Merry - Chapter 82

   Mike waved Speedy and Panic over, and JG came with Panic. This brought Senior over as well. Mike smiled and held his hands up, he had just got off of the cell phone.

   "I got a call a little while ago. I got the Carolina Trooper's work number in my phone now. Gonna give it a whirl."

   He pressed his screen, and waited.

   "Yeah, hi. Look. My name's Mike. We haven't met, but, I'm a senior agent at the FBI. I just took oversight over a case? And… I was watching some recordings of an early informal meeting I think you might have attended. Do you want me to direct you to the FBI dot GOV website?"

   "Well, just in case you wanna verify I'm who I say I am. Then? You'll see this number, some guys wanna do it that way. All right, thanks. You got a minute? Okay, great. Yeah, that's the meeting. You remember it? All right, this is pretty straightforward. We have an artist's rendering. Whole set of 'em, actually."

   "Yeah, but… we want this quiet. This has to be a do not approach. We just want an ID on this bastard. Just… a name, a town is fine. Plate number. If you pull him over, or… talk to him? Be nice, be extra polite. Let him go on any driving infraction, just get some info for us. Yeah… I can't even call it catch and release. Just… eyeball him, give me something to go on."

   "I know, they all look a lot alike, some of 'em, but… see… this one has a special characteristic. He's missing a big slice off of one ear. I mean, one of the barracks, somewhere, some trooper will see a guy looks kinda like the pictures, and that ear is all you gotta see. And… get something to get us near him. Name, plate, town… anything."

   "That's right… ID only. Do you want me to speak to your brass, or… okay. Great. Listen, just text me at this number, whatever email you want it sent to. Now remember, and this is very important. This is confidential. Do not ask around. Do not talk to friends, family… nothing. I don't know about the locals and the deputies around, but in my experience? They can't keep their mouth shut, they'll be talking at the bars about it. Just go around and ask whoever you trust to stay quiet, when you get the renderings."

   "Hey, I appreciate it. I'll have someone send your chief a packet, I just wanted to get the pictures to your barracks, and you can explain it to the boys. This guy's down there somewhere, it's just a matter of hitting the right area. Who knows. What? Oh, sure. Call or email another barracks or two, once you get the pictures. Just remember… it's a quiet thing. ID only. No talking."

   "Yeah? All right, great. Thanks for giving me a few minutes. I appreciate it. You too. Bye…"

   "That's it. We're going into play. I'll have a couple junior agents from my office, work the emails and the phone calls. Within a week? Every fucking barracks in North and South Carolina, gonna have the Elvis face up, note about the ear, and I bet we hear something back within a few weeks."

   Panic suddenly took advantage of the slight pause in Mike's cadence. He could address Speedy in front of Mike, and it was like talking in front of dad at home, when he was still young.

   "Speedy? What do you think about that motel?"

   "What motel?"

   "George said something about a closed down motel. It's torn down, but, he remembered which room it was. He even had a date, because it was a holiday. We went over that, in the initial interview, right? It's also in the notes we made copies of and handed over, too. Mike? Records from a closed down motel?"

   "Hmm. They're all supposed to have a register, and it's supposed to be fucking sacred text. Now, the farther back you go, the looser shit gets. People just used to giggle when they checked in to diddle, and signed George and Martha Washington. Later on though, shit got tightened up. Now… motels and hotels are a little special. They fall under special rules. One is, when they close? They're suppose to mail in their registers. The original books. These days? It's all digital."

   "What do you think?"

   "It's not solid, but… stranger things have happened. Even if he had someone else with him sign in, it leads us to an associate or a former associate. I'll have someone put an eye on the notes, and see if they can dig anything up about it. We might get lucky. Some places go out and write down the plate numbers, most don't. Back then, some required ID or a credit card, most didn't. It won't hurt to try… and if nothing else? I get a handwriting sample. Maybe an AKA him or the associates used back then."

   Mike took a short walk around the campsite, while on his phone. He explained the former motel situation to someone, and seemed to be arranging the emailing and phone calling as well. Speedy and Panic were ecstatic. Mike finally sat down, looking reserved but pleased with himself.

   "That motel. It didn't exist in a vacuum in outer space. It was a real structure. It had at least one owner, and it had employees during it's lifespan. There should be zoning stuff on it in the records. There should be tax records of the owners and the employees. Might find someone that once worked there. Just because I might not need it, isn't a reason not to dig. Junior agents need experience digging, and this is how they get it. Newspapers might have covered a story before. Maybe the place had a grand reopening, and a ribbon ceremony and a picture hit the small local paper. Maybe a car got stolen from the parking lot, and there was something on it. The old days, combing microfiche by hand? Almost gone. It's almost all been transferred over to digital now. Click… click… click."

   Speedy noted the target should still be unaware. Mike nodded sagely.

   "I know. That's a little gift from heaven. As I'm sure everyone knows or can figure out… aware targets either come for direct confrontation, or more usually… they scatter and hide. Unaware targets? Will walk right into a trap."

   Speedy was thinking out loud, that every criminal mastermind makes a mistake, you just have to find it and exploit it. Panic wanted to know what this guy's mistake was going to be.

   Speedy smiled.

   "There's two periods in time, where mistakes are prone to happen. One? Early in their game. They're still learning by doing. Oh, I shouldn't do that again. I'll watch that in the future. The other? After they've been at it a long time, late in the game there's a tendency to get too bold, too brave, a little sloppy. Something that can be found later."

   Panic asked if the motel was the early mistake.

   Speedy wiggled his fingers, and wagged his head, guesstimating.

   "Mike? Help me out here. I was thinking records on the motel would be the early mistake, but… then I'm thinking of Bobby's murder, how it didn't fit into the pattern, and how that led to George."

   Mike nodded.

   "Yeah. That whole situation back then? They got bold, they got greedy. Speedy? If they hadn't of come back to suicide Bobby, you think you'd have ever got this far?"

   Panic and Speedy both shook their heads no.

   "No… Bobby would have had his house. George wouldn't have gone into hiding. Panic wouldn't have read about a possible smiley victim that didn't fit the rigid victim profile. We wouldn't have located a scared witness."

   Mike rolled his eyes.

   "It all goes on. You two, wouldn't have been in DC. The waitress would have been snuffed. That whole ball of wax came out of all this. Even if they managed to get any convictions with the paper chase on the dirty dozen? The other half of them would have went on and filled the void. Been a big game of dominoes."

   Panic nodded his head.

   "No George? No RLB long-range. No happy shooters. No greens-keeper retirement job. No gun shop."

   Mike toasted with his cold can of cola.

   "The universe? Is rewarding you guys."

   "George had his life ruined, such as he once knew it. Bobby? Had to forfeit his life. Speedy's no better or worse, I think. I feel guilty, I guess. This all came out of a series of murders."

   Mike smiled.

   "Panic? At least something good came out of all this. Rarely does anything good ever come out of a string of homicides. Normally it's all bad. Hell, the way I got it figured? Just as well you weren't in love with your life lately, or you'd have been another casualty of all this mess. At least it didn't cost you a wife and kids and a good job. Ask Speedy and Senior that one… most people that work these things for a living? It's a millstone upon which your sanity and happy home life grinds, and you hope and pray it grinds slowly. Not too many wives and families like the death threats. Investigators and detectives? It's pretty common. We get used to it, but, the wife and kids? Can't expect them to enjoy that shit."

   Speedy added.

