Veteran Avenue

by Mark Pepper

‘I wouldn’t have come otherwise, holiday or no holiday.’

  ‘I believe you. Don’t feel guilty.’

  Virginia had him figured, which came as a relief.

  ‘I just don’t want you to think I’m freeloading,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think that at all; I like having you here.’

  John grinned. ‘If you pass me my wallet, I’ll show you something,’ he said. ‘Jacket, inside pocket.’

  Virginia retrieved it, sat down again and offered it, but John shook his head.

  ‘Open it,’ he told her.

  She did, and a smile blossomed and John knew why. In the small photo-window was a shot of two soldiers in different desert-pattern uniforms. They were leaning against a sand-colored personnel carrier, laughing, strong arms around broad shoulders. They had taken their helmets off for the picture, but their assault rifles were slung on the chest. Donnie with his M16, John with his FA MAS.

  ‘That was gee minus two,’ he said. ‘Feb twenty-second, two days before the Ground War.’

  ‘You’ve kept this with you since nineteen ninety-one?’

  ‘It means a lot to me. I liked Donnie. We got on. Clicked straightaway, almost like we were brothers.’

  She took the photo out and regarded it fondly, then gave John a long smile.

  ‘I’m glad you met Donnie,’ she said.

  ‘So am I,’ he said.

  Virginia picked up his wallet, and John continued eating. After a few moments he realized she had not reinserted the picture, but was instead staring again at the small plastic window in the brown leather. He finished his mouthful.

  ‘Before you ask,’ he said, ‘I have absolutely no idea who that is.’

  She gave him an odd look. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He gently took the wallet off her and looked at the other photo he always kept with him. Since the Gulf, it had been out of sight beneath his wartime memory, but it had been with him a lot longer.

  ‘Souvenir of Oregon,’ he explained, but knew it explained nothing to either of them. He handed back the wallet and finished his coffee.

  ‘Oregon? You mentioned that last night. What happened?’

  ‘Well, long story short: I bumped into some fellah who ended up giving me this picture; insisted I take it.’

  ‘Pretty girl,’ Virginia commented, then looked up. ‘You really don’t know who she is?’

  ‘He said it was his granddaughter.’

  ‘Why did he want you to have it?’

  ‘He thought I might be –’ John made a spooky face ‘– the one.’

  ‘Like in Highlander.’

  ‘Like … I have no idea. It was a very strange day.’

  ‘Sounds it. So why keep it with you all these years?’

  John gave the only reason he could: ‘He made me promise.’

  Virginia didn’t understand, but knew he didn’t either so didn’t push it. She looked again at the photo – the grinning girl with the fiery red curls, standing on a beach in a distinctive dress. With her gaze elsewhere, John took the opportunity to eye his hostess. In the sober light of day, he stood by his drunken assessment of the previous evening: he was hopelessly in love. Suddenly an outrageous suggestion came to mind and was out before he knew it.

  ‘Fancy coming away with me?’

  ‘Where?’ she said, unfazed.

  ‘Oregon?’

  Her enthusiasm shone through. That they liked each other was obvious; he was glad she had tacitly agreed not to play games.

  ‘Yeah, I’m up for a road trip,’ she said, then checked herself. ‘Oh. My dad.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry, I got carried away. He needs you here.’

  She nodded but seemed uncertain, clearly finding it hard to pass up.

  ‘What the hell!’ she announced like it was the most momentous decision of her life. ‘Dad’s coped with worse. And it’s not like Donnie died yesterday. It’s been two months, it’s just the Mexican authorities wouldn’t release his body until now.’

  It was clear she was trying to convince herself. Shamefully perhaps, John let her.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if I can borrow the Jeep; swap it for the Audi. We’ll need four-wheel drive. The roads can be pretty tricky this time of year. So is this simple nostalgia or are we on a mission?’

  He considered with a smile. ‘Nostalgia. Retrace the childhood route.’

  ‘Can you remember it?’

  ‘I know we did all the touristy bits.’

  ‘And what about the photograph? Think you could find the guy who gave it you? Ask him why? Or is that a long shot?’ She answered her own question: ‘Yeah, I guess it is.’

