a fee for the table. He was already in the hole before he started. And Siobhan hadn’t shown up either.

  “You looking to earn some quick cash?” Addams asked.

  “No, sir. My Dad’ll send me some, if I ask.”

  “A man your age shouldn’t be asking his daddy for help.”

  Heat flushed his face. No, he didn’t like asking his father for money because he’d get another lecture about looking for a “real job.” Carroll didn’t like the snideness of Addams’ remark, either, but he didn’t react.

  “Yes, sir, I know,” he said, “but I don’t see another way.”

  “I got some work around my place that needs doing. Painting, fixing fences, general house and equipment repairs. Can you do that sort of thing?”