by Don Bruns
And because I wanted my child to read his eighth-grade history lesson and not find that his old man screwed up.
“Angel, you still missed the most important part of this scenario.” James polished off the potato salad with one final bite. He chewed thoughtfully, washed it down with a swallow of Coke and in dramatic fashion laid his hands flat on the table and gazed at the two of us. “The CIA has told us to stay away from this. The CIA, gentlemen.”
Angel, in an equally dramatic presentation, lay his large, black hands on the table. “You may never have met with the CIA.”
“Did you not hear the story I told you earlier today?”
“I listened very carefully.”
“And what?” James turned his hands palms up. “You don’t believe me?”
Angel looked at me. “You believed you saw a police officer the night of the fire. Now, you believe that same man was one of the two Cubans who tried to kill you.”
“And your point is?”
“Our beliefs change. Depending on new information.”
“And do we have new information? I hadn’t heard of any.”
“You now have my information. The CIA, under current guidelines, does not get involved in the investigation of American citizens.”
“But-” James and I had both talked to the man.
“They don’t.”
James shook his head. “So you think the guy was phony?”
“The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms may get involved.”
That made sense. These guys had massive amounts of what I assumed were illegal firearms.
“The FBI may get involved. But not the CIA. The second thing you must do is start asking for more positive identification when you meet these imposters.”
We sat there for a minute, James and I looking at each other, both wondering the same thing. Did Jackie know the guy was a phony? Finally, I said, “Angel, how the hell do you know this?”
“It’s not important how I know. I know. I also know this. If there is a plot to overthrow Castro, the CIA would not try to stop it. They’d probably applaud the effort.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I had something to run from. Something I could leave. A woman who wasn’t sure she even wanted my child, and an international plot to overthrow a dictator. I’d gone from wondering if I could pay my bills, to the possibility of fatherhood and war with Cuba. My God. Life and death. Freedom and Communism. Had my father been faced with such problems, maybe he would have stayed. Nah, my father would have left even earlier. The heaviness, the weight of the world in one decision, all rested on me. And on James. And on Angel and probably on Jackie and Emily.
I couldn’t comprehend all the consequences. And when you are unable to fathom the depth of a problem-when you are incapable of sorting out the logic in a situation, then I guess the best thing to do is to cover your ass. And in a brief moment of sobriety, that’s what I decided to do, although protecting my ass meant protecting my ass, Em’s ass, and the unborn baby’s ass. Still a weighty problem.
“I stopped by Gas and Grocery and got a case of oil. You owe half. I’ll get you the bill.” James walked in, and before any polite greeting, he hit me with the fact that I owed him.
“If I’m going to get socked for the bill, where’s the oil?”
“I put it behind the false wall in the truck.”
He walked to the refrigerator and took out a beer, frowning at me on the couch. I’d been home for two hours and he was just getting off work. He twisted off the top and took a long, slow pull on the bottle. Cans this week were cheaper at several outlets, but our one guilty pleasure was glass bottles. Somehow, the beer tastes better. It just does.
“So what do you think?”
He didn’t ask about dinner. He didn’t ask how Em was or if I’d sold any more systems. He just went right to the heart of the matter.
“Well, everything Angel said made sense.”
“And what about that Angel? Jesus, he seems in tune with exactly what we’re doing and what’s going on around us. It scared the hell out of me.”
“James, if he’s right, he could be the best thing that ever happened to us. And if he’s wrong-” I hadn’t thought that through. He seemed so logical, I didn’t doubt him. Two weeks ago I thought he was a crackhead. Today, I was willing to bet my life on him. Literally.
“Let’s assume he’s one hundred percent, pard. If he is, if the CIA guy was phony, then there’s a strong possibility that Jackie is involved.”
“Oh, come on. She was duped too.” I believed in her, if only because she was Em’s friend. “That’s assuming that he was phony.”
“Why are they coming to her?”
“James, she told us. She spread it around that she thought Rick was involved in illegal activities. Jackie found out that her husband is involved with the plot to overthrow Cuba. The two of them have already decided to break up, but now she thinks she has something on him. So, she threatens to go to the CIA or another authority. Maybe she wants a bigger settlement.”
“Got proof that it happened that way?”
“I told you from the beginning what Jackie told Emily. She told her that Rick Fuentes was involved in a terrorist plot.”
“Yeah. But Jackie didn’t know that Rick was being blackmailed. If you’re right, and she considered going to the CIA, she thought he was a willing participant. And, she probably was hoping he was guilty. I have a feeling she’d like to see him squirm a little bit.”
“But now she’s getting threatening calls.”
“If this Krueger is really from the CIA, they’ll help her.”
I shook my head. “Oh, yeah. What are the three things people have learned not to believe? The check is in the mail, I won’t come in your mouth, and I’m from the government and I’m here to help you.”
