Bunkers

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  “Yeah,” said Tiffany. “I’m starving.”

  “We ate over an hour ago,” said Larry. “I’m sorry, but you missed it.”

  “That sucks,” said Jumbo. “You should have said something.”

  “Give me a break,” said Glick. “You knew the steaks were almost done.”

  Mitch, the taller of the two brothers, turned to face Glick. “You don’t have to be such an asshole about it,” he grunted. “You could have held it for them.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Clyde. “That was pretty sad of you,” he said, in a deep voice with a heavy lisp.

  “I’m sure you guys are hungry,” said Jumbo. “Tiff, why don’t you run over and throw in a couple of pizzas. Mark, could I have the keys to your shelter? I want to show the guys your place.”

  “I don’t have them on me,” lied Mark. “Sorry Jumbo.”

  “So run over and get them,” said Mitch, who wore a sleeveless t-shirt to show off his tattooed biceps. “What’s the big deal?”

  “I don’t run for anyone,” said Mark, rising to his feet. He walked over to Mitch and stood toe-to-toe with him. “You want to make something of that?”

  Mitch gave Clyde a confident, sidelong glance. Mitch then returned his attention to Mark. “What if we do?”

  “Maybe you don’t understand,” said Mark. “I want you to make something of it. I want the both of you to make something of it.”

  “Oh, he’s a real tough guy,” lisped Clyde. He also wore a sleeveless shirt, but his prison-inked arms were fat and flabby. “Are you a tough guy?”

  “You have no idea,” said Mark.

  “Hey, lighten up,” said Jumbo. “The kids are watching.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Glick. “Cool it, guys. Everyone just take a deep breath.”

  Mitch began to laugh and he stepped away. “You know what? I like you. You’re my kind of people.”

  Clyde, who was obviously the follower, laughed along with Mitch. “Yeah,” he said. “He’d fit right in down at the joint. You ever do time?”

  “Eight years,” said Mark.

  “I thought so,” said Clyde.

  “In the Marines,” said Larry. “Not in the joint.”

  The two thugs eyed Mark with a new degree of respect. “Come on,” said Tiffany, “the bar is open over at our place and I’ll throw in some pizzas,” she then looked at Larry. “Are you stopping by, later?” she asked in a cooing voice. Larry glared at her and she giggled. “I didn’t think so,” she said, “too much woman for you, huh?”

  Larry turned and walked back up to the garage. “Really?” asked Glick. “Come on, Tiffany. Knock it off.”

  Tiffany had already turned to leave and both Mitch and Clyde paused to glare at Glick. They both then turned to Jumbo. “Long story,” he said, “I’ll fill you guys in over at my place.”

  “Mark,” said Mitch, “it was nice to meet you; no hard feelings, huh?”

  “Yeah,” said Clyde. “You’re a pretty cool dude for a jarhead. We’ll be seein’ you around.”

  “I’ll be around,” said Mark.

  The three men turned and walked away. Mark and Glick remained where they were until the group walked into Jumbo’s garage. They then joined Larry inside his garage. “She’s never going to let me live that down,” he groaned. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “Jumbo thinks it’s funny,” said Glick. “He’s a sick bastard, isn’t he?”

  Mark carried his red plastic cup over to the workbench. He looked at Larry and pointed to the cup. “Don’t be shy,” he said. “I could use a drink.”

  Larry gave Mark half a smile as he dug out his jug of vodka. He unscrewed the cap and poured a generous amount of the clear alcohol into the cup. “Would you have fought those guys?” he asked.

  “Damn right,” said Mark. “I don’t like to fight, but I’d rather fight than take crap from creeps like that.”

  “Larry’s not a fighter, he’s a lover,” said Glick.

  Larry covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head. “You’re such an asshole,” he groaned.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  Larry made a fist and playfully, he swung it at his brother in-law’s stomach. Glick backed away and assumed a John L. Sullivan boxing pose. Comically, the two sparred for a few moments, but it was long enough for Mark to see that Larry knew a thing or two about using his fists. Sadly, the opposite was true about Glick.

