Enemies

by Walter Knight

  * * * * *

  The next afternoon, Guido was again at the border checkpoint searching trucks, making payoffs, and taking in collections on the game. Also, basketball season was now in full swing. Suddenly an Arthropodan marine tank appeared from around the corner and crashed through the gate. Guido, now sitting in his guard shack, did not notice the approaching tank until a legionnaire from his squad fired his assault rifle. Guido looked up to see the large tank crashing into his shack. Guido jumped down an escape tunnel just as the walls of the guard shack were crushed. The tank then withdrew back across the MDL without an explanation or further gunfire. It was soon gone.

  Guido pushed up through the rubble and peered out toward the spider side. His counterpart at the Arthropodan guard shack waved. Guido shook his fist and yelled, “Poor losers! See if I ever give out credit again!”

  * * * * *

  “Do not forget to change your clock tonight,” advised the spider military intelligence officer. “Daylight Savings Time ends at 0200.”

  “Why do we have to change our clocks in the first place?” asked the spider commander. “I do not care to save daylight. The desert is too hot in the daytime in the first place.”

  “Because the human pestilence do it,” answered the military intelligence officer. “There are economic and business considerations. Remember: fall ahead, spring back.”

  “Whatever,” said the spider commander. “Copying the human pestilence’s skewed timekeeping is not a good enough reason.”

  “Adherence to mutual time zones was written into a trade agreement treaty,” explained the military intelligence officer. “The Emperor decreed it, and the governor ordered it.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” said the spider commander, as they arrived at the border checkpoint and got out of their jeep. “Seconds, minutes, hours ... it’s all rubbish!”

  “The governor also ordered local commanders to conduct sincere face-to-face negotiations to limit further border incidents,” advised the military intelligence officer, as they stood with their toes just touching the MDL painted across the roadway. “Try to be civil.”

  “Always,” replied the spider commander. “Don’t you tell me how to be civilized.”

  * * * * *

  Major Lopez and I had arrived promptly at the MDL and waited for the spider commander. As usual, the spider commander was late. When he finally arrived with an aide, he just stood there like a stubborn two-year-old, the toes of his boots just touching the painted MDL.

  “Well?” asked the spider commander, after a few minutes. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Fuck you,” replied the spider commander.

  “No, fuck you,” I said.

  “No, fuck you,” said the spider commander.

  “No, fuck you,” I repeated.

  “Fuck you!” shouted the spider commander.

  “This isn’t going well,” commented Major Lopez. “Perhaps we can discuss something substantive?”

  “Fuck you, too,” said the spider commander.

  “Fuck you, bendaho,” responded Major Lopez.

  “Fuck you,” said the military intelligence officer, gesturing at Lopez with a claw.

  “Fuck you!” I said, becoming more animated.

  “Fuck you,” said the spider commander, giving me the one-fingered salute.

  “No, fuck you,” I said, returning the one-fingered salute with both hands.

  “What about my office?” interrupted Guido. “Who is going to pay for all my stuff?”

  “Fuck you,” replied the spider commander.”

  “Vaffunculo, anche!” replied Guido, gesturing with an up-yours fist for emphasis.

  “Now that we have discussed our future plans for the border,” said Major Lopez, “can I tell General Daly that we have agreed to meet tomorrow at the same time and place for further discussions?”

  “Agreed,” replied the military intelligence officer. “I will advise the governor that fruitful negotiations are ongoing, and that we have found common ground in our discussions.”

  “Don’t forget to change your clocks,” I added.

  “Fuck you, Czerinski!” said the spider commander.

  “No, fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” I said.

  “Fuck you, and leave my horse out of this!” snarled the spider commander, turning to leave.

  Major Lopez and I walked back past Guido’s destroyed guard shack. “What happened here?” I asked. “This place is a mess. Get someone to clean this rubble up.””

  “You owe me money, you deadbeat!” shouted Guido across the MDL at the spider commander.

