The General and the Horse-Lord (24 page)

“That’s not dating where I come from. And gay or not, adults or not, the relationship between a teacher and a student is never appropriate.” The governor’s face was turning pink with fury. “What possible reason would Simon Wainright have for protecting this man? At the request of his father? Do we have any evidence that suggests Prentiss Walker was influencing events, or are we just guessing?”

“No,” Charlie said. “We don’t really know.”

“Has anyone actually asked Simon why he made these personnel choices?” John looked at the governor. She was petite, shorter than she looked on TV, and tougher, her hair styled in a careful bob. He could see her behind the controls of an Apache attack helicopter, her thumb on the button.

The governor looked pointedly at Charlie.

“Actually, we’ve been playing phone tag. I haven’t been able to speak to him.”

“Phone tag. I see.” She looked at John, breathing deeply, like she was composing herself. “General Mitchel, thank you for the information. Charlie, I want a board of supervisor’s meeting called tonight. I’ll attend, and we will discuss emergency suspension for the president of the university. The attorney general’s office can complete the investigation and decide if they want to bring action.” She turned to her aide. “Make sure the attorney general attends, and give him a copy of this report.” She turned back to John. “I’m sure, General, that their recommendations will be in line with yours.” She stood up, held out her hand, and John shook it, followed Charlie Lathrop from the office.

“She’s a tough little cookie,” John said. “She ever in the service?”

Charlie shook his head, clapped him on the shoulder. “She just had a public fight with her hairdresser over gay marriage, so now she’s got to be seen to support the gay community. They’re everywhere in Santa Fe.”

“Really? Maybe they’re just everywhere, Charlie.”

“Some days, no matter what I say, somebody is going to be pissed off.” Charlie stopped on the steps, and the wind blew open his suit coat. It smelled dry and green, like sage and roasting chili peppers. “I really hate politics in this century. Go write something good and leave me in peace, John, okay?”

“Maybe I will.”

J
OHN
drove out toward Los Alamos to see an old friend. Admiral Mike Adams had recruited John for his last assignment to the Joint Chiefs as senior aide for Strategy and Tactics. They had known each other for more than thirty years, since they had served together at the Joint Command. Mike had invited him up to see his place when he called, said he was bored to death with his bonsai.

John had to grin at the solar greenhouse and the rows of bonsai lined up like little soldiers. Or little sailors, lining the deck of an aircraft carrier. “It’s about eight thousand square feet,” Mike said, showing him the automatic watering system and the solar fans. “Once I got started, things just got out of hand. My wife says I have to start selling some of the plants. She wants me to sell them at the farmer’s market.”

They looked at each other, shaking their heads. Selling bonsai at the farmer’s market. Teaching lazy freshmen the basics of civics. Who was providing leadership to the world, since they had stepped off the merry-go-round? Mike looked relaxed, though, his gray hair overgrown and wild around his head, wearing an old Navy sweatshirt and a frayed pair of khakis.

John pulled out the photo of Gabriel and him, the one Kim had mocked up like the magazine cover. Mike studied it. “That’s your pilot, right? The one they called the Horse-Lord? What’s his name again?”

“Sanchez. Gabriel Sanchez. He went to law school when he retired, took the bar. He’s in practice down in Albuquerque.”

“Sanchez, that’s right. He was always like a junkyard dog, watching your back. Nobody got near the general when the Horse-Lord was around.”

John wasn’t sure his old friend was picking up the message. “Mike, this is a magazine cover.
Out
is a gay magazine. They want to interview us.”

“I know, John. My youngest son is gay. He leaves
Out
lying all over the house for me to read. They have ads for the strangest shoes I’ve ever seen. I mean, orange oxfords? What sort of pants….”

“Mike, did you know I was gay?” His throat nearly closed, and he realized he’d said it out loud for the first time.

Mike was studying one of his little bonsai trees, reached into the pocket of his old khakis, and took out a pair of scissors. He took a tiny snip from a branch. “Always lots of confirmed bachelors in the military. Some people have to give up having a family to serve.”

“Will there be any question about the work when this comes out? I’m concerned. I don’t want there to be any question….”

