“My memory’s fading.”
“Lance corporal.”
“Medals?”
“A few. I tossed ‘em at the White House during the memorial ceremony.” Millions of vets from all over American came that day, asking one more time for respect.
“Medals to the rubble. One pile of shame,” Yen recited their chants that day before the Black Tops crushed them. Literally crushing bodies, vets hobbling away on one leg, falling onto one arm, flattened beneath the huge blood-splattered wheels of the armored vehicles.
“That’s right.”
“But you got away,” Singh said.
Hazel unbuttoned his shirt. “Not without leaving with this.”
Singh stared expressionlessly at the three inch scar just above Hazel’s heart. “Knife?”
“BT hook blade.”
“Nasty shit.”
“Yes it was.”
“Could also be a razor twist.” Yen stood and rocked his left wrist side to side.
“I wasn’t a DV.”
“No, you were adopted by Fifth Cousins.”
“And happy about it.”
“They brought your ass over in the de transport aerien,” Singh’s voice dripped venomously, “and then let you enlist?”
“Some Cousins still believed in fighting.”
“Not many.”
“Mine, did.”
“Dead now.”
“That’s right. Sorry you can’t interrogate them.”
Derek pressed his nose inches from Hazel’s face. “What do you want?”
“Remove those in the way. Same as 10/12. Except this time, do it right before Grandma turns America into a mosque.”
Singh nodded and two of the former Seals flung Hazel onto a cot, where he was quickly strapped down. The one with the scar pulled out a long, glowing prong while Yen tied down Hazel’s right leg.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Hazel shouted before they stuffed a tissue in his mouth.
“Vets got the Geliniums. So did the BTs. Theirs have trackers.”
Hazel felt another pinch in the neck and stumbled into the darkness.
• • • •
THE LAST WHINING and annoying patient didn’t leave until after seven; Pablo controlled his compulsiveness so he only finished half the paperwork, glancing as much at the clock as the retina-numbing forms. He wrapped Puppy and Dara’s engagement present twice because the bow was uneven, then shaved again.
Moisturizer time, he sighed sadly at the creases around the somber eyes. Pablo debated over three ties and hurried into the waiting room. The dark-haired and sandy-haired men slouched comfortably as if Pablo’s office were their living room, watching a tennis match from Louisville and exchanging biting comments about the players’ styles.
The dark-haired man opened a brown leather notebook.
“Must be tired, Dr. Diaz.”
Pablo suddenly understood. He shrugged, careful not to admit to fatigue.
“You’re not tired after working fourteen hours?” the sandy-haired man groaned at a poor serve. “Because you’re superhuman or aren’t challenged enough by the job?”
“I suspect there’s a right and wrong answer to that,” Pablo replied carefully. “As always.”
Pablo jiggled the marble in his right pocket. The dark-haired man muted the vidnews.
“How’s it going?”
“Shouldn’t you tell me how the Cousins review is going?” Pablo squeezed his hands, then stopped, afraid they’d take that as nerves.
The dark-haired man motioned for his colleague to answer. “It’s not a review. You’ve already been reviewed.”
“Then the process,” Pablo said in exasperation.
“Do you find it difficult?” the dark-haired man leaned forward.
“Kind of maddening, the obscurity of it all.”
“As a man of science, you prefer clarity.”
“Instead of riddles, yes. Naked woman in the shower, a boy turned into a talking puppet.”
The dark-haired man smiled. “Neat tricks. Wish we’d thought of them.”
“You had nothing to do with it?”
The sandy-haired man fiddled with the cuff of his trousers. “If you can’t handle this, then how can you handle the rigors of being a Cousin?”
Pablo smiled. “Good point. But I can’t answer that if I don’t know what they are.”
The sandy-haired man grunted. “Then how do you know you’re capable?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps I’m not.”
The men exchanged curious glances.
“Honesty.” The dark-haired man smiled. “Honesty about yourself is a key. Knowing what you don’t know so you can discover it without preconceptions of your ego. Dispassionate passion.”
“My specialty.”
The men laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“You are a serious man, Dr. Diaz,” the sandy-haired man admitted. “For someone who’s personal life is in turmoil.”
Pablo laughed bitterly. “I have no personal life.”
“What about your friends?”
“Which ones?”
“You only have two. Zelda and Puppy. Nice of them to still invite you to the engagement party after the fight.”
He put down the gift-wrapped bottle of Arkansas champagne. “Sometimes friends argue.”
“About?”
Pablo deliberated. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Over?” the dark-haired man said skeptically.
“His fiancé. I don’t think she’s the person she makes herself out to be.”
“Oh.” They raised their eyebrows. “What does she make herself out to be?”
He weighed the words around his back molars. “A real human being.”
That satisfied them a moment. Pablo smiled at the small victory.
The dark-haired man continued, “And how about Zelda?”
“What about her?”
“Isn’t it a little awkward, the two of you.”
Pablo’s eyes narrowed. “Not at all.”
“Even after you slept together?”
“We didn’t.”
“Ah,” the dark-haired man smiled humorlessly. “Deceit is the shawl of honor.”
Pablo’s lips twisted. “Grandma never said that.”
“I just did.”
“It’s a crappy line.” Pablo squared his hips. “What do you want?”
“What do you want?”
“If I say I want to be a Cousin, that suggests ambition. If I seem blasé, that suggests indifference. What if I just want to do some good? That satisfy you?”
“If that’s what you think.”
“But not what I’m supposed to think.”
The men exchanged sad looks.
“The damn riddles are getting tiring,” Pablo snapped.
“Riddles are tiring for people who don’t understand,” the dark-haired man said. “Or for people who spend their lives observing.”
Pablo flinched. “Add that to your damn report.”
The dark-haired man held up the blank pages. “That’s up to you.”
• • • •
WAVING OFF JIMMY’S offer to do the honors, Zelda poured the champagne into their four glasses; Mick sadly held up a bottle of soda.
“We’re proud of you.” Puppy nudged Mick, who growled from his bowels. Mantle was marking a week on the wagon and his batting average was up to .255; he finally clocked his first homer, an inside-the-park job when the Falcons centerfielder collapsed on the warning track.
“Okay, gang.” Zelda raised her glass, waiting until Puppy angrily shoved the empty extra chair by another table. She sighed. Friendship was faith. Pablo would be here. “Two White Grampas, thanks for coming
