He was not sure where he was now, but he was well aware of the sergeant’s immaculate and perfectly creased uniform, the rows of campaign ribbons and the man’s stem and tanned facade, an impeccable but ruthless military facade.
Finally, Sergeant Malleck said, “Lasari, I’ve looked over your records and you’ve got a pretty fair IQ, so you gotta know you’re into this shit up to your shoulders. Make one little slip and you go all the way under.”
“I was planning to turn myself in. I can prove that, sergeant.”
“Too bad you never got around to it, soldier.”
Although he knew he had little to bargain with, Lasari said, “First off, I want to know how you found me. How did you know where I was?”
“I think this will go faster if you just hear me out.” Malleck stood and began pacing, rubbing his big hands together. The movement caused the muscles to flex in his upper arms.
“It couldn’t be Carlos,” Lasari said flatly.
“I told you the ground rules, soldier. You’d better start listening.”
“And it couldn’t be the Vets’ Bureau. She told me that was confidential.”
“Now we got two ways to go,” the sergeant said, pausing to look down at Lasari. “You can pretend you didn’t hear what I told you and keep up these damned fool questions, but I sure as hell wouldn’t advise that. Or you can sit there and listen to what I’m going to tell you about that report on my desk.” Malleck tapped the report with a blunt forefinger.
“You’re looking at five to ten years in the federal pen, and I don’t give a shit one way or the other. I don’t like deserters. Not that you’re a yellow bastard, you didn’t walk out on your buddies under fire, but the reason I don’t give a shit about you is because deserting is dumb. You’re a stupid fucker, a stupid ginzo idiot.
“You could’ve stayed Army, tried stealing from the quartermaster, made money on the black market or arranged some kickbacks, I’d say fine. You could’ve used your military career to better yourself, trade dollars for bigger profits, buy yourself some real estate with a slope partner, run some whores, all that can make sense. Or if you lack guts for business, just do your duty, brownnose the officers and wind up with a pension and a one-bedroom condo in Fort Lauderdale.”
Malleck leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. He felt an uncontrollable flush on his cheeks and an agitated, heavy stroke to his heartbeat. He would have liked to take a drink of whiskey but didn’t dare break his poise.
“Want a cigarette, Lasari? Some coffee? I got a colored orderly makes the best coffee this side of New Orleans. Uses chicory and a fresh eggshell in it.”
Lasari shook his head.
“Then let’s get down to business,” Malleck said. “If I send that report to Colonel Facknor, you’ll be shipped out of here in handcuffs to Fort Lincoln, there’ll be a court-martial that will last, if things move slowly, about fifteen to twenty minutes. I’ll be called as a witness, so will my men, if need be.”
Malleck grinned without humor and opened the top drawer of his desk. He took out a small, transparent bag of white powder. “Hell,” he said, “we can make that court-martial go even faster. I’ll change my report to read that we found contraband drugs right on the deserter’s person. We can even have Scales decorate your right arm with a few needle marks. Scales is good at that.”
Malleck pressed the buzzer on his desk and immediately the door opened and Private Scales put his head in. He avoided looking at Lasari.
“Bring me a pot of coffee and one cup, Scales. On the double.”
When the door closed Malleck resumed pacing, cracking his knuckles and twisting his hands together in the same powerful motion, muscles bunching in his arms and neck.
“I’m going to tell you something about Karl Malleck now, soldier,” he said, “so you can evaluate exactly the position you’re in. The one thing going for you, and I’m telling you this frankly, is that we share one thing in common. We both got fucked by that goddamned Vietnam war. Sometimes I think the U.S. got into that war just to get rid of a lot of second-class citizens. I was there. Maybe I didn’t see the fighting you did, but I was there. I paid my dues. But we were greeted like a bunch of crazy killers when we got home, right? You see any parades, any welcoming committees? I didn’t. A bunch of egghead congressmen and gutless generals and mealy-mouthed Jews and Catholic liberals, they saw to that.
“Pretty fucking funny when you think about it. Some guy with a stiff cock just like I got puts his collar on backwards or wears a skullcap and lets his fucking sideburns grow and suddenly he’s got the right to get on a soapbox and tell the world what immoral fuckers you and me are.
“A lot of poor slobs cracked under that. They missed those bands playing, thought they’d earned it. But I don’t have much respect for them either, Lasari. Most of them are a bunch of fuck-ups. They crept home with their tails between their legs and hands out like trained monkeys for G.I. rights, disability payments, psychiatric treatment, for Christ’s sake, pissing up a storm for ramps and handrails for their goddamn wheelchairs, whining about ‘delayed stress syndrome,’ like they were the only fucking generation that ever fought a war.”
Malleck hesitated a moment, then opened a desk drawer and poured two inches of whiskey into a canteen cup and sipped it greedily, running a rough, red tongue over his lips.
“When I point out we got something in common, that means I may sympathize with you, but it doesn’t mean I respect you.” He pointed a thumb at the three rows of service ribbons on his chest. “I respect men who take what they deserve, even if it means making up their own rules. That’s what I’ve done with this outfit. We formed our own kind of welcoming committee, we reward ourselves. If life ain’t drained all the guts and manhood out of you, you can be part of it, Lasari. Battles aren’t fought on maps, you and I know that. Sure, I went over your combat record, but that’s ancient history. It’s what the Army’s gonna know about you now that counts, what’s on that report you’re looking at. Typed up on the right forms, initialed in the right places, endorsed by the proper stamps, that’s the paper truth this man’s Army runs on.
“So here’s the deal. I can take that report back, tear it up and write something else...”
“Whatever you write about me is the truth, is that what you’re telling me, sergeant?”
Malleck shrugged. “What I write is accepted as truth, so what the fuck’s the difference?”
Private Scales entered with a pot of coffee and a single cup and placed them on Malleck’s desk next to the small packet of heroin. Scales looked at the sergeant for a moment and then Lasari, his face and eyes impassive. Leaving the office, he closed the door carefully behind him.
Malleck lifted the pot of steaming coffee and poured some into the cup of whiskey. “I like a little pickup,” he said, “because I don’t take sugar and cream. Sure you won’t have some?”
Lasari shook his head. “I don’t want to jangle my nerves,” he said dryly. “I think you’re about to make me an offer.”
“Okay,” Malleck said, “this is it. We want you back in the Army but only for a limited engagement. I do the paperwork, send it to the right desks, make a phone call or two, and you’ll be sent for duty with an army division on a ready-alert status in Colorado. I work fast, you catch up with them. It’s an outfit that’s scheduled for an airborne trip to Germany, some field work, then some action in an integrated NATO field exercise on the Czech border. You’re gonna be our new pigeon. For now, Lasari, that’s all you need to know and that’s all you’re gonna know. The right people will contact you at the right time and tell you exactly what’s expected of you. When it’s over, you’re on your own.”