Patience County War (Madeleine Toche Series) (8 page)

“Not bombs, secret work for the US government,” Doc said trying to sound mysterious and spy-like. What the hell? He thought. Sometimes people want to believe so bad they’ll buy anything.

“You must be undercover then,” Virgil jumped in with both feet, seeing a ray of hope.

“Deep, deep undercover. I’m a government agent, code named Orange.”

“I’m a good American; I can keep my mouth shut.”

Doc smiled and started warming up to the whole idea. Billy won’t have to kill the ninny and he might be useful.

“You military?” Doc fished.

“Army.”

“I could smell it on you. Any combat?”

“Cook, they wouldn’t let us fight.”

“Best damn soldiers in the army.”

“That’s what I always said.”

“I let you go soldier, and you’re under my command. Could be days, could be weeks with no outside contact.”

“What about my wife?”

“What about her? She’s no combatant.”

Virgil jumped right on that and said, “You’re right, I wouldn’t want to put her in harm’s way.”

She could probably use the lunatic vacation. It must be annoying to have a brainiac like Virgil underfoot all day. With that thought Doc cut through Virgil’s tape with a box cutter and helped him to his feet.

“Now, it’s best not to talk to Agent Bucket. He’s like a coiled spring, lost his family to the enemy you know,” Doc said jerking his thumb in Billy’s direction.

“The enemy?”

“Japs, Chinks, Ruskis, Gooks, Arabs,”

Doc noted that Ruskis seemed to engender the most recognition.

“Yah, them damn Ruskis. But I thought they weren’t commies anymore.” Oh-oh! A glint of knowledge.

“All one damn hoax to get our guard down, soldier!”

“Knew it! Knew it! Told the wife, but would she listen? No, said I was an idiot, a nut job!”

“All straight from the top, the damn top!” Doc yelled.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He sprang to attention and yelled, “Sir, yes sir!”

Doc wanted desperately to say, “Don’t call me sir, I work for a living!”, but he figured rank had its privileges and didn’t feel like a self-inflicted demotion.

N
athan Harper squatted silently in the bushes next to his enormous garden and waited. Somebody was stealing vegetables and needed to be caught. He shifted his weight and sat down, alternately peeking into the garden and sharpening his spear. Nathan generally had a sunny disposition but also a seriously demented streak. Sam could swear to that. He was looking forward to scaring the absolute crap out of whomever he caught helping themselves in his garden. His Masai shield and brightly colored clothing would get their attention. He wasn’t going to hurt them, just have a little sport. When he was done, nobody would venture into his garden again without permission.

As Nathan considered the coming entertainment, he noticed a small movement at the edge of the woods and peered out with a wicked grin on his face. Nathan moved like a wraith through the brush and positioned himself to charge out. Bingo! A second later he was all pumping arms and sprinting feet, screaming at the absolute top of his lungs and waving his spear at the unfortunate trespasser.

Jimmy Dent peeked out into the big garden. He felt bad about taking vegetables, but he had a bunch of brothers and sisters, mom lived on food
stamps, and dad was gone. He looked all around and finally crept forward on his torn up Chuck Taylors. He had a sack to stuff things into and moved out of the protection of the woods.

“Shiiiit!” Jimmy screamed when he saw the entire Masai nation charging down on him, eyes wild with rage, roaring over the sound of a giant spear crashing against a shield.

“Kill!” Nathan screamed until he saw it was some kid. In one motion he grabbed the boy by the waist and threw him into the pond right next to the garden.

“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me!”

Nathan was trying to remain fierce but the kid’s expression had been too funny. He was laughing and shaking all over. The boy mistook it for a fit and started his own screaming again.

“Take it easy kid, I’m not going to hurt you,” Nathan said, putting up his hand to calm the kid down as he continued to jiggle with laughter.

Jimmy was dumbstruck, not believing his eyes or ears. After a few uncertain moments, he started slowly swimming over to the side of the pond towards the biggest, blackest, craziest looking man he’d ever seen.

Nathan sat on the bank and the kid cautiously came out of the water. He noticed that even sitting down the man was taller than he was at twelve years old.

“So you’re the potato thief. What the hell for?” Nathan looked the kid over and, seeing the state of his clothes and his skinny frame, decided he wasn’t enemy number one.

“I took ‘em home for my mom, she thinks people are giving them to me.”

“You could ask, you know,” Nathan said in a calming matter of fact way. He liked the boy right away. There was pride inside that lanky kid.

The kid couldn’t take it anymore. “How tall are you mister?

“Tall enough that you should be smart enough to steal from somebody else. What’s your name anyway?”

“I’m Jimmy Dent, you a real African warrior?”

That did it! The kid could think!

“Masai,” Nathan said, striking his spear against his shield.

“What are you going to do to me?” Jimmy said directly, thinking he was going to get in trouble.

“Well, I was thinking you could work off some vegetables now and then. There’s always something to do around a farm and garden.”

“You have a deal.”

