RTC: You know, what she did may have seemed to be terrible to you but that is standard recruitment procedure with most intelligence agencies. We do the same thing. Pick out targets, befriend them and when we have gained their friendship and confidence, pass them along to their new handlers. I can understand why this upset you but she was obviously doing what she thought was right.
GD: Well, she might have thought it was right but I certainly didn’t, did I?
RTC: No, you obviously did not. You wreaked absolute havoc, Gregory and took no prisoners.
GD: I do not ask for quarter, Robert and I never give it. And I recognize that all societies must have a moral core or they collapse. The Christians have their examples and the Muslims and other have theirs. All well and good. Frederick the Great said once that all men in his kingdom were free to find Heaven in their own way. And I agree, but by God, I will not tolerate any religious group stepping outside their church, mosque or synagogue and taking their particular nonsense out aggressively to the public. The Muslims and the Jews don’t do this but the lunatic Christians are a worst pest than an invasion of mice. First of all, from a purely historical point of view, I personally doubt if Jesus ever existed. Jesus was a very common name in Roman Judea. I do not accept the nonsense about the manger, the wise men, the star or other myths and legends. There is no contemporary mention of Jesus or his gang anywhere other than a patently forged reference in Flavius Josephus. The Gospels are full of misinformation and were written long after the event and then rewritten to suit various current political themes. No, if Jesus did exist, Jesus was an Essene. Most theological scholars agree with this by the way. But I go a little further. There exists a considerable body of information on the Essenes of the period. They were put out of business after this, by the way. No, the Essenes, were an all male agricultural community who practiced a communistic way of life and hated women. In short, like the Spartans or Zulus, they were a homosexual community.
RTC: Not nice, Gregory.
GD: I can easily prove this. Oh yes, let the little children come unto me but only the boys. Anyway, I want nothing to do with such Easter Bunny- type myths and legends and as long as these people keep to themselves, all well and good but of course they think they have the only game in town and act accordingly. In earlier times, I would have been burnt at the stake. Say, do you know what St. Dismas the Thief said to Jesus while both of them were up on their crosses?
RTC: I’m afraid to ask you, Gregory.
GD: Dismas said, ‘Say, Jesus, I can see your house from up here.’
RTC: (Laughter) Well, assuming you are right….
GD: And I am….
RTC: Well, I rather pity this poor girl who was only trying to get you to share her joy in Jesus.
GD: Well, she was sharing her pudenda with Miguel the Cat Basher as well.
RTC: (Laughter) Perhaps she went into other work after you finished with her. By the way, did anyone ever suspect you?
GD: No. I never said a word to anyone. I just sat back and savored my revenge. Revenge is a tasty dish, Robert, but always far better if eaten cold.
(Concluded at 8:50 AM CST)
Conversation No. 92
Date: Wednesday, July 23, 1997
Commenced: 10:15 AM CST
Concluded: 10:38 AM CST
GD: Hello, Robert. How were the tests?
RTC: Exhausting and inconclusive. I told them that if I had cancer of the lungs, I must have had it for years and I would be dead by now. No one listens to you.
GD: Oh, the doctors do love to get huge fees from their victims or from the victim’s insurance companies. Oh my, they tell you, these ingrown toenails could turn to gangrene at any time so I am going to schedule you for a toenail correction operation. And they bill you enough to make the down payment on their gay son’s new Porsche. I have some experience with such things and they squeeze the lemon until it’s dry. The next thing will be exploratory surgery which you really don’t want at your age. Too invasive and too dangerous. Well, if you aren’t dead now, you would be when they finish with you. Montaigne said that…what did…oh yes, ‘The ceaseless labor of your life is to build the house of death.’ It happens but don’t let the doctors hasten it along.
RTC: No, I will try. Emily is convinced I should have more tests but I am getting tired of them. When you are going along good, you never think of being sick. I am getting weaker and my balance is not what it used to be. My hip is not working properly and I fall down sometime if I don’t watch where I put my feet. I used to get outside more but better safe than sorry.