  A ghostly pistol report rang in John’s head, an echo from the past that made him shiver, but John skirted the pertinent fact.

  ‘No, we could look, but where we met was miles off the beaten track. We were lost when we found the place; could be anywhere.’

  ‘Okay, so it’s a vacation. When do we leave?’

  John was startled again by her open excitement. It made him laugh. The connection he had found with Donnie seemed to be tenfold with his sister.

  ‘I just need to check out of my hotel and we can be on the road by this evening. Unless that’s too soon.’

  ‘No, tonight’s good. I’ll drive down to the range, exchange vehicles, and we’ll meet back here at six o’clock.’

  She turned to leave the room but John stopped her.

  ‘Virginia ... are you sure about this? Apart from leaving your father on his own, you hardly know me.’

  ‘What better way to get acquainted.’

  Relieved that this own doubt had not triggered any in her, John renewed his smile, although it felt rather imbecilic on his face now.

  ‘Saddle up, soldier,’ Virginia said. ‘Wagons roll at eighteen hundred hours.’

  Apart from a few words of necessary official communication, the occupants of Six Adam Nine had been utterly quiet. Larry was deep in thought, deeply puzzled. Why was he still being allowed to cruise the streets, passing himself off as guardian of the good and true? Following DeCecco’s visit to Gilchrist’s office that morning, he had not believed he would make it down the station steps; a summons had seemed inevitable. Yet here he was, their shift nearly at an end, and everything seemed hunky-dory. His shield was on his chest, his weapon on his hip. He couldn’t figure it out. How come they weren’t on the captain’s desk, surrendered by a cop in disgrace?

  Had he challenged DeCecco he might have established the facts, but one thing had stopped him, a consideration he was loath to admit but could not deny because an old adage kept repeating in his head: all bullies are cowards. He was scared of DeCecco. He couldn’t look on him as a simple rookie any more. DeCecco was ex-Special Forces. Beneath that mild exterior lurked one of Uncle Sam’s killing machines, and it didn’t seem policy to rile him.

  But the hours of uncertainty had taken their toll. His head was a mess. To at least salvage his marriage he needed to establish if his career was over, because not knowing was driving him crazy, which only made him liable to further violence. That he was still on the streets didn’t mean a whole lot. It was early days. Maybe IA had been busy tracing Eddie, and were now in the process of investigating certain not-entirely-unfounded allegations of corruption.

  When the dam eventually broke, Larry forced himself to speak pleasantly.

  ‘Joey, you talked to Gilchrist earlier. Anything I should know about?’

  ‘Did I?’

  Larry stopped the Charger on a residential street and cut the ignition.

  ‘Yeah, I saw you leaving his office,’ Larry said.

  ‘You’re right,’ DeCecco said. ‘But before we get started, I need to give you my best advice on something.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t go for your weapon like you did this morning.’

  Although his brain told him to mutely accept the warning, Larry’s mouth was in cahoots with his pride. ‘Or what?’ he said.


  ‘Or the medical examiner who deals with your body’s gonna find fifteen outshoots from no visible entry wound. If you get my drift.’

  Larry decided it probably wasn’t a threat he should mock; DeCecco’s eyes had lost their humanity again. This time his mouth did the sensible thing and swallowed his pride.

  ‘So what’s the deal, Joey? Should I be expecting a welcoming committee when we get back?’

  ‘If you mean will I be taking any more of your crap, the answer is no.’

  ‘Shit, you fucking blabbed! I knew you would!’

  ‘I put in for a transfer. Highway Patrol. Motorcycle unit. Captain knows I ride a bike. Okay? Nothing about you, nothing about Eddie.’

  Larry considered, and reckoned DeCecco was telling the truth.

  ‘Oh. Good. Thanks.’

  He started the engine and moved off down the street.

  Smug. Larry was the epitome of smug. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so smug. His threats had worked, after all. DeCecco was smart and wasn’t willing to put his pregnant wife at risk.

  ‘So what about this bust tomorrow night?’ Larry asked, pushing his luck.

