Choice of Evil

sexual exploitation has debunked those claims. Indeed, there is plenty of printed material explicitly advertising “safe” sex with children in. . .

The camera quickly played over the glossy covers of some brochures. Just glimpses—a little girl licking a lollypop; a little boy running on the beach, naked, his back to the camera—the lens furtive and guilty, knowing it was lingering too long as the professor kept right on talking:

. . . those countries. Some of these so-called “tour” companies offer “guidebooks,” while others offer “on-site services” which means. . .

The camera snuck another look at images on a computer monitor, this time blurring out the details.

Then back to the anchor:

But not everyone is convinced that operations such as “Budding Blossoms” actually deliver what they promise. . . .

As his words trailed off, they segued to an outdoor taped interview, with some disheveled-looking little guy who claimed to be the “coordinator” for various groups “exposing” the kiddie-sex tours as a scam. He babbled about how anyone going to the Philippines looking for sex with a child was going to end up in jail. Claimed all the “exposes” about kiddie-sex tourism were actually encouraging freaks to go there. Whoever was editing the tape cut him off in the middle of a stumbling rant about his “authenticated” website and replaced him with a young Asian woman with harsh eyes who called him a fraud:

If it’s such a scam, how come that charter service has been running so long and so successfully? The reason that flight was full was because so many previous flights had gone so “well” for those degenerates. They live by word-of-mouth. Why don’t you pull the passenger manifest? I’ll bet you find it shows the name of plenty of repeat customers.

Then back to the anchorman, live:

Although law-enforcement sources have not released the manifest to which Ms. Hong referred, the ID Team has obtained a copy, and airline sources confirm that many of the passengers on Flight 0677 were, indeed, repeat customers. And we have learned that a number of those on board had criminal records involving sexual abuse of children. However, the essential mystery now is what caused the plane to spontaneously explode. Stay tuned to this station for updates as they occur. . . .

Turned out they didn’t need the black box. Or even an investigation. He did all that for them. His message was front-page everywhere.

Warnings were issued. And duly ignored. Consequences were promised. And duly delivered. I now utilize this forum for three distinct reasons, each of potential value to apparently disparate but occasionally interlocking constituencies of interest.

     (1) Flight 0677 was deliberately destroyed. It was neither accident nor negligence. I most sincerely recommend neither conspiracy theorists nor lawyer feeding-frenzies be tolerated by the media or the public.

     (2) There were no “innocents” killed. Collaborators are subject to the same punishment as principal actors. You are now on notice as to the rules of engagement. For those of you who fail to comprehend such argot, I will simplify: If you aid, abet, facilitate, or even transport others to the scene where children are sexually exploited, you are a target. The same rules, including the collaborative crime of harboring the enemy, apply, of course, to gay-bashing.

     (3) The mass execution was made possible only by the volitional act of a thief. One on board Flight 0677. The methodology was as follows: An obviously expensive, alligator-bound world atlas measuring approximately 5 ? 9 ? 3” and containing elaborate, full-color maps on silk-shot paper with numerous pull-outs, a compartment for holding personal papers, and other indicia of extreme cost (including, but not limited to, 18-karat gold corner clips and ribbon markers) was “left” in the Men’s Room at LAX. The specific Men’s Room was located just outside the gate area to Flight 0677. The person who stole the book was specifically and actually monitored. Had a passenger not booked on that flight taken the book, he would have been intercepted. Needless to say, the person who did take the book did not turn it in to the authorities, but simply pocketed his prize. That prize contained, in addition to the above-described contents, a sufficient amount of plastic explosive to blow out a considerable portion of the airplane, guaranteeing its inability to remain aloft. The timing mechanism was set so that, even allowing for deviation caused by weather or intruding flight patterns from other aircraft, the explosion would occur over water, limiting the damage to those on board. I commend to your attention this simple method of destroying aircraft. Any half-baked terrorist could have duplicated my feat, not targeting any particular flight but claiming responsibility as soon as the explosion occurred. As such “packages” will pass through existing scanners without incident, any dedicated, competent individual willing to play the odds with the requisite patience will succeed. The only method of defense against such eventualities is for those who “find” property to turn it over to the proper authorities. I believe it is safe to state that such activity is highly likely to increase in the immediate future. Consider this (still another) public service.

This time, he only signed his initials.

But that still didn’t mean he had a partner. There had been more than enough space between the last murders here and the flight out of L.A. for him to have made the trip with ease.

It did tell me one thing. Whatever he looked like, it wouldn’t be remarkable. He was a blender, a natural camouflage man. He wasn’t obese, he wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t. . . Sure, he wasn’t anything but white either.

Yeah, that narrowed it down. The guy I just described, he could be me.

I was at Mama’s when she called.

“I have it,” she said. And hung up.

It was almost three in the morning when she’d called, so I was outside her apartment house in fifteen minutes. I didn’t like the doorman eyeballing me more than once, but I didn’t see a way around it either. If he thought it was unusual for someone to be calling at that hour, he didn’t show it. . . just rang up and got the okay for me to enter the elevator.

She must have been right at the peephole—the door opened even as I raised my knuckles to rap. The rose lighting was back on. Otherwise, the place was shrouded. “Go sit down,” she told me, standing aside.

I gave up trying to solve the mystery of her three chairs and just took the middle one, letting her play any way she wanted.

She looked ghostly, floating across the room toward me. Barefoot, in a gauzy white robe that wrapped her body—a frame, not a cover. She took the nearest open chair, reached over, and pulled mine around so we were facing each other.

“I believe you,” she said.

“Which means. . .?”

“I believe you wouldn’t. . . do what you said. I believe you. . . Oh, never mind. Look, here it is, okay? She. . . asked around. Like you said. I don’t know about this ‘theory’ of yours, but you’re right about one thing—they have the men who did that drive-by.”

“Have them?”

“Found them, I should have said. They’re dead. And one of the people killed in the crowd—you were right about that too. The police think it was murder. I mean, deliberate murder. The rest was only for. . . what do you call it? Camouflage? I don’t know. But the cops say it was business. Professional business. They think they know who gave the order. That’s what you want, right?”

“That’s what I want.”

“Well, I have it,” she said.

“But you want to play with it first? Or you want me to place a fucking bid? What?”

“Why are you so. . . hostile?” she asked softly. “I’ve been nice to you. It was fun. . . flirting, right? I know you liked it.”

“We’ve already been there,” I told her.

“You really hate them, don’t you?” she said, leaning so close I could feel her breath.

“Who?”

“Child molesters.”