Made in the U.S.A.: The 10th Anniversary Edition

by Jack X. McCallum

  Fuck her, a harsh voice rasped in his mind. He winced, feeling a pulse of pain behind his eyes. Drive it right up her fucking ass! She wants it! Make her swallow your cock! Come on! What are you waiting for?

  Shut up, ghosts, he thought. This isn’t the time.

  An image flitted through his mind; the waitress, completely naked, looking over one shoulder and laughing as she set her cute bottom into wet cement. He imagined her squealing because the gray goo was colder than she had expected it to be. He shook his head. He was used to the weird images and voices that flashed and thundered through his mind like storms, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this one had some relevance.

  Jeannie set his orange juice down in front of him. “No pastries left, sorry. We do have a pecan pie that might work for you. Will that do?”

  More harsh shouts echoed in the man’s mind and his headache grew worse. The ghosts are having a hoedown, he thought. Squinting and trying to ignore the images in his head, Will saw Jeannie again, easing down into wet cement bare-assed and gasping when she touched the cold, slushy gray mixture. He realized she was waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah, sure. Pie. I’ll have that. Thanks.”

  Jeannie went through the swinging door behind her, thinking the new customer was cute and hoping he wasn’t a pig. She figured from the way he was looking at her that he’d either flirt a little and leave a decent tip, or flirt a lot and leave her sick to her stomach. Still, his face was intriguing; tanned skin, gentle eyes, lips of a fullness that would seem effeminate on most men but suited him somehow, and a thin white scar that ran from his left eyelid to the corner of his mouth like the track of a tear. He was also wincing, like he had a migraine coming on.

  The older man in the cheap suit had not looked at the new customer once and if Jeannie had noticed she would have found it odd. People always took a quick look when someone came through the door of the diner. The only time they didn’t was when they were fixated on something else, and the older man was staring at her, quickly looking away whenever she glanced in his direction.

  Will turned and gave the older man a smile. “Hi there.” He cocked his head and looked at the paper. “’New Year’s Eve Celebrations, Last of the Millennium, Will be Biggest Ever.‘ Wow! That’s what I call hard news. No fluff in USA Today, huh?”

  The older man gave Will an uneasy look.

  As Jeannie came through the swinging door with a slice of pie, the man in the Dodger’s cap took a drink of orange juice and asked, “Ain’t she sweet?”

  The older man had a grin on his face that might have been hiding fear.

  Jeannie set the pie down in front of Will.

  He picked up a fork and tasted the pie. “So sweet,” he said, almost crooning.

  Jeannie frowned as Will spoke. This was a teeny bit creepy. She hoped she wouldn’t have to call for Carlos.

  Will leaned over, close to the older man. “Her pie is sweet,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone. He watched without expression as the waitress turned on a heel and disappeared through the swinging door, helpless to stop watching her ass as it swayed out of sight. He didn’t like pissing off someone who was just trying to get through another day but he had to have a few words with his neighbor in the cheap suit.

  Carlos was rinsing a few utensils at the sink and thinking now that breakfast was done and lunch was slow he might slip out back for a smoke, when he saw Jeannie striding toward him with a full head of steam.

  “Mi Dios,” he muttered, smiling when he realized he sounded exactly like his father, a man who had never learned much English and considered taking the Lord’s name in vain the harshest of all expletives.

  Carlos was short and lean, his young face showing his Mexican father’s and Navajo mother’s blood. He was as American as apple pie, raised on Leave It to Beaver and Kool-Aid, little league baseball and Saturday matinees. Most people he met, including the owner of In the Shade, treated him like an illegal because of his looks and the slight accent he had picked up from his dad.

  Jeannie was one of the few people Carlos knew who treated him like just another guy. She talked to him like a pal, complained to him, occasionally confided in him, and that made him feel good about her. He considered her his really pale, really hot older sister.