GD: Did you ever talk to Critchfield about Jimmy Atwood?
RTC: Oh I mentioned it but he just laughed and said ‘shit happens.’ Of course it might happen to him one of these days.
GD: If he ever threatens to shoot me again, it certainly will.
GD: Be careful about that. You might get caught and he isn’t worth it.
GD: Jesus, no. I use other methods. For example I would go to a bar with a bad, bad clientele. I would act like a twit, get a little drunk and offer to buy drinks for the house. If I were lucky, I could pick out someone who was right and then, drunkenly of course, tell him I am a bookkeeper and one of my clients, Jim Critchfield, is such a fool. Why, did you know, that stupid man keeps a half a million dollars worth of Krugerrands in his house? Why, time after time I have warned him to put them into a bank or some burglar might get them. But would Jim listen? Not him. And after another drink, my new friend would slyly ask me where Jim lived because he might be a long lost cousin. Of course I would give him the address and then wait for the news that they found Jim, very dead, and someone had used a steam iron on his feet. And the house had been torn up and they found his wife stuffed into the drier, very dead.
RTC: I like Lois.
RTC: Well, we can’t control these things, Robert, and the good perish with the bad. Life is not always fair. Well, enough humor for the day. Otherwise, how are you doing?
RTC: Oh, as usual.
GD: Thank you, by the way, for the papers on Clinton. I doubt that I could use them but one never knows about these things. I knew all about his wife but he is really something, isn’t he?
RTC: Yes he is. Wouldn’t you like to be married to that?
GD: Oh, God no. Being married to a Jewish dyke would not be my idea of fun. I keep as far away as possible from lezzies, Robert. The bull-dikes are the worst. Tattoos, weight lifter arms, short hair, motorcycle boots and all. They don’t look anything like men but we never tell them. Might get punched out.
RTC: (Laughter) Well, who are we to judge, Gregory?
GD: I am. I love to pass judgments, Robert. I have a limerick for you on this subject:
A gay young man from Khartoum
Took a Lesbian up to his room,
And they argued all night,
As to who had the right
To do what, and with which, and to whom.
RTC: (Laughter) Well I wouldn’t tell that one at Langley. Step on too many toes.
GD: Oh, please don’t disillusion me, Robert. The Secret Defenders of our Republic wearing mesh stockings under their Brooks Brothers suits?
RTC: It happens.
GD: Do they have daily inspections of the men’s lavatories to see if someone has drilled holes in the toilet stall walls?
RTC: It’s not quite that bad.
GD: If you opened a male whorehouse inside the Beltway, Congress would recess and stampede towards it.
RTC: Gregory, I hate to disillusion you but there are a number of male whorehouses in the District. And some for women as well. I mean with women, not for women. I don’t think things have gotten that bad. Not many women in Congress anyway
GD: Well, I could come there and get rich. I could open up a clinic to treat tennis elbow problems for Congressmen. They develop this problem from dragging around barracks bags stuffed full of bribe money.
RTC: I can’t argue with that, having been involved on the other end.
GD: Well, the other
end is usually best. My God, if they did away with hundred dollar bills and substituted them for heavy; silver coins, Congressmen would have to have leather inserts in their pockets to keep them from ripping out at the bottoms.
RTC: You are forgetting the Jewish Congressmen, Gregory. They spend all their time investing their bribes at 10 percent interest and wailing endlessly about Sacred Israel and the evil Nazis.
GD: Israel is an artificial country, stolen by Polish non-Jews from the Arabs, whom they murdered for their homes and gardens and then begged their co-religionists here to send money and guns. The Arabs outnumber them thirty to one and at some future date, the Arabs will get wise to their power and Israel will be a smoking hole in the ground. And then there will be people dancing in the streets for pure joy.
RTC: Roosevelt should never have let them into the government.
GD: Yes, that’s a bit like a farmer inviting a deputation of hungry hogs into his truck garden.
RTC: Yes, well put. What scares a lot of us is that Israel will drag us into a war to suit their plans. You know, attack some hostile Arab neighbor because they have enough power here to get it done.
