Courier

by Terry Irving

  He turned over his right arm and looked at the scars that ran down it. "I invested a lot in this war and I’ll be damned if I let a bunch of asshole politicians turn it into a campaign gimmick. So, for all those reasons, I’ve got to keep going. Not to mention a selfish desire to figure out some way to stay alive. But you don’t have to."

  Her face was still and impassive. After a moment, she said, "No, I don’t have to."

  Rick could hear the unspoken decision in her voice, and he felt both warmed by her support and chilled at the possibility of terrible loss. They looked at each other without speaking for a couple of minutes.

  "OK, let’s leave it at that, then." Rick got up, turned out the light, and found his way back to his cot by the yellow glow leaking through the shades.

  "Good night."

  "Night."

  The radio operator next to him falls. He reaches for an arm and tries to pull him to his feet; then he sees that one of the operator’s eyes is gone.

  Guns suddenly open up from everywhere – snipers in the trees, machine guns on the left flank, assault guns in front. He turns and watches as men around him simply drop. One, three, ten, too many to count.

  Even the smashing sound of the gunfire doesn’t cover the cries – screams for help, screams of anger, screams that hold no meaning and just go on and on…

  Eve was awakened by his thrashing and listened to the noises coming from between his clenched teeth. She sat up and looked at him for a moment.

  Then she stood, went around to the other side, and pushed her cot over next to his. Lying down, she reached over, unbuttoned a button of his shirt, and slid her hand inside, skin to skin on his chest.

  Slowly, his movements calmed and his breathing deepened.

  The wooden edges between the cots were cutting into her back, so she moved over to his, sliding her hand deeper into his shirt so that she could hold him just a bit tighter.

  He turned on his side, unconsciously giving her more room. She snuggled up to his back, and they slept spooned together.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sunday, December 24, 1972

  Rick woke slowly.

  That was unusual, and the warmth curled around his back and the soft breath on his neck were extremely unusual. For a time, he just lay there.

  "I’ve got to say, Trooper, sleeping with you sure isn’t dull." Her voice came over his shoulder; he hadn’t even known she was awake.

  "It was bad?" he asked.

  "Well, you were quiet, which is good because I’d have hated to give all the people downstairs the wrong idea. But there were some times when it did feel a lot like sleeping with a Mixmaster."

  Rick could feel her smile against his shoulder muscles. "Sorry to disturb you."

  "I didn’t say it was disturbing. Just a bit energetic." She slid her arm back. "I think my arm will wake up sometime around noon."

  "Again, I’m sorry."

  She hit him on the shoulder with surprising strength. "Goddamn it, stop apologizing. It makes me feel like a Sister of Mercy or something. I don’t feel sorry for you. It’s just that no one should have to go through shit like that alone."

  She sat up with her back to him and started to undo and re-braid her hair. "You know, most men in my experience have been quite happy to wake up with me."

  He grinned. "Most men?"

  She smacked him backhand without turning. "Now you can apologize." She got up and headed for the bathroom. "Then find me something to eat."

  Rick stood up and stretched. He hadn’t slept this long in years – at least not without some serious drugs. He checked his watch and saw it was almost 2.00 am. He stepped over to the window and cautiously looked out.

  Despite the late hour, the street was, if anything, more active than it had been earlier. A few more people were holding hands and he even spotted a couple kissing in the safe anonymity of the darkness between the streetlights. He couldn’t see anyone that seemed out of place. Maybe they – whoever "they" were – didn’t have any agents who were comfortable blending into this crowd.

  Then he spotted Corey.

  "I’m going out," he called as he threw his jacket on and pulled on his boots. "Meet you outside."

  Rick hurried downstairs and through the near-empty bar. The bartender looked up from where he was scrubbing the sinks. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Rick waved a hand at him and said, "I’ve got to talk to someone. I’ll be right back."