  Jeannie leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. Her lips were pursed and her chest heaved with each breath. She swore softly and scratched at an itch on the inside of her left arm. She’d been doing that a few days now. Carlos kept telling her to put some Benzocaine on it.

  “What’s goin’ on, chica?”

  She glared at him a moment before she spoke. He’d seen that before. He had sisters. One of the customers must have pissed her off, and because Carlos was male at least some fraction of responsibility was his by default.

  Carlos looked at the collage of postcards and photos he had tacked up over the sink. He liked to look at them while washing up, but now he was studying them to avoid eye contact with Jeannie.

  “Guy out there,” she said, nodding her head toward the counter. “Another pig. Talking about my ... He’s an asshole.”

  Carlos’ eyes flicked toward her and away again. She saw it. Now there was no way out. He was gonna get nipped, at the very least.

  “Men are such assholes,” she whispered again, looking toward the door.

  You are smoking hot for a woman who’s thirty-six, Carlos thought, and for a smoking hot babe who’s thirty-six, you should be used to this shit by now. Of course he didn’t say that. He had sisters, and had learned some lessons the hard way. “So why not just go tell him he’s an asshole?” Carlos asked.

  She looked at him and shook her head. “Don’t you be an asshole too,” she said, pushing away from the wall. She went back into the diner.

  Outside the kitchen Will was studying the older man, who was staring straight ahead, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead like tiny balls of glass.

  Jeannie pushed open the swinging door and flinched when the older man in the cheap suit said in a tired, angry voice, “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Some answers,” Will said quietly. “You’re acting kind of funky, like you know who I am. And I’ve never seen you before.”

  “So?”

  “So I got to thinking that maybe you do know who I am, and it’s bugging you.”

  “You’re a nut.”

  “A nut? If I’m a nut how come you’ve got answers for me?”

  The older man looked confused. “Answers about what?” The man’s voice had a southwestern twang.

  “Doc Zane, for a start. What’s your assignment?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Listen,” Will said, leaning close. “You looked like you were expecting me to kick your ass when you got a good look at my face. Either I’m a dead ringer for a guy whose wife you’ve been fucking, or you’ve seen my picture and heard things about me. Gotten a few words of warning. In a briefing. Any of this sound familiar?”

  “Who the hell are you?” the older man asked, his voice weak.

  “The name is Hill,” the man in the ball cap replied. “William Hill. Friends call me Will.”

  The older man nodded as if the name fit the face he had recognized. He repeated the name and let out a soft laugh. “It is you. When I saw you standing outside I was sure I was seeing things. I have seen pictures of you in briefings, but that was a lot of years ago. I thought you were a joke, like the other guy, Godson.” He shook his head when the guy in the ball cap took the seat next to him and he saw an automatic pointing at his stomach below the counter. “I figured you’d get around to that sooner or later.”

  Will was wondering who Godson was when he realized the waitress was coming back.

  Standing in the kitchen doorway, Jeannie wondered what was going on. The way the two men were sitting close and facing each other, with the younger man reaching out to the older below the counter it almost looked like somebody was getting his dick pulled in broad daylig
ht. It figured that they had to be the only two customers.

  The Christmas to New Year holiday week was never this quiet. Usually there were people stopping by on their way in or out of state, a few truckers having a meal, or a family of tourists looking for a cold drink.

  She decided she’d tell Carlos and have him kick them out, but first she’d make sure. She stepped close to the two men, but she couldn’t see the younger man’s right hand. “Everything okay here, gentlemen?” The one with the beautiful face looked at her, clearly annoyed.

  “We’re fine.” Will said, in a dismissive tone.

  Jeannie turned away and got busy brewing fresh pots of coffee, trying to ignore her anger. We’re fine, now get lost, the pretty one might as well have said. She listened carefully, standing where a trick of acoustics allowed her to hear any conversations along the counter, some of them amusing, some disgusting, most of them the uninteresting bits and pieces of everyday lives.

