Dead Men's Dust

    Walter bunched his prodigious cheeks in what was supposed to be a smile. 'Got my very own Lear.'

    'You're telling me,' I said. But he didn't get the joke. When he didn't respond, I added, 'Even a jet couldn't have got you all the way across country in that time.'

    'It's a very fast jet,' Walter said, and now the smile was genuine. 'Nah, I've been in L.A. since early this morning.'

    'Can I ask the reason why?'

    'Of course not,' he said.

    It was a game. His game; one that Walter loved to play.

    I offered my deduction, to see what lies he came up with.

    'When we talked on the phone I piqued your interest. Got you thinking, huh?'

    'Pure speculation.'

    'So tell me, Walter, who is the Harvestman?'

    'What makes you think I know that?'

    'Don't play with me, Walter. You haven't flown all the way across the country for nothing. You're here because you know who he is. You're on a containment mission.'

    Walter jammed the unlit cigar between his teeth. 'I gave up smoking eight months ago,' he said. 'Still carry a cigar around for moments just like this.'

    'So it's not for celebrations?'

    'No, I'm talking about a reminder of how much I've fucked up in the past.' For the first time I honestly believed him. 'There's a lot of truth in that concept, Hunter. That your past always catches up with you in the end.'

    'Yeah,' I agreed. His words echoed my own feelings precisely. He sat down on the bed I'd recently vacated, fists on his ample thighs.

    'The Harvestman knew me,' I told him. 'He also knew Rink. Makes me think he has to be a member of the security community.'

    Walter nodded but didn't volunteer anything.

    'Is he one of yours, Walter?'

    Walter shook his head. 'Not CIA.'

    'Secret Service?'

    He wagged a fat finger, pleased with his top student.

    'So how is it you're involved?' I asked. 'Last I heard the CIA and Secret Service were separate entities.'

    'Like you said, Hunter. Your call got me thinking, made me tie a few loose strings together. It's a joint agency decision that I step in as SAC.'

    'Special agent in charge? You pulled rank?'

    'Of course.' He smiled.

    'Figures,' I said. 'So what happened? What makes a bodyguard turn into a killer?'

    'Is there a difference, Hunter? Isn't the purpose of a bodyguard to kill or be killed? We're talking brass tacks here, none of that ethical bullshit you see in the movies.'

    'There's a huge difference, Walter,' I reminded him. 'Bodyguards protect the sanctity of life; they don't take trophies to display on their dining room wall.'

    'Not in the classic sense,' he demurred. 'But they take trophies nonetheless. You just gotta speak to any long-serving agent and they wear their trophies on their sleeves. Metaphorically speaking.'

    I shook off his comment and sat down on the bed next to him.

    'So are you going to tell me?' I pressed.

    'Situation's kind of delicate, Hunter,' Walter said. He shifted un- comfortably and the bed creaked in protest.

'Everything you touch is delicate. What's so different this time?'

    'Do you realize the extent of the scandal if it gets out that a former Secret Service agent's responsible for murdering upward of twenty people?' He turned his large head to me, and I could see the pain behind his slick brow. 'Christ, Hunter, it'll be ten times worse than all the screaming over the Iraq campaign. It'll lend weight to the naysayers who're preaching that our government is allowing the murder of innocents in order to justify the invasion. Hell, if they find out the Harvestman has had free rein for over four years, do you think for one moment they'll believe it wasn't with the blessing of the government? Next thing you know, the crazies will be swearing that he's still on our payroll and has been taking out people who knew the truth behind JFK's assassination.'

    'Are you telling me that you've been aware of him for four years? That nothing's been done to catch the crazy son of a bitch? Makes me wonder if he's still on the payroll.'

    'He's only recently come to our notice,' Walter said. 'FBI have been investigating a number of random killings spread the length and breadth of the country. It hasn't been an easy task, simply because most of the bodies have never been found. People were reported missing, presumed dead. Others, well, you know the headlines, they've turned up missing body parts. Other than the MO nothing could tie the murders together.'

    'What? No forensics? I find that a little hard to believe.' Frustration made me get up and stomp the length of the bedroom. I leaned on a dressing table that wouldn't have looked anachronistic in the 1970s. Hands on the