Forest of the Mind (The Book of Terwilliger 1)

by Michael Stiles

  “Having trouble?” a female voice said through the car window. A young woman was peering in at him.

  Clenching his jaw, he opened the door and got out. “I can handle it,” he mumbled as he popped the hood and began looking around inside. The starter still appeared to be properly connected, so he poked around at other parts that looked like they must serve some important function. He hoped she would get bored and leave him alone if he looked under the hood long enough, but she came over and stood next to him. He wiggled the wires that connected to the battery, trying to look as if he knew what he was doing.

  “Could be the alternator if it’s not the battery,” she said. “Maybe you have a bad connection somewhere. Mind if I try something?”

  Before he could reply, she began jiggling wires and pushing on things. “See, this one’s loose,” she said. She jiggled a small round cap, which looked like something that would cause problems if it were to come loose. “If we push it on a little better—there. Try starting it again.”

  Feeling completely stripped of his masculinity, Ed got back in and turned the key. The engine started easily. He revved it a few times to try to get his testosterone flowing once more.

  The girl was standing by the open driver’s side door. “You live around here?” she said. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “My name?” Ed swallowed and struggled to think of it. “Terwilliger.”

  “Tigger?” she said with a laugh. “Is that your first name or last?”

  “J-just call me Ed,” he stuttered. “I have to get going. Thanks again.” Cringing at his own clumsy tongue, he pulled the door shut and maneuvered out of his parking space, forcing the girl to jump aside to avoid being run over.

  He arrived at Kinzie’s at a quarter after nine, a little irritated with Tom for picking a place that was closer to his own place in Rancho Park than Ed’s apartment in Fairfax. The least he could do was meet halfway. Ed got out of the car humming the new Association song that had been playing on the radio—a song he despised, yet somehow it stuck in his head and wouldn’t go away. God damn the Association, he thought peevishly.

  Tom was waiting in a booth, two empty glasses on the table in front of him and a drink in his hand. He didn’t see Ed come in; he was either deep in thought or drunk, or both. He looked up when Ed slid into the seat opposite. Ed hoped the dim light would hide the circles under his own eyes.

  “Was there traffic?” Tom sounded sober enough. His expression was gloomy, but his voice carried nothing but his usual good nature.

  “Just a little car trouble. Got it worked out.”

  Tom sipped his drink. “I know a car guy; remind me to give you his number. What’ll you have? I’ll flag the girl down.” Ed ordered a gin and tonic. The waitress soon returned with his drink and another for Tom, delivering them along with an extra smile for Ed. Tom waited for her to leave before saying, “She’s a cute one. Seems to have her eye on you, Ed.”

  “Fishing for a bigger tip,” Ed grumbled.

  “Maybe. I bet she gives you her phone number before you go.”

  Ed glanced back at the waitress and caught her looking back at him over her shoulder. “I’m not ready for that, Tom.”

  “Sorry. I was just making fun.” Tom gazed into his drink a while. “So, you said you watched the news today. Did you hear about McNamara?”

  “Who?”

  “The Secretary of Defense. Today Johnson announced McNamara’s resignation. He’s quitting.”

  Ed should have known this would be about some political nonsense. “Good for him. Did he finally get tired of sending kids off to die in the jungle?”

  Kajdas gave him an admonitory look. “He’s not what you think, Ed. McNamara was never fully behind Johnson in his prosecution of this war. He wanted to limit the involvement of our troops, teach the South Vietnamese to fight for themselves.”

  “So he was one of the good guys, then? You think things are going to be even more screwed up over there now?”

  Tom took off his glasses and wiped them with a paper napkin. “Well, yes, but it’s more than that. I believe this is the first sign of a chink in Johnson’s armor. Have you seen what’s happened over the last month? General Westmoreland has been more openly confident than ever that we’re about to obliterate the North. Johnson himself said that we’re ‘inflicting more losses than we’re taking.’ Then, lickety-split, the one guy in the administration who doesn’t think things are hunky dory suddenly resigns. The war is not going well, yet the top officials are telling us that we’re winning.” Putting his glasses back on, he leaned back in his seat and exhaled deeply. “What does that tell you?”

