by Jon Jacks
He flicks open and glances at the ID, lifts it up so I can take a look.
‘Check the ID kid; fake.’
I look at it, but needn’t have bothered. It looks fine to me. Someone’s ticket to see the Dallas Cowboys would look fine to me.
‘It’s the cop’s number kid,’ Brad explains, realising I wouldn’t know a fake ID unless it had LIES stamped all over it. ‘It’s not a number for this area.’
‘Why send a fake cop after us? Where’s the sense in that?’
‘Because they figure we’d come along quietly. Thinking we were just being pulled in for a bit of innocent questioning, some sh– we could talk our way out of.’
‘Figures,’ I say, shrugging.
He’s wiping down everything he’s touched. He clips the ID back into place.
‘What we gonna do about the body?’
‘Nothing.’
He stands up, dusts himself down.
He takes me by the elbow and begins to lead me out of the alley, back towards the street. He’s already glancing around, making sure no one’s about.
‘Cops get killed; fact. They’ll suspect we were involved, but there ain’t no proof. No leads they can use. They’ll also be busy trying to cover up their involvement, the papers sniffing a bigger story when they figure he ain’t a cop at all.’
Walking down the street, Brad acts like it’s just another day.
‘We’ll move on, just to be sure,’ he says, grinning as the sun strikes his face. ‘I’ve got something in mind – it ain’t ideal. But could be that’s why they’ll never figure you’re there kid.’
*
Chapter 29
‘Jack, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Lee – Lee Oswald.’
I take the guy’s hand. It’ ain’t what you’d call a firm handshake, but it’s warm enough.
‘Lee, Jack Leroyson.’
Brad’s brought me to a small diner, introduced me to his friend, a guy already seated at a table.
The guy has a strangely timid manner, almost girlish. Timid smile, too.
Fact is, the face is pretty rather than handsome too; all small features, soft contours. Early twenties, at a guess. Prep school haircut.
How I’d imagine that guy Holden Caulfield could’ve looked, the phoney from Catcher in the Rye.
On the table in front of him there’s just a cup of cold-looking coffee and a book. I glance at the book, wondering what sort of stuff this guy reads.
The title makes no sense, though, like the book’s upside down. Like it’s some foreign language.
Don’t even look like it’s using normal letters, like it’s from another planet.
‘You still at the welding company?’
Brad takes his seat. With a wave of his fingers, he indicates to the waitress that she should bring over three more coffees.
‘Nah, I quit.’
Lee’s voice ain’t as squeaky as I thought it might be. Dallas twang, confident. Like they have the monopoly on speaking like cowboys in the westerns.
‘Wasn’t for me. Just lasted three months there.’
‘And so now?’
‘Trainee; company doing photographic printing, typesetting. That sorta thing.’
‘Useful,’ says Brad with a large grin.
Lee gives him a weak grin in return.
*
The waitress smiles likes she’s sick and tired of smiling.
She more or less spins the three cups of coffee across the table.
The coffees more or less end up in front of each one of us.
We all give her a nod, mouthing but not saying ‘Thanks’.
Brad turns to me.
‘Couldn’t leave you with anyone safer than Lee kid.’
‘You’re leaving me?’ It’s the first I’ve heard of it.
‘They’re on the look out for me and you kid. If they don’t recognise one, they’ll recognise the other; as we saw with that cop.’
The dead cop made the papers. No comment about him being a fake cop. Just interviews with his shocked colleagues. His distraught wife of three months.
‘They’re messing with your mind kid,’ Brad had assured me. ‘They want you feeling guilty. Want you to do something stupid like turn yourself in. There ain’t no weeping nineteen-year-old widow, believe me. What’s worrying me is they’re getting the cops to go along with all this bull; meaning they’re far more powerful than I’d figured.’
‘You’ll just be staying with me and my wife for awhile,’ Lee says in answer to my question. ‘Give Brad more chance to snoop around on his own. Find out who the bastards are who’re chasing you down.’
‘Lee’s got a story much like yours kid.’
Brad’s almost finished his coffee. He likes it hot, scalding.
‘Lived in more homes than you can count on your fingers and toes; New Orleans, Louisiana, Covington, Dallas. Might as well have had a truck for a home. He’s been in the orphanage too, his mom too poor to take care of him.’
Lee gives me a friendly nod, like he’s already been filled in on my history. Like he’s already made the connections.
‘Unlike you though kid,’ Brad continues, ‘Lee here got his act together by joining up with the US marines. Got himself noted as a sharpshooter. Scored two hundred and twelve. A marksman too, scoring one hundred and ninety one.’
‘Just a couple of points above the minimum for qualification.’
Lee says it like Brad’s making a big deal out of nothing and he wants to put the record straight.
‘In case Brad’s giving you the wrong idea here, like I’m some sort of war hero, you should also know I was court-martialled, twice.’
Brad’s finished his coffee. He laughs, his teeth partially stained by the strong drink.
‘Busted from private first class down to private. Served time in the brig too!’ Brad turns towards me. ‘Started a fight with the sergeant he blamed for getting him court-martialled in the first place!’
Lee shrugs.
