The Eighty-eighth Key Ch. 16

"Don't start with that bullshit again," Harry growled.

"What bullshit?" Lloyd asked with one eye-brow arched-up.

"Dad, if you're lucky, well, you won't find out."

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Frank drove down to the wharf to pick up Harry and An Linh, and what impressed Frank most in that moment was that this tiny Vietnamese girl had absolutely no idea what a Porsche was, so had no idea what sort of status cars of this sort conferred upon the drivers lucky enough to own one. She simply slipped behind the passenger seat into the tiny bucket seat behind his, and once Harry was buckled-in he hammered the clutch and burned rubber for a few hundred yards.

The funny thing was, An Linh seemed not in the least bit impressed. Her face registered nothing, nothing at all: not fear; not excitement; not even mild curiosity...then it hit him...she had just come from Saigon, a fragile world where her day-to-day existence had been, quite literally, blown apart. And then an even funnier thing happened...

For the first time in his life, Frank drove the speed limit.

He shifted smoothly.

He made no sudden lane changes.

Because he realized that An Linh was looking at this new world as it passed by - yet still just out of reach - and he was the one person in this world given the opportunity to be, in a way, her first tour guide.

So he puttered down to the marina, then made an easy dash over to Golden Gate Park before winding through quiet residential streets to Sam Bennett's house. He found a parking space within easy walking distance and the three of them walked along in the sunset, and still Frank marveled at the way An Linh seemed to be soaking up everything she saw.

"Everything must seem so new to you," he said to her as they came to Sam's house, "but I'm curious. What have you seen so far that impresses you most?"

She stopped and looked around, then turned to Frank: "How big everything is."

"Such as?"

"The houses. Even many of the cars. They seem so much larger than anything I expected. Even Mr. Callahan's house. Yet it is a simple house, no? Or so Harry tells me, yet even so it seems impossibly big to me."

"Harry, you'll need to turn her over to Fran, let her show An Linh around the kitchen..."

"Why?" An Linh asked. "Is there something wrong I should know about?"

"Hmm, oh, no - nothing wrong. Cathy, that's my wife, she just redesigned the first floor, and the Bennett's had a new kitchen installed during the remodel. All the latest gadgets. Pretty cool, too."

"I see."

Frank led them to the side gate - and he gently slid back the latch, hoping Sam's Golden wouldn't hear - but he had no such luck...

He saw the golden streak in time to slam the gate closed and turn to meet the impact...

The retriever leapt into Bullitt's outstretched arms and began systematically licking every square inch of his face - until the pup saw An Linh, that is.

Then the pup slid to the ground and eased over to her side and looked up expectantly.

"An Linh?" Frank said, leaning down beside the retriever, "this is Fred."

An Linh knelt and let the pup come to her on its own terms, and Fred sniffed her outstretched hand once before he licked it, and then she lowered herself a bit more - and that was all it took. Fred sidled into her, then fell onto his back, offering his belly...

And she instinctively began rubbing the pup until everyone within earshot heard Fred's moans and groans.

A taxi pulled up curbside and Cathy hopped out - just as Al Bressler came walking up the sidewalk, and Frank let them in before they all headed to the smokey backyard where Sam was intoning magical incantations over the grill, summoning the perfect mixture of coal and smoke. His youngest boy, Chip, was tossing the football with Dell and Stan - though rifling was a more apt description of the kid's passes.

Al loved football more than police work so he drifted that way, while Harry saw that his father was already out here and standing beyond the smokey-blue veil enveloping the grill, a cold longneck already in hand. Frank was kissing Cathy so he looked at An Linh and smiled...

"Welcome to America," he said, and when he saw the smile in her eyes he knew everything would be okay.

"So this is it? Backyards and bar-b-ques?"

"This is it, baby. This is what it's all about. The best memories are made out here..."

"And the best rib-eyes," Sam said as he walked over to hug An Linh. "So, how are you liking the city so far?"

"It is a most magical place, Captain Bennett..."

