Red rain 2.0 (29 page)

If Nick wasn't lying—and every instinct says he wasn't, that Vassily really did go to Russia to keep himself clear of the action, if not to actually do that Kazakh business—I figure I've got maybe a week or more of grace. Damn if I'm going to just sit on my butt, waiting. There's lots to prepare, war gaming that needs doing. I'm going to find out some things I need to know.

So Friday night the TT's hustling down Route 301 toward the Nice Bridge over the Potomac and into Tidewater country. Everlast on the tape player. "Gotta watch how you act, watch what you say, 'cause they ain't no stallin' when death comes callin'...."

"This is neat," Helen says. "Taking me to meet the parents. That hasn't happened since high school days."

"All that long ago? Really? Nobody from Towson State or Loyola or Hopkins ever take you home, show you off?"

"I
never
dated college boys. You should know my tastes don't run that way, babe."

"I should. I do. So which ways do they run? The cop, I know." Oh, very uncool, Luther, I'm thinking as soon as the words have left my mouth.

"Let's see. There was a bouncer at some club, maybe it was Ethernet. A couple firemen—you know they're always the cutest things going. And, oh yeah, this drug dealer, he had a gun and everything, when I was a freshman."

220

I laugh. Then my own rule jerks me a little. When you lie, stick as close to the truth as you can. "Must be the danger thing, right?" I say.

"Must be. Can't be
muscles
or I wouldn't have looked at you."

"Not even once," I say, then shift fast to cover my error. "Gotta tell you that you might be a little surprised when we get where we're going."

"Love surprises. But I'm wondering if I should read anything into this. Any intentions. Because, you know, my time horizon's pretty limited. A few months at most. Anything further out, I can't see until I get nearer to it."

"Think it's any different for me?"

"It'd be flattering if it was, but scary as hell. Eight, nine months and I'm gone, remember?"

"Super clear. Nothing symbolic in this. The trip's just for me. Gotta take a break."

"That huge heroin bust? Wrung you out, did it?"

"Little bit."

"Guess it would. Guess it wasn't like being in a movie or anything. Really Russian mafia, like the media says?"

I just shrug. "I thought we might have some fun down here. I do need some fun about now."

"Now that sounds much better. I was getting kind of nervous, you know?"

"Hey, if it's not fun, just say so. We'll bolt."

"Okay, babe," she says, laying a hand on my thigh, stroking, grinning.

I can feel Helen's curiosity, she's radiating it, as the car crunches over the oyster shell drive walled in by forest, as we stop before the lit-up house, as my mother and father together step out of the front door before we can even exit the TT.

"Ho, Luther," Gunny booms out into the night. "Hey there, Lieutenant Annie. Get your butts over here! Momma's got food on the table."

"Uh, Luther..." Helen says.

221

"Excuse me, ma'am," Gunny says when we enter the light and he sees his mistake. "Little confusion on my part, old eyes in bad light. Call me Gunny, please. I'm Luther's poppa, but you know that, don't you?"

"Hi, I'm Helen."

"Well, hello Helen. Don't stand here in the chill, c'mon inside," Gunny says, ushering her and my mother, who are introducing themselves, through the door. They head toward the kitchen. He lingers by the door while I fetch the bags from the TT's trunk.

"Who said my dog won't hunt? Luther, you are one devious hound," he murmurs to me as I enter. "How many of these sweet young things are you pointing on, anyway? No, don't tell me. Envy is inappropriate for a man of my age and position. But Jesus fuckin' Christ! You say you're bringing a friend when you phone, but you don't say
this
type of friend. My assumption of kind is correct, right?"

"Yessir. All the way." I grin.

"Well, your momma's going to be a little flustered, because she made up both bedrooms this time, remembering last time. And you're not going to use but one, are you?"

"That was the intention."

"Then get in there and get things smooth, maggot," he laughs. "Before I whup your sorry ass."

