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You
can’t be—this is so far out of my league, I’m not even playing the same sport. 
Look, I know you, and I trust that you’re telling me the truth, but good God,
Randall, as hard as it is to believe that this is your reality, it’s even
harder for me to believe that I could actually do something about it.”
    “Well,” he said, “that’s it. 
That’s what I need.  Just tell me how much it’ll cost.”
    “Money’s not the issue, you
big goofball.  You’re family.  I’d do it for free if I had even the slightest
idea of where to begin.”
    He pivoted and held up his
hands, palms outward.  “There’s a couple things I left out earlier.  Should get
you started in the right direction.”

 
    CHAPTER 5
    Mary drove up I-81 as she
made her way toward Washington, D.C., passing the rolling green hills and
trailer parks alongside the interstate, zipping past the gas stations, hotels
and fast food joints that surrounded the base of nearly every exit ramp. 
Shell, Texaco, McDonald’s and Best Western.  Truck stops and convenience
stores.  Each hub was a sea of neon-laced consumerism.  A stopping point to
empty your wallet on the way to somewhere else. 
    Eat here!  Buy now! 
Cheapest gas for twenty miles!  
At least until she happened upon the next location promising the same thing.
    With little or no reason to
ever visit the nation’s capital (saw it once, didn’t need to again), it’d been
years since she’d traveled that route, and it surprised her to see how much had
sprung up since the last time she’d been through.
    Her windshield wipers swished
away the last remaining drops as the storm moved east, dumping its cargo on already
sodden ground.  She flicked the wipers off, and turned up the Chopin CD.  The
rhythmic tempo drowned out the hum of the tires and helped her think.  To process. 
To analyze.
    Back on the farm, Randall had
revealed enough absent details to earn a punch on the shoulder.  All of them
happening years prior, before he came home and married Alice, but shocking and
unbelievable nonetheless.
    Four drunken days spent in a
South Korean whorehouse in 2004.  Disobeying direct orders from a superior
officer.  Accidentally stumbling into the wrong room one night, finding the
Korean ambassador and Senator William Kemper playing ‘Hide the Pickle’ with one
well-endowed transvestite hooker.
    Mary had stood there,
dumbfounded, with her mouth agape and eyes that couldn’t open any wider. 
“That’s just—what were—Henry was right.  Maybe you can just tell me when the
movie comes out.”
    He’d put his hand over his
heart, stood up straight and clicked his heels together.  “On my honor,” he’d
said, “an honest to God, true story.  The head of the Foreign Relations
Committee, the Korean ambassador, and a chick with junk between her— his —legs. 
Took me a couple of seconds to figure out what was going on.  Couldn’t believe
it myself.”
    “No shit, you couldn’t.  I
don’t even know what to say.  It’s as unbelievable as it is comical.  And what
am I supposed to do with that information?  What’s it got to do with some group
of hitmen coming after you?  And how are the other nine men on your—your stupid list —how are they involved?  I mean, are you all connected somehow?  Do
you even know who they were?  It makes absolutely zero sense, none whatsoever. 
It’s not logical, Randall.  You bust in on a couple of high profile politicians
boning a tranny hooker in South Korea and now nine, almost ten guys from the
Special Forces are dead...are you kidding me?  That’s your story?” 
It was then that she’d punched his chest.
    “Dammit, quit hitting me.  I’ve
tried, but it don’t make a lick of sense to me either.  I spent God knows how
many hours running through everything I’ve done, every person I’ve ever pissed
off, and that night’s the only thing I can come up with.  The others, the ones
that’re dead already, no