stirred with many boring anecdotes of the old days of Deer Hill and the sweet little bank that kept the town going through thick and thin, mostly thin. Elaine’s father, Harvey, would be remembered in ways that would make him unrecognizable.
It was going to be absolute hell, but longer. Elaine took a Valium with scotch and drove south, telling herself that at least the
When Briggs opened the side door of his van, they looked in at five long, lumpy rolls of thin army blankets, tied in two places each with clothesline. In addition to those, looking like too-small body bags, there were three liquor cartons in there that had been opened and reclosed.
“Let me show you these things,” Briggs said, considering which one he wanted to bring out first, actually squeezing one to feel what was inside. Making his choice, he pulled it closer and started to untie the lengths of clothesline. McWhitney, sounding suspicious, said, “These things aren’t new?”
“Oh, no,” Briggs said. “You’ll never get a new one, they’re much too controlled for that. They have to get out into the world, where they can be stolen and sold and lost and borrowed and mixed up in the paperwork.” Now unrolling the blanket, he said, “These have all been reconditioned. I don’t know if any of them has ever been fired, except maybe in practice. Mostly, you know, particularly when they’re owned by governments, these items are mostly for show.”
The last of the blanket was rolled back, and there was the 84mm Carl-Gustaf. Fifty-one inches long, grayish-tan metal, it was blunt and unlovely, a thick length of plain pipe that flared out like a megaphone at the butt. There were two pieces of wood attached, one under the trigger guard and the other screwed to a metal strap near the front.
“You load it here,” Briggs said, and snapped open the cone at the rear, which was hinged to the left. “It’s all normal,” he told them, and shut the weapon again. “There are three sights, open here, telescopic here, which I don’t think you’re going to need, and infrared here.”
“That we’ll use,” McWhitney said. “Let me heft the thing.”
“Of course.”
Briggs handed the weapon to McWhitney, who hefted it and said, “Heavy.”
“Thirty-six pounds,” Briggs told him. “Six pounds more with the rocket in it.”
McWhitney shook his head. “I don’t want to have to fire this thing more than once.”
Dalesia, grinning, said, “It’s all in the aim, Nels.”
McWhitney opened the butt again, raised the weapon to his face, and sniffed. Briggs said, “It won’t smell.”
“Oil,” McWhitney said.
“They’re reconditioned,” Briggs told him. “As I said.”
Parker said, “What else have you got in there? The rockets are in those boxes?”
“Yes, but let me show you the rifle I got.”
Parker said, “You said Valmets.”
“Yes, but I got something else,” Briggs said, feeling through the rolled blankets, making another choice. As he untied the clothesline, he said, “The problem with the Valmet, I could only get the M-sixty, not the M-sixty-two, and you don’t want that.”
McWhitney said, “Why not?”
“The Finnish army, it’s cold up there,” Briggs told him, “they use thick gloves, so the M-sixty doesn’t have a trigger guard. You don’t want that.”
Parker said, “So what are we getting instead?”
“The Colt Commando.”
Dalesia said, “An American gun?”
“That’s right, developed for Vietnam. It’s a short version of the M-16, and it’s light, and you won’t be worrying about long-range accuracy anyway, so it’s fine for you.”
Dalesia said, “I’ve seen these before.”
“Sure you have.” Opening the blanket, Briggs said, “The middle section is the same as the M-16, but the barrel’s only ten inches instead of twenty, and the butt’s only four inches long. There’s an extender in the butt you can pull out to make it seven inches long if you’re going to do shoulder-firing, which I don’t think you are.”
McWhitney said, “The front of the barrel is threaded. What’s that for?”
“There’s a lot of muzzle flash,” Briggs told him, “because of the short barrel, so you can attach a four-inch-long flash hider on the front. You don’t care about that, that’s just for somebody who wants to keep his location hidden at night. This way, it’s the shortest it gets.”
“I think we need to practice with these things,” Dalesia said. “Not shooting them, handling them.”
As they unwrapped the rest of the weapons, some miles away Elaine Langen arrived at her party and was met by her husband’s undisguised jubilation. “It’s a wonderful night, Elaine,” he said, standing there in a tux, which really did look very good on him. “It’s so much better to close this chapter with a grand party, don’t you think, than some cold banker’s farewell.”
“Oh, I think it’ll be a cold bankers’ party,” she said, and went off to find the bar.
A more subdued party, if perhaps more honestly joyful, was taking place three miles north of the former Deer Hill Bank, in a room at the Green Man Motel, where Dr. Myron Madchen had brought his special friend Isabelle Moran and a bottle of champagne with which to toast the beginning of their new lives together, lives that were being fashioned for them this very night. Isabelle had brought the glasses, the Brie, and the crackers, which she opened while the doctor opened the champagne, very carefully, as he always did.
A little later, he opened Isabelle’s clothing just as carefully, because she was still swathed in white bandage