  Tina and Anita returned and the five remained in the garage. As much as Mark wanted to return home, he could sense how badly his hosts wanted him to stay. The afternoon had soon turned to evening. Tina sipped a beer while Larry openly poured drinks. Mark stopped at two, feeling a slight buzz and knowing better than indulging in a third. He knew he was going to have to stay on his toes with Jumbo’s new houseguests. Secretly, he wished the men would have accepted his challenge.

  That night, Mark fell asleep feeling certain that his wish would come true.

  Chapter 15

  For the next several days, the weather was cold and rainy and Mark kept to himself. With one eye on the news and the other on his windows, he waited for the other shoe to drop. Glick stopped by a few times to update him on their new neighbors. Jumbo had hired his cousins to turn wrenches at his car lot. Mark told Jumbo that he hadn’t been feeling well, which was true, metaphorically.

  The national news and world news seemed considerably less grim. North Korea was still stirring the pot in Southeast Asia, but no one seemed overly concerned about it. The biggest news story coming out of Washington was that Vice President Josephs had finally made the news official about his presidential aspirations. With the Democratic National Convention only months away, the DFL began to cry foul. With the presidential primary season behind them and a new candidate, NY Senator Chip Bentley, waiting in the wings, the move by VP Josephs was seen by many as being detrimental to the party. Josephs decision to run as an Independent infuriated the Blue Team, while it delighted the Team Red.

  There were scattered reports that President Crabtree would soon lift his ban on the internet, but nothing concrete. With time on his hands, Mark decided to familiarize himself with his ham radio. He opened up his Yaesu’s manual and quickly discovered that the unit was useless without an antenna. Mark slapped his forehead, realizing that he should have known this. On a blustery Friday afternoon, Mark loaded up his wallet and made another trip to see the ex-soldier, Gadget.

  Mark turned the corner onto Gadget’s street, and he nearly kept on driving. There were four squad cars parked in front of the house, their lights flashing. Mark pulled to the curb and stepped out of his pickup. Despite the weather, many of the neighbors were out on their lawns. Mark stood on the sidewalk, wondering what had happened. On Gadget’s front lawn were several liquor store boxes. A moment passed, and then a group of officers emerged from the house, each carrying an armload of boxes. Gadget followed the men and Mark could see there were tears in his eyes. He walked up the sidewalk to see what was going on. “Excuse me,” he said to one of the police officers.

  “Please leave the property, sir,” said the cop, “this is official police business.”

  “Can I at least ask what’s going on?”

  “This is an eviction. Now, please leave the property.”

  “An eviction?” asked Mark. “Officer, this man is a veteran. How can he be evicted?”

  The cop was young, perhaps in his early thirties, and he stepped over to stand in front of Mark. He was blonde and muscular and stood a few inches shorter than he did. “We know all about the former homeowner,” he said, the official tone of his voice fading away. “And if you think we want to be here, you’re way off base. I fought in the war, but I also make my house payments. Do you know Mr. Howard?”

  “Do you mean, Gadget?”

  “Yes, his real name is Myron Howard.”

  Mark smiled at that. “Yeah, I know him.”

  “Would you consider yourself to be a friend of his?”

  Mark considered that,
but only briefly. Semper Fi rang between his temples. “Yes, he’s a friend of mine.”

  “Well,” said the young cop, “you’re the only friend that man has got. He has no place to go and if this radio gear gets wet, he’s going to be up shit creek. We’re not even supposed to be helping him. Do you understand me? Mr. Howard needs someone to step up to the plate and help him out.”

  Mark nodded his head. “Can you direct me to the nearest U-Haul dealership?”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” said the cop, who was suddenly smiling. He gave Mark the address to a dealership that was merely six blocks away. Mark rented an enclosed trailer and after battling with the trailer lights, he was back on the road. Two of the police officers moved their cars and both men thanked Mark.

