All Greek To Me

sir.”

  “Said the chicquita lolita with the hot damn wheels. That what they driving in hell this year?”

  She smiled tightly and decided, yeah, just go for it. Just do it. Otherwise it was just a dumb fucking move with no rhyme and no reason. If she wanted a second opinion, she wasn’t going to find a more expert witness. “I’ve been having a hard time telling where hell stops and America begins.”

  “You and me, Marine. ‘Course - you dead. I just got handed the Big Chicken Dinner,” he said.

  “Way I heard it,” Jane said, “that contractor had it coming.”

  “Contractor. Huh.” He looked her straight in the eye and seemed to make the same decision that she had. “That ‘contractor’ was a direct report. Straight to the top. Talking hearts and minds in the provinces by day and running death squads and torture camps by night. OK, you and me, we know that shit goes down. But the fresh meat they send over,” he shut his mouth a minute. Then told the rest of the story. “One kid refused to play when they handed her a mess of electrodes. She recognized what they were handing her was an illegal order, and she turned that ‘contractor’ in. Blew the whistle. She was one of mine. One of my last. The facts were supposed to die with her.”

  “Lot of that going around,” Jane murmured.

  “I am pleased to say,” the Colonel said, “that we may be overrun with buddy-fuckers, but they are almost exclusively concentrated among the top brass. Above my pay grade. Which got reduced a step for every rib I broke, by the way. But I’m telling you, right?”

  “Looks like you’re making the best of it, sir.” They were silent a minute, looking at the kids at work.

  “We still the few and the proud. They let me keep a part of my pension, as hush money I’m guessing, and these young brothers and sisters need something to do. We got us a little co-op thing going.”

  “You fix cars then?”

  “Fix cars, paint cars, break ‘em down for parts, crush ‘em.”

  “Buy, sell, trade?”

  “Have done. Pretty much anything that keeps money moving here in the ‘hood. Mow grass on vacant lots. Run a little BBQ takeout joint on the side.” He pointed to the smoker, where the kids were taking turns poking the pig to test for doneness. “Just trying to keep things lively, don’t you know.”

  “I’ll be honest, sir. I came on purpose to see you.”

  “Do tell. All the way from that undiscovered country. I’m honored.”

  “I wanted to hear the truth and I thought I might hear it from you.”

  “What truth is that exactly.”

  “That it isn’t just a few bad apples, sir. That this country is at war with us.”

  “Us,” he repeated.

  “With its own people. And just about everybody else.”

  For answer, he reached into a hip pocket and pulled out a worn, creased square of paper and offered it to Jane. “Read it.” She began to read it silently. “Aloud,” he amended. She started over.

  “I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country's most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism.

  “I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service.

  “I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested.

  “During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.” - Major General Smedley D. Butler, USMC, 1935

  “1935,” he repeated. “Same as it ever was, or pretty much. Ain’t nothing new under the sun, Marine. Though they do seem to be setting new records in some old categories. Seven Middle East countries in five years, for instance. They’re a little behind schedule, but Libya makes four. And it’s the gateway to Africa. So we got us a world war all right. But this country ain’t going it alone, by any means. We got lots of help out there. The world over. If there’s a difference between then and now, it’s probably this - this time around there ain’t nobody trying to fix it. Nobody who counts. In fact, it looks to me like they doubling down.” He gazed at her with grim significance.

  Jane folded the paper slowly and handed it back.

  “You’re saying - there’s nothing to be done?”

  “Said no marine, ever,” he remonstrated with arch disapproval. “But that is another question entirely. With many answers.” He nodded toward the garage. “This is mine. At the moment. Anything else I can help you with today?”

  She looked thoughtful. “Could use a ride downtown.”

  “Something wrong with the hoss you rode in on?”

  She made a face. “Not my style. And there seems to be a slight problem with the serial number. Nothing a good sharp file couldn’t fix.”

  “I got you. Lima Charlie. If you’re just looking for a loaner, how ‘bout you borrow that jeep yonder.” He pointed. “Keys already in it. You can park it any old where. It’ll find it’s way back. It always does.” They stood looking at one another, not quite knowing how to break things off. Hugging and slapping each other’s butts just didn’t feel right somehow.

  They were saved by a twenty-something with a dripping oil filter. “What you got there, cadet? Other than a pure T mess,” the Colonel bent to examine the object, as Jane gave half a salute and started for the jeep. From the entrance of the body shop, the Colonel called after her.

  “You know, as devil pups go, you were one of the best.”

  She flashed him a grin. “For a split tail, you mean.”

  “One of the best,” he repeated.

  It was an open jeep with a crust of snow still frozen to the seat and slush on the floorboards. Jane brushed at the snow, but she knew damn well when she sat down the damp would seep straight through the seat of her pants. She also knew there was something she could not put off any longer.

  A one-sided war was no better than a massacre. She had already chosen sides. There was no sitting this thing out. Like it or not, she was going to have to take a stand and enlist for the duration in what was shaping up to be history’s most hopeless cause. John or no John. And it was looking more like ‘no-John’ all the time. She checked her phone yet again. Nada.

  “I’m legally dead, I’m unintentionally pregnant, I may have permanently misplaced my husband, and it looks like I’m going to have to help a bunch of pacifists save the world from a bunch of psychopaths and megalomaniacs. What could possibly go wrong?” she muttered, as she hit the gas a little too hard and sped off in search of the safe house.