“John, no. Impossible. No one would ever question your ethics. You were the gold standard of ethical behavior. The rest of us just tried to measure up to the bar you set.”

“I think the IG is going to lay charges against me.” His voice cracked, and he gestured to the picture. “Gabriel’s wife. He asked her for a divorce. She went out and bought a big gun.”

Mike grinned at him. “Don’t piss off the wives. Rule number one. But in your case, John, I think you’ve given enough. You deserve to have your Horse-Lord after all these years. Don’t you think? I’ve got an old friend in the IG’s office. I’ll see what’s up.” He lifted the tiny pine tree in its clay pot. “Don’t worry so much, John. I’ve got your back. Take this one home. I can tell the wife I sold it. I think she’s got them numbered.”

He pulled out a small memo book from his pocket, flipped to a clean page. “I’m writing down the name of an attorney. You and the Horse-Lord, you call this guy, make an appointment. Let him contact the IG and get a copy of the dep and find out what’s happening. This guy’s an ass, but you don’t have to like him. Then you go in to see them. Make sure the IG knows you’re going to talk to those reporters at
Out
. And I’ll give my old fishing buddy a call.”

J
OHN
drove home in the quiet dark, the road twisting through the arroyos and mesas between Los Alamos and Albuquerque, the little bonsai buckled into the passenger seat. He was making an outline in his mind, a problem-solving tool he’d used since his early days as a civil engineer, designing roads and bridges over shifting sand. He had a nagging feeling something was missing, something left undone. Maybe it was just terror at what Kim and Billy had done with his credit card.

He made a mental list, checked everything off as completed or resolved, until he got to Brian Walker. In rehab, Charlie Lathrop had told him. Where? Had the information been independently confirmed? It had been nearly a week since Cody had given him a beat-down. Prentiss Walker. He’d have been notified about the emergency board of supervisor’s meeting, and the topic of the meeting, the planned presence of the governor and the attorney general. He would have some idea what it meant. Where was Prentiss Walker?

Charlie would never feed him false information deliberately, though John had to admit the man had been less helpful than he had anticipated. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by the new position. Well, scholarship and leadership were not always two sides of the same coin. And if he was being honest, John thought he had detected a change in the man’s attitude toward him. Maybe Charlie Lathrop didn’t like him anymore because he’d heard through the grapevine that John was gay. He felt a little pang in his stomach. Had he been living his quiet life this way because he wanted people to like him, and he thought maybe they wouldn’t if they found out he was gay? It was an interesting thought he would have to explore in more detail at a later date, when the current crisis was put to bed.

Could someone have manipulated Charlie, given him the information about Brian Walker going into rehab, hoping he would pass it along to John? What would be the point? Why would Brian want John to think he was safely out of the way? Because then he would not be standing watch over Billy and Kim, protecting them.

He pulled out his phone, dialed Gabriel. “Where are you? There’s trouble.”

“At home. Moving furniture.”

Thank God. “Are Kim and Billy with you?”

“No, they’re up at Ho Ho’s.”

“Gabriel, I don’t know where Brian is. I was told he went into rehab but the information hasn’t been confirmed. The governor is calling a meeting of the board of supervisors tonight to suspend Wainright.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Be careful.”

“No worries. I’ll call when I’ve got them safe.”

J
OHN
was ten miles from Albuquerque when Gabriel called back. “Ho Ho’s is busy, no hostiles in evidence.”

“Can you get Kim to go home with you?”

“Negative. He’s working the wok. Billy’s with me. Juan is here too, bussing tables.”

“I’m almost there.”

“Roger that.”

J
OHN
broke several traffic laws getting to Ho Ho’s, dread filling his stomach. All his boys were in the danger zone. He parked at the McDonald’s again, sprinted across the street. He slowed when he got near the door, scanned the parking lot for cars that looked out of place among Ho Ho’s usual crowd. There were a couple of homeless guys sitting on the curb, and several students walking down Yale. The deli on the right side of Ho Ho’s looked like business as usual, and Ho Ho’s had three people in line at the glass serving counter. One of the Vietnamese ladies was dishing up tongfuls of noodles into a line of Styrofoam containers.

