KIA

by Thomas Holland

  “Agreed. Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks. The Tenkiller case has taken a turn on our end, but we’ll try and run down some more information for you if it’d help. I owe you.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, ’cause I do need a favor. Look, I’m sure that the medical examiners here and in Louisville are doin’ a fine job and all, but I was hopin’ to get a second set of eyes on those bodies. You know, there may just be somethin’ that the regular docs aren’t lookin’ for. Some clue of some sort.”

  “You want an anthropologist to examine the remains?”

  “Yeah. Y’all did such a bang-up job on that case at Fort Bliss,” Deveroux responded.

  “Thanks, but that was a different sort of case. We had a dismembered body in that one; little pieces to reassemble and all.”

  “So? These guys are almost dismembered; besides, I’m so stumped on this one that I need a jumpstart from somewhere. How about it?”

  “So…what’ve we got here? You’re talkin’ about a temporary duty assignment? Few days? A week? What?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah what?”

  “Few days. A week.”

  “Problem is that we’re pretty shorthanded right this minute. I’m not sure who I’ve got on deck.”

  “How ’bout you?”

  “Me?” Kel asked.

  “Why not? You still go TDY don’t you?”

  “Why not? Good question.” He glanced at the Diversity Plan Awareness workbook on the floor beside his couch and thought of the meeting with Botch-It that he was already late for. He’d been taking Les’s advice and stalling on the diversity plan as much as possible, but it was getting harder each week. Now Botch-It was requiring weekly progress meetings complete with PowerPoint slides. “No reason, I guess. Tell you the truth, this job is startin’ to cause me an itch that I can’t seem to scratch. I still love it and all, but lately it’s been…lately it’s been, ahhh, well, startin’ to cause me an itch—like I said. Kinda like a bad case of chiggers without the promise of goin’ away in a couple of weeks. Office bullshit, you know.”

  “Which is exactly why you need to come out here on temporary duty for a few days.” Deveroux continued to push.

  Kel laughed. “Why not? Beats volunteerin’ for Iraq again. Tell you what, make the official request. While it’s bein’ routed, I’ll get my orders cut.” Kel looked at his watch. “I can be in Nashville by noon Monday if I can catch a tailwind outta this place.”

  “Ahh…well…ahhh, to tell you the truth, Kel, I didn’t expect such a quick response. That’s a little more efficient than I was countin’ on. Actually, Monday’s not so good for me. My task force—all eight of them—is tied up doin’ interviews that are leadin’ nowhere but have to be done, and I’m drivin’ over to eastern Oklahoma on Sunday and won’t be back here till Tuesday late.”

  “Really? What part of Oklahoma?”

  “Little place. I doubt you ever heard of it,” Deveroux said.

  “Try me. I’m a font of geographical knowledge.”

  “You asked for it. Place called Onapa.”

  “Onapa. Sure. Little south of Checotah, right?”

  “Dang, that’s close. How in the world did you know that? I doubt the people in Onapa have even heard of it.”

  “Had a high school buddy—his family had a vacation place over on Lake Eufaula near there. Went with him a couple three times. As I recall, Onapa was the closest place that underage kids could get beer. You goin’ fishin’ or d’you need to buy some three-two beer?”

  “Might say that,” Deveroux answered. “The fishin’ part. Actually I’m goin’ to go interview Mr. Ed Tenkiller.”

  “No shit. Now that’s a familiar name. Jimmy Tenkiller’s brother, I assume. The one who won’t give us a drop of blood for the DNA test?”

  “Yup. Goin’ to see what he might know about these Five Brothers. Long shot, I know, but I figure maybe brother Jimmy wrote some letters, said somethin’, who knows. My wife and kids are up in Sikeston, Missouri, this weekend for her sister’s weddin’, so I figure I’ll spend the day drivin’ to Oklahoma.”

  “You not invited to the weddin’?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m invited. I just can’t stand my soon-to-be brother-in-law, and Tenkiller was a ready excuse to miss the festivities.”

