by Les Weil
"If you love me so much," she said, "how come you don't get rid of your wife and marry me?"
"I can't do that," he said. "We've been married twentyseven years. I'm the leading figure in the town."
"But you know she's fucking other men," Tammy said.
"You know I don't like you to talk that way about my wife," he said.
"Well, it's the god's truth," Tammy said.
"We ... have ... our understanding," he said.
"Yeah, sure," Tammy said. "And where does that leave me."
"I give you money," he said. "I buy you things. We have our time together every week."
"Yeah, you sneak in here and bang me, and sneak out. You know what that makes me feel like?"
"Tammy, please, we've had this talk before."
"Well, we're having it again. I deserve more than that. I deserve to be out of the damn closet here. I deserve to be married and going to the Yacht Club with you, instead of her."
"God, no," he said.
"God, yes," Tammy said. She sat up in bed, and the motion pulled the bedclothes nearly off him. He struggled to keep covered. "I mean it. I got a right to be more than your whore once a week. I want to live in that house. I want to go to the Yacht Club dances and run a table at the Harvest Fair and have an account at Saks. I want you to marry me."
"It's not possible," he said.
"Maybe I'll make it possible," Tammy said.
She was angry, and she felt strong when she was angry.
Her anger had always worked with Bobby, and when she got angry enough it had driven him from the house. What a loser Bobby was.
"You will?" he said.
The anger was working with him too. He was very meek.
"If I have to. I'll go public with this. I'll tell your wife, I'll tell everybody. You'll have to marry me just to shut me up."
"Don't do that," he said.
His voice was so quiet. She almost smiled. Men were easy. Bobby had been strong as a blacksmith and all she had to do was get mad and he caved right in. Now it was working again. There he was with his money and his position and he was as meek as a little boy when she got mad.
"So think about it. Either you get rid of her and marry me, or I go all-out fucking public."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes," he said. "Of course. I can see how you'd feel. Just give me a little time. I'll make it right. I care about you a great deal."
"And I care about you. But you gotta treat me right."
He nodded again.
"Yes," he said. "It'll take a little while for me to arrange everything. But I'll do the right thing, Tammy. I promise."
She laughed with pleasure and leaned over and kissed him.
"Will you give me an engagement ring?" she said. "A big engagement ring with a big diamond and maybe little emeralds on either side?"
"As soon as I can," he said. "As soon as I can get this all fixed. Just give me a little time and you'll get everything you want."
"Yes," she said and lay back on the bed and watched him while he got up and put on his clothes, and left. When he was gone she stayed in the bed, her hands clasped behind her head.
"Yes," she said out loud and her voice seemed very powerful in the quiet room.
Chapter 35
Jesse sat in his office with the gun permit file up on the computer screen. In Massachusetts, permits to carry a handgun were issued by the local chief of police. The permits had to be renewed every five years. Fire Arm Identification cards, permitting the holder to keep a gun, but not to carry one, were issued once and good for the holder's lifetime. All the carry permits currently held therefore had been issued by Tom Carson. Some of the F.I.D.'s were much older. But only two had been issued prior to Carson's arrival fifteen years before. No one had applied for a gun permit since Jesse had taken the job.
Jesse got up and walked to his office door and opened it and spoke to Molly Crane, who was the dispatcher and ran the front desk. She was also the jail matron and the only female officer on the force.
Molly was on the phone.
"Trash pickup has been delayed a day because of Labor Day," she said into the phone.
"No, ma'am. One day later ... When's your usual pickup? ... Then it'll be Thursday this week ... Yes, ma'am. Glad to."
She hung up and smiled at Jesse.
"Suitcase due in this morning?"
"He's on shift," Molly said. "Seven to three. Want me to get him in here?"
"When it's convenient," Jesse said. "Nice job on the trash pickup dates."
"Lotta practice," Molly said. "They call after every holiday."
Jesse went back into his office and looked at the list of gun permits some more. He looked at them for a long time with his lips pursed, then he pushed the print button and watched as the sheets came silently from the laser printer. He was still watching them when Simpson knocked on his door and came in. He took off his hat and stood in front of Jesse's desk a little awkwardly. At twenty-two he was still not entirely comfortable being called into the chief's office. Even if the chief wasn't very old himself.
"Hi, boss."
"Close my door, Suit, and then sit down."
Simpson did as he was told. His shoulders looked tight.
"You're not in trouble," Jesse said. "I just need some help and you seemed the right guy to give it."
Simpson's shoulders relaxed. He put his hat on the edge of Jesse's desk and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Sure, Jesse."
"You know about the militia group in town."
"Freedom's Horsemen, sure. Mr. Hathaway is the commander, I think. I never figured the name out, though, tell you the truth. There isn't a one of them can ride a damn horse."
"And you know most of the people in the group?"
"Oh sure. I lived here all my life, Jesse. I know about everybody in town."
"That's why I figured you were the right one for this, Suit."
Jesse reached into the printer catch basket and took out the permit list and handed it to Simpson.
"Go through this list," Jesse said. "Check off the names that are also Freedom's Horsemen."
"Sure. You want me to do it right now?"
