I had something to run from. Something I could leave. A woman who wasn’t sure she even wanted my child, and an international plot to overthrow a dictator. I’d gone from wondering if I could pay my bills, to the possibility of fatherhood and war with Cuba. My God. Life and death. Freedom and Communism. Had my father been faced with such problems, maybe he would have stayed. Nah, my father would have left even earlier. The heaviness, the weight of the world in one decision, all rested on me. And on James. And on Angel and probably on Jackie and Emily.
I couldn’t comprehend all the consequences. And when you are unable to fathom the depth of a problem-when you are incapable of sorting out the logic in a situation, then I guess the best thing to do is to cover your ass. And in a brief moment of sobriety, that’s what I decided to do, although protecting my ass meant protecting my ass, Em’s ass, and the unborn baby’s ass. Still a weighty problem.
“I stopped by Gas and Grocery and got a case of oil. You owe half. I’ll get you the bill.” James walked in, and before any polite greeting, he hit me with the fact that I owed him.
“If I’m going to get socked for the bill, where’s the oil?”
“I put it behind the false wall in the truck.”
He walked to the refrigerator and took out a beer, frowning at me on the couch. I’d been home for two hours and he was just getting off work. He twisted off the top and took a long, slow pull on the bottle. Cans this week were cheaper at several outlets, but our one guilty pleasure was glass bottles. Somehow, the beer tastes better. It just does.
“So what do you think?”
He didn’t ask about dinner. He didn’t ask how Em was or if I’d sold any more systems. He just went right to the heart of the matter.
“Well, everything Angel said made sense.”
“And what about that Angel? Jesus, he seems in tune with exactly what we’re doing and what’s going on around us. It scared the hell out of me.”
“James, if he’s right, he could be the best thing that ever happened to us. And if he’s wrong-” I hadn’t thought that through. He seemed so logical, I didn’t doubt him. Two weeks ago I thought he was a crackhead. Today, I was willing to bet my life on him. Literally.
“Let’s assume he’s one hundred percent, pard. If he is, if the CIA guy was phony, then there’s a strong possibility that Jackie is involved.”
“Oh, come on. She was duped too.” I believed in her, if only because she was Em’s friend. “That’s assuming that he was phony.”
“Why are they coming to her?”
“James, she told us. She spread it around that she thought Rick was involved in illegal activities. Jackie found out that her husband is involved with the plot to overthrow Cuba. The two of them have already decided to break up, but now she thinks she has something on him. So, she threatens to go to the CIA or another authority. Maybe she wants a bigger settlement.”
“Got proof that it happened that way?”
“I told you from the beginning what Jackie told Emily. She told her that Rick Fuentes was involved in a terrorist plot.”
“Yeah. But Jackie didn’t know that Rick was being blackmailed. If you’re right, and she considered going to the CIA, she thought he was a willing participant. And, she probably was hoping he was guilty. I have a feeling she’d like to see him squirm a little bit.”
“But now she’s getting threatening calls.”
“If this Krueger is really from the CIA, they’ll help her.”
I shook my head. “Oh, yeah. What are the three things people have learned not to believe? The check is in the mail, I won’t come in your mouth, and I’m from the government and I’m here to help you.”
“Angel seemed pretty sure Krueger wasn’t for real.”
“Angel also said if the CIA knew of a plot against Castro-”
James finished the sentence. “They’d applaud the effort. Jesus, you don’t think that Krueger and the CIA are-?”
“Let’s find out.”
“What, now we’re going to stalk the CIA?”
“Nah.” For a buck fifty I dialed 411.
“Information. What city and state?”
“Miami, Florida.”
“What listing?”
“Central Intelligence Agency.”
There was as short pause. “I have no listing for that agency.”
“Can you just try the initials, CIA?”
“Oh. Like the CIA?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that one.
“There is no listing.”
“James, you’ve got Internet at the Cap’n?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s Google the CIA.”
James smiled. “All right, amigo. And Lindsey is working late. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll invite me to spend the night.”
Lindsey was glad to see him. Cap’n Crab was busy, but the petite brunette found time to hang around the back room and chitchat. She seemed to be good at that. She told him what had happened between the time he’d left and right now, then she told him how she anticipated the night would go, then she asked if he had any plans later on, and I figured that both of them already knew what the night would bring. And so it went. James kept her busy while I Googled.
There’s a home page for the CIA in Langely, Virginia, and they list an information number. When Lindsey and James walked out front, I called the number. The girl who answered was very officious. She asked if I was with the press, and since I wanted her to answer some questions, I told her I was. When she asked me what publication, I should have said I was a freelance journalist, but she’d taken me by surprise and I really didn’t know what to say. Directly in front of me lay the latest copy of Food Industry, so that’s what I told her.
“ Food Industry.”
“And what can I help you with?”
“If a group of American citizens were to be involved in a coup on a foreign government, would the CIA investigate?”
I heard her take a breath, then pause. “And again, who are you with?”
“ Food Industry. We’re doing a story on, uh, food and the CIA.”
“Uh-uh.” She wasn’t buying it. “Regardless, the CIA does not investigate American citizens.”
“You wouldn’t do surveillance on a couple of guys who may have seen something or know something they shouldn’t?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. However, you can tell Food Industry that the Central Intelligence Agency does not investigate, follow, or worry about American citizens on American soil. Okay?”
“One more question. Can you tell me if there’s any roster of CIA employees?”
“No. We couldn’t give out that information.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I hung up and picked up a copy of the Miami phone book. I thumbed through the Ks and found one William Krueger. What the hell. I dialed the number, wondering where I’d found this new courage. When you’ve been threatened, shot at, almost burned alive, pissed off the CIA, and knocked up the most beautiful girl in town, there’s not much left to be afraid of.
A lady answered.
“Um, is Mr. Krueger in?”
“He’s not home at the moment. I do expect him within the hour. Can I take a message or would you care to call back?”
“I want to be sure I’ve got the right William Krueger. Does he work for the CIA?”
“Yes. You’ve got the right one.”
I hung up. If they traced the call, Lindsey could take the heat.