American Shamrock: Carla Larsen Mystery

By charles fisher

After 13 years of badgering and pleading from Carole, Carla delves into the Kennedy Assassination. What she finds clarifies what happened and who was behind it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Jan 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393314639

Book preview

Table of Contents

American Shamrock | The Last American President | Previously, from The Hard Way

The Killers

Friday, November 22, 1963 | We're in nut country.

Present Day

The End | Carla et al will be back in Fight Like a Girl.

American Shamrock

The Last American President

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Previously, from The Hard Way

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The National Archives and Records Administration

700 Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington, D.C.

October, 2007

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Exactly what do you want?  Archivist Bob Denman said suspiciously when Carla and Richie Schreyer appeared in front of his desk.

A smaller ass, Carla grinned.

We’re record keepers; not miracle workers, Denman smirked.

We want to see what’s in Box 27, Row 32, Sixth Floor, Carla said.

Nobody is allowed up there, Denman said. The documents stored there are classified.

I got a Presidential Executive Order that says I can have a look, Carla said, holding up the document. Boy works right down the street if you need verification. Or a new job, she said.

Denman examined the Order with a jeweler’s loupe.

It’s a damn paper, not a diamond ring, Carla snapped.

It could be a forgery, Denman said. I am an expert on G.W.’s signature. Actually, I’m not sure he has the authority to let you in there.

Well now, Schreyer said, holding out his CIA credentials. We can take you to see him; I’m sure he has the authority to fire your ass.

I’ve done nothing wrong, Denman said.

Yeah? Carla grinned as she smeared her lipstick and popped a few buttons on her blouse. I will tell him otherwise. Seems y’all can’t keep  your hands to yourself.

Oh, so that’s the way you play it, eh? Okay; I need a copy of that Order, both your IDs, and you have to sign my waiver form. I’m not responsible if this turns out to be bullshit. How do you know what box to look in?

None of your damn business, boy. I bet you ain’t even allowed up there.

I am not. Neither should you, but if the President says you can, so be it. He handed them visitor’s passes.

They went to the sixth floor and showed the passes to the guard. He unlocked the door and let them in. The place had an odd, musty smell; it was like going back in time to someone’s house that hadn’t been lived in for fifty years. Carla found the old cardboard box and opened it.

Shit, she sighed. Damn thing is empty. Now we got to go to Texas and do it the hard way.

I’d like to do you the hard way, Schreyer grinned. For old times sake.

More like old timer’s sake, Carla muttered. That ship sailed  five years ago, dude.

The LBJ Presidential Library

2313 Red River Street

Austin, TX

October, 2007

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Okay, Carla said as she viewed the library from the woods with her binoculars. Hours end at five. Place be empty.

Your pants aren’t empty, Schreyer grinned. That’s quite a bubble butt you have there. That’s a perfect place to rest my face tonight.

The only place for you to rest  your face is in  an old folks home, Carla nodded. I am not your chew toy, dude.

You didn’t complain in 2002 when you rode the Schreyer Flyer.

I was young and stupid back then, Carla said, trying not to laugh. I do not do that anymore.

That’s not what it says on your website, Schreyer said.

That is fake, Carla said. You got no call to think you can pound on my Tastycake. Concentrate on the job.

Okay, although I’d rather concentrate on what’s in your underwear. The lights are all out except for one on the first floor. That’s where the security guard is. He’s probably watching the Boner Bob Channel, Schreyer grinned. You won ass of the month again in September, didn’t you?

Yes I did, Carla grinned. That is ninety months in a row. Not that it applies to you, because you are not getting any of my prime hiney. You are as old as Carole. I doubt you could live through a session with me.

I’d love to die trying, Schreyer grinned.

Just concentrate on that library. I got a special place in my heart for LBJ.

Oh, really? He died about ten years before you were born. You got a crush on him?

No. I read a lot about the dude, is all. He was no fucking good. Even his own lawyer said he was no good.