"Yes, please."
Simpson took a ballpoint pen from the pocket of his uniform shirt and began to go slowly through the list. Jesse watched quietly. It took Simpson a long time to go through the hundred or so names on the list. When he finished he handed the list over to Jesse and capped his pen and put it carefully back in his shirt pocket. Most of the names were checked.
"I don't know who a couple of those people are," Simpson said. "I put a question mark beside them. And a couple people I'm not sure if they're in the Horsemen or not. So I put two question marks next to them."
Jesse glanced over the list. There were only twelve unmarked names.
"Most of them are Horsemen," he said.
"Sure," Simpson said. "It's always the gun guys join a militia."
Jesse nodded.
"Gun is probably a prerequisite," he said. "What I'm wondering is why so few non-Horsemen have permits."
"Most people are scared of guns."
Jesse didn't answer. He stared at the list for a time while Simpson sat and waited.
"How come you want to know this, Jesse?" Simpson asked finally.
"Just like to keep track, Suit. Militias have sometimes gotten a little hairy."
"Oh hell, Jesse, you take the Horsemen too serious. I known most of them since I been a little kid. They just like to shoot, hang around with each other. Drink beer after the meetings. Hell, Lou's one of the officers, for crissake."
"You're probably right, Suit. What I would like is if you kept it to yourself, though, be kind of embarrassing if Lou found out, or Mr. Hathaway, that I was checking them out."
"Oh sure, Jesse, no sweat. I won't say a damned word."
"And the other thing, Suit, if you know anybody that tried to get a gun permit and couldn't, could you let me know his name."
>
"That off the record too, Jesse?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Simpson said and his round pink face widened as he smiled. "Suitcase Simpson, Undercover."
Chapter 36
The Strand movie theater in the old downtown section of Paradise was left over from the time when every town had a movie theater. There was a balcony. The ceiling was high. And the screen was big, with maroon drapes gathered at each side of it. Jesse didn't like the movie much. But he liked the theater. And he enjoyed being with Abby.
"What'd you think," she said as they walked out onto Washington Street.
"The computer broke, they'd have had no movie," Jesse said.
He had the slightly disoriented lightness he always felt coming out of a movie.
"Computer?" Abby said. "Oh, you mean all the special effects."
"Un huh."
"But that's how film is made these days. I mean art is partly about making use of the technology available."
"Art?" Jesse said.
There was a gym on the second floor next to the theater, and coming out the front door of the gym and walking toward them was Jo Jo Genest. He had on a cutoff black tee shirt and gray sweatpants and a black headband. His long hair was wet with sweat. He was wearing the fingerless leather gloves that everyone wore in the movies. His face was dark with an unshaven beard. The tee shirt read, I am an animal. I will eat you, across the front.
"Hey, Chief Stone," Jo Jo said. "How you doing?" Jesse looked at him without speaking.
"How you doing, little lady," Jo Jo said.
"Fine," Abby said.
"Closing in on that cat killer, chief?" Jesse continued to look at him dead-eyed. "Whatsa matter, you can't hear me?" Jo Jo said.
Some of the people coming from the movie slowed, looking covertly at the confrontation.
"You got an alibi for the time of the cat killing?" Jesse said. He was smiling, playing to the crowd, which was pretending not to notice as it moved around the scene.
"Sure do," Jo Jo said.
"How do you know when the cat was killed?" Jesse said.
"Huh?"
Jo Jo stopped smiling.
"You got an alibi for the time the cat was killed; you must know when the cat was killed. How do you know that?"
"Hey, don't be an asshole, Stone. I just meant whenever it happened, I didn't do it, so I'd have an alibi."
"Turn around," Jesse said. His voice was flat.
"What?"
"Turn around. Put your hands flat against the wall."
"Wait a freaking minute, Stone."
"You disobeying the lawful order of a policeman?" Jesse said. He unbuttoned his blazer jacket.
"What are you gonna do? Shoot me?" Jo Jo said.
"Hands on the wall," Jesse said in the same flat voice. Abby had taken a couple of steps away from Jesse, moving closer to the passersby who paused and stared, or walked by as if nothing were happening, depending on their temperament.
"Oh for crissake," Jo Jo said.
He placed his hands flat against the building.
"Step away from the building, leaving your hands in place," Jesse said. "Spread your legs."
Jo Jo did as he was told. His face was flushed, and his breath was coming shorter. Jesse tapped his ankles with the edge of one foot, moving Jo Jo's feet farther apart. Then he patted him down. When he was through, he stepped back away from Jo Jo and stared at him without speaking.
"How long am I supposed to stand here?" Jo Jo said.
"Until I tell you to stop," Jesse said.
He continued to look silently at Jo Jo for another full minute.
Then he said, "Okay."
Jo Jo straightened and turned from the wall. He glared at Jesse without speaking. Jesse stared back at him. Then Jesse spoke very softly. "We both know something, don't we, pal."
"Whaddya mean?"
"We both know," Jesse said again.
"Aw," Jo Jo said and made a push-away motion with his left hand, and stepped past Jesse and walked down the street away from them, trying to swagger. Jesse stepped over beside Abby.
