Guardians of the Secret
copyright © 1998 by Cary Shulman
All Rights Reserved
8.
A cab slowly made its way through the traffic of New Orleans' French Quarter. Two men were in the backseat. They looked out of the same window at the passing scene, but it was a different world each of them saw. One coolly abstracted the city, taking what he wanted and discarding the rest, reshaping it to his liking with emphatic yesses and nos. Cajun not Creole. Funerals and history and politics, not Mars de Gras and Dixieland.
The other man thought no was an unpleasant, silly word. Time was like a heavy handed manic sculptor that reduced everything smaller than the Grand Canyon to furrows and dust. Might as well enjoy it all while you can.
Everett was holding an attaché case. Next to Everett was Dan Hollings. The two men had similar medium build, but while Everett was contained, almost at attention in his, Hollings seemed to overflow its boundaries, definitely at ease. In his 40's and a native of New Orleans, Hollings only concession to a crisp line was the cut of his expensive suit.
"I feel like I'm with a legend, Colonel. I can call you Colonel, even though you're retired?"
"Whatever's simplest."
"I've been looking forward to this. It's not often I get a chance to meet someone who helped win the cold war. It's a little awkward, but I guess I'll just say thanks."
"I appreciate that Dan. I wish I could tell you we lived happily ever after. But that's for fairy tales. Unfortunately we've got serious problems. Dan, I was hoping you could show these reports to Congressman March."
Everett handed the attaché case to Hollings. "Colonel, if this biological stuff can really do what they say, why hasn't anybody used it?"
"It's been turned down by every administration since McCain offered the prototype to Carter in '76."
"You're not answering my question."
"We're talking about a five hundred billion dollar a year business. That's enough money to buy governments, even ours. You have no idea. Dan, you have any experience with the Mafia?"
"I'm from New Orleans, Colonel," Hollings replied knowingly.
"A President's life would be in constant jeopardy."
"I've been with Allan since we helped take the teamsters away from the mob. I know Allan, that's not going to frighten him off."
"That's why I'm here."
The Cab pulled up to a five star hotel. The two got out, and Hollings checked his watch and looked around. Tess Prudhomme was walking toward him. In her twenties, she had styled red hair and was wearing a sheath dress, a single strand of pearls and a broad brimmed hat. She looked to him like an attractive young socialite who had escaped a boring luncheon and was trying to find something declassé to amuse herself. The assurance of her carriage and movement was only slightly modified by the fact that she was quite drunk.
"Ted??"
"Ted Gilbert, pride of Jefferson parish. And you must be?"
"Diane. Sorry I'm late."
Tess' eye contact was disturbingly penetrating, but also so inviting that Hollings didn't mind the intrusion.
"You're worth waiting for. Diane this is..." Everett clearly didn't want to be introduced. ".. a friend, who unfortunately has a prior engagement."
"Too bad, he's cute." Tess started to shake hands with a reluctant Everett, but instead embraced him. She ran her hand teasingly below his waist. "Sure I can't change your mind?"
"That's not my mind."
Hollings took Tess in one arm, and the attaché case in the other. Everett returned to the cab which pulled out into traffic. Hollings walked Tess toward the hotel entrance. "Now let's see if everything comes to those who wait."
The two were alone as the hotel elevator took them up to their room. Hollings was a little nervous as he couldn't help but notice that Tess' drunken behavior while sexy and funny, had a violent edginess.
"It's too bad your friend couldn't join us. Where's his team spirit? What does he do, he's so busy?"
"He's a businessman like me."
"He's no businessman, I know exactly what he is."
"What's that?" Hollings asked a little nervously.
"Let's have a little bet I get it. I'm good at this. I know my johns."
"What's the stakes?" Hollings asked with faked enthusiasm.
"Double or nothing. I win I get twice my usual, I lose I do you gratis."
"You're on."
"He's a scientist," Tess said confidently.
"That's amazing," Hollings replied with relief. "I owe you."
"See I told you I was good."
"No doubt about it."
"I've got another bet. We'll make it higher odds this time."
Hollings wasn't thrilled.
"I bet you're lying. And I bet I can tell you why."
Hollings stared at her in disbelief.
"How about it?" Tess urged.
Hollings was in a cold sweat. Tess gave him a sweet smile.
"Don't worry, it's just a little game. Making you sweat a little makes the sex that much hotter."
Hollings wasn't quite convinced.
"Everybody's got something to hide. The trick is knowing they'll pay double to cover for it."
Inside the hotel room Hollings set the attaché case on the dresser and paid a bellhop at the door. Tess opened a bottle of champagne and began drinking it straight from the bottle. "Great vintage."
"It's been a while since I've done this," Hollings said very unconvincingly.
"I've been busy with choir practice myself. Just pick your poison and we'll swim in it."
