[SPEAKER_00]: The American, chapter forty-six, a short-hand missile tale by Matthew C. McLean. [SPEAKER_00]: The trouble with idiots. [SPEAKER_00]: Part one. [SPEAKER_00]: I gave Alon instructions to the gas station almost exactly as Satra had described it to me, in Lorraine near Jihu, between Cemetery Hill and the canal.
[SPEAKER_00]: Alon clearly possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of the city, not just Old Town, as he drove a straight there without all the zigzagging that I had required on my last trip. [SPEAKER_00]: He grumbled a bit that we weren't getting his promised breakfast first, but he took a straight there.
[SPEAKER_00]: On the way, I shoveled through a copy of the local morning newspaper, Matan, that had been left in the backseat, behind a second page story on the French gold medal wins in the Paralympics. [SPEAKER_00]: There was a mention of a gas station fire. [SPEAKER_00]: That, as yet unidentified individuals had perished in it, [SPEAKER_00]: and the station attendant was being sought for questioning. [SPEAKER_00]: It's not true I was right though. [SPEAKER_00]: You couldn't miss this station.
[SPEAKER_00]: It was still smoldering even though the fire we had never reached the fuel pumps. [SPEAKER_00]: The station itself though, particularly the rear storage area where it started the fire, was blackened and cratered the roof collapsed. [SPEAKER_00]: A few of the cinder blocks walls still stood, but not my gels. [SPEAKER_00]: Whatever interest the fire might have peaked in the locals had wained in the two night's sense. [SPEAKER_00]: Traffic didn't even slow as it passed the station.
[SPEAKER_00]: A pair of early morning joggers went by, more concerned with the dog they were chef-running than anything else. [SPEAKER_00]: I stared at the burned-out husk. [SPEAKER_00]: I wasn't sure what I had been expecting. [SPEAKER_00]: Was this the impulse to return to the scene of the crime that cops talked about? [SPEAKER_00]: If that was the case, the only thing I got out of it was restless.
[SPEAKER_00]: Scorming on the seat is all the bruises, the Russian had left on me, started to move of their own volition. [SPEAKER_00]: The aches grew under me as I shifted my weight in the back seat, each growing into its own little landmine, until pressing on one flash to brilliant moment my eyes. [SPEAKER_00]: of me and the Russian wrestling under full-est at lights. [SPEAKER_00]: Close enough that I could still smell the cigarettes and vodka on his breath.
[SPEAKER_00]: I flexed my hands as I thought the ghost of the cord I had strangled the port bastard with burned my palms. [SPEAKER_00]: The two of us rolling towards eternity. [SPEAKER_00]: I launched out of the car before I knew what I was doing, feet hitting the cement as a gasp for air. [SPEAKER_00]: I took big panting breaths, bent at the waist, hands on my knees.
[SPEAKER_00]: I stayed like that until I felt the sting of sweat in my eyes and I straight myself, pointing my face to the sun, feeling its warmth in a way that I desperately needed. [SPEAKER_00]: I coughed, wiped the moisture out of my eyes, feeling cleaner the longer I stood in the morning's light. [SPEAKER_00]: You reminded me there was something good about the city, despite all the darkness I was roaming in.
[SPEAKER_00]: Alon moved to check on me, but through my drying eyes I spotted a runalt cop car pull on to the station's black tarmac. [SPEAKER_00]: I signal a lot to stand the taxi wanting to see who would emerge from the cruiser. [SPEAKER_00]: There are all bounced its way on poor brakes to stop until it's settled enough to allow two men to get out. [SPEAKER_00]: One was taller, black hair and a mustache. [SPEAKER_00]: The teagued in a way that was obvious even from across the street.
[SPEAKER_00]: His shirt and tie were disheveled, and it didn't, if I didn't know any better, I would have sworn he was wearing cowboy boots. [SPEAKER_00]: The other man, the car's passenger, was older, wrestling with a potbellion, his middle age, and possible to conceal in the crisp, blue shirt that he wore. [SPEAKER_00]: It had an emblem on the right breasts that I couldn't quite make out.
