BR: I do, Sir. But should I tell him to stop?
DIR: No. I like his connection to Bondurant. Remember, we'll be approaching Le Grand Pierre when we move BLACK RABBIT into the shakedown phase.
BR: I heard that he had a heart attack last month.
DIR: A pity. And the prognosis?
BR: I think it's guardedly positive, Sir.
DIR: Good. We'll let him recover and then add some stress to his overtaxed arteries.
BR: Yes, Sir.
DIR: Let's discuss CRUSADER RABBIT. Have you accrued any substantive data?
BR: Yes and no, Sir. We've gotten nothing off the spot tails and the trash and mail covers, and I'm convinced that he's too technically skilled to bug and tap. He's retained his friendship with PINK RABBIT and visits him in D.C., which is hardly incriminating, since you urged him to do so.
DIR: Your tone betrays you. You're tantalizing me. Shall I hazard a guess?
BR: Please do, Sir.
DIR: Your revelations pertain to CRUSADER's women.
BR: That's correct, Sir.
DIR: Expand your answers, please. I have a lunch date in the year 2000.
BR: CRUSADER has been seeing Janice Lukens, FATHER RABBIT's ex-wife, in Las-
DIR: We know that. Pray continue.
BR: He lives with a woman in Los Angeles. Her alleged name is Jane Fentress.
DR: "Alleged" is correct. I helped to establish her identity two years ago. A New Orleans agent planted her college transcript.
BR: There's much more to her, Sir. I think she could serve as our wedge if we need to disrupt CRUSADER.
DIR: Expand your thoughts. The millennium bodes.
BR: I had her spot-tailed. My man took a set of prints off a glass she left at a restaurant. We ran them and got her real name, Arden Louise Breen, B-R-E-E-N, married name Bruvick, B-R-U-V-I-C-K.
DIR: Continue.
BR: Her father was a left-wing unionist. The Teamsters killed him in '52, and it's still a St. Louis PD unsolved. Allegedly, the woman held no grudge against the Teamsters, allegedly because her father forced her to become a call-house prostitute. She absconded on a KCPD receiving stolen goods warrant in '56, at the same time her husband embezzled some money from a Kansas City Teamster local and disappeared.
DIR: Continue.
BR: Here's the ripe part. Carlos Marcello's front corporation bailed her out on the Kansas City bounce. She disappeared then, she's got a bookkeeping background, and she's rumored to have had a long-term affair with that old Mob hand Jules Schiffrin.
DIR: Boffo news, Dwight. Well worth your vexing preambles.
BR: Thank you, Sir.
DIR: I think your tale boils down to one salient truth. Carlos Marcello does not trust CRUSADER RABBIT.
BR: I came to that conclusion, Sir.
DIR: Pull the tails, along with the trash and mail covers. If we need to get at CRUSADER, we'll go through the woman.
BR: Yes, Sir.
DIR: Good day, Dwight.
BR: Good day, Sir.
86
(Saravan, 9/22/65)
Torture:
Six slaves strapped down. Six Cong-symps wired. Six hot seats / six juice buttons / six testicle feeds.
Mesplиde worked the juice box. Mesplиde ran the juice. Mesplиde asked the questions. Mesplиde talked franglogook.
Pete watched. Pete chewed Nicorette gum. It was wet and hot-rainstorm boocoo. The hut sponged heat. The hut stored heat. The hut was a hot-plate boocoo.
Mesplиde talked gook. Mesplиde talked threat. Mesplиde talked fast. His words slurred-gobblede_GOOK_.
Pete knew the gist. Pete wrote the script. Pete read six faces.
Slaves escape. All pro-Cong. Who let them? I no know!-all six say it-I know no who!
It droned on-you tell me!-no no! Pete watched. Pete chewed gum. Pete read eyes.
Mesplиde lit a Gauloise. Pete cued him. Mesplиde hit the buttons. Juice flooowed.
Testicle ticklers-black box to balls-nonlethal volts. Gooks tingle. Gooks absorb. Gooks yell boocoo.