Hollings looked at her to see if she was serious. It was a nice image even if she wasn't, but she was. He let the image entertain him as he saw himself picking out a bottle in a sort of pharmacy of ecstasy, a cross between a Chinese herb store and a border town farmacia. He was experienced with such choices and knew that like in Alice in Wonderland some would make you larger and some would make you smaller. He couldn't decide which this would make him, so he chose to make her smaller.
"I have a thing about the Civil War, let's talk about Longstreet."
"You serious or you just into humiliating dumb hookers?"
Tess went on before Hollings had a chance to answer.
"Talking about Longstreet will be $150 extra. Pretending I don't know will be $300 extra."
Hollings was both intrigued and put off. Tess picked it up.
"You feel uncomfortable there's more to me. You could have played it safe, you're the type that's got connections, why pick me off the street?"
"Let's just say I like taking chances. Maybe you come up with something different. Dumb is okay, but come to think of it maybe I'd like them hot at both ends if they came that way, but it never works like that."
"You don't work like that. Too dangerous. Men prefer the danger of death and killing. War and all that. Don't you think?"
"I guess it goes with the territory," Hollings said with uncertainty.
"But killing is woman's work too."
Tess formed her fingers into a mock gun and pointed them at Hollings' head.
"I'm good at it. Men ask me to do it for them all the time. Maybe there's something you'd like killed. Tess moved toward Hollings firing off her "gun" as she went on.
"I kill loneliness, I kill emptiness, I kill boredom, I kill fear. What do you have that's deep and dark you want killed?"
Hollings had regained his composure. "I'm in a peace loving kind of mood. Tonight I'm just into watching."
Tess shook her head in mock disapproval.
"You and everybody else. What's happening to this country? There's a tv over there," Tess gestured.
Hollings looked disappointed. Tess flashed a smile.
"I was just kidding. I'll give you something to watch. Check the southern exposure."
Tess turned around and tantalizingly lifted her dress. Hollings appreciated that she was naked underneath it, appreciated that her body required no window dressing. She did a slow grind against the dresser. "Or maybe you like little schoolgirls?"
Tess plopped herself down in a chair, her legs straddling the arms. She coyly started playing with herself, moaning breathlessly. She suddenly stopped and walked over to Hollings who was mesmerized.
"But I'm tired of all this watching. Aren't you? We should get close. Rub each other the wrong way, the right way, every way." Tess took a guzzle of champagne. "Come on now, there must be a real man inside you somewhere. Show me you've got something more than a pair of eyes."
Hollings began passionately kissing her. Tess pulled away. "How romantic. You're the kind that gives flowers and then can't even get it up." Tess reached for his crotch. "You're as soft as a baby's ass," Tess taunted. Hollings snapped. "Fucking whore!"
In a rage Hollings ripped open Tess' dress. He shoved her up against a wall, slapping her across the face. Blood gushed out of her mouth. "You've broken my fucking nose! Get me a towel. Hurry!"
Hollings hesitated, weighing passion against propriety as he caught his breath.
"If you like it we'll continue, but it's blood on a towel or your new suit."
"I like it," Hollings said as he turned and went into the bathroom. Tess instantly turned cold sober. She took a blood pill from her mouth, grabbed the attaché case off the dresser and rushed out.
Hollings finished wetting a towel in the sink and came back into the bedroom. He was stunned to see the room was empty and the door wide open. A moment later he realized the attaché case was gone. Swearing a blue streak, he dashed into the hallway and ran into a Japanese bellhop who was carrying a tray filled with pastries and coffee. As they untangled, Tess hurried down the hotel stairwell with the attaché case. She paused to see if she was followed.
There was an artist's portfolio case on the landing. She placed the attaché case inside of it. She took a nylon coat out of her purse and put it on, wiped the fake blood from her mouth and removed her wig. A pair of sunglasses and a beret over her blonde hair finished her transformation.
Moments later Tess emerged from the side entrance to the hotel. She walked casually away and got into a cab. She had the cabby drive around until she was satisfied she wasn't being followed and then had him drop her off. She made a phone call, picked up her car and drove to her apartment.
It was on the third floor of a building badly in need of reclamation. She had asked the owner about fixing it. "Darling, here in New Orleans decay is just part of the charm."
As Tess neared her door she heard one of her Edith Piaf CDs playing inside. She loved that Kit shared her taste. She expected to see him when she walked in, but the apartment was completely dark. She was shocked to hear Hollings' voice.
"Nice music, now give me back my case, and nobody gets hurt."
Panicked, Tess dropped the portfolio case. She was about to bolt out the door when she heard the sound of laughter. The light went on and she saw the bellhop, Kit Shimizu, laughing at his practical joke.
Kit was in his late twenties and pleased that his "too pretty" looks which had mocked the severity of his background, finally were being replaced by well worn character. Like all self made men, he had some help. He got his nickname Kit from his favorite writer, his vintage clothes from the top designers, his missing finger tip from the Japanese mafia, his dreams from the best minds of Japan's history, and his considerable skills from the streets.
Kit's laughter stopped abruptly as he noticed Tess' bruised face.
"I wish you didn't play it so full out."
