| |
Parkfield, California
––––––––
“Let’s not waste any time with nice homes,” Shannon said. “Pick the worst piece of shit on the market. That’s his pattern, a house nobody would look at, like you said. That way he doesn’t have to worry about Aunt Ethel poking around in the closets.”
“This one should do,” Masters said, flipping through the listings on his laptop. “My dog wouldn’t even shit in the front yard of this disaster. Foreclosed last year and even the property tax scavengers won’t take it. It’s perfect.”
“I’ll move right in,” Shannon said. “Is there a packy around here?”
“I beg your pardon?” Masters said as he put the car in gear.
“Package store. Beer. You know, that yellow stuff you drink that comes out the same way except for the buzz?”
“I think so. You drink?”
“As much as humanly possible,” Shannon said. “Don’t you?”
“No. I never did.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Shannon said. “Delirium tremens, blackouts, hallucinations, hangovers, depression, lost days, and ultimately liver and kidney shutdown. Nice hobby, huh.”
“Why do you do it?”
“Nothing else to do,” Shannon said quietly as she watched the road go by. “Nothing at all. But it’s no problem, nobody cares. You find me a little store.”
“Okay.” Masters pulled into a deli and Shannon got herself three six packs. “Sure you got enough?” he said as she got back into the car.
“What time is it?”
“Ten in the morning.”
“Toss up,” Shannon said as she popped one. “Drive.”
“Jesus,” Masters sighed.
“Jesus has nothing to do with it,” Shannon said as she threw the first empty out the window. She looked at Masters with a mixture of hurt and anger. “You like Jesus?”
“I’m Catholic,” Masters said. “You?”
“I was saved but now I’m lost,” Shannon said, looking down into the bag of beer. “And nobody’s looking for me. But don’t you worry your little self about me, Ricky boy. I have everything under control. I saw Elvis in the DC airport, you know,” she smirked, a wicked smile on her face. “He dropped a CD and I picked it up for him.”
“You did? That’s uh, a bit hard to believe, you must admit.”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Rick smiled.
“You have connections,” Shannon said. “Go see who collected his life insurance. Nobody. Then interview the girl who booked his daughter on flights to Brazil for the last twenty years, then take a look at the name he used as an honorary DEA agent, John Burrows. Somebody bought tickets under that name to Brazil, and the sales girl swore it was him, but what do I know. He was very religious and into numerology. The only things missing from his home were his bible and numerology book. He was in that airport and I was closer to him than I am to you. It was him.”
“You have some amazing shit tucked away in your head,” Masters said.
“Yeah. It’s a gift. How about that Lee Harvey Oswald crap, huh Masters? You believe that horse shit story too?”
“Don’t go there,” Masters warned. “That’s way off limits, even for you.”
“Oh,” Shannon said as she gulped at her beer. “Pardon fucking me. Too bad the shots don’t line up, huh. Ever study trajectory and ballistics? The rear head shot leads back to the Dallas County Records Building, not the Book Depository. One of the head shots, anyway. There were two. The other one leads over to the fence by the railroad yard. You know, the Grassy Knoll. That’s where Roscoe White was......”
“Stop!” Masters yelled. “Enough, okay? You want to wind up dead someplace? Get off that.”
“I don’t get off anything,” Shannon said. “I know what this country is all about. The only reason we’re doing this is because I don’t feel like dying from radiation poisoning in some shitty hospital while the Congress gets the best of everything at Walter Reed after they commandeer the place for themselves by using the Army to keep the filthy, shitty taxpayers out because Congress is better than us. I know my country, Masters. Don’t you ever doubt me.”
Masters looked at her. “Yeah, I guess you do. You got it pegged. Sometimes I doubt my own priorities.”
“And what are those?” Shannon sighed as she settled back in her seat. “Duty, Honor, Country?”
“Yeah. That’s about it.”
“Sounds like something they teach you in basic training. And at West Point. It’s passe.”
“And how is that? A lot of men died defending their country over those words.”
“I’ll give you World War Two. Even that’s a stretch if you studied history. FDR got us into that so he could blackmail the Brits into giving him the Chinese drug trade. He threatened to invade Canada, so they turned it over. After that, tell me one serviceman who died defending the United States.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Who ever invaded us? The Vietnamese? The Koreans? The Iraqis? Come on. It’s all political bullshit designed to feed you guys into the meat grinder like robots. Some General stands up in front of a bunch of nineteen year old assholes from Georgia and tells them they’re going to save the world. For who, Goldman Sachs? Citibank? I know the system, Rick. It’s designed from the ground up to benefit the people who designed it. The rest of us are dummies to be used as cannon fodder so some aircraft company or bank can make a score. You go die for somebody else’s country, which is most likely full of sweaty retards who wouldn’t lift a finger to defend themselves, but they’ll let the Americans do it for them. Stupid, idealistic jerkoffs willing to be blown into a cloud of soup by an Arab with the IQ of dog shit so some senator can say some nice words over their graves. Right after he takes his bribe. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t,” Masters said.
“I didn’t think so. I’m going to fix some of this, mark my words. Somebody is going to pay.”
“I’ll help you,” Masters smirked. “Here’s the dump, let’s go.” Two minutes later, Shannon found another nuke in another closet. They called Cagney and continued on.