Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [20]
“I’m sure I will,” Chilikov said.
Less than a minute later Haddad was once again standing on the sidewalk, watching the limousine drive away. He was relieved that the process was well along, that it had all worked out despite his mistakes.
He expressed his deep gratitude that night by reading the Koran instead of taking another Gypsy whore to his bed. He didn’t need to make things easier for the Turk, though he was sure the man would try again.
And when he did, Hassan Haddad would not be merciful.
6
San Francisco, California
In the week following the blast, Jack found himself between assignments. He spent much of that time trying to get information from the FBI press office about progress in the case, but they were as tight-lipped as always. So he kept himself busy with idle pursuits, drinking in the city he loved.
He enjoyed being downtown during the nine-to-five hustle. The buses, the rush to the underground BART tubes on Market. The girls hurrying to dates with their girlfriends in this gay-friendly town where straight men were as rare as eagles. He loved the loud twitter of the green parrots of Telegraph Hill as they alighted in tall trees near “bum park,” adjacent to the Embarcadero office towers, seeking shelter for the night.
Sometimes Jack would marvel like a schoolboy at the great flock that flew outside the apartment he kept by the bay, chattering in a mad formation, racing to their next stop. He was amazed by the large number of green parrots in the wild flock, said to have grown from a single pair that had escaped captivity some twenty years back—parrots from South America. They had taken to the trees of Telegraph Hill and dispersed into other sections of the city.
Each little bird had its own personality, displayed as they sought friendship, a mate, food, warmth, acceptance, and a branch to sleep on. He loved to watch them clustering in the tall eucalyptus trees, chattering as they each found their toehold for the long cold night ahead—except for the outcasts among the flock, who were rejected because of a mere color differential and forced to seek shelter on a separate tree, like those homeless bums Jack stepped around.
Life’s extras.
On Tuesday he went to visit Maxine to see how she holding up, and was surprised to find her anxious to get back to work. She had a couple of freelance jobs lined up for the following week but was hoping Jack had something for her as well. Jack admitted he hadn’t been able to think about much more than the blast lately and said there was nothing in the works for now.
“How are you going to survive?” she asked, showing genuine concern.
“I’ve got a little cushion,” he told her.
That was something he owed to his father. Not the money itself but the idea of saving. He used to tell his son, “You can always count on watches breaking. What you cannot rely on is people getting them fixed.” He watched his money carefully and the lesson wasn’t lost on Jack. That was another area where his former wife and he had disagreed. She liked to indulge in the fashions of the moment, from expensive clothes to fancy restaurants. Jack didn’t mind some of that, but as a treat, not a lifestyle. And it wasn’t just her. That sense of entitlement, of rampant decadence, was everywhere.
Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge one night, Jack wondered about the decline of America. He couldn’t believe that the entire bridge, this beautiful Art Deco structure, had been built in only two years. Such a feat would be impossible today. Considering the EEOC—the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission—the laws, the lawsuits, the regulations, the spotted owls, and the environment, construction would take forever. As with all those hypocrites the special interests had pumped up their own self-importance, inflated their own influence and resources, at the dearest price of all: the diminishing of America.
As he drove under the south tower, Jack looked up at the spires. He was one of