by Torsten Krol
“Failed me? How?”
“Failed to measure up. Failed to provide what you need. Failed to provide for others in need?”
“I’ve got no fight with society. Society is fine by me.”
“But there are things you’d like to see changed?”
“Sure, everyone wants to change this or that.”
“What kind of changes would you institute if you were President, let’s say.”
“Well, first thing, I’d organize to get me set free.”
“And after that?”
“Go on TV and tell everyone exactly how it happened, this big mixup.”
“What about other issues? Issues of faith, issues of social justice, that kind of thing.”
“Okay, I’d make it against the law to have commercials on TV. There’d be this one channel, the commercial channel, where you go if you want to see commercials. People would like that, I think.”
“Anything else?”
“Uhuh, I’d make it so the TV companies can’t put a laugh track on any comedy show. No more canned laughter, I hate that. And I’d like to see those Hollywood movie stars get paid less. I heard the big ones get fifty million dollars just to make a single movie. That’s too damn much.”
“What about religion in the schools? Any opinion on that?”
I was getting suspicious of this guy. The inkblots meant he’s a shrink, but his questions were not very shrinky. He’s supposed to be asking me about personal stuff, like what happened when I lost my mom, stuff like that, and did I get over it and so forth, but he isn’t doing that, he’s asking all this other stuff, so maybe he’s just another FBI in disguise. I decided I would test him about that, so I said, “How’s Kraus and Deedle?”
“Pardon?”
“Agent Kraus and Agent Deedle. They’re the ones brung me in.”
“That doesn’t concern me. Were you happy in school?”
“Uhuh, a very popular student, always getting elected for this and that, kind of a nuisance all those positions on councils and committees and so forth, but hey, when the public wants you that bad you just have to go along.”
“My information is that you were a very withdrawn student, the opposite of what you’re telling me.”
“Well, you have got the wrong information. See, that’s what landed me in here, wrong information, which just goes to show you can’t trust that stuff to be reliable.”
“I’ll take that on board,” he says. “Now, how about your sexual relationships?”
“What about them?”
“Hetero or homosexual, for the most part?”
“I’m not gay. Dean was gay, his sister said, but I didn’t get to know him all that well myself.”
“You didn’t form a homosexual union with Dean Lowry?”
“No, he’s not my type.”
“And what type is your type?”
“I generally prefer them female.”
“Generally?”
“Well, all the time. I’m not gay.”
“Did you have a sexual relationship with Fenella Myers?”
“Who?”
“A school companion. You gave her name when you told the hitchhiker you wanted a car delivered to Denver.”
“Oh, you mean Feenie. That name just sprung into my head when I did that. She doesn’t even live in Denver, she goes to college in Durango.”
“We’re aware of that. No sexual or close personal relationship with Miss Myers?”
“No, but I liked her. She was smart.”
“You’re attracted to smart women?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Is that why you carry a picture of the Secretary of State in your wallet?”
“I think Condi’s cute. I like her style of dressing too. You do hear some people say she’s way conservative the way she dresses, but I think that goes with the job, don’t you? I never once saw someone with a political job wearing Spandex or something.”
“So Doctor Rice is your ideal woman?”
“She’s a doctor too? I knew she was a piano player as well as a political person, but I didn’t know she’s a doctor on top of that. How long did she go to medical school?”
“She’s not that kind of doctor. You wrote her a letter of confession, but that confession contained incorrect information. What do you think would be her reaction to being lied to by someone who says he’s an admirer?”
“I didn’t lie, only Dean isn’t where I buried him, that’s the reason for all this mixup. I would not lie to Condi. And what you said about my wallet? I had pretty near four hundred bucks in there that got taken away from me. I’d like to have that back.”
“Have you written letters to public figures before?”
“Just to Condi. And once to Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.”
“Who’s that?”
“She’s the one wrote The Yearling. That’s my favorite book. I read it sixteen times now. I wrote her how good her book is.”
“Any reply?”
“I got this letter back from the book publisher says she’s dead.”
“Nobody else? No political or religious figures?”
“No, but I’ll be writing to Preacher Bob about all this.”
“Preacher Bob the televangelist?”
“He’s a friend of mine. He should know what happened here. It was Preacher Bob’s phone that set off the bomb, so he’ll want to know about that. Can I have some paper and a pen?”
“You can request those items from Lieutenant Harding. How often have you voted?”
“Never have done. If Condi runs, though, I’ll vote for her.”
He shut his notebook and clicked his pen. “That’s it for now. I may ask you some more questions at a later time. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“No charge. You’re a shrink, aren’t you.”
“That’s right.”
“I knew from the style of sexual questions.”
“That was very observant of you,” he says, and away he went. It was nice having company that didn’t yell at me, but maybe he’ll be back like he said.
Lieutenant Beamis must have said something to Lieutenant Harding because a minute later he’s stood at the bars. “You have a request, Deefus?”
“Hi there, Lieutenant. Yeah, I’d like my four hundred bucks, maybe it’s closer to three-fifty. And some paper and a pen to write Preacher Bob about all this.”
