The stuff from Last Stand Systems was obviously computer-generated, though it was pretty professional-looking with colors and right-justified margins and typefaces that someone had thought about. It was also dreck. The centerpiece of their promotional literature was a newsletter titled Alert! which warned against the encroaching mongrelization of the white race, the feminization of the American male, the homosexual assault on marriage, the debasement of American Christianity, and the arrival of the Antichrist. There was a thoughtful discussion, complete with footnotes and bibliography, of a secret plot which festered deep within the power centers of the federal government, abetted by Zionism, whereby this country would be handed over to the One Worlders at the UN. The author signed himself Octavio Smith, Ph.D. The writing was grammatical and wooden.
I put Alert! down and picked up the other stuff. There was a letter from the CEO, Milo Quant, explaining that Last Stand’s mission was to restore the America our fathers had founded. There was also an application for membership, and a calendar of upcoming Last Stand events. I filed the application which required a $100 fee and looked at the calendar. It was mostly a list of Quant’s public appearances. The closest one was at the state college in Fitchburg, Mass., Friday night, sponsored by a student group. A don’t-miss opportunity.
Last Stand Systems, Inc., seemed the most unlikely organization to be flying a black homosexual radical activist named Amir Abdullah up to Maine for the weekend. But they had, and there was no plausible explanation that I was able to come up with. It was also possible that they had sent out a squad of well-scrubbed shooters to chase us away from him. Again I couldn’t think why. Maybe they were using him as a recruiting ploy. Enough exposure to Amir Abdullah would make anyone a racist homophobe.
My office door opened. It was Susan. She had a small bag of Key lime cookies she’d bought somewhere and wanted to share them with me over coffee. Sharing meant Susan ate most of one cookie, and I ate all the rest in about the same amount of time. I had no problem with that.
“There’s a fund-raiser at the ART Friday night,” Susan said. “I’d like us to go.”
She had put the cookies out on a little paper plate and was making coffee.
“Oh darn,” I said. “I have to drive out to Fitchburg State and listen to a speech by a racist homophobe.”
“Well,” Susan said, “I couldn’t ask you to give that up. Decaf all right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Want to can the ART and go with me?”
I watched her as she spooned the coffee into the filter. She always made it too weak.
“Yes,” she said, “but I can’t. I’m on the board, you know. I just hate to go alone.”
“Bring Hawk,” I said. “He’s got a good sense of humor.”
“Oh my,” Susan said.
We were silent for a moment, both of us thinking about Hawk at the fund-raiser.
“Whyn’t you add another heaping spoonful of coffee,” I said.
“Won’t it be too strong?” she said.
“No, and a pinch of salt.”
“Okay,” she said and did what I said, although I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she knew the coffee would be salty and much too strong to drink. She turned on the coffeemaker and stood looking down at it while it began to brew.
“I’m missing you,” she said while she watched.
“Yeah, I’m missing you, too.”
“I feel like we haven’t seen enough of each other,” Susan said.
“Working couples,” I said.
“Do you think we can get away soon, just the two of us, somewhere?”
“Yes,” I said. “A mystery ride?”
“I’d love that,” Susan said.
“I’ll put something together for us.”
“I don’t want to tour the new ballpark in Cleveland,” Susan said.
“And you don’t want to go to Cooperstown,” I said, “and visit the Hall of Fame.”
“That still leaves a lot of options for us,” Susan said.
“I guess so,” I said. “I wonder if KC Roth would like to see the Hall of Fame.”
“She’s probably in it,” Susan said. “They probably retired her diaphragm.”
“Her diaphragm?”
“I’m an old-fashioned girl,” Susan said.
“And not a jealous bone in your body.”
“Not one,” Susan said.
The coffee had brewed enough to fill two cups. Susan poured it and put the pot back, added milk and Equal, and brought the two cups to my desk.
“Why are you going to listen to a speech by a racist homophobe?” she said.
“His name popped up in the Robinson Nevins case.”
“Really.”
I was on my second cookie. Susan had a small bite out of hers. The coffee was just right. I knew she thought it was just right too, but wasn’t saying so because she was stubborn.
“Last weekend a plane came to Logan and picked up Amir Abdullah and took him up to Bangor. The plane belonged to Last Stand Systems, Inc., of Beecham, Maine, and this speaker is the CEO of Last Stand Systems, Inc., which appears to be at the far right end of the family values movement.”
“Is that being put kindly?” Susan said.
“Very,” I said. “We asked Amir about this. He denied that it happened.”
“So what will you learn by going to the speech?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “See what this guy looks like. Hear what he sounds like. Maybe I’ll get to ask him about Amir. Mostly I don’t know exactly what else to do, so I’m going to do that. You know, keep looking until I see something.”
“I know very well. We do somewhat the same thing in therapy.”
We finished our cookies and drank our coffee.
“Coffee’s just right,” I said.
“I thought it was a little strong,” Susan said, “and a tad salty.”
I grinned at her. I got up and walked around my desk and stood in front of her.
“I love predictable,” I said. “Will you give me a big lingering open-mouthed kiss?”
Susan patted her lips with a little paper napkin that had been in the bag with the cookies. She stood.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I got a call at my office the next morning from KC Roth inviting me to lunch. I figured I was safe in a public place, so I accepted. We met at the Legal Sea Foods restaurant in Chestnut Hill, and because we were early we didn’t have to wait long.
“I’ve moved back into civilization,” KC said, when she was seated across from me with a glass of white wine.
“Chestnut Hill?” I said.
She shook her head.
“Not enough dollars,” she said. “Place in Auburndale, the first floor of a nice two-family.”
We looked at menus and ordered. KC had another glass of white wine.
“I… I have to say things,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I… I’m sorry about some of the crazy things I did. Calling you up and leaving you notes.”
“No harm,” I said.
“I was just… crazy, I guess. Crazy time, you know?”
“I know.”
“And of course I want to thank you for saving me.”
“Just had to convince you to save yourself. Your ex-husband was more useful than I was.”
“Yes. Burt was there for me. Sometimes I think I made a mistake. I could be there now in a nice house with someone taking care of me.”
“You can take care of yourself,” I said.
“I didn’t do much of a job of it before,” she said.
“Your ex-husband send you money?” I said.
“Alimony.”
“Enough?”
“Enough to be independent,” KC said.
“Or dependent.”
“Sure, men always say things like that. You have no idea what it is like to have been a married housewife forced suddenly to take care of herself.”
“You’re right,” I said.
She sipped her wine. The restaurant was busy. Legal Sea Foods are always busy.