A Catskill Eagle

CHAPTER 29

THE NEXT NIGHT RED SHOWED UP AS PROMISED. Hawk and I had hung around Pequod all day, topping off the excitement with a five-mile run along the highway, and we were just sipping the first beer of the day when Red came in.

“Who gets the forty,” he said.

I put out a hand and Red put two tens and a twenty in it.

“Winner buys,” I said. “What will you drink?”

“Beer.”

I gestured at the bartender. He gave Red a beer, and a glass. Red ignored the glass and drank half the bottle from the neck.

“We’re looking for a place to live,” I said. “Got any ideas?”

Red shrugged. “Not much around,” he said. “I live out at the facility.”

He finished the beer. I ordered him another. “Want a shot with that,” I said. “Get a good foundation for the evening.”

“Sure,” Red said. “CC,” he said to the bartender. “Straight up.”

“Everyone live there?”

“Yeah, all of us.” He popped the shot and washed it with a swallow of beer. Hawk gestured at the bartender to bring another.

“Us guys, the workers, security people. Nice facility.”

“How ‘bout the bosses,” Hawk said.

“Sure, them too. Got an executive house. Fucking mansion.” Red drank half of his second Canadian Club. “Nice lawn, right on the river. Can’t see it from the road, it’s in the trees.”

“Outside the complex?”

“Un uh. Everything’s inside the complex, except the training range.”

We had another round of beers. Red turned and leaned his elbows on the bar and surveyed the room.

“Thing about this job is you’re stuck out here in the fucking sticks, you know,” he said. “Pussy is scarcer than balls on a heifer.”

“No broads at the complex?” I said.

“Couple old ugly fat-assed secretaries,” Red said. “Some executive quiff over at the mansion. But nothing for the blue-collar stiffs like you and me, you know.”

“No wives?”

“Naw, they don’t hire married guys.”

“Except the executives.”

Red finished his Canadian Club. Hawk got him another.

“Not even them. Except for the kid.”

Red drank a little of the Canadian Club, sipping it carefully as if it were a fine cognac.

“There a kid there?” Hawk said.

Red laughed. “Naw, the kid. Guy owns the whole Transpan thing is a guy named Costigan. I never seen him but his kid comes around once in a while, like to inspect, you know. Kid’s about thirty, thirty-five. Comes in like the regimental commander-you guys been in the service?” We both nodded. “Kid comes in, lives at the mansion, comes around watches us train, shit like that. Sometimes he brings a broad.” Red grinned. “Usually ain’t the same one.”

“Must be a pain in the ass,” I said, “having him around.”

“Naw, not really. Most of the time him and the broad are just at the mansion. They got a pool over there and a game room, place is like a fucking resort, you know. Shit, they been here about two weeks, now. We ain’t seen him for ten minutes.”

“Big bucks, huh?”

“Biggest. You ever hear of the old man? Jerry Costigan? He’s worth more than Saudi Arabia, for crissake. Kid goes everywhere with about eight bodyguards.” Red continued to survey the room. “Damn,” he said, “sure would be nice to see a little pussy.”

“How long you been here,” I said.

“Eight months. If it wasn’t for that skinny waitress we’d all be dating Mary Palm and her five daughters. Like fucking a bundle of kindling, but it’s better than nothing.”

The blond waitress in question hurried intently past us carrying a plate of gray pork chops toward a table in tke front.

“Queen of the Transpan Forces,” Red said. “Any of us get the clap, we all get the clap.” He laughed and drank the rest of his whiskey. “Just pass it back and forth through Doreen.”

We got another round.

“Where’d you work before?” Hawk said.

“Angola, Zambia. Put in some time in Rhodesia.”

“The old country,” Hawk murmured.

“Construction?” I said.

“Shit, no, man. Soldiering.”

“Mercenary?” Hawk said.

Red drank some whiskey. “Bet your ass, mercenary. Soldier of fucking Fortune, Jim. All of us are.”

“Done a little of that,” Hawk said.

“Yeah? Where’d you soldier?”

“Did a little Foreign Legion,” Hawk said.

“No shit? The Frenchies?” Red laughed with pleasure. “C’est la fucking guerre, monsieur. Huh?” He put his hand out palm up and Hawk slapped it.

“Oui,” Hawk said.

“You in Indochina?” Red said.

