Don DeLillo - Running Dog

"I'm making moves," Mudger said. "That's how you keep going. You renew yourself. Systems planning is fundamentally lacking in one important respect."

"You've said. People."

"People, correct."

"Earl, it's peaked."

"I've been studying pornography for a long time now. Hell of an interesting field. Dynamics involved. The psychology. Interesting element. Strange arrays of people. Pacts and alliances and accommodations. That intrigues me. Systems is all formulation. Essentially sterile concepts. I miss human interest. The war was full of human interest."

"The thing has peaked, Earl."

"Multimillions. Close to a billion, including the soft stuff."

"You've had success employing unique methods. You go into smut in a big way, you'll find these methods aren't so unique."

"Don't I thrive on challenges?"

Lomax patted the top of his head.

"Isn't it all business? When you come right down to it? Isn't the whole thing just a slam-bang corporate adventure? Arthur? Isn't it?"

Lomax didn't like these moods.

"The profit on hard-core movies is awe-inspiring. You can make an X for fifty thousand and get a return in the millions. You don't even have to make. Alternatives exist. I've got people. I'm already tied in. All I need is product."

Mudger turned once more to glance at the bar.

"The chimp is ape family," he said after a while.

"I didn't know."

"Did you know that?"

"No," Lomax said.

"Most intelligent member, although some would dispute that."

"I'm a dog man."

"Some would say gorilla."

"Dessert, Earl?"

"Did you ever watch animals? Steadily watch? Because there's things you can learn from watching animals go about their business."

"I've got dogs. I watch dogs."

"If you said wolves."

"Domesticated. That's my range."

"Wolves. You ever watch wolves? I can remember outside Tha Binh."

"I admit to snakes. I watch snakes."

"Snakes are good," Mudger said. "You can do worse than snakes."

"But only at the zoo."

The waiter brought coffee.

"There's news all right," Mudger said.

"Where from?"

"Van's in the hospital. All busted up. Shattered cheekbone. Teeth and gums."

"Which one is Van?"

"He's the one whose sister I'm married to."

"Sorry," Lomax said.

"Christ, it's hilarious. Cao doesn't know where the hell they are. All I have is Mercy Hospital."

"Not what city."

"Not what fucking state," Mudger said. "He'd like for someone to tell him what fucking state he's in. He knows about four words of English. Van, with easily double that vocabulary, has a mouthful of wires and little silver wheels."

"I told you that about Selvy."

"They're out there somewhere. One of them's got a busted face. The other one, it's all he can do to call Tran Le on the phone. Don't you know she doesn't take his number down? All she gives me is Mercy Hospital."

"I told you. Selvy. They took him light."

"He'll make the same mistake if he thinks whatever happened is any real indication. They took him light, okay. But those boys can deal. I've seen them. They're not your typical ARVN grunt. He's up to his ass in it. And it's climbing fast."

"I say he'll handle it."

"You say he'll handle it."

"The thing about Selvy. Selvy's more serious than any of us. He believes. You ought to see where he lives. Where he used to live. Buried in some rat-shit part of the city. Isolated from contact. He'd do it for nothing, Selvy. The son of a bitch believes."

"Believes what?"

"Believes in the life."

"The life," Mudger said.

"Eleven weeks at the Mines, incidentally."

"Was he at the Mines?"

"I told you. Selvy. Best I've ever run."

Lomax signaled for the check.

"How will they find him now?"

"I'm a bitch if I know," Mudger said.

"Unless he drops into Mercy Hospital for an appendectomy, how the hell will they find him?"

Lomax paid the check and went, to the men's room. On the way out, Mudger stopped at the bar. The chimp was eating mixed fruit out of a plastic bowl.

"How much you want for the animal?"

"Not for sale," one of the men said.

"Name your price, go on."

The man turned on his stool.

"Not for sale. No sale."

"You shouldn't dress the animal up. It's degrading to the animal, having to wear clothes."

"What are you?"

"You think it's cute, coming into a bar with an animal. It's a joke, dressing the animal up and coming into a bar."

"What are you, a Christian Scientist?"

"It's a joke," Mudger said.

"A Jehovah Witness. They don't give blood."

The other man turned toward Mudger.

"He's asking. What are you?"

"Tell him to piss up a rope," Mudger said.

"He's asking politely."

"Tell him to piss up a rope."

Mudger put his middle finger to his thumb as if to flick an insect off his sleeve. Instead he delivered a quick blow to the second man's ear. The man reacted as if shot. Then he turned back to the bar, head down, right hand covering his ear.

"Tell him to piss up a rope," Mudger said.

Lomax was standing alongside, watching. The man turned to his companion, speaking over the chimp's head.

"Piss up a rope, Stanley."

Sitting in the passenger seat as Lomax drove, Mudger looked out the side window. His gloom hadn't lifted. He thought of his own animals, the ones he'd managed to take out of Vietnam. He'd had to leave them behind on Guam, every one, under enforced isolation. In the end, practical considerations and endless technicalities forced him to abandon the animals to the whims of local authorities. There were things you couldn't do once the shooting stopped.

He thought of Saigon women in their silk blouses and sateen pants. Beds draped with mosquito nets. The relentless drenching heat.

He thought of people sharing hammocks in open-fronted huts outside Tha Binh. VC gongs sounding through the night. Parachute flares from a C-47 lighting up part of the sky. The roiling din of Medivac choppers landing nearby.

He thought of GIs heading down jungle trails with transistor radios, tossing gum wrappers into the bush. Occasional rounds from an M-6o machine gun. The sandbagged checkpoints. The fresh weapons being broken out of crates. The _punji_ sticks smeared with human feces.

Richie Armbrister flashed a look at his laser-beam digital watch. The elevator gate opened with a crash and he followed Lightborne into the gallery. They went directly to the living quarters in the rear, where Lightborne began boiling water for tea.

"So, delay number two. What's going on, Lightborne? I paid money."

"And it's in a safe place. And the lady will get it as soon as she hands over the film can."

"With the film inside it."

"I remain confident, Richie."

"I have things. I have a number of projects."

"I understand," Lightborne said.

"Do you know how long I've been away?"

"Go back to Dallas, Richie."

"I've never been away this long."

"I'll handle it from this end."

The wrist watch, or chronometer, was the sole outward sign of Richie's wealth, excluding his DC-9. He wore heavyweight khaki trousers, scuffed cordovans and a crew-neck sweater with a reindeer design, the wool unraveling at both cuffs.

He appeared younger than twenty-two, looking a little like a teenager with a nervous disability. High forehead, prominent cheekbones, large teeth. He seemed intense, overcommitted to something, his voice keening out of a lean bony face-a face Lightborne could never look at without wondering whether he was dealing with a genius or a half-wit.

Not that Richie's accomplishments were to be questioned. He'd built an empire almost singlehandedly. He'd perfected the technology of smut, opening up channels of distribution and devising ingenious marketing schemes. At the same time he'd managed to remain legally immune, hidden in a maze of paper.