“Then let’s get you a real sack and some good potatoes and something to eat.”

Nathan led the kid through a high hawthorn hedge twisted together, making an imposing barrier. “That’s the Kraal, it keeps out the Lions.” Nathan liked his kraal and its gesture to his Masai tradition. He and his parents had constructed it. In Africa, it was designed to keep predators out and provide an extra layer of safety for the people and animals inside. Here, it was more about tradition and making a home.

Nathan noticed that the kid accepted the notion that there were lions in the woods in stride. Perhaps he thought Nathan had let a few of them go out there. The kid was still a kid; he hadn’t turned cynical or smart-assed yet. Maybe he wouldn’t; they didn’t always. Nathan thought of his buddy Sam. When they were young they were the model of manners on the outside, but sneaky and clever on the inside. You had to be that way with John Trunce around. You just didn’t want to disappoint him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to make him mad.

The two walked into a cavernous kitchen at the far end of which was a large steel door. Nathan said, “I know you like meat, all young warriors like meat.”

“I like everything.”

“OK! Then let’s eat big!”

Nathan opened the door and walked into a large walk-in cooler. Sides of beef were hanging and there was farm produce everywhere.

“How about steak?” Nathan said. The kid just nodded and smiled. Nathan loved to cook for people his way.

With one hand Nathan grabbed an entire side of beef and lifted it off the hook so that it dangled from the ceiling. He dropped it to his side and carried it out of the cooler like a suitcase. The kid backed out, eyes like dinner plates. Nathan carried the beef over to a huge metal table in the middle of the kitchen, took a butcher knife out of a drawer in the side and cut long strips of meat along the back and loin area with swift, sure strokes. He left a fair amount of fat on the strips. The idea of a diet or limiting your food intake wouldn’t even register to a Masai. Nathan cut what looked to the kid like enough for a family reunion and piled them on the table. He picked up
the carcass, stuck it back into the cooler and pushed the slabs of steak onto a wooden board. By now the kid was following him around. Nathan went out back onto the deck where a good sized fire was burning in an opening in the deck. Nathan kicked the fire flat and threw some of the pieces of meat directly onto the coals, where they started to sizzle and sputter immediately. The kid and Nathan sat down and watched the meat cook. Nathan reached into the fire and turned the meat around now and then, pulling finished pieces out and handing them to the kid, who tossed them from hand to hand until he could hold them and then, just like Nathan, bite big juicy pieces out of the meat and chew them down. The kid ate like a champion and Nathan ate with a smacking joyful gusto. When all the meat was gone, Nathan led the kid over to a rain barrel where he dipped out a big pan of water that they washed their hands in.

“Time to garden, we’re gonna pick peas.” Nathan handed the kid a pail, took one for himself and advanced on the huge row of peas, trained up a long chicken wire fence. They worked their way along the row.

“You hunt and fish Jimmy?” Nathan asked dropping a handful of peas into his pail.

“A little, I mostly fish. I don’t have a gun.”

“You don’t need a gun, Jimmy. I never use one to hunt.”

“You throw that big spear at them?” Jimmy said clearly impressed.

“Sometimes I just throw a rock,” Nathan said.

“No way!”

“I’ll take you with me, you’ll see.”

The fierce Missouri sun was up and it beat down on the huge coal black giant and the brown as a berry boy as they filled up their pails happy to be in their element, outside.

“I
t’s time to move the operation, men.” Doc circled his two ‘men’ with his hands clasped behind his back, really getting into the role. “We’ll break camp, and then make a supply run for testing product!”

“Sir, yes sir!” both the old man and the sideshow kid yelled, one because he wanted to believe, the other because he was so sideways on meth and some other pills Doc had given him. Doc was pleased. Now he could send the old man into a bunch of stores in the area and buy up some cold medicine and other ephedrine products. Nobody would look twice at an old duffer getting cold supplies. All he needed was a cover plan that fit into the Russian conspiracy theory. And then, almost magically, it came to him.

“Trooper, it’s all about mind control isn’t it? Do you know how your government thinks those commie bastards are getting their mind control potions into Americans? over the counter medication. We’ve received orders to sample and test large numbers of these products from stores everywhere!”

“Now, where to start?” Doc looked at Virgil with a clear, ‘what do you think?’ sort of look.

“There are lots sir; it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Virgil said.

“We’re talking volume soldier. The Ruskies ain’t gonna wait forever. How?” he snapped.

Bucket was no help. He was mastering the drooling catatonic pose admirably. Little more than a violent jerk of his head now and then indicated that he was an animate object after all.

“When people get sick, what’s wrong with them?” Doc was trying not to suggest too much. He really wanted this to be Virgil’s contribution to the mission.

“Well, sometimes they get a headache,” Virgil haltingly suggested.

“What causes these headaches?” Doc was starting to feel like a game show host where the answers were incredibly easy and the host all but told them to the contestant.

“Bump on the head?” Virgil said with a little more conviction.