The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1

by Craig Halloran

  Oh no.

  Inside the doors, an attractive brunette woman was working behind the register. She wore a tight plum-colored V-neck T-shirt. Her name was Mandi. She’d been flirting with him ever since he started making deliveries to the store. Now, she was checking out an older man wearing a green John Deere ball cap. The older man made a toothless smile at her when she handed him his change. He ambled through the double doors. That was when she caught Abraham’s eye, and a playful smile formed on her lips.

  I was really hoping she wouldn’t be working today.

  The old man held the door open for Abraham and asked, “What are you waiting for, sonny? An invitation?” He waved his hand inside. “Get moving. Every minute is precious to an old goat like me.”

  Abraham pushed the dolly through the doors. “Thank you, sir.”

  The old man teetered off toward an old army-green Dodge pickup that had seen its best days thirty years before.

  He walked up by the counter and said, “Hi, Mandi.”

  Twirling her finger in her ponytail, she popped a gum bubble and said, “Running a little late, Abraham?”

  “I’m never late. I arrive at the exact time I’m supposed to be here.”

  She stood on tiptoe and leaned over the counter in a showy fashion. “Ha ha. Did you hear that one in a movie?”

  “Sort of. I’ll just put these back in the cooler.” He patted the top case. “This is six.”

  “I can count just fine,” she said as she popped another bubble. “And take your time. Now that you are here, we have some catching up to do.”

  He tipped his chin and headed away.

  Woody’s Grill was divided up into two sections. On the right was the convenience store. It was typical in fashion, mostly modern but with a decorative charm to it. On the left was the grill, which had a completely different look. The same checkered tiles were on the floor, but rose-red booths and shiny round bar stools were posted in front of the grill’s service counter. The smell of hot delicious greasy American food lingered in the air. Several LCD screens were hanging high on the walls. A small mixed crowd of patrons watched sports while they chatted and ate. He slipped into the freezer section, pushed the cases off the dolly, and slid them back into the corner.

  Then he turned around and froze.

  Mandi was standing right in front of him with her hands stuffed into her back pockets. With a coy smile on her face, she slid her hands free of the denim, jumped into his arms, and kissed him.

  3

  Mandi wasn’t an ordinary kisser—she was an extraordinary one. Her soft lips drew Abraham deep into the moment. Standing a head taller than the shapely woman, he abruptly broke off the kiss and gently pushed her shoulders away. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s called kissing, Abraham. Did you forget what a kiss was?”

  “No, it’s just… inappropriate.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Awkward.”

  “Don’t act like you haven’t been kissed by a beautiful woman before. You might be kinda scruffy now, but you still have it.” She took some lip balm out of her jeans and put it on. “I’ve been wanting to do that for over a year. I shouldn’t have waited so long. You liked it, didn’t you?”

  “Look, I have work to do.”

  He tried to pass her, but like a playful teenager, she remained in his path. He liked Mandi. For a woman living out in the middle of nowhere, she had it all in the looks department. Abraham had gotten to know the family well. They owned most of the property in the area, from generations back. The grill was their business where they liked to play around and have some fun. “Besides, you’re married.”

  She lifted her hand and wiggled the fingers. “Separated. So you can have me now,” she said with frosty breath.

  “I can see the tan line where your ring probably was a few minutes ago.”

  Mandi toyed with his beard and said, “I know you want to put those Johnny Bench hands on my tiny waist. Quick holding back, Abraham. I’m all yours. And just so you know, I am legally separated. You can ask Mom.” She draped her arms around his neck. “Come on, stay with me over the weekend. You’ll regret leaving on that long ride back home. You know it.”

  Abraham and Mandi had done this dance before. As reserved as he’d become, he still liked the attention. She was captivating. But there would be baggage, he was sure of that. She had a husband and kids. He could never tell whether she was being fully forthcoming or not. He liked her, but not enough to take the risk. He’d had all the heartache he could stand in this world. Now, he was just passing through, waiting for a fresh start in another. He picked her up.

  She let out a delightful squeal.

