The Journalist (4 page)

He noticed the three Pi beer drinkers at the
bar looking at him. He saluted with his Bohemia, smiled and ate the
shrimp he had been waving in the air.

Just then Joe came out of the kitchen and
eased in opposite Zack. Sweat rings under his white T-shirt arms,
he lit an Aliados cigar.

Zack said, “Feel free to smoke.”

“Thanks, want one?”

“Why are you tempting me?”

Joe–sharp chin, arrow-straight nose, scarless
lips–his best defense in a one-on-one encounter, Zack thought,
would be his penetrating, deep-green eyes that hypnotized you. He
also figured Joe’s shaved head would dazzle, or at least blind, any
opponent.

“How’s the shrimp?” Joe said.

“Perfect.”

Joe glanced at
The Times
’s front page.
He repeated Zackary’s much-used characterization of President
Armstrong, “The silver-tongued sonofabitch speaks tonight,
huh.”

“Joe, you’re not supposed to talk about your
Commander-In-Chief like that.”

Joe smiled. “But you can.”

“That’s different, I’m a newspaper
editor.”

“And I’m a cook and bottle washer.”

“Host, waiter—what else?”

Joe checked the front door, looked over his
customers then winked at Kim.

“That Kim is something else.” he said.

“I could never understand, why don’t you just
take Kim, go to your island and cook for her.”

“Too much to do.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Not done yet.”

“With what?”

“Other things.”

Zack wondered about that

had heard Joe say it several times. This seemed a good
time to open it up.

“Joe, you never told me

I always wondered

what are
those other things?”

He smiled. “Let’s just keep it at ‘other
things,’ many, here and there.”

Zack, chewing, “I see

okay

call Armstrong anything
you want.”

Joe noticed a couple getting up to leave.

“Be right back.” He went to the cash
register, rang up their check and returned.

Puffing his cigar, he said, “So, what’s Ben
going to say tonight, you think?”

“Dr. Lande promises

”
Zack leaned to read from the
Times
article. “

the speech to offer dynamic hope in the face of quote
cowardly acts from international outlaws end quote.”

Joe smiled. “You think Armstrong is
insane?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Your editorials.”

Zack bit the end of a shrimp. “You take my
stuff too seriously.”

“But you’re wrong.”

Zack paused in mid-chew. “Me?”

“He’s not insane. He knows exactly what he’s
doing.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“Let’s just say something is up.”

Zack wiped his lips with a paper napkin. “The
newspaper person in me is asking, could you please be more
specific?”

“The Pi people

they’re putting some pieces together

got a recording.”

Zack studied Joe, “And?”

“Let’s just say, algo está pasando.”

“You said that

something is up. What?”

“Si.”

“Yes is up?”

“Working on it.”

“Who?”

“Pi.”

“You, ah, run with those Pi guys a lot?”

Toothy smile: “Let’s just say Kim does.”

Zack sipped Bohemia. ”Come on, Joe, what is
the something that’s up?”

“I think Benny is making a move.”

“Move?”

He puffed his cigar. “Article One, Section
Nine, Paragraph Two of the U.S. Constitution mean anything to
you?”

Zack studied him for a second. “I’m not up on
my Constitutional arroz con camarones.”

“‘The privilege of the writ of habeas corpus
shall not be suspended, unless when in cases of rebellion or
invasion the public safety may require it.’”

“So?”

“That’s a big ‘so,’ my friend. Then there’s
Article Four, Section Four.”

Zack looked at him, “Like I said

”

“Article Four, Section Four: ‘The United
States government shall protect each State against invasion and/or
domestic violence

’” Joe raised a finger.
“‘

on application of the
Legislature

’” He puffed then blew smoke in
the air. “‘

or, when the Legislative cannot
be convened, the Executive branch can act unilaterally.’” He
smiled. “Get it?”

“Benny is the Executive.”

“Yep. Ben can lock up your mother, call up
the military, declare martial law, control transportation,
communication, restrict travel—you name it.”