Mesplиde cut the juice. Mesplиde pidgin-gooked: Congs run! Steal Mbase! Tell what you know!
The gooks buzzed. The gooks squirmed. The gooks afterglowed. Talk now! You tell me! Tell what you know! Six gooks jabbered-this gook ensemble-we no know who!
One gook squeals. One gook yips. One gook salivates. Loincloths to ankles/grounded gonads/feed plugs to feet. One gook squirms. One gook prays. One gook urinates.
Pete cued Mesplиde. Mesplиde hit the buttons. Juice flooowed.
The gooks buckle. The gooks absorb. The gooks gyrate. The gooks scream. The gooks thrash and pop veins.
Pete cogitated. Pete chewed gum. Pete brainstormed eyes shut.
Tran tells Wayne-slaves escape-steal M-base boocoo. They cook it. They dump it. Fuck up our GIs boocoo.
But:
You don't dump Big "H." You _sell_ it.
And:
Wayne rotates home. Wayne's lab is empty. Rival dope cooks could sneak in. Said cooks could utilize. Said cooks could appropriate.
Surveille the lab-do it soon-before _you_ rotate.
Mesplиde coughed. "Has that chewing gum put you in a trance, Pierre?"
Pete opened his eyes. "One of them has to know something. Ask them _why_ the guys ran, and turn up the juice if they shit you."
Mesplиde smiled. Mesplиde coughed. Mesplиde pidgin-gooked. He talked fast. He blurred inflections. He fastballed his words.
Gooks listen. Good absorb. Gooks say: No No No No-
Mesplиde hit the buttons. Juice flowed. Near-lethal volts. The gooks screamed. Their nuts flushed. Their nuts swelled.
Mesplиde cuts the juice. Gooks absorb pain. Gook 5 talks ricky-tick. Mesplиde smiles. Mesplиde absorbs. Mesplиde translates.
"He said he woke up and saw Tran pull them out of the hut. Tran… _qu'est-ce_… forced them to run, and he heard shots a few minutes later."
Pete spit his gum out. "Cut them loose. Give them some extra beans for dinner."
Mesplиde said, "I appreciate compassion."
o o o
The hills hurt.
He breathed hard. He walked slow. He trailed back. Mesplиde walked fast. Two guards flanked him.
They cut through camp. They pushed through brush. They dodged biter snakes. The rain held. Brush slapped them. Pete gobbled breath.
He took pills. They thinned his blood. They scrubbed his veins. They sapped him. They fucked him up. They held him back.
He ran. He caught up. He gobbled breath.
They kicked through mud. The mud had weight. The weight hurt his chest. They walked two miles. They hit downslopes. His chest weight slacked off.
Pete heard grunts and oinks. Pete saw a mud pit. Pete smelled human decomp. Pete saw wild pigs root.
There:
Said mud pit. A buffet. Said pigs and boned flesh.
Pete jumped in. The pigs scattered. The mud was deep. The mud had weight. Pete bobbed for flesh.
He rooted. He flailed. He found an arm. He found a leg. He found a head. He shook off mud. He pulled off skin. He peeled off scalp flaps.
He saw a hole. It was bullet-sized. He gripped the jaws. He cracked the skull back.
Good breath. Good strength. Good outpatient stats.
A bullet dropped. Pete caught it. It was butterflied and smashed. It was a soft-point magnum. It was Tran Lao Dinh's brand.
o o o
Tran tried charm. Tran tried shit. Tran tried shuck-and-jive. Mesplиde hooked him up. Mesplиde hooked dual clamps-gonads and head.
The rain held. Monsoon stats-mud 4-ever.
Pete chewed gum. Pete cracked the door. Pete stirred outside air.
"Your shit's not working. Give up the details and tell us who you're in with, and I'll see what John Stanton says."
Tran said, "You know me, boss. I no work with Victor Charles."
Pete hit the switch. Juice flowed. Tran buckled. Tran clenched.