Well, he didn’t exactly have a reputation for honesty. He used to hang his coat on the office door; if you wanted to talk to him about a favor, you left an envelope full of money in the coat pocket before you sat down.

Yeah, I heard that. Bastard had his own sister killed.

You go poking around in this and you’ll get us both killed, Schreyer said. I already told you that before.

You can leave any time you want, Carla said. If it’s so damn dangerous, why are you here?

Boredom, Schreyer said. I’m technically still an agent, but they haven’t given me any work in years. I still get paid, but I warm the pine. You should do that yourself; I’ll show you my Louisville Slugger later.

Seen it already, Carla grinned. Won’t be twice, because I forgot to bring my  magnifying glass.

How do you intend to get inside that library without the guard seeing you?

I’ll fucking shoot the son of a bitch, Carla mumbled. Come on; place has been closed for an hour. Peel your eyes off my ass and shag it, Methuselah.

They crawled up to the library; Carla picked the lock and disabled the security alarm. They crept over to where the guard was watching reruns of Law & Order; he had his back to them. Carla took out a slingshot and a one inch ball bearing. Thirty seconds later the guard was slumped over in his chair, out cold.

Get his keys, she whispered to Schreyer. And my ball bearing.

Sure, boss. Hey; I’ll give you twenty bucks to touch your toes with no pants.

Wow; now I can retire, Carla sighed.

Okay; fifty, and I get to lick it.

Five hundred, and you can lick it an hour after I drink two bottles of sauerkraut juice.

I’ll pass. That stuff should be illegal.

So should you. I reckon whatever was in that box is hid here, because nobody would expect it to be here because nobody got the juice to find out it was missing in the first place.

I have the juice, Schreyer smiled. Would you like to see?

Go ahead, Carla said, taking out her razor. You produce it, I reduce it. I am tired of your comments.

What, you lost your sense of humor all of a sudden? Schreyer said.

You figure it out. I am not your sex toy, or anybody else’s. Let’s look for them documents.

They spent an hour in the library to no avail. They got to be here someplace, Carla sighed. Where would you hide top secret papers?

I wouldn’t. If they implicated me or somebody I wanted to protect, I’d burn them.

There could be copies. These dudes always kept copies of shit to use on each other. Bill Clinton taught me that.

I can just imagine what else he taught you, Schreyer sighed.

Never wear a dark blue dress to work, Carla grinned. And don’t marry no gal what got a face like a mule. Now think, old timer. Where could them papers be?

Oldest place in the book of tricks, Schreyer said. The freezer.

Let’s go, Carla said as they made for the kitchen, which was private and only used by employees. She yanked the Sub Zero refrigerator’s freezer door open. Boy got meat loaf TV dinners, she grinned. Crooks always got them. Less see what’s under ‘em. You put these into yonder microwave, she said as she unloaded the dinners. Under the last one was a large freezer zip-lock bag. It contained three inches of ancient documents. Bingo, Carla nodded. Y’all find us some Wonder Bread and Blackberry Brandy. We just found the Holy Grail.

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The LBJ Presidential Library

2313 Red River Street

Austin, TX

October, 2007

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Okay, Carla grinned as she emitted a huge belch. We can git now.

You ate nine TV dinners and a whole loaf of Wonder Bread, Schreyer sighed. Explain that feat of gluttony.

I wasn’t that hungry, Carla said as she emitted another frog-like burp. If I was, I would have et more. And I got nice feet. No calluses or bunions, and I always paint my toenails pink or red. Boys in the orphanage paid good money for a foot job. That be a specialty, she grinned. You got to know how to put Crisco between your .... you don’t believe me, do you.

I’d believe just about anything you said as long as it’s dirty, Schreyer said.

I ain’t never done nothin’ dirty. I always wash up.

The guard is moving around; what about him?

I will show you. Carla walked over to the man, who was just starting to come to. She took her silver hammer out of her bag, started humming the Beatles’ song, and bonged him a good one. I like that song, she grinned. Them boys looked like fag bellhops, but they could sing pretty good. Pope John Paul, George Hamilton, and Ringworm.