There's nothing to smooth. Pop always did underestimate Momma. She's doing fine with Helen. It's Helen who's a little flustered as we sit down to eat, but she makes a real nice recovery, impresses me again with her cool. Beyond her years, I think. Then I think I tend to do to Helen what Gunny does to Momma, otherwise I'd just be taking her ability to improvise and adapt for granted. Hell. Gunny and me, both of us dumb grunts who maybe chewed too much dirt in the wrong places at the wrong times and lost forever good judgment and sense of proportion about the world and the women in it.

Adaptation is the order of the night, it seems. Gunny tones down the corps lifer act he played so well for Annie,

222

Momma behaves more motherly to Helen than the woman-to-woman connection she made with Annie. Fine, friendly dinner, light conversation, but Momma's face goes impassive when she shows us up to the bedrooms and I steer Helen into mine. Nothing Helen would notice, but I know Momma's mask of disapproval.

"Wow!" Helen laughs once we're together under the sheets and a thick wool blanket. Only early in October yet, but it feels like there might be frost before morning. "Mega-surprises, Luther. What are the acoustics like in this place? Do I have to whisper? And keep real still when we fuck?"

"Solid. They can't hear a thing in their bedroom. It's downstairs on the other side of the house."

"So start explaining."

"Why don't you tell me what you expected?"

"Maybe just some resemblance between parents and child. I never imagined your dad'd be a black man and your mother Vietnamese. You don't look anything like either of them. You adopted or something?"

"Sure, I was a Chinese orphan."

She laughs. "C'mon. Really."

"I'm just what happens when there's some fairly radical mixing in the gene pool. Anything you feel funny about?"

"You mean do I care? And—what I think you really mean but don't dare say directly—is my WASPy sensibility at all perturbed? I resent your little test, yes. Otherwise, it's a pretty cool surprise."

"I wasn't trying to test you."

"The hell you weren't. Somewhere inside that mad mind of yours, you were going, 'Let's see how rich bitch Helen handles
this.'
It's okay, though. I can see where that would come from. I've shown you enough frivolous, bratty, spoiled sides of me to spark that. But the test's over. I pass. So get fucked."

"All by myself?"

"Well, I won't be that severe. Let me see what I can do to help you out a little."

223

She helps out a lot. Afterward, watching her sleep, I'm thinking smart girl, so very clever, she would have been right on target in an ordinary situation. She'd have probably been on target—a different one—if she knew what I was really about with her. And Gunny and Momma. If she knew I always check my back real good, then say a silent goodbye to those I care about before I go into a place I might not come out of.

Bad thought then. Maybe she does know. Maybe she's always known.

I'm up at dawn, out on the jetty, watching the early light on the creek, listening to the woods. A fish jumps, ripples spread in a perfect circle behind the slight splash. Perfect fall morning, clear and clean, the smell of cold tidal water and leaves going from green to brief, dry colorful death. I twitch when the cell in the TT starts chirping.

"So. What your guys call a goatfuck, yes?" Vassily's Russian is even, controlled. "Very, very bad, little brother. Very, very bad, that's what I hear from Nick."

"We got ratted out, Vassily. And I'm fucking pissed."

"Pissed? Who took the big loss here, little brother?"

"Who took just as big a loss and is facing trial and jail maybe? Not you. You didn't show, Vassily. You weren't fucking there. Why weren't you there?"

"Because I was here. Not here in Moscow, like I am right now, but over here someplace taking care of business. Nick told you all about it. He says he told you all about it."

"Yeah, he told me. Maybe you should've told me in advance, put off the meet. Maybe Nick's got a big mouth, maybe he tells lots of people lots of things. Maybe that's why we got fucked."

"Or maybe your blackies, eh? I will find out about my own people pretty damn quick. I'm leaving here, coming back there in a couple days. I'll find out, count on it. You better be finding out about your team."

"We got to talk when you get back, Vassily."

