better.”
Reyes read through the short typed memorandum from the US Embassy in Vientiane.
“He was in Vientiane for two days,” Walt said. “From there he took a flight up to our airbase at Sam Thong courtesy of the United States government, they want to show off their hearts and minds project up there. Somehow he managed to slip away, don’t ask me how. They think he paid a local guide to take him into the mountains; perhaps he wanted to interview some of the local Hmong villagers himself. Instead he got himself captured by the Pathet Lao. They let the guide go but they’ve still got your friend.”
“Is he alive?”
“I have no idea. They may have shot him on the spot or they may keep him alive for a while. If they think he’s a spy they’ll torture him as a matter of principle and then try and use him as a hostage. When they find out he’s just a journalist, his luck will run out.”
Reyes handed him back the memorandum. Walt slipped it back inside the file.
“I thought you would think this is good news.”
“How do you figure that?” Reyes asked him.
“All you have to do is nothing and all your dreams come true. You get her back. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Just sit back and enjoy the view, fella. He’s chained to a post in the jungle fighting off bats, and you’re screwing his wife. It’s perfect.”
“You paint a pretty picture.”
“Well I practise haiku in my spare time.”
Walt sipped his coffee, but finding it not to his taste he added a little more Jack Daniels. “I wish I knew what it is about her,” he said.
“There are some things you can’t put in a report.”
“It’s damn frustrating. I’m not questioning your judgment, Reyes, certainly not when it comes to women. I’m just trying to understand.”
“You think he’s dead?”
“I think there’s no way of knowing. But I find it highly unlikely he will ever be seen or heard from again.”
“He could still be alive.”
“Possibly, but I don’t think there’s anyone in Vientiane or Washington who are that bothered that they’ll go looking for him. Let’s face it--it’s not only the Salvatore family who want him dead. The guy was making too many waves, no one in here sheds any tears for a dead hack.”
Reyes puffed out his cheeks. “What am I going to tell her?”
“If it was me I’d tell her he was dead and get on with the rest of your life. This guy is crazy, if I had a wife like that I damn sure wouldn’t go running around the jungle begging the commies to come and shoot me.”
“Still, I wonder how she’s going to take this.”
“Maybe she’ll be relieved.”
“He’s still her husband and technically he’s still alive.”
“Only if you tell her he is.”
Reyes stared at his shoes. “She says she was going to leave him anyway.”
“There’s a long way between thinking about it and doing it. Make it easy on everyone, Reyes.” He picked up the folder. “I’ll put this in this file over there, you give her the bad news, hold out your handkerchief and let her fall in your arms. Problem solved, man.”
“I guess so.” He sipped his coffee, held it out for more Jack. Walt obliged. “You ever watch “Tom and Jerry,” Walt?”
“You kidding me? Love that stupid cat.”
“Whenever Tom is about to kill the mouse he has this devil cat on one shoulder telling him to do it, then he gets this angel cat on the other telling him why it’s the wrong thing.”
“Your point?”
“It’s just what you look like right now. The devil cat.” Reyes finished his coffee in one swallow, winced and stood up. “Walt, thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”
“Be smart. Go back to the Caravelle, tell her that her husband’s dead, that I showed you pictures of his body. Then fuck her brains out.”
“And then?”
“Then you get the seven keys of horse you’ve hidden God knows where and you bring it right over to me and let me find us some buyers. We build our little hideaway in
Reyes read through the short typed memorandum from the US Embassy in Vientiane.
“He was in Vientiane for two days,” Walt said. “From there he took a flight up to our airbase at Sam Thong courtesy of the United States government, they want to show off their hearts and minds project up there. Somehow he managed to slip away, don’t ask me how. They think he paid a local guide to take him into the mountains; perhaps he wanted to interview some of the local Hmong villagers himself. Instead he got himself captured by the Pathet Lao. They let the guide go but they’ve still got your friend.”
“Is he alive?”
“I have no idea. They may have shot him on the spot or they may keep him alive for a while. If they think he’s a spy they’ll torture him as a matter of principle and then try and use him as a hostage. When they find out he’s just a journalist, his luck will run out.”
Reyes handed him back the memorandum. Walt slipped it back inside the file.
“I thought you would think this is good news.”
“How do you figure that?” Reyes asked him.
“All you have to do is nothing and all your dreams come true. You get her back. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Just sit back and enjoy the view, fella. He’s chained to a post in the jungle fighting off bats, and you’re screwing his wife. It’s perfect.”
“You paint a pretty picture.”
“Well I practise haiku in my spare time.”
Walt sipped his coffee, but finding it not to his taste he added a little more Jack Daniels. “I wish I knew what it is about her,” he said.
“There are some things you can’t put in a report.”
“It’s damn frustrating. I’m not questioning your judgment, Reyes, certainly not when it comes to women. I’m just trying to understand.”
“You think he’s dead?”
“I think there’s no way of knowing. But I find it highly unlikely he will ever be seen or heard from again.”
“He could still be alive.”
“Possibly, but I don’t think there’s anyone in Vientiane or Washington who are that bothered that they’ll go looking for him. Let’s face it--it’s not only the Salvatore family who want him dead. The guy was making too many waves, no one in here sheds any tears for a dead hack.”
Reyes puffed out his cheeks. “What am I going to tell her?”
“If it was me I’d tell her he was dead and get on with the rest of your life. This guy is crazy, if I had a wife like that I damn sure wouldn’t go running around the jungle begging the commies to come and shoot me.”
“Still, I wonder how she’s going to take this.”
“Maybe she’ll be relieved.”
“He’s still her husband and technically he’s still alive.”
“Only if you tell her he is.”
Reyes stared at his shoes. “She says she was going to leave him anyway.”
“There’s a long way between thinking about it and doing it. Make it easy on everyone, Reyes.” He picked up the folder. “I’ll put this in this file over there, you give her the bad news, hold out your handkerchief and let her fall in your arms. Problem solved, man.”
“I guess so.” He sipped his coffee, held it out for more Jack. Walt obliged. “You ever watch “Tom and Jerry,” Walt?”
“You kidding me? Love that stupid cat.”
“Whenever Tom is about to kill the mouse he has this devil cat on one shoulder telling him to do it, then he gets this angel cat on the other telling him why it’s the wrong thing.”
“Your point?”
“It’s just what you look like right now. The devil cat.” Reyes finished his coffee in one swallow, winced and stood up. “Walt, thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”
“Be smart. Go back to the Caravelle, tell her that her husband’s dead, that I showed you pictures of his body. Then fuck her brains out.”
“And then?”
“Then you get the seven keys of horse you’ve hidden God knows where and you bring it right over to me and let me find us some buyers. We build our little hideaway in
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