Travel Bug (37 page)

“Then please cut the shit.”

“The shit as you call it is freedom itself and it can never be cut while men like me and your son fight.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I thought this was America.”

“It is.”

“Okay.”

“For fuck’s sake, I thought it was the land of the free, too.”

“Still proud of you, despite the insults, truly, I am. I love my country just like I love to live to be free, son.”

“Fine, that’s just fine.”

“Why do we have to have all of these hateful insults?”

“I hate the way that the educational institutions have gone.”

“I see.”

“God damn it to hell, stop saying that.”

“Why do you take such offense at me?”

“Most people are blind to all of the revolutions and atrocities that are about to be subjected to them and their children”

“Oh?”

“Give me more than that, for Christ sake.”

“Sorry?”

“Fuck, give me more than that, surely you have more!”

“I do have a lot but surely some things were intended for my own son, my family and not some stranger I just met in my pathetic library job.”

“I see.”

“Oh, the hell with it,” she answered.

Luther didn’t want to argue anymore, he was just plain sick and tired. He realized he left his partner in the parking lot. The hell with that damn librarian, she was a fool. The mistakes he was making were pretty enormous. He was forgetting the big picture, something he seldom ever did, and he even revealed his identity to that woman. That was no minor league blunder. What a sloppy mess this was and Luther Knox was no slob. The man was no stranger to death whether he was on the mourning side of things or using his hands to take the last breath out of others. Simply a machine more than a man, that’s who Knox was. There was no room for error in his unforgiving profession.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Moose.

The cat just looked up at him without making a sound.

“You see, I wanted to kill some time…”

Those yellow eyes looked mercilessly right into his.

“I wanted to know what the kids were reading these days, you see, college educates every generation of Americans and I wanted to know what the hell they were reading.”

The cat starred at him but no messages were being received in Luther’s mind.

“I fight for freedom and all they do is put it down in this fucking library! I mean for the love of God, people would think I was mad for talking to you like this but they don’t understand that I am on a fucking mission! Sorry for rambling. I guess some things need to be said out loud every now and then and this is one of those times, my God; this is surely one of those times. Did I risk my life so that these spoiled rotten little elitist bastards could grow up and hate their country? ”

The cat was starting to hiss at Luther.

“What?’

The animal did not move but the hissing got louder.

“Don’t you know that I am trying to be a hero here, you know that I am trying? That monster Thomas Grey is going to get loose and he will not let me finish my mission. Oh, no, he loves chaos and imperfection too much to let me finish my critical work. If I see him, I will kill him immediately, fucking bastard.”

The cat hissed very loud.

“What?”

Moose was hissing louder than Luther had ever heard him before now.

“Oh, a high profile case, now I’m receiving your transmission, I think…… You don’t want me to attract any damned attention. Do you? Well, for fuck’s sake, you and I both know that he will come after us and he will kill us both. That’s what the son of a bitch does. Hell, that’s all he does, all the time. The man lives to take the lives of the innocent and it is his whole life’s purpose. Doubting Thomas, my ass, he knows what he believes and he knows the one whom he worships. Grey worships Satan and his god is sadism and human suffering.”

The cat bit Luther’s hand while he attempted to pet him.

“You fucking bastard!” he screamed.

The cat just stared at him again with those infamous yellow eyes.

“Fuck you!”

Luther punched the cat so hard in the head that Moose lost consciousness. He could not believe the feline would do this to him. Luther treated him with kindness, even when he thought he was a run of the mill stray animal. This was an awful, terrible feeling.

This was a sense of betrayal. It was no mere light bite either. His hand was gushing blood and when he looked down at it, he was pretty damn sure that there was a good chance for a lifelong scar on his hand. It was fine to have lifetime, eventful wounds and scars from coming back from Iraq. From a fucking cat, not so much! Luther was so pissed off that he was very seriously considering taking Moose back home and drowning him in the bathtub. No doubt about it, missions or not, Luther could do it. He could tolerate insults, even grave personal injury but this kind of disrespect made his emotions mad in a quest for cruel vengeance.

Moose merely starred at him once more, his consciousness briefly regained.

