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Authors: Robert Stone

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BOOK: Dog Soldiers
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Hicks had discovered that people disliked his looking at them directly and, out of courtesy, he often refrained. He looked into Converse

s eyes, engaging the fear he saw there.

I didn

t know we were that way. I thought you

d have something else for me.

Converse stared straight back at him.


We

re that way.

Hicks was frowning down at the table.


It

s bad karma.


Think of it in terms of money. You take it straight to Marge

s in Berkeley. We

ll pay you twenty-five hundred bills.


You and Marge? Who

s we?


That

s a story in itself,

Converse said.

If your stash is as good as you say, it

ll be easier than carrying grass.


It

s unmakable. I got a whole aircraft carrier with practically no one on it.


When do you get to Oakland?


Seventeen days, if we stop at Subic Bay.


Then there

s no problem. Deliver on the nineteenth. We

ll have Marge home all day. If there

s a hassle you can
call the theater where she works after nine. It

s called the
Odeon
. Third Street in Frisco.

The thing is,

Hicks said,

you

re wasting your money. You ought to carry yourself.

Converse shook his head wearily.


I

m on all the shit lists. Mac-V doesn

t know whether I

m a Viet Cong spy or a poison toad. I wouldn

t want to carry a joint through.

Hicks smiled and rested his cigar on the
Portable
Nietz
sche
.


Tell me about
we
. I

ll bet it

s just you, you bastard.


How could it be just me?

Converse asked.

How?

He was about to look over his shoulder again. Hicks re strained him with a hand.


I have reason to believe,

Converse said,

that this operation concerns the CIA.

Hicks laughed in his face. Politely, he joined in the laughter.


That

s folklore,

Hicks said.


Certain individuals.

Hicks tried to stare him down. It was not out of the question.


Something else you better know,

Converse continued.

They know about you. They know you carry. Your name came up right away.


No,

Hicks said, after a moment.

You

re bullshitting me.


O.K.,

Converse said.

They know about you because I told them. In something like this, they have to know.


Oh, sure,

Hicks said.

I dig it.

He looked out over the darkened bay, gnawing his lip.

Something like this they

d have to know.

He looked back at Converse and found him feeling his forehead.

What are you doing to me?


Look,

Converse said quickly,

they absolutely will not bother you. You

re not supposed to know about them and they will not fuck with you if you deliver. Marge has twenty-five hundred bilk for you. It

s as simple as that.

Hicks was smiling again.


If I deliver, right? But if I don

t deliver — if I take you off because I happen to know you

re an asshole — then the roof falls in, right? CIA time.


Exactly,

Converse said.


If I were you and I wanted to keep a carrier honest, I might make up a bullshit story about the CIA. But I wouldn

t try to lay it on a buddy.

Converse had begun to appear slightly upset.

For God

s sake, Ray, what would I be doing in a score like this on my own? Where would I get the money?

It occurred to Hicks that there would be absolutely nothing dishonorable in ripping him off. He would have brought it on himself. Perhaps he would think it was piquant.


You

re terrific,

he told Converse.

I really can

t tell if you

re lying or not.


It doesn

t matter whether I

m lying or not. That

s the beauty of it. As it happens, I

m telling the truth.

Hicks fidgeted in his chair.


It

s a stupid expensive way to move weight. If the CIA needs the likes of you and me they

re not what they

re supposed to be.


Who is, these days?

Converse leaned forward in his chair; he seemed guileless.

Look, Ray — it

s certain people. Certain greedy people with CIA connections. They stand to make a tremendous profit and they can

t use their regular channels. They can afford good security. But they have to know who

s carrying for them beforehand.


Are you supposed to be good security?


No, no,

Converse said.

You. You are.

Hicks was silent for a while.


I think this sucks,

he said finally.

When I saw you last you were as skittish as a cooze, and now you

re an operator from the CIA.


You wanted to carry weight,

Converse said.

I got you weight.


I may just have to tell you no, buddy.

Converse was trembling, and Hicks watched him with concern.


Then we both go,

Converse said sof
tl
y.

It

s too late for that.

Hicks brushed aside the blue haze of his cigar and felt suddenly that he was trying to dispel more than cigar smoke. Converse

s fear was almost palpable. Hicks was impressed.


You deliver,

Converse insisted,

and you split. You don

t wait for a meet. You just take your money.

Hicks waited for him to go on.


I

m a very timid person. I

m cautious. I

m a virtual paranoid. I

ve been around this place for a while and I know how this shit works. If it weren

t a really cool number I wouldn

t go near it.


I didn

t know you were such a money freak.

Converse shrugged.


I suppose it

s the way we

re brought up.


I thought you were a moralist. You and your old lady —
I
thought you were world-savers. How about all these teenyboppers OD-ing on the roof? Doesn

t that bother you?


We

ve dealt with the moral objections,

Converse said.

Hicks slumped down in his chair and leaned his chin on
his fist, watching Converse.


Let me tell you something funny,

he said.

I met Mary
Microgram in Frisco last year.

Mary Microgram was a girlfriend of Converse

s. They had parted bitterly.


You know what she told me? She told me you said I was a psychopath.

Converse looked chastened.


It must have been some drunken piss-off. I really know better than that.

Hicks laughed.


You bad-mouth me. You threaten me with the fucking CIA and claim you tu
rned me. Then when you need hon
esty and self-discipline you come to me.


When I was with Mary,

Converse said,

I was very fucked up.


It

s outrageous,

Hicks said.

I was hurt.

A burst of automatic-weapons fire sounded from across the bay. Searchlights played on the water, sweeping the line of palms on the far shore. Converse turned wearily in the direction of the noise.


Sappers?


There ain

t no sappers,

Hicks said.

It

s all a beautiful hoax.

Why not, he thought. There was nothing else going down. He felt the necessity of changing levels, a little adrenalin to clean the blood. It was interesting and kind of scary. Converse and his old lady would be a scene; he had never seen her.


I

ll carry your scag, John. But you better see I get treated right. Self-defense is an art I cultivate.

Converse was smiling.


I didn

t think there was ever much question about it.


No,

Hicks said.

Converse looked at the briefcase.


You have anything you want in that case,

Hicks said,

take it with you now. Otherwise just leave like it is.


Just like that?


Like it is.

Converse went downstairs and brought up two cans of beer and two large gin and tonics. When he had taken a sip of the cold drink, he began to tremble again.

You

re mad,

Hicks told him,

a great mind — warped — twisted.

It was an old movie line they had played with twelve years before in the Marine Corps.

BOOK: Dog Soldiers
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