Читать книгу Going Nuclear - Stephen Hart - Страница 7
Chapter Five
ОглавлениеAt his apartment that evening, Arthur decided to retreat into his own space. He lit a joint, plugged his headphones into the stereo, and put on a favorite album. Sitting back in his easy chair, inhaling the sweetly scented smoke, drifting in and out of the seductive riffs of Carlos Santana’s guitar, he had just closed his eyes when the phone rang. Who could that be? he wondered. It rang again. Maybe, Donna? He took off the headphones, placed the joint on the edge of the coffee table, and picked up the phone.
“Hello,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically mellow.
“Hello,” answered an unfamiliar female voice with a southern accent, clearly not Donna. “Is this Arthur Weiss?”
“Yes,” Arthur replied cautiously.
“Well, my name is Billie Lee. You don’t know me, but I was a close friend of Joshua Taylor at Illinois. And I was wondering if we could get together and talk a little. I understand you were with Joshua a few days before he was killed.”
“Yes. Yes, I was. But I didn’t know him very well or anything.” What’s going on? Arthur wondered.
“That doesn’t matter. I’m just trying to gather any information I can. According to the authorities, his murder is still unsolved. So I’m doing what I can to get to the bottom of the thing. It would only take a few minutes.”
“When do you want to meet?”
“Tonight, if possible. How about Nicola’s on Highway 31?”
At the agreed-upon hour, Arthur was sipping hot coffee at a back table when a terrific-looking girl with long blonde hair walked in. She wore boots, tight jeans, and a leather jacket. Hoping that she was Billie Lee, Arthur watched her look around before heading in his direction. She was tan and thin and moved like a cat.
As she approached his table she asked,. “Are you Arthur Weiss? If you are, I’ve been trying to track you down for weeks.”
Arthur stared at her for a moment before answering. “Yes,” he stammered, standing as he spoke. “Please, have a seat.”
They sat down together, and a waitress appeared. Billie Lee ordered coffee, and Arthur pointed to his cup for a refill. “I’m so glad I found you,” Billie Lee sighed. “I’ve run into so many dead ends lately.”
“So why the sudden interest in Joshua? He’s been dead for months now, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, but before his murder, we were very close.” Billie Lee’s intense gaze made Arthur’s face turn red. “We weren’t lovers or anything like that, but we were into political things like SDS, big time. It got pretty heavy toward the end. That’s why I think the government killed him.”
“You really believe that? I mean—”
“They watched us all the time. They had files on everyone. And Joshua had some pretty extreme ideas. That’s why it’s important for me to keep going until I’ve done everything I can to find out what happened.”
“And the authorities say they don’t know anything?”
“Yeah. The FBI went through the motions, but they claim they came up with nothing, which is not that surprising. So I’ve been following every lead I can, which brings me to you. Apparently you were with him shortly before he was killed?”
“Yes, I guess so. I knew him a little from the Chemistry Department and from an antiwar demonstration we were both at.”
“The antiwar demonstration. The last one before he was shot.” Billie Lee nodded, apparently recalling the event. “I would have been there myself, but I had to see some people in Chicago. Was there anything unusual about that demonstration?”
“Not really. Some cops showed up, and Joshua yelled something at them. Before we knew it, we were being chased by one of them. But the cop never got us. And then a few days later, Joshua was dead. So I don’t know if his death had anything to do with the chase or not, but it doesn’t seem like it now. By the way, how did you happen to get my name?”
“One of the investigators gave me the names of people who had been contacted about the case. I guess he felt sorry for me or something. Anyway, you were on the list. According to the report, you went to the campus police and asked about Joshua.” She gently closed her eyes as she took a sip of the coffee that had just been placed in front of her.
“I don’t think I can help you. I would if I could, but I have no idea what happened.”
“That’s okay. Nobody else seems to know anything either. If you do happen to think of something though, please let me know right away. Here’s my home number.” Billie Lee passed a slip of paper to Arthur. She then sat up straight, took a deep breath, and smiled. “So. You must have moved here recently. I looked for you everywhere in Champaign-Urbana. Then I came across your change of address.”
“I got here a few days ago. It’s weird not knowing anyone. I guess I still miss being on campus.”
