by Don McQuinn
The question of dealing with the guard’s insubordination—should he tell Loc or Winter?—was still tormenting him when a shiny gray Scout stopped in front of him. He looked to the traffic squealing and dodging behind it, shaking his head in mute sympathy with those offended by the Scout driver’s rudeness.
The sound of his name being called finally registered and he started, realizing it came from the vehicle. He bent to look in.
“Hurry up and open the door!” Earl commanded and Denby scurried inside. They ripped away from the curb, forcing a bicyclist to maneuver desperately to reach the relative safety of the outermost edge of the street. Curses and a brass section of protesting horns followed them away.
The vehicle’s movement stirred a breeze, acrid but welcome, against Denby’s wet clothes. He glowered back over his shoulder. “Listen to those people, just because you stopped to give someone a lift. They talk about culture and they’re simply coarse.”
Earl’s laugh was strained. “It seems to be an epidemic. If the city wasn’t so crowded, maybe—”
“I don’t think so.” Denby cut him off with the assurance of almost two full years’ seniority. “They’re a greedy, rude bunch and they always were and they always will be.”
“You ought to be infantry,” Earl said. “You could shoot at them.”
“Me?” Denby enjoyed the joke. “I’m a lover, not a fighter. Combat’s for fools and heroes, if there’s any difference. Either way, I’m happy in administration.”
Earl grinned knowingly. “It’s where the power is, isn’t it?”
“You bet. I laugh to myself all the time, watching these macho types swagger around town. One twix back to DOA and they’re back out in the woods where they belong. Never know what hit ‘em, most of the time.” He tapped his forehead and winked.
“You sent someone back to the line?” Earl delicately balanced surprise and skepticism.
“Only one. Two, actually. I finished the paperwork on one just after I got here and the other was a Ranger type that didn’t work out for us.” Earl turned into the BOQ One parking lot. While he was going through the routine of locking up the vehicle, he said, “I shouldn’t think any Ranger type would work out in a Records Research Unit. What would he do?”
Apprehension bubbled in Denby’s mind and the cool clothes suddenly turned clammy.
Goddam questions. Especially from Earl. He had power, real power. He knew Senators and argued with Generals and handled the whole thing with the sureness of an electrician handling killing voltage. That’s exactly what it was, too, the kind of shock that could fry a career in a minute.
Denby acknowledged it and wished he could enjoy it from some safe gray area. The best thing in the world would be to have your hand on the switch, though. Let someone else play with the wires. And forget standing around in the light, too. A man with good sense would always be in the background, making sure there was an order covering everything and controlling without being seen, risking nothing, ever.
“We can use almost anyone,” he told Earl, easing out of the Scout. “The man spoke the language and had a pretty good knowledge of Communist-bloc weapons. Winter thought he might be able to build up a pattern of shipping routes or depot locations by checking out ammunition lot numbers and so forth. Waste of time. There’s so much junk hidden out in the jungle you can’t move without tripping over it. Anyhow, he started moaning about his workload, so I told Winter he wasn’t worth the trouble he was causing. The Old Man left it up to me, naturally, and I had the man out to Cu Chi with the Tropic Lightning before he could change his tune.”
“The Captain—you didn’t mention his name. Whatever happened to him?”
“Who knows? I’m sure he had a name, but I’ve forgotten it. He’s probably out there charging the enemy. I hope he charges enough to make expenses.” He laughed at the joke and turned to leave.
Distaste drifted across Earl’s features as a light breeze will bend a flame and let it go. When the effect had passed, he called to Denby’s retreating form.
“Where are you eating tonight?”
Denby turned around. “Here, I guess.”
“Why not come on into town with me? Get out of this place for a change. I’ve been talking shop all day and I’ve had enough of it. How about you?”
“It costs too much. I don’t mind spending money, but I hate to be robbed, and these people charge too much.”
Earl laughed, tapering off at Denby’s wounded expression. “I agree with you. But I meant at a friend’s place.”