He started to get ice out of the refrigerator.
"Don't bother, I'm used to it. "
Kit gave Tess a questioning look. She shrugged it off.
"I like to prove I'm up to taking what life has to offer." Tess laughed to herself. A lifetime of pain echoed in it. "You sure you weren't followed?"
"Positive." Kit gently applied the ice to Tess' face as she winced. "I can't stand watching this happen to you."
"Florence Nightingale, let's get to business."
Tess got the attaché case out of the portfolio and handed it to Kit.
"Our usual bet on what's in it," Kit offered as he placed it on the kitchen table.
"Sure."
"Maybe we got something. The guy went berserk."
Kit imitated Hollings squawking.
They both laughed as he took out a small tool and expertly snapped the lock. "Just so it's better than last time."
Kit opened the case. He and Tess saw file folders sitting on top of a bed of $100 bills. They both were speechless until Kit spoke up.
"Not exactly an Italian sausage sandwich and a change of underwear."
"We've bought trouble."
Tess set the file folders aside and looked at the bills.
"Funny?" Kit asked hopefully.
"Coin of the realm."
Kit sized it up. "About three hundred thousand."
He started to look over the papers.
"What have we got?" Tess asked.
Kit stopped reading.
"I'm not sure. We're definitely in somebody else's wet dream."
"I have a feeling we'll be asked to leave."
"With a vengeance."
"I better find out what we've got here."
Tess refilled the attaché case and prepared to go.
"Be careful," Kit said with more concern than was comfortable. "Don't let him short you again," he added with a forced smile.
* * *
Tess drove to a phone booth. With all the traffic noise she didn't have to be subtle.
"I don't give a shit you said don't call here. Yeah, I got it. What the fuck did you get me into? So I looked. It's a goddamn good thing I did. You said it was easy payback. All the sudden I'm in the middle of some war. Bullshit it isn't. Then what is it? It is my business. It's my ass, it's my business. I don't want to be protected. I don't want to need to be protected. Just tell me whose money this is. Fuck you."
Tess slammed the phone down. She thought it over and called another number.
* * *
Left alone, Kit made himself some coffee and sat down to wait for Tess to return. As he did so, he tried to remember as much of the papers as he could. They were about drugs, and he had heard that his former "friends" in the Yakuza, the Japanese mafia, were looking for something like this. Of course they really didn't know exactly what they were looking for.
A European dealer in technological secrets had contacted them. He claimed he had some scientific information crucial to their drug trade that he wanted to exchange for money. The asking price put them off, but also made them curious. He only told them it was American and stolen and they would understand when they saw it. They never got the chance. He never showed up for the meeting.
Their first response was it was a scam and he had lost his nerve. But soon the rumor began to circulate that he was bumped off by American intelligence.
Now here were scientific papers about drugs and an attaché case filled with money. It could be what they were after. He could inform them and put himself back in good standing, very good standing. That meant nothing to him anymore. He would tell them, but only because sooner or later they would find out he was involved in the robbery and come after him. He had no interest in them. They were a possibility once. They lived by a code he had foolishly believed. Now they're like the rest.
Might as well call his country land of the rising yen. Its rich heritage lost in a blizzard of banknotes. And all he can do is wait for a movement opposed to all this. But then what? Keep a low profile, play the fool. He was well aware of what happens to ideological purists like himself. If the revolution they helped give birth to fails, they get executed like his idol, the writer Kita Ikki. If it succeeds, they're considered a threat and purged like Rohm, killed in the night of the long knives as Hitler, the "gravedigger" of his own revolution, betrayed it to the industrialists. The list was long. He'd be dead, but in good company.
An hour passed. Kit heard the key in the front door. Tess has come back he thought as it opened.
* * *
Hollings got a message to Everett right after the attaché case was stolen. He was advised what to say if he were contacted by the police. He couldn't believe Everett wanted to reveal as much as he did so he asked him to repeat his instructions. Three days later the New Orleans FBI got a tip from an informant about the robbery and called Hollings. He didn't like it. It was a direct call and the agent wasn't his usual contact. Holllings made it clear he would only speak to his contact and hung up. When they met Hollings was furious.
"Why don't you just put a photo of us both on the front page?"
"Sorry. Someone in the office just got overheated when they got a tip it was a lot of money and drug related."
"The only drugs involved are the ones your agent is on."
"So what is involved?"
Hollings described the robbery and the attaché case filled with money, leaving out Everett and the papers.
"Give me a little something to feed the folks in Washington and we'll all be happy."
Hollings hesitated. He knew just how long to. "It was campaign money."
"March's?"
Hollings nodded.
"Who's the rich uncle?"
"An Italian friend of ours," Hollings lied.
The agent smiled. "Well if Washington asks, I'll tell them I'm working on it."
Hollings smiled back, but he was thinking about Everett. Everett was feeding the FBI a mixture of truth and lies. He didn't have to give them either.
copyright © 1998 by Cary Shulman
All Rights Reserved