   "Yeah, so don't feel guilty if you get something out of the way everything worked out. Just enjoy it and try not to feel bad about it."

   Mike added to it.

   "It's not just words, Panic. Here… look at it this way. If a tree falls on a house? Horrible. Now, someone has the job of removing the tree and fixing the house. Don't beat yourself up for nothing, thinking you made out on the back of the murders. The guy that fixes cars that have been wrecked? Doesn't think like that, does he? No. So you shouldn't either. I used to read about world war two, and I remember the story about the guy that lived in a bombed out village. He raised fish in the bomb craters, and made a good living off of doing it."

   Speedy shook his head.

   "At least this is a good old fashioned murder for profit motive, we don't have to sit around trying to figure out why the guy's making ashtrays out of human skulls."

   Mike and Senior agreed, murder for profit was a more straightforward prospect. At least you could understand things. Mike wanted to know from Speedy, if he had ever worked an "ashtray" case before.

   "Worked? Yes. Solved or captured? No. I think everyone here knows we have a couple hundred give or take serial killers in the United States at any given moment. You don't work homicide any length of time, without coming across at least one of their scenes, at least once. Whether you know it or not, is another big question. The one I know of, was an ashtray guy next state over was his home base. He finally spread his little circle of joy around big enough and plopped one over my border."

   Mike was munching on something that came out of a little wrapper.

   "Hard to establish it was an ashtray artist and not your typical case?"

   Speedy chuckled nervously.

   "Our witness? When we first met him. We're like… why didn't you go to the police."

   Mike asked what the answer was.

   "Lawyer had a couple things why not for him. One, the description of the perpetrator? Bushy Haired Stranger. Conveniently coming through from out of state. Two? He was told he knew enough to put him square in the investigation, and not enough to point them in the right direction. Three? Police were under pressure to do something."

   Mike was still softly munching intermittently.

   "I'm wondering why this is coming up for your ashtray guy."

   Speedy sighed.

   "We have a saying, in state homicide. The husband or boyfriend did it. If the husband or boyfriend didn't do it? The husband or boyfriend did it."

   Mike nodded.

   "Oh. How long did you date the husband?"

   "Ha. Cute phrase there, Mike. I, uh… had a frolicking threesome with the husband and the boyfriend slash ex boyfriend. For a while. My team, well, everyone liked one or the other. I guess I did, too. At first. We could never get anywhere though. As time went on? I didn't think I had the right… vibe… from either one."

   "That how you met your buddy Senior?"

   "Yeah."

   "Were you looking for him, or, was he looking for you."

   Speedy laughed.

   "Both. He was keeping notes on ashtray boy, separating him from the other… performance artists across my state and surrounding states. I was finally starting to look around, curious. Once we met and had lunch? Yeah."

   "That how you guys started working together?"

   "That's how we met. I was the only ashtray in my state, that one, he met mostly with homicide the next state over, the home base for ashtrays. But… anytime I wondered… I had a guy I could call. Hell, I used knowing Senior in interstate homicide? More for ruling it out, than finding it."

   Mike looked around for what to do with the wrapper, and shoved it in a pocket.

   "Why the long face?"

   "You can imagine the relationship me and my team had… dating the boyfriend and husband."

   Panic softly cut in.

   "You said boyfriend, you also said ex boyfriend. Which one was it?"

   Speedy chuckled nervously.

   "He was the ex. When we got nowhere and couldn't find anything on the husband? We look at the ex boyfriend. We kept trying to make him the boyfriend, if you take the meaning of that. We figured, it was one or the other. We were wrong."

   Panic started to question the sudden change in Speedy's demeanor. He was temporarily starting to look and sound a whole lot more like the old Panic, before Merry and her sleeping magic.

   Mike cut in gently.

   "Speedy? Mind if I take this one?"

   Speedy shoved his hand at Mike. Sure. Be my guest, it said silently.

   "Panic? What's your idea of how interviews with potential homicide perpetrators go…"

   "Pick them up. Let them stew a good while. Then? Come in and show them whatever you have, even if it's very little. Let them know you're onto them. Rattle their cage."

   "Yeah. Here's the basics. Speedy and his boys, interviewed the husband and the ex boyfriend. Neither had anything, both wished they could help. Speedy and the Speedettes, go around to all the family, friends, coworkers and neighbors… of both of them. Collecting information on those two. You start picking them up at work, instead of weekends. You're trying to wear them down. You're shoving the gory crime scene photos? In their faces. While arguing. Trying to get them to admit, just for a second? That they're the dog that pissed on the carpet."

   "I can see that."

   Mike continued.

   "Now. The husband keeps his cool? Oh, he's not getting mad. If you didn't kill your wife? You should be getting mad right now. Guy wants to finally come across the desk at you? Oh, see, you can't control your anger. The jury's gonna see this little episode, mister. They start bringing their lawyer in? Oh, only a criminal needs a lawyer. A real man would just talk and try to help us. You don't bring a lawyer in? Oh, see, he thinks he's smarter than the police, he's one of those."

   "You put pressure on the suspects."

   "Yeah. Then you start following them, making sure they know they're getting tailed now and again. You talk to the local police, make sure they're on board. Guy's now getting the raspberries from the local police. Constantly pulled over, searched, yelled at. Locals start following him around, trying to get lucky and make a career move. Locals are free help, and think they're impressing dad."

   "But if you get nowhere, and no evidence…"

   "First month or two, unless it's some crumb-bum. Family, friends, coworkers… support them. One by one? They either start to think where there's smoke there's fire. Or? They just drop them quietly, they get the hint the guy's… trouble. The perpetrator? Ends up slowly alone. No one to talk to. Speedy? How am I doing?"

   "Like you were there, Mike. Keep going…"

   "Now? Guy starts acting out. Drinking. Motherfucking any cop comes in the local bar. Getting into fights they usually don't even start. They tend to get fired from work. Or their business goes downhill. They typically end up with a rap sheet out of it. DUI, assault, assault on a police officer. There's a tendency for them to walk in the local police station? Just smiling away… and just jump over the counter and grab the one local by the throat, right in front of the other cops. You know, the one local who's been a smart alack, putting his hands on him here and there. Or they do it on a back-road, when they've been pulled over by the same local one too many times. They either go to the emergency room when the cop calls for backup, or, they put a local in the emergency room."

   "Speedy? How am I doing?"

   Speedy said nothing, so Mike continued.

   "Now? You have a deteriorating situation. CYS takes the kids, if there are any. Friends and family are already gone. No one but the bar, and that ends up some shit-hole somewhere so they don't have to deal with the usual. Which is a longer drive, more chance for negative interaction with some other local. If they recover from it, when you finally move on? They tend to end up on medication. Fortunately? The media is there to help."

   "The media?"

   "Yeah. Newspaper reporters, maybe TV… they like to keep the ball rolling. They basically beat the drum, for the villagers to get out the pitchforks and torches. Guys polite to the reporters and keeps his cool? Well, there you have it folks. You can see the cold, calculating demeanor of the man the police think killed his wife. Guy swears at them, and shoves the camera down? Well, there you have it folks, you can see the anger and frustration of the man the police think murdered his wife."

   "I'm starting to get the picture."

   "Panic? This is the best picture of it. You know how actors like to have one side of the face towards the camera? That's the good profile. This… is the good profile. It can get ugly."

   "Ruining an innocent man's life, is the good picture?"