No comment. Aren’t you going to look through those documents? Schreyer said.

Nah, they got to thaw out and then I will read them. Prob’ly got to go through forensics, too.

You give those documents to the FBI and you’ll never see them again, Schreyer said. Who do you think deep sixed all the evidence in Dallas?

I do not intend to use the FBI. I got my own people at Area 69.

That’s Area 51, Schreyer said.

Ask the Lieutenant I let pick the lock on my door last time I were there, Carla grinned. Boy even repainted the warning signs out on the highway in Novada.

It’s Nevada, Schreyer said. Can’t you pronounce one word in the English language correctly?

I can pronounce cocksucker, Carla grinned. And motherfucker.

That should get you a degree from Yale, Schreyer smiled.

I ain’t going to Yale, Carla grumbled. I ain’t done no crimes. I am an honest person.

Office of the Commanding Officer

General James Cagney

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

November, 2007

My God, not again, Cagney said when the Captain announced the presence of Carla and Schreyer. I should retire. Carla and Richie came in and sat down.

Morning, Jim, Schreyer said.

Hi, Richie. Hello, douche bag, he grinned at Carla.

You talkin’ to me, boy? Carla said as she looked around. You must be, because ain’t nobody else here but me and Richie.

Maybe I meant Richie, Cagney grinned.

Limp dick called y’all a douche bag, Carla said to Richie. You gonna let him get away with that?

He meant you, Richie smiled. The particular hydraulic powered uterine device he mentioned is used to flush out the female version of the Howe Caverns. He couldn’t have meant me; I have a penis.

Cagney nearly choked on his coffee. Hydraulic powered uterine device? he said. I gotta write that down.

Write down that Richie says he got a dick, too, Carla said. There ain’t any evy-dence about that which would stand up in court. Or any place else, she smirked. Boy is gonna star in the sequel to Dances With Wolves. His injun name is gonna be Sits When He Pees.

You would know, Richie smirked. Most of your customers are sitting on toilets when you service them.

Are not, Carla snapped. You take that back, or when we get home I will shit in your car.

Jim, you know those little metal wire things with the deodorizer you hang on the edge of the toilet? Carla thinks those are earrings.

Okay, enough bullshit. Why are you here, Carla? Cagney said.

Because I ain’t no place else. You ain’t very smart for a General.

I meant the reason you came.

I ain’t done that either, Carla grinned. But if that Lieutenant I let in my room last time be about, I could change that real quick.

Is there anything I can say that you won’t turn into a joke or a sex comment?

Maybe, Carla shrugged. Wanna see my boing-boing?

No. Just tell me what you want.

A six foot tall Swedish dude with a dick like a baby mule, Carla grinned.

I could help you with that, but I’m not Swedish, Cagney grinned.

No shit, Carla muttered. Y’all got a parakeet pecker, too. Who be the documents expert hereabouts?

Documents aren’t our field of expertise, nor do we ever encounter any. All we do is make internal reports. Why? What do you have? Other than that nasty crotch itch and the flies, he grinned.

I will ignore that, just like the girls who come here from Reno for Hooker Night ignore the fact that your missile is only two inches long and never leaves the silo. Carla held up the freezer bag. Bunch of shit that was  supposed to be in the National Archives on floor six. Instead, it was in a refrigerator freezer in the LBJ Library under a stack of meat loaf TV dinners. I et the dinners, she grinned. They was good, too."

Cagney sat back. He looked at the bag, then looked at Carla. Did you look at any of those documents?

Not yet. I figured I would let them thaw out. You touch something that ain’t been used for over forty years, it might break, she said, looking at Cagney’s lap.

What you are holding in your hands could change American history, Cagney said.

I heard that before, Carla said. Robbie Lee Parsons said he had the biggest ..... never mind. Y’all won’t believe me anyway.

Richie, didn’t you tell her about doing this? If they find out, they’ll kill both of you.

She doesn’t listen, Schreyer said. In fact, if you tell her not to do something, she’ll double down and do it just to spite you.