  Corey had just come out of the bar across the street with another man. They were walking close together but not quite touching. Rick supposed Corey’s companion was dressed like a motorcycle rider, but not like any rider he’d ever seen. He was in full leather, from the tiny Harley hat on his head to the polished boots on his feet and all the fringe and zippers in between. Rick shook his head. The only bikers he’d seen wearing chaps were DC motorcycle cops during the winter.

  "Corey!" he shouted.

  His roommate turned, recognized him, and a quick look of panic crossed his face. For a moment, it looked as if he might actually turn and run, but that passed, and he said something to his companion, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. The biker gave Rick an annoyed look and turned around, heading back into the bar.

  Corey watched him go and sighed. Then he turned to Rick. "What the hell are you doing here? And what in God’s name were you doing in there?"

  Rick smiled. "You wouldn’t think of looking for me in a lesbian bar, would you? We figured no one else would, either." Then he sobered up. "You haven’t been back to the house, right?"

  "No, I was out all day."

  "And all last night, too."

  "That, sir, is none of your business."

  Rick nodded. "No problem. I’m not trying to pry into your life; I’m just trying to keep you alive. Whatever you do, don’t go back to the house."

  "I have to," Corey said. "All my things are there."

  "Listen, we really need to talk, and I’d like to do that somewhere a bit more private."

  Eve came out of the green door of the bar and, spotting Rick, came across the street to join them. Rick introduced her to Corey and then asked again if there was a good place to sit and talk.

  Corey looked around nervously. "I’m not sure that you going into any of these places is a good idea–"

  Rick interrupted. "Corey, I’ve already figured out that you’re gay. I’m not completely stupid."

  "You’re not?" Corey gave him a quizzical look, and Rick laughed.

  "OK, I’m stupid enough not to have figured it out months ago. Now, where in all these gay hangouts is there a place where we can find a quiet table?"

  Corey thought for a second, then sighed and said, "I guess the Townhouse would be best."

  They ordered coffee and sat in a corner of the upstairs lounge area. Apparently, the Townhouse didn’t shut its doors when the other bars closed, and the downstairs was packed. Rick inhaled the coffee and felt some of the kinks that the army cot had left in his back and shoulders begin to loosen up.

  "OK, what the hell is going on?" Corey broke the silence.

  "Well, the short version is that Steve, Scotty, and Eps are dead." Rick nodded at Corey’s frozen surprise. "Yeah, I think people just walked in and shot them. They probably would have shot me too, but she" – he nodded at Eve – "came along and warned me. Still wondering why she did that."

  "You and me both," Eve said, and then turned her attention to her coffee.

  Corey let out a breath. "What the hell? Was it a robbery? Did you call the police?"

  "I don’t think the police will be any help. It wasn’t a robbery; I think the shooters came in planning to kill everyone they found in there. The Musketeers never had a chance."

  "You mean they were murdered? Why would anyone want to kill those guys?"

  Rick shook his head. "I think they were just collateral damage. I’m fairly certain that they actually wanted to kill me."

  "What?"

  Eve put her finger to her lips and said,
"Inside voices, guys."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Corey whispered fiercely. "What kind of trouble are you in?"

  "Enough that we had to run through the Metro tunnels to get away from a shooter who was willing to fire a gun in full daylight on a city street." Rick looked down. "You were right this morning. It’s the film. I think these bastards were sent to get the film back and make sure anyone who knows about it was… taken care of."

  "Shit, that goddamn film!" Corey put his head in his hands. "That stupid fucking film. It’s the fucking committee. I told you it was radioactive."

  "Little late to worry about that, but yeah, the answer that makes the most sense is that the government is out to clean up a mess and we’re it."

  Corey shuddered and then shook himself. "I still can’t believe it."

  He looked closely at Rick. "You’re sure they’re dead?"

  "There was a lot of blood. I can’t imagine those guys put up much of a fight."

  "I guess you would know if anyone would." Corey turned to Eve. "How did you get involved in this?"

