The Enemy

eyes. But he gave it one last shot.
    “You can’t prove anything,” he said.
    Now I said nothing.
    “Maybe it
was
just incompetence,” he said. “You thought about that? How are you going to prove the intention?”
    I said nothing. His eyes went hard.
    “You’re not dealing with idiots,” he said. “There’s no proof anywhere.”
    I took Franz’s Beretta out of my pocket. The one I had brought out of the Mojave. I hadn’t lost it. It had ridden all the way with me from California. That was why I had checked my luggage, just that one time. They won’t let you carry guns inside the cabin. Not without paperwork.
    “This piece is listed as destroyed,” I said. “It doesn’t officially exist anymore.”
    He stared at it.
    “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You can’t prove anything.”
    “You’re not dealing with an idiot either,” I said.
    “You don’t understand,” he said. “It was an order. From the top. We’re in the army. We obey orders.”
    I shook my head. “That excuse never worked for any soldier anywhere.”
    “It was an order,” he said again.
    “From who?”
    He just closed his eyes and shook his head.
    “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I know exactly who it was. And I know I can’t get to him. Not where he is. But I can get to you. You can be my messenger.”
    He opened his eyes.
    “You won’t do it,” he said.
    “Why didn’t you refuse?”
    “I couldn’t refuse. It was time to choose up sides. Don’t you see? We’re all going to have to do that.”
    I nodded. “I guess we are.”
    “Be smart now,” he said. “Please.”
    “I thought you were one bad apple,” I said. “But the whole barrel is bad. The good apples are the rare ones.”
    He stared at me.
    “You ruined it for me,” I said. “You and your rotten friends.”
    “Ruined what?”
    “Everything.”
    I stood up. Stepped back. Clicked the Beretta’s safety to
Fire.
    He stared at me.
    “Good-bye, Colonel Willard,” I said.
    I put the gun to my temple. He stared at me.
    “Just kidding,” I said.
    Then I shot him through the center of the forehead.

    It was a typical nine-millimeter full metal jacket through and through. It put the back of his skull into the cupboard behind him and left it there with a lot of smashed china. I stuffed the reefer and the speed and the crack cocaine in his pockets, along with a symbolic roll of dollar bills. Then I walked out the back door and away through his yard. I slipped through the fence and through the lot behind his and walked back to my car. I sat in the driver’s seat and opened my duffel and changed my boots. Took off the pair that had been ruined in the Mojave and put on a better pair. Then I drove west, toward Dulles. Into the Hertz return bays. Car rental bosses aren’t dumb. They know people get cars messy. They know they accumulate all kinds of crap inside. So they position big garbage cans near the return bays in the hope that renters will do the decent thing and clear some of the crap out themselves. That way they save on wages. Cut out even a minute a car, and staff costs drop a lot over a whole year. I put my old boots in one can, and the Beretta in another. As many cars as Hertz rented at Dulles in a day, those cans were headed for the crusher on a regular basis.
    I walked all the way to the terminal. I didn’t feel like taking the bus. I showed my military ID and used my checkbook and bought a one-way ticket to Paris, on the same Air France red-eye Joe had taken back when the world was different.

    I got to the Avenue Rapp at eight in the morning. Joe told me the cars were coming at ten. So I shaved and showered in the guest bathroom and found my mother’s ironing board and pressed my Class A uniform very carefully. I found polish in a cupboard and shined my shoes. Then I dressed. I put my full array of medals on, all four rows. I followed the
Correct Order of Wear
regulations and the
Wear of Full Size Medals
regulations. Each one hung down neatly over the ribbon in the row below. I used a cloth and cleaned them. I cleaned my other badges too, including my major’s oak leaves, one last time. Then I went into the white-painted living room to wait.
    Joe was in a black suit. I was no expert on clothing but I figured it was new. It was some kind of a fine material. Silk, maybe. Or cashmere. I didn’t know. It was beautifully cut. He had a white shirt and a black tie. Black shoes. He looked good. I had never seen him look better. He was