Cold Snap

by J. Clayton Rogers

  "For anyone honorably discharged."

  "But they know my car already. Why add yours to their target list?"

  "You don't want to be in a car I'm driving, do you?" Lawson turned a baleful gaze on him. "'That ol' cripple can't dodge and swerve in an emergency.' Is that it?" He slammed the door shut. "Come on, then. Let's get in your toy car before I freeze up again."

  When they reached Ari's xB, he glowered down at the passenger seat. "This is pure nut to butt."

  "We're the same height," Ari asserted. "And you won't be impeded by a steering wheel."

  "Lucky me..."

  Even after pulling the seat back as far as it would go, it proved a struggle. But with plenty of swearing and a lot of improbable contortions, Lawson just managed to squeeze inside. He bellowed, "OK, I'm in. Turn on the fucking heat!"

  Ari jerked the xB onto Parham and raced towards the interstate.

  "You learn to drive using a chariot?" Lawson complained.

  As Ari crossed the James River, he put forward his plan of attack.

  "I'll go in first."

  "What, good cop bad cop? I guess I know my part."

  Ari detected more than a little cheer in the man's voice. He was looking forward to this encounter. Ari had felt the same way when he went face-to-face with Abu Nidal, the founder of the Revolutionary Council of Fatah. Of course, that had been a high-risk one-man assault in the heart of Baghdad. This little confrontation on the outskirts of Richmond should not be nearly as dangerous.

  "I have no intention of being overly pleasant," said Ari. "I merely want to soften the terrain."

  "Your call, General."

  "Colonel," said Ari.

  "Colonel?" Lawson nodded sagely. "In the Italian Army?"

  "Colonnello."

  "Sorry, Sir. I'm not used to bird colonels."

  "Our insignia is a castle," said Ari. "It was a long time ago."

  "Right. How old are you? Isn't the average age of a wop colonel a hundred-and-two or thereabouts?"

  "I retired early."

  "Ran away with the rest of them, eh?"

  Ari's loud sigh was a clear signal the subject was of no interest to him, to Lawson, or to the world in general.

  "Well, I'll defer to authority." It did not sound like he was lodging a protest. He deftly pulled out his cigarettes. Holding the pack in his gloved prosthetic, he slid one out and lit up. "Where the hell's the ash tray?"

  Ari reached down and pulled out the Scion's miniscule ash tray. It was crammed full of butts and several fell out on the floor mat.

  "That's real disrespect," Lawson commented. "My SUV's gotta tray that would hold Vesuvius. You know Vesuvius?"

  "I'm more familiar with Mount Etna."

  "Sicily...right."

  "Our partnership would run more smoothly if you stopped trying to...is it 'catch me up'?"

  "That's right." Lawson took a long drag. "I've gotta do something to pass the hours."

  They had been on the road fifteen minutes.

  Ari took out his Winstons and lit up. A moment later, as Lawson reached across with his body to flick ashes, their hands crashed over the tiny ash tray.

  "Disrespect. If they had any balls, smokers would sue Daihatsu for making such a tweeny ash tray. It's a hazard, y'know?"

  Interpreting 'tweeny' from its context, Ari agreed wholeheartedly.

  Exiting on Broad Street, Ari circled around to the Scott's Addition District and parked in the same spot he had used two days earlier.

  "I have your cell phone number as a quickie," he said.

  "'Speed dial', please."

  "I'll ring once. Then you come in."

  "Shit!"

  "Pardon?"

  "Don't speak wuss to me. And don't take out the key. Leave the engine running, or I'll freeze up again. It'll be hard enough to pry myself out of this crate. Sir."

  "Certamente," said Ari, and got out. As he walked down the street he noted the security camera above A-Zed's entrance. Zooming in, an observer inside the building would have been able to make out the license plate on the Scion. But that still did not explain how the Kkangpae Puppets had found him in real time, on Jahnke Road. Karen Sylvester had had no idea that Uday Hussein had been holed up in Cumberland, under the U.S. Marshals Service' very nose. That another agency might have access to the GPS on Ari's car without her knowledge was not inconceivable.

  He walked up to the single glass door.