  “I tell you what, partner,” Kel proposed, “this is doable, but how about a little quid pro quo here? I’ll come look at your bodies if you’ll let me tag along with you when you interview Tenkiller. Like you say, he may have some letters or somethin’ that’ll help me out on my aspect of the case. Promise I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “You got a brother-in-law to avoid too?”

  “Naw, but if I stay here I’m likely to do something that’ll earn me some jail time. Listen, there’s a flight into Tulsa that will get me there before noon on Monday. Can you pick me up?”

  “Sure. Why not? Need to warn you, though, I got an old pickup that’s long on reliability and very short on comfort.”

  “I could say the same for my ass. I’m game.”

  “Okay then. Let me know the flight number and time,” Deveroux replied.

  “How ’bout I email it to you as soon as I get the reservation?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Good. Should be fun.”

  “Yeah. Don’t know about fun, but it should at least be interestin’. Who knows, maybe we’ll find the link between all these fellas. Lord knows we could use a break in this case.”

  “Maybe,” Kel responded. “I got to admit that it’s a hell of a coincidence if there isn’t, the Five Brothers and all.”

  “Yeah, I’m like you. Five guys, six countin’ your Tenkiller, all in business together in Vietnam and now a couple of them come up dead. I’ve got a buddy at INS runnin’ the other names down now. I’ll be curious to know if they came to this country and whether they still have the tops of their heads attached firmly. Three known dead, maybe three to go…”

  “Two really. Not sure you can count Tenkiller. The skeleton we’ve got isn’t him. My guess is that he’s dead and all, but he likely died thirty-some years ago.”

  “Hmm. That’s not quite what General Fick said.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Rolla, Missouri

  SATURDAY, APRIL 19, 2008

  Ngo Van Thu was distracted.

  Throughout the seemingly endless ceremony he’d watched every movement, his eyes jumping around from face to face, probing each nook and shadow—knowing that it was the shadows that held the greatest attraction, the greatest familiarity and comfort. Saint Patrick’s Church was large and filled with good hiding places for a ghost from the past.

  There had been lots of faces. As befitting his standing in the community, Ngo Van Thu—with ample help from his wife and daughters—had spared few expenses and had been more than liberal with invitations. And befitting Ngo Van Thu’s status in the community, few of the invited had declined to attend and pass up such an opportunity to rub elbows.

  There had been lots of faces.

  In the end, he had seen nothing, including most of the ceremony. His wife had even had to nudge him when the priest had pronounced the banns. His distraction had followed him to the Hardscrabble Country Club where there were even more faces to scan and more movements to watch. He’d tensed with every unexpected pat on his back and grab of his elbow, turning, expecting to see his forty-year-old nightmare intruding upon his waking present. But as with the ceremony at the church, his vigilance had proven needless. There was no face in the shadow. Now, as the reception began to slow and the band began to stand down on break, he allowed himself to relax and took up a seat at a vacant table near the dance floor. He loosened his tie and poured a full glass of warm champagne that he sipped slowly as he watched his daughter make the last of her predeparture flits. Like a beautiful butterfly touching each flower petal in its path. He closed his eyes and felt the burn and sting of cigarette smoke and strong sunlight and lack of so
und sleep. The pain was comforting in an odd sort of way; it reminded him that he was alive. He savored the sting.

  “She’s very beautiful,” the voice behind him said. “Quite beautiful, really. You should be proud, General.”

  Ngo Van Thu realized he wasn’t surprised. Despite the dread and the distraction, despite the ceaseless searching of faces and shadows, when the voice finally spoke he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t jump, didn’t even open his eyes. He savored the sting. “I am,” he replied.

  “Yes, sir, very beautiful. I wouldn’t mind knocking off a piece of that myself. Been a long time since I gon’ and had some Viet tail. Especially any of that quality.”

  “She’s my daughter, John Bergeron.” Ngo Van Thu set his glass down and turned to look at the man he hadn’t seen in over three decades.

  John Bergeron had grown corpulent over the years and showed the effects—it always amazed Ngo how Caucasians showed the signs of age—but it was him; Bergeron hadn’t changed beyond recognition. Ngo Van Thu had wondered whether he would know him when he finally saw him, whether he could have picked him out of the faces in the church or on the dance floor or in the receiving line, and he smiled at the confirmation.

