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“You don’t think much of us, do you?”
“The feds? They treat other cops like they’re from Dogpatch. The problem’s not mine, it’s theirs. Maybe you’re different. You said you’re gay. You thought I was putting moves on you? Why am I the guy under the magnifying glass? That’s what arrogance is. The feds always think the other guys have the problem.”
“You’re an unbelievable person. You have more arrests than most recidivists do. You dropped a Teamster out of a hotel window into a dry swimming pool. You actually shot and killed a federal informant and got away with it.”
“I was having a bad day when those things happened.”
“Maybe it’s time to lose the Bozo the Clown routine. I’d like to help you. But frankly, you act like an idiot.”
Clete felt himself swallow. “Was your dad a GI?”
“None of your business.”
“I was in the Central Highlands. That’s where I got wounded and sent home. That’s the only reaso
n I asked. I thought Vietnam was a beautiful country. I thought what happened there was a tragedy.”
She crimped her lips together and looked down at her lap. “My father was a marine. He was captured by the Vietcong and held seven weeks before he escaped. He killed himself when I was twelve.”
“Sorry.”
“What were we talking about, Mr. Purcel?”
“I don’t know. The shitbag who sapped me.”
“Yes, the shitbag.”
“You don’t connect him with the Wellstone entourage?”
“I can’t concentrate now,” she said.
“Once before, you said his MO was like a guy or guys operating along the interstates.”
“A rest stop coming off Wolf Creek Pass, a campground at Donner Pass. Some other places, too. Where did you say you were in Vietnam?”
“I got my second Heart in the Central Highlands. But I was in Force Recon and on the Cambodian border, too. We were picking up LURPs who’d gone into Cambodia, except nobody has ever admitted they were in Cambodia. What was your old man’s name?”
“Joe Rosecrans.”
“No, I don’t think I knew him. You want some coffee?”
She didn’t answer.
“Look, Dave says I got the finesse of a junkyard falling down a staircase,” Clete said. “I didn’t mean to knock your organization. I’m just not totally comfortable with guys who smell like mouthwash. You ever been around undertakers? Every one of them smells like he just gargled with Listerine.”
“I have to go.”
“Don’t,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re different.”
“Mr. Purcel, you’re the most inept, outrageous person I’ve ever met.”
“It’s part of my rationality deficit disorder. It’s called RDD. There’s a lot of it going around. I’ll fix some eats for us. Then we can take a drive up to Lolo Peak. There’s still snow back in the trees. We can talk about the dude who almost lit me up.”
“Your rationality deficit disorder? RDD?”