224

"Oh yes, little brother. We talk. Just you and me." What does he know, I'm wondering. Could he have made me and Dog for cops? "Just you and me. We figure out who fucked us."

"And then?"

"We fuck them dead, what else? Whoever they are," Vassily says laughing. "I call you as soon as I get to New York. Go carefully, little brother."

Then I'm staring at a dead phone in my hand.

Back inside, quietly, I get coffee going before Momma or Helen wakes. Helen. Paranoia shakes. Would I be so juked over this if I hadn't taken that head shot? It's so goddamn implausible, her having anything to do with Buzz Cut and Vassily. Her story's solid. I know because I checked. Rich white girl with rich white parents in rich white Westport, Connecticut. Just like she said. How would she ever get connected with the Russians?

It could happen. Sure.

But how could she possibly get so fucking good at it?

Gunny comes into the kitchen, buttoning a plaid flannel shirt, sniffing. "Java, hoo-ah!" he says, helping himself to some. "Lifer juice."

We stand there sipping. He's looking me over. "You're about to do something wiggy, Luther. You're about to go into a hot LZ locked and loaded. Aren't you?"

"No."

"Can't bullshit me, boy. It's in your eyes. You gotta do this?"

"Yeah."

"Is it an authorized mission?"

"Sure."

"Not some outlaw stunt you just wanna do?"

"Negative. Recon behind some lines. Orders."

"Then grease 'em all if that's what it takes to get out again. But, goddammit, don't you let your momma see what I'm seeing."

"She won't."

225

"She will, damn smart lady that she is, if you don't get your eyes straight and your party face on. Do it."

"Aye-aye, Gunny." I smile.

Momma comes in, starts cooking. Helen trails her by just a few minutes. Long, slow breakfast of ham and eggs, grits, toast. Helen's bright and cheerful, asks for seconds. Momma's warm enough, but I know she's not completely relaxed because she doesn't spar with Gunny in her put-on Viet girl talk. She keeps to her best English, with a little French thrown in here and there. Gunny finally slides out of his chair, leaves the kitchen, comes back cradling an old M16.

"Luther and I are gonna go play in the woods. You're welcome to come, Helen. Unless you don't like the look of this." He smiles.

"Can I shoot it?" she asks.

"Surely can," Gunny says.

"Cool. Let me just run upstairs and get my jacket."

"You numbah ten, Marine," Momma says to Gunny when she's gone. She looks hard at me. "Don't let him scare her, Luther. She just a kid."

"Oh, I don't think anybody's gonna scare her, Mom," I say. I'm believing that more and more.

'Too young, I say."

"Don't worry, Momma."

Gunny, Helen and I walk down the driveway to the highway, cross it and trek into some swampy pinelands. Gunny's carrying a bag of something and the M16. "Now, about half a klick in, there's this pond," he says. "In this pond is the great-granddaddy of all snapping turtles. Huge beyond belief. I've seen him take not just ducklings, but a full-grown female mallard."

"Sounds a little exaggerated. Sounds a little like your bass stories," I say.

"Ho! You'll see, you'll see. I been trying to nail this monster for two, three seasons now. But he's too fast, too smart. He's the Victor Charlie sapper of snapping turtles."

"What's that mean?" Helen asks.

226

"Means he's so slick he could sneak up on Gunny, and Gunny's toes would be bitten off before he ever knew what hit him," I say.

"You must be speaking about your own self, Luther. I got all my toes. I just haven't got this turtle yet. Today could be the day."

The pond's almost dead black, a few bleached stumps still standing here and there, and a long, bark-stripped deadfall reaching maybe three meters out into the water from the shore. Gunny hands me the 16, edges carefully out along the fallen trunk, reaches into his bag and puts a fat, two-foot-long dead eel in a little notch where a branch broke off, about a foot above the waterline. We find a firm, dry patch of pine needles about thirty meters off and sit down.