“I imagine,” McAllen said, looking up from the notebook, “you want to know what comes under ‘basic living expenses.’ ”
“I want to know, first, if you’re saying we have to sell our house.”
Carmen was wondering that too, among other things. But most of all she was wondering, if they did move, what she’d tell her mother. While Scallen was saying, yes, it would involve relocation, for their safety, but he didn’t think it would be necessary to sell the house. Carmen thinking that if she told her mother they were going on a vacation her mom would get sick, as she usually did, sometimes putting herself in the hospital. Scallen saying he believed he could make a deal with Nelson Davies, have his company appear to be offering the house for sale and take care of the maintenance.
Wayne said, “Relocate where?”
Scallen looked at John McAllen who said, “Where we have marshals that supervise the program, experienced Witness Security inspectors. Right now we can offer you Lima, Findlay, Ohio . . .”
Wayne said, “Jesus Christ, those’re both on I–Seventy-five.”
McAllen paused, frowning. “What’s wrong with that?”
Carmen said, “Wayne?” with a look that meant, Don’t give your speech about driving through Ohio. She said to McAllen, “What else do you have?”
He was still frowning, maybe confused. “Well, a couple places in Missouri, one especially we recommend. But what I’d like is to finish with the regulations first, if that’s agreeable with you.”
He didn’t say “you people” and his tone seemed okay. Otherwise, Carmen was fairly sure Wayne would have jumped on him. At the moment he was holding on to the chair arms.
Before providing the aforementioned assistance, McAllen said, the attorney general would enter into what was called a Memorandum of Understanding with the person, which sets forth the responsibilities of that person and would include:
The agreement of the person to testify and provide information to all appropriate law-enforcement officials concerning all appropriate proceedings.
The agreement of the person to avoid detection by others of the facts concerning the protection provided.
Carmen was going to say,
The agreement to comply with legal obligations and any judgments against that person.
Carmen felt Wayne looking at her. She glanced over. He was giving her a look, mouth open, that meant, You believe it?
The agreement to cooperate with all reasonable requests of officers and employees of the government.
The agreement of the person not to commit any crime.
Carmen thought that one should cut Wayne loose, bring him up out of his chair. But he surprised her.
“Now, that’s a tough one,” Wayne said. “You understand, we could possibly go along with all that other bullshit, but to promise we won’t commit any crimes . . .” Wayne shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Colson,” McAllen said, “these regulations applied originally to federal offenders. I thought we explained that and I’m sorry if we didn’t make it clear. They still apply to ninety-seven percent of the people we take into the program, not counting their dependents and so on. The other three percent are honest citizens, such as you and the wife, who’re willing to avail yourselves of the program and its resources . . .”
The wife, Carmen thought.
“. . . which I must tell you is truly inspiring to us in law enforcement and the administration of criminal justice.” McAllen turned to the FBI special agent. “Paul, am I right about that or not?”
Scallen straightened, all of a sudden brought into it. He nodded saying, “That’s a fact, yes.”
Carmen saw him agreeing but with not much conviction now, shifting around in his chair as though he might have doubts and wanted to say something. But then McAllen was speaking again, reciting words Carmen believed were from a text.
Something about “in the judgment of the United States government that by reciprocating, protecting you to the fullest extent once you have agreed to testify, we can effect a major action against these elements of organized crime.”
After that for a few minutes there was silence, Carmen watching the U.S. marshal line up papers on his desk, getting ready for the next part, while those three ex-presidents and the one about to be looked down from the wall behind him.
“I have a question,” Wayne said to the FBI special agent.
Carmen looked over at Scallen, who seemed relieved now, even smiling a little as he said, “I imagine you’re gonna have all kinds of questions.”
“Just one,” Wayne said. “Do we get a ride home?”
A uniformed sheriff’s deputy sat in the living room watching television and another one was outside somewhere. State Police would drive by every once in a while.
Wayne and Carmen were in the kitchen having a beer, trying to decide whether to cook or go out.
Wayne said if they went out the cops would come along and he’d rather not be seen in public with them.
They would talk about the witness program, make comments and then not say anything, Wayne with his thoughts and Carmen with hers, taking their time getting into it. Carmen said she had a feeling the FBI agent didn’t think too highly of the program, or had some doubts about it. McAllen, she believed, was sincere but used to dealing with criminals. Wayne said he was getting used to being treated as one so what was the difference?
He said, “Can you see leaving here to live in Findlay, Ohio? Jesus. What was the other place, Lima?”
“Lima,” Carmen said, “like the beans.”
“Yeah, I imagine there’s all kinds of structural work down in Lima, Ohio. Can you see moving out and not telling anybody? Not even your mom? ...Wait a minute, maybe it isn’t such a bad idea.”
Carmen didn’t say anything.
Wayne sipped his beer, watching her. “What’re you thinking about?”
“If we did have to change our names,” Carmen said, “I was thinking it might be fun, huh? Pick whatever name you want.”
“The only one I’d ever think of using,” Wayne said, “you know what it is? Mats.”
“After your great-grandfather.”
“My dad’s.”
Carmen had seen pictures of him: Wayne with a bushy mustache, Mats the lumberjack, who’d come from Sweden to northern Michigan. Wayne’s mother and dad were still up there, near Alpena, growing Christmas trees on three hundred and twenty acres.
“My dad wanted to name me Mats.”
“But your mom won,” Carmen said, “and named you after a movie star. Moms get away with murder. Mine, you probably think, named me after the girl in the opera.”
“Tell you the truth,” Wayne said, “I never thought about it.”
“She didn’t. She named me after Guy Lombardo’s brother, Carmen Lombardo, he sang with the band. His big number was ‘Sweethearts on Parade.’ Mom said it was her and Dad’s song when they were going together.”
“You’re putting me on,” Wayne said. “Aren’t you?”
“I could change my name to Bambi,” Carmen said, “except I’d be afraid you might shoot me. How about Kim? Barbie, Betsy, Becky ...You have to be little and cute to have one of those.”
“You’re cute.”
“No, I was cute in high school, I outgrew it. When you’re really cute that’s all you have to be, you make a career out of it. Someone asks you what you do, you say, ‘Nothing, I’m cute.’ ” She looked out at the police car parked in the yard.
Wayne watched her for a moment. “We don’t seem too shook up over this.”
“If we did move away for a while,” Carmen said, turning to him, “we don’t see your folks that often, we could be back before they knew we were gone.”
“Or go up there to the farm,” Wayne said, “if we have to hide, which irks the shit out of me. Or go down to