  ‘It’s not up for discussion.’

  ‘But you didn’t blow the whistle on it. I think that means something. I think that means we got us a green light. I reckon a guy like you must be itching for some real action. Huh? Am I right, Joey?’

  ‘Officer Roth, if I wanted a conversation I’d start one.’

  Larry laughed. ‘Hey, touché. But I know what I’m talking about. I heard about you from Mallory. MARSOC, right? Impressive. What unit? Where were you based?’

  There was a deliberate pause before DeCecco indulged the question.

  ‘First Marine Raider Battalion, Camp Pendleton.’

  ‘Uh-huh, just along the coast, I’ve driven by it many a time. You with them a while?’

  ‘Five years. Regular Marines for five years before that.’

  ‘Okay. You, uh ... get into any scrapes?’

  ‘It’s a wicked world, Larry. We were put to good use.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet. So … what’s different now with this bust? It’s just more bad guys who need taking down. It’s the same thing, you just got a change of uniform.’

  ‘Protocol,’ DeCecco said. ‘Correct procedure. That’s what’s different. Good intel, planning, preparation, having the right equipment for the job, the right people for the job – which category you do not fit into. You stray from those principles, everything gets FUBAR.’

  The Charger halted at a stop sign and Larry faced his passenger.

  ‘Joey, we can do this, smooth as silk. We’ll work out a plan. Listen, if you’re worried about the bim back home, just don’t tell her.’

  ‘Bim? You mean my wife?’

  ‘Turn of phrase,’ Larry said, shrugging. ‘No offense.’

  ‘Roth, be warned: talk about my wife is off limits to you. And if she gets so much as a parking ticket I will be coming to you personally for an explanation. Capice? Now shut the fuck up.’

  Larry couldn’t believe how his respect quotient had plummeted just recently. Simmering, he moved the Charger through the intersection and proceeded to stare at DeCecco as he drove, only briefly checking ahead every few seconds. A response was formulating in his head.

  ‘Eyes on the road, asshole,’ DeCecco said.

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll be driving tomorrow night, Joey, and I’m gonna take us right by the address Eddie gave us at the exact same time he gave us, and if I see anything that don’t look completely kosher I’m stopping to take a look, and if you don’t come with me you’re the bad cop, not me. You don’t back up your partner, rookie, forget it, you’ll make yourself an outcast. So that’s how it’s gonna be, Joey, just you and me. You got that? Capeesh, you fucking wop?’

  ‘Wow, an asshole and a racist,’ Joey said, his response perfectly mellow. ‘Sure, I hear you. Of course, between now and then some concerned citizen might just make an anonymous call to the captain’s office.’

  Larry sneered. ‘What happened to mano à mano, Joey? You think you can’t take out a few rabiz on your own? You need SWAT to help?’

  ‘The only help I need right now is psychiatric, for you. Someone draws down on me, that’s their funeral. You’re the liability. I am not walking into a potential firefight with a fucking loon like you for back-up. No way.’

  ‘Yes you are. Let’s get a coffee, talk about it. Work out a plan of attack. You want a coffee, Joey? I need a coffee.’

  ‘Pal, you need fucking IV Valium.’

  Larry slowed the Charger and turned at an intersection, heading for a quiet coffee shop he knew. The maneuver brought the winter sun directly in through his window; a symbolic ray of hope.

  The answering machine showed a continuous red light: no messages. It took a moment for Hayley to realize that meant her husband hadn’t called either; she had been more eager to hear from her agent. She needed this job more than ever now. Malibu Mischief would use up her time, absorb her thoughts. With a dying mom and a marriage in the balance, she did not want hour upon empty hour to bleakly muse. The money and fame would be pleasant by-products; the occupation was everything.

  She left the phone on answer mode, sat in the darkened living room and stared intently at the tiny red light until all around it blackened and disappeared. After a while she began to blink at one second intervals and made believe it was the machine with a message for her. She closed her eyes and imagined hitting the replay button and hearing her agent’s voice speak those magic words. Then she pictured her subsequent trip to the cemetery to relay the good news and thank her dad for his unseen hand in events.