   "Every time you talk to the neighbors, family, friends, coworkers… you start dropping hints. Innuendo. More free help putting pressure on the guy. Dead wife's dad, gets drunk and comes over your house, or at work… swinging on you. You get beat up? It's not good. You beat the dad up? Well, the locals are just waiting on the murder suspect to fuck up. They make sure the guards at county give them the raspberries that weekend before they cut him loose."

   "Hmm."

   "Now. This goes on for any length of time, Panic. Where does the guy find a kind ear."

   "Not sure I'm following you on that one…"

   Mike smiled.

   "One theory of humans and how they become what they are? Is who they associate with. After a while… they tend to end up in low rent bars. Their story? I didn't do jack shit, and the police? Constantly starting shit with me. For nothing. They end up… associating with other people that like to stay away from anything with a badge."

   Speedy finally spoke quietly.

   "Tell him who your only friend is, when that happens."

   "Your lawyer. Assuming you can afford one, that is. Only guy in your corner, and he charges by the hour."

   "Speedy. I always wondered why George was able to shut you up quick when we met him. You suddenly got real quiet."

   Mike was the referee.

   "Speedy? He's a civilian. Play nice."

   "No, Mike. I'm good. Panic… I don't have a wife and children. You wonder why I need to tune everything out and listen to my music in my soundproof headphones for an hour or two at night, before I go to sleep? Now you know. Working homicide for years did it to me. This… guy we're talking about? Hell, both guys. The husband and the ex boyfriend of the dead wife? They both ended up… like this."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah, Panic. Wow. Before you start? There's no other way. What can we do. Hand them a form, check yes or no if you killed your wife? Oh. Guy checked no. Move on to someone else. It doesn't work like that, but you already know. Like we said… nothing good comes out of homicides. There's more than one victim. One person's dead, and there's more lives ruined just poking through the ashes…"

   "The boyfriend? He was an ex. We made him the boyfriend though. Got him to admit he once kissed the wife. Husband? Accusing the ex boyfriend. Boyfriend? Sure the husband did it. You sit back and watch, see if anything kicks out of it. Both? Were clean. Both? Broken men before we… moved on. Me and my homicide team? We ruined more lives than we solved cases. This was… right after I moved up, and started running a homicide team. I never forgot this one. I mean, you don't forget any of them, but, this was the one."

   "Wow…"

   "Yeah. So… enjoy the winter nights with your waitress. Enjoy living on the range and going shooting after breakfast, when there's no mirage and wind. I hope you get your gun shop. I mean that."

   "Speedy. Can't you… go back, and try to make up for…"

   "Panic, I did. Like I said, he was the one. The boyfriend? Bounced back from it all. He was a rougher character. The husband? Never did bounce back. I kept tabs on him. When we finally heard the case was cleared? We all went and took turns apologizing to the guy. Go figure, it just made him madder. I went the extra mile. I went and had… little talks, as you would put it? Little… talks with the locals. The chief. See, he had already had issues with the locals, and… he was on their shit list now, and they were on his shit list. I damn near got fired, getting him out of a couple DUIs. I mean, it's honestly, not… the… guy's… fault…"

   "You tried, Speedy. That's what counts."

   Speedy chuckled.

   "First? I tried too hard. Then? I didn't try hard enough, making up for it. In the service… combat? I learned not to drink, it doesn't help in the long run. Me? A buddy got me to get good headphones. The big soundproof jobs you see me wear. I like classic rock, and easy listening. Anything with a good ending."

   Senior was sitting there, taking it all in, and he finally spoke quietly.

   "Yeah. Big secret I like to have a couple drinks. I don't miss work. I don't let it affect my work. By… cop standards? I'm not an alcoholic. There. I said it. I have a couple drinks, and I run around a little at the bars. It feels good. Speedy don't have a wife and kids, and I'm divorced. You do the math."

   Panic sat quiet for a little while.

   "Mike? You got demons?"

   Mike tilted his head. Took out another little munchie, and went through what was obviously his little routine, inspecting the wrapper, reading it though he knew what was in it already, before he opened it carefully, and began his slow munching. Followed it up with his careful pocket disposal of the wrapper.

   "I went through this a long time ago. I came out of the service. Military intelligence, before I got recruited to the FBI. I… well, I have to watch my weight. When I got out of military work? I have to watch what I eat, and how much. I have to try to make time to work out."

   Panic mused, and pointed.

   "Music. No home life started…"

   "Bar. Flings… home life ended…"

   "Candy bars… but you kept your home life."

   All three looked at each other and around, smiling thin. All nodded. Mike wanted to know how Panic dealt with life and lemons now.

   "Oh. I'm quiet, I like my alone time. Ask anyone. I kiss and hug animals. I like my hobbies. I like tinkering… building… studying. Big books. Big puzzles. Exercise."

   Mike looked around and smiled.

   "I can see by our company right now, there's no one here that doesn't know you were in Redwater. You think it's an accident, that you lost your taste for the… normal American dream? You know. Wife, kids, career, dog. House payments and car payments. Police… military… certain jobs? Let you see and experience, the darker side of human nature. Takes a toll on your personal life. But, someone has to do those jobs."

   Mike paused, and produced yet another little wrapped edible and began his procedure, before thinking better of it and returning it to his pocket.

   "I spent most of my adult life? Cleaning up other people's messes. You know, how people say it's not my job, not my problem? Hmm. My job. My problem. Can't wait for Florida. Clean up just my own mess for a change. Speedy?"

   "War. Combat. Then state police. Accidents, arrests, investigations. I wanna go on my god damn safari."

   "Senior?"

   "High school. Football. College. More football. Frats. The FBI? It's all one, big, long… investigation. I want my damn fishing boat. One just big enough? I get to charter people to fish, and, gimme a reason to hire a co captain. So I can drink beer and we don't get pulled over by the goddamn boat police. On account of they don't have a sense of humor about drinking and fishing anymore."

   Mike lost the battle with the little wrapped edible in his pocket. He got it out and regarded it again.

   "The bible. Thousands of years ago? Said that the span of a man's life? Is four score. A score, is twenty. So? 80 years, give or take. How old are you Panic? 40…"

   "Close enough."

   "Half dead. Live the second half of your life, and try to be happy. Speedy?"

   "Pushing 50."

   "5/8th dead. Enjoy your safari, and think about something fun after that. Senior?"

   "Pushing 60, thanks for noticing."

   "3/4 dead. Enjoy your fishing boat charter service. I'm older than you, Panic. A hair older than Speedy, and a hair younger than Senior there. All three of us? All very different, yet, all very much the same. Speedy… you mind if I hand out some words, to try to help you with your headphones and your music?"

   "Sure…"

   "Thoreau. Henry David Thoreau. An intellectual, like our friend Panic here. A man of outdoor tastes, like you and Panic both, Speedy. He was at the top of his… writing game. Moved to Walden Pond. Got away from it all. Lived in a cabin and kept writing, away from it all."

   "He wrote about the fish and the geese?"

   "Something like that. People thought his writing career was over, but… he produced what was arguably, his most famous work. Walden Pond. In it, he states something I never forgot, from college literature classes. Figured I'd share with you."

   "Don't stop now."

   "I'm paraphrasing, of course. Speak loudly, what you proclaim today and believe. Tomorrow? Speak even louder what you believe in. Even though it contradicts what you said yesterday. And… what that means? Is that you believe in what you do, and you act on it. When you find out you were wrong, misled, whatever? Fuck it. Now you still act on it. It means, you do what you think is the right thing to do, you try to speak the truth. Even when you find out you were wrong. He also wrote about the calming, soothing, sounds of the water, lapping at the shore. The bird calls. I find it… ironic? That our intellectual friend here… likes the idea of a cabin surrounded by trees."

