Jake Needham - Laundry Man

“Come on,” Just John said, “don’t give Jello such a hard time. He’s just doing his job,” He shifted the submachine gun strap slightly on his shoulder and tucked his flashlight under his left arm. “Let’s take it all one step at a time. Can you just do that for once in your whole goddamned life?”

“One small step for Jack Shepherd, one giant leap for mankind? Something like that, John?”

Just John grabbed my right arm with his free hand and pulled me around the corner of the house. Jello trailed behind as we walked toward where Phony Frank and the other men in the FBI jackets waited by the line of handcuffed people lying on the ground.

“You’re such a fucking wise-ass, Jack. You break me up. You really do.”

John didn’t really seem all that broken up to me.

Somebody had set up portable lights at the front of the compound and they switched them on just as we rounded the corner. When we walked into the pool of illumination, the men in the FBI windbreakers turned to look at us.

The compound’s gates were wide open. Just outside, scattered as if they had been abandoned in a hurry, were three black Cherokees as well as the old jeep and the two white Toyotas I had seen on the security monitor. The men in police uniforms were lounging against the Toyotas now, watching the proceedings without any apparent interest. I shifted my attention back to the FBI jackets and their prisoners.

I recognized Beth and several of Barry’s guards in the line of handcuffed prisoners lying on the ground, but there were also others I didn’t recognize. Beth twisted her head around and gave me a half smile. I didn’t see any blood on her face so I gathered she was okay.

The Thais in uniform may not have been police, but these guys in the windbreakers were all westerners and they looked like the real deal. Maybe they really were FBI. They certainly could be. The whole operation smacked of textbook FBI planning. Come in with such overwhelming force and massive firepower that resistance is futile and the target collapses without a struggle.

“Bring him over here!”

Phony Frank was beckoning impatiently at Just John from down at the end of the line of prisoners. Right in front of Frank, Barry was lying on the ground on his stomach, his hands cuffed behind him.

“Is that you, Jack?” Barry called out when he heard our footsteps approaching.

Barry tried to twist his head around so he could see us, but Just John put the toe of his boot on Barry’s neck and shoved his face into the dirt.

Phony Frank looked at me and pointed back down the line at the other people with their hands cuffed behind them. “You know any of these?” he asked.

I wondered for a moment what the right answer was, and what might happen if I got the wrong answer.

“I recognize some of them,” I said after a moment.

“From where?”

I couldn’t see where this was going.

“Look, partner,” I said, “these are just some people Barry Gale hired to do security for him. If you think you’ve nabbed a drug lord and his secret army, you’ve got a big disappointment coming.”

Phony Frank walked down the line and pointed at Beth. “What about her?”

“I think she was in charge of Barry’s security.”

“Well, she did a piss-poor job, I’d say.”

Phony Frank laughed and most of the other men who were standing around started laughing, too, but when he walked back up the line again and stopped directly behind Barry, everyone stopped laughing.

“Can you identify this man as Barry Gale?” he asked me.

Phony Frank pointed to where Barry lay on his stomach with his face in the dirt and his ass in the air.

“Not from this angle. We weren’t that close.”

Phony Frank nodded a couple of times as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing for me to say. Then he reached down with both hands and in one smooth motion jerked Barry up by an arm and a leg and flipped him onto his back. Poor Barry writhed about on the ground, his cuffed hands pressing up into his spine. He looked like a fish that had been gaffed, hauled into a boat, and then left to flap helplessly on the deck. He also looked terrified.

“For Christ’s sake help me, Jack,” he whined. “Don’t let them kill me!”

“Relax, Barry. It’s the Feds. They’re not going to kill you.”

“Oh man, Jack.” Barry breathed in heavy jerks, sputtering slightly from the dirt sticking to his lips. “You still don’t get any of this, do you, you stupid fucking shit?”

“So you’re positively identifying this man as Barry Gale,” Phony Frank interrupted, enunciating as carefully as if he were making a recording.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, is he or isn’t he?”

“I’m begging you here, Jack. Don’t let them kill me!”

Barry was trying to struggle to his knees, but Just John kept him down with one foot. The fear was right there in Barry’s eyes. I could see it easily enough, but I still didn’t understand it.

“Just who the hell wants to know, partner?” I snapped at Phony Frank.

I was starting to get very pissed with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff and I gave him a two-fisted stare.

“Answer the man, Jack. Just answer him,” Just John muttered.

He sounded like he was getting pissed, too, but whether at Phony Frank or at me, I couldn’t tell.

I folded my arms. “Not until someone tells me exactly what the hell is going on here.”

Just John sighed heavily and bent over. Dropping his flashlight, he reached out with one hand and flipped Barry back onto his stomach.

“The ABC was an intelligence operation from the beginning,” John said.

“What did Jimmy Kicks have to do with it?”

“He never existed,” Phony Frank smiled. “We made Jimmy Kicks up.”

I didn’t say anything. Suddenly I felt very stupid.

“We needed a bank to get some things done,” Phony Frank continued. “But then you know all about those things already, don’t you, Jack? That story about the Russian mob was just a cover for taking over the ABC. We had to have a reliable Asian conduit to fund a very sensitive operation. It’s as simple as that really.”

The wind was rising off the Andaman Sea, kicking up little puffs of limestone dust around the compound. It was so quiet I could hear the waves lapping against the rocks somewhere below.

“Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talking about?” I asked after a moment.

“This was a coordinated operation between the CIA and a special White House security unit,” John answered.

“ Special White House security unit? What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “Has Ollie North made a comeback I didn’t hear about?”

“That’s none of your goddamned business, Jack. You already know a lot more than you should and that’s another problem we’re going to have to deal with eventually.”

Just John’s voice was soft, but something in it made the back of my neck feel cold.

“Barry Gale scammed our operation for a great deal of money and we want it back,” John said. “On the other hand, we don’t want some fucking Congressman going on CNN someday and claiming we got the wrong guy, so we’re doing this by the book. Look over there, Jack.”

I looked where John was pointing and saw one of the guys in an FBI jacket was holding a video camera on us.

“If you’ll just look into the camera, smile real nice for the folks, and formally identify Gale, we can grab this bunch and it will all be a wrap. Now why can’t you just be a good boy, stop fucking around with something you don’t understand, and do that for us?”

“You a spy, John?”

“Nah, Jack, I’m just a guy who has to account for the money.”