  A key in the latch. Hayley snapped her eyes open. The red light was constant. The fantasy shattered. Larry was home and her heart began to thud. She became suddenly aware of the time; his shift had ended two hours ago. Where had he been since then? That was easy. The real question was how much had he drunk? The knot on her forehead was now throbbing in time with her pulse.

  He stepped off the walkway and closed the door behind him. When he clicked the wall switch, Hayley heard a little gasp escape his mouth. Shocked or relieved or both, the faintest of smiles appeared on his face.

  ‘Hey,’ he said quietly.

  Hayley couldn’t be sure, but he seemed sober. Her mouth flickered hopefully at the corners.

  ‘Jesus, did I do that?’ he asked.

  She tipped her head forward; both a nod and a way to tumble hair across the bruise.

  ‘I am such a prick,’ Larry said. ‘I never meant to hurt you. I just lashed out.’

  ‘Where have you been since work?’

  ‘Just driving. I had to think.’ He came over and towered above her.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said.

  He did so, but left a cushion between them. Hayley was glad – she had not asked him to sit so they could be close; she had felt intimidated by his fists level with her face. She didn’t know what to say but she guessed her presence in the apartment spoke for itself. She had come back, and Larry had a second chance.

  ‘Hayley ... darling ... I want you to know that I will never, ever, do anything like that again. I am so ashamed. I allowed my problems at work to become your problems. I didn’t talk them through with you, I took them out on you. I need help, I know that now. I made an appointment today with a counsellor. I also want to apologize for my cruel remarks regarding your father. You should feel at liberty to visit his grave whenever you wish, without fear of ridicule from your own husband. In future, you will have my total support. Okay?’

  Hayley looked down at her lap, unable to respond, and her curls swished forward like theater curtains to hide her face. She still had doubts, and plenty of them. Larry’s words sounded too much like the final draft of a prepared speech, not a spontaneous gushing from the heart. That would account for his two hours’ driving around.

  ‘Come on, Hayley, please talk to me. I appreciate you might want to cut loose from me, and if that’s your decision I won’
t try and stop you. But please don’t. Please. I was a good husband once, I can be again. I’m not asking you to forget, just … forgive. One time only.’

  Crazily, Hayley wanted to snigger. His last line had made him sound like a desperate door-to-door salesman. She had to say something or risk laughing. She steeled her expression and shot it towards him, and was surprised by how much venom was instantly on tap.

  ‘Fine, but you pull shit like that again, I am so fucking gone.’

  With eyebrows raised high, Larry could only nod.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked, standing up.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Omelette?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Listening to his wife crack eggs in the kitchen, Larry seethed. Hayley made two people that day who had slapped him down. His pride was stuck in his gullet like he’d swallowed a Ninja throwing star.

  He remotely switched on the TV, then instantly pressed mute. Something else was bothering him.

  ‘Where did you stay last night?’ he called as conversationally as possible.

  ‘My mom’s.’

  Her mom’s? ‘Hayley, come in here.’

  She appeared in the doorway.

  ‘You made up?’ he asked.

  ‘It was long overdue,’ she said, her expression incongruously somber.

  ‘And is she ... okay?’

  ‘She’s great,’ Hayley said curtly, and returned to the kitchen.

  ‘She’s, uh ... fully compus mentis, then?’

  A puzzled Hayley came back into the doorway, then a slight smirk showed she understood his question.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said. ‘Mom mentioned she gave you the run-around. Did you forget she used to be an actress?’

  Larry faked a self-deprecating smile. ‘Stupid me.’

  Hayley returned to the cooking and Larry cursed under his breath. Make that three people denying him his due respect. He could just picture them, laughing away in that little Venice bungalow, pitying the dumb duped cop who didn’t know twenty-four carat bullshit when he heard it.

  Once upon a time, life had been very simple. Special Forces made things that way. You followed orders. A soldier’s loyalty to the unit, and the unit’s allegiance to the flag – those things were unequivocal. Questions of morality rarely entered into it, much less issues of right or wrong with regard to the law.