“You don’t need money in here, we provide all essential needs. Pen and paper are provided only for a full and frank confession.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Then you don’t need them.”
“Well . . . but I’d like to tell my side of the story.”
“Will that include the whereabouts of Dean Lowry and his cohorts?”
“What’s a co-hort?” It sounded to me like some kind of girlfriend, which Dean would not have had any of those.
“Would that information be included in your written confession?” he wants to know, glaring at me all bug-eyed. This guy really is a crazy person.
“No ...”
“Next time you bring me to your cell on a wasted mission, Deefus, you’ll be punished. I’m not a man that likes to have his time wasted.”
And he marched away down the corridor. So no letter to Preacher Bob, that was a disappointment. And that money is good as stole from me the way he talks.
I did some more walking back and forth for awhile but nothing circular, then Fogler comes back and I’m thinking I must not have been concentrating and walked in a curve or something, but he’s not mad at me, he’s smiling very friendly, so maybe I had this guy all wrong.
“Okay, Doofus,” he says, “exercise time.”
“My name is Deefus with two ees.”
“You don’t tell me how to spell, dirtbag, you just do what I say. Turn around and put your hands together.”
I did it and he reached through the bars to put handcuffs on, then he opened the door. “Step out and proceed along the hallway
till I say stop.”
I come out and started walking but then he screams at me. “Stop! Did I say that way? The other way, shitwipe!”
So I went along the corridor the other way, still with no windows, and when we come to a door that’s open he says, “Left turn!”
I went in and it’s a room with a metal table and chairs, the spindly kind, and a heavier chair off by itself. “Get seated,” barks Fogler, so I went to the table, only he screams, “Not there, dickwad! That chair there!”
He means the other chair, so I sat on that one, thinking to myself how I’d like to get ahold of his neck and squeeze it for a good long time, I would really like that, but I kept up the conversation just to be friendly.
“Is this for exercise?” I asked him. “The romper room?”
“This here is it.”
“So I’m gonna get some exercise.”
“For sure, bro.”
Then two other guys come in wearing just T-shirts and camouflage pants with boxing gloves on, so these must be sparring partners, but where’s the ring? Then in comes the pitfaced guy from the plane, so he didn’t go back with the plane after all, or maybe the plane is still here. I nodded at him because we’re acquainted, you might say, but he didn’t nod back. I had got to notice even so soon as this that everyone here is rude, which I didn’t think was the way military guys should be. I had wanted to be in the Army and now I’m thinking maybe I wouldn’t like it. In the commercials they show you these handsome young guys jumping out of choppers and saluting the flag etcetera but nobody being rude.
“Allrighty, then,” says Fogler with this big grin, “Doofus, do you know why you’re here?”
“Boxing match?”
“That’s exactly right! You’re smarter than you look, Doofus. Lyden and Croft here are gonna demonstrate a display of boxing just for you, how about that.”
“Okay.”
“The man says okay! That chair under your ass, that’s the spectator chair where the special sporting guest gets to sit and watch what goes on. Pass your hands back here.”
I did it and he locked my handcuffs to the chair frame somehow, so they must be thinking I’ll try to escape while everyone is distracted by the boxing match, but I’m not so dumb I couldn’t see that was an impossible thing. So now Lyden and Croft come over and stood in front of me like those gladiators who had to kind of stand and present themselves in front of Caesar before they start killing each other. “We who are about to die salute you,” that’s what they say. It was like they’re waiting for me to say something before they can start boxing, like I’m Caesar, which I’m not expecting, so I said, “Okay, let’s go.”
“You heard the man,” says Fogler.
I knew there’s been a mistake when the first blow got flung at me, not at one of the guys with the boxing gloves. It hit me along the jaw and just about sent me out of the chair, which two legs left the floor, no kidding, then back again, just in time to get hit the other way so the same thing happened. When the third punch hit me at the top of the gut and made all my air rush out and none can get back in again that’s when I knew this is no boxing match, this is a setup with me as the patsy. That was some nice trick Fogler played. This is the scene where the Nazis try to beat out of the hero the plans for the D-Day invasion, only he won’t give them nothing but his name and rank and serial number, so they keep on beating him. This means I am the hero, but I was not happy to be this.
They smacked me around the head and guts mostly but no kidney punches because the chair is in the way. There’s a roaring in my ears that won’t quit and it gets louder every time they hit me again, like I’m tumbling along underwater in a fast stream and every few seconds I run into another boulder. Then they quit and when I opened my eyes Pitface is standing in front of me with a cigarette in his hands. He taps the ash onto the floor because there’s no ashtray on the table, then he says, “Where is Dean Lowry and who are his friends?”
“Dean’s dead ...I killed him ...I didn’t mean to . . .”
My own voice sounded weird to me, like hearing it on a tape and you never heard it before and you can’t believe this is how people hear you.
“And where’s the body?”
“I don’t know...I buried him but someone dug him up . . .”
“That’s no different to the story you’ve been telling all along.”
