anywhere.’
I took Franz’s Beretta out of my pocket. The one I had
brought out of the Mojave. I hadn’t lost it. It had ridden all the
way with me from California. That was why I had checked my
luggage, just that one time. They won’t let you carry guns
inside the cabin. Not without paperwork.
‘This piece is listed as destroyed,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t officially
exist any more.’
He stared at it.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘You can’t prove anything.’
‘You’re not dealing with an idiot either,’ I said.
‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘It was an order. From the
top. We!re in the army. We obey orders.’
I shook my head. ‘That excuse never worked for any soldier
anywhere.’
‘It was an order,’ he said again.
407
‘From who?’
He just closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I know exactly who it was. And I
know I can’t get to him. Not where he is. But I can get to you.
You can be my messenger.’
He opened his eyes.
‘You won’t do it,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you refuse?’
‘I couldn’t refuse. It was time to choose up sides. Don’t you
see? We’re all going to have to do that.’
I nodded. ‘I guess we are.’
‘Be smart now,’ he said. ‘Please.’
‘I thought you were one bad apple,’ I said. ‘But the whole
barrel is bad. The good apples are the rare ones.’
He stared at me.
‘You ruined it for me,’ I said. ‘You and your damn friends.’
‘Ruined what?’
‘Everything.’
I stood up. Stepped back. Clicked the Beretta’s safety to fire. He stared at me.
‘Goodbye, Colonel Willard,’ I said.
I put the gun to my temple. He stared at me.
‘Just kidding,’ I said.
Then I shot him through the centre of the forehead.
It was a typical nine-millimetre full metal jacket through-and
through. It put the back of his skull into the cupboard behind
him and left it there with a lot of smashed china. I stuffed the
reefer and the speed and the crack cocaine in his pockets, along
with a symbolic roll of dollar bills. Then I walked out the back
door and away through his yard. I slipped through the fence
and through the lot behind his and walked back to my car. I sat
in the driver’s seat and opened my duffel and changed my
boots. Took off the pair that had been ruined in the Mojave and
put on a better pair. Then I drove west, toward Dulles. Into the
Hertz return bays. Car rental bosses aren’t dumb. They know
people get cars messy. They know they accumulate all kinds of
crap inside. So they position big garbage cans near the return
bays in the hope that renters will do the decent thing and clear
408
some of the crap out themselves. That way they save on wages.
Cut out even a minute a car, and staff costs drop a lot over a
whole year. I put my old boots in one can, and the Beretta in
another. As many cars as Hertz rented at Dulles in a day, those
cans were headed for the crusher on a regular basis.
I walked all the way to the terminal. I didn’t feel like taking
the bus. I showed my military ID and used my checkbook and
bought a one-way ticket to Paris, on the same Air France
red-eye Joe had taken back when the world was different.
I got to the Avenue Rapp at eight in the morning. Joe told me
the cars were coming at ten. So I shaved and showered in the
guest bathroom and found my mother’s ironing board and
pressed my Class A uniform very carefully. I found polish in a
cupboard and shined my shoes. Then I dressed. I put my full
array of medals on, all four rows. I followed the Correct Order of
Wear regulations, and the Wear of Full Size Medals regulations.
Each one hung down neatly over the ribbon in the row below. I
used a cloth and cleaned them. I cleaned my other badges too,
including my major’s oak leaves, one last time. Then I went into