  Ed shrugged. Discussions like this didn’t hold much interest for him.

  “It tells me they’re trying hard to put the best possible face on this war because they’re terrified of losing what little public support they have.”

  “So you’re saying the government’s lying to us? Gosh, Tom, I can’t believe they’d do such a thing.”

  “I work for the government too, you know. We’re not all monsters.” Tom leaned forward and looked Ed in the eye, speaking levelly and firmly. “There are some of us who want to protect innocent people from the monsters. Look, I hate Communism as much as the next guy. I would just love to see the Russians and Red China and the North Vietnamese all burn in hell. It’s what they deserve. But Johnson is failing. He’s on the verge of losing South Vietnam.”

  Ed sipped his drink. “So you agree with what every draft-age kid in America is saying about the war.” A lot of people Ed knew had received their draft letters and gone off to get shot at in the jungle.

  “No! The war’s just the tip of the iceberg. Communism in Asia isn’t the only threat that we need to think about. There are some serious dangers here at home that we have to deal with, and I’m convinced Johnson is using this war to misdirect, to fool the American people into believing the danger across the Pacific is what we need to worry about. I’m just as interested in fighting the enemies that live right here in our back yard. Johnson is losing on both fronts.”

  Ed was a little bewildered by all this, but he had been nodding his head while Tom spoke to give the impression that he was following along. “What are you saying? Are you worried about Communists in America? Isn’t this something you FBI guys should be able to sort out?” Ed did not ask the other question that had entered his mind. What does this have to do with me?

  Tom gazed into his drink for a moment before looking back up at Ed. “This is something everyone should be concerned about. Our society is on the edge of a cliff, and it won’t take much to push us over. You’ve seen the protests, the marches, the unrest. Right now the kids are up in arms over the war, but the problem goes deeper than that. They’re rebelling against the establishment in every possible way. Against their parents, schools, everything that makes this country what it is. The popular culture is poisoning their minds, helping them to believe that the current order needs to be overthrown.”

  “And you think Johnson is part of the problem?”

  “I think he’s the worst possible man to have in the White House right now. It would only take a couple lucky breaks for the North to do some serious damage to our position in Asia. That kind of setback, if the news got out, could destroy any remaining faith the people have in our government. And with McNamara out, Johnson’s lost his voice of reason.”

  “But what do you do about it? I mean, even if you’re right, there’s not much anybody can do now. Not till the next election.” Ed paused. “Right?”

  Tom swirled his drink a couple times before swallowing the rest in one large gulp. Then he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out three photographs, which he lay face-down on the table between them before Ed could see what was in the pictures. He fixed Ed with his gaze, leaned forward, and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “What we talk about here, I need you to promise me it’ll stay in the Buick, so to speak.”

  “Sure,” said Ed. “What is it?” />
  “Ed, I’m planning to kill the President.”

  9

  Doris and Her Uncle

  Tom waved the waitress back over and ordered another drink. Neither of them spoke until after the drink arrived and Tom had finished half of it.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Kajdas said finally, keeping his voice low, “and you’re going to help me.”

  Ed smiled, uncertain how he should react. Was Kajdas testing him somehow?

  “Don’t laugh. I’m dead serious. This country’s gone too far down the wrong road.”

  “But you can’t just―” Ed shook his head, unable to put words to all the thoughts in his head. “You just don’t do that. And I’m sure as hell not going to help you.”

  Kajdas fiddled with the photographs, aligning the edges with his fingertips, but leaving them face-down so Ed couldn’t see them. “Let’s look at the facts. Fact number one: you’re in financial trouble. You’ve only got one income now, and it’s not enough.”