“What about that or-when stuff, only when the
legislature can’t be convened?”

“Those guys are out of town, gone fishing
twenty six weeks a year, that’s not a problem, Benny can unilateral
till the cow’s come home, pretty much any time he chooses.”

“No, he can’t.”

“On top of all the above, emergency powers
statutes, Patriot Act revisions, additions, whereas and where
fores, yes he can.”

“You’re up on this stuff.” Zack paused. “What
move, you said before, is Ben up to?”

“A recording.”

“May I hear?”

“It’s patchy, got fudged up, we’re putting it
together.”

“May I help?”

“Not now.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know

not
sure yet

like I said, recording got fouled
up.”

Kim called over the bar, “Case, customer at
booth two wants to see the owner.”

Joe puffed his cigar. “Be right back.”

“Be nice.”

In a minute, Joe returned. “Guy wanted to
impress his date, said he knew me.”

“Was she?”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, where were we?”

“You know Benny’s Phoenix buddy, Lem
Beaulieu?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Bananas, hamburger joints, fried chicken,
exercise machines, diet patches, and banks

Guy owns all over the place.” He studied Zack, knew of the Jesuit
line in his resume, scratched his chin, said, “I’m confused.”

“What?”

“Parable of the talents, Them that have shall
get more, them that have not shall get less.”

“You referring to Matthew twenty-five?” Zack
said.

“Verse 29.”

A little surprised: “You do know it.”

“That surprise you?”

“That ‘more’ thing is not about making money,
it’s about using your talents, time, gifts, you know. That’s what
the catechism says, anyway.”

Joe shook his head. “Doesn’t jive.”

“I didn’t write it.” Zack chewed. “What about
the recording?”

Ignoring him, “And there’s another bow-legged
Benny pal, Linda Roy, can move fifty zillion on the stock exchanges
at the snap of her fingers. Along with six others, now controls
roughly ninety-five percent of the free world beauty products—hair,
lipstick, all that stuff

and despite all
the jawing about alternate fuel and electric gadgets, there’s still
the problem of the slick stuff.

Zack waited.

“Oil.” Joe puffed.

“Oil?”

“Kzillion barrels a day

world demand, price keeps going up, lot of U.S. mulah
is ending up in the hands of countries that don’t like us two
hoots

Lem and Linda, some of their
friends

Benny, they don’t like that so
much.”

Maybe the catechism gals and guys got it
wrong, maybe Matthew twenty-five is about money

what do I know.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know, honestly, I don’t know,” Zack
said.

“I think you do.” Joe noticed another couple
standing to leave. “Be right back.”

When Joe returned he continued like he had
never left.

“And many of those guys we been cagando en,
they have extra-long memories

hate our guts
down to here.” He pointed to the floor.

“Some would say, with reason.”

“We need to talk to our brothers. Instead, we
bomb them, starve them, kill them–for what? To sell them
hamburgers? TV sitcoms? High heel shoes,” he put his hand under his
chin, “skirts up to here

I’m telling you,
it’s coming home to roost.”

“I see you feel strongly about this.”

“Hypocrisy

supporting
military dictatorships around the world, the cost is nuts, not only
in money, but in human lives

torture,
executions, death squads

for what, so we
can get cheap oil, some capitalist can buy a bigger
house

make them Christian

the CIA puts so called dissidents into a foreign
country to stir up the pot, say they want to create an independent,
free democratic society

it’s mierda del
toro

the so called dissidents are funded
and controlled by our government, they don’t want freedom or give a
bull’s hind tit, they want to further the interests of the USA’s
capitalists.”

Case studied Zack’s eyes, “A honcho in your
former organization was a friend of freedom loving people
everywhere, a defender of the peoples' fight for a better
world

Pope Francis, he said, quote, “When
banks fail it’s a disaster, when people die of hunger, have no
place to sleep it’s, oh well.’” Case shook his head, “Men kill,
women weep, children die.”