   Speedy said thanks. Senior grunted. Panic chuckled…

   "Yeah, but… internet. I want woods, but… internet too."

   "Enjoy your waitress and your cabin with internet, Panic. Maybe one day soon? We can all come stay here for a week, and all be retired and have fun. With no ulterior motives."

   All three raised a cold can of cola to the prospect of such.

   "Well, Mike. Since you're the philosopher here. What's the perfect life to live then?"

   "Oh. There isn't one."

   Panic thought and cocked his head.

   "Something has to be best. Something has to win."

   "Does it? All three of us, dealing with the darker side of human nature. Stealing each other's shit behind their back. Killing each other. Men have been killing each other since they invented the first pointy stick and Cain managed to kill Abel with a rock he picked up. Before man? We were god damn chimpanzees. Chimpanzees? Man's closest darling relative that they are, you know what they do with their higher intelligence?"

   "Afraid to ask."

   "They cheat on each other, they steal each other's shit. They are also the only animal, that more or less do something very human. They kill. They straight up murder. For pretty much the same basic reasons people do it. For profit, for jealousy, for revenge. Sometimes? Just because they got a screw loose. They get in groups? They go to war with other groups of primates. For resources."

   "But, this is about a better life…"

   "That's just it. Human nature. Go be by yourself? Man is a social animal. Get around too many people? We start fucking with each other, we're packed in too close together. There is no perfect life, I don't think. Work a small time job? You wish you were more in life. Work a big job? You wish you had a smaller life and could worry about less. Born rich? You're spoiled. Born poor? That's no fun either. Work too much? Wife and kids are neglected. Work too little? Wife and kids leave, to go be with another monkey that has more fruits and nuts."

   "You'd think there was something, though."

   "I know people with too much religion, I know people with no religion. Neither one's happy. Everyone would like to be the same as everybody else, and everyone wants to be different. Everything's like this. There is no perfect. At some point, you just have to sit down, and figure out what's okay, or, maybe even good. Some bird is still going to come along? And shit on your car. I ain't kidding about that, either."

   "Got a higher up at work. Seems to have everything really good, or balanced. And every day? This little bird comes. Sits on his passenger side window. Always the passenger side window, never the driver's window. Don't know why, can't explain it. Sits there and looks at itself in the side mirror. Pecks at the mirror? And shits down the side of the passenger door. Every damn day. Poor guy has a nice paying job, he's a big man at work. Nice wife, nice kids grown up. Nice car, too. Bird don't care, though. Pecks his mirror up, and shits down the side of the door. It's so bad? The paint looks funny. Bird don't understand a Mercedes from a birdbath. I know, shoot the bird? Can't shoot a Mercedes, and that's the only time you see the bird."

   Panic laughed.

   "We, uh… me and Merry? We have a… squirrel. Keeps getting in the cabin. Cat chases it around, it runs around the top of the walls. Sneaks down looking for something. I guess that's our… Mercedes bird."

   Everyone laughed, Speedy had apparently already related the story of the squirrel throwing acorns down onto Merry's head, when they were trying to have a "moment" on a "nature walk".

   Mike laughed…

   "Sounds like one of his buddy's tracked you two down? Taking revenge."

   "Sure seems like it. If I try to feed him? It'll just attract more. Can't go shooting holes in the cabin. Right now? Squirrel's winning. Figure I'll get him in the end? But, by then… the squirrel will have won the game, 20 to 1."

   Mike chuckled.

   "Speaking for bird-man, I'm sure he'd wonder what squirrel shit even looks like."

   "I used to raise mice and rats, for the pet snakes I had back then to eat. Mice… make little black grains of rice. Rats? Make a bigger one. Black pellet, kinda looks like the pellet you feed rabbits with."

   "It's a squirrel, Panic…"

   "Rat. Squirrel. Same thing. Squirrel is just a rat with bigger back legs and a hairy tail. Why do you think we call them tree rats."

   "Oh. Sounds better than bird-shit to clean up. Its something."

   "See? I'm winning…"

   Everyone laughed. Mike smiled and looked at Panic idly, then they had their own conversation as the others drifted into their own.

   "Well? In a way, you are. Human beings tend to display two very weird characteristics, most people show them both. You at all curious?"

   Panic shrugged.

   "Sure…"

   "Most human beings tend to always think the grass is greener, I'm sure you know the phrase."

   "Oh yeah."

   "Right. They also, tend to think of themselves as a little better than most people. The vast majority of people, given a range to pick from? Will almost all him and haw, and end up picking whatever is just above normal. When you put these two things together? You get a human being. These two things are usually at odds with one another."

   "Really? But, there's people that…"

   "Of course there are. People with a low self esteem, depression, various problems… sure. They think of themselves as lower. The other end? You have your… narcissists. The ego cases. They're convinced they're just special. I'm sure you know what a bell curve is, right?"

   "Yeah."

   Panic made the motion with his finger to trace a rudimentary bell curve in the air.

   "It's a steep and wide curve. Very little in the tails. These two characteristics? Are the main reasons almost nobody can accurately assess themselves. And remember, it's too easy to forget it… we're mostly all doing these two things at the same time, or at least one after another."

   "Really…"

   "Oh yeah. You want examples?"

   "Fucking A…"

   "You're a guy. How many times in your life have you ever looked at another guy's… well, anything. Look at that car. Look at those muscles. Look at that girl with him. Look at that job, title, life. We all do it."

   "Aw, simple jealousy. Normal human trait."

   "No. Jealousy? Is when we begin to lust after it. Wish we had it. Even if you train yourself not to feel jealousy, or not to act on it? The grass is greener still washes over you constantly."

   "And the other?"

   "Unless you have a problem, like I said, where you're either depressed or narcissistic, or any other condition that imitates the result of it? The overwhelming majority of people? Will decide, after careful consideration of course… that one way or the other, they're slightly above normal. It's most noticeable when some complete moron actually thinks they're brilliant, but, it works the other way too. It's quite interesting."

   "What's the other way? I mean, I can understand a complete moron convinced they're amazingly talented, trust me here, I've seen it."

   Mike sighed and smiled for dramatic effect.

   "Haven't we all…"

   "But… someone above average, would actually be assessing themselves correctly."

   "Yes. They would. A not so huge percentage of the population, actually is above average in one or more ways. They would be accurately assessing themselves. But… on accident. Also? We've covered morons that think they're brilliant, we've covered above average that accidentally are correct. But… what about the truly gifted?"

   "What about them? Usually, nine times out of ten, anyways… a big ego takes over. Kinda sad. You met Rob. You like him?"

   "Yeah. I think everybody does."

   "They seem to. Well, he was my… mentor… hero? Call it what you want, but, there it is. He taught me, you have to take your ego out of the equation. It has no logical place, in anything."

   "That sounds like chivalry. It's an ideal, not something you ever achieve. The idea is that you try. Like Christianity. Christ is assumed to be perfect. You're supposed to imitate him and try, but, knowing you can never actually be perfect."

   "The difference between good, and great? Many times, it's just humility. You do this too, Mike. One of the things I like about you."

   "What's that?"