  Then he set her down behind him, grabbed his dolly, and hustled out the freezer door, where he ran right into Mandi’s mother, Martha. The matronly woman had her arms crossed over her chest as her foot tapped on the floor. Thirty years before, she could have been Mandi. Now, she was a pleasantly plump, gray-haired version of her daughter, with a warm sparkle in her eyes.

  “Hello, ma’am.”

  “‘Ma’am?’ Please call me Martha, Abraham. You know better.” She hooked his arm in his and said, “I came to rescue you… again. I’d apologize for Mandi, but I think we both know that it wouldn’t change a thing. Once she sets her sights on something she wants, it’s hard to pull her claws off of it.”

  “I know.” He glanced back at the cooler.

  With her eyes averted, Mandi started stocking the shelves.

  “Is she really getting a divorce?”

  “Who knows? I can’t keep up with what she does. She does have a lawyer, though. It’s a shame that Alex ended up being such a putz.” Martha led them toward the restaurant section of the store. “Come on, now. I started them fixing you something to eat the moment you pulled up. And Herb is excited to see you.”

  “Just let me finish up my delivery, and I need to wash up.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. That can wait. Mandi will fetch the beer.”

  “But…”

  Martha hustled him onto a bar stool. It was one of the round stainless-steel ones, like those in old soda shops, that spun around. She moved behind the counter and put on a black apron that said in white lettering, “God’s in charge, but I’m the manager.”

  “I’m really not very hungry,” Abraham said.

  She gave him a warm smile and said, “I’ll fetch Herb. He’s so excited you are here.” She scurried back into the kitchen.

  Abraham set his ball cap down on the bar. He liked Woody’s Grill but could never relax with Mandi prowling around. In his broken heart, he was still married to Jenny. They had been friends, boyfriend and girlfriend, on and off, since middle school. They married two years after he turned pro when he was twenty. Women had come before her, but none like Jenny. She was sweet and beautiful. She was his rock even when he thought the world revolved around him. He loved her but took her for granted. His wandering eye landed him in trouble more than once. The “all the babes love Abe” reputation didn’t help much either. It made the road trips difficult.

  Martha ushered Herb into the diner. If she was sixty, Herb was eighty and moved as if he was ninety. He had half a head of cotton-candy hair crumpled up on one side of his head that looked like it could blow away in a stiff breeze. His wore a long-sleeved knit shirt and checkered golf pants.

  He pumped his shaky fist at Abraham and said, “If it isn’t the Jenkins Jet.”

  “Stop saying that, Herb,” Martha warned.

  “Oh, he’s fine,” Herb said with youthful cheeriness. “No one around here knows him. Go fix him something to eat, will you, darling?”

  She shook her head at Abraham. Herb was legally blind but refused to wear his glasses. On his own, Herb ambled around the bar and sat down by Abraham.

  Herb grabbed his shoulder. “So, did you see any UFOs in Wytheville?”

  4

  Old man Herb chuckled. His big ears wiggled a little as he did so, scratching his bushy sideburns. Then he said, “They thi
nk they are so important down in Wytheville… ever since they made up that bull-crap story about seeing a UFO and all of the national media came in.”

  “Herb, watch your language,” Martha said.

  “What? Crap isn’t a curse word,” Herb said.

  “Yes it is.” She set down a red plastic basket full of home-cut french fries covered in melted cheese and jalapeños. “There you go, Abraham. Eat up.” She gave Herb a dirty look. “You watch your mouth.”

  “Ah,” Herb said with disdain. “That’s not a bad word. It’s a little bad, but not that bad.” He grabbed a napkin and rubbed an eye. “Anyway, they are full of bull crap down in Wytheville. I think they made it all up just so that they could get on television because no one wanted to stop in their crummy town.”

  Abraham tucked his napkin into the unbuttoned collar of his black polo shirt and started eating. He didn’t understand what Herb’s beef was with Wytheville, but Herb never failed to mention it. For some reason, the elder had a problem with that city. He was jealous, perhaps. Still, Abraham couldn’t resist goading the man a little.