Kim was visible behind the counter, back to the customers, bent over a steaming wok, as Gabriel had said. Billy was sitting at a table in the back with Gabriel and Juan, looking around, anxiety on his face. The bruises were faded, but still visible. He had his arms wrapped around himself. Juan had his head down on his folded arms, playing his Nintendo. Gabriel was sitting with his back to the corner of the room, his chair tilted back, scanning the room. He was cool as ice.

It looked like the usual crowd when John opened the door and pushed into the room. There was a group of students in the back corner by the bathroom, the girls talking and texting, the guys working on mouthfuls of noodles. The hand-printed sign at the counter said, “Special, Noodles. $2.49.” Kim turned around, dumped a pile of noodles into the steam tray on the serving line. He looked up and saw John, smiled at him, and then he looked past him, the smile falling away, his face still and white. John felt the arm lock around his neck, and Brian Walker breathed scotch fumes into his ear. “Well, well, it’s Uncle General, come running to the rescue.”

John stepped back to throw Brian off balance, but Brian anticipated the move. “Don’t worry. It’s not you I’ve come for.” He let go of John, pushed him forward into a table, and spun around. Gabriel was right behind him, moving forward, and Brian pointed his gun at Gabriel’s forehead. The gun was tiny, fancy silver filigree on a twenty-two that fit into his hand.

Gabriel put up his hands and grinned at the gun. “What, is that a toy? Do you even know how to put bullets in that little bitty thing?”

Billy was sickly white, clinging to the tabletop, but Juan was up and moving across the restaurant toward his dad, his fists clenching, his jaw shoved out like a little bulldog. Billy jumped up and ran after him. “Juan, no! Don’t go near him. He’s dangerous.” Billy was crying now. “He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is. An asshole, and a mediocre artist. He’s got about as much talent as he can hold in his stupid little fists.” John held up a hand to stop them both from coming any closer.

Brian Walker ignored Billy. He was weaving on his feet, the gun moving between Gabriel and John. “It took me a few days to figure out what would be the biggest kick in the balls for you, General. But I figured it out, didn’t I? I’ve been waiting for you to get here so you could watch.” His face was purple and swollen, nose broken, one eye closed and eyebrow cut, and it looked like a tooth had cut through his upper lip. How had Cody managed to replicate so perfectly the beating the man had given Billy? “You couldn’t bear to lose your man, could you?”

He must have been sitting in his car, drinking, waiting for John to show. John wondered if he was going to fall down drunk before one of them had the chance to punch him out.

John wanted to keep Brian looking at him, give Gabriel a chance to get the gun safely away from him. “You go after the boys filled with light, don’t you, Brian? The happy ones, the boys who accept themselves. The boys who have fathers who love them. Fathers who adore them, in all their beautiful colors. It must just shine out of them, all that love, and all you can think to do is try to turn their light to darkness. I don’t know why it took me so long to see it.”

Brian was snarling, the part of his face that wasn’t already swollen turning bright red. The hand holding the gun was shaking.

“What did your father do to you? And why couldn’t you be man enough to rise above it? You could have been anything. Done anything with your life. So much potential wasted. And it’s too late now.”

Brian’s teeth were chattering with rage. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything….”

“I know you just used a handgun in the commission of a felony.” John’s voice was quiet. “In front of witnesses.”

Brian’s face blanched, and Gabriel reached over, twisted his wrist until he dropped the little gun. Gabriel twisted harder, and Brian dropped to his knees.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gabriel said. “Did you just wave a gun around in front of my son? Are you kidding me?” Juan ran to his father, wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s waist, and buried his face in his shirtfront.

Kim threw his wok over the glass serving counter, sprayed Brian with noodles and sesame oil and pieces of diced carrots. The wok bounced off his head with a hollow thud. Then the two Vietnamese ladies were out from behind the serving line like a flash, beating on Brian with their tiny fists, screaming at him, and Gabriel handed John the gun. John stuck it in his pocket, looked back at the girls huddled in the corner. One of them slid out of the booth and held her phone up like Lady Liberty. “I’ve called 911!”