Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

Darryl looked over at his sister-in-law, then at Rakkim. Shrugged.

Rakkim stared at another photo, a wedding photo, the young couple holding hands, grinning shyly at the camera. The slender bride seemed lost in the folds of her wedding gown, the groom stiff. He squinted at the date on the bottom.

Darryl tapped the glass over the photo. "That was a happy day. God, me and Eldon got so drunk the night before I didn't think he was going to make it through the ceremony."

"I didn't have any doubts," Mrs. Harrison said. "He knew what I had waiting for him that night. Both of us sixteen and raring to go."

"He was happy, Bernice." Darryl took a swallow of Coca-Cola. "No matter how bad things got, he was happy. Made me jealous, I'll tell you the truth."

Rakkim stared at the date on the wedding photo. If they were sixteen when they got married, Mrs. Harrison was only thirty-six. She looked like she was in her sixties.

"Do you love your wife, Rikki?" said Mrs. Harrison.

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

"You have children?" said Mrs. Harrison.

"A son."

The mister and I had nine," said Mrs. Harrison. "Three of them alive and well, praise God."

Rakkim pointed to another photo, three children in neat blue school uniforms with white piping on the sleeves and trousers. "Is this them?"

Mrs. Harrison rose from her chair, crossed over to him. Moseby followed her.

"That's my angels." Mrs. Harrison tapped the biggest child. "That's Eldon the fifth." Tapped the girl. "That's Evelyn." Tapped the smaller boy. "And that little dickens is Zachary. Named him after the Colonel, greatest man who ever lived after Jesus Christ and Eldon the first."

"Nice-looking children," said Rakkim. It was the truth. They looked radiant.

"They're at the Bush Academy in Ottawa, Canada," said Mrs. Harrison. "Your wife got them a full scholarship. I guess you didn't know that."

"No, ma'am…I didn't," said Rakkim.

"Cost a pretty penny to go to that school," said Darryl. "All those rich kids…they're never going to want to come back here."

"I hope they don't," said Mrs. Harrison. "I most definitely hope they don't."

Rakkim couldn't take his eyes off the holo of the three children. "They…they look like they fit right in to that fancy school."

"You seen them a year ago, you wouldn't a' said that," said Darryl.

"They had the usual problems…usual for around here," said Mrs. Harrison. "Then my husband made a big find about a year ago. Everything changed after that."

"Eldon was always the lucky one," said Darryl.

Mrs. Harrison blushed, turned to Rakkim. "With the money we got from his big strike we were able to send the children to the clinic in Montreal. Bought them new kidneys, new pituitary glands, complete blood wash, of course. I visited them in the hospital afterwards and hardly recognized them. They were as fresh and beautiful as the day they were born."

"What did your husband find in the city?" said Moseby.

Mrs. Harrison shook her head. "I let the mister take care of business, and he let me take care of the home. Worked out pretty well all these years."

"He never told me either," said Darryl. "His own brother. Said it was none of my concern."

"He never brought this treasure home?" said Moseby.

"No," said Mrs. Harrison. "I guessed it was too big to carry."

"And too valuable to share," said Darryl.

"Why don't you take the Coca-Cola and go back to your room," said Mrs. Harrison. "Go on now." She waited until Darryl left. "He's not a bad man. Just always thought he got hind tit."

"Did your husband ever tell you what he was looking for on that last trip?" said Moseby.

"I told you, he kept his business to himself," said Mrs. Harrison.

"We know he made several trips for Sarah, before he found what she wanted," said Rakkim, looking over the other photos, trying to imagine the man who would leave all this and go into the dead city, time after time, even as his children sickened and died, even as he was eaten up with death. The sense of history and place that held them here…Rakkim didn't have it. Neither did Moseby; he had left the Republic and the Fedayeen for love and never looked back.

"He must have at least told you what he saw along the way…some building, some landmark," said Moseby. "We just want to know where to start looking, Mrs. Harrison."

"I'd help you boys if I could," she said. "Your wife…she's been a blessing to our family," she said to Rakkim. "She done things for us we could never repay. Getting the kids into the Bush Academy, that wouldn't have happened without her. So, you'll have to believe me when I tell you, when the mister left that last morning…all he said was he was going somewhere bound to break his heart."

"The whole city makes me want to cry," said Moseby.

"That's you, and your outland ways, bawlin' over a stubbed toe or a runover kitten," said Mrs. Harrison. "My husband was made of stronger stuff. We lost our first three babies…I never seen him shed a tear when he broke ground for their graves, just cursed the earth for taking them. I can't imagine what it would take to break his heart, but that's where he said he was going."

If burying your children didn't break your heart, Rakkim didn't know what would…but Eldon Harrison had found it in D.C. Rakkim stared at the soldier in the jungle. Eldon Harrison the first. The best of them, Darryl had said. The noble dead. He took a deep breath, then walked over to Mrs. Harrison, embraced her, and she was all sharp bones and startled femininity. "Thank you for all your help, ma'am."

Mrs. Harrison nodded. "You give our love to your wife."

They were almost at the war wagon before Moseby spoke. "Why are we leaving?"

Rakkim turned and waved to Mrs. Harrison, who stood on the porch watching them. She didn't wave back, instead turned and went back inside. "She told us enough," said Rakkim. "I think I know where the safe room is."

"Look, Mama, Elvis is shaking," said Steve, mimicking the King's movements.

Betty Grassley looked up and Steve was right, the cloud sculpture of Elvis was moving his hips, a cloud sculpture of the young Elvis, slim and sexy in rolled blue jeans and a dark shirt, floating five thousand feet above Graceland, the light breeze animating him.

Steve shook his hips like Elvis, the fake sideburns he had bought in the gift shop curling slightly from his pink cheeks. The black pompadour was his own. He wore his favorite jumpsuit, the red, white and blue bicentennial version that Elvis had worn for the first time at the Charlotte Coliseum, March 26, 1976. Steve had been born on March 26, and Betty considered it a sign from God.

Two blue-haired ladies beamed as Steve shimmied. "He's got the moves," one said.

"He's nine years old and consecrated in the blood," said Betty. "Elvis lullabies were the only thing that put him right to sleep."

"Amen," said the two ladies.

Betty sat down on one of the many benches in the Meditation Garden while Steve stared up at the sculpture in the clear blue Memphis sky. Her feet hurt. She waitressed six days a week, and on the seventh day she went to Graceland. There was a beautiful limestone chapel on the grounds, but that was booked up for years with weddings. No, she considered the whole thirteen-acre site to be one big church, and the Meditation Garden was where she liked to pray. Steve liked the Jungle Room and the two lions beside the main gate, but there was nothing like sitting here in the open air, smelling the blooming jasmine. Most of the tourists stayed in the Heartbreak Hotel across the street; they congregated around the crypts where Elvis's mama and daddy, Gladys and Vernon, were buried, but she preferred this spot, the most tranquil place in the garden.