“I wouldn’t know, Anto,” said Ginger. “Maybe it was overconfidence? Even the best make mistakes when they get overconfident.”
“Possibly that’s so, Ginger,” said Anto. “Bobby, luv, here now, what’s your interpretation? What explains the different levels of your warcraft?”
“Go fuck yourself,” said Swagger.
“Now that’s not helpful.”
“I didn’t think you boys would be here. I thought I was way ahead of you on the figuring-out. My idea was to get in and get out before you realized how much I knew. It was a recon, figure on what I’d need next time. I thought you’d still be at Graywolf HQ, going over intel, tracking me down, sending out other kill teams, better kill teams.”
“Now, see, he is mixed up,” said Anto. “He thinks Graywolf has a thing to do with this and it don’t; this is private enterprise between us and his lordship Constable, who’s making us all rich boys who won’t be working no more teaching kids how to pop camel jiggers at a thousand meters out. Not that it ain’t fun, now, but still, I’d rather live in Spain with seven gals and three pigs and a nice big potato patch. Give an Irishman his potatoes and you’ve made him happy.”
He yawned and checked his watch.
“It’s late, Anto, best get on with it,” said Ginger.
“Yes, Ginger. You and the boys, fill them pails.”
The three-Ginger, Jimmy, and Raymond-went to the sink, and with bangs and crashes and a lot of drama, they filled three pails with water, the water rushing hard into the tin confines, drumming like God’s final rain upon the bogs, gurgling and seething.
“You know what’s coming, Bobby boy, do you now?”
“Fuck you and the green horse you came in on, Grogan,” said Bob. Yes, he knew what was coming.
“I will not lie to you, no sir. I respect you. I even love you, as soldier loves soldier in the pure and manly way, not like them camel shaggers love each other. You’ve been and done, I’ve been and done. We’re mates of the rifle; we give out death and risk our own. Wish it could be easier.”
He sighed, as if a tide of melancholy had rolled over him. He began to unbutton his sleeves and fold them back.
“You see how it has to be. Wish it didn’t but it does. You’re on to something. You’ve seen through the little rigged game the boys and I set up for Mr. Constable, as maybe no man on earth could have. Nobody knows enough about the things you and I know about to read the signs clearly. My bad luck you came along, your bad luck you came along. So what’s a fellow to do?”
“Tell you what, Grogan. Surrender to me with a full confession and I’ll get you life in a good joint, and you and Ginger can fuck each other three times a week. And Jimmy can have seconds.”
Grogan laughed.
“What about poor Raymond, then?” asked Ginger.
“Hear that, mates? With them Yank wisecracks, all Sergeant Rock style. Damn, the fellow’s a prince.” Then he leaned forward. “Look hard in me eyes, Swagger. I don’t want to torture you, but torture you I must and I will. Nothing you say means anything unless it’s uttered by a man broken in spirit, all his defenses crushed, his sense of doom large as this room, him knowing that it’s his last words and they must be true, and that as a reward he gets to sleep and there’s not to be any more pain. Do you see that? I have no choice.”
“There’s always choices, Grogan.”
“Not for Anto there’s not. All right, I’ll give you a chance. You tell me honest, maybe we won’t go to the waterboard. It’ll just be a quick nine in the ear. That’s a fine bargain, isn’t it? Why should a man like you suffer? You’ve given so much. I know death don’t scare you a bit, you’ll take the bullet like a man eating a piece of toast. But the water in the lungs, the panic it looses in your head, the fear of drowning as deep as any ancient human thought, the joy when the air comes back, and the crushing tragedy when the water comes again. It takes your soul, it takes your dignity, it eats your courage, and it dissolves your nobility. You don’t want to be where it leaves you. Believe me, I’ve seen it. This is how we ran intel in Basra, until the Clara Bartons got on us and ruined our fine game. This is how we became Lord High Death with over a hundred kills in a week. This is how we broke the fucking back of their insurrection and put their leaders facedown in the sand with flies nibbling on the brains all over the wall. I know it, I’ve seen it. Nobody can work the board better than I, and I’ll kill you dead a hundred times and you’ll believe it each time. Ready for a hundred deaths, Bobby Lee Swagger?”
“All right,” said Swagger. “You get an Oscar for the speech. What do you want to know?”
“Who are you working for? What have you told them? What is the state of their intel? What are your callback protocols? How far have you gotten? How far into it are you, and do they believe you or are you here as some kind of prelim, as a way to snatch evidence to convince them? Do they expect a callback by a certain time? Do you have a control in a motel a few miles away? Or is there a team there, a big SWAT thing, ready to jump? What will their next move be?”
“Jesus, you think I’m some kind of FBI undercover, don’t you? You poor fool, you better watch the paranoia. I’m pure freelance on this one. Like you, I’m mercenary. I want the money, the gals in Spain, and the patch, only mine’ll be full of peas, not potatoes.”
Grogan looked at him.
“Do you believe him, Ginger?”
“Not a bit of it,” said Ginger. “Let’s wet him a bit and see how the tune changes.”
“I was asked by the feds to look over their case, because I’m such a smart guy,” said Bob. “I realized whoever done the shooting couldn’t have done it with the scope on Carl’s rifle. I do know someone at the FBI, and I got a chance to look at the evidence. They got me in your school. But I told ’em the bad guys had to be one of your clients and when you gave me the client list-brilliant, someone smarter than you figured it out, right-”
“That was me,” said Ginger.
“Someone around here has to have some brains. Anyhow, they’ve been out wasting time on those names. I knew it was you on the trigger, Anto, when I saw you nail those beachballs. You know how? You hit ’em dead center. That was your mistake, you shot too well.”
“I told you that,” said Ginger.
“Go on,” said Anto. “I’m listening hard.”
“So I realized all the sniper bullshit was camouflage to run a mission on the Strongs. I used a cop connection I had to get into their house and I found evidence that their mood had suddenly gotten real good. They were going to get big money just ahead. It tracked back to the death of a guy named Ozzie Harris. They got something from Ozzie Harris, and as I reasoned and later proved, it gave them leverage over Tom Constable. They thought he was going to move a chunk of dough into their Swiss account and they could live happily ever after in the land of chocolates and ski bunnies. Instead, they got 168ers through the central medulla, courtesy of one Anto Grogan, along with two other poor souls, including the babe Constable once was married to, and her presence emptied tons of irrelevant bullshit into the case so thick you need a pitchfork. I knew that underneath it, under all the crap about movie stars and stand-up comics, all that yellow smoke, there was something, I don’t know what it was, but some little object, maybe a photo or a letter, whatever, that was worth billions to Constable. I thought it had to be here at this ranch, in this house once I saw it. My deal was I’ll crack that place, I’ll recon, I’ll see what I need, for next time. Then I’ll blow and put a team of professionals together. When we come back, we’ll take whatever it was and we’ll leave a yardful of dead Irishmen, payback for Carl and Denny. Then I’ll run the deal with Constable, and because I’m a professional and have been around the block a bit, I won’t end up with my brains on the windshield. My guess was it’s here. So I’m here.”