  Hours: 8:00 AM to 4:30 PM. Walk-Ins Welcome.

  Assuming he was being watched, Ari glanced at his watch. Yes, they were open. And since he was walking...for the moment, at least...he presumed he would be welcome.

  He walked in.

  The warmth of the front office came as an immense relief. The scowl turned up by the man at the desk was less comforting. He had been focused on the computer screen in front of him. The entrance's electric chime caused his eyes to skitter across the monitor, but when he saw Ari they locked into focus. He would not have recognized Ari from the earlier security camera images because the sun had reflected off the Scion's windshield, but no doubt his vehicular henchmen had given him a good description of the alleged Sicilian.

  "Can I help you?" he asked, lifting an inordinately smoky cigarette from a lava ash tray. It was hand-rolled. The smoke seemed to go behind his thick glasses, masking his eyes. It did not appear to bother him.

  "These are interesting," said Ari, stepping up and tapping a key hook display board from which dangled a variety of novelties.

  "For sale. Cheap. In bulk."

  "This is cute," he said, lifting a keychain shaped like the Commonwealth of Virginia away from the display. It contained a little red heart and the motto: 'Virginia is for Lovers'.

  "Very informative," said Ari. "I was not aware of that."

  "You run tourist shop?" the proprietor asked. "We sell by gross. Very popular. Wholesale gets big discount."

  "I'll bear that in mind," Ari nodded, letting the trinket drop back onto the cardboard backing. "You're an importer?"

  "This is multi-function business," said the man, leaning back further into his pillow of smoke. "If we don't have in stock, we can import."

  "From..."

  "Overseas," said the man vaguely. He would play along with Ari, but only so far. "You got something in mind?"

  "That's a very nice computer you have," Ari smiled, nodding at the desktop. "It looks brand new. No cigarette smoke residue on your screen."

  "You computer salesman?"

  A shadow moved in the hallway leading to the back. A moment later a burly young man appeared. The short sleeves of his tight-fitting T-shirt pulsed in tune with his biceps. His face was completely expression-free. He would have no opinion about whatever it was he was called upon to do. This no doubt included evicting unwanted visitors with the maximum amount of mayhem. Ari thought:

  No problem.

  Then a young man almost identical to the first squeezed into the narrow access way and Ari thought:

  Hmmm....

  "That your car?" said the proprietor, glancing over Ari's head. Ari turned and saw the monitor mounted on the front wall near the ceiling. His white Scion was dead center of the screen. Lawson was invisible behind the reflective glare.

  "My name is Ari Ciminon." He extended his hand. "I am content to meet you."

  Startled, the proprietor slowly lifted his hand.

  "Sung-Soo Rhee," he said.

  "I am so ecstatic," Ari said, returning the man's soft shake gently, out of a sense of courtesy. He might end up destroying the Korean, one way or another, but he had no desire to humiliate him more than necessary.

  Rhee suddenly jerked back, as though he had caught Ari trying to hypnotize him with civility.

  "Why you not get message?" Rhee demanded.

  "Message?"

  "I send message yesterday, very clear..." Rhee seemed wary of saying more, as though suspecting Ari might be wired.

  "I received no message. Let me check."

  The two young me
n edged forward as Ari reached into his pocket. They did not seem inclined to back off when he pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open and perused the screen. "I see no messages. Phone service in this country is so unreliable."

  Having pulled up Elmore's number, he pressed, paused a moment, then closed the phone.

  "Buy or go," said Rhee, losing all semblance of salesmanship.

  "Of course," said Ari, returning the phone to his pocket and bringing out the picture Rebecca Wareness had given him. "But first, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

  It was during the Rodong Missile fiasco, when Ari met North Korean representatives in Syria, that he learned Oriental physiognomy was no more inscrutable than anyone else's. The Koreans of the delegation could be shocked (You want how much of your deposit back?), distressed (There's not that much money in all of North Korea!), or pleased with their own deviousness (The check is in the mail.). Rhee's expression was as puzzled as that of the Korean ambassador without portfolio as he tried to figure out Iraq's peculiar rate of exchange. Ari was certain that he had never seen Mr. Wareness, had never so much as heard of him.