  “I get along just fine,” Ed mumbled.

  “No, you don’t,” said Tom. “I know exactly how much you make at your job. But I can make that problem go away.”

  “I don’t want money.”

  Kajdas sighed. “Okay. Then there’s fact number two.” He slid a finger under the photos and flipped them over for Ed to see. “I didn’t want to have to resort to this. Mr. Wensel is giving me no choice.”

  Ed felt his jaw go slack. The first photo showed him meeting with that lawyer over at the Farmers Market—Ed couldn’t remember his name, the fat one with the dirty fingernails who had stolen a piece of fruit. The second one showed Ed accepting an envelope from the rich man whose loser son had been picked up for rape. The third photo was of Ed and Fleischman at the Jewish deli. It had been taken from outside, through the window, but was clear enough to make out their faces.

  “Fact number two,” said Tom, after giving him a moment to examine the images, “is that the Bureau knows what you’ve been up to. We know who’s been paying you, and how much.” He took another sip of his drink. “I hope you’ll want to help me out of a sense of responsibility as a citizen. You know it’s the right thing to do; you said yourself that you don’t approve of the job Johnson is doing. But if you won’t help for that reason, well...” He patted the photos. “I don’t want to do this to you. But my boss has these, too, and he won’t hesitate to use them.”

  If he knows about that, Ed thought, does he know about the heroin? But Kajdas hadn’t said anything about that, and there was no way Ed could ask. “What do you want me to do?” he asked flatly.

  “Does that mean you’ll help?”

  “No. I want to know what you want me to do.”

  “First of all, keep your voice down,” Tom hissed. “Your part will be easy. I have some people at Parker Center I want you to meet. I’ll give you some messages to take to them; I can’t meet with them directly. And when the time comes, I will ask you to do for me what you’ve done for”—he nodded toward the photographs—“these other people. I’ll pay you a heck of a lot more than they do, so I expect it done right. I want no evidence that my people were involved.”

  “But...” Ed struggled to put his thoughts together. “The President. Wouldn’t your guys investigate that?”

  “If he’s killed in Los Angeles, on a campaign stop for instance, LAPD will be involved. They’ll collect evidence and handle the early questioning, at the very least.” He patted his vest pocket, where Ed could see an envelope peeking out. “I’ll pay you half of your compensation today, and half once it’s all over.”

  Would it be bad manners to ask how much money was in that envelope? Ed wasn’t sure how to bring it up tactfully. “How much?” he blurted.

  “Forty thousand. Twenty now, twenty after.”

  Ed swallowed. That was more than he’d make in five years working for the city. “When are you going to do it?” he asked, his throat suddenly very dry.

  Kajdas folded his arms on the table. “We get the pieces in place over the next several weeks. The primary season starts up in three months. He’ll stop in L.A. to give a speech or two before the California primary in June. There’s no way we could do anything in Washington, not with the kind of security they’ve got around him there. But when he’s traveling, he’s got a smaller detail and we’ll have opportunities to get someone close to him. Then...” He snapped his fingers, and Ed’s eyes widened involuntarily.

  “Then?”

  “Then the whole landscape looks very different for next November, with either Humphrey or Gene McCarthy running against Nixon.”

  “How do you know that?” Ed asked.

  “That it’ll be Nixon? Well, it certainly won’t be George Romney; he’s finished himself off by putting his foot in his mouth.”

  “But―”

  “It’ll be Nixon,” Kajdas said. “Humphrey doesn’t stand a chance in that case. A little over a year from now, we’ll have a new President and a real shot at making things better. What do you think?”

  “I think I need another gin and tonic,” said Ed.