I have heard rumors about what was in box 27, Cagney said. In fact, I heard so many rumors I started to believe there never was a box 27.

There is, Carla said. I looked at it with dead dick over here. It was empty.

How the hell did you get into that part of the building?

Executive Order from G.W.

He doesn’t have the authority to grant access to that floor, Cagney said.

Well, go tell that to him, Carla said. I got in there. I am tired of this bullshit where the President don’t have the authority to know what the hell is going on in his own damn country. I do not accept that.

Nobody cares what you accept, Cagney said. You don’t make the rules.

Maybe I don’t, but I sure as hell know how to break them. Now talk to me, boy. You are my last and only hope. Who you got here who can verify  this shit and tell me what it means?

I can’t tell you that.

Yes you can, and you will, Carla said. Otherwise, Fox News is gonna have a nice story about what I saw in this place.

Cagney looked away for a long minute. Why do you do this to me? What did I ever do to deserve you?

You took an oath to protect this country, Carla said. Time you owned up to it.

Colonel Nick Harrington, next to Bruno’s lab. You’re going to be sorry when you find out what you have there.

Heard that before, Carla nodded. Lots of people said that to me. Fuck ‘em; they’re all dead, and I ain’t.

Laboratory 69

Colonel Nick Harrington

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

November, 2007

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Have a seat, Harrington said. And no smartass comments about the number of my laboratory, either. This was originally part of Bruno’s lab; it was devoted to the study of AIDS when it first surfaced around 1980. The former Grand Poobah who ran the facility thought it was funny.

I do not care a whit about AIDS, Carla said. If some pickle sniffer wants to play zoom zoom in the boom boom with his boyfriend, that is his business, and he can pay the price for it.

Where the hell did you get her, Schreyer? Harrington said.

She does have a way with words, Schreyer said.

Okay; let’s see what you have, Harrington said.

Richie slapped Carla’s hand away as she began unbuttoning her blouse. Not that, you idiot.

Well, he wasn’t all that clear about what he wanted to see, Carla groused. She handed over the freezer bag.

Harrington looked at the contents and shook his head. Where did you get this stuff?

LBJ Library, Carla grinned. It were in the freezer in the kitchen.

It were? Harrington smirked.

Do not make fun of the way I talk, boy, Carla nodded. I get enough of that back home.

And where is that?

Corn-necticut, although I am originally from Kansas. We got our own language, and I do not know how to speak Liberal.

Just cry a lot and ask for other people’s money so you can spend it on worthless social programs, Harrington smiled. I hope nobody saw you take this stuff.

They did not. We went in after the place was closed, and we got all the security cam tapes. I also poured a quart of water in the guard’s corn-puter, she grinned. Why? What’s so special about them papers?

Oh, nothing, Harrington smiled. Except for the fact that if certain people find out you took them, you’ll be dead in 24 hours.

They ain’t gonna find out. I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell nobody, and Richie here won’t talk neither.

You’ll have to sit on my face to keep me quiet, Richie smiled.

Carla took a bottle of sauerkraut juice out of her bag. What was that you said to me, boy?

Nothing, Schreyer smiled. Nothing at all.

I do not understand what is so damn important about keepin’ people from solving the Kennedy Assassination. All them boys what was in on the hit and the cover up are dead.

Maybe not, Harrington said. It was 44 years ago; if the shooters were young, they could all be alive. Also, nobody wants to embarrass the Kennedy family or the Johnson family.

Screw the Johnson family. And I do not see any embarrassment for the Kennedys. Maybe some for that crook J. Edward Hoover, who is dead anyway, and he made a damn fine vacuum cleaner. You know who I mean; the boy who ran around in a dress at gay parties and got caught painting his boyfriend’s toenails. Tolson, his name were. Not Al Tolson who sang Mammy, neither. Al never sucked no dick. Now I do not have no problem with a boy if he wants to dress up in girly clothes and suck some dick; I have done that myself. Do that make me  fag? I never could figure that out.