   "I've watched you operate. A lot of people talk about we're all one big family, we all share in everything, blah blah… you actually do it. You actually go around and ask everyone what they think. Take it all in. You're not just robbing everyone's ideas, and taking all the credit, and calling it management. It's what most people do."

   "I can be a total dick, if I have to."

   "You seem like you use it as a last resort, not a first resort, or… the handiest tool in the toolbox."

   "The stick and the carrot, huh? Okay. A stick works fine, don't get me wrong. You beat something with a stick, yeah, it goes the opposite way. But… now you have to be there, every second of every day. That's where you hear all these managers complaining. I gotta work 80 hour weeks, why? If I ain't there? Those idiots can't do anything. I can't take a break."

   Mike smiled and Panic chuckled. You heard it all day long. Managers and owners. It was too true.

   "That's a guy that discovered a stick works. And it works well. Problem is? Nothing likes being hit with a stick, and they hate it only slightly less, when the guy with the stick is walking around all day. Soon as the guy with the stick isn't around? Whatever happens, happens. These people end up micromanaging everything."

   "Well… dangling a carrot on a stick? You still gotta walk the animal with it…"

   "At first. But, since you don't beat them with a stick to get them moving, and threaten them with a stick all day long… you get a more relaxed animal. As soon as the animal learns they're getting the carrot at the end of the walk every time? You don't need the carrot on the stick, they know they get the carrot when they get to the end. Then? You really don't even need to be there after a few times. Show up early, point them in the right direction. Show up after it's over? Hand out carrots."

   "Sounds like a better system."

   "It is. Here's why. A stick guy? Micromanaging everything? He can only do so much in so many hours. My method? I start things out… then I start other things out… I can have many animals working. If I have to walk behind the jackass with a stick every day all day? I'm just another jackass, really. Now… if I have different animals pulling in different directions, coordinating it all? Now… I'm a farmer."

   "Interesting. Is this how military intelligence works?"

   Mike chuckled.

   "It's how mine did. Most guys? They use the stick method, they micromanage everything. It limits them. My way, well… as you can imagine… I can run more things, I can run longer things, I can run multiple things, that are all part of a bigger, coherent strategy."

   "Mike the magician. Magic Micheal."

   Mike nodded along with him…

   "Magician. Stagecoach driver. And fireman, too."

   "Fireman?"

   "Fireman. They send me around, to put out fires. Or manage wildfires, before they burn the whole farm down."

   "Like… the DC dirty dozen, Wrightsville massacre situation?"

   "Yeah. I was already stage-coaching the Dirty Dozen case, it's what a lot of people are calling it now…"

   "You thinking about… running, or whatever you guys call it… for assistant director?"

   "It's… been talked about. Honestly? I don't know. There's a lot of guys with sticks in management, and very few carrot guys like me. It could be a dream for me, and a nightmare for everyone else. It's hard to mentor people, I've tried. When I get someone with no experience? They'll just do what I say, do what I do… and that works. They got used to the feeling of a stick in their hands? Eh… that's the leader you see always yelling at people. I can't manage a bunch of those. Fuck everything up that way, easy. Overnight, too."

   "I think of those guys as… cage rattlers."

   "Eh?"

   "Two old business guys talking. What are we gonna do down in department X?"

   "Aw, I'm gonna send Dave down there. He'll shake things up, rattle a few cages."

   Mike smiled.

   "The old philosophy, that if you actually know anything, you can't manage. Cage rattlers? I like that one. I call those guys… movers and shakers."

   "I thought if a guy was a mover and a shaker, he's a guy that's going places…"

   "Ha. That's what the kids started calling it bird-shit management…"

   "Huh?"

   "Bird-shit management. You fly in one day, shit on everyone and everything in sight… then you just fly off, to your next rung on the corporate ladder. Those guys? The cage rattlers, the bird-shit managers… they have a bag of insider's tricks they use."

   "Like what?"

   "Hmm. One? When you take over… first thing you do, is you have lots of budget meetings. Man, everyone always sees you coming in early. Leaving late. Full day of meetings. Oh, are they hard working. They're busy. Always got the suit-coat off, sleeves rolled up… little eyeglasses pulled down for that pseudo intellectual look. Always got their hands out, describing their big plan. That's how the public sees them in the photos, too. Sleeves rolled up, hands out showing, glasses pulled down for that dramatic look."

   "Yeah… I do see that pose a lot, in the papers and on TV…"

   Mike chuckled.

   "I call that? Verbal Kung fu. The hands? Hwahhh…"

   "All bullshit, huh…"

   "We're talking black-belt in bullshit. Anyways, here's what always happens. A zillion meetings, such hard workers… then? Oh, we gotta slash this budget. We gotta trim the fat, we gotta get lean and mean. Man, they got 50 different phrases for it. What this does? Step one, they're hard workers. Long hours. Then? They're gonna make the tough decisions. Now? Everyone, from the bottom looking up… and from the top looking down… they work hard, and they make the tough decisions, they worry about the bottom line."

   "That's how they do it, huh?"

   "That's how they do it, the first time around. Couple years of that. Then? Next phase."

   "What's the plan B."

   "Easy. Everyone's got a reduced budget. No one can afford enough manpower, enough equipment. Every required upgrade has been pushed back or ignored. Now? They step in again. Zillion meetings, rolling them sleeves up, analyzing the big picture, don't you know. Guess what's needed now?"

   "More pictures in the papers."

   "Always. But… this time around? Man, they're in there fighting, to get the men what they need to get the job done. We need clay to make bricks, dag nab it. My boys? They can't put out a fire with their dick in their hand. Oh, they're tough, they're uncompromising. They're not… afraid… to take on the higher ups, and get that bigger budget. So lives can be saved, so good work can get done."

   "More verbal Kung fu pictures, with the sleeves rolled up?"

   "Always. But… when they're in slash the budget mode? Always sitting in a chair, with a circle of other guys in chairs, around them. They talk soft, grandfatherly. Sound all wise and shit. Let's just run the numbers, put our heads together, we'll come up with a plan. Together. They? Already know what the plan is…"

   Panic smiled. He had seen this…

   "Now? They're always standing up. Sleeves rolled up, and they point fingers. They raise their voices. They sound authoritative. We need this. My men? Depend on me, and they need this…"

   Panic started chuckling…

   "Yeah. See, now they've grown. As a leader. Now? They talk louder. More confident. Man… they're leadership material. First couple years? Slash and burn the budget, strangle every department. Second couple years? They analyzed the problem, they solved it, and they ride that… right onto their next big gig. Bird-shit management. Fly in, shit on everything and everyone… then fly off to the next roost."

   "Invited to be the CEO, invited to direct something…"

   "Yeah. Get background scuttlebutt on them? They know how to manage a budget. They fight for the little guys, to get them what they need. They always get a lot of attention. They always get a lot of press. Everyone is too stupid to see? They just create the crisis, then they solve the crisis they created."

   Panic grinned…

   "Your last Director…"

   "Amen. Last time I checked? He's bird-shitting all over homeland security now. Good riddance."

   "What's the management pool at the FBI like, then…"

   "Oh… lotta guys that wave sticks. They mean well, they can handle… some stuff, sure. The guys that don't wave sticks and micromanage everything? That's the… I see the bigger picture guys… which is Latin for bird-shit managers."

   "No… carrot managers, like you?"

   "Some. Not enough, sadly. You know what the problem really is?"

   "What?"