  “Fuck you!” was the reply.

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  Chapter 10

  I set my alarm clock forward instead of backward, and missed my next meeting with the spider commander. Just as well. I thought we needed some cooling-off time.

  * * * * *

  The spider commander drove back to his office, angrier than ever. On the way, he got a phone call he couldn’t refuse. “Hello,” said the spider commander. “How did you get this number?”

  “Good morning commander. This is Tony the Toe Garcia. I am in the employ of Bonanno & Associates. You owe Mr. Bonanno twenty thousand credits for sports wagers placed through Guido Tonelli.”

  “So?” responded the spider commander. “You know I’m good for it. I will pay you next week.”

  “Don’t be so cavalier,” warned Tony the Toe. “It doesn’t work that way. You will pay up today.”

  “But I cannot get that much cash today,” explained the spider commander. “Be reasonable. Who carries around twenty thousand credits?”

  “Do you realize your debt accumulates daily interest?” asked Tony the Toe. “Soon you’ll be in debt beyond your means. Neither of us wants that.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” replied the spider commander. “But I will be fine. Do not worry about the money. I will pay you.”

  “It’s my job to worry about the money,” said Tony the Toe. “We need to make an arrangement today. I can’t risk an accident or other tragedy befalling you before you can pay your debt to Bonanno & Associates.”

  “How about if I pay you with an armored car?” asked the spider commander. “I just happen to have an extra one, slightly used, but in good shape, hardly any mileage.”

  “An Arthropodan marine armored car?” asked Tony the Toe.

  “Of course a marine armored car,” said the spider commander. “I’m the marine commander for the whole New Gobi Desert military sector. It is in great condition. We only drive it on Sundays to war games and back.”

  “Let me check with Mr. Bonanno,” said Tony the Toe. “One moment...” There was some mumbled discussion on the other end, then Tony the Toe was back. “Sir, Mr. Bonanno wants to know if you are including the machine gun and cannon.”

  “Yes,” said the spider commander. “I am including all the standard equipment. What good is an armored car without a machine gun and cannon?”

  “And ammo too?” asked Tony the Toe. “Ammo is important to Mr. Bonanno. He wants armor-piercing missiles, too.”

  “If you insist,” agreed the spider commander, sighing.

  “How well does the air-conditioning work?” asked Tony the Toe.

  “The air-conditioning works just fine,” said the spider commander. “Our techs maintain our equipment and vehicles to the highest Imperial standards.”

  “You have a deal,” advised Tony the Toe. “Deliver the armored car to Guido this evening. We at Bonanno & Associates value you as a customer and hope to do business with you in the future. Remember, gamble responsibly.”

  The spider commander disconnected. I cannot believe I let myself be shaken down by a human pestilence thug named ‘The Toe,’ thought the spider commander to himself. I’ve sunk to a new low. The injustice of it all! I will get even. Then he hissed his rendition of a human pestilence chuckle. “I screwed The Toe over on the air-conditionin
g. It hasn’t ever worked right, and the warranty is expired. Ha!”

  * * * * *

  Like a lot of other unlucky gamblers, Danny Grant lost all his money betting on the Super Bowl. “Damn those Dolphins,” he cursed. Now Grant was reduced to shoplifting for food at Walmart. Grant looked both ways before he stuffed frozen-entree TV dinners down his pants. So cold! Oh, the shrivel factor! At the front door, Grant was confronted by a security guard.

  “Sir! You have been observed stealing,” announced the security guard. “Empty your clothing of all Walmart property. Do it now! I am detaining you until the sheriff arrives.”

  “No pencil-neck rent-a-cop nerd like you is arresting me,” replied Grant, reaching for one of his pistols.

  The security officer fired an amp gun at Grant. The electricity arced like bolts of lightning. Grant flopped in spasms on the floor, losing continence. A puddle on the floor grew steadily larger. The security officer stood over Grant, pressing the amp gun to Grant’s nose.

