Time Bomb

murdered. Though, like Crevolin, she thought the government had been behind it. She fired up her grandson with Nazi history and conspiracy theories. He started doing his own research. He was a smart kid and took to it.”

Latch snorted and said, “Smart baboon.”

I said, “Book research wasn’t enough for him. He tried to meet his rescuer, couldn’t get through to Crevolin, and went to the next-best source. Someone who’d also been a comrade of his parents. Another second cadre guy, but one who’d climbed. A public man.”

I turned to Latch. “What a bummer, Gordie. The timing, I mean. Here you are, having bought all that respectability. Sure, you’re only a sandwich sign for D.F.’s dreams. But sometimes you allow yourself to pretend it’s real and you’re the boss and that feels really good, doesn’t it? And sure, City Council is relatively penny-ante, but it’s a giant step forward for someone who committed sedition on national television. You’re moving up. The rhythm is there. Things are finally fitting together, and along comes this mixed-race mongrel black Jewish kid knocking on your headquarters door, using his parents’ names as passwords to get through the front office. Names you thought you’d never hear again. Coming face to face with you and asking questions about the bad old days. Wannsee Two. You try to put him off, play the old game you’ve learned so well and answer his questions without really answering them. But he’s persistent. Pushy. Full of the kind of youthful fire that just might be able to incinerate you. That’s how it always starts, isn’t it? Small fry nipping at the big fish. A night watchman got Nixon. So it’s time for a quick stall and an emergency meeting with D.F. D.F. instructs you to handle it in a time-honored manner: Lull the prey into complacency with phony friendship, feed him carefully measured bits of disinformation, then move in for the kill when the time’s right.

“So you play compassionate liberal for Ike, spin him a tale about Wannsee Two in which the story remains intact but the characters are altered. Making someone else the chief bad guy. It wasn’t exactly casting against type. Massengil had right-wing sensibilities; he’d been tooting his quasi-racist horn for some time. You probably made up some yarn about his having been a government agent. With your resources- your own printing press- it’s no problem furnishing Ike with some impressive-looking bogus documents. And the beauty of it was that it served a double purpose. Ocean Heights is part of your district. Getting Massengil out of a job he’s had a lock on for almost three decades will allow you to run for his seat. Still penny-ante compared to your ultimate goal, but state assemblymen have been known to go to Washington. How many councilmen have ever gotten out of City Hall? You’d had your sights on him for some time, planted Bramble on his staff- your inside track. So when Ike showed up asking questions, everything clicked. You took him into your confidence, swore him to secrecy, fed him lies- fed his revenge fantasies and tried to work him up to the point of violent retribution. You figured that wouldn’t be much of a challenge, because he was black- and blacks are inherently violent, aren’t they?”

Latch said, “Sounds like the turd has some capacity to learn.”

Ahlward didn’t even bother to fake interest.

When you ask questions, my mind wanders.

I said, “First choice was for Ike to assassinate Massengil and get himself killed in the process. Second choice was for one of your junior SS boys to bump off Massengil, frame Ike for it, and kill him too. Same result, slightly less efficient. The only problem was, Ike resisted. Despite that kinky hair and all that melanin in his skin, he just wasn’t the violent type.”

“Fifty percent kike-blood,” said Ahlward. “Programmed for cowardice.”

“Or maybe Gordie just screwed up. Pushed too hard and got Ike suspicious. Made him wonder why a city councilman was so eager to get involved in murder. In any event, he refused to go along and turned himself into a serious liability. So you lured him to that alley with the promise of something- probably some new information about his parents. From another source. A black source- what better place to do it than Watts. Must have been fun making the call, putting on the patois.”

“Yowza, massuh,” said Latch. “We sho’ good at talkin’ that nigra talk. Ceptin’ we po’ culluhds have such a bay- ad tahm luynin to di-al that phone.”

Turning to Ahlward for approval. The redheaded man’s smile was obligatory. He fingered the black gun’s barrel and yawned.

I said, “Ike walked into the ambush and one of your SS-kateers shotgunned him, injected him with a dope cocktail, and set it up as a drug burn. Because, after all, blacks are all dope fiends, right? Who’s going to get suspicious about a junkie getting snuffed in South Central? And, by golly, you succeeded again. It went down that way in the books. Now there was only Grandma to deal with. Despite Ike’s pledge not to talk, you figured he’d confided in her. You plucked her off the street and left her body where no one will ever find it. Just for the record, where was that?”

Blank stares from both of them.

I said, “Considering you’ve got all the cards, you guys are pretty stingy.”

Ahlward said, “Sounds like you’re running out of material.”

I said, “Perish the thought. There’s plenty more. After you dispose of Sophie, you break into her place and look for any evidence she might have left behind- notebooks, diaries. Doing the neighbor’s place, too, to make it look like a burglary. But why the stuff on the walls? The Kennedy message?”

Latch couldn’t resist answering that one. “Dessert. For the troopers who performed the mission. Reward for a job well done.”

“Even revolutionaries have to party,” I said. And caught movement from Milo. An eye-blink. Volitional?

Neither of them saw it, Milo’s back was to Latch. And Ahlward was preoccupied with his gun.

Another blink. Or had I just imagined it?

I kept talking. “With both Ike and Sophie Gruenberg gone, your immediate problems finally seemed over. But there was still the matter of Massengil. You’d already started thinking of him as a dead man. So it was annoying to have to change that mind-set. And if the deed was going to be done, the timing was important. He was well into his current term, had already been nominated for the next one. So it was to your advantage for him to be eliminated before the next election. Too late for the governor to appoint someone else. The seat would lie fallow for a few months, giving you time to build up political steam and enter yet another image-stage: great conciliator, mature statesman. Sure, the widow would get first dibs, and if she didn’t want the job, some hack or crony would move in. But you had plans to take care of that, per the lovely Ms. Bramble.”

Latch said, “I do believe Ocean Heights and I will reach our own rapprochement.”

I said, “Better do it soon, before Randy pulls the purse strings closed. Or were you intending to ask for alimony?”

Sudden panic in his eyes.

Ahlward’s eyebrows were hot-pink crescents of surprise.

I said, “Oops. Sorry. I thought you knew, D.F.”

Ahlward looked at Latch.

Latch said, “He’s full of shi-”

I said. “Little Bandy definitely wants out, D.F. She’s filed papers. Check for yourself- it’s public record.”

Ahlward swiveled slowly in his chair and stared at Latch.

Latch said, “It just went down, Bud. I was going to bring it up, had it on the agenda.”

“Oops again,” I said. “Not quite true, Gordie Pordie. She filed two weeks ago. Not the greatest thing to happen at a time like this, is it, D.F.? Vis-a-vis public relations. And money-wise.” To Latch: “What happened, Gordie? Did her political enthusiasm wane? Or is it just you she’s tired of? Guess all that discipline and bondage stuff wears thin after a-”

Latch said, “Shut your filthy mouth.”

Ahlward cleared his throat.

Latch said, “It’s not a problem, Bud. She can be taken care of. She’s on so much fucking Seconal, nobody’ll-”

Ahlward’s turn to say, “Shut up! You know, Gordon, it’s real pleasant hearing it this way.”

“C’mon, Bud, you can see what he’s-”

“And you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

Latch sank back down and played with one of his cuffs.

Milo winked. This time I was sure.

I said, “We’re talking thick coats of tarnish on your rising star, D.F. You might start thinking about a