  “They’re all someone’s daughters, General. Every last one of them is someone’s little girl. That little biological fact never seemed to bother you when we were bar-fining tail in Saigon.” John Bergeron smiled with the recollection. “Now there’s a blast from the sordid past. You still got that—that—what do you call that thing? Swagger stick? Riding crop? You know what I mean. You still got that thing? I bet you do, General, I bet you do. Too many good memories, right? Bet your wife and daughter they don’t know about that little museum curiosity, though. Wouldn’t understand, would they? Am I right, General?”

  “As I said, she’s my daughter.”

  “Come now, you’re showing your age. The General Ngo Van Thu that I once knew could peel the skin off some pretty young thing with that riding crop of his and never once worry about her being someone’s daughter. The whippin’s got your rocks off more than the sex that followed. Don’t tell me you’re getting soft, General? Not General Ngo Van Thu. Don’t you go and become just another lazy American on me.”

  Ngo Van Thu looked away, his eye catching his daughter’s. She waved and smiled so gracefully and easily that he smiled back reflexively.

  John Bergeron reached past Thu and grabbed the champagne bottle, which he swirled and held up to the light to better gauge the contents. He emptied the bottle into a glass on the table and hoisted it in the general’s direction in mock toast. “No, not much chance of that, is there? Lots of things, maybe, but never lazy.” He gestured around the room with his drink. “Doctors, bankers, businessmen. My compliments, General. Talked to a few of these folks while I waited for you to finish shaking hands. Definitely not getting lazy. Very impressive what you’ve accomplished. Real estate holdings, shares in an investment company, your own construction company. Yes, sir. Now, who was it was telling me?…ahhh, there, that man over there, the fat one…he was telling me that you’ve got a lock on all the government contracts at Fort Leonard Wood. Says you’ve built every new building there for the last fifteen years. Still taking Uncle Sam’s checks, I see. What would those contracts add up to? Millions?” He toasted Ngo again. “Yes, sir, here’s to old habits’ dying hard.”

  “What do you want, John Bergeron?”

  “And now that one over there, the one with the big-titted wife…now, he was telling me that there’s even a movement afoot to run you for the state legislature this fall. The Right Honorable Ngo Van Thu. It’s got a certain ring, but you got to admit, it’s going to be a mouthful for the good folks of the Ozarks; don’t you think?”

  Ngo Van Thu stood up and reached over to an adjacent table, where he checked the contents of two large, dark-green bottles. He selected one and sat down, pouring another glass of champagne.

  “So tell me, General, what do you hear from our old friends? You know who I mean, your brothers? You keep in touch with them at all?” Bergeron pushed his glass across the white tablecloth. He nodded in a way that indicated a refill was in order.

  Ngo picked the bottle up by the neck and placed it in front of Bergeron, who helped himself. “I am not in contact with them. That is a past that is better left in the past.”

  “Amen, Brother Thu. I hear ya,” Bergeron answered as he filled his glass. “Not the sort of baggage a man planning to take a run at the State House needs to be totin’. Opium deals and gun running are such awkward topics on the golf course. I suspect you’ve got more than one good reason to want some of those sleeping dogs to keep snoozing, you. Now, as for me, I’ve got some business goings-on myself—some consulting work, if you understand—and I’d just as soon the past remain in the past as well. That works for me; unfortunately, not everyone seems to feel that way.”

  Ngo didn’t make eye contact but kept watching the guests, now and then nodding at someone across the room.

  “So…you haven’t had contact with any of our former associates? Is that right?” Bergeron continued. “In that case you probably haven’t heard the news. Seems as if two of our former buddies have become accident prone.” He emptied his glass and smacked loudly. “No offense, General, but with the money I suspect you laid out for this spread, you’d think they could keep the champagne cold. My piss is colder than this. And the music, it could use some pepper too. Maybe some Rosie Ledet or even better, you gon’ and get some Clifton Chenier.”