“I know what you mean. I graduated over a year ago and moved to Chicago and still can’t get used to being on my own. And the bar scene gets old after a while. Did you leave a girlfriend when you came over here?”
“No. I dated around, but I never connected with anyone that way.” Why did she ask that? Arthur wondered.
“It’s probably the times.”
“What do you mean?”
“People our age just don’t seem to be pairing up as young as they used to.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I think it’s because more kids are going to college, and when they’ve finished, they want to experience more of life before they settle down, especially the girls.”
“The girls?”
“Sure. We’re becoming more independent than we used to be. Many of us want to participate in political or social movements, and we want to have some fun while we’re at it. We don’t want it all to stop just because we graduated.”
“I can’t argue with that. Look, I haven’t been here long enough to know a good place to get a drink on Monday night, but if you’re not on a tight schedule, you could come over to my place. We could listen to some music, and you could tell me what you and Joshua did in SDS.”
“Okay!” Billie Lee replied, beaming. “Do you have any wine, by any chance?”
“We can pick some up on the way.”
An hour later, a Simon and Garfunkel album played softly in the background as Arthur and Billie Lee kissed passionately on the couch. As Billie Lee’s lips slid down his face and rested against his throat, Arthur asked gently, “Do you want to go into the other room?”
“Maybe,” she murmured. She pressed her mouth and body hard against his, pushing him backwards against the couch. When she came up for air a moment later, she purred, “Okay. How do we get there?”
“This way.” After disentangling himself from her and knocking over an empty wineglass in the process, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom. Without saying anything, Billie Lee sat down gracefully on the edge of his bed and began pulling off her boots, then her jeans. Arthur started to undress himself but paused to watch her. As she gently tossed her last piece of clothing, her bra, onto a chair, he continued to stare, mesmerized by her tan lines and long legs.
“Come on. You too,” she coaxed.
Under the covers, their naked bodies melted together and began to move. Arthur couldn’t believe that he was actually having sex with a girl this exciting, this perfect. An hour later, he lay quietly with Billie Lee, recalling every part of her incredible body. Her face rested on his chest. “That wasn’t bad,” Arthur said to the back of her head. “Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” she agreed, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek.
“I hoped something like this would happen when I first saw you, but I didn’t believe it really would. It never does.”
“Come on. I’ll bet you’ve had your share of girls. It’s not that hard these days.”
“It’s hard to meet someone like you. I didn’t realize how lucky Joshua was.”
“I told you. Joshua and I never did anything like this.” She sounded mildly peeved. “He was very much in love with his girlfriend. She was from his home town and everything. But in a way, you remind me a little of him.”
“Really?”
“Not the way you look or anything. It’s something else. Probably the way you listen and talk—very analytical. It probably has something to do with being a research chemist.” She laughed gently.
“So how did you get to know Joshua?”
“Mostly SDS stuff,” Billie Lee replied, snuggling into his chest. “Organizing demonstrations, writing letters to senators and congressmen, things like that. He was very good at that stuff, and he could cut through the bullshit, too. I really miss that.”
“What kind of bullshit did he cut through?”
“Well, like SDS itself. He believed we weren’t getting anywhere because the government didn’t take us seriously. We may have annoyed them from time to time, but it was like they thought we were a sick joke. He said we needed to do something radical, something that would pose a real threat to the security of the country, so the government would have to listen to us for a change.”
“Like what?” Arthur asked earnestly.
“Different things, different things. Joshua thought we could threaten to put LSD in the drinking water of some major city, or make a nuclear bomb, or threaten to set off forest fires across the country—something that would really get through to them. He believed the only way we could force the Nixon administration to the peace table with us would be through drastic action here at home.”
“He did mention something like that to me once, but I couldn’t tell what he was getting at. I thought it might have just been talk. Of course, you knew him a lot better than I did.”
“Oh, he was radical, but he was quiet about it. And he was smart too, and he had nerve. That’s what I liked most about him, his nerve.”
“You have to wonder if that’s what got him killed.”
“I do.” Billie Lee nuzzled closer against Arthur. “Of course, an establishment guy like you probably supports the war.” She moved one of her thighs up and down against his.
