T. Boyle - A Friend of the Earth

The furniture-couch, loveseat and two matching chairs-was made of rock-hard mopane wood and upholstered in zebra hide. There was a lion rug on the floor instead of the orthodox bear, and the walls bristled with spears, shields, tribal masks and the mounted heads of kongoni, sable, oryx, leopard and bushpig — and one monumental rhino that looked as if it had burst through the paneling directly over the fireplace. But the piece de resistance was the rearing lion-eight feet tall at least, with drawn claws and a stupefied snarl-that stood guard over the entrance to the kitchen. Ratchiss identified it fondly as the Maneater of the Luangwa, killer and devourer of seventeen hapless men, women and children.

And here was the very man who'd put an end to the lion's existence, the odd band of muscle flashing under his shirt as he alternately tossed cans of beans and piccalilli relish onto the shelf and poured himself a drink from the half-gallon jug of Beefeater's on the counter. "Heard from Teo," he said. "Saw him, in fact, down at my place."

Ratchiss was referring to his primary residence, a house in Malibu with unobstructed ocean views, two swimming pools and a gallery of African art and trophies that would have put the Smithsonian to shame. He'd left Mag (or Mug) in charge of the place for a few days so he could do a little grocery shopping for his guests and see how they were adapting to their new surroundings. Tierwater merely grunted, but the grunt had a faint interrogative lift to it: Ratchiss had heard from Teo, and he had something to communicate.

"Yeah, we had a couple drinks together and then went out to this place I know in. Santa Monica. He's looking good, doing well-E. F.I Took in nearly eighty thousand dollars in contributions and new memberships last month alone. Oh, and before I forget, he gave me this, uh, for you-"

Tierwater set down the groceries and took the thick white envelope Ratchiss held out to him. He stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it, but he knew what it contained: hundred-dollar bills, a hundred and fifty of them, paid out of his business account by his secretary and channeled to him through a post-office box in Calabasas; the box was rented by an E. F.I Volunteer who gave over the envelope to Teo, who in turn transferred it to Ratchiss. Byzantine precautions, but necessary. The FBI was almost certainly in on this now: Tierwater had jumped bail, violated a court order, committed assault and battery, abduction, child abuse and God knew what else — and he'd fled across state lines to avoid prosecution. He was a criminal, a desperado, a fugitive from justice facing actual prison time, years maybe, years behind bars, and what had he done? He'd stuck his feet in some wet cement. Pissed off a few people. Tried to save the planet. Christ, they should be giving him awards- But there was no going back now. Sierra was already registered for the eighth grade in the Springville public schools — a mere twenty-eight miles away, down a twisting mountain road — and he and Andrea were in permanent hiding, ready to strike back when the opportunity presented itself. Nobody knew them now, and nobody cared. But they were going to become a cause celebre, that's how Tierwater saw it, heroes of the environmental movement. Like the Arizona Phantom. Or the Fox. People who'd struck back, done something, mattered. People who didn't just take up space and draw breath and consume so many pounds of food and pints of liquid a day and produce nothing in their whole oblivious, cramped and contaminated lives but waste and more waste.

The Phantom was a case in point. He'd appeared along the Arizona/New Mexico border in the early seventies, an anonymous avenger who took on Peabody Coal and its federal allies in the fight over the Four Corners power stations and the mine planned for Black Mesa. Eight-hundred-foot smokestacks. Air like soot. Burn coal and light up L. A. So the megalopolis can creep even farther into the desert-that was the idea. Peaceful protests had no effect. Lobbying failed. The Black Mesa Defense Fund ran out of money. But stealthily, methodically, without ever revealing his identity or coming close to apprehension despite an army of guards and watchmen lying in wait for him, the Phantom went to work on the tracks of the Black Mesa Railroad and every piece of heavy equipment he could find. Ultimately, the mines were gouged out of the ground and the smokestacks went up, but the Phantom-one man, acting alone-showed the world what commitment was. Or could be.

To Tierwater's mind, the Fox was even better, because he was visible — or at least he made himself visible at certain crucial and dramatic moments, like a kind of Zorro of the ecodefense movement. Legend had it that he was just a concerned citizen — a weekend fisherman, a biology teacher, a jogger-who took matters into his own hands after watching local industries pollute the Fox River in northern Illinois. He plugged illegal drains, capped smokestacks, left taunting notes at the scenes of his crimes and once was even interviewed (albeit in a mask) by a local television crew. But most dramatically — and this was what really fired Tier-water's imagination-he appeared one afternoon in the offices of a U. S. Steel executive and proceeded to pour a fifty-gallon barrel of sludge on the carpet. You people keep telling us you're not polluting our water, he said. So, if that's the case, this shouldn't hurt the carpet one bit And then he disappeared.

"Said he's coming up next week-wants to talk to you."

Tierwater had the refrigerator door open. He was extracting heads of lettuce, carrots, broccoli from the paper bags and dropping them into the vegetable crisper. "Who?"

"What do you mean, 'who'? Teo. Who're we talking about?" Ratchiss was giving him a look, lips pursed over the bite of his drink, eyes narrowed to slits.

All right, look at me, Tierwater was thinking, belligerent suddenly. If Teo came up, somebody might follow him And if somebody followed him, it wasn't Ratchiss who was going to jail, it was Tyrone O'Shaughnessy Tierwater. And his wife. And his daughter. "Isn't that dangerous?" Tierwater said, backing away from the refrigerator, all the peace gone out of the day like air from a hissing balloon.

"Bloody hell, you don't think he's going to drive, do you?"

"How else is he going to get here-by parachute?"

There was a moment of silence, Ratchiss studying him, the squirrels chittering in the trees outside the window, a soft exclamation of despair or joy-he couldn't tell which — drifting in from the grudge match on the porch. "He's no fool-he's hiking in. Having some friend drive him to the trailhead at Camp Orson, and you know Teo-I'd bloody well like to see some lawman try to keep up with him on the trail. No, not to worry, Ty: these people are professionals. We're professionals, I should say." He took a step forward, set his drink down on the counter and held out his hand — a callused, hard, sinewy hand, chilled by cold gin — which Tierwater duly took in his own. "Nobody's going to give you up, don't you worry?'

Andrea was committed to the cause-one of the charter members of Earth Forever! A paid, full-time proselytizer and rabble rouser — but Tierwater could see she hadn't counted on this. Living underground, living anonymously, living as Dee Dee Drinkwater in a place as remote from the bright lights as you could get, beautiful scenery, sure, but where was the action? Her forte was traveling the enviro circuit, making contacts over the cocktails and hors d 'oeuvres, showing the slides, giving the peroration and passing the hat. She looked good up there onstage, tall and commanding, with her low-cut blouse and scorching eyes, very persuasive, very seductive-as Tierwater could testify. She hadn't said anything yet, but he sensed she was looking for a way out, a deal maybe, a way to cut their losses and generate some publicity. Teo was coming. He wanted to talk. And what did that mean? More lawyers? More Freds? Tier-water didn't want any part of it-he was Tom Drinkwater now, faceless and hidden, and if he was going to go down he was going to go down in flames.