It wouldn't be much longer. It was now 6:37 AM. The kids had to be dressed and fed. There was laundry to start, the breakfast dishes would have to be loaded into the dishwasher, and beds made before she and the children could leave for the base. She wanted everything to be perfect when Patrick arrived home. Diane remembered that the car needed gas. That was fine, though, because she had to get a six-pack of "Bud Light" on her way to the base. Even though it was illegal to have an open beer in a moving vehicle on base, Patrick always wanted Diane to have a cold one ready for him in the car when he left the ship. She remembered him saying, "A cold beer always tastes best when you get off the 'pig' boat after a patrol and you drink it in defiance of their bullshit rules. After all, I deserve a break from this shit." Diane couldn't argue, even if she felt that he could wait another ten minutes until they were safely off the base and in the comfort of their own home. He probably was right; he probably did deserve it after spending eighty-two days under the water in a hollow steel tube with one hundred and fifty other guys, most of whom Pat said he didn't particularly like.
Diane got their son, Sean, up and told him that she had a surprise for him later that day. When six-year-old Sean asked what it was, Diane said, "You'll just have to wait. I think you're going to like this surprise a lot." Diane didn't realize just how bright her smile was and Sean was a very perceptive child. Right away he guessed what was happening. With a burst of energy and excitement,
Sean yelled, "Daddy's coming home today, isn't he! I can tell, Mom! He is, isn't he?" Diane was overcome as tears of happiness and surprise welled up in her eyes.
"Yes, son, your daddy is coming home today. So let's get going, we have lots to do before he gets here. We have to get your sister up, eat breakfast, get dressed in our best clothes, get daddy's welcome home present wrapped and get gas on the way to the base."
"Mom, does Dad have to go back out on the submarine again?" Sean missed his dad whenever he was gone to sea. He would cry every time Pat would leave for a patrol and he would sulk for days after the ship left port. There were several instances when Pat was home that he was just going to the store or the library, and he would come home to find Sean red-eyed from crying. Sean was certain that Daddy was going to the submarine and didn't even say good-bye to him before he left. Diane couldn't convince him that his father was just going to the store and would be back in a few minutes.
"No, Son. Dad's not going back out on the submarine ever again. Let’s go wake up your sister. Dad's boat will be pulling up to the dock in less than two hours and we don't want to be late. Don't fight and don't fool around so we can get there on time."
"Yes, mom," came the response. Diane looked at the clock and realized that she and the children had to get moving. There were so many things to do and not much time to do them in. "Let's see. What's next . . ." She started doing the few dishes by hand and methodically completed each task on her list of "things to do today."
Chapter 6
It was a pretty good crowd for a Thursday night. Most of the tables at the Rock Alliance, Orlando's hottest new nightclub, were still full and the crowd had really gotten into the live rock and roll. Now the band was relaxing amongst the crowd and enjoying the well deserved break. Brian Purcer and the Hot Licks' three hour set had drained them. They were done for the night. Now it was time to relax.
Brian, with his dark, wild black hair, blue jeans and dark blue Led Zeppelin tee shirt, sat at a table with his drummer, Rick Wessler. They talked about how well the set had gone and pointed to different women as they walked by, commenting on various attributes of the ladies. The band was right on; the rifs were smooth as silk; the vocals clear; and Brian’s guitar playing was like magic. His screaming Stratocaster had really wailed for him tonight. It was as if it were a part of him. The crowd's response told him that his assessment of the show was correct. Young men and women, and some kids, were coming up to Brian and asking for his autograph! He couldn't believe it. This was only the band's tenth live gig and there was already talk of cutting an album. An agent from Atlantic Records had approached Brian and told him to contact his office early next week so they could talk about the band. He wanted to know the band's history and musical background. He told Brian that he and his band could use the company's Orlando studio for a few hours just for talking to him. The agent left his card and told Brian before he left that drinks for the band were on his tab. He told Brian that he'd already arranged everything with the bartender, so don't even offer to pay.