  “Who’s the nerd now?” shouted the security guard. “Go ahead, punk! Make my day!”

  Grant twitched another involuntary spasm. The security guard shot him again for resisting. A grenade fell out of Grant’s coat pocket. The security guard immediately handcuffed Grant and searched him for more weapons. Finding another grenade, two pistols, and more frozen food, the security guard notified the Legion. Major Lopez met Grant at the Sheriff’s Office jail.

  “I promise your execution will be quick and humane,” advised Major Lopez pleasantly, upon greeting Grant. “We won’t screw it up this time. I’ll do it myself.”

  Grant, still in cuffs, just nodded and smiled.

  “Grant will be locked up in maximum security until we sort out the charges,” advised a sheriff’s deputy. “Then you can have him.”

  Major Lopez peered through the bars at Grant, again. “You were arrested by a Walmart security guard? How embarrassing is that? Some mastermind terrorist you are.”

  “Tell Czerinski this isn’t over!” yelled Grant. “No tin-box county jail can hold me!”

  “Whatever,” said Major Lopez. “You’re such a loser.”

  * * * * *

  Danny Grant felt abandoned. No one visited because all his friends were fugitives. No letters were sent either. If Grant were to escape, he would have to do it on his own. As a first step in that direction, Grant bought a handcuff key on credit from another inmate. On court day, Grant hid the cuff key in his mouth. He rode in a U.S. Marshal’s van to federal court for a hearing, transferring him to Legion custody.

  After entering the locked garage at the federal building, one marshal secured guns in the strongbox while the other marshal opened the side of the van full of prisoners. Grant already used the handcuff key to slip out of his restraints, but held the chains in place with his hands as he stepped out of the van. Grant shoved the marshal, then ran for the garage door as it closed down. Grant slid like a baseball player trying to steal second base as he went under the closing door to freedom. He stripped off his bright orange jumpsuit, and ran like the wind, naked, down the street.

  Darting down an alley, Grant mugged a bum for his clothes. They itched. Grant ran further, trying doors until finding one that opened. He entered the law office of Eugene Depoli, Jr. Grant strode boldly past the receptionist and into Depoli’s inner office, closing the door behind him. How ironic, thought Grant. He needed a good lawyer. Grant picked up a voluminous law book and smacked the stunned Depoli across the face to get his attention, and forced him to exchange clothing under the threat of extreme harm. Now they both itched. Depoli gladly gave up his wallet, hoping to live another day. A search of Depoli’s desk produced a small handgun. Grant poked the handgun in Depoli’s face to emphasize the seriousness of the situation, demanding car keys. Grant left with his newfound lawyer, coercing Depoli to tell his receptionist that they were going shopping for a new suit before going to court. They drove off in Depoli’s car.

  “What kind of lawyer are you?” asked Grant.

  “Criminal defense,” answered Eugene Depoli, Jr. “Are you in trouble? Can I help you?”

  “You already have,” replied Grant. “The only question now is whether I will kill you.”

  “Please, you can’t be that desperate,” pleaded Depoli. “You need representation. I can help you.”

  “No amount of representation will save me now, if Colonel Czerinski gets his hands on me,” replied Grant. “The Legion wants to execute me. So does the Empire.”

  “I have dealt with Czerinski before,” said Depoli. “Trust me. I will help you against Czerinski. I hate Czerinski, too.”

  Grant let a grateful Depoli live, but took his credit cards and PINs. Grant accepted Depoli’s representation, and promised to pay him back soon. True to his word, Grant paid Depoli soon after his next bank robbery, and paid his friend locked up at the county jail for the handcuff key. Now he would kill both Czerinski and Lopez.

