Bleeding in Black and White

by Colin Cotterill

  “There,” he said. “I guess that makes more sense than half-a-dozen square heads in pretty uniforms firing blanks in the air. It’s just, when we three agreed this was the way we wanted it, I always figured it’d be you and my Lou toasting me on…” The words caught in his throat. He turned and walked into the shack. When he came back out five minutes later he’d regained control and was carrying two more beers.

  “I figure he’s had enough, don’t you, Bodge?” They both laughed and set the dogs off yapping.

  “Have you got a bottomless supply in there, Lou?”

  “Enough for us, anyway. I haven’t touched the stuff since he went.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you’d come. Haven’t seen a one of his so-called friends since all this started. I need to get some honesty from someone. They came out to see me, your Agency heavies. They seemed more annoyed that I knew what my boy did for a living, than anything else.”

  Lou had always ignored the agreement of secrecy when it came to his dad. Bodge admired him for that and wished he’d been better at breaking rules himself from time to time.

  “I bet they weren’t that sympathetic at your loss, either,” Bodge said.

  “Bodge, it was as if Lou was the enemy. After all these years I couldn’t believe his own people would turn on him like that.”

  “That was Security, Lou. They’re from a different planet. They didn’t know him. There wasn’t a man or woman in our office who didn’t love and respect your son.”

  “Bodge, they said…They accused Lou of being…”

  “I know.”

  “It’s a lie, Bodge. An evil lie.”

  “I know that, too. Someone framed both of us.”

  “You too? Can you prove it?”

  “It’s all taken care of, Lou.” Bodge reached behind him for his jacket and pulled the sealed envelope from the inside pocket. He handed it to Lou’s dad and watched him tear it open and read through the apology. He looked up with a smile and a tear in his eye.

  “That’s fine, Bodge. Just fine.”

  “They let me bring it myself sooner than posting it.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Thank you boy. You want to tell me how it all happened?”

  Bodge told Lou Senior about the night his son died, about the boy, Gladstein, and the blank spot in Bodge’s memory. He didn’t leave anything out, not the street bum or the pauper’s graveyard. Bodge watched as Lou Senior’s burden — the doubts, the Agency lies, the unanswered questions — slowly lifted. When it was all out, Lou Senior crossed over to Bodge, put a hand on one side of his head and kissed his hair like a Pope.

  “Thank you, Bodge. I can’t tell you how much I needed this visit.

  Bodge was drained. The inquest was all over.

  “So, how’s the fishing?”

  The afternoon turned to evening while they drank and talked of happier things. Bodge listened to tales of young Lou and the scrapes he’d gotten himself into. He listened with a mixture of envy and regret to the love story of Lou Senior and his pretty Venetian bride.

  “May I ask you how she died?” Bodge asked.

  “Well, she was diabetic, then the angina caught up with her. Her father had it. That’s why we came up here when she first showed signs. Doctor’s said it was a combination of those two things that killed her. She was always afraid she might have handed the angina down to Lou. We managed to keep that from her till she passed on.”

  “Keep what from her?”

  “The fact that Lou was suffering from angina.”

  “Wait. Lou had a heart condition?”

  “Sure, Bodge. You had to know that.”

  “No. He never said a word about it. How could he have passed the medical for the agency?”

  “It’s a degenerative disease. It comes on in middle age. When he applied, he was fine. He didn’t start to feel anything till he reached his thirties.”

  “But they ask for medical history of the family.”

  “What they actually ask is, ‘Did your father have any signs of angina?’ And, of course, I didn’t. It’s far more common in men. They don’t expect it to be passed on from the mother.”

  “The son-of-a-gun kept it to himself. I knew he was always getting heartburn, taking antacids. But I figured that was just from his Italian cooking. I had no idea. How serious was it?”

  “Serious enough to get him out of the Agency.”

  “Whoa. Hold up, there. Are you telling me Lou was on his way out on medical grounds?”

  “He had another six months to go. Full pension.”

  “So, that’s what he meant when he said he had plans.”

  “The lifestyle you boys were living down there was killing him; sitting all day at a desk, smoking, eating, drinking. It would have gotten too bad for him to work after a while. It wasn’t life-threatening or anything. He was on his way up here. The air here would have sorted it out I reckon.”

  “That old skunk. He was going to leave me there by myself. That explains why he was so delighted I got the posting to Operations. You know, Lou, he told me one day I didn’t know a thing about him. It turns out he was right.”

  “So, I guess he didn’t tell you about the houses either?”

  “Houses?”

  The dogs romped off ahead as Lou senior led Bodge around the lake shore about half a mile. In a clearing they came upon two semi-completed wooden cabins side by side looking out over the water.

  “Me and Lou worked on them whenever he came down at weekends. That one was going to be yours, Bodge.”

  “Mine?”

  “He figured once he was out of the service he could finally get himself wed to a local girl and move out here. He said he had to be free of lies and secrets to really give himself to anyone. I think he had a couple of fillies in mind. So, he was building himself a house and he figured he couldn’t imagine living next door to anyone else but his old buddy, Bodge. So we started putting this other place together — for you and your wife. It’s still yours if you want it. You got a girl, Bodge?”

  Epilogue

  Once Bodge had left her at the silent man Hotel, Hong showered and left her few possessions in the room. There was nothing she needed there. She took a cyclo to an apartment building in Da Kao. She’d rented it for three years but never lived there. It was unfurnished and she used it to store things she didn’t want anyone else to see, like her suitcases, and her traveling clothes.

  She was in the back room changing into a Western suit made of the finest Vietnamese silk. Her heart was flying. The worst was behind her. Only one more leg. Two hours from freedom and the man she’d learned to respect, and love.

  She hadn’t heard the unlocking of the door or the footsteps behind her.

  “Your Royal Highness?”

  The voice came from the doorway and seemed to slam into her heart. She turned in shock and hurried to cover her breasts with her shirt. The Chamberlain stood half hidden behind the door in a somber charcoal suit with an apologetic smile on his face.

  “What? What are you doing here?” she stammered.

  “Forgive me,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I have a message from the Exalted One.”

  “I don’t wish to know it. The Emperor no longer has any influence over me.”

  “With respect, that is not true. His Excellency knows of your plans.”

  “I don’t care.” That was a lie. She cared deeply. How could he have found out? How did they know about this place? Her dreams were turning to smoke in front of her. “It’s too late to stop me.”

  The skinny man half raised his eyes. “Perhaps Your Royal Highness would care to go to the window and take a look down into the street?”

  She hated him and his officious ways and his phony deference. “Turn your back,” she ordered.

  “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

  She put on her blouse. Her trembling fingers could hardly grip the buttons. She took a de
ep breath and walked to the small uncurtained window. Parked opposite was an open back truck. The girls seated there looked up at her. One of them waved. She was wearing the cream suit Hong had bought her for her journey to America. The other had on jeans and a T shirt, the uniform of the idle West. These were the sisters Hong had smuggled out of the country. If indeed they’d left, their exodus had been brief. Hong’s misery was compounded. Her fate had been settled for her.

  “I think you should write a letter to your American friend now,” said the chamberlain.

  About the Author

  Colin Cotterill was born in London in 1952. He trained as a teacher and worked in Israel, Australia, the US, and Japan before training teachers in Thailand and on the Burmese border. He wrote and produced a forty-programme language teaching series; English By Accident, for Thai national television and spent several years in Laos, initially with UNESCO. Colin became involved in child protection in the region and is still involved in social projects. He set up a book and scholarship programme for his beloved Laos and runs two small schools for the children of Burmese migrants near his home.

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