“Oh, well, then I couldn’t. I mean, your friend hardly expects you to bring another guest and—”
“That’s the point.” Earl overrode the protests. “We’ve been talking to each other for so long we’ve heard everything we’ve got to say. We’re looking for people who can talk about something besides the damned office. I can’t say I know you all that well, but what I’ve heard you say on several subjects interests me. It’s a chance to get a little better acquainted.”
“Boy, I’m tempted. I’m so tired of this place—”
“Good.” Earl unfolded from behind the wheel. “I’ll shower and change and meet you back here in an hour, OK?”
Denby checked his watch. “An hour. Perfect. See you then.” He moved off quickly, and when he was in the shower, he hummed. Dressing, he looked in the mirror and coughed a humorless laugh, a sound he bit off as if afraid it might expand.
It popped out again at the thought of Earl trying to set him up, to pump him.
The evening was going to be fun. And possibly beneficial. He scowled at his reflection, brushing his hair, remembering the need for caution. It would be good to have Earl think of him as a friend. Sooner or later Winter was going to make a mistake, get caught on one of his sprees, and Earl’s influence would be important. The fine point would be to insure Earl never got enough information to move against Winter. That old bastard would figure the source eventually and then God only knew what he’d do.
The thought so bothered Denby he turned from the mirror, replacing the brush on the dresser by touch. Still looking away, he located his cologne and sloshed it on with a deep sigh of approval. He squared his shoulders and sucked in his stomach, heading for the door.
The name of the game was rapidly becoming Cover Your Ass and there was no sense being caught short. There was nothing dishonorable or improper in a bit of political footwork to protect yourself. It wasn’t his fault Winter felt himself above the law and it wasn’t his fault he was assigned to Winter’s Unit. It wasn’t as if he’d be working against Winter in any sense. Hell, the Old Man’d be the first to agree a man had to look out for himself.
Earl was already in the Scout, waiting. He started an easy conversation about Denby’s last duty assignment and they chatted idly about that until he suddenly parked and flicked the lights off. Denby winched upright, his head swiveling busily, the eyes questioning the unresponsive house fronts rising into the dusk.
“Where are we?”
“This is where my friend lives. It looks better inside.”
“That’s OK.” The lie had an off-key ring. “It must be a nice neighborhood.” He stepped to the ground as if testing for mines. He followed Earl without further comment, telling himself he’d been a fool not to eat at the club and reminding himself that Earl had been here many times in the past and had no more wish to die than any normal person. He crowded through the front door literally on Earl’s heels and was turning for a wary look over his shoulder when he realized Earl hadn’t bothered to knock. Before he could ask about that, he heard another voice.
“Hey, you made it. Good fucking deal. I was beginning to wonder if dinner’d get cold. This your friend?”
Denby took the greeting hand in trained reaction, his mind devoured by the recognition of his host.
“Hi,” the man said, perfect teeth flashing ingenuous welcome. “I’m Ben Barline. Dick says your name is Carl. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Denby�
�s stomach rolled and he heard his voice make words.
“Ben! Call me Ben.” He squeezed Denby’s bicep and steered him toward a carved teak bar, opened to display glittering bottles and glasses. Numb, Denby agreed to Scotch and soda, watching with frozen eyes as Barline dumped a good three fingers in a tumbler and splashed it with soda. At the first sip a shock whipped through Denby, almost a voice screaming for him to get himself together, and he sat the drink on an end table and plumped into the overstuffed chair next to it.
He spoke to Earl. “This is the way to live. Look at this furniture—rosewood and teak from Hong Kong, I’ll bet. And the lacquer-work pictures! I’ve only seen a couple like that.”
Barline said, “You like them? They’re pretty old. Made in happier times. You like Oriental art?”
Denby felt himself relaxing, felt something move in his brain, wanting him to understand he belonged here. These people had depth.