Brian looked around for a few minutes. He wanted to see if Bill and Karen Grimes had shown. They said that they would, but Brian knew not to depend too much on them. They'd promised things before, and had never come through. Brian was pretty sure who was to blame for the broken promises. He’d always felt that Karen was too good for Bill. Karen had class, good looks, brains, and a body that turned heads. Bill was handsome, but was dumber than dirt. He talked a good line, Brian knew, but that was it. He didn't see them anywhere, so he assumed that Bill had screwed up again.
Rick had been watching Brian and wondered what was on his mind. He ran his hand up his forehead and brushed his shoulder length, sandy blond hair back away from his face. Rick had known Brian for a few years now. He and Brian played together with many different musicians. Over the years, they’d looked for a few good musicians to fill out the band but it took quite a while to find just the right mix. He helped Brian pick the other band members so that he had the best possible meshing of musicians and personalities. The result was one hot band with Brian writing and playing lead guitar. Usually vocals are the focal point of a band but not so with the Hot Licks. Brian’s guitar undoubtedly was the main attraction.
"What are you thinking about?"
Brian was taken aback for a moment as he considered Rick’s query. He had to shake his head once to clear out the cob webs and focus on the question.
"Karen." The single name answer said it all. Rick new that Brian was hooked on a fish; one that he couldn't reel in.
"Brian, it’s just starting to look as if we're going to get a big break in our lives. I know you think Bill's a jerk and Karen is some kind of goddess, but we have other things to worry about right now. Don't take this the wrong way pal, but you need to forget about her and concentrate on the next few weeks. It could mean the difference between making the big time or not. Besides, there’s plenty of fish out there. How about that chick, Ginny? Remember the one that was at our session a month or so back? You two seemed to hit it off."
The conversation was interrupted by three very young giggling girls who couldn't have been over seventeen. They walked up to Brian and asked for his autograph in a shy kind of voice. They said how much they enjoyed the show and asked where the band was playing next. Brian told them and the girls said they'd be there. Then they giggled and left.
Brian calmly looked at his drummer and said in a casual voice, "Thanks Rick, but shut up and butt out.” He gave Rick a sly smile, letting him know that he was only partially serious. “I know what's at stake here. I'll handle it. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, really I do. I’m okay. Really."
"Okay, man. I'll back off. Do you need a refill? I'm headed to the bar."
"Thanks, man, but I'm outta here. I've gotta work tomorrow. We're not stars yet, my man. What time do you want to meet tomorrow night? Show starts at 9:00. I don't get off work until 6:00."
Brian's job was a drag. Working for the Orlando Sentinel in the mail room just wasn't a career enhancing position. The long hours of work and the crappy early morning shift coupled with the bands weekend gigs were starting to wear him down. He longed for the day when he could call his boss and tell him their eight-year-long employer/employee relationship was over. The developments for the band over the last month gave him hope that it was possible for him to say good-bye to the dead end job. He was going to be embarking on a career. He was through with "jobs."
"6:30, then. I'll see you backstage." Rick and Brian shook hands and Rick t
urned towards the bar. Brian watched Rick blend into the crowd, then turned towards the door. He got as far as the last row of tables when he saw 21 year old Ginny Parks sitting with Danny Vallero. Ginny was from Ohio and was going to the University of Central Florida. She was a real looker, with tan skin and very light brown hair that hung down to just above her shoulders where the tips curled up slightly towards her neck. It was parted just to the left of center. She wore very little makeup. Her blouse was a light blue with spaghetti straps that showed off her tan shoulders. She had on small gold hoop earrings that shimmered with the flashing lights in the bar. His eyes were drawn to Ginny’s ample breasts as he approached the table.
Danny saw Brian first and shouted, "Hey Brian, how are ya doing? Great set tonight! You guys were cooking. Ginny and I were just talking about how you guys ought to get an agent and try to cut an album. Sit down. I'll buy you a beer."