My sympathies, Schreyer, Harrington said. How did you wind up working with this idiot?

I went to high school with her boss, Richie smiled. The rest is, well, confidential.

What be in that bag that troubles you, son? Carla said to Harrington.

Oh, I don’t know, Harrington smiled. Here’s a telegram delivered to J. Edward Hoover, he snickered. It was from Lyndon Johnson. It told Hoover that Lee Harvey Oswald, not to be corn-fused with Donnie and Marie, was the lone killer of the President.

I have told you about makin’ light of me, didn’t I? Carla said. One more time, and I will take you into Bruno’s lab and introduce you to some of them space cadets he got in them glass cylinders. Now talk, boy, for I am tired of your condescending bullshit.

Lee wasn’t arraigned for Kennedy’s death until approximately 1:30 AM the next day, November 23rd. This telegram is dated November 22nd at 11.55 AM. The fatal shots weren’t fired until almost an hour later. How could Johnson know Oswald was the assassin an hour before the assassination took place?

That would pose a slight problem for the boy, Carla said.

Yeah, I guess it would, but the stooges on the Warren Commission ignored stuff like this. An FBI agent found this telegram in Hoover’s desk; he died in a car accident the next day, and the telegram was never seen after that. The only person he ever told was his brother; he put a notation in his diary, and he died in a deli stickup the same day. His wife read the diary, but she got killed in a freak explosion at a gas station. The diary was never found. The only reference to this was in the wife’s sister’s diary, left to the FBI upon her death. They ignored it as hearsay.

I need more than a damn telegram, Carla said.

I’ll go through this stuff and let you know what I find, Harrington said.

You will make copies right in front of me and return the originals to me, Carla said.

So, you don’t trust me? Harrington smiled.

I don’t trust anybody with these documents, Carla said. That way I do not have to hear some sad story that your heart gave out on Hooker Night and nobody knows what happened to my paperwork. You will do as I say, boy, or you will not report to work tomorrow.

The next day, Harrington sent for Carla and Schreyer. He sat them down. Do you know what you have here? he said, holding up the copies. The end of modern day America as we know it. Nobody will ever trust the government again if this gets out.

They don’t trust them now, Carla said. How could anything make it any worse?

Because back in 1963, there were no home computers; there was no internet, and no email. Everything was either done face to face, or hand written. In this case, it was both. There is a hand written memo from LBJ to J. Edgar Hoover, and a return memo. I can’t believe they were even stupid enough to put this in writing, but they did. The archivists  were even stupider to keep it all these years.

Hoover liked to have something he could use against you if he made one of his dirty deals, Schreyer said. I can see why he’d want it in writing. What’s in the memo?

Here, Harrington said. Read it for yourself, then you tell me you’re going to let this cat out of the bag.

Okay, Schreyer shrugged. He took the memo and began reading it aloud.

"Dear Mr. Director; as you know, I am facing a Senate investigation about my dealings with Bobby Baker and Billie Sol Estes. This investigation is backed by Attorney General Bobby Kennedy, and could end my career and possibly send me to prison. I do not intend to let that happen. I have in place the mechanism to remove the President from office, in which case I have been assured the investigation will not go forward after I am sworn in as his replacement. I will order the FBI to take control of the investigation into the President’s assassination; I will assign that duty to you. I expect your full cooperation in this matter; a suspect will be provided, and evidence against him will be fabricated to the extent that he would be convicted if he lives long enough to go to trial, which he will not.

"In return for your cooperation, I will waive the mandatory retirement age for your position, effectively making you FBI Director for life. I will also turn over to you an extensive file, complete with pictures and movies, detailing your many homosexual affairs. I look forward to your cooperation in this matter.

Sincerely yours, Lyndon Baines Johnson."

Holy shit, Carla whispered. That’s it. We got the boy. Is that memo authentic?

Yes, Harrington said. I have three of the best handwriting experts in the world working here. There is no doubt of its authenticity; it is also covered with LBJ’s fingerprints.

What does the return memo say? Schreyer said. Harrington handed it over. Richie read it aloud.