   "Bird-shit managers… get publicity. Name recognition. Everyone knows them, everyone has been in one of their meetings. Management seems to like them, the workers seem to like them, they… well… it works, is the problem. If you want to become a CEO or a Director in 15 years, instead of 30? You just have to study under a bird-shit expert that mentors you on the secrets."

   "You were mentored by a carrot guy."

   "I was. He knew I was always trying to do the right thing, as best I could. He explained, that bird-shit managers made more money, had more prestige, but… carrot managers? Actually create things. Actually solve problems. Bird-shit guys? They don't create or solve anything. Except creating a career out of bullshit, and solving their next career move. Carrot managers? Start out small, work their way up, and have a great reputation. Bird-shit guys? Always flying around from job to job, always moving up."

   Panic leaned in, making sure they weren't eavesdropped on. Everyone had moved away into their own knitting circle. He spoke quietly.

   "Merry said you were old fashioned. That I'd like you."

   "Panic? What's the old time recipe for lasting success. Start at the bottom. Learn everything from the ground up. Work all the jobs. The kid that starts out bagging groceries, will eventually make manager, and even move into corporate one day if he's good. Nowadays? All the experts are telling you how you have to manage your own career, you have to know when to quit and move up, or you'll get stuck. Everyone wants the corner office, and that's the quickest way there."

   "Outsiders are always being brought in… instead of promoting people with experience…"

   "That's the new way. Me? I'm something of a dinosaur. I didn't switch horses to move up. I originally planned on staying in military intelligence."

   Panic sighed. Looked around, making sure they still had a private conversation going.

   "Welcome to the club. I'm a dinosaur too. Funny, I just realized something."

   "What?"

   "I was a contractor… you? Were management. We worked in the same… field."

   Mike wagged his head.

   "I didn't run that, or work on it. That? Was down the hall from me and my thing. You interested in the… generic history of your… former field of employment? We'll take a short walk."

   "Okay…"

   Up they stood, then slowly off they went. Gabbing softly.

   "It started out innocently enough, like all things do. The best of intentions. See, the country has two lists of other countries. Yes countries, and no countries. You contact the state department? They'll tell you quick which counties are on the no no list. You follow?"

   "Yeah, sure."

   "Okay. Lots of times, a country on the no list… isn't really a bad country. They're just on that list, because they're on the friendly list, of another no country. Now, in the past… if someone needed something, say for big business… we can't deal with that country. But, we can deal with this other country. Right next door. Country A? Sells it to country B. We can deal with country B. The CIA used to make the introductions and set these sorts of things up. Normal run of the mill operations. Government contractor needs cadmium, and cadmium is in country A? That's what you do."

   "Go on…"

   "Well. Eventually, a country we do business with. Directly or… indirectly? Sometimes… they need something. They request something. In the past, we always had to say no. Hey, overthrow that dictator? And come over to hang out with the cool kids. Well… someone got the bright idea. Wait a minute. We can't send the military there. But, we sure as hell need to send someone… cadmium is at stake. Hey, why don't someone set up a company, hire ex military, and we can legally send them down, to do the same thing, that we wish we could do, but can't."

   "Because… that would be illegal?"

   "Illegal in the United States. If a corporation, had a branch out of the country. That branch? Would not be breaking any laws working for whoever they felt like contracting with. You see, the instant you set foot over the magic line and are out of the country? You're no longer bound by US laws."

   "Private security corporation."

   "Right. It was originally designed? As a one-off operation. It wasn't cadmium, trust me… but what's the difference what the product was. CIA and the Department of Defense, got together, and set up an off shore little corporation on paper. Hired the guys they needed. Everything went well. We kept the cadmium rolling. The B country, got what they needed. Everybody was happy."

   "But… it worked too good. Right?"

   "Guys were making jokes about how this should be a regular deal. Next thing you know? Up pops… everyone's favorite… spooks incorporated."

   "Funny. I wasn't a spook. I wasn't a mercenary. I worked as a civilian contractor, for a private security company."

   "Yeah, you did. And the private security company? Was directed who to work for, by the department of defense and other three letter agencies. Panic… were you operating a radio on a cruise ship off the south of France? Or… were you operating that radio in the jungle, with people shooting at each other? Hmm?"

   Mike laughed softly.

   "Okay. You weren't a hooker. You just manned the phones for them. Then, in between phone calls? You… started hooking. I mean, you can call it escorting, you can call it client entertainment specialist… you can call it a lot of things. Look, I don't mean anything by it. In my line of work? The word was spooks. Just a word. You? Can call it escorting… fine by me."

   "Mike? We were protecting innocent villagers. From goddamn monsters. I'm real sure, that I was doing the right thing."

   "And? You were. After the first… one-off operation. Someone took the jokes seriously and fired the company up. It quickly became the go to way of handling… legitimate, friendly, B country requests for help. They needed military help, we can't send the military, tell you what… we'll send down ex-military, and they can handle it. Here's a card… call this number… and get your checkbook out."

   "So… what happened?"

   "Well… originally, your company only had one real client. Sure, the clients came from all over, but… the only real client? Was the United States government. Your company went inactive, until they were instructed who to go to work for next. But, you're wondering what went wrong."

   "Curious."

   "Think. The company was technically an off shore company. It always had been set up, to be an independent corporation from the get go, so it wasn't a branch of the United States government. It was designed to be that way. Think of it like a high class escort, that only had one rich and important client. Uncle Sam. When Uncle Sam picks up his cell phone? The escort flies in to take care of him, then flies back out. Now… use your brain, Panic. What do you think happened…"

   "Oh fuck. In between Uncle Sam fucks… someone else wanted a dirty blowjob, and were willing to pay for it."

   "Bingo. The DOD, always got official but technically unofficial authorization, from the state department. To go ahead and help a B country out of a jam. When it benefited Uncle Sam and his many and varied interests around the globe. When the escort started… um… moonlighting? Things started out missionary position, but… you get the picture."

   "The… side contracts. Started out on the up and up. Missionary position, as you say. Then… every other job… got a little… dirtier."

   "Yeah. Where was I, in all this mess… or, more accurately put… when was I in all this mess, exactly. Do you know?"

   "I can ballpark it, yeah. Merry said some magic words. They rang a bell for me. All around the equator. Zombie squads. Innocent villagers getting butchered. That? Was a goddamn zoo down there. Went on for years. It was the never ending story. It was the gift? That just kept on giving."

   "I know what year it was, Mike. I meant…"

   "I know what you meant. You came on, I'd say… towards the tail end of the original thing. That particular mess? Was supposed to be a six month deal, a year at the outside to document it all. Then? Lets just say… the contract-ee? Decided to pay for and make use of, the… fuller range of… all the many services that Redwater had to offer."

   "You have a barrel full of gentle euphemisms, Mike."

   "Yes. I do. In my language? The zone went hot…"

   "That's putting it mildly…"

   "All buzzwords and phrases for the reports. So, after you got out of that…"

   "Yeah…"

   "After that cluster-fuck ended? Redwater had so many people now it could contact for future work. Now, more than ever before, with shall we say… quite distinguished careers and resumes…"

   "Then, the escort started moonlighting on Uncle Sam."

   "More or less."

   "Why didn't the DOD shut that shit down? You can't let that group of kids party unsupervised."

   "What could anyone do? It was a private corporation. Operating outside of US soil. Now, it had it's own financial backing to boot. A roster chock full of… uniquely qualified individuals. Not like they were in the god damn phone book or anything, but… you don't have something that big out there and people don't notice it. The DOD probably could have shut them down, but, they didn't want that. They were too handy to have around. By the time things later on came to a head? It was obvious private companies could do this."