GD: I can see this.
RTC: And they once sent tens of thousands of illegal Polish Jews into Florida from the Caribbean. Their Mossad sent them in and we couldn’t stop them. And they get fake papers, settle in Miami, send their sons to law school and from there, into the government. God help us all.
GD: Well, Hitler will be appreciated in a few years hence. He will be seen as a great visionary, even as the Army engineers are setting up detention camps in the deserts of Arizona. Sort of like the ones you ran in Vietnam.
RTC: Please do not get started on that, Gregory.
GD: I won’t but we both know about the torture palaces. Electric drills, acid baths, poked-out eyes, crushed testicles. Just a chance for some of your boys to explore the better sides of their nature. And get their loafers soaked in blood at the same time. Oh, precious treasures, the blood soaked shoes. A real token of personal heroism in the unspoken battle for empire.
RTC: You are being literate today, Gregory.
GD: Elegant realism, Robert. A little sugar coating on the bitter pill someone is going to have to swallow someday.
RTC: I’m out of it, anyways.
GD: Remember, Robert, that the sins of the fathers are paid for by the children.
(Concluded at 10:38 AM CST)
Conversation No. 93
Date: Saturday, July 26, 1997
Commenced: 9:45 AM CST
Concluded: 10:03 AM CST
GD: Hello, Robert. Feeling a bit better today? If not, I could call later.
RTC: No, I’m fine today. Got around a bit today and later, Greg is going to take us shopping.
GD: I take it you don’t do driving.
RTC: God no. Bad hip and I get dizzy sometimes. Not good at all. You drive still?
GD: Oh yes. I used to drive quite a bit more but my son managed to move here and we had to leave my car in the shop. Of course I never got it because it’s several thousand miles away. He swore I could use his car but he changed his mind, even though he has talked me into making the monthly payments.
RTC: Your son sounds like a most ungrateful young man.
GD: How kind. I can think of other things to say but I won’t.
RTC: Are you a good driver?
GD: Oh I am. When I was younger I had some interesting adventures in a car.
RTC: Not in the back seat?
GD: Ah, advanced muff diving for the mentally impaired. No, not like that. Going down on a Mongoloid is not my style. Running over one or using one for bait for an alligator hunt is more like it.
RTC: (Laughter) Are you accident-prone?
GD: No, I’m not. Oh, I am just thinking about an incident once. If I’d had any sense, I would have been scared to death. I was living in a certain West Coast city where I own a nice row home. Nice and anonymous. I can walk to the beach in ten minutes although no one in their right mind would dare go into the water.
RTC: In Alaska?
GD: No, the lower forty eight. Not cold but very dangerous undertows. Oh Grandpa, why not go for a little swim? And after he’s written out a will, another beach tragedy strikes again. But the car business. I was driving back to the city from up north and I had something I felt rather uncomfortable having in the car so I stopped on a bridge, got out and tossed it into the ocean. Down it went and I saw the splash. Anyway, there was quite a bit of traffic leaving the city but almost none coming in so they were using one of the south bound lanes. I had only one lane. There was no one coming when I got back in the car and started up but when I turned on the turn indicator I saw the headlights of an oncoming truck. Now there was only one lane, as I said, so I gunned it and drove along but this penis head came right up behind me, really moving, and hit the air horn and flashed his lights at me. About ten feet behind me. Where was I to go? He couldn’t pass me on the left because that lane was now marked off for northbound traffic and had a lot of vehicles in it. Assbreath kept on my tail so I jammed on my brakes and then punched it. He hit his own breaks and almost went into oncoming traffic. About the time I was exiting the bridge, here he comes again, like a bat out of Hell. I guess he must have been mad. Anyway, I took the next off ramp and drove down into the city but the turd kept right behind me. I went down a parkway with cross streets and lights but it never slowed him down, air horn and all. I ran one red and almost got creamed by a car and he kept right on coming. At this point I was rather alarmed, especially as I had something in the trunk I wanted to keep private. My mother-in-law…No