“No,” Arthur answered, clearing his throat. “I think the war is stupid like everyone else. Actually, it’s probably easier for me to see that than most because my dad works at the Pentagon. He’s a colonel in the Army.”
“Really? Why would anyone want a job like that?”
“I don’t know. It probably has something to do with stability. It makes life a lot simpler for some people.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, in the Army you don’t have to worry about what you’re supposed to do or when you’re supposed to do it, because the Army tells you. The Army tells you what to wear, what to eat, where to live, and what your status in life is. In fact, they put a symbol of your status right on your uniform for you and everyone else to see.”
“So rank is everything.”
“Oh, yeah. And people like my dad really get into it.”
“Sounds like a bad scene.” Billie Lee shook her head.
“It was. My brother and I were always under pressure to get better grades in school and to do better in sports because our dad was an officer in the Army. We could never just be ourselves. It was kind of sick, if you think about it.”
“Maybe. But a lot of fathers want their sons to do well.”
“Yes, but it was like he couldn’t accept us for who we really were. We always had to prove we were winners. Of course, my brother seemed to thrive on that kind of life, the bastard. He was an all-conference linebacker in high school and graduated from college with an electrical engineering degree and a ROTC commission.”
“Sounds like you want a different kind of life for yourself.”
“I do. I want a life based on individualism, not conformity. I want to do the things that interest me, for me, not to prove I’m better than other people.”
“So you don’t care about rank or prestige.”
“Not rank for the sake of rank.”
“You just want to follow your heart.”
“Yes, actually. I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. I just want to follow my heart.”
Some time later, Billie Lee pulled away from Arthur and sat up. She yawned and stretched, then looked at her watch.
“Are you leaving?” Arthur asked, feeling somewhat disappointed. He pulled the sheet up to his chest.
“Yes, I have to go. I have a lot to do tomorrow, but don’t worry. I’ll call you. We still have a lot to talk about.” She smiled at him and added, “I kind of like South Bend.”
“Good,” he replied, not knowing what she wanted to talk about, but glad that he would probably see her again. She got dressed and kissed Arthur lightly on the mouth. “I know my way out,” she said softly. “We’ll talk soon.” She squeezed his shoulder.
After she had gone, Arthur began mulling over what he had said to her about his father and his brother. Feeling uneasy about being so open with someone he had just met, he walked over to the closet and opened a suitcase that he had yet to unpack. He fished out a letter from his brother, a letter he had kept close at hand since he received it, a letter that had apparently been written shortly before Tom had been killed. He opened it and began reading.
Arthur,
So how’s it going? Life here in the real world is as bad as ever, a real shit sandwich. Sometimes I have to wonder about things. We grew up, or at least I did, visualizing war as some kind of noble contest, a clash of ideals. But nothing could be further from the truth. It’s land mines planted by people you see every day, sniper attacks, bullshit from the top, bombed-out villages, crawling through the bush in all kinds of weather, and more bullshit from the top. We have to live with refugees created by our destruction, drugs, locals who hate us for good reason, indiscriminate killings to release pent-up frustration, and more bullshit from the top. On a good day we take an enemy position. The next day we give it up. The only thing that changes are the faces in my platoon because some of the guys we had yesterday aren’t here today. After a while, you actually get used to the killing and death. That’s probably the biggest difference between life here and life in the States. Here, life seems so cheap, is so cheap. The only time it starts seeming important again is when you’re getting close to the end of your tour of duty. And on top of everything else, as a platoon leader, I’m expected to inspire these guys, give them a sense of purpose, a will to fight. I tried at first, but I could see that no one was buying my bullshit. So now, all I do is try to help them survive and get back home.
I think about Dad and wonder if fighting the Nazis in North Africa and Europe was a lot different than this. It must have been. No matter how this ends, no one is going to actually be proud of what we’ve done here. No way. When I played football, Dad used to say it was good preparation for combat. More bullshit. There are no rules here, no clear objectives. It would be like football players using automatic weapons on each other on the field, then running up into the stands to slaughter the fans there, then attacking and raping the cheerleaders on the way back. I’m sure you get the picture. I guess the only thing I can say to you about this mess is, don’t make the same mistake I did. Stay out of Vietnam. And please, don’t let Mother see this letter or know anything about how it is here. She has enough to worry about. I’ll see you when I return to civilization.