“Angel seemed pretty sure Krueger wasn’t for real.”
“Angel also said if the CIA knew of a plot against Castro-”
James finished the sentence. “They’d applaud the effort. Jesus, you don’t think that Krueger and the CIA are-?”
“Let’s find out.”
“What, now we’re going to stalk the CIA?”
“Nah.” For a buck fifty I dialed 411.
“Information. What city and state?”
“Miami, Florida.”
“What listing?”
“Central Intelligence Agency.”
There was as short pause. “I have no listing for that agency.”
“Can you just try the initials, CIA?”
“Oh. Like the CIA?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that one.
“There is no listing.”
“James, you’ve got Internet at the Cap’n?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s Google the CIA.”
James smiled. “All right, amigo. And Lindsey is working late. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll invite me to spend the night.”
Lindsey was glad to see him. Cap’n Crab was busy, but the petite brunette found time to hang around the back room and chitchat. She seemed to be good at that. She told him what had happened between the time he’d left and right now, then she told him how she anticipated the night would go, then she asked if he had any plans later on, and I figured that both of them already knew what the night would bring. And so it went. James kept her busy while I Googled.
There’s a home page for the CIA in Langely, Virginia, and they list an information number. When Lindsey and James walked out front, I called the number. The girl who answered was very officious. She asked if I was with the press, and since I wanted her to answer some questions, I told her I was. When she asked me what publication, I should have said I was a freelance journalist, but she’d taken me by surprise and I really didn’t know what to say. Directly in front of me lay the latest copy of Food Industry, so that’s what I told her.
“ Food Industry.”
“And what can I help you with?”
“If a group of American
citizens were to be involved in a coup on a foreign government, would the CIA investigate?”
I heard her take a breath, then pause. “And again, who are you with?”
“ Food Industry. We’re doing a story on, uh, food and the CIA.”
“Uh-uh.” She wasn’t buying it. “Regardless, the CIA does not investigate American citizens.”
“You wouldn’t do surveillance on a couple of guys who may have seen something or know something they shouldn’t?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. However, you can tell Food Industry that the Central Intelligence Agency does not investigate, follow, or worry about American citizens on American soil. Okay?”
“One more question. Can you tell me if there’s any roster of CIA employees?”
“No. We couldn’t give out that information.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I hung up and picked up a copy of the Miami phone book. I thumbed through the Ks and found one William Krueger. What the hell. I dialed the number, wondering where I’d found this new courage. When you’ve been threatened, shot at, almost burned alive, pissed off the CIA, and knocked up the most beautiful girl in town, there’s not much left to be afraid of.
A lady answered.
“Um, is Mr. Krueger in?”
“He’s not home at the moment. I do expect him within the hour. Can I take a message or would you care to call back?”
“I want to be sure I’ve got the right William Krueger. Does he work for the CIA?”
“Yes. You’ve got the right one.”
I hung up. If they traced the call, Lindsey could take the heat.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
James drove me home in the truck, grabbed his toothbrush and a change of clothes, and went back to see Lindsey. I grabbed a beer and walked out back, sprawling on the plastic lounge chair and listening to the night birds harmonize. There were no lights on in the apartment behind us, just the ever-present playpen.
I sat there for maybe half an hour, working things through my feeble mind. Maybe the lady on the phone was part of the scheme. Maybe she played along, telling everyone that Krueger was CIA, when in fact he was something else. “Born in the USA” blared from my pocket, and I remembered I hadn’t set the phone to vibrate yet. You’d think it would be the first thing I would have done.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Skip.”
“We’re talking again?”
“We’re talking. I’m not happy with the way I’ve been. Usually I can control my emotions a little better.”
“Hormones and all that.”
“I suppose.”
“And you’re seeing the doctor when?”
“Tomorrow. I can’t put it off any longer. I keep thinking if I don’t get medical confirmation, then it isn’t real.”
“But, of course, it is.”
“Of course.”
“And your other option?”
“I can’t do that. You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did. I guess I do.”
“You do.”
“Here’s a stupid question. Really stupid. With all that’s going on, this is going to sound really dumb.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you thought of a name?”
She laughed. And it sounded so good. “As a matter of fact, I have. If it’s a boy, Eugene is not on the list.”
“Thank God.”
“I like Troy and Aaron. For a girl I always thought I’d pick Alison.”
“One L?”
“One L.”
I took a long swallow of cheap beer and smiled. In spite of everything, Em was talking to me and, better yet, we were talking about the baby. Our baby. It meant that not everything in the world was fucked up.
“Tell me what you and your crazy roommate are cooking up.”
I told her about our conversation with Angel and my call to Krueger.
“You could always just assume that everything is going to be all right.”