[SPEAKER_00]: Both men approached the rear of the station and began a discussion, the details of which were impossible to determine at this distance. [SPEAKER_00]: I leaned forward though, curious enough to give it a try, even if I could relips, which I can't. [SPEAKER_00]: They were most likely conversing in French, which would have made it impossible for me anyway.
[SPEAKER_00]: I bent the open passenger window of a cab to say something to a lawn, but noticed a small note pad and pencil sitting on the passenger seat before I got the words out. [SPEAKER_00]: seized by an impulse, I didn't question. [SPEAKER_00]: I grabbed both pencil and pad and one big met and apologized to a lawn, stepping out under the street and that separated us in the station. [SPEAKER_00]: Shushing both my internal voice and jerals, each asking me what I was doing.
[SPEAKER_00]: I approached the station dodging across traffic and then slowing once I was on its concrete pad. [SPEAKER_00]: The morning wind was cold across my shavingscape, carrying the smell of the station smoke that almost covered the odor of the surrounding bog. [SPEAKER_00]: The two men faced the station away from me. [SPEAKER_00]: So I announced myself I was still more than a dozen feet away.
[SPEAKER_00]: I gave a loud, friendly American bungeur and tried to have something that resembled a smile on my face when they turned around. [SPEAKER_00]: Unsurprisingly, neither man returned the smile. [SPEAKER_00]: Both instead giving me the heavy, gallic grimace that the French so loved to reserve for interlopers and outsiders. [SPEAKER_00]: I, I continued on even as I wasn't sure what I was doing. [SPEAKER_00]: I'm from the Kansas City Star.
[SPEAKER_00]: I was wondering if either of you could tell me what happened here. [SPEAKER_00]: The middle-aged man in the blue shirt, who I now realize was smoking, despite being downwind from the fire. [SPEAKER_00]: Took his cigarette out of his mouth and said, [SPEAKER_00]: There was a fire. [SPEAKER_00]: He then returned the smoke to his mouth, ending what he had to say. [SPEAKER_00]: Sure, I replied, trying to broaden my smile even as it hurt my face. [SPEAKER_00]: How did start?
[SPEAKER_00]: The man with a mustache scanned me from behind dark sunglasses, uncertain of what to make of this lumbering brute who had decided to interrupt his day. [SPEAKER_00]: Unlike the man in blue, he took a moment, carefully selecting from the battery of options he had to lob at my unexpected disruption. [SPEAKER_00]: You're a bit lost to get this scoop a month ago. [SPEAKER_00]: The up and down of his glasses stopped, examined his eyes and complete, particularly for a monarchy and nooth.
[SPEAKER_00]: I laughed weekly at that, trying to paper over what were the hugely obvious cracks in the shell of my pretext. [SPEAKER_00]: From behind the sunglasses, I could feel the taller man's eyes shoot through me. [SPEAKER_00]: And I was having a hard time convincing even myself that I was who I said I was. [SPEAKER_00]: For whatever reason, I blathered on. [SPEAKER_00]: Well, I heard some rumors that this was more than a fire.
[SPEAKER_00]: I paused seeing if either man gave away anything. [SPEAKER_00]: They didn't. [SPEAKER_00]: That people may have died. [SPEAKER_00]: That got their attention. [SPEAKER_00]: both men's sign as they arrived at the mutual conclusion that some kind of statement would have to be made.
[SPEAKER_00]: They returned to the fire, more to speak away from my direction and conferred, ending with a blue-shirted man sweeping hand towards me, indicating to his coworker was his turn to take out the trash. [SPEAKER_00]: As they pivoted back and forth, I saw that the emblem on his right breast was out of a fire brigade. [SPEAKER_00]: Sunglasses came back to me and tried to dismiss my inquiry with. [SPEAKER_00]: You can read the incident statement at the Kamasarat.