  Will waited until Jeannie turned away before he spoke again. “I’ll let some air out of that spare tire you’re carrying around if you don’t start talking.”

  The older man reached into one pocket. Will tensed, and then relaxed a little when he saw a tiny plastic dispenser of Sweet ‘N Low tablets in the man’s hand. The older man tapped two tablets into his coffee. “Okay. Let’s pretend that I’m afraid for my life.” He sipped his coffee, a wistful smile on his face “You want to know about Zane? Well, you’re right and wrong about him. He’s been shit-scared ever since that walking hard-on Clinton came into power and began airing the dirty laundry. Zane had a breakdown. Mondani is the boss-man now and he’s looking for someone he doesn’t want wandering free, someone who has been hard to find.”

  Will nodded. “Sounds about right. I was living the good life until a few years ago. That’s probably why I had a run-in with the goddamn Kens.”

  “The Kens?” the older man grimaced and grabbed his gut as if he had gas. Then he relaxed.

  “Two clowns following me. They look like Ken dolls with guns.”

  “Closers.” The older man slumped on the stool. “They sound like file closers to me. The Compound wants you dead, my friend.”

  “Somebody’s wanted me dead for years now.”

  The older man shrugged. “Zane was always the nervous type. He was climbing the walls, figuring that sooner or later the White House was going to ream him over runaway experiments.”

  Will nodded. “The Zane I knew was wound so tight he probably had to pry his butt cheeks apart with a hydraulic spreader just to fart.” In a softer voice he said, “Eicher was worse, though.”

  Jeannie made a face. What a disgusting thing to say. And then her eyes widened and she tried not to react when she realized Will had just said Eicher’s name. She had thought it was all finally over and done with. Maybe she was wrong.

  “The stress of running the show ate Zane alive,” the older man said. “Old man Kraft canned him years ago. Now Mondani is in charge and he’s hoping to clear the slate.”

  Will shook his head. “I can’t believe anyone is listening to Mondani, not when they have Tupper around. Tupper may look like Bunsen Honeydew but I hear he’s sharp. Hell, Mondani was a power-hungry sack of shit back when I—” Will stopped. He took a good look at the older man’s face. As he watched the man’s coloring began to darken, the skin turning purple, the lips blue, each breath sounding more harsh and labored.

  “Damn it,” Will said, as the older man slid off the stool. He grabbed the man and eased him to the floor, making the gun disappear into the holster under his arm as Jeannie came around the counter.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

  “Shut up,” Will said, kneeling beside the man, who was struggling to breathe.

  “Don’t tell me to shut up,” she snapped. “I want to know if I should call 911.”

  Will shuddered as his ghosts screamed kill that fucking cunt! Nobody talks to you like that! He wavered as pain shot through his skull. Jesus, he thought. One of these days my head’s gonna pop like a goddamn balloon. He said, “Don’t touch the phone. It’s too late anyway.” He turned back to the older man.

  “Why did you take the pills?”

  The older man tried to smile and the result was horrific. “I’ve heard about the things you do to get information out of people. I’m too old for that shit, son. If I have to step out, I’m doing it my way.”

  Will looked into the dying man’s eyes. “Why are they still after me? I’m minding my own business. If they’re worried about me blowing the whistle they’re wasting their time.”

  “Orders,” the man wheezed. “Kind of like being in a really bad episode of Mission Impossible, huh?” Each word was a terrible effort. “The Compound is afraid Clinton wants to clean shop. Hell, Kennedy tried the same thing years ago. Now the Compound is carrying out a preemptive strike, so to speak.”

  “The noli scribo orders?” Will, asked. “The ones that got rid of Eicher’s work? I thought that was just paranoid bullshit.”

  The man slowly shook his head. “I don’t think Kennedy or Clinton had you in mind when they gave the orders. I bet they thought the Compound just had to rinse a few Petri dishes and clean out their cold storage, but loose ends have to be cut off before somebody trips on them.”