  Maybe I shouldn't have called Lawson....

  Rhee's eyes darted to the monitor. "Who is that?"

  Turning casually, Ari glanced up at the surveillance camera monitor. He was mortified to see Lawson struggling mightily to free himself from the Scion.

  "An interested party," said Ari.

  "He no interest me."

  "I mean, he is also looking for..." He raised the picture of Ethan Wareness again in a vain attempt to draw a flicker of recognition from the proprietor.

  "Can you two let me pass?" came a girlish voice from the hallway.

  The two T-shirts blocking the way lifted two heavy frowns and looked at Rhee.

  "Wipe your own ass!" the proprietor snarled.

  "I can't set up the new account without your authorization."

  Rhee had not taken his eyes from Lawson, who had finally extricated himself from the car and was headed towards the building. For a perilous instant he lost his footing on a patch of ice. Ari's scarecrow wannabe seemed ready to pitch forward in a comic sprawl. But Lawson regained his footing and pressed ahead. Slowly.

  "Your interested party gonna fall on his face," Rhee said flatly.

  "Why the emphatic 'message', Sung-Soo?" Ari asked, bringing up a topic that might distract him from the screen.

  "You work for insurance company?"

  Ari didn't answer.

  "Insurance companies get crazy ideas. They think so many fender benders happen, must be a plot. They don't think Americans just bad drivers. So they come up with ideas to stop paying out. Bunch of crooks, you ask me."

  "There are plots everywhere," Ari agreed. "But why assume I'm part of one of them?"

  "You park out front my business, watch the building for an hour. Then we see you leave, follow my idiot nephew in the van."

  There was a squeal of protest from behind the T-shirt muscle wall.

  "Come out, idiot nephew," Rhee called out. "Show nice customer your stupid face."

  The T-shirts pressed their backs to the wall, creating a narrow gap for the passage of the young man. Ari did not think he would be able to pass through, but he made it with room to spare.

  "You have nephews, Mr. Ciminon? Why nephews so stupid?"

  "I believe it's a worldwide phenomenon," Ari opined truthfully.

  "Your interested party very slow. He got rheumatism?"

  Rhee's nephew thrust a notepad on the desk and handed his uncle a ballpoint pen. "I need the new password or I can't set up the account."

  "You crazy? I made the new password so you wouldn't have it, and now you want me to write it down for you?"

  But the nephew was staring at the customer standing in front of the desk. He had been preoccupied with the salvage operator at the Beacon Corner junkyard, so there was a chance he would not recognize Ari. With any luck, he would suffer from the same racial myopia as Ari did when he tried to distinguish one T-shirt musclehead from the other.

  The door's electronic chime was accompanied by a bustling skirt of cold air as Lawson entered the office. The Koreans stiffened at this first close glance of Ari's passenger.

  Rhee had been chain smoking since Ari's arrival. The sudden breeze curled the smoke into evil wisps around his head, giving him the appearance of a wizard emerging from a cloud.

  "You insurance dick, too?" he said so coldly it was like stone talking.

  "His assumption," Ari said, turning to Lawson. "But we might as well admit it."

  "I admit nothing," said Lawson, his half-face frown trailing off into the mottled warp of his wound.

  Ari shook his hand in the air, as if he had touched something hot. "I don't think he's in a very good mood."

  He was not completely surprised when the two buff badboys took a step backwards as Lawson removed his fedora, not knowing the insurance detective could have been knocked over with a feather. But he was like a mock-up tank (of which the Iraqi Army had had in abundance), impressive from the air but feeble up close. Fortunately, his harsh bass, even slurred, could cow the unwary.

  Temporarily.

  The young man, still waiting for his uncle to write down the password, gave a little peep and slid over to the wall.

  The proprietor held his cigarette with his hand up instead of out, using his thumb and index finger. When he raised it, he looked as though he was reading notes off his palm. He seemed unperturbed by the new arrival. Oddly enough, he focused on Lawson's arm and leg rather than his head.

  Except for the giant desk, the office was sparsely furnished. A pair of metal folding chairs was the sole concession to visitors' comfort. Ari concluded the few customers who entered this room already knew what they wanted and did not stay long.