"Now, now, we've been through this before, Harry. She's got to stop with all the 'captain' stuff. You are family now, An Linh, and family calls me Sam!"

"Yes...Sam."

But he had already turned away before she could say more, and she watched him marching back to his fire pit - not yet sure what kind of man this was.

"An Linh? This is Cathy," Frank said, "and she's volunteered to show you around the house."

"Hello," she said. "So, you are Frank's wife?"

"Not yet," Cathy said, feigning a deep scowl. "But...maybe, someday."

"I see," An Linh said, even though she clearly didn't.

Harry and Frank watched as Cathy led An Linh through the side-yard to the kitchen, and both quite suddenly had an uneasy feeling about how things might go in there.

And just then the side gate opened once again; they watched as Stacy Bennett led Jim Parish into the yard...

...and Jim's eyes perceptively brightened when he saw Harry, but then he literally ran up to his old friend with open arms...

"Christ, Harry! It's sure good to see you!"

And Harry was at least as confused as Frank with this turn of events. "You too, buddy," he said, scowling...then...

"We gotta talk," Parish whispered conspiratorially after Stacy passed-by on her way to find her brother.

"Okay," Harry said as he led Parish back to the gate, "what's up?"

"Stacy's up. I mean, I don't know how the hell you handled her..."

"What do you mean?"

"She's a fuckin' nymphomaniac, Callahan," Parish whispered, the words coming out in a frantic staccato burst.

"A what?"

"You heard me!"

"I don't get it. I think we screwed maybe three times over the past couple of years..."

"Shit, Harry...we've screwed three times - since lunch! I touch her down there and it's like a gushing oil well. Uncontrollable. My balls are too small to feel now, and they're screamin' like fuckin' hell."

"Blue balls, huh?"

"Cobalt, Harry. I never want to have sex ever again, and after six years over there that's sayin' something."

"Jesus, Jim. I had no idea."

"Fuck, man. Well, I was beginning to think you're like Superman or something."

"No...this is all on you, Amigo."

"You know the worst thing of it all? She dragged my ass out to one of the dirty movie places down in the Tenderloin. Double fucking feature. Deep Throat and The Devil in Miss Jones..."

"That the one with Linda Lovelace?"

"None other, Ace. A real sword swallower, and there we were when the lights went down, and like bam! - down goes the zipper and down she goes right then and there. By that time my nuts were running on empty and nothing was gonna happen, so, of course, right about then my dick started getting raw, and then she decides to give me some teeth. I don't know what happened next but I was running out the fire exit and down an alley before I knew what was happening, and when I ran out of juice there she was, about five steps behind with tears running down her face like a fire hydrant had bust loose..."

"Jesus, Jim..."

"No shit. And she wants to get married, Callahan. Me. To a fuckin' federal agent. I don't know what to do, Harry."

"What are your options?"

"Take a fucking assignment in Korea, or maybe somewhere in fuckin' Africa..."

"You know...? When you get excited you say fuck a lot."

"Fuckin'-A."

"Harry!" they heard Sam yell, "Get your fuckin' ass up here and get a fuckin' beer for your fuckin' friend!"

Parish doubled over laughing - while Harry just shook his head...

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An Linh sat down between the two Callahans at the huge, glass-topped patio table, barely able to contain her shock. The amount of food being prepared was simply outrageous, and that kitchen! She'd never seen anything like it before...all gleaming white with chrome accents everywhere - just like all the huge American cars she'd seen today!

Jim Parish was sitting next to Harry, and Al Bressler was sitting directly across from An Linh and everyone seemed to be talking at the same time about things she just didn't understand - when suddenly she had a vision of a fish out of water...

"Miss Linh?" Fran Bennett said. "Could I get you something to drink?"

"Frannie?" Sam interjected. "It's just An Linh. That's her first name."

"Oh, of course, dear. Sorry."

An Linh shook her head. "Please, not to worry..."

"You speak such good English," Fran Bennett said. "Where did you learn?"

And then all conversation at the table ground to a sudden halt.

