George Chesbro: Two Songs This Archangel Sings

"How many guns?"

"At least two, maybe three."

"Any idea what kinds of guns we're talking about?"

"At least one handgun, maybe two. I think he's also carrying a semiautomatic rifle or submachine gun with a collapsible stock."

"How the hell do you know what he's carrying if you didn't see him?"

I told Garth about the empty brackets and gun oil in the hidden compartment. My brother listened in silence, staring at a spot just above my head. When I'd finished, he hunched the broad shoulders on his six-foot-three-inch frame, shoved his hands into his pockets, and proceeded to pace. Finally he came to a stop in front of me again.

"Except for the mountains, that looks like Viet Nam," he said, nodding toward the painting.

"There aren't mountains in Viet Nam?" I asked. Garth would know; he'd spent time there during the war as an MP stationed in and around Saigon.

"Not like those."

"Still, he must have been somewhere over there. The soldiers are definitely Asian-Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars, I'd say."

"Veil Kendry as an angel," Garth said with a sardonic smile. "Not likely."

"It means something."

"And I come back to the same question I asked earlier: If Kendry wanted to tell you something, why not just pick up the phone? Or leave a note?"

"The painting is the answer to that, and I'll let you know when I figure it out. Incidentally, that picture's interesting for other reasons. As far as I know, he's never painted anything else this realistically. Also, I've never seen anything else of his that had people in it."

Garth's response was an indifferent shrug; his mind seemed to be elsewhere-undoubtedly on the man himself, not his painting.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked.

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Let's hear the official part first."

"I'm not sure, Mongo. You're the one who opened the can, but I get responsibility for the Goddamn worms. I have no doubt that Kendry's carrying all the stuff you say he is. The problem is that you haven't even seen him, much less witnessed him carrying weapons As far as the law is concerned, Kendry has committed no crime; you have. Still, if I spread the word that Veil Kendry is wandering mound loaded for bear, every cop in the city is going to be looking for him, and those cops are going to have itchy trigger fingers. That could lead to somebody unnecessarily getting hurt. On the other hand, if I don't spread the word, some unsuspecting cop is likely to get blown away."

"That's not going to happen, Garth."

"Oh, isn't it? Can you guarantee me that? Can you tell me what's on Veil Kendry's mind?"

"You know I can't."

"Then don't try to tell me what's not going to happen."

"I hear what you're saying," I said quietly, "and I appreciate the dilemma. It's one reason I didn't mention the guns over the phone; I wasn't sure how the cops would react."

"You mean, you weren't sure how I'd react."

"It's the same thing. I didn't want him killed by some nervous cop while all he was trying to do was defend himself against somebody else who was trying to kill him. Christ, Garth, I'm just following my nose on this thing, playing it by ear."

"A long nose in this case, Mongo. And maybe a tin ear."

"You still haven't told me what you're going to do officially."

Garth sighed, shook his head. "I'm going to have to put out the word, Mongo, but I'll have to give some thought to what that word is going to be. I damn well don't want either Kendry or some cop blown away just because you can't mind your own business."

"Jesus Christ! You-!" I paused, swallowed my anger. "What the hell is it between Veil and the NYPD? He keeps putting away muggers and dope dealers, and you keep putting him away. Talk about overreaction! He's never hurt anybody who wasn't trying to hurt him or somebody else. I can see some of the other guys on the force getting jealous because they think Veil makes them look bad, but not you. What's your problem?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Mongo," Garth said tightly. "That's your problem."

"Why don't I know what I'm talking about?"

"You just don't."

Whatever it was Garth knew about Veil, or thought he knew, he obviously wasn't ready to share it with me. That only served to arouse my curiosity further, but I knew better than to push. I shrugged my shoulders, asked, "So, what are you going to do unofficially?"

"Keep an eye on you."

"I don't need anybody keeping an eye on me," I replied tersely.

"Bullshit," Garth said, and laughed. "Never in the history of the world has anyone needed a keeper more than you." The laughter and his broad smile abruptly vanished. "Here it is up front, Mongo. I want you to back right away from this thing. Whatever may be going on, back off. Why the hell do you want to get involved in Kendry's miseries, anyway?"

The question both puzzled and troubled me, and I searched Garth's face for some answer as to why he had asked it. He stared back at me impassively. "Because he's my friend," I replied at last. "I don't understand what you're saying. Wouldn't you do as much for a friend you thought was in trouble and needed help?"

Garth abruptly turned away and walked to the one window in the office. When he finally spoke, his deep voice sounded strange, muffled by the glass. "You're the only friend I have, Mongo. Except for Mom and Dad, and a few of the relatives, other people are just ghosts. You've already used up more lives than a litter of cats, and there's no reason for you to take any more chances. The lesson we learned from those nice people who ran Valhalla was that almost nothing we do really matters, not in the long run. Well, you matter to me. I don't want you hurt, and I certainly don't want you hurt because of a creep like Veil Kendry-and he is a creep, as far as I'm concerned. We've both dealt with enough crazies to last us a lifetime, so to hell with Kendry and the rest of the crazies."

Garth's words and manner deeply distressed me. For some time it had seemed to me that a shadow hung over„my brother-now I knew I'd been right, and I recognized the face of the shadow. When Garth and I had left our parents' farm, I'd thought both of us were sufficiently healed to get on with our lives. Now I realized that I'd been wrong. Garth wasn't immersed in work, or anything else; he was just floating on the surface under a rotting sun of memory and despair that was eating him away. He wasn't living a life, I thought, hut just going through the motions. I wondered if the serum we'd both been repeatedly injected with had done it to him; it was hard for me to imagine Garth being beaten by his own mind.

"Garth," I said, trying to fight my own despair with words, "I can't just walk away from this until I at least find out what's going on. You almost act as if there's nothing to it, and-"

"I never said there was nothing to it!" Garth snapped, wheeling back to face me. "I'm not a fool! If you tell me he's carting around a submachine gun, then he almost certainly is. What I said is that it's none of your business. Wherever he's gone, it's fine with me. I just don't want you sucked away with him. Veil Kendry stinks of madness and death."

"What the hell's the matter with you, Garth?" I asked softly. "You talk like a stranger. Just because you don't like-"

"How long have you known Kendry, wise-ass?!"

Taken aback by the anger in his voice, I blinked in surprise. "About eleven years," I answered warily. "I met him when I bought one of his paintings at-"

"I know how you met him," Garth said curtly. "What do you suppose Kendry was doing before he started all this painting bullshit?"

"Bullshit?"

"What's his background?"

"I don't know."

"What the hell do you mean, you 'don't know,' wise-ass? I thought this guy was a great friend of yours. After all, you felt close enough to him to walk into his place uninvited and spend the night. You felt close enough to him to walk out with one of his paintings and ten grand in cash."