"I am in receipt of your recent communication concerning President Kennedy, Mr. Vice President. I am in total agreement that what you have told me is an urgent matter involving national security. Accordingly, this Bureau stands ready to cooperate with you in any and all ways necessary. I look forward to receiving any necessary documents pertaining to this matter. I suggest you classify this matter as Top Secret, so as to prevent this information from falling into the wrong hands.

Sincerely, J. Edgar Hoover."

Good answer, Carla nodded. Typical legalese bullshit; it does not mention the original subject. Hoover was no dummy. He may have looked bad in a cocktail dress, but he knew how to avoid stickin’ his foot in his mouth.

I’m sure he stuck plenty of things into his mouth and other people’s, Schreyer smirked. He played the game; he knew that for once in his life, somebody had something on him instead of the other way around. Imagine a movie of him playing Queen for a Day with that dude Tolson on the six O’clock news; nobody could survive that in 1963, and he knew it. He did the right thing to protect himself. He finally ran up against somebody who was a dirtier player than himself.

That’s the way the game is played, Carla sighed. You got something on me, so I get something on you, and we trade when it becomes necessary. You think LBJ really had movies and pictures?

Yes. LBJ was the most ruthless human ever to serve in public office. He would not bluff the FBI Director.

Damn, Carla grinned. I wonder if them movies are still around. I would love to see old Eddie Hoover dancin’ in a tutu to Swan Lake.

Please, Harrington said. I just ate. Are you sure you want to make this public?

Shit yeah, Carla said. It’s about time the folks found out what kind of country this really is. They cannot fix it if they do not know it is broken.

And you think the average idiot working in some factory can fix a corrupt political system? Harrington laughed.

You’d be surprised how much an average idiot can get done. Look at me, she grinned. I damn near solved 922.

That would be 911, Richie smiled. And I helped you.

Well, I could have got the date mixed up, Carla said. And y’all were too busy tryin’ to peel me off your face after that thirty pack you made me drink, Carla huffed. You could not do no meaningful work. Y’all should be ashamed of yourself, you old bastard, takin’ advantage of a fine young virgin like you done.

Virgin? Richie laughed. I had to strap a two by four across my ass to keep from falling in. The only thing you have that hasn’t been popped is your eardrums.

You take that back, you old rapist, Carla nodded. I were ..... let’s see, she said, counting off on her fingers. I ferget how old I was back then, she grinned.

You mean you can’t count past ten, Richie smiled. I know for a fact you were born on December 23, 1983. That means in September 2001 you would have been ..... oops, he grinned. My bad.

Yeah, your bad, and I want that damn video you made of me sittin’ on your face. That was your fatal mistake; you got to be eighteen to make a video like that. Otherwise, the age of corn-sent is sixteen. I know that for a fact; I could not return to work for three days after my sixteenth birthday.

And you will never get that video, Richie smirked. I know how the game is played, J. Carla Hoover.

Don’t matter none, Carla sighed. Accusin’ you of takin’ my agility be like suing a telephone pole after you drove your car through it.

Agility? Harrington grinned.

You did not see the position I had to get into to lose my honor, Carla nodded.

Well, your sexual exploits notwithstanding, or laying down, I have work to do, Harrington said. I look forward to reading your obituary when this goes public, if you can find somebody brave enough to do it.

Oh, I will find somebody; you can count on that. There still be some folks about who believe in justice.

The Central Intelligence Agency

The National Photographic Interpretation Center

Langley, Virginia

November, 2007

What do you want, Schreyer? Director Art Lindstrom said. You’re on temporary leave, you incompetent asshole. Who’s the babe with the big jugs?

Your sister, Carla snapped as she grabbed Lindstrom by the throat and jacked him up against a wall. She drove her knee into his groin and shoved him back into his chair as he threw up on himself. Must have had a bad hot dog for lunch, Carla grinned. She saw a stapler on the desk, picked it up, and put two staples through Lindstrom’s upper lip. He started to cry and blubber; she then put one through his tongue.