“One thing about this that’s puzzling
me.”

“What?”

Zack looked around The Bimini Road,
indicating the interior with his fork. “Are not you a
capitalist?”

“If I’m a capitalist, Kim is Miss
Singapore.”

“You better be careful, you’ll end up in your
black bean soup.”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“Capitalist.”

“You mean
The Boca

it buys gas for
Veracity
, a little left over
for Bohemia, shrimp, rice, fishing bait.” Zack ate his last
shrimp.

Joe fixated: “Who made America capo de capo
tutti of the world

because we shower three
times a day?”

“Some of us don’t.” Zack smiled.

“Kill from afar. Bombing from the sky is like
the Fourth of July; bombing from a bus is different stuff.”

“Hey, Joe, that’s not bad.”

“Drone, cruise missile well placed—good for
ten stars and a Hail-to-the-Chief.”

“You’re on a roll.”

“Billion-dollar weight-loss industry while
millions starve. It’s insane. Greedy master with sharp teeth,
obscene appetite. Profit has no home.”

“Case, I was not aware you were a
Christian.”

“Some say Marxist.”

“That, too.”

“I’m not either.”

“Sure as hell sound like it.”

“Marx had the origin wrong.” He pointed up.
“There’s a better way.”

Zack chewing on a shrimp and Joe’s meaning,
said, “You mean religion?”

“Hardly. Too many fingers in that pie.”

“What, then?”

“Love, hate. Order, chaos. Blackness, light.
Give, take. Mostly take.” His eyes narrowed. “How many steaks can
you eat a week

”

“I sense you feel deeply about this.”

“Fat cats living in glass mansions a mile in
the sky, big as a mountain.” He paused for a moment. “You do
realize that at any given moment, in the hands of these ego idiots
protecting their bank accounts, we are all—you, me, Kim, all of
us—ten minutes from extinction, the whole kit and
caboodle

And for what

Buck-a-gallon gas

” He hit
the table. “My arroz con camarones can give you that

”

Laughing, he hit the table again.

“Joe

”

“Just kidding. But something
hedores en
el
Benny’s woodpile.”

“What’s it smell like?”

“Road kill.”

About to take a last bite of rice, Zack said,
“Sorry I asked.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“What recording?”

Joe put a finger to his chest. “Who, me?”

Zack indexed humor, fact, rumor and what he
knew of Case’s Pi clientele. “This have anything to do with your Pi
pals?”

“Let’s just say, U.S. military
superiority

two, maybe three years we’re
top dog

then

” Joe
pursed his lips, “Then it’s over.”

“I’d go five.”

“Five?”

“Rounds, with Benny.”

Joe smiled. “Watch out—you may get what you
pray for.”

“Or what you deserve.”

“That, too.”

New customers arriving, Case stood. “Want
another Bohemia?”

“Sure, but tell me about this other up-thing,
stink in the woodpile, you were talking about. Something is up. The
recording?”

Joe grinned. “You’ll be the first to know
when the up is down. One Bohemia coming up.” He left.

Finished with dinner, longing for a cigarette
but instead popping a stick of Juicy Fruit, Zack eased out of the
booth and stood.

Leaving his New York Times companion
scattered about the table, passing the bar he spoke to Kim. “You
taking good care of Case?”

“Always.”

“Thank you.”

At the cash register Zack extended
compliments. “Case, I don’t know how you do it. Cook, wait tables,
lecture and twenty-five dollars for all of it.” Zack threw the
guest-check along with a twenty-dollar bill, a five and a single on
the counter.

Case, familiar with Zackary’s tipping habits,
said, “Gratuity included,” then wiped his fingers on his T-shirt
and drilled his gaze into Zack. “Mary O’Brien, just a second ago,
called again. I told her you wasn’t here.”

“Answer the phone, too. You are amazing.”

Case grinned. “On the house.”

“What did she

never
mind.”