“Un huh.”

“Missed that,” Red said. “But I done some shit in‘ Malaya. God damn, I love it. A fire fight. Jesus. A fire fight’s better than fucking, you know. That’s got to be the most fun in the world. You like that shit?”

“Fucking ain’t bad,” Hawk said.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Red said. “How ‘bout you, pal. Where’d you soldier?”

“Korea,” I said.

“He got medals,” Hawk said.

“And seventy-eight bucks a month,” I said.

“Mercenary’s better,” Red said. “Get the same fun and a lot more bread.”

We finished the round and had another. “You quit soldiering after Korea?” Red said.

“Yes.”

“Don’t like the life?”

“Don’t like the chain of command.”

Red nodded. “Yeah, that’s a pain in the ass. The chicken shit. That’s why I like this. I don’t like the chicken shit, I quit. Move on. Fuck it.” He drank his whiskey. “And the guys, man. I love soldiering with the guys, you know?”

I nodded. “I know,” I said.

“So what do you do for a living,” Red said.

I shrugged. “Little of this, little of that.”

“Mostly we scuffle,” Hawk said.

Red tipped his head. “Scuffle?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re good with guns, we got quick hands.”

“Shit,” Red said, “that ain’t bad. You working now?”

“No. We’re sort of looking.”

Red turned toward the bartender and gestured. “Man die of fucking thirst around here,” he said.

“What kind of soldiering you do around here,” I said.

“We’re training right now.”

“Giving or receiving,” I said.

Red frowned. “Huh?”

“Are you training people or being trained.”

“Being trained,” Red said. “Counter-insurgency.”

“Figured you might already know that,” Hawk said.

“Oh man, shit,” Red said. “Course I know that. I been an insurgent and a counter-insurgent and an imperialist fucking warmonger and fifty-three other things. But they pay me and they want to train me and I get trained.”

“How come a weapons manufacturer is training troops?” I said.

Red shrugged. “Supposed to familiarize us with some new-generation weapons. So’s we can go train customers. But I know counter-insurgency training when I take it.”

“We were out past there yesterday,” I said. “Just cruising around and the security people told us to screw.”

“Yeah. Security’s real tight.”

“Don’t want people slipping in and scooping samples,” I said.

Red grinned. “Ain’t people slipping in,” he said. “They don’t want people slipping out.” His face had reddened and for the first time his speech began to slur a little. If I’d had that many boilermakers they could iron clothes on me.

“You’re out,” I said.

“Sure, they don’t worry about us. They worry about the workers.”

“The workers don’t get out?”

Red shook his head. He drank. Looked around the room. His eyes picked up the thin waitress and followed her across the room. “Getting drunk,” Red said. “Always tell when Doreen starts looking better.”

“How come the workers don’t get out?” I said.

“Got me,” Red said, his eyes still on Doreen. “Probably paying them shit and afraid one of them will complain to somebody. Most of them are foreign, probably illegal.”

“Complain about pay and get deported,” I said.

Red shrugged. “Company gets its ass burned too, though.”

Doreen hurried past, frowning with concentration. Red patted her backside as she passed. She neither slowed nor looked at him.

“They hiring out there,” I said to Red.

“Don’t think so. You guys know weapons?”

“Up to mortars,” I said. “For sure. After that, maybe.”

Red nodded. “Anything else? Sometimes they need instructors.”

“Hand-to-hand,” Hawk said. “PT. Arm wrestling.”

Red grinned, “Yeah, too bad we ain’t looking for arm wrestlers. We got a PT and unarmed combat guy. Big old buck name of Elson.”

“Billy Elson?” I said.

“Naw, Lionel Elson from Hamtramck, Michigan.”

“Don’t know him,” I said. “How about PT?”

Red laughed. “I look like a guy does a lot of PT. Lionel does the PT but most of us don’t pay much attention. Him and Teddy Bright.”

“Well, ask around, will you? We’re looking for work and we’d rather work in some out-of-the-way place, you know?”

“Where there ain’t a lot of cops,” Red said.

“Where it’s quiet,” Hawk said.

Red winked and finished his drink. “I can dig it, babe. Lot of us got places we better not go back to.”

Hawk smiled pleasantly.

Red rocked slightly against the bar. “I’ll ask the cadre chief,” he said. “You never know.”

“Hardly ever,” I said.