just joking. Anyway, I got into my neighborhood, which I knew very well, and got off the parkway but there he was, behind me. Some car turned out between us and he rode their bumper, blaring his fucking horn at them until the old cow driving got loose bowels and pulled off. Ah, but by then, I was driving on residential streets and Jesus H. Christ, here he came again, roaring along at least fifty, flashing his lights and doing the horn thing. There were alleys behind the houses, the row houses, so I turned down one, thinking the evil fuck would back off but no, he was right on my tail. He had to slow down to go around a dumpster and I had an idea how to get rid of him. Came to the street, slowed down a little, crossed the sidewalk, and the street and he picked up speed, roaring along like a freight train. He pulled out into the street and a car almost hit him. Roaring of brakes and horns. I started down another alley with him right after me. Ah, but ahead was a pickup on my right, parked against a garage and just ahead of it, on the left, was a car, also parked. I shot left, then right and missed the second car by inches but by God, sir, he didn’t. A huge ripping crash and when I looked back, there was a big cloud of smoke in the alley and some flame. Slowed down, turned right and drove two blocks, turned right again and then up into my driveway, garage door opened and inside in a jiffy. And door shut tight behind me. Anyway, I unloaded my cargo which, to satisfy you, were four wooden boxes of gold coins, and took them into my locked work area in the back. Then I went upstairs and poured myself a drink. Oh my, such a noise in the neighborhood. Fire trucks, sirens and all kinds of banging and popping noises. I finally went up on the roof…a flat roof…and sure enough, great clouds of smoke, flame and fire trucks hooting and so on. Went back down and made myself a nice dinner and relaxed.
RTC: What was the outcome?
GD: Oh, some Chink was running an illegal fireworks factory in his garage and got pretty well fried when the whole thing went off. I didn’t really feel like walking over there and letting anyone see me.
RTC: And the truck driver? Was he charcoaled as well?
GD: No, he got out and ran away. Too bad for him that a neighbor spotted him, called the cops. I understood from the tube that a cop got the message and spotted him running along the sidewalk. Stopped and so on and the driver pulled one of those knives the Flips carry and went at the cop. That was all she wrote for the driver because the cop emptied his gun into him at point blank range.
RTC: They call those balisong knives.
GD: Well the driver was a Filipino.
RTC: They are very nasty, unstable people. Go off like a rocket for no reason and you really do have to shoot them dead to stop them. Now I can see why he came after you. Makes sense. Good thinking on your part, though. I mean luring him into a crowded alley.
GD: I didn’t actually lure him, Robert, he was chasing me going fifty or more in a crowded residential area. But I lost him and the police found him. Sorry about the burned up garages and cars but you know how it is.
RTC: Are you a coin collector?
GD: Gold is the safest place for money, Robert. The paper is designed to wipe your ass with.
RTC: It was safe?
GD: Oh yes, very safe. A satisfactory dinner, as I recall. Took a nice, long shower, listened to some Telemann for a few hours and went to sleep. The next day I walked over to the crime scene but there was too much yellow tape around. They had hauled away the ruined vehicles and you could smell burnt wood for blocks. Such a mess. Well, sic transit Gloria mundi.
(Concluded: 10:03 AM CST)
Conversation No. 94
Date: Wednesday, July 30, 1997
Commenced: 11:05 AM CST
Concluded: 11:15 AM CST
GD: Good morning, Robert. Anything new to report?
RTC: Quiet here. Pleasant to have quiet after the constant uproar at the office but there are times when I really miss it.
GD: Noise and uproar never bothered me at all. Bad food does, however, I had a chicken paprikash last night and it did not sit well.
RTC: Paprikash?
GD: Hungarian chicken with paprika. Cook it in a pan with butter, onions and paprika. I developed a liking for it when I was living in Munich but this one was not good. Stringy chicken. Could have been cat but I won’t eat there again.
RTC: That’s right. You lived in Munich, didn’t you?
GD: Yes, for a long time, there or nearby.
Conversations With the Crow Page 51