  For his part, Gadget had no idea of what had transpired. He was still downstairs, packing up his beloved radio gear and tools. The blond cop approached Mark. “Mr. Howard, Gadget, he’s a little unstable, ya know?”

  Mark nodded. “He has PTSD.”

  “Exactly, he has PTSD. What we were thinking is that it might be better if you told him the trailer was your idea. Like I said, he’s a little whacked out right now.”

  “I can do that,” said Mark.

  “Thanks again, I was thinking that I might have to bring him home with me. My wife would have killed me.”

  “My wife would’ve killed me, too.”

  The cop gave him a funny look, but then recognition filled his face. “I know who you are,” he said. “You lost your family, back in December, wasn’t it?”

  “That was in January.”

  “Oh man, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

  “No, you can’t. Come on; let’s get this over with.”

  The cop nodded and led the way into the garbage house. They found Gadget in the far corner of his now empty workshop. He was sobbing. Mark stepped up to him and stopped. Gadget pulled his hands from over his eyes and an odd smile passed over his lips. “You need an antenna,” he said.

  Mark smiled. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’ve got a trailer out front; let’s get your gear into it. You’re going to come and stay with me for a while. Is that okay with you?”

  Gadget’s smile spread across his face. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “Hell yes, that’s okay. Man, I don’t have any friends and my family lives in Ohio. Semper Fi, brother.”

  “Semper Fi.”

  Mark turned to face the young cop, who was also smiling. “Semper Fi,” he said.

  Mark, Gadget, and the group of police officers formed a human chain. Fifteen minutes later, Gadget’s gear and a couple of battered rucksacks were loaded and ready to ride. Gadget, far from seeming whacked out, shook each of the police officer’s hands as he thanked them. He then got into Mark’s pickup. “Good riddance,” he said. “I owed twice what that dump was worth.”

  “There is a lot of that going on,” said Mark, shifting into drive and pulling away from the curb.

  “Damn banksters,” said Gadget. “You don’t see any of them going to jail.”

  “No, you certainly don’t.”

  “So, where we heading?”

  “Not too far, I live alone in a house that sits just outside of the Carl Johnson Wildlife Refuge. It’s out in the woods; I think you’ll like it.”

  “I ain’t got much money, man. I’ve only got about fifty bucks to my name, but I’ve got a couple of nice radios that should help me get back on my feet.”

  “Don’t worry about it. For now, I’m hiring you to help me with my antenna. How could you sell me a radio without an antenna?”

  “As I recall, you didn’t have any more money to spend.”

  “Hmm,” grunted Mark. “You’re right.”

  Gadget stared out the passenger door window and got lost inside his own head. Mark tried to engage him in conversation, several times, but Myron Howard either couldn’t hear him, or he wouldn’t hear him. Mark began to wonder if he had done the right thing. He had wanted companionship, but he had been thinking along the line of getting a dog, not a one-legged veteran with PTSD. As usual, he wondered what Josie would make of his situation. That caused Mark to smile.

  He stopped at the grocery store and asked Gadget if he wanted to come inside, but he got no response. Mark told him that he would be out soon. The parking lot seemed unusually full and with the trailer, Mark had no choice except to park in the back of the lot. Mark was nearly run over by an elderly woman in a Buick, and a young punk honked his horn at him as he impatiently waited for Mark to cross the lot in front of the store.

  Inside, Mark grabbed one of the few remaining carts and he began dodging shoppers. Barely a minute into his trip, Mark found the reason for all the anger and frustration. Overnight, the prices had doubled on most items; some had even tripled or quadrupled. The supermarket was unusually loud with complaining customers and there were many bare spots on the shelves. Someone rammed him from behind with their shopping cart. Mark turned and saw it was the same kid who had honked his horn at him. Mark grabbed ahold of the cart and in one quick motion, he flipped it upside-down. The kid began to protest, but Mark was in no mood to listen. He continued moving down the aisle.