He said, “Art’s primarily an investment for me, I’m afraid. I love to own it, but every time I see I can make a profit on what I’ve bought, I unload. Doesn’t do me any good, though. The money just goes into another piece, more expensive than the last. I guess I’m more of a businessman than connoisseur.”
“Not necessarily,” Earl disagreed, slouching on the sofa across the room. “The important thing’s to realize the fact of the art. You’re allowed to change your mind and you’re not required to like all forms equally.”
“Holy shit!” Barline smacked his hand against his forehead in burlesqued astonishment. “Who can believe this? Two dogfaces discussing art and taste! They’ll drum you out!”
Earl swore at him easily and Denby felt his control of the situation growing as surely as night follows day. It wasn’t a bad metaphor, if trite, he decided, because he certainly had them in the dark. They were going to seduce him. No good-guy/bad-guy act, and no hard sell. It was going to be kindred souls enjoying a stimulating evening and later would come the hints that it’d be nice if he would help them put a knee into Winter’s balls. As gentlemen, naturally.
He exhaled in contentment, an apparently careless finger nudging his barely touched whiskey further away. They continued to chatter and a few minutes later a woman appeared in the doorway at the opposite end of the room. Denby had suspected it led to the kitchen and her disheveled appearance convinced him. She shouted over the continuing conversation.
“Deep?”
Barline nodded without looking. Immediately the woman hurried to put down a bowl of cheese dip and some crackers on the coffee table in front of Earl. Denby got up to help himself, enjoying catching Barline’s attempts to read the new guest’s reactions.
Denby continued to enjoy the evening, manipulating the conversation with a skill that gave him intense pride. Every time Barline brought up the war, he was able to find a phrase to link the statement to art or literature or something of equal innocence. By the time the woman was clearing away the dessert dishes Barline was showing his irritation and Earl was watching him with increasing concern. In fact, Denby noted as Earl turned from Barline once again, he was looking practically desperate.
“What do you hear from Trung since you had to turn him loose?” Earl literally blurted the question and with it, the sociable atmosphere whined with anticipation. Barline’s eyes drilled as though they would suck the truth directly through Denby’s skull.
Whatever they hoped to achieve, Denby’s spirits soared. He was in control. They had brought him here to use him, and he was in position to let them use him, but on his own terms. He wanted to dance.
He said, “You mean since the government freed him. We don’t hold anyone. He’s not doing much. We wouldn’t hear anything from him, at any rate.”
“Bullshit.” Barline said it quietly. “He hates your guts, you people in your snooper’s unit.” He laughed at the inadvertent alarm that swept Denby’s face and leveled a finger at him. “He won’t talk to me—he must be pretty scared—but he doesn’t have to say a fucking word to make his meaning clear. All he’d say is that he’s turned the whole thing over to his friends and is relying on them to see justice done. That last is a quote, incidentally. Maybe you can tell me exactly what his friends might do.”
Anxiety tugged at Denby’s grip on the meeting and he fought to maintain himself. “If Trung’s going to wait for his friends to do something, he’ll wait a long time. He doesn’t have any.”
Earl said, “I wouldn’t bet on it. He got out, didn’t he? And a lot of other people are very upset over the high-handedness of what your people did.”
“High-handed? This is war, Dick. You want our people reading rights to VC before they can shoot?”
“Oh, stop it,” Earl protested wearily. “Trung’s a civilian and he does have rights, VC or not, and you haven’t proven he is. And that story he was an informer has a bad smell. There was some kind of fast deal, and Trung had a card Winter didn’t know about. He’d never let anyone go if he wasn’t pushed to it. Someday the real story’s going to break and the shit’ll really hit the fan.”
Barline gestured with a coffee cup in his hand, either unaware of or ignoring the spillage. “Were you there when they busted him? Did one of your people kill the third man?”
“I wasn’t present, of course. And you know the third man died by accident. Why must you with the media insist the Army kills for sport?”
Barline jerked a thumb at Earl. “I know some that don’t. But most of your people’ll kill anything that moves so they can get back to their easy living.”