   "I remember the scandals, a ways back…"

   "Redwater officially disbanded, but… in reality? Everyone knows they just split up into different corporations. Each geared towards a particular line of… work. Everyone knows which ones are the Redwater companies. All the three letter agencies use them from time to time. Hell, even the FBI has used two of them before, that I know of."

   "What?"

   "Oh, nothing crazy, trust me. The other three letter agencies do that sort of shit. No, we used them as consultants. One, was for advising us on tactics and defensive positions and installations. You know, for training our SWAT teams. The other, was a computer security company. Apparently, some guys out of the computer department at the old Redwater? Got together and started their own computer security firm. Remember back when the FBI got it's computers hacked?"

   "That was a while ago, now…"

   "Right. They popped up, and offered to look into it, and advise us… for free. Persona non grata. If… in the future, big companies came to us with computer security problems, looking for help… we basically agreed to give them their card. They consult for us for free, and… we send them clients. Their business card? It's really cute, you would get the joke. It's got 1's and 0's all over it… you know, computers and all… and a little river of red running through it. Interested in the tag line?"

   "Almost afraid to ask."

   "We don't kiss and tell…"

   "That is cute. Confidential, and… a hint of the discreet escort service."

   "Rumors float around. Apparently, a big corporation was getting blackmailed by hackers overseas. They were demanding five million, to give the password up that would decrypt the files they had locked up somehow. Five million was cheaper than losing everything, and way cheaper than if they went public with the loss of trust when everyone found out they had been compromised."

   "Hmm. Tough spot. If they pay the five mil? It's like asking to get ass raped again, basically. That would just encourage it."

   "Most companies pay up. This one? Said fuck it, and came to us. We gave them the card. Apparently, they spent ten million, to have a stop put to it, was the version I heard."

   "To consult on data security?"

   "No. To… put a s-t-o-p to it. You have to read between the lines in this line of work, Panic. Off shore based computer security company. Locates said hackers. A former Redwater company? Probably knows who to… subcontract out to, to send someone to have a little talk with the hackers overseas, once they've been located."

   "Is that even legal?"

   "United States laws, end at the border. Off shore corporation. You know how sometimes… some bully somewhere, gets hurt… and no one really cares it happened? International hackers are a monumental pain in the ass… I honestly don't think anyone cares who goes and spreads a little hemorrhoid cream on one or two of those assholes, you know?"

   "I guess."

   "I gotta tell you. It's… fun. To get to talk shop a little bit like this. Ready to get back before we're missed?"

   "Yeah, sure… Mike? Can I talk to you… seems like we can…"

   "I like to think I'm decent at the soft interview. Sure."

   "On or off the record, I don't care which, but… how big a deal is that defensive shooting back at Merry's motel apartment. I'm not trying to be joking and laughing about it, it's just my own way of dealing with this scary stuff. It's an IA shooting now. I had a couple minute gab with the IA guy, and he's more concerned with getting the witness out of town. Than questioning me. I ain't been walked through it. Six guys make me jump back and forth, quick… see if I have to stop to describe it on the fly, make damn sure I'm telling the 100 percent truth or not. Am I waiting on that, back at the cesspool that's DC. Not trying to be rude."

   "No. That's fair. You want my professional and my personal opinion both?"

   "Amen."

   "You feel like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

   "Can't help it. I was instructed that I don't operate on US soil, ever."

   "Personally? Under any other circumstances. Merry. My niece. Would almost certainly be dead. She didn't even have a gun, because it's DC, don't you know. If you weren't armed and knew how to use it? Two bodies. Her and her overnight guest. Panic? Let me put it this way, if I can…"

   "Oh, sure."

   "The FBI? And my case too, since it's one of my herd of suspects. Goes and does this. The agency… me… we're more embarrassed this happened, than we are waiting to pounce on you, or anything like that. You talk about a walk through… where are we gonna walk through, in a one room, fairly tiny actually, motel room. Deader than a door nail. Gun in one hand, reported stolen, another felony, city badge in the other. Goddamn automatic rake pick gun thing? Laying right next to him. Actual agency credentials buried on his person. He's just rocking this stolen city badge."

   "Then? Both me, Speedy, and IA… all asked you and you were very specific. He didn't yell police and bang afterwards. Nor did you say it was bang then yell police. You said three times, and I quote… he said police and fired at the exact same time, with a stolen shield. We're embarrassed an agent tried this. Let alone one of my herd of suspects we were about to scoop up a little bit later."

   "Well, it's a load off. Remind me once in a while, how I'm not in any trouble and won't get called down to the principal's office. Sets my heart at ease… I sleep better not guessing about it."

   "Look. You're a total outsider. It's impossible for anyone looking to imagine anything is pre planned. What… your plan was to bring a case to the agency, with a state cop. All in a criminal mastermind sort of way, just waiting for the chance to kill one of the agents for no reason? Impossible…"

   "The only other choice? Is naturally that the dirty agent, already under long investigation and is about to get cooked on it anyways… makes an honest attempt on the witness. Which one of these two choices, would anyone want to take to a jury. Since it's an agent involved assassination attempt, there's no way IA doesn't grab this. IA in no way, wants to prosecute you. IA's decision maker on this? Back at your camp, drinking coffee, and eating and going shooting his Glock."

   "He's happy Merry the witness is still alive through this. We're not lying. Without the live witness, her videos? It's a coin toss paper chase. Long lists of computer printouts, with the occasional thing highlighted, it gets boring. Dry. Live witness, and her video along with her explaining it? It's priceless."

   "No one asked for your ID, or your free unpaid consulting to be lifted… or asked for your federal carry permit to be revoked. Trust me, if there was any hint of anything like that… you would know about it. You're still on your case you brought in with your friend Speedy. We're embarrassed… not looking to lash out. Believe it."

   "That's a load off."

   "Yeah. On it's face? There's those two choices. It's about impossible the one way, and the other way? It's too obvious. Now… how about a more pleasant subject. Hey, I got one. Merry tells me… you're on board for staying with her. Her and me both assumed she would do the DC trials, then go back to her… you know. With you here as her boyfriend. That's your plan?"

   "Sure. If she's happy with it, I'm happy with it too."

   "I was gonna wait for the swim? But this is a nice, slow, private walk back. Would you consider working for me."

   "Doing what?"

   "Protecting Merry. Also… you and her both were civilians in fatal shootings of police officers. You're uniquely qualified like her now. With her case."

   "She was talking 5, maybe 10 years doing it. Retiring."

   "Right. This eavesdropping thing she's doing? There's no angle, no case being brought. That makes it safe. It's cheaper and more effective, for us to run Merry… than anything else we ever tried. The operation's a cheap one now, it's long term. It's safe and it now generates intelligence, rather than nothing, going the other way and failing in general."

   "I'm already consulting."

   "The minimum pay? Is low 60s…"

   "Every year?"

   "That's how cash is distributed. Divide something around 63k. Divide by 12. That's the debit card you'd get monthly. For protecting and emailing daily on the subject and the security concerns of it. Nothing to report? A daily email of nothing to report, would be a blessing."

   "I work, try my gun shop, whatever else I want, year round. I just make a secure email every day of the year for it. Three words if everything is going perfectly well."

   "What the hell even is 63 thousand, divided by 12… phone… where's the damned calculator thing? It's here… somewhere… here it is…

   He tapped his phone. Cussed when he muffed it, and had to restart it.