Luther couldn’t help it; he struck the cat again, with the full force of his right hand, punching the cat on the face.

“I hate myself for treating you this way,” he said to the cat.

The feline was fading back to blissful slumber.

“I just don’t tolerate dissent or unnecessary violence of any kind…”

The cat was knocked out.

“Oh fuck it! I’m going back to the library.”

The woman who reminded him of Ethel and perhaps even a little bit of his mother was no longer there. A young, attractive redhead in her twenties had apparently taken the next shift. Luther was in part angry, furious even but there was another part of him, a rather strong one at that where nothing but glorious relief was utterly felt. It would not be long now until he would take care of the professor and he would answer to the cat for insubordination or treason.

“Can I help you?” asked the beautiful young woman.

“Yes,” Luther answered her.

“What is it that you were looking for?”

“History, books on the history of America and the people’s revolutions who want to overcome the racist tyrannical government of the United States of American.”

“Oh.”

“Can you help me?”

“Yes,” she answered him.

“Good.”

“You see, we have plenty of books like that.”

“I’m sure you do,” Luther said.

“I guess you can take your pick,” she said.

Luther had made up his mind what he needed to do right now.

***

Calvin and Wesley made it to the animal shelter, even though it was getting late. They were looking for clues but in all the wrong places at this point. Then Calvin wandered into the back office where West used to do his paperwork. The man was crackerjack at doing the often tedious, terrible, horrible work that often came with the hopeful joy of a family adopting a new pet. They could save the life of an animal by doing this. Calvin had been on the sitting bench too long and wanted to be an active part of the game that was previously denied him by Wesley and his atheist friend.

“Find anything?” asked Wesley.

“Oh, not yet,” answered Calvin.

“Please let me know because if I’m wrong, my reputation is going straight to hell. I don’t want that.”

“Okay.”

“No, really, I can’t have that. For Christ’s sake, Smith was a genius and he inspired me to do great work. Sometimes, I feel like he carried me… damned near like Saint Christopher, you know.”

“I’m not Catholic; don’t know much about Saint Christopher.”

“Oh.”

“Wait, Martin, you need to see this.”

“See what?”

“Martin,” he said in a panic.

“My God, John, you sound like you’re going to faint.

“I might,” he answered him.

West was hanging on a rope in the little room that was kept a secret from the general public. Those who wanted adorable pets never ventured back here.

“Christ,” said Calvin.

“Take it easy, John,” said Martin.

“I… I… I…”

“Take deep breaths,” he said to John Calvin.

“Wesley, I think I’m going to have a stroke.”

“Oh my God, poor Mr. West, he’s dead!”

“This man did not deserve to die. All he wanted to do was match good people with nice animals.”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe me,” asked Martin Wesley.

“Yes.”

“I have one question.”

“Sure.”

“Why would anyone murder him, then?”

“I have a theory but I was trying to calm you down.”

“Fuck that. I need to know the truth.”

He was no Jack Smith but this guy was starting to earn a little bit of his personal respect. Asking questions was always good.

“That damn corpse is starting to stink,” said John Calvin.

“The dead always stink,” Wesley replied.

“Okay, I can believe that.”

Death was something Calvin already knew about. He would imagine his wife’s body decomposing late at night as he slept alone. When his mother and father passed away, he would imagine them rotting in the grave as well. It was an awful, even miserable feeling to always be contemplating such things. He wished deep down in his heart of hearts that his family would seriously look into this whole cremation fad that has been popular in India for a very long time now. If only the Calvin family wasn’t so damned puritanical!

“This isn’t pleasant,” said Wesley.

“I know,” answered Calvin.

“We still have some serious work to do,” said Wesley.

This was surely the devil’s work. How Calvin had envied the Catholic and the atheist for chasing down that Doubting Thomas monster. Now he wasn’t so sure. Black and white had faded to gray and he wasn’t quite so sure how important his so called career really was anymore. This was mean, serious business. Life and death was the order of the day and all of a sudden, John Calvin wished he was just another stupid fat hick in small town law enforcement.

“I’m sorry,” said Wesley.

