Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [77]
‘‘I’m sorry about Bud and Lamar, but I was within my rights as a free man to shoot. It was posted.’’ He gestured in the general direction of the roadway. ‘‘Right over there.’’
‘‘Doesn’t work that way, Herman,’’ said Hester. ‘‘That posting bit doesn’t mean a thing.’’
‘‘You women always think you’re so goddamned educated, so goddamned smart,’’ he said. ‘‘But you’re just women, the servants of men.’’
I thought Hester was going to kill him, but she just shook her head. I didn’t say anything, but merely looked at him over the tops of my reading glasses. Nearly a minute went by with just the sound of the breathing and the whisper of the air conditioner.
‘‘You don’t understand,’’ he said. ‘‘You don’t know about the takeover. The stealing of our soil. The Jews, the bankers. They’re all in it, you know.’’
Right.
‘‘We saw the black helicopters,’’ he said. ‘‘We saw ’em.’’
‘‘Black helicopters?’’ said Hester.
Damn. I was sure he was referring to the National Guard Huey we used for marijuana surveillance. Not black, but olive green. But we’d flown this area less than a month ago, when we’d picked up on the big patch in the park.
‘‘How long ago was that?’’ I asked.
‘‘Month or two.’’
‘‘Uh, Herman, I think that was us.’’ I explained to him that just about any helicopter, but especially an Army one, would look black at anything over two hundred yards, against the background of the sky.
Ah, but he was positive it was black. No further discussion. Not even when Hester said, ‘‘But, Herman, if it was me, I wouldn’t paint it black to hide it. I’d paint it blue and white, and put lettering like News Copter on the side. Wouldn’t you?’’
He didn’t buy it. But it was apparent that his sighting of the chopper had started the anxiety escalation that led to the shooting. The things you never think of.
‘‘They’re takin’ over,’’ he said. ‘‘The Jews and the UN. They’re takin’ the whole country.’’
Turns out that Herman had been shown a map. A map of the United States, with the so-called Occupation Zones carefully designated.
‘‘Herman, you can’t believe that.’’ I was really stunned.
‘‘Oh, yes. And we’re in Zone Five, us and Minnesota and Illinois and Wisconsin. The Belgian Army is going to occupy Zone Five after the takeover.’’
‘‘The Belgian Army, Herman? All ten of ’em?’’
‘‘You’ll see. The Jews slinking around here have it all arranged. You’ll see.’’
‘‘Herman,’’ I said, ‘‘what Jews?’’
‘‘They’re around,’’ he said, almost slyly. ‘‘I see ’em all the time.’’
‘‘Herman,’’ I said, ‘‘you wouldn’t recognize a Jew or a Belgian if one bit you in the ass.’’
He looked at me very coldly. ‘‘We can get you too.’’
About an hour after the two men went into the corn, Art arrived. Our chief deputy. He’d been gone on vacation since the day before Herman decided to shoot people. Fishing in Wisconsin. But he was back now, and was wasting no time. I made a mental note to find out who’d decided call him back early.
His car pulled up, and I could hear his reedy voice before I saw him.
‘‘Where’s Houseman? Find Houseman!’’
‘‘Over here, Art,’’ I hollered. ‘‘By the fence.’’ I glanced at Hester. ‘‘This oughta be good.’’
‘‘Houseman,’’ said Art as he bustled over to us. ‘‘I’m in charge now. You’re relieved here. I’ll take over.’’
‘‘Okay, Art.’’
‘‘I’m serious. I’m taking over. There’s going to be no more killing now.’’
‘‘Okay, Art,’’ I said. ‘‘You do that. I’m going with DCI to the jail, to start interrogating the prisoners.’’
‘‘The prisoners?’’ He looked around him for the first time. ‘‘What about the