I grin; the guy sounds all right.
*
Lee turns towards Brad, his face strangely warped, like he’s fighting to contain a great deal of explosive anger.
‘See Kennedy got Khrushchev to start dismantling the missiles in Cuba.’
‘Yeah, they’re all saying Khrusky blinked first. Way I see it, there’s been a trade off. Kennedy ain’t the bright boy we’re all supposed to think he is.’
I ain’t interested.
My eyes drop towards the book, the book whose title I still can’t make out, even though Lee’s moved it around when he rearranged his coffee cups. It looks like it’s been written by some alien from some wacky movie.
Lee notices that I’m puzzled by his book.
‘It’s Russian,’ he says. ‘It means “Crocodile”.’
As I hear the word ‘Russian’, I can’t help but look back towards Brad.
Could be the look on my face says, ‘Is this guy a commie?’
Could be Brad just naturally feels some explanation is due.
Either way, he says, ‘Lee got himself a security clearance in the Marines, allowing him to handle classified material.’
‘Read much yourself Jack?’
Lee has picked the book up, slipping it inside a small satchel-like bag he has with him.
‘Yeah, you do don’t you Jack?’
Brad’s answered for me. He turns towards Lee.
‘The Catcher in the Rye; he’s reading The Catcher in the Rye at the moment.’
I shrug, like yeah, that’s what I’m reading at the moment.
‘Good book, Jack,’ Lee says. ‘Always remember this; “Thou shall seek the truth and the truth shall make you free.”’
&nb
sp; *
Lee’s got himself one of the prettiest wives I’ve ever seen.
Russian. He met and married her in Russia too.
They’ve got a daughter, just under a year old. Born in Russia.
Guess that makes her Russian too.
Lee’s wife Marina can’t be much older than me, I reckon. Looks more like some high school student than anybody’s wife.
Long hair. Small, half-grapefruit-like breasts. Dark eyebrows that draw attention to her eyes.
Like Lee, she has a face that’s almost masculine/ Like she’s a female Elvis. Right down to the remarkably straight nose and full lips.
She smokes Salem, that light-green pack somehow setting off the pastel tones of her loose top or slacks. Like some young, aspiring Jackie Kennedy.
She trips around the place lightly, like she’s gaily walking through a wood. Perhaps that’s why she chooses Salem; all those ads, people by rivers in untouched woodland. ‘Salem refreshes your taste, “air-softens” every puff.’
Yeah, Mom could’ve done with those.
But I suppose Mom always wanted to see herself more as the Rhode Island babe. Bathing in blue waters with a handsome, rich dude.
Some hope Mom. Some hope.
Thinking of Mom, I have to choke back the feeling I’m gonna burst into tears unless I get a hold of myself.
Truth is, when I’d first been introduced to Marina, I’d seen her more as a Viceroy girl. You know, like the smart broad in the ad; wearing that loose, bright orange top. All those guys from the band surrounding her, all wanting to share her smoke of choice. ‘Viceroy’s got the taste that’s right!’
That’s what she’s like, Marina – you want to be with her, to share in the brightness she brings with her. Like it’s her own special perfume.
Not that Marina would ever smell anything but wonderful. You should see the washroom. Evening in Paris Bath Oil. Johnson and Johnson Baby Powder. Noxema Cover Girl Matte Makeup.
Only time we had that sorta stuff in our washroom at home was when Mom brought home the dregs her employers no longer wanted anymore.
And the things she says.
She says, ‘You knows whatch the world’s most beautiful instrument is Jack?’
And when I say I don’t know, the violin I suppose – those sorta instruments they use to play all that boring music that don’t have any singing – she laughs.
She laughs in such a way I totally believe her when she tells me she reckons the world’s most beautiful instrument is the human voice.
‘Have you ever heard choral music Jack? It’s literally heavenly, like we’re all rising up to meet God, to converse with him in his own language. Don’t you think that’s proof that a part of heaven or even God exists within us all?’
Okay, so she don’t say it exactly like that. She mangles her words, like she’s only just learning English.
But she says it all with an accent that makes even ‘Hello Jack’ sound like the most exotic thing I’ve ever heard.
Marina – the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
*
Chapter 30
What can I say?
Lee might be a bit too uptight for his own good. Rattling on about all the world’s problems, like it’s all up to him to solve them.
And little June cries throughout the night like any baby.
And Marina and Lee talk or more usually shout all the time in Russian, so I haven’t really got much of a clue what’s going on.
But Marina more than makes up for every single bit of it.
*
The months around Christmas make it the best Christmas I’ve ever had.
I can’t quite put my finger on why that is.
Everything just seems so exciting, like everything’s all coming together, keeping me bouncing along like I’ve got no worries anymore.
Everywhere I go, songs seem to be blaring out from jukeboxes and radios, telling me to make the most of my life.
The Crystals singing ‘He’s a Rebel’. The Four Seasons warbling ‘Bi…i…ig girls don’t cry…y…y’. Four limeys just putting out all this weird electronic stuff, celebrating the launch of Telstar.