“I know . . .”
He turned away and they flung me into that fast stream again. I went tumbling along there a good long while and then they let me surface again with my ears still filled by roaring blood. There he is again, Pitface, asking me about Dean exactly like before, so I answered him the same way again, what else can I do? He’s asking me and I’m telling him, but it isn’t what he wants to hear, so now I’m back in the stream getting pummeled this way and that and thinking maybe soon I’ll drown if they don’t quit. Which they did, like they heard me say this. And here he is again with a fresh cigarette spilling ash all over the concrete floor.
“Deefus, can you hear me?”
“Uhuh . . .”
“Tell me what I want to know and this will stop, you’ve got my word.”
Well, I did not trust this man’s word, but I wanted not to get punched around anymore with my hands tied behind my back like this, so I told him, “Okay . . .” I was ready to give him the plans for the D-Day invasion, but only because they’re old now so what harm is there.
“Where is Dean Lowry and who are his friends?”
“Dean . . .” I gulped some air awhile.
“Yes?”
“Dean . . .”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead . . .”
“Don’t fuck with me, Deefus.”
“And I put him in a drainpipe under I-70 . . .”
“Okay, that’s good, but that’s a long highway.”
“Just the other side of... Ogallah...the west side. A drain-pipe there. He’s all wrapped up in plastic bags for lawn grass...”
“Is this true? If it isn’t, you’ll regret it.”
“It’s true.”
He took out his phone and started telling someone what I just told him. I knew then I had made a big mistake and would pay big time for that when they didn’t find Dean, but it felt so good not to be punched around. Pitface snapped his phone shut and gave a nod to Fogler. I got set free from the chair, then they tipped me out of it onto the floor.
“Get up!” yells Fogler. “Get up off that fuckin’ floor!”
So I did and got taken back to my cell. Taking off my handcuffs Fogler says to me, “I knew it wouldn’t take much to bust your balls, man. Soon as I saw you I knew you’re a pussy that’s gonna rat out his friends the first time he gets pushed around a little. A few taps with the gloves and you started to cry. That’s so pathetic. I got no respect for a man does that.”
To be honest about this, neither did I. I did break easy, just to make them quit punching me, but there’ll be a bigger test of toughness when they find out I lied. And when I told them the truth again they would believe it even less than before, which will make them beat me all the harder for that first lie they believed. Punishment was waiting for me around the corner like a big dark monster just waiting for orders to rip my head off. I had done a dumb thing and would pay for that. And knowing this would happen made me afraid. Some hero.
Well, when it happened I would just have to be stronger than today, that’s what I told myself. Fogler was still right in front of me on the other side of the bars, still grinning and sneering at me like I’m a piece of shit. I could’ve reached through and grabbed him and pulled him into those bars to show him I’m not who he thinks I am, but that would mean I got no recovery time between now and when they find out I lied, and I wanted that time to make myself strong. So what I did instead, I winked at him, one slow wink, then a little smile. It made him mad because he doesn’t know what it means.
“You like me, Doofus, huh? You wanna buttfuck me? That what you want?”
&nbs
p; I just kept smiling until he went away, then I lay on my bunk and wondered how many hours I had left until the big dark monster would be let into my cell for a meal. My head and upper body ached and throbbed from all those punches, but at least it hadn’t been iron bars they hit me with. That most likely would come later, and I would have to be ready this time for pain and suffering to make today’s little sparring match seem like a hug and a kiss. I had stopped fooling myself I was in America anymore. This was some other place where life the way they showed it in the movies, with good guys that always win and bad guys that always lose, that life was a joke. By lying to them I had made an appointment with Real Life. I closed my eyes and wished like never before that there really was a God who could give me strength, but knowing I would have to do this all by myself. It was so awful to think about this that I fell asleep, which is something I do when I’m afraid, how about that.
SEVENTEEN
Those Kansas cops worked fast looking for Dean, or maybe there aren’t any drainpipes under the interstate just west of Ogallah, because even before suppertime I had Pitface come visit me. He stood by the bars and just looked at me for the longest time. I looked back at him wondering if his face ever looked different, like if he’d smile at a kid’s birthday party or whatever. This guy has got a face carved from rock.
“Deefus,” he says, “you made me look bad. You told me a lie and I passed it on as truth. This goes into my record. My record is a precious thing to me and you have gone and Fucked It Up.”
I almost felt sorry about that, then I told myself this is not a good person that does good things, so why should I care about his record? I said to him, “You wouldn’t believe me when I told you the truth, so I told you a lie.”
“Yes, you did.”
“If I tell you anything else apart from what I told you in the first place, it’s a lie. I just want you to know that. You’re gonna have me beat so bad I’ll say whatever you want to hear, but it’s all gonna be a lie because I already told you the truth and you had me beat up for it. Everything I know I already told it to you and Kraus and Deedle, only none of you want to hear it, you want to hear something else, something like I told you today. You can beat me up all you want, it doesn’t change anything. This is the truth about the truth I’m telling you.”