"Want to eat at the Rosewood?" Jesse said.
"Jesus Christ," Abby said.
Chapter 37
"I don't like this," Hasty said to Jo Jo as they walked along Tremont Street.
"Gino says it's this way or no way," Jo Jo said. "He likes to see who he's doing business with."
"Why does someone like him care?" Hasty said.
Jo Jo shrugged.
"Gino's a strange guy," Jo Jo said.
They went down the stairs to the basement-level entrance and walked into Development Associates of Boston. The pretty young man behind the reception desk looked up at them.
"Well, Tarzan," he said with his infuriating smile. "And who's this, Cheetah?"
Jo Jo had a momentary image of himself yanking the little faggot from behind the desk and smashing his head against the white brick wall. But he didn't. This was business, and he was always aware of Vinnie Morris and his odd unnerving stillness, and how quick everyone said he was when he had reason to be.
"Gino's expecting us," Jo Jo said.
"Me check," the young man said. "You wait."
He stood and went back through the door behind the desk and into the back room. In a moment he came out and made a sweeping gesture of invitation like a maitre d' at a pretentious restaurant. Jo Jo could almost feel Hasty's disapproval. But Gino was Gino and he had to meet the client.
Hasty looked around the inner office. It too was white brick, with a vase full of flowers on the desk. A tall spare man sat behind the desk, and a compact efficient-looking man sat to Gino's left, tilting his straight chair back against the wall.
"I'm Gino Fish," the spare man said. "This is my associate Vinnie Morris."
Morris didn't make any sign that he even heard Gino. He simply looked at them without expression. Vinnie Morris made Hasty uncomfortable. He made him think of his new police chief, though he wasn't quite sure why. Something about potential unexpressed, maybe. The motionless implication that there would be more than what you saw, if you pushed beyond the stillness.
"How do you do," Hasty said.
Why was he so uncomfortable? He was meeting a couple of small-time crooks. He was the president of his own bank. He commanded a force of men that would liquefy these two thugs at his order. If one were to guess from the nance at the reception desk, Fish might even be a homosexual.
"You want some guns," Fish said.
"As many as you can get, small arms, heavy weapons. I'm sure Jo Jo has spelled all this out for you."
"Jo Jo couldn't spell cat," Fish said, "if you gave him the C and the A. What do you want the weapons for?"
"There's no need for you to know."
"I like to know," Fish said. "You want to do business with me, you do it on my terms. What are you going to do with the weapons?"
"We are a group of free men," Hasty said.
"Patriots." Fish smiled.
"I don't expect you to understand," Hasty said. He could feel his face getting hot.
"Go on," Fish said.
"We know that the government is intent on destroying us. We are ready for it. But we need weapons. Not only for the moment but for the long struggle. We need to stockpile so that when they think they've confiscated our arms, we can unearth a new supply and rise when they least expect it."
Fish nodded slowly. He glanced once at Vinnie Morris, and then back at Hasty.
"So, you're going to bury the guns?" Fish said.
"Yes."
Fish smiled.
"This got to do with an international Jewish conspiracy?" he said.
"I know you're mocking, but you'll see. Jews, Catholics, one-worlders, anybody who wishes us to give up our sovereignty to a foreign power."
"Like the Pope, or the UN," Fish said.
"Yes."
Fish looked again at Vinnie Morris.
"See?" Fish said. "Didn't I say it would be worth it to have him come in and se
e us."
"That's what you said."
Jo Jo didn't like the way this was going. He didn't have any idea what Hasty was talking about. He never had known why the Horsemen ran around in the woods with guns. This was the first he'd heard about one-worlders, whatever they were. But he knew Gino was having fun with them, and it made him feel sweaty. For his part Hasty wasn't used to being laughed at. He wasn't sure how one was supposed to respond to being laughed at.
"Lot of unmarked UN helicopters hovering over, ah, where are you from again?"
"Paradise," Hasty said.
His face felt somewhat stiff.
"Ah yes," Fish said. "Paradise."
"I am doing business with you," Hasty said. His voice was hoarse and seemed hard to squeeze through his windpipe. "Admittedly. But you are also doing business with me, and goddamn it, if you don't want the business, just keep it up and I'll take my money somewhere else, where they don't have a damned fairy at the reception desk."
There was silence in the office for a long moment. Vinnie kept his blank stare on Jo Jo. Then Fish smiled slowly.
"He used the F word, Vinnie."
Vinnie Morris nodded without saying anything. His eyes steady on Jo Jo.
"Spunky devil, isn't he?" Fish said. Vinnie shrugged.
"Well," Hasty said, hoarsely. "You want the business or not."
"Of course I do," Fish said. "Let's talk particulars."
Chapter 38
Suitcase Simpson was blushing.
"Well, did you ever think of doing that?" Cissy Hathaway said.
They were sitting on the king-sized bed in a Holiday Inn in the middle of the afternoon drinking California champagne out of the little plastic glasses.
"Jesus, no," Simpson said. "Cissy, you got to understand, I haven't had that much experience, you know? I mean you weren't my first, but, well, I got a lot to learn."