  * * *

  His mind was in turmoil as he drove home from the restaurant. When he found himself making the turn onto Fairfax toward his apartment, he could hardly remember how he got there. He almost didn’t react in time when a figure darted out in front of him. With only a second to react before he was upon her, Ed instinctively jerked the wheel to the left and put all his weight on the brake. An oncoming car swerved away from him, horn blaring. The driver shouted something rude at him through his open window, but Ed’s attention was focused entirely on the young woman who stood in his headlights. It was the same girl who had helped him start his car a couple hours earlier. Ed put on the brake and got out, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

  “Nice going,” she said, walking over to his car. “You almost hit me, you know.”

  Caught off guard, Ed had trouble translating his racing thoughts into words. “I... You came out of nowhere! What’s the matter with you?” The girl looked young—maybe eighteen, maybe twenty—but Ed had trouble putting an age to her. She was dressed in an old gray sweatshirt and jeans. Her dark hair was gathered up in a ponytail.

  “Pedestrians have the right of way,” she said. “I should call the cops.”

  “Go ahead and call them! I work for the cops.”

  The girl narrowed her eyes at him and put her hands on her hips, looking more menacing than Big John at his worst. She was tall enough to glare straight into Ed’s eyes without looking up at him, though he felt about eight inches tall at that moment. “You’re just lucky you didn’t run me over,” she said.

  “I’m lucky,” he muttered. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be home?”

  The girl laughed. “Home isn’t a good place for me right now. You said you live around here, didn’t you?”

  “That building right there. But―”

  “Where can I catch a bus, then? Or do you not know about buses?”

  “Well, I don’t, actually. I mean, I see buses around, but I don’t know where they stop.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” She started to walk away.

  “Hang on,” said Ed. He didn’t feel like doing her any favors, but the last thing he needed was a guilty conscience for letting her go walking across town at night, alone. She had helped him out, after all. “Where are you going? I can give you a lift if it’s not too far.”

  The girl turned around, folding her arms and fixing Ed with a cold stare. “Hey, that’s real big of you, Mr. Ed. As long as it’s not too far.”

  “No, I—Don’t call me that. I’m not a horse.”

  “Of course, of course,” she said gravely. A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Ed muttered a mildly impolite word under his breath. “Where are you going?”

  The girl held out her hand. “Doris.”

  He blinked. “What? I don’t know where that is.”

  “It’s my name,
bozo,” the girl said. “Doris Crosby. I need a ride to Los Feliz.”

  “You’re a long way from Los Feliz.”

  “That’s why I need a ride. So will you take me there, or what?”

  Ed wanted more than anything to go to sleep. He was tired, and unhappy, and it had been a long day. He tried to think of a way to leave her there without feeling guilty, but he knew his conscience would never let it go. Besides, he reasoned, she was cute. For a kid. He got back in and unlocked the door for her, and she hopped in.

  Doris rode in silence while Ed got on the Santa Monica Freeway. He was pretty sure she was watching him whenever he looked away, but when he glanced in her direction he found her looking out the window.

  Ed didn’t mind silence, but after a while it started to feel awkward. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” he asked. “You’re a long way from home.”

  “I didn’t say Los Feliz is home, it’s just where I’m going.” She paused, then softened her tone. “I just had some stuff to take care of, that’s all.”

  “Fair enough.” He decided to try to ascertain her age. Subtly, if possible; he knew better than to ask such things directly. “Where do you go to school?”

  She gave him a funny look. “School? I’m done with school.”

  “Oh, sorry. I thought you were younger. So you already graduated, then?”

  “I didn’t feel a pressing need to graduate. I dropped out.”

  Ed changed lanes to maneuver around an old woman who refused to get out of the fast lane. “Your parents let you do that?”

  “I’m old enough to do what I want. My mom can’t stop me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ed didn’t want to start any more arguments with this girl. She was just too prickly. “I lost my parents when I was a kid. Car accident.” That sounded like he was trolling for sympathy, though, so he changed the subject. “You have your own place, then?”

  “I live with a bunch of people, my uncle and some others. There’s seven of us. We take care of each other. Take turns doing chores and cooking and stuff. We share everything.”