Now and Then

“If you do not kill me,” he said, “I can tell you things.”

“Do,” I said.

“Excuse me, sir?”

His voice was thin and shaky. It sounded as if his mouth was very dry.

“Do tell us things,” I said.

“I . . . I will tell you whatever you wish,” he said.

“Who sent you here,” I said.

“Perry.”

“Perry who?” I said.

“I don’t know his last name, sir. We only use first names. He is a brother in arms. He is the leader of Last Hope.”

“You?” I said.

“I am Darren,” he said. “I am a member of Freedom’s Front Line.”

“Why did Perry send you?”

“We were to kill you and the woman,” he said.

“Why?”

“You were a threat to the movement.”

Darren’s voice was stronger, as if talking about something gave him a sense of involvement in his fate.

“What movement?” I said.

“The people’s war on despotism.”

“Who else is in it?”

“I will tell you who I know, sir, but I don’t know many, just the people in my cell.”

“And Perry,” I said.

“Yes, sir. Perry found me in a wallow of depravity, sir. He helped me see the truth about American life. He saved me from addiction and dependence. He helped me fi nd purpose.”

“He fi nd you in a shelter?” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

“That his job?” I said. “Recruiting for the movement?”

“No, sir. That’s just how he is. He tries to save people.”

I nodded.

“So what does he do for the movement?”

“He’s an intelligence source, sir. He’s very adroit at getting valuable information.”

“From women,” I said.

“That is often the case, sir.”

“Did you help kill Dennis Doherty?” I said.

The kid’s head sank forward some.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“At Perry’s request?”

“Yes, sir. I am a good soldier, sir.”

“You’re a jackass,” I said and stood up.

The kid flinched at the movement, and glanced at Hawk. I went out of the room and across the hall. Chollo was sitting behind Susan’s desk, with his feet up, and his gun on the desktop beside him. Our second captive sat stiffly in the chair that Susan’s patients normally used. He didn’t move when I came in.

“Geoffrey,” Chollo said. “Says he’s a soldier in the war against despotism.”

The second captive was no older than mine. He was shorter, and a bit pudgier. He sat rigidly, as if movement would hurt.

“Who sent you?” I said.

Geoffrey looked at Chollo. Chollo smiled at him and nodded encouragingly.

“Perry,” Geoffrey answered.

“Tell me about him,” I said.

Again he looked at Chollo.

“Tell him, Geoffrey,” Chollo said.