  Ngo Van Thu didn’t respond.

  “Yes, sir, but as I was saying, it seems that a couple of the boys have met with accidents lately. Both Colonel Trinh and Major Linh recently fell victim to the lawless streets of America. Nearly decapitated by some violent madman, I hear. Tragic, don’t you think? It’s shocking the state that this country has gotten itself in. You can’t even walk the streets in safety. It’s the sort of thing our elected officials need to take a stand against. Maybe I’ll write a congressman—what you think, you?”

  Ngo made a small gesture with his arm to flag a passing waiter, who stopped and bent slightly at the waist, turning his head to the side to better receive his instructions. Ngo quietly said something to him that Bergeron couldn’t hear. As the waiter walked away, Ngo adjusted his posture and returned his gaze to the activity in the room. Bergeron watched him closely, squinting slightly as if he could bring the general into better focus.

  “Now that’s funny, that really is. You always were a cold fish, General, but I’d have thought that sort of news might warrant a raised eyebrow or something. Two old buddies killed and nothing. I’d have thought that warranted at least an aw shit. Why do I suspect you weren’t hearing the news for the first time? Why do I suspect that?”

  The waiter returned and deposited a cold bottle of champagne on the table. Ngo remained quiet.

  “You weren’t an easy man to find, General,” Bergeron shifted conversational gears. “That shell game you all play with your last names makes it difficult, and you know something else that’s funny? As it turns out, all you gentlemen end up living next to active military installations. Now how ’bout that? And you know what else? All of you end up doing business with the U.S. government. You take the cake though, you. But then you always did, didn’t you? The others, they were small potatoes; dry-cleaning contract, grocery supplier, petty shit. Nothing like the million-dollar contracts you’ve pulled off. No sir, you.”

  “I’ve been successful.”

  “That you have, that you have. But success has a price. I guess I don’t have to tell you that, though. You’ve got a lot to lose now, don’t you?”

  Ngo Van Thu made eye contact, and Bergeron saw the cold blood he’d known so many years earlier.

  “We both know this wasn’t a coincidence, was it—Messieurs Linh and Trinh. You and I, we both know that. Someone’s making sure the past stays in the past, and while I don’ disagree with that intent, I’m not necessarily keen on the method—know what I
mean? Who’s left, General? There’s you, me, Major Doan.” Bergeron counted off on the fingers of his right hand. “So what you think? You like Major Doan with a wrench in the library? Or maybe it was General Ngo with the candlestick in the observatory? What’s your read on the situation?”

  “Perhaps you are forgetting one.”

  Bergeron looked at Ngo, scrunching his eyes into narrow slits as he took stock of his old acquaintance. “Tenkiller? No, General, I’m not forgetting, but I’m surprised you thought of him.”

  “Why, John Bergeron? Because you were to take care of Master Sergeant Tenkiller and did not? Do you think I did not know? I know everything.”

  Bergeron smiled. He had often underestimated General Ngo. “You always were fascinated by the Chief, weren’t you? Yes, I suspect you’re right. It wouldn’t do either one of us any good to forget about Big Chief Tenkiller.”

  “He is a most dangerous man.”

  “Yeah, but then the world is filled with dangerous men, my friend. Some might even be in this room. What you think?”

  “I think you should have taken care of him long ago. He is a most dangerous man, I think. Most violent.”

  “Maybe I should have, but then who’d have figured he go and run like he done. Kind of upset my timetable when he did. But while we’re pointing fingers, General, let me remind you who scared the jumping bejeezus out of that po’ boy. I didn’t go and drill a drainage hole in Colonel Pham’s frontal sinus with my .45.”

  “Still, John Bergeron, it was your responsibility to take care of Sergeant Tenkiller. We had an agreement.”

  “We had many agreements, General. Many.”

  “Yes, many. This one I remember. He is a wild Indian, is he not? A man of much violence. I hope it is not too late. He was your responsibility.”

  John Bergeron drained his glass of champagne and reached for the bottle. “So he was, General. And so he still is. Just as soon as I find him.”

  CHAPTER 40