[SPEAKER_00]: It took me a moment to understand you meant the local police precinct, trying to cover up by nodding with some enthusiasm. [SPEAKER_00]: Sure, I'm mimicked enthusiasm, but contradictory that with. [SPEAKER_00]: But you're right here, and I'm guessing you know what's going on. [SPEAKER_00]: I pointed at the blue shirt. [SPEAKER_00]: You're fire brigade, right? [SPEAKER_00]: But like a captain. [SPEAKER_00]: I snapped my fingers as I switched targets to glasses.
[SPEAKER_00]: And near National Police, close inspection revealed he was, indeed, wearing cowboy boots. [SPEAKER_00]: I mean, you don't look like John Darm. [SPEAKER_00]: He let out a heavy exhalation, removing the sunglasses from his face and rub the bridge of his nose. [SPEAKER_00]: When his face came back up, the lines have been only confirmed in the miles of a teague that ran across it. [SPEAKER_00]: I am in Spectura, Retella.
[SPEAKER_00]: And at finding the policeman I was speaking with was the very same one, Mitnick had pointed me at, and on kind of bitter irony made its way into my smile. [SPEAKER_00]: Of course you are. [SPEAKER_00]: Rotella was understandably confused by this reply. [SPEAKER_00]: He put his sunglasses back on and asked, is Gizmo, do I know you? [SPEAKER_00]: No, no, I assure you. [SPEAKER_00]: But you're the lead investigator on this, right?
[SPEAKER_00]: I indicated the black and shell of the station as another piece of it fell in word. [SPEAKER_00]: Rotella's face sharpened as his instincts told him something wasn't right. [SPEAKER_00]: How do you know this? [SPEAKER_00]: I smiled again, blithly is only a willfully ignorant American can. [SPEAKER_00]: I spoke with a John Darm yesterday. [SPEAKER_00]: He mentioned an inspector, Rotella, was heading up the investigation into the fire.
[SPEAKER_00]: I let my smile drop, pushed away as if something occured into my tiny mind. [SPEAKER_00]: If there wasn't a murder, why would the national police be involved? [SPEAKER_00]: Or tell us the suspicion continued as a question. [SPEAKER_00]: Who is this jundar in that you spoke with? [SPEAKER_00]: I shrugged, pretending to be a senseless as when the Russian had beaten me. [SPEAKER_00]: I don't remember. [SPEAKER_00]: Rotella's face stayed pinched as he held on to his own suspicion.
[SPEAKER_00]: He turned back to the fire Brigadier for a quick few words and then came walking towards me. [SPEAKER_00]: What is it that you wish to know? [SPEAKER_00]: I brought up the note pad and pencil and making something I've seen in Superman comics. [SPEAKER_00]: How did the fire start? [SPEAKER_00]: hotel a fished in into his breast pocket for his own cigarette. [SPEAKER_00]: It was our son. [SPEAKER_00]: So it was intentional. [SPEAKER_00]: I asked if I didn't know what our son meant.
[SPEAKER_00]: Rochella paused. [SPEAKER_00]: The blackness of his sunglasses coming to him plating, if I was stupid, a liar, or a stupid liar. [SPEAKER_00]: He put the cigarette into his mouth with a, we, any ideas to motive. [SPEAKER_00]: None. [SPEAKER_00]: Was anyone hurt? [SPEAKER_00]: That inquiry paused Ratella, perhaps causing the question of my honesty and intelligence to become unbearable. [SPEAKER_00]: I thought you knew the answer to this. [SPEAKER_00]: Isn't that why you're here?
[SPEAKER_00]: Sure, but I've only heard rumors. [SPEAKER_00]: I was hoping for an official statement. [SPEAKER_00]: An official statement is waiting for you down at the Council of Manishat. [SPEAKER_00]: He moved your return to the Donalds ending the conversation. [SPEAKER_00]: Despite my attempts to appear as a clueless, well-intended American, the dismissal caused enough of my dander to stand up that I moved to block or tell his path.