  “I saw some signs in the Super Center down there about a UFO festival they were going to be having this year.”

  “What?” Herb flung his arms so hard he almost slipped out of his seat and would have if Abraham didn’t catch him by an arm. Fastening both hands on the counter, Herb continued his tirade. “There ain’t no such thing as UFOs in Wytheville! They say anything to draw attention to themselves. What’s next? They gonna report a herd of unicorns prancing through their overrated city?”

  “There was some military activity down in the tunnel. It seemed like something strange might be going on again.”

  “Pah!” Herb flapped his hands outward, and his lips twisted back and forth. “Ain’t no such thing as UFOs. It’s the biggest lie that was ever told.” He looked at Abraham with his smoky bug eyes and made an impish smile. He gently punched Abraham in the shoulder. “At least in Wytheville!”

  Abraham nodded as he pulled out a tangle of fries covered in cheese and jalapeños. The combination was a specialty at Woody’s Grill. The secret was the home-cut fries with melted longhorn cheese and canned jalapeños out of Herb’s garden. It was a local delicacy at $9.99 a basket. It was a little something Abraham got hooked on the first time he came through. A burning sensation started in his mouth, and he lifted a hand.

  Herb cackled. “Sneaks up on you, don’t it?”

  Wringing her hands on a dish towel, Martha hustled over to Abraham. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you anything to drink. What do you want?”

  “Beer. It’s always best with beer. Especially that ale he’s hauling,” Herb said. “That stuff keeps us in business. The locals love it.”

  After he swallowed his fries, he said, “Milk and an ice water.” He tapped his chest. His eyes were watering. The first bit was always the strongest of the batch, and he needed the milk to break down the heat from the jalapeños caught in his throat.

  Speaking with a spacey look that seemed to pass right through Abraham, Herb said, “The secret is chewing it up all together. You have to mix it. You didn’t chew enough. So how’s old man Luther? Is he still as cranky as ever?”

  Martha set down tall glasses of ice water and milk filled to the brim. “Here you go, hon.”

  Abraham sucked down half the glass of milk. “Ah. Thanks, Martha. That hit the spot. I think I can handle it now.”

  “Well, your burger will be out in a few.” She patted his arm. “Take your time, and chew at least twelve times before you swallow.”

  “Thanks.” Abraham took a sip of water, turned his attention back to Herb, and said, “Luther’s doing fine—a cranky curmudgeon twenty-four seven, waiting for the world to end. He sends his regards, as always.”

  “He’s a good man. Rigid, but good. You’d think a man that ran a brewery would be more cheerful.” Herb cackled. “Say, I could use one of those beers. We ran out two days ago, and people have been asking.”

  “They’re in the cooler,” Abraham said.

  “Heck, it doesn’t have to be cold. It’s just as good warm, you know, like they serve in England.”

  As Abraham turned in his stool, his eyes drifted toward the diner window over an empty booth. Outside, Mandi was loading cases of beer onto the dolly. He could see the almost feline muscles in her arms as she stacked one box on top of the other. It was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen. Now that’s a woman. Why don’t I just give in?

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” Herb said.

  “Huh?”

  “Mandi really likes you. She wouldn’t do that for anyone.” Herb wasn’t even looking outside. He was looking right at Abraham. “She wouldn’t pour water on a burning man if she didn’t like him. I think you’d make a good couple.”

  “I don’t think I’m suited for marriage anymore.”

  “You just can’t move on in this world, can you?”

  “No, I think I’d be better off in another.”

  “That’s a strange thing to say. Hey, maybe you could catch a UFO in Wytheville.” Herb cackled loudly. “So, what’s Luther into? Is he ever going to expand?”

  “There are plenty of companies that want to buy him out. He won’t budge.” He started back in on his fries.

  Martha reappeared and set down a huge hamburger that filled half the plate. Three pickle spears sat on the side.

  “He says they’d just ruin it. As long as he lives, he’ll keep it as is. He’s content.”