"At home, Mrs. Bennett. Actually, I learned to speak French first, then English. Only when I went to school did I learn tiêng Viêt, what you call Vietnamese, but by that time I was also studying German and Russian."

Chip Bennett burst in then: "J'étudie le français à l'école!"

"Et vous aimez vos études?" An Linh replied.

"Oui, mais c'est toujours très difficile!"

"Alright, Chip!" Sam Bennett barked. "Knock it off and speak English!"

"Yessir. An Linh, do you suppose you could help me? When you have some spare time, I mean?"

"Of course. It would be my honor."

Fran poured iced tea for everyone - pre-sweetened Lipton instant in this case - and An Linh took a tentative sip, nearly gagging on the syrupy stuff.

"Too sweet?" Fran said.

"No, no, it is very different, but interesting," An Linh said as Harry put a plate down in front of her. It looked like she had a two-pound slab of steak, corn-on-the-cob, and a hot, gooey mound of something Fran Bennett called Boston Baked Beans, as well as a few slices of tomato and onion, and when she looked up she saw everyone attacking the food on their plates with a look of something like pure determination in their eyes. But of course, she thought. How else could you eat so much at one sitting? She sighed and attacked the food on her plate, eating until she thought she was going to explode.

"So," Fran resumed, "where are your parents, An Linh? Did they remain in Vietnam?"

She felt Harry stiffen by her side, and she smiled inside. "Yes, Mrs. Bennett."

"Well, perhaps someday you'll be able to go home for a visit."

Then Sam and Frank went rigid - while Lloyd seemed to hover over burning coals - as they looked at An Linh.

"Yes, perhaps so, Mrs. Bennett. At least I hope one day that will be possible."

Fran smiled politely. "Perhaps you could tutor Chip? We'd be happy to pay you, of course."

"Oh, thank you so much, but it would be my privilege to help your son."

"You know, Sam? They need language teachers at all the schools right now... Do you suppose we could see about getting An Linh a temporary teacher's certificate?"

"I don't see why not, Frannie. If it's something An Linh would like to do?"

An Linh sucked in her breath a little, if only because being a teacher was a most noble profession - and certainly not one she had ever imagined for herself. Maybe America truly was a land of impossible opportunities?

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They were sitting around an outdoor fireplace after the evening's dishes were cleared, with Fran and Cathy in the kitchen washing up while Sam talked with Frank and his team about work. Harry was glancing at Jim, then at Stacy, trying to do the math...while Chip Bennett and Al Bressler talked football...all while An Linh tried to follow what was happening around the fire-pit.

"You know," she heard Chip Bennett saying, "some guys in the locker room were trying to light 'em off last week. It was fucking gross."

"It's all in your technique, kiddo," Bressler said.

"What the hell are you talking about now, Bressler?" Harry growled.

"Lighting farts."

Sam Bennett's eyes hooded over while An Linh's went wide. Fred's eared laid back and he whimpered once.

"Excuse me, please?" An Linh said. "What is this - lighting farts?"

"Yeah, Al?" Harry snarled. "Why don't you tell us all about it."

"Now Harry," Bressler moaned, "you wouldn't..."

"Harry?" Captain Sam Bennett grumbled, "what's this all about?"

"Well Sam, Al here is a world-class fart lighter, aren't you?"

"No kidding?" Chip Bennett gleamed.

"Harry, please..." Bressler said, now almost pleading.

"Yes," Harry continued, "Al is also a betting man. And one night in the dorm - this was during our academy days, Jim, in case you're wondering, and Al made a little bet, and it went something like this. Who could light a fart and make the biggest flame? Isn't that about right, Al?"

"God damn you, Harry," Bressler groaned, his face buried in his hands.

"And before you ask, I wasn't in the room when all these bets were being made, or when they were placed. No, I was in the library. Studying. Which, incidentally, was something Al should have been doing. So here I come, my hands full of books when I open the door to our room, and what do I find? Someone on my bed - MY bed, mind you - with their pants down and their knees curled up to their chin, and I see a zippo flicker and light...then...the biggest goddamn fart in human history came ripping out of Al's ass. But this wasn't just any ole fart. mind you. This was a Bressler Special..."