  "I was stopping by to see if Rick wanted to go for a walk." She smiled. "I’m an innocent bystander, honest. Not that it’s going to do me any good. Now that I know what’s going on, I guess I’m just another target."

  "You’ve got to give that stuff back," Corey said to Rick. "Give it back, and we’ll swear we didn’t see anything."

  "You really think that would work?" Rick looked doubtful. "I’m not completely certain, but I think this is the third time someone has tried to kill me since I picked up that film. No one seems willing to stop and talk about it."

  "The third time?" Corey’s voice got louder, and Eve put her finger to her lips again. He fell back into an angry whisper. "Why didn’t you say that before?"

  "I didn’t want to get you in trouble. Doesn’t appear to be working out that way."

  Eve put her cup down decisively. "OK, there’s a lot of time to assign blame. Let’s talk about what we should do right now."

  "We need to call the police," Corey said.

  "Didn’t you hear me? This guy was shooting at us right on Third Street in broad daylight." Rick shook his head. "Do you really think he’s worried about the police?"

  "But three people are dead!"

  "If it’s been going down the way I think it has…" Rick started flicking up his fingers in a count. "They’ve already killed the whistle-blower who provided this information, the cameraman, the soundman, and the reporter who got the story, and maybe a kid in my office who saw the film. That’s five. Add in Steve, Scotty, and Eps and we’re looking at eight dead. There is no way that many people get killed and no one notices, unless someone in law enforcement is looking the other way."

  Corey shook his head. "That’s crazy. You’d have to believe the entire government was in on this."

  "I’ve got no trouble believing in a government conspiracy," Eve said bluntly. "The government has been killing Native Americans – well, they’ve been killing us for centuries, but lately, there have been at least five deaths of AIM members with no real investigations."

  Corey put his head in his hands. "My God, how did I get so completely screwed? What the hell is on this film? You’d think it was an Oval Office orgy with underage girls." He paused. "No, he’d probably get away with that. Boys of any age would destroy him, though."

  "He took money from the South Vietnamese," Rick said bluntly.

  Corey dropped his hands and stared at Rick. "That bastard. It wasn’t bad enough that he’s turned the entire government into a political – no, a criminal – enterprise. He sold the war out for campaign contributions?"

  Rick spread his hands. "That’s what Steve told me. He said they’d followed the whole trail on the computers at the central banks."

  Corey was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, "OK, I can’t deal with that right now. I need to get my stuff out of that house. I’ve got places to stay, and I’ll call in sick for a couple of days and hope it all blows over."

  "I haven’t got any better ideas. At least none of us are on the lease, and so it’s possible no one knows you’re even involved." Rick stood up. "I’ll walk over with you. I need to get my bike back. It’s 3am. I guess it’s about as safe as it’s ever going to be." He raised a finger as Eve began to speak. "And we’ll drop you off at your place. No one should have identified you either."

  Eve looked like she had more to say, but after a moment, she just sat back, and her face lost all expression.

  Rick looked at her closely. "Good, you’re being sensible. Now let’s get out of here."

  CHAPTER 23

  Rick’s bike was still parked on E Street. The entire block across the street was a pile of construction dirt, rocks, and trash piled about ten feet above street level. Why this dump was right in the middle of Capitol Hill was a mystery only the DC City Council could explain. There was a ramp up from E Street that trucks used to dump snow during storms. They climbed the ramp and slowly walked east toward C Street.

  There were no lights showing in the windows of their house and no one was on the street. Eve gave Rick a quick hug and walked back to the ramp, intending to circle around the block and back to her house. Corey and Rick waited until she was out of sight before descending a rough footpath down to the street.

  "Looks OK," said Corey.

  Rick looked at him. "You’re thinking I made it all up."

  Corey nodded. "That or your usual acceptable crazy has grown into really unacceptable serious crazy."

  "Honestly, I wish you were right."

  They crossed the street and walked slowly to the back door.