“What?”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“What?”

“Murder cases aren’t exciting and glamorous. That’s just the fucking news media for you. My line of work gives me nightmares. I can’t believe how evil people are when I hear about them being innately good every Sunday morning.”

“Understandable.”

“Sorry, I need to vent, John.”

The way Martin Wesley said his name was filled with warmth and well… respect. Calvin was not used to such treatment. The man had spent his entire life even believing himself to be a big fat stupid joke. A rent a cop at best but not now, he had evolved and he was beginning to regret the Darwinian process.

“That’s okay,” he answered him.

“My work messes with my head.”

“I see.”

“Jack, you know, doesn’t believe in God but I do.”

“Everyone knows that,” said Calvin.

“Yes.”

It was true but John Calvin would not bad mouth the great Jack Smith in front of his dear friend Martin. He was so sick of this obnoxious atheist who thought he was the intellectual superior of anyone who had faith. Well, anyone but Martin but that was just because he liked him as a person so much. He couldn’t tear him down because he knew from personal experience what it was like to lose the love of one’s life. The truth was that John Calvin hated atheists and had no room for them in his God fearing world. Who the hell did Smith think he was anyway? Denying the existence of the Supreme Being that gave him life was very vain. He had some never, the arrogant prick. The bizarre thing was that it was common knowledge that the other Smiths were deeply religious Presbyterians. All but him, who marched to the beat of a different drummer towards perdition, and the devil, must have laughed every step of the way.

“Look, Wesley, I’m not going to lie to you.”

“Okay.”

“I was raised; all the Calvin family was brought up to believe that Catholics were not Christians and had no place in the kingdom of heaven.”

“I’ve heard this before,” said Wesley.

The man never took anti-Catholic bigotry very seriously. All of these ridiculous Protestants wouldn’t have their belief in the trinity or presents on Christmas morning if it wasn’t for the alleged whore of Babylon.

“What is your point then, sir?”

“Well, I believe you are a good man of faith.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Sure.”

Now the two men, having bonded, could try and forget all about the fact that there was a dead man hung up with a rope, very close to where they were talking to one another.

“Look, I’m as fat as I look but nearly as stupid…”

“What?”

“I know you miss your friend, Jack.”

“Oh.”

There was no doubt about it in his mind. A terrible, vindictive, self-righteous part of him was wondering about something. How did Mr. Elitist atheist feel about is wife’s passing? Did he mock the comforts of faith or did he envy them? There was a profound oddness in losing the love of one’s life. That’s when you never felt more alive than you ever have. You were kinder to everyone, even people you despised on a conscious or subconscious level. That’s when one could not help but celebrate life and deny the darkness that eventually comes for us all. Love and hate are amazing things. Faith is just placebo misspelled. One must always do one’s duty, no matter how high the cost. For the man named John Calvin, doing his duty after his wife’s death, cost him everything he had. Perhaps even his very soul. He feared death but craved it when he was deep in a state of utter depression. Calvin was a sad, lonely man who wanted to make a name for himself while there was still time to do so. Calvin knew that deep down inside he was the kind of man who would die to save another man’s life. Even if he weren’t so old and for Christ sake, even if the man were a Catholic……

“My God, you look like you’re in deep thought,” said Martin.

“Yes, I am,” he answered him.

“Look, I know you’ve been through a lot and …”

“Enough.”

***

“What?”

“I’m not here to be pitied, Detective Wesley, I’m here to be respected.”

The American dream is the number one sought after experience on this little planet, the only one that sustains the ideal life. So why the fucks aren’t there more books indicating this? That’s what Luther Knox wanted to find out while exploring the Donnis University Library. Where is this America that everyone had heard about their entire lives? Does it exist or is it simply a work of fiction. Is American a romantic dream or something more sinister… dark fiction? Luther Knox always liked to think that he had a good, positive mind about such matters. Now he wasn’t quite so sure. This appalling library was filled with nothing but revisionist history based upon many a baby boomer that never had to spill one drop of blood for their county. They, of course, cried bloody murder about Vietnam being unconstitutional but they were not true patriots.