Brian looked away from Ginny and said, "Thanks, Danny, but I've got to work in the morning, so I can't stick around." Brian didn't like Danny one bit. He thought that Danny was a loud-mouthed jerk who didn't know when to shut up. He hated his Boston accent; hated his dark, handsome complexion and even more; hated the way Danny treated women. Brian had always been taught to treat women with respect. Women were creatures to be coddled, pampered, and cared for in a special way. Danny, on the other hand, saw women as objectives, one-night conquests, beings to be used and discarded. Brian hated Danny for those reasons and many others. He hated Danny because he knew that Danny had never worked an honest day in his life. His income was derived from swindling, selling drugs, and bumming off his conquests with a never-fulfilled promise of repayment. Brian's hatred of Danny was intensified now, seeing him trying to impress Ginny Parks with his supposed friendship with the star of an up and coming rock band.
"Hello, Ginny."
Brian's greeting of Ginny surprised Danny, and before she could return his gesture, Danny butted in and asked, "You two know each other? Small world. Why didn't you tell me, Ginny? Brian and I go way back. We used to do some business together. Sit down and have a drink with us, Brian. We can talk and catch up on a few things. Maybe I can set you up with a few good connections to give your career a boost."
It was all Brian could do to restrain his anger. He knew Danny had absolutely no ties to the music world and had no way of helping his career. And the only business they did together was through an old mutual friend, Pat McKinney. Brian knew that Danny was merely trying to impress Ginny, and it seemed to be working. Ginny smiled at everything Danny said. Brian thought that she was hooked on Danny, and he was afraid for her. He ignored Danny's last statement, turned to Ginny and asked if she would like a ride home. Brian knew this would rattle Danny's cage a little, but he really didn't care. All he wanted to do now was get her away from this jerk and keep her from becoming a notch in Danny’s belt. She smiled at Brian and said thanks, but that she had her car here and would stay a while. She added that she'd enjoyed the set tonight. She had heard Brian's band before during a group practice a little over a month ago. She was with her roommate, Sharon who’d been dating Brian's drummer, Rick, at the time. Rick invited her and Ginny to one of their practice sessions. That's how Ginny got to know the hottest new guitarist in central Florida.
After the practice was over, Brian and Ginny talked and talked. They'd hit it off well and Ginny really wanted to get to know Brian better. She figured that she had little chance to form a relationship with Brian, though, because he had very little free time with practices and work. He'd gotten her phone number and promised to call her, but never did. She figured he'd forgotten her by now.
Brian looked longingly at Ginny but felt there was no use pushing the issue further. He was tired. His thoughts briefly drifted to Karen Grimes and the tough situation she was in. He didn't want to see another smart, beautiful woman fall into a similar situation. "It's nice to see you again, Ginny. Don't stay too late. By the way do you have classes tomorrow? We have another set here tomorrow night and I'd like you to be my guest."
With that, Danny interrupted. "We're going out to dinner tomorrow night. But maybe after dinner, we'll both stop in."
It wasn't what Brian had in mind, so he let it go without further comment.
"Well, good night then." Brian headed towards the door. He was surprised when Ginny got up and stepped in front of him. She lightly held his arm and kissed him on the cheek and said, "Call me. It really was a great set tonight." She looked Brian right in the eyes and smiled.
Brian made one last attempt to get her away from Danny. "Are you sure you don't want to leave right now? We can pick up your car tomorrow."
"I'm sorry, Brian, but I really can't. Call me, though. Do you still have my number?"
Brian nodded. "Good night, Ginny."
As Brian continued on towards the door, he was sorry too. He was sorry that he couldn't think of some way to convince Ginny to come with him to get her away from Danny. He'd tried his best, but now there were other things to think about, like sleep. Brian Purcer, the up-and-coming rock star had to transform himself into Brian Purcer the mail room worker; and it was getting harder and harder to do.