  Luckily, Mark had enough dry goods to last for many months. He spent his time shopping for fresh foods, filling his cart with meats and produce. When his cart was full, Mark waited nearly forty minutes in line at the checkout. During that time, he observed no fewer than three fights between customers. He struck up a conversation with a young woman with two small children, who stood in line in front of him. “This is crazy,” she said. “My husband is going to kill me for spending so much money. What was I supposed to do? We have to eat, right?”

  Mark could see that the woman’s cart wasn’t even half full. The majority of the items she was splurging on were things like macaroni and cheese and Ramen noodles. They visited until the woman began trying to manage unloading her purchases on the conveyer belt, while telling her toddler that he couldn’t have any of the candy that sat in front of the register. Mark could see the frustration etched on her face.

  While Mark waited, a crabby-looking clerk rang up the woman’s purchases. When she had finished and announced the total of her purchases, Mark thought the young woman was going to faint. She swiped a credit card and waited. “Swipe it again,” ordered the woman at the register. The young woman did so, but the older woman at the register shook her head. “You’ll need another card, that one has been declined.”

  “But I don’t have another card.”

  “Then I’ll need cash.”

  “But I don’t have any cash. That card is fine, let me run it again.”

  “I’m sorry, that card has been declined.”

  Mark dug out his wallet and he peeled out six hundred dollar bills. “I’ve got this,” he said. “But you need some meat and vegetables,” he then began unloading some of his own purchases onto the belt. “She wants these, too.”

  Tears welled up in the young woman’s eyes as she accepted Mark’s generosity. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  Mark simply nodded his head. As the cashier began ringing up the extra purchases, Mark squatted down in front of the little boy, who looked to be somewhere around four years old. “What kind of candy bar would you like?” he asked.

  The little boy backed against his mother’s legs, but he pointed to a box of Hershey Bars. Mark picked up the entire display carton and he set it on the counter. He then handed the young woman another hundred dollar bill. The cashier paused and looked at the box of candy bars. “Those will rot his teeth,” she said, over a pair of bifocals.

  “They might be the last candy bars that kid sees for a long time,” said Mark.

  The cashier paused to consider that. She then smiled. “That was very nice of you,” she said. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a really bad day here. I’m usually not like this.”

  After paying for her purchases, the young woman still held a handful of cash.
She tried to give it back to Mark. He smiled and shook his head. “Just make sure you spend it, today. Go to Walmart, the gas station, wherever, just buy the things that you need.”

  I will,” she said, tearfully. “How can I ever repay you?”

  “No need for that; the pleasure was all mine.”

  Back at the truck, Mark found Gadget still staring out his window and unresponsive. Mark unloaded the groceries into the box of the pickup and climbed back behind the wheel. Driving home, Mark decided to stop and top off his gas tank. He changed his mind when he saw the price had doubled at the pumps. Despite that, there was a long line of cars waiting for gas. The line stretched out onto the street. Mark wondered if he had missed something on the news. People were beginning to panic and retailers were cashing in on it.

  The sky was dark by the time Mark pulled into his driveway. He turned to Gadget, who looked as if he had just woken up. He turned his head from side to side. “Where are we?” he asked.

  “This is my place,” said Mark. “It ain’t much, but it’s paid for.”

  “I love it. I’ve always wanted to live in the country. What do you do for work?”

  “I used to be an over the road trucker. I’m retired now.”

  “I had a brother that drove over the road. He had three kids and not a one of them looked a bit like he did. He never said a word to anyone about it. He’s been dead for damn near ten years. Fell asleep at the wheel and drove straight off a cliff.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, he was a good guy. So, what’s the catch here? You know I’m flat broke. I do get a disability check, but it ain’t much.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you like. But you’ve got to pull your own weight around here. I’m not going to ask you to carry out the garbage or to do up the dishes. Either pitch in and help out or you hit the road. I keep a clean house and you had better respect that.”

  Gadget nodded his head. “I can handle that,” he said. “What brought that on?”

  “I’ve been to your house.”