The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [157]
A wind stirred. Dope seeds blew. Pete shut the window.
Stanton grabbed a chair. Stanton pulse-clipped Guéry. Pete grabbed a chair. Pete watched the needle.
Stanton said, “Do you drink water?”
Guéry said, “Yes.”
The needle bumped. The needle slid. The needle flatlined. Stanton read the cuff and clip:
Okay—normal signs.
Stanton said, “Are you a citizen of the Republic of France?”
Guéry said, “Yes.”
The needle bumped. The needle slid. The needle flatlined. Stanton read the cuff and clip:
Okay—normal signs.
Pete stretched. Pete yawned—fuck this pro-forma jive.
Stanton said, “Are you a committed anti-Communist?”
Guéry said, “Yes.”
Flatline.
Stanton said, “Are you pro–Viet Cong?”
Guéry said, “No.”
Flatline.
Stanton said, “Have you ever stolen from the kadre?”
Guéry said, “No.”
The needle dipped two inches. The needle laid swerve lines. Stanton pumped the cuff. Stanton read the dial.
Not okay—140/110—non-normal signs.
Guéry squirmed. Pete eyeballed him. Pete read his signs: Chills/goose bumps/sweat.
Stanton said, “Have you ever stolen from kadre-adjunct personnel?”
Guéry said, “No.”
The needle dipped three inches. The needle laid swerve lines.
Stanton hit the intercom switch. Stanton talked gook: “Quon, Minh. Mau len. Di, thi, di.”
Two gooks ran in—one Marv and one Cong doubletime. Guéry squirmed. Pete read signs: Wet hands/wet armpits/crotch leaking sweat.
Stanton nodded. The gooks flanked Guéry. The gooks pulled batons.
Stanton said, “Do you have knowledge of such thefts?”
Guéry said, “No.”
The needle dipped six inches. The needle laid swerve lines.
Stanton said, “Do you have knowledge that Pete Bondurant perpetrated such thefts?”
Guéry said, “No.”
Needle bump. Flatline.
Stanton said, “Do you have knowledge that Jean Philippe Mesplède perpetrated such thefts?”
Guéry said, “No.”
Needle bump. Flatline.
Stanton said, “Do you have knowledge that Wayne Tedrow Junior perpetrated such thefts?”
Guéry said, “No.”
Needle bump. Flatline.
Stanton said, “Do you have knowledge that Chuck Rogers perpetrated such thefts?”
Guéry said, “No.”
The needle dipped eight inches. The needle laid swerve lines.
Guéry squirmed. Stanton cued the gooks. They grabbed ropes. They looped them. They tied Guéry to the chair.
Stanton pulled his piece. Stanton cocked it. Pete grabbed the field phone. Pete patched the lab.
Chuck was gone. Chuck split to Saigon. Chuck split four days back. Chuck bunked with Guéry now. Chuck hassled Guéry. Chuck drove Guéry nuts.
Pete got a dial tone. Pete got line fuzz. Pete got a click.
Wayne picked up. “Yeah?”
“It’s me. Have you seen Chuck?”
“No. Was he supposed—”
“He was supposed to go through Bao Loc and Saigon and pick up some guns.”
“I haven’t seen him at all. He always comes by the Go-Go when he’s—”
Pete hung up. Stanton cued him—go check the hooch.
Pete ran over. Pete popped the door. Pete tripped on the mat. He caught himself. He eyeball-walked. He quadrant-scanned.
Four walls/two fart sacks/two nightstands/two lockers/one shitter/one sink.
Pete dumped the nightstands. Pete combed debris. Toothpaste/rubbers/stroke books/hate tracts/Ring magazines.
Two passports—both Guéry’s—CIA/French.
Pete dumped the lockers. Pete combed debris. Hate tracts/bug spray/beaver pix/gun oil/Swank magazines.
No Chuck passports. No Chuck ID.
Pete grabbed the field phone. Pete patched Saigon direct. He got Ops South. They repatched him. He got Tan Son Nhut. They repatched him. He got static. He got Customs.
He got a gook. He spoke French. The gook spoke strict Viet. The gook repatched him. He got static. He got a white man.
“Customs, Agent Lierz.”
“This is Sergeant Peters, CID. I’m checking on a civilian who might’ve cleared Customs within the past four days.”
Lierz coughed. The line coughed. Static brizzed.
“You got a name?”
“Rogers. First name Charles.”
Lierz coughed. “I’ve got my log here. Hold on … Rice, Ridgeway, Rippert … yeah, Rogers. He flew out four days ago. He showed manifest docs, loaded explosive material and caught a transport to the National Guard strip in Houston,