"Harry, please..."

"It started kinda like this high-pitched whistle, you know, like blowing up a balloon and then modulating the airflow just so..."

"Harry...?"

"Then this liquidy-fluttering sound began building until this kind of ripping roar started, and right about then the methane hit the flame..."

"Harry? You wouldn't..."

"And there it was, ladies and gentlemen...a great billowing ball of flame...about as big around as a basketball and just floating there - right by Al's ass. And you know what the best part was?"

"Harry? No..."

"The smell. The smell of a high octane fart mixed with burning ass hair. But no, that wasn't all. No, because Al's fart wasn't the first in the room. Oh, no. There was already a toxic brew of farts and ass hair hanging in the air, yet Al's was indeed the winning entry. Because all that methane had apparently settled on the bed. My bed. And right about then it ignited."

Bressler looked up, grinning.

"Yes, ignited. A fireball like you've never seen before. Second degree burns on his asshole and up...I mean down...the backs of his thighs. My bed a flaming wreck. And then? Yup. The fire alarm went off. Our wing of the dorm...sprinklers going off...everyone running from their rooms...and their goes Al, a trail of smoke pouring from his ass as he beats-feet to the infirmary..."

"That was you?" an incredulous Sam Bennett asked as he glowered at Bressler. "We heard about that one down at division..."

"Second-degree burns?" Jim Parish, MD, asked. "For real?"

"You wanna see?" Bressler asked, getting ready to stand.

But it was too late.

As he began standing the Boston Baked Beans went to work...

And Bressler said, grinning: "Revenge, Callahan, is a dish best served hot..."

...and as the ripping sound began, Stacy Bennett stood and turned towards her brother before she fired off her own twenty-one gun salute...

When Fran and Cathy returned - carrying bowls of fresh fruit and ice cream - they found almost everyone writhing on the grass when Sam shouted...

"...beans, beans, the musical fruit..."

Then Chip piped-in...

"...the more you eat the more you toot..."

Followed by Bressler...

"...the more you toot the better you feel..."

Then in unison, a resounding chorus of...

"...so eat your beans at every meal!"

"Oh dear God," Cathy said as the wafting smell hit. She turned and followed Fran into the house.

Fred was, of course, long gone by then.

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Saul was asleep - or at least pretending to sleep - when three uniformed border patrolmen entered his car...and a moment later he felt someone shaking his shoulder.

"Papers, please," an officious young man commanded.

Rosenthal pulled out his passport, this one a Swiss Diplomatic passport, and he handed this over to the guard.

"Your business?"

"Inspection," Saul said, stifling a yawn as he handed over his packet of official Red Cross documents.

The guard returned the documents after a brief inspection, and Saul resumed his sleep.

And as easy as that, Saul and Imogen had slipped into the dark belly of the beast.

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | as always, thanks for dropping by...

[note: I typically don't post all a story's acknowledgments until I've finished, if only because I'm not sure how many I'll need until the work is finalized. Yet with the current circumstances that might not be the best way to proceed, and I'd hate to have this story stop 'unexpectedly' without some mention of these sources. Of course, the source material in this case - so far, at least - derives from two Hollywood films: Dirty Harry and Bullitt. The first Harry film was penned by Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Riesner, John Milius, Terrence Malick, and Jo Heims. Bullitt came primarily from the author of The Thomas Crown Affair, Alan R Trustman, with help from Harry Kleiner, as well Robert L Fish, whose short story Mute Witness formed the basis of Trustman's brilliant screenplay. John Milius (Red Dawn) penned Magnum Force, and the 'Briggs' storyline derives from characters originally found in that screenplay. Most of the other figures in this story derive from characters developed in the works cited above, but as always this story is otherwise a work of fiction woven into a pre-existing historical timeline, using the established characters referenced above.]