THE POLITICS OF PLEASURE by Mark Russell Read Free Book Online Page B

Kaplan's patience.
    He needed a drink.
    Three fingers of Chivas Regal. He'd emptied his home of scotch a week before at the insistence of his doctor at the Walter Reed Army Medical Centre. His stomach ulcer, he'd been told, was rupturing from the stuff. Not that he didn't know.
    He was unsettled and had been for hours. He'd heard from a reliable source there was talk of transferring his command to a new missile-testing range in the Nevada desert. No way in hell would he be roped into anything like that. He had influence and would stand his ground until the posting was handed to some clown prepared to wear it. Moreover, he'd learned General Turner was coming to Silverwood Centre the following afternoon.
    'Damn.' He brought his fist down on the counter, though more in gesture than actual aggression. He's probably coming to break the news about my transfer, and question me about Goldman. He marched into the living room and took off his uniform jacket. After inspecting its torn armpit, he spread the green jacket across the back of his leather reading chair. He loosened his tie and thought about Goldman. What did Turner know about the chemist?
    Kaplan returned to the kitchen. His stomach ulcer flared like a stoked furnace in his midsection. He chomped down on an antacid tablet and opened the refrigerator. On the door's bottom shelf, next to a family bottle of Pepsi, was a small green bottle. One of his wife's drinks. He grabbed it and read the bottle's breezy label: CALIFORNIA SUNSHINE. A SPARKLING CONCOCTION OF TROPICAL FRUIT JUICES AND WHITE WINE.
    Alcohol. He was tempted to try some, uninviting as the drink looked. His keen ears heard sounds at the front door. He returned the bottle to the fridge and slipped into the living room. He heard a familiar creak on the stairs as his son went up to his room. The general followed. The pencil-thin light spilling from under his son's closed door reflected off Kaplan's polished shoes as he stood outside the room. He rapped twice on the door and entered.
    Sitting at his desk, Dean Kaplan spun round in a swivel seat. His hand shot in and out of his denim jacket's side pocket. 'Dad.' The lanky youth brushed aside his hair and slouched back on the desk. 'I've been over at Ray's.'
    'Playing Space Invaders no doubt.'
    'No, Ray's got this new game, The Heavens Are Falling . It's totally rad – '
    'What'd you just put in your pocket, Dean?'
    'In my pocket?' The cornered teenager feigned perplexity.
    'Yes, in your pocket!'
    Dean turned aside and stared with desperate calculation at a nearby Kiss poster, his blood-drained face mirroring the white-powdered faces of his favourite band.
    'Show me what you just hid in your pocket!' Kaplan bellowed, finally venting some of the day's tension. Dean reached shakily into his pocket and put a bottle of eye drops onto the sticker-covered surface of his desk.
    'Well, well,' Kaplan said with growing menace. He grabbed the bottle and read its label. 'Experiencing eye strain lately? Must be all that study.' The general shot forward and grabbed his son's shoulder. He reached into the pocket of Dean's jacket and pulled out a folded piece of exercise-book paper. Dean watched with snowballing panic as his father unfolded the find.
    'What in Christ's name is this?' Kaplan hissed. His temples pounded as he stared at the rubble of powder strewn across the blue-lined paper. 'What is it? Smack? Angel Dust? What is it, Dean?'
    Dean froze from the inside out as his father's booming voice filled the room. But he soon confessed in a bursting, adolescent drawl, 'It's only amphetamine, dad. A little bit is okay. A lot of kids are using it now. It keeps you from vagueing out in afternoon class, and it really helps with end-of-term study. It's not as bad as you think, dad ... it's only amphetamine.'
    'Only,' Kaplan repeated, his flushed face level with Dean's. 'Only ... ' He stood back up. Without warning, he backhanded his son, knocking him from his seat and on to the carpeted