Chapter 7
Joe McKinney walked out of the personnel office at the Camp Lejeune Marine base in North Carolina. As he walked down the hall to the front door of the building, he passed the historic display of swords. They’d been used by the US Marine Corps from their inception on November 10, 1775, when a small military unit called the Continental Marines was created, to current day. He admired the craftsmanship that must have been used to create such fine weapons so long ago. He’d been attached to the II Marine Expeditionary Force. Joe’s ability to quickly learn how to use small arms had caught the attention of his superiors early in his career. He mastered many of the standard and special weapons used by the Corps and became an instructor in their care and use. Joe mentally reviewed the procedure for disassembly, cleaning, inspection and reassembly of the M16 in the display case. He imagined himself shouldering the weapon from a wooded area and firing on a group of enemies. He could vividly see the faces of the enemies as they writhed in pain. They weren’t communist insurgents or Islamic Jihad. They were former friends from central Florida. This brought a wicked smile to Joe’s face when a voice from behind him said, “Sergeant McKinney, I understand that this is your last day on active duty.”
Joe turned to see Major Griggs. Griggs was his first instructor when he moved to Camp Lejeune after leaving boot camp at Paris Island. He was in his late thirties, with salt and pepper hair, though not much of that showed. The creases on his shirt looked sharp enough to cut a finger. He was starched and pressed. He was fit as any man on the base. “Yes Sir, it is.”
“There’s always a place in the corps for you, son, if you decide that civilian life isn’t for you. All you have to do is call. Plus you’ve got a stint of reserve time to do, so don’t be surprised if Uncle Sam comes calling for your services. You know our Commander in Chief is itching to take out that quack in Iraq.”
That statement made Joe think a little. Better tuck that information away in the old brain, just in case. He knew that the Corps could call on him in a time of crisis, or any time that they deemed that there was a ‘crisis’, but he thought that the chances were remote that he’d be in uniform again. Only time would tell.
“I understand, sir. If called, I’ll be happy to serve my country.” And Joe meant it. He just hoped that it wouldn’t interfere with the business at hand. There was this small matter of revenge that needed to be addressed back home.
Over the last two years, Sergeant Joseph McKinney’s job had been to train the special operations unit of the II Marine Expeditionary Force. These Marines are the first men into the field to do whatever it takes to clear the way for the main units during any military maneuvers. It was their responsibility to make sure that the opposing force strength, positions, firepower, and readiness were assessed merely by sneaking in under dark of night, planting listening devi
ces, taking pictures, whatever was necessary to ensure that the best intelligence was gathered and usable to the tacticians. The reason Joe was selected for this position was because he was good at it. He was better than good. He was so good that his superiors were looking at ways to keep him in the service. He was a good Marine and they wanted him to remain an enlisted Marine. There was the old saying, once a Marine, always a Marine. But that was a brotherhood more than a legal commitment. You covered your brothers’ backs at all times, whether in or out of uniform. There was no secret code, you just did it.
Joe was in his dress blues for his last day of active duty. His dark brown hair was freshly cut to Marine Corps specs, his shoes were polished to a super-high gloss spit shine. He was leaving the United States Marine Corps under honorable conditions. In fact, his commanding officer, during his departure interview, specifically requested that he consider re-enlistment for the sole purpose of continuing to train special force units with the added benefit of a command promotion to Staff Sergeant. That was a rarity in peacetime, especially since Joe had only served during a single live armed confrontation. He’d been in the special force II Marines that made the initial reconnaissance mission into Iraq prior to the massive air strikes of Desert Storm. Joe’s sniper skills were proven when they’d encountered Iraqi Army patrols. He was able to silence the patrols and allow his team to complete their surveillance. Their successful mission proved to be pivotal in the success of the initial air strikes around Baghdad.
Joe walked out to the parking lot after leaving his final interview. The sun was bright. There was not a cloud in the sky at Camp Lejeune. It was a perfect day. There was no one there to greet him, only the open road back to his home in Orlando, Florida. He’d already set up an apartment in the Pine Hills area on the west side of town. He was anxious to get started on his new life. It was going to be exciting. He had some old business that needed to be addressed. There were scores to be settled.
A Lifetime of Vengeance Page 5