Tom
P.S. Have you ever thought about how things aren’t the way they seem to be? How things may, in fact, be exactly opposite of the way they seem. I think about dying quite a bit these days, and I have to ask myself, would it really be such a tragedy? It seems to me that dying in Vietnam could actually be a better fate than a lifetime of struggle against “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” after which, you wind up in the same place anyway. I mean, what’s the point? Why not go out a hero and get it over with? I think we’re all playing a game we don’t understand.
Arthur folded the letter carefully and eased it back into the envelope. To some people, Tom had in fact died a hero. But what was the point?
Later that night, at a pay phone near a motel parking lot, a solitary figure dialed the FBI office in Chicago. “Yeah. Torkis here,” he mumbled into the receiver.
“So, Vic, where did you end up?” the penetrating voice on the other end asked. It was the voice of his boss, Frank Bono.
“South Bend, Indiana. Jesus, she’s a crazy driver. I followed her down on the interstate this afternoon. She met up with some guy. I believe his name is Arthur Weiss.”
“Is he black?”
“No, some white guy. I don’t know anything about him yet. I’ll put in a request to see what we have on him tomorrow.”
“Okay, okay. His name isn’t ringing any bells for me, either. I keep hoping she’s going to take us to some kind of meeting with the Panthers or something, but it just isn’t happening. Is this Arthur Weiss young?”
“Yeah, he looks young. He could be a student, or an SDS activist, or who knows? I have no idea. They met at a restaurant and then went to his apartment. Looks like they did a little partying there.”
“That doesn’t exactly surprise me.”
“Yeah, I hear she gets around, but she must have had some reason for coming over here and meeting this guy. We’ll have to see if Washington knows anything.”
“Yeah, if this Weiss turns out to be hot, some kind of extremist or something, we could end up bugging his phone and maybe his apartment, too. Is she at his apartment now?”
“No, she left his place and took a room at a motel. That’s where I am now, the motel parking lot.”
“So, are you planning to come back tonight?”
“No, it’s too late. I’m going to spend the night here in South Bend. I saw a Holiday Inn down the road. I’m going to try that.”
“That’s good. You should probably stay and make some arrangements to keep those two under surveillance in case things heat up.”
“Yeah, I was planning to meet with the Special Agent in Charge at the South Bend residence office in the morning and fill him in. If he has enough people to cover the situation, I should be back before noon. Otherwise, I’ll just stay on.”
“That’s good. That’s good. I don’t know what she’s up to. But I know she has to be up to something. Whatever it is, we have to nail it down and get a report off to Washington. We haven’t had anything good to report for a while now.”
Half an hour later, Vic unlocked the door to the room that he had just rented at the Holiday Inn and dragged himself in. He set his notebook carefully on the desk, took off his jacket, and perched on the edge of the bed. He stared at the phone on the nightstand for about twenty seconds, then picked up the receiver, dialed his home number, and listened. There was no answer. So where is she this time? He wondered. Cheating on me in a motel room like this one?
His wife was almost ten years younger than he was, trim, still looked good, could easily attract another man. And more significantly, she seemed to have lost all interest in him, including sex. How long has it been? he wondered. Six months, a year? It was almost like she had given up on their relationship altogether. Maybe it had something to do with his busier work schedule, being on the road more. The past year had been a hectic but productive one, with several breakthroughs on big cases. But had the extra time on the job actually undermined their marriage? No, he didn’t think so.
His mind turned to her apparent infatuation with her boss. Was he the problem? That seemed like a better bet. But could it really be that simple? Probably not. For years, their marriage had seemed solid, with a kind of mutual empathy between them that made communication easy, no matter what the situation. So how could things have suddenly changed so much? Maybe it was the times. Social change was definitely in the air. Social norms were being challenged at every turn. But were their personal circumstances really that different these days? She definitely seemed preoccupied. But with what? Vic shook his head.
And now that his only daughter was away at college, the house itself seemed almost unfamiliar at times. Maybe that’s it, he thought. Maybe their life had been too centered around Denise. Maybe they had to find each other again.
He hung up the phone and turned on the television. The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson was on. The loner’s friend, he mused.