“I’m sure you believe that. And I didn’t come here for this kind of argument.” He held one hand in the other in his lap, quieting the tremble starting there at the awareness that he had to establish himself concretely now, or the opportunity was gone. He constructed a sneer for Earl. “This is your idea of a pleasant conversation?”
Earl averted his eyes. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have mentioned Trung. Not to you. Ben and I were talking about him the other day. Ben tried to interview him and got nothing, as he said, and I knew Winter had something to do with the operation. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve had the feeling you don’t always approve of everything that Unit does, and I wondered if you knew how terrified Trung really is. And, to be candid, Ben hoped you could help him with an angle on a story. Situations like that involving Trung have to be exposed, but I had no right dragging you into an argument about it.”
The sincerity of the apology satisfied Denby. Even Barline accepted the truce, although with a brittle silence that indicated he was ready to start any time. Denby decided a breath of flattery might soothe him.
“I understand your feelings, Ben. Sometimes we—the military—are so interested in winning we lose sight of the things were actually fighting for. I know you only want the truth. If it wasn’t for the press, I’m afraid we’d have some people go completely out of control.”
“You fucking well know it. I’ve seen some who don’t need anything but a swastika armband to be right out of the old newsreels.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that. There’s no arguing, though, the press is the single greatest moral influence on both our policy here and our people.”
Earl’s eyebrows rose. “Moral influence?” There was tentative approval in the question and Denby fastened to it, knowing he had holding ground to anchor the new relationship between himself and Earl. Even as he put his answer together, he realized he should have seen the link long ago.
He cleared his throat. “Everything we’ve undertaken here has to be evaluated in terms of moral correctness, or the whole effort is simple interference.” Barline tapped his fingers on the table and said, “Hear, hear!” the sarcasm not completely obscuring a growing interest.
“I mean that,” Denby declared, and Barline interrupted again.
“Look, there’s no morality in this thing. No nation should interfere in the internal affairs of any other nation. If you do, you have no right to even discuss morality.”
“I�
�m not talking politics. I’m talking about our behavior as individuals. No matter our reason for being here, we should be required to behave honorably. We’ve flooded the economy by overpaying for everything, we’ve undermined the family by hiring children at wages the parents can’t earn, made whores of innumerable women—”
“You constantly surprise me.” Barline shook his head, looking to Earl and back to Denby. “One minute you sound like you’re getting off on the same old shit and then you’re saying something intelligent. I wish I were in a position to do something about your view.”
“You are,” Denby said, feeling inspiration swell inside him. “Why not write about the errors, the breakdowns in morality? We can’t do anything about it. The public is convinced the military wants to destroy the men here. If we try to court-martial anyone for anything, everyone back home screams it’s not the poor boy’s fault. You’re against the war and I’m against corruption. If you prepared a series of stories showing what’s happening to our people—drugs, VD, loss of self-respect, and so on—you’d be doing everyone a favor.”
Barline slowly leaned back away from the table and lifted his hands up behind his head. “Well, shit. You know, I think you’re right. The effect of evil on the ones exposed to it. And the people are right, you know, the kids on drugs and clapped up would never have had those troubles if they hadn’t been sent here.” He closed his eyes, internalizing his view. “Even better, why not show that and the impact of imperialism on the people? The possessions sold to make expenses, the illegitimate kids, the whores and their drugs. It goes on forever!”
Earl nodded semi-automatic approval with a frown that signaled reservations. Realizing he was being observed, he said, “People’re bound to get hurt. If you identify our men, you’ll be telling small-town America their sons are junkies or fathering bastards all over South Vietnam, or both.”
“Fuck ‘em!” Barline snapped. “Without the names the stories have no actuality. We’re talking about a rebirth of a sense of individual integrity and you can’t have that without pain. I’m going to use names and I’m not restricting myself to the kids, either. I’ve seen too many of these old-timers and officers whoring it up. It’s time somebody blew the whistle on those assholes and made them live up to all the ‘good example’ shit they throw around.”