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Solving the crime and killing Oscar Tierney was bigger than the “Butcher”. The difference was, this time, we were ready. We told it exactly like it happened and no one had a problem with it, except fucking Special Agent Nelson, who wanted to take Roger and me in. I just said I wasn’t talking to the FBI and they could kiss my ass. Nelson was ready to cuff us and walk us out into the press when cooler heads prevailed. That was after I told Bob Forbes what happened and that I planned to go out and make an immediate statement to the press and highlight the complete lack of cooperation and investigative effort shown by the FBI in this whole thing. Forbes got it and called off his dog. Two hours later we were home and packing. Roger wanted no part of this.
“Not doing Leno tonight, Roge?”
“No thank you.”
“You’d be huge. You can tell them how you put a bullet into the side of his head and his brain spurted out. Make clever little jokes.” He gets really quiet when you’re bustin’ his little cahones.
I sipped my wine and thanked whoever was above; it was over. “What are you reading, Roger?” He had his netbook out and was reading, sitting in a lounge chair. I had to get him out of town. We’d gone to the mattresses.
“Josef Stalin, wow, if ever a guy needed a bullet in the side of the head…You know he was responsible for killing at least 35 million of his own people?”
“Oh, here we go,” I whispered in Liz’s ear.
“Just going by the numbers, this guy was close to the worst person in the history of the world. He put another 18 million in slave labor camps! Most of the time, these people weren’t even involved in any political movement or connected with the government, they were just exterminated.”
“I think most people think Hitler was the number one murderer,” I said.
“Hitler had a body count of only around 12 million.”
“Ahhh, just a piker,” I said.
“But, Jolting Joe Stalin ruled for 30 years with a reign of terror. What a piece of work. Right up until his last days, he kept at it. He was a psychopath’s psychopath.”
“Where does he get these books?” asked Liz.
“Number one, murderous piece of shit, has to be Mao Zedong,” continued Roger, “70 million of his own people.”
“Wow, that’s impressive,” I said.
“He used to say all the time, ‘Too lenient, not killing enough’. You know what the funny thing is, Mr. Mullins?”
“No, Roge.”
“Stalin and Mao are still revered in their countries. I don’t get it.”
“Maybe that’s where Hitler went wrong, not killing enough of his own.”
“When you control the story, you can make it read anyway you like,” said Liz.
“These three were the worst in terms of numbers, but they didn’t do the actual killing themselves. They had people doing it for them,” said Roger. For sheer bloodthirsty sadism, you can’t overlook Vlad the Impaler. He was also known as Dracula. He got his Impaler name from his favorite method of execution. He would have wooden stakes inserted into the intestines of his victims.”
“Okay, that’s enough for me. I’m going in to lie down. I’m exhausted,” said Liz. “I’ve had all the murder I can handle for awhile.”
“You don’t want to hear more about Vlad?” I grabbed her hand as she got up.”
“Later.”
“I’ll be in a few minutes,” I said as she walked off.
“He’s another who went after his own people,” Roger said.
“And you know what, Mr. Mullins? Romanians think of him as a freedom fighter, a great warrior.”
I shook my head and looked over at Roger, “Are you done?”
“Yea, the three worst people in the world plus one.”
I looked at him and sipped my wine. “How you doing?”
He looked up from the computer, “I’m okay.”
“You worry me. You’ve got significantly less remorse than I had.”
He thought about for a moment and said, matter of factly, “I’ve killed a lot of people online.”
I laughed at him. “I gotta remember that one,” shaking my head.
“What’s going on at work?”
“It’s busy, lots of interesting opportunities.”
“Like what?” I didn’t want to go back to work.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I watched as he typed and changed screens. “There is a Formula One race car team that wants us to investigate an issue.”
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. They won’t say. Offer is a fat consulting fee and first class tickets.”
“First class tickets to where?”
“Madrid, Spain.”
“I know where Madrid is, dickhead.”
“I know you’re geographically challenged. 6 million people, capitol of the country. It’s a beautiful city, rich in history.”
“Soccer and bull fighting," I said.
“They call it football.”
“Why us?” I asked.
“Might as well get the best. Those Formula One teams burn through $500 million a year.”
“You checking it out?” I asked him.
“I sent them a contract with ridiculous terms but they seem to want us.”
I finished my wine and said to him, “When were you going to tell me about it?”
“When a decision had to be made. You know, we should re-brand the company into a security consulting company. Easy to sell contracts to sports people.”
“What are our terms with Spain?”
“Do you really want to discuss the negotiations of our terms?”
I thought about it and let it go. I don’t really give a shit.
“Terms include a ticket for Liz.” He looked up at me. “She speaks Spanish.” He was typing on the computer, half paying attention to me. “They want us tomorrow. I think I can put them off for a couple of days.”
I got up and started for the house. “There is food in the kitchen. I’ll make dinner later.”
“Okay.”
I opened the door and looked back at him, buried in the computer. “We’ve been lucky,” I said.
“I’ve been lucky. I’ll be lucky again. Betty Davis said that." He looked over at me. He thought for a moment, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity…You want a few more?”
I walked into the house and made my way to the back bedroom. Liz was naked under the sheets. I took off my clothes and slipped into bed with her. She spooned up against me.
“You going to impale me, Vlad?”
“This won’t hurt.” I pulled her into me. She let out a little passionate groan.
We laid there for a minute before I whispered into her ear, “Ever been to Spain?”
She hesitated and then quietly sang to me in her incredible voice:
“Well, I’ve never been to Spain
But I kinda like the music...
Say the ladies are insane there
And they sure know how to use it;
They don’t abuse it
Never gonna lose it
I can’t refuse it.”
THE END
###
About the author:
After growing up in the Boston area and living in the San Francisco Bay Area, Pete Bowen now lives in Phuket, Thailand. He walks a Golden Retriever along Kamala Beach every day.
He can be contacted at pete44@gmail.com
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