   "Looks like… 5250. That would be monthly, on a debit card. It looks like an annuity payment dispersed, legally. After the performance I heard of, I'm convinced that as a security system, it might be hard to make a better choice."

   "You can't buy my loyalty."

   "No. I can't. But think of it as a tip. For doing what you're already doing. Do I have to spell it out? You, are the perfect cover for her boyfriend. She likes you like that anyways. You build in another layer, of physical security. After DC? I had trouble sleeping for several nights. She really is like my niece to me."

   "I don't know about this."

   "Think about it, please. Do you have any idea what even a small ongoing investigation usually costs?"

   "No idea."

   "Multiple people. Schedules of walk past, walk through. Tailing, which involves a motor pool. Which requires paperwork, manpower, budget. All told, the man hours add up and each man hour is expensive. Running a single agent replacement operation? Like having a free operation, practically. If I can attach a security asset that's a great cover as a bonus? That's a steal, compared to the cost of the alternative."

   "I still don't---"

   "Just mull it over. You know, these things are like… puzzle pieces, really. Only one piece really fits in a spot perfect. Merry? A puzzle piece. Just some waitress in DC, just happens to be near the Hoover building. Doesn't like dating agents like most of the little cheerleaders around town? So the agents tried harder. Perfect. Like a puzzle piece."

   "I know, you want security for your puzzle piece."

   "You and my niece? That's no cover… anyone can see the way you two look at each other, the way you hang on each other, the way you talk and smile at each other. Any other boyfriend? Might be trying to hang around them more. Not you… and when you get around them? Merry says it's like you two stopped to get ice cream, not a big deal."

   "Can you imagine what it was like, going out drinking as a young man, with all the MPs on my base that I lived with? Then… going out with… the Redwater boys on leave? Yeah, I guess I'm used to hanging out with a pack of wolves. There's something… slightly nostalgic about it."

   "And again, another puzzle piece. Merry tells me you grew up around guys like this. That one of them was even a Redwater contractor."

   "It's a really small little world, after all."

   "You don't see it? You, are another puzzle piece. Fits in perfect with Merry. Your history, your back story? I couldn't come up with shit this good."

   "I'll tell you, like I told Merry already. I'm not wearing leather chaps…"

   "That's another thing that's a perfect fit. You're not trying to be around them more."

   "I don't like Harley's… I drive rice burners, for Christ's sake…"

   "Once again, too perfect. And remember… this is a non operation. No wires, ever. Nothing ever written down. One of you two reports a felony is rumored to have happened? No action taken. Eavesdropping only. Gather intelligence. Period. This whole thing? Is… really a throwback operation. Goes back to the classic J. Edgar Hoover days, I'm telling you…"

   "Really? Who's wearing the women's dresses…"

   "Funny. But seriously… J. Edgar had a lot of new ideas. Now, everybody knew to tap phones and put people around criminals, to make arrests. What J. Edgar did, that was simply magic?"

   "Afraid to ask."

   "Never make a move. Never make an arrest. Just… keep it going. Gain intelligence. Gain inside knowledge. Over time? It grows. Then… down the road… five, ten, fifteen years later? You know all there is to know. You quietly terminate the operation. Then? You begin to move in. You can take them apart, piece by piece. J. Edgar always said… everyone else? Is playing checkers. We should be playing chess."

   "You resurrected COINTELPRO. Because you came in from military intelligence."

   "Whoa. That's a dirty word at the agency, these days. It's just called an eavesdropping operation now."

   "Sounds more like you just renamed Redwater, and started calling it… Blackriver."

   "No. One of the major components to a classic COINTELPRO operation? The Agent Provocateur. The person that pins crimes on members. Sets them up. Turns them. Works them. Runs them. Forces them to commit more crimes. Then burns them. I removed that major element. It's just a long term phone tap, basically."

   "Everyone's happy with this?"

   "Look. Up until this little experiment? We were spending millions of dollars. Per year. Per Gang. Basically getting next to nowhere. It's expensive, it consumes untold resources. And, we're losing the entire time. I recently let the director look through the washed intelligence file. Now, that's the washed file, mind you. He's impressed. You can imagine what's in the raw files."

   "Jokes. Hearsay. Rumor. Innuendo."

   "Yeah. Useless for any prosecution purposes, sure. But… for a non operation? Priceless. Loose talk, about what the other gangs are up to. Where they're moving into, where they're moving out from. Which cops are dirty. Which cops are clean. When something just happened? The boys talk about what it might have really been over. Panic. The Director was impressed enough with the washed file, that when I gave him a taste of what was in the raw file? You know, I dropped a few black lines, to give him a peek? He about shit himself."

   "So… you're looking good."

   "He was so impressed, we're going to start closing down the big expensive operations on the other gangs, one by one. Start quietly replacing them with eavesdropping operations. It saves money, manpower, man-hours. Resources better spent putting it to where it can actually do some good. This is cheaper and more effective. Ironically? Infinitely safer."

   "Mike, don't take this the wrong way. You're not buying an… asset."

   "I don't want an asset. I want you to basically… do nothing. Merry is the… microphone. You're already her boyfriend. Just be what you are, already."

   "The cover."

   "Natural cover. The cover wasn't manufactured. It's very real. That makes you, another perfect puzzle piece."

   "Mike, how long have you been planning this little speech?"

   Mike chuckled.

   "You know something? If I had tried to come up with all this. Really tried? It wouldn't have been half this good. Just using what's naturally growing around you anyways? That's the best camouflage. Fake plants? Look okay from a distance, but… they don't survive a close inspection. But… real plants? That were growing there on their own anyways? Perfect."

   "And you don't want to run me like an asset…"

   "Lord no. I'm sure you already noticed. Merry has her little… side hobby. It helped her pay the bills being a poor waitress living in the city…"

   "She buys a couple ounces, she sells it to a few close friends. Small and safe."

   "I'm sure you guys smoked a joint with one or two guys at the bar already."

   It was Panic's turn to chuckle.

   "I wouldn't know anything about that…"

   "Right. Neither would I. Do that with her. Again, nothing you don't already do anyways. I'm sure when Merry starts tending bar a few days a week? It'll work the same as when she was a waitress. It's small… it's safe. Once again, natural vegetation, is the best camouflage. Committing small, incidental misdemeanors like that? Just wonderful. Maybe you have some… friend back home? Score him a pound of the shit. Use Merry's connections. It's small. It's kept in the family. It's safe… I mean, the very last thing I'm looking to do? Is bust some guy with a beard and a Harley, selling some goddamn pot."

   "And I don't have to do anything…"

   "Panic? You've already done it. You're the citizen, that got to smoke a pig. Between you and Merry, put together? You're the… I don't know what to call you two… you two are the… power couple… that got to smoke fourteen dirty pigs. Your girlfriend? Has national permission to grill the Dirty Dozen and put the screws to them. Nothing to do. Because it's already done with. Now? You just sit on it, and let things take their natural course. Enjoy your pig roast, when it finally comes up and happens. My crystal ball says, that after the trials are over? Merry's going to go to some kind of a national party. Probably? Be a national pig roast. Accept the invitation to go with her. Shake a few hands, listen to a few campfire stories over a few beers, smoke a couple joints. If she already has a citizen for an old man that looks good? That's perfect. Go. Enjoy the party. Again? Just be what you already are to her… her boyfriend."