| there, Commander, doctors don’t know everything, fella.’ ‘My doctors do, ‘cause they don’t know a fucking thing about medicine!’ ‘I’d get a second, maybe a third, opinion -’ ‘General, please! It’s what I explained before. Certain parties expect me to be cold chopped liver within a day or two, and that’s the way it’s got to be - maybe I should say that’s the way it’s got to appear - because while I’m dead I can operate on your behalf as well as my own.’ ‘I’m not much of a religious man,’ concluded the Hawk pensively. ‘Frankly, I’ve seen too much blood spilled by all those fanatics who say they’ll kill everybody who doesn’t believe the way they do. History’s full of that shit and I don’t go along with it. We all came from the same slime that crawled out of the water, or the same lightning bolt that put a primitive brain in our heads. So nobody’s got a right to claim exclusivity.’ ‘Is this a long story, General? Because if it is, we don’t have time.’ ‘Hell, no, it’s short. If you’re dead, Commander, you’re sure as snow isn’t pea-green going to operate from that grave of yours. Somehow I can’t figure you to be a candidate for resurrection.’ ‘Jesus Christ!’ ‘Even if he was, you’re not, soldier.’ ‘I won’t be dead, General - I’m simply gonna disappear like I was dead, capisce?’ ‘Not entirely.’ ‘Like I said, we’re working on it. It’s vital that my enemies - your enemies - think I’m |
about my clothes?’ ‘You got ‘em, you yellow-skinned coyote!’ The fake animal skin flap opened and an assortment of Ivy League garments was hurled out of the dark space. ‘That’s redskin, Mac. Not yellow-skinned, remember?’ The young loinclothed brave lurched for the flying shorts, shirt, grey flannel trousers and navy blue blazer. Thank you, Mac, I really thank you.’ ‘Not yet, boy, but you will. A good officer, never forgets the grunts, no matter how unworthy they might appear in the heat of battle… You were a help, I’ll say that, in the GHQ strategy sessions. Leave your forwarding address with that drunken flake you call Eagle Ass!’ ‘Eagle Eyes,’ corrected the brave, discarding his loincloth and putting on his shorts. He reached for his Oxford blue shirt. ‘And you gave him the booze - you gave everyone cases of booze - I never allowed so much.’ ‘Beware the sanctimonious Indian who turns on his tribe!’ yelled the unseen manipulator of the Wopotamis. ‘Fuck off, Mac!’ cried the brave, shoving his feet into his Bally loafers and his striped tie into his pocket, and getting into his blazer. ‘Where the hell’s my Camaro?’ ‘Camouflaged beyond the east pasture, sixty running deer strides to the right of the August owl’s tall pine.’ ‘Sixty what? What goddamned owl?’ ‘You never were too sharp in the field; Eagle Ass told me that himself.’ ‘Eagle Eyes, and he’s my uncle and he hasn’t inhaled a sober breath or seen straight since you got here! East pasture |