  Suddenly, Rick threw his hand in front of Corey, stopping both of them.

  "What?" Corey said.

  "The window."

  "What about it?" Corey said. "It looks the same as always."

  "That’s the problem." Rick shook his head. "That’s where I was standing when I looked in and saw all the blood. The shooter was standing in the hall and damn near parted my hair with a bullet. That glass was smashed. Now it’s fixed." He paused. "OK, or it was never broken and I really am as crazy as every other vet."

  Corey headed for the back door. "Either way, there’s nothing you can do about it. Let’s go in."

  The door was unlocked. Corey opened it slowly, and they both listened. The house was quiet. Without turning on the lights, they went through the kitchen and into the dining room. Even by the dim light from the streetlights outside, Rick could tell there were no bodies.

  An arm came around his neck from behind and crushed his throat. Something hard poked into his back, and a heavily accented voice in his ear said, "Welcome home, cocksuckers."

  Rick froze.

  Corey was a step ahead. He whirled around with surprising speed, but the voice said, "No stupid shit, you son a bitch, or I blow a big fucking hole in your friend."

  Corey put his empty hands out to the sides and stood still.

  "Good, you not so stupid. Now, downstairs. Both of you. No lights and no stupid shit."

  In the basement, the man behind Rick flipped the light switch with one hand and slammed his pistol into the back of Rick’s head with the other. Rick fell to the floor with flares of bright light exploding in the back of his eyes. He wrapped his hands around his head and felt a familiar thick wetness under his fingers. It wasn’t a serious injury, but damn, it hurt.

  Without a word, their captor stepped over Rick and kicked Corey in the groin and then, when he folded over, flat-kicked him in the chest, knocking him back into one of the battered recliners.

  He waved the gun between the two men and said, "Nobody moves."

  Corey was still bent over, but he shot the gunman a bitter look and said, between clenched teeth, "You could have just asked, you bastard."

  Rick looked up at the young Vietnamese. He was wearing a nylon shirt open over a sleeveless undershirt, jeans, and cowboy boots with pointed toes. His hair was swept back but carefully styled and gelled. T
he ragged tough look gave him the appearance of Elvis meets Bruce Lee. His face was covered with scars, round ones from acne, and longer, deeper ones, clearly from fighting and apparently fighting with knives. Rick thought he might have been more impressive if he’d had fewer scars on his face and left more on the people he’d fought, but all in all, this guy was definitely a hardcore Saigon street cowboy.

  Without warning, one of his pointy boots drove deep into Rick’s stomach. "This is for fucking my partner on train tracks," the man said as the kicks continued.

  Rick curled up and tried to protect as many vital parts as possible. The muscles on his back and stomach absorbed a lot of the punishment, but a good number of kicks were getting through.

  After what seemed a very long time, the man stepped back. Rick wasn’t an expert in getting beat up, but he had the feeling it could have been worse. This guy had stopped for a reason.

  "OK, where is camera?" the cowboy said. "Little fucking camera they gave you at that bastard’s house." Another kick drove in for emphasis. "Where is camera?"

  Rick realized he must mean the Bolex camera Pete Moten had given to him at the accountant’s house, the one he had slipped into his jacket for the ride back to the bureau. Someone must have been watching the pickup.

  When he caught enough breath to speak, he rasped, "It’s at the bureau."

  "What’s boo-row?" Another kick. "Camera only, motherfucker."

  "The motherfucking camera is at the bureau." Rick saw the boot go back and said quickly, "Downtown, the television office. The camera is downtown."

  "Good. You go get it." Moving fast, the Vietnamese spun to Corey and slashed the pistol across his face. "You go get goddamn camera. You bring it here, or I’ll kill boyfriend. I’ll kill boyfriend real slow."

  "OK, I’ll get it." Rick rolled onto his stomach and started to get up.

  This time he was stomped in the kidneys. "No goddamn tricks, motherfucker. Get fucking camera. Give me goddamn film."