Ian Slater - Asian Front

He lowered his voice, still smiling. “Hey, loosen up, babe. Muhammad comes to the mountain, right? Isn’t that enough?”

“For what?”

He reached out and took another soft drink. “See? No booze. On the wagon.” He downed the pop in one go. “Want you to come back, babe. Miss you. Hey — hey — before you say anything, I want to say I’m sorry. Mea culpa. Okay?” He moved to touch her arm. She withdrew it.

“Hey, swear to God, Lana. Checked in with a shrink. The whole bit. Cost me a bundle but I’m straightened out.”

“I’m glad.” It was the first thing she’d said to him that she had meant.

“God, but you’re beautiful.”

She said nothing, unmoved.

“Lana — this stinking war—” He glimpsed Francine watching them, sipping her Diet Coke. “Changed everything, right? None of us are the same people.” For a moment neither of them spoke. “Look, honey, you want the divorce, you can have it.”

She looked up at him.

“Yeah. I mean it. That’s what I came to tell you. But I want to do it civilly. You know — sit down, figure out a little something for your folks.”

“They’re all right.”

“You know what I mean. Your brother Ray — all those bums — I know a few people who—”

“Ray’s doing fine, Jay. He’s all—”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll level with you. I wanted to see you — that’s the truth. We’re also opening up a new plant in Anchorage. Perfume.” He laughed, that easy, gentle, good-looking laugh that had been the first thing that had attracted her to him. It seemed inconceivable now — so long ago. How she could have fallen—

“Crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “Whole damn world’s at war and people want to buy more perfume.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Well, not really I suppose—” She stopped.

“What d’you say you come into Anchorage for a day or two? We’ll settle it there. I’ll have the papers drawn up. Anything you don’t like — hey — we’re two reasonable people, right?”

“Are we?”

“Sure we are. Look, you don’t have to worry. I know about Shirer.” She felt the involuntary chill of a threat pass through her but said nothing. “That’s fine,” he went on. “I’ve got no problem with him. That’s why I came up. I don’t expect you to come back. I—” He looked thoughtfully down at his empty glass.

He’s making it up, she thought. He’s making it up as he goes along.

“I know I haven’t been any good for you, Lana.” He suddenly brightened. “On the other hand, if it wasn’t for me you’d never have met this guy and — hell, don’t make it hard, babe. All I’m saying is I know I gave you a rotten deal. A rotten deal. I can’t go back and fix that, but I can try to make amends.” He looked down at her and spoke softly. “It’s partly selfish. But I need to wipe the slate clean. I need to talk, Lana. Just you and me — sit down and straighten—”

“I don’t think so, Jay.”

“I know. Hell, on my past performance if I were you I’d think, ‘Bug off,’ but you’ve always been fair, babe. But we can’t talk here.” He looked around. “In this dump — I mean-no offense but — it’s a zoo, right? Look, forget Anchorage. We’ll settle it here. There a hotel in this burg?”

“I’m not spending a night with you, Jay. If you think you can con me into a good-bye— Well, you know what I mean. No way.”

“That’s not what I meant. Hell, bring a chaperon if you like. I just want it settled.” He smiled. “I’ll buy you a hamburger.”

She sighed. “Why don’t you just send the papers through the mail, Jay?”

“You think I haven’t thought of that? But my damn lawyers freaked out. I told them you’d settle easy enough. There’d be no hassle. But they want it watertight. Which means they want to charge me twenty thousand bucks. It has to do with the board, too, Lana. La Roche Chemicals. The agreement you sign has got to be — well — final. They need to see it — tell us what we can and can’t change. Hell,” he said. “You try to tell them to do it through the mail.”

She recognized the relentless legality of it.

“There’s a small hotel cum café—Davy Jones,” she said. ‘It’s not very fancy, but we could meet there I suppose.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Eight o’clock?”

“All right.” She turned to go.

“Lana?”

When she looked at him, both arms were dangling by his side in a way she’d never seen him before. He looked defeated. “I’ll send a driver if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ll get a base cab.”

“I still love you, babe. I only wanted to see you. Is that so terrible?”

When La Roche’s entourage moved out of the PX, Francine could tell something had happened to him. A young reporter, his ID press badge reading Anchorage Spectator, tried eagerly to get a few words from him. “My name’s Johnson, Mr. La Roche. Anchorage Spectator. I was wondering if you’d care to say a few words about—”

“Fuck off!” La Roche told him.

“What are we doing, Mr. La Roche?” one of the flunkies asked.

“There’s some rat-hole in this place called the Davy Jones. Make reservations for dinner, if they know what that is. Eight o’clock. For two. And a room for me.”

“We’re booked into the Excelsior, Mr. La Roche. Nice little hotel overlooking the—”

“Well go there and draw up divorce papers.”

“Divorce papers?” the lawyer said. “But we didn’t bring any — I mean — we didn’t know you wanted anything like that on this trip, Mr. La Roche. I don’t think—”

“Then give me one of the company contracts. Something that looks legal. Can you do that much?” Jay sneered.

“Yes. Right away, Mr. La Roche.”

“Have them ready for me by eight o’clock so I can take ‘em with me to that Davy joint. And Marvin?”

“Yes, Mr. LaRoche?”

“Tell Francine to get her ass over to that hotel room. Now!”

Aussie’s FAV was halfway down a dune when they heard the bang and felt the vehicle shuddering, Aussie steering hard into the skid. Beneath the vehicle an avalanche of slow-moving sand and stones followed, the stones as big as a man’s fist.

Within seconds Aussie and David Brentwood were out, their new TOW man swiveling in his seat to make sure he could cover them for the full 360 degrees while Aussie grabbed the jack and David hit the wing nut that held down the spare.

Brentwood hoped that outflanking the ChiCom tanks would be easy, given the speed of the FAV, but he knew he couldn’t be sure until the ChiCom MBTs got their first glimpse of a FAV — would they break and go after the FAVs or stay in echelon, whatever its configuration might be?

“I can hear them,” the TOW operator said.

“Can you see ‘em?” Aussie said, tightening the last bolt on the spare tire while Brentwood finished putting the emergency patch on the flat.

“No.”

“Well that’s no bloody use, is it? I can hear them, too. Every fucker within a mile can hear—” They intuitively ducked, the sound of ordnance passing overhead with that peculiar chuffing sound like a locomotive shunting at high speed made louder by the air duck with particles of sand. They quickly put the repaired tire back on the spare rack.

“Right! We’re off,” Aussie said. “I’m the first one to spot a chow. Five to one on — any takers?”

David Brentwood said nothing, peering hard through goggles, the sound of sand striking them like fine hail. The TOW operator took Aussie’s bet, for he could already see two blurs — too big to be motorcycle and sidecar units. “You’re on,” the TOW operator said. “Ten bucks.”