  “How did you find me?” Will was genuinely confused. “I just finished shaking those other assholes, the Kens, and then I happen to stop here for few minutes and find you.”

  The man winced and struggled to draw a final breath. His face and tongue were almost black. “I’m just a scout. Scouts and trackers have been assigned to the lesser threat. You’re the greater threat. That’s why the closers and the other guy are after you.”

  Jeannie looked away.

  Will saw how pale she was and figured she was going to be sick.

  Eicher, Jeannie thought, holding back tears.

  The older man gasped. “I didn’t come here to call in your position ...”

  Will and the waitress watched the man, waiting for more.

  The man’s dead eyes were fixed on Jeannie.

  Will patted the man down, wondering who the other guy was, maybe that Godson character. He couldn’t help noticing the dead man had an erection, and wondered what the hell was up with that. He stood holding a crumpled wad of cash, a revolver and a cell phone. The man‘s wallet contained nothing but a few twenty dollar bills and his driver’s license and registration, both of which were in the name of Kit Carson. Good name for a scout, Will thought.

  “Is he ... dead?” she asked.

  “Yeah. That wasn’t Sweet’ N Low he was using.”

  Jeannie shook her head, her eyes wide with horror. “You mean he poisoned himself? He killed himself?”

  Stuffing the revolver back into the man’s jacket, Will said, “You catch on fast.”

  Jeannie glared at him, and for a moment he felt a chill ripple his flesh. The rage he saw in her eyes was there and gone in a flash, but it spooked him and he didn’t spook easily these days.

  “How about phone calls?”

  “I think so,” she replied. “A while ago.”

  Will swore, flipped the phone open and pressed the redial button, sure that the guy would have cleared the last number. He hit redial and put the phone to his ear.

  A woman spoke, her tone clear and commanding. “We’re on our way. Why are you calling?”

  Will did his best to mimic the dead man. “Shit. Sorry. Gawd damn redial button on this thang.” He closed the phone and broke the connection.

  “Go get the kid in the kitchen,” he said to Jeannie. “We’ve got to hide this body.”

  Jeannie hesitated, still staring at the dead man’s blackened face.

  “Go,” Will said.

  She went through the swinging doors. Will stepped through the front door of the diner and walked to the edge of the highway. He looked east and saw a shimmering glare on the interstate, sunlight flashing on chrome. He went back into the diner and found the waitress
and the wiry young guy in the paper hat looking at the body.

  “Carlos, I feel sick,” she said.

  “This guy is lookin’ muy malo,” Carlos observed.

  “That’s ‘cause he’s dead,” Will replied. “You got a place where we can stash him?”

  Jeannie nodded. “There’s a cot back in the storage room.”

  Will looked from Carlos to Jeannie and back again. “So, están usted y ella juntos?”

  Jeannie bristled. “No, he and I are not together! God! We use it to take naps if we get a break in a busy day.”

  Carlos chuckled and prodded the body with one foot. “He eat anything?”

  “No,” Jeannie said. “He just drank a lot of coffee.”

  “That’s my ass out of the sling.” Carlos said, grabbing the man’s feet. “Let’s go.”

  Will got a grip on the shoulders of the dead man’s suit and they carried him back to a storage room filled with boxes of dry goods. They set him on an old cot. Jeannie took a folded blanket off a shelf and covered the corpse with it.

  “I’m sure he appreciates that,” Carlos said.

  Jeannie shuddered. “I just didn’t like the way his dead eyes were staring at me. It was like they were following me, you know?”

  Carlos nodded.

  “Speaking of which,” Will said, “Just before he died, he said—”

  The bell over the front door clanged.

  “Aw, shit,” Will said.

  “I guess we should’ve locked the front door,” Carlos said.

  Jeannie was instantly fearful again, wondering who was coming into the diner this time. She looked at Will. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Yeah. From the look on your face I wonder if I should ask you the same thing.”

  “I just covered a dead man’s face with a blanket,” she replied bitterly, letting one fear masquerade as another.