How would you like have her for a girlfriend? Schreyer grinned. She makes Betty Broderick look like one of the Muppets. You should see what she does when she gets mad.

Lindstrom reached for his intercom; Carla picked it up and slammed him in the skull with it. She ripped the wires loose and threw the device into the waste basket. Lock the door, Richie; this ain’t gonna be pretty.

Your wish is my command, Doctor Demento, Schreyer said. Look, Lindstrom, he sighed. You better tell her what she wants to know, or they’re going to find your bloody clothes outside a dog food factory.

I can’t talk, Lindstrom mumbled, grabbing at the staple.

Oh, the staple keeps y’all from talking? Carla grinned. She took a small pair of needle nose pliers out of her bag, grabbed the staple, and yanked it loose. How’s that? She picked up the stapler and looked it over. This here is a strong stapler, she grinned. I bet I can staple your nut bag to that chair you are sitting on. Care to see me try?

No, Lindstrom squealed. What the hell is wrong with you? I’ll have the both of you prosecuted for this.

I doubt it, Carla said. Hard to file paperwork when you ain’t got no arms. She took a bone saw out of her bag and stared at Lindstrom. I want the full file on the JFK Assassination. You hold anything back, and I will get you when you least expect it. And you will not like the way I do it.

She’s right, Schreyer grinned. She’ll wait until she has her period, and she’ll climb through your bedroom window at three in the morning; no more Director. It might take an hour for her to finish the job; she works slow. Do you want to go through that?

You wouldn’t, Lindstrom whispered. Who are you? he squeaked, looking at Carla.

The Avenger, Carla grinned. Sent here by God to take care of shit like you. Now where’s that file, boy?

Over there in that red cabinet, Lindstrom whispered. You’ll never make it out of here alive.

Carla put three rounds from a silenced .45 into the padlock on the cabinet. She put a fourth round between Lindstrom’s eyes. Damn sure you won’t, she nodded.

You kill the fucking guy? Schreyer laughed. What did he do to deserve that?

He pissed me off, Carla said as she loaded the file into a suitcase. Let’s go.

Stratford Police Department

900 Longbrook Ave.

Stratford, Connecticut

November, 2007

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Well, look who’s here, Carole smiled as Carla came in. The Angel of Death herself.

I am no angel, Carla nodded as she hugged Carole. She looked at Harper, who ignored her. What up, Board Butt?

Eat me, Harper said, looking up. I made your oversized ass completely unnecessary by running the squad for two months and locking up a shit load of bad guys.

Well, I do have good taste in appointing second bananas, Carla smiled. Corn-siderin’ the only banana you ever had was shoved down your throat by a Swedish airline pilot, you done a good job. I do read the wire, you know. Y’all racked up a pretty good body count, she said as she high fived Harper. I especially like what you did to Norman Bell. I never did like that dude.

You can call him Lefty now, Harper grinned. Who did you kill in the last two months?

Well, I cannot comment other than to say Richie Schreyer’s old boss has gone to the great CIA in the sky.

What did you find out? Carole said.

Plenty, Carla nodded. See yonder suitcase? That holds the past history and future of this republic. If you can keep it, she smiled.

Uncle Ben Franklin, Carole nodded. I like his rice. See? I took history in high school; I passed, too.

Sure you did, Old Person, Harper grinned. You passed right by the room where the classes were held and went to the shit house to smoke pot.

I never did that, Carole huffed.

Of course not, Daydream Believer. Tell me you never toked a doobie while you were listening to the Beach Bums sing she’s real fine, my sister who goes 69.

Well, maybe just once to see what it was like, Carole said, looking up. I didn’t inhale, though.

Bill Clinton never inhaled either, Harper said. He just let that girl Harmonica smoke his pole.

That was his personal business, Carole snapped. They had no business impeaching him over a ... you know.

Ain’t called a you know, Carla grinned. Be called a blowjob. Y’all know what a blowjob is?

It’s the name of a drink you can order in a bar, Carole said. "I wouldn’t know