  “Content is the best way to be,” Martha commented. “Not wanting for anything. It brings a lot of peace. So many people running around like chickens with their heads chopped of, trying to find happiness… They need to find contentment in the surroundings they’ve been blessed with. People look too hard for happiness, not realizing it’s on the inside.”

  “He doesn’t need a sermon, Martha. Let the man eat,” Herb said.

  “You hush,” she said. “Did you bless your meal, Abraham?”

  “Uh, no, I just figured it was blessed since you made it.”

  Martha showed a serious look, letting him know that she wasn’t buying it.

  He closed his eyes and said the inward prayer he’d learned at the table when he was rehabbing in The Mission. The Mission had helped him crawl out of the well of despair and get him back on his feet again. He opened his eyes and said, “It’s done.”

  “I always keep you in my prayers,” Martha said.

  “I appreciate it,” he said.

  Mandi pushed her way through the double doors. Hauling the cases of beer by the counter, she didn’t even glance Abraham’s way. He got the feeling that he’d hurt her, having brushed her off one too many times, perhaps. Perhaps today was the day that caught up with him.

  “Hey, Mandi, bring me one of those beers,” Herb hollered.

  Outside, military vehicles pulled into the station, a Deuce and three Humvees. Their diesel engines rumbled loudly. Everyone in the diner stared out the window at them.

  Scratching his nose, Herb said, “Humph. That’s odd. We never get those convoys stopping here. They always stop in Wytheville.”

  5

  Within several minutes, the army men filtered into the grill. Uniform caps and helmets removed, they filled almost every table and bar stool in the diner. Martha hollered for Mandi. The daughter quickly made her way behind the bar, donned an apron, grabbed an order pad, and hustled over to the tables. With a welcoming smile on her face, she started taking orders from the uniformed men and women.

  Martha’s face was flushed when she said, “This is odd. We never get a rush like this. I’d better call in Maggie. Gonna need some help behind the counter and in the kitchen.”

  Facing Abraham to his left, Herb addressed a soldier on Abraham’s left. “Hey, are there any UFOs in Wytheville?”

  The soldier on the stool had the eagle rank insignia of a colonel embroidered on his camouflaged collar. In his thirties like Abraham, he had a high-and-tigh
t haircut and a thick, neatly trimmed moustache. He smiled at Herb and said, “You know it.”

  Herb shook his head, harrumphed, and looked away.

  Abraham chuckled. He nodded at the officer and started eating his burger. The officer gave a nod and peered deeply at his face. Abraham turned back toward Herb, who resumed their previous conversation.

  “You know, I think Luther should sell out and make a pile of money off those big breweries.” Herb licked his lips. “That’s what I’d do. I’d just let them have it. Spread your brand all over the world. That’s all it’s about these days: the branding.”

  “I know,” Abraham agreed.

  He knew all about branding. He had been his own brand for a time, with T-shirts and hoagies named in his honor. The Jenkins Fastball. One Hundred Three Degrees Jenkins’s Flame Thrower Hot Sauce, which was actually kinda mild. The Jenkins Jet Sandwich.

  “But if the brand gets too big,” he said, “they forget about little places like this. I think Luther likes it the way it is.”

  “Pfft. I can go buy it at the wholesale market. Plus, it’d probably be cheaper, too.” Herb made a good, out-loud giggle. “I like to save a buck.”

  The diner became noisier as the new crowd settled in. Most of the soldiers had hard looks on their faces, but Mandi brought the smile out of all of them. She worked the room and must have sold everything on the menu. She giggled playfully at all the soldiers’ flirtations and jokes. Never once did she glance back at Abraham as he sought her eyes out from time to time. He had been able to brush her off before, but this time, it was more difficult. That made him feel guilty too, as though he was cheating on Jenny and his son. His friends and family told him he needed to move on, but he kept telling himself he wasn’t ready yet.

  “So have you listened to any good books lately?” Herb asked. His heavy-lidded eyes followed Martha slipping back and forth behind the bar and kitchen as she took the orders and ran them straight back. “Hey, where’s my beer?”