“But it’s not. Vic may be in trouble, these Cubans have threatened our lives, and now we’ve been warned by the CIA. And it appears the CIA shouldn’t even be involved. Your friend Jackie is getting threatening phone calls, and we know something we’re not supposed to know. We know there’s a plot to invade Cuba. If we can prove any of this, we can go to the authorities.”
“And if we can’t prove any of it?”
“They may try to make sure we never do. Look, Em, there’s a much bigger risk now.”
“You mean because of me.”
“Yeah. I never had anything that I really cared about. Ever. I never took us-you and me-that seriously. I just never thought we’d end up together. I mean, I wanted to, I think, but now it’s different.”
“I’m not sure we’re going to end up together. Obviously the connection is a lot stronger, but, Skip, I’m not making any promises.”
“I’m not asking for any promises. But I do believe it’s worth fighting for. If I let this Cuban thing take over I’m putting everyone at risk.”
I could hear her breathing softly on the other end. “Don’t be a hero on my account, Skip. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“No. I don’t. I also have no idea where we are right now. I’ve got to take some initiative here. I’ve got to get some control of my life and quit letting other people make decisions that affect my life. Your life.”
“So, what do you propose?”
“I think we have to check out the warehouse one more time. We’ve got to find Victor. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“And you could get killed looking for him. Really. You could be killed.”
“And I could get killed if I don’t.”
“Skip? There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Skip?”
“There is.”
“Want to tell me what it is?”
“Not everything. Just this. Vic Maitlin saved my life eleven years ago.”
Now it was her turn not to know what to say. Finally, “He saved your life? Vic? My God, Skip, how?”
“That’s it for now.”
“Pretty heavy stuff.”
“Yeah. And he risked his life to save mine. It’s just something I have to do, Em.”
“So there’s something else you care about.”
“Yeah, I guess. All of a sudden I have some things in my life that really matter.”
There was nothing left to say.
Justin Cramer and Mike Stowe got busted our sophomore year in high school. They got caught selling drugs to an undercover cop and were expelled a week later. The cop posed as a student and she not only caught the goon squad but two other students, a student’s parent, and a wrestling coach.
It seemed like the perfect time to tell my story, but I didn’t. After Vic pulled me out, the sinkhole incident was on my mind every day and I saw the players every day, but in my sophomore year, three years after it happened, I often thought maybe I’d dreamed the entire occurrence. Now, after Rick Fuentes threatened me with my obligation to his son, I felt I could finally let it out. But it wouldn’t come out. It had been buried too deep and too long.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
I made a handful of calls the next morning, stopped at the Cap’n for lunch, and told James that Em and I were back to normal.
“There’s no normal with you guys.”
“Well, as close to normal as possible. Listen, I want to go back to the warehouse one more time.”
“I’m not that stupid, pard.”
“Well, I am.”
“You’re on your own this time, Skip.” He headed back into the kitchen to make someone a crab sandwich and I finished my po’boy and left.
He pulled up in the truck about seven fifteen, stepped into the apartment, and immediately walked to the refrigerator, pulling a beer from the inside of the door. “What time do you want to go?”
“Go?”
&nbs
p; “Oh, fuck. You know I can’t let you drive down there by yourself. You’ll do something stupid like the last time and get yourself shot. I’d have to call your mom and try to find that worthless asshole father of yours and tell them you’ve been killed, and I’m not going to go through all that shit. What time are we leaving?”
“Nine?”
“Just the two of us?”
“I thought about that. If we need a gun, we need Angel.”
“Shit.” He pulled the keys to the truck from his pocket, took a long swallow of beer, and motioned to me. We walked out, got into the truck, and drove to Gas and Grocery. The tiny carryout was open, but Angel wasn’t there.
“What do we do now?”
I shook my head. Angel had always been there. “Stick around a couple of minutes.”
Half an hour later I went inside and asked the old lady behind the counter to leave a message for Angel.
“What the hell I look like? Voicemail?”
“No, I just thought if he happened to stop by-”
“We close at nine. You want him to get a message, you go find him.”
I walked back to the truck and shrugged my shoulders. “We’re on our own, James.”
“Been that way most of our adult lives, Skip. I think we can manage.”
We drove back to the apartment, pulled in beside the rusted-out Ranchero, and went inside. James finished the warm beer.
“This is about paying a debt, right?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Some of it is.”
“You and me, Skip, we’d do that for each other.”
“Sure.”
“But you’d do it for someone you don’t really know. You’d try to save someone because they saved you.”
“There’s other reasons.”
“You want to protect your lady and the new kid.”
I remember glaring at him. His psychoanalysis was getting a little overbearing.
“I’m right.”
“James, maybe I’m doing this because I’m afraid for my own life. If I don’t get them, they’ll get me.”
He smiled that cocksure smile of his. “Nah. You care about people, amigo. You’ve got people and situations that you really care about. It’s what makes you a strong person. It’s what I like about you, pard.”