  * * * * *

  Charges were dropped against Lydia Thomas for lack of evidence. After being treated at the hospital for minor shrapnel wounds, Lydia hooked up with Al Turner’s friend Robert Acosta. Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight tracked the couple down in Gila City, where they were operating an import-export business. Coen arranged an interview with Lydia as part of an investigative report about Legion abuse of power and civil-rights violations. Coen was conducting his investigation as a follow-up to the story initiated by Arthropodan Cable TV. Spider investigative reporter Cable Eye, a friend of Coen’s, could not obtain a work visa to cross the MDL to do the story himself. Coen agreed to follow up on the story as a personal and professional favor to Cable Eye. Coen and his cameraman met Lydia at a small motel just outside of town.

  “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” said Coen, shaking her hand.

  “You are my favorite TV commentator,” gushed Lydia. “May I say, you are much more handsome in person.”

  “You are too kind,” replied Coen. “Let’s get right to the heart of the matter. Did Colonel Czerinski, hero of the Foreign Legion, attempt to murder you during a domestic love triangle turned violent, in which your lover Al Turner was shot and killed by Czerinski?”

  “Am I going to be paid for this interview?” asked Lydia. “Cable Eye promised me a substantial fee. He said six figures at least. I really need the money, because I was thinking of leaving the area soon, and I am having some serious inventory and cash-flow problems with my business.”

  “My producers cannot guarantee any payment until we see where this investigation is heading,” explained Coen. “Channel Five World News Tonight has a tight budget, with the recession and all. Perhaps the Arthropodan Cable TV News people have more cash.”

  “What?” asked Lydia. “I was expecting at least a half a million dollars. We are talking about the biggest Legion scandal of the century.”

  “Ms. Thomas, let’s just do the interview,” coaxed Coen. “I promise to do my best to make sure you get paid something for your time. Did you and Colonel Czerinski have a personal relationship?”

  Robert Acosta and Danny Grant burst into the room, interrupting the interview. They pointed assault rifles at Coen and his cameraman. “Are we broadcasting live?” asked Grant, combing his hair. “I’ve never been on TV before. So, you’re Coen? I’ve watched you do the news.”

  “Who are you?” asked Coen. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

  “I’m a friend of Lydia’s,” said Grant. “And I don’t appreciate you stiffing her for the fee she was promised. One way or another, Lydia is going to get paid. If your network wants you back, they will have to pay Lydia her half million dollars. Also, your network and the spiders will need to pay two million dollars more for your safe return. Call it my finder’s fee.”

  “That is ridiculous,” commented the cameraman. “Who do you think you are? Do you know who you are dealing with? This is Phil Coen, the most respected news commentator in the galaxy.”

  Grant hit the came
raman in the forehead with the butt of his rifle, then turned his attention to Coen. “The last time I watched you on TV was after I robbed Czerinski’s tavern, the Blind Tiger. You described me as a level-4 sexual deviant. I did not appreciate that!”

  “I’m sorry,” replied Coen. “I just read what they put in front of me. If it’s not true, it’s the writers’ fault.”

  “That’s the problem with society today,” commented Grant. “No one wants to take personal responsibility for their actions. Me? I admit I’m a bad guy. I rob, I bomb, and I terrorize. I cut people’s testicles off. But I am not a level-4 sexual deviant!”

  “I will be more than happy to make a public apology for Channel Five World News Tonight,” offered Coen. “I am so sorry if we made a mistake in our reporting.”

  Grant punched Coen in the face, breaking his nose and closing an eye. “You wanted to do an interview?” shouted Grant. “Fine! We will do an interview! I am Danny Grant, leader of the human insurgency seeking complete independence for all of New Colorado from the United States Galactic Federation and from the Arthropodan Empire. Both are imperialists that oppress the people of New Colorado. The status quo, partitioning our planet, is unacceptable. The ransom of Phil Coen is just another step in the struggle for complete independence that started a long time ago, and will continue until all the foreign armies leave. I will allow another interview when Coen stops bleeding. Someone clean him up. Lydia, you’re a nurse. Do something! Acosta, turn that camera off!”

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  Chapter 11

  “Did you change your phone number?” asked Major Lopez. “My favorites file can’t reach you.”