[SPEAKER_00]: He raised his chin to say something sharp to me, but in creating his head he seemed to become aware of how much larger I was. [SPEAKER_00]: Can you talk unofficially? [SPEAKER_00]: Off the record? [SPEAKER_00]: Even behind the sunglasses, I could see Ratella's face work, trying to resolve whatever contradictory impulses his impatience and my size were causing.
[SPEAKER_00]: Whatever temporary intimidation my imposing bulk might have caused, Ratella's professionalism and curiosity overrooted. [SPEAKER_00]: He stared at me for a long, evaluating moment and said, you are well informed for an American. [SPEAKER_00]: I realized that Rotella was tacitly telling me that my statement was correct. [SPEAKER_00]: Instead of taking this small consolation and moving on, I rapidly asked if they weren't employees who were they.
[SPEAKER_00]: Why were they in the station? [SPEAKER_00]: How did they get trapped in the fire? [SPEAKER_00]: Butello lit his cigarette and he dismayed my size might have caused, securely stowed. [SPEAKER_00]: Rather than answering any more of my questions though, he inhaled smoke and replied, you do not look wet. [SPEAKER_00]: Feeling all the bruises crawl over me, I could hardly disagree with him. [SPEAKER_00]: He slowly excels, giving me a moment to respond.
[SPEAKER_00]: When I didn't, you continued, you should get away from this place. [SPEAKER_00]: It can't be good for you. [SPEAKER_00]: I wasn't sure if he was talking about the station or the city. [SPEAKER_00]: Either way, I'm not sure he was wrong. [SPEAKER_00]: He stepped around me, moving quicker than I would have thought his fatigue would allow and moved toward the Renault. [SPEAKER_00]: The fire Brigadier was already waiting by the car.
[SPEAKER_00]: pushing my luck, I asked vertella, is there any way I can get in touch with you later if I have more questions? [SPEAKER_00]: I could see as shoulders, rise and fall as you breathe it in as cigarettes, smoke slowly, gathering patience and whatever else you might need. [SPEAKER_00]: He reached into another pocket and produced a small white rectangle, no bigger than a business card.
[SPEAKER_00]: He handed it to me, face up, showing the swooping insignia for the national police above its motto. [SPEAKER_00]: His name, though number and email were at the bottom. [SPEAKER_00]: I took it and thanked him, reading over it as he hovered. [SPEAKER_00]: After a few moments of this, I looked back up at him, wondering what he was waiting for, having been eager to escape just a moment ago. [SPEAKER_00]: When I didn't do or say anything, Rotella asked, do you have a card?
[SPEAKER_00]: I dragged out the last syllable on a word that this exchange was a part of the French journalist's police subculture. [SPEAKER_00]: I went with a lie that hadn't been original since Perocular School. [SPEAKER_00]: I made a show of searching my person, then I'm sorry, I must have forgotten. [SPEAKER_00]: I could almost feel Rotella's urged snatch back his own card, but that only vibrate out of his utter immobility, ice piercing me through sunglasses.
[SPEAKER_00]: His next words were ever so slightly seasoned with a cold, cop skepticism. [SPEAKER_00]: You do not have a card. [SPEAKER_00]: I apologize again, which did nothing to dismiss his incredulity. [SPEAKER_00]: After an intermedible moment, Rotella dryly replied, [SPEAKER_00]: There's an official incident report that the commissarat. [SPEAKER_00]: Perhaps you should come by. [SPEAKER_00]: Come by sometime and read it.
[SPEAKER_00]: He tapped his card, which I was still holding between us. [SPEAKER_00]: Let me know if you do. [SPEAKER_00]: We can talk more there. [SPEAKER_00]: I smiled and said, sure, certain there was no way I was going to let Routelle get a hold of me anywhere near a police station. [SPEAKER_00]: Perhaps sensing that my response was yet another lie, or tell a spun and headed back to the Ronaldo.
[SPEAKER_00]: I walked up to the cordon surrounding the shell of the gas station and pretended to take notes until he drove off. [SPEAKER_00]: Daging traffic I jogged back to Alon, hopping into the back of the taxi I told him. [SPEAKER_00]: Let's get you that breakfast.