Sure, Brad shows up every now and again, telling me he ain’t getting nowhere with his leads. Warning me the people after us can show up any moment and I should make sure I ‘don’t go getting too damn complacent’.
But even this ain’t bringing me down.
See, soon as Lee’s back from work, he keep himself busy. Putting together what he calls his ‘memoirs’, like he thinks anybody’s gonna bother reading them.
It’s a ‘commentary on Soviet life’, he says, which he’s gonna call The Collective.
That means me and Marina, we go to the movies whenever Lee’s okay about looking after June.
‘Sure, you need to get out now and again.’ Leastways, I think that’s what he says, as he says it in Russian.
Normally, I’d’ve been up for The Longest Day. One of those ‘Hey Hitler, no one goes messing with the US of A’ kinda movies.
Marina, though, she’s not on for it. Besides, that limey creep Lawford’s in it.
Marina prefers movies that make you feel good.
I surprise myself. I actually like Gypsy, a musical.
Perhaps it’s because Marina is sitting alongside me. Crazily shaking her head to the beat of the songs. Mouthing the words of the choruses even though she can’t possibly know them.
Natalie Wood’s in it too; she played Maria in Westside Story.
There’s also Karl Malden, his squashed nose and squat, taught body giving him all the angry presence of barroom brawler. A man who can’t help but look like he’s itching for a fight in every scene.
I even find Doris Day funny, as long as Marina’s alongside me laughing at more or less everything she does. (I’m sure she ain’t getting a single word of what Doris is saying.) That Touch of Mink. Marina seems to think it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen.
Cary Grant’s trying to get Doris to sleep with him, but Doris ain’t having any of it. She’s only the marrying kind. He’s rich, is our Cary, driving Rolls Royces, vacationing in Bermuda.
Mom would’ve liked this movie, you bet. Mom and her Newports.
*
Back at the house one day, I’m watching TV; Miss World, attending some event, some place somewhere outside of America.
She’s Dutch, so it figures.
She’s also nowhere near as beautiful as Marilyn ever was. But she has an accent that reminds me of Marina.
She’s not as pretty as Marina though.
Marina flops down beside me.
‘Whatch you watchings?’ she asks.
She’s gradually picking up an incredibly basic form of American from me.
She’s incredibly bright, learning words and phrases each day. She was a student in Russia, learning Pharmacology, whatever that is.
Lee doesn’t want her speaking American. He prefers speaking in Russian.
‘The news.’
‘Ah Miss Vorld; Catharina Lodders, yes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Beautiful, yes?’
‘Well, yeah…if you, you know, like that sorta thing.’
She giggles. She’s eating an apple and she has to raise the back of her hand up to her mouth to stop a piece falling out.
‘That sorta thing? Watch “that sorta thing”? She beautiful Jack!’
She giggles again, takes another firm bite of her apple. It crunches between her teeth, some of the juice running down her lip.
I shrug.
‘Yeah. I’ve seen others more beautiful.’
She moves back, away from me slightly. She brings the back of her hand up t
o her mouth once again, but this time like she’s said something wrong.
‘Ah, yes; I knows who you means.’
She says it like just mentioning it could send me into floods of tears.
I shrug.
She reaches out, places a hand on one of mine.
Little June starts crying.
Marina clenches my hand, smiles.
Then she gets up to attend to her daughter.
*
There aren’t many days that pass by where Lee isn’t ranting about some injustice in the world.
Ranting about some guy who sums up all those injustices. If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard General Edwin Walker mentioned…
Weird thing is, I’ve also heard Brad mention the very same guy. For different reasons, though. Brad having at blast at JFK for relieving the general of his command.
‘Sure Jack, but that’s because the general had been handing out rightwing material to his troops,’ Lee explains when I point this out.
How the heck did these two guys become friends?
Way Lee has it, General Walker’s little better than Hitler.
‘You know all that trouble at the University of Mississippi Jack? When JFK had to send in the troops to allow Negroes to attend? Well that was General Walker who was against the troops going in. There was a riot, two people killed. Sure, he was arrested, but you know what – the federal grand jury refused to indict him.’
Thing is, despite his rambling, a lot of what Lee says seems to make a lot of sense to me.
‘You seen all those international sports events, Jack? When all the glory’s brought to us by the Negroes? They’re the ones taking the medals from the Russians Jack, yet you know what? – when they come back home, do you think they find a welcome, a grateful nation? No Jack, they come home to blind hatred and discrimination.’
The only time he stops talking like this is when Brad shows up.
Like he knows Brad ain’t gonna take too kindly to this view of America.
*
Chapter 31
‘Sh– me if the goddamn commies ain’t gone and got themselves a one hundred megaton bomb!’ Brad says first time I see him just after Christmas.
He’s been drinking, drinking too much.
‘Me and some of the boys who’ve been working abroad finally got around to celebrating Christmas, he explains to a disgusted Marina.
‘Hey Lee, hey, our friend JFK; it looks like, looks like, you know, he might even get old Khrusky to get all his troops outta Cuba! How about that eh? How about that Lee?’
He shouts across the room, like he wants all the neighbours to hear.
‘Oh yeah, and how’s he achieved that Brad, eh?’