  "He hasn't seen our missing man," Ari told Lawson.

  "He told you that?"

  "And I tend to believe him," Ari answered.

  Elmore made a condescending sound, as though commenting on unresisting stupidity.

  "That still doesn't mean we can't talk," Ari continued, lowering himself into one of the chairs. "A-Zed Imports is multi-faceted. They're not only in the business of causing car wrecks."

  "You say that," said Rhee sourly. "I don't. Hey, Mr. Ugly, why don't you sit, too? You make my neck hurt looking up."

  Lawson growled. Ari found it impressive. So did the young man, who tried to leave but was trapped by the closed wall of T-shirts.

  "You don't like good manners?" Rhee persisted. "I offer you seat. But you can leave, if it suits you. No mind to me. What's wrong with insurance company, anyway? They stop hiring humans?"

  Ari wagged a finger at Lawson, then pointed down at the seat. "I think our friend here has plenty to tell us."

  "I tell you nothing," Rhee hissed.

  "You've told me plenty, already," said Ari, leaning forward and giving the trinket display a fillip that set their tiny chains jingling. "What else do you import?"

  "Plenty things." His hand crabbed over the desktop in search of his tobacco pouch. He craned his head at Lawson. "Sit down. Your hand in your coat like that makes me think you have gun."

  "Is there a reason why I should bring a gun in here?" Limping forward, Lawson propped his cane sideways and began lowering himself into the folding chair. Ari was tempted to reach out and steady the chair for him, but decided it would be a show of weakness. He hid his sigh of relief when Elmore landed without tipping over.

  "Don't forget, this is Virginia. We encourage people to carry firearms."

  Ari wondered if this was true. His own Glock was resting in his deep coat pocket. Could he wear a hip holster, like a cowboy? Flaunt his weapon for all to see? He had not noticed the local citizenry toting six-shooters, but maybe Virginians preferred understatement. And handguns could be heavy. He had witnessed at least two Iraqi officers whose holster belts snagged on their pants and dragged them down. One of those officers had used the offending gun to shoot a soldier
who dared to laugh at the sight.

  "I might have gun in desk," Rhee said, crouching forward against the top drawer. He nodded at the two badboys. "They might have guns."

  "In their skivvies?" Lawson snorted. He turned to Ari. "Shoot."

  "Excuse me?" Ari said.

  "You said you had some questions for the man."

  "Ah. 'Shoot'." Ari smiled and took out his Winstons. "I'll make smoke instead."

  Grunting, Lawson reached into his pocket and drew out his Pall Malls. The Koreans watched with interest as he lit up using one hand, as though they were watching a carnival act. Soon, the three older men found themselves trying to scrutinize each other through a choking haze.

  "What's so important about my novelties?" Rhee asked, delving his hand at the display.

  "You sell them to tourist outlets?"

  "Mmmm..."

  "And who else?"

  "No big market but tourists." Stretching forward, Rhee turned the display around and scowled at the gewgaws. "Tourists like crap."

  "A Korean selling bona fide Virginia trinkets made in China to American tourists," Ari grinned, genuinely amused.

  "So? Russians sell American guns to Afghans to kill Americans. Russians, too, if they stupid enough to go back."

  "Is this going anywhere?" Lawson demanded. He exchanged glances with Rhee, who nodded in agreement.

  "I was wondering if you handed out trinkets like this to your other imports. Sort of as boob prizes, I mean."

  "You mean 'booby'?" Lawson inquired.

  "Is that the word?"

  "You talk shit," said Rhee.

  "I have frequently been accused of such a crime," Ari nodded. "But in this case I'm referring to the people you smuggle into this broad land."

  He offered the room an innocent smile, although he was in fact scanning for reactions. The most informative came from the young man, who renewed his attempt to squeeze past the T-shirts. Receiving no instructions from Rhee, the badboys remained immovable. The young nephew appeared to seriously consider climbing the wall. That must have been, in his eyes, more feasible than rushing past his uncle for the front door.

  "Your multiple businesses must be very lucrative," Ari continued. "I couldn't help but notice you discarding many computers the other day."