Amerikan Eagle

Rudy noisily drained the cup and then slapped it on the counter. “Shit, you got a dead son of a bitch, right? Hanson wants to chat you up about it.”

Sam felt a voice inside saying, Not fair, dammit, not fair, this case is less than a half hour old, I don’t know enough to brief my boss. Rudy added, “Nice job you got there, Sam. Being warm and all. Me, I’m back on the streets for another three hours.”

Sam said, “Good place for you, don’t you think?”

Rudy smiled, and Sam saw a patch of stubble on his chin where the razor had missed shaving. “You can have your inspector job. Lots of bullshit a guy like me don’t have to worry about, and I’ll be getting mine when I retire. See you in the funny papers, Sam. Thanks for the coffee, Jack.”

After Rudy left, Sam folded his notebook shut, put it inside his coat, and got up from his stool. The door banged open and two young men stumbled in, noisy, already drunk, swaying. Their cropped hair was wet from the rain, and they were dressed almost identically, in leather boots, dark blue corduroy pants, and leather coats. On the lapel of each coat was a small Confederate-flag pin, and Sam stood still, watching them stumble by and sit down at the counter.

The two jokingly passed a menu between them, and Sam started to the door, just as one of the men yelled out to Jack Tinios, “Hey, you old bastard, get over here and take our order! What the hell are you, a lazy Jew or something?”

The coffee shop fell silent. One of the sailors set his fork down. Sam looked to Jack, who looked back at him, eyes sharp. No one dared look at the two men who had just slammed in. Donna stood by the kitchen doors. She had a plate of food in her hand, and even at this distance, Sam saw her eyes tear up. In the restaurant window was a faded sign: WE SUPPORT SHARE THE WEALTH. One of the ways to get along, not to make waves, even though Sam knew Jack detested the President.

The rain was pelting down, but Sam took his time after he went outside. He looked at each of the cars parked in the dirt lot until he found the one he was looking for, a ’42 Plymouth with Louisiana license plates, a pelican in the center of the plate. The front fenders and windshield were speckled with insect carcasses from the long drive north. Two members of the President’s party—Long’s Legionnaires, they were called in some of the braver newspapers—sent north as reverse carpetbaggers, to install Party discipline with a fierce loyalty for their Kingfish. Up till recently, Portsmouth had been spared such visitors, but in the past few weeks they’d been here, setting up shop, doing their bit to extend their President’s control.

Sam looked back at the rain-streaked windows of the small restaurant, saw the two young men sitting there, laughing. Then he knelt down, took out his pocketknife, and gently slit the two rear tires.

INTERLUDE I

With Vermont behind him, it took him nearly a week, but he finally made it to this isolated farmhouse on the New Hampshire side of the Connecticut River. Standing in the trees at dusk, he had watched the place for almost an hour before reaching a decision. Sweet wood smoke rose and eddied up from a metal smokestack set in the sagging roof of the one-story home next to an empty barn. He rubbed his hands. It was probably warm in that snug old farmhouse. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d last been warm. Only when it was dark, and someone lit a kerosene lamp from inside, did he make his move.

He walked up to the rear door, going as fast as he could, limping from last winter’s injury, when a pine tree he’d cut down had fallen the wrong way. When he got to the door, he gave it a good thump with his fist.

No answer.

His breath snagged as he thought, A trap? When he thumped again, the door creaked open an inch.

“Yeah?” came a voice from inside.

“Just passing through,” he said.

“So?”

He hesitated, knowing it would sound silly, but still, it had to be said. “Give me liberty…” He waited for the countersign, wondering if he could run fast enough back to the woods if it went wrong.

The man on the other side of the door replied, “Or give me liberty.”