A Truly Great Rendition

 340.

"Mind if I give it a go?" She asks as we crawl another ten feet closer to our destination.

"No problem whatsoever, but, I think we might be more effective, and manage our time more efficiently, if we were to let Mr. Turkin consider his options for a bit."

"Meaning?"

"Let's go see the pair of foot soldiers in lockup," I say looking at my watch and doing some quick time-speed-distance calcs, "I think we might get some dirt on their boss, if indeed he is, that we might be able to use as leverage."

"And then I get to talk with him?"

"Promise. I've dealt with his type in the past; Disgruntled vets, angry, bitter, looking for some type of revenge. There comes a time when all the training and all the active duty experience meets up with the reality of boring civilian life. Nobody needs a soured mail carrier who has medals for sharp-shooting from a hundred combat missions."

"The issue as I see it is that they held a cloudy vision of who the enemy really was. And is. Remember most of the servicemen came back from Viet Nam to a nation divided. They were looked upon as murderers and baby killers, spat upon, booed. I can understand how they might confuse the war machine with the hippies, and unload on the wrong target."

"A situation the government was more than happy to allow."

"Right. But we are forty years from that, one might think, or hope, that we learned a lesson or two as a result of that fiasco."

"We have. We have upped the ante and doubled down. Bipartisan politics and the Gods of Power and Profit have decided that democracy is expensive and lives expendable in its maintenance. The anti-war movement, having won a huge victory, thought that was it, game over. They returned to their less controversial, more profitable lives and bought houses, cars and big screens to watch re-runs of MASH."

"And now we breed, train, fund and arm para-military groups all looking for sparring partners. The far-right needs an enemy, somebody to vent their anger, frustration and conspiracy theories upon. Right now they are fixated on their own, theorizing that someone pulled an inside job and ousted their leader, who was, ironically more of a fascist than Mussolini. Right or wrong, we are the last line of defense."

"Worse," I continue, "I will tell you that there are a good number of us, the good guys, who agree, or partially agree, with their philosophical perspectives."

"Supremacists?"

"Through and through."

"You think that is Turkin's MO?"

"I would bet the farm on it."

"Where does that leave us?"

"Not sure yet. We need to talk with the boys, what do they call themselves the 'River Cats?' currently in solitary. I will predict that they'll tell us a lot about our guy. After we chat with them, you can have your air time with Howie."

"What a mess."

After saying this, she realizes the intro and almost repeats with me verbatim: "If it's not it'll due until the real mess shows up."

We each smile at our awkward predicament and at the image of a truly great rendition by Tommy Lee Jones wondering if this really is No Country for Old Men.