“There’s a reception,” said Thomas. “We’d better get to it.”
“Class photo first,” Frank reminded him.
“Right,” said Thomas.
The Dean called the cadets together and they all moved away from the parade grounds and into a reception area just adjacent.
The reception room was a big square room that could be filled with whatever the cops wanted. It had flat white walls and a high ceiling. Today, those walls were covered with cadet blue decorations and various police insignia.
A huge Detroit Police Seal dominated one corner with its “Protect and Serve” motto underneath. In the opposite corner was a big RCA phonograph with two bulky, state-of-the-art hi-fi speakers. Thomas called such machines record players while Frank every once in a while still referred to them as Victrolas.
The room was filled with the sounds of Sinatra as the party got underway. Berry Gordy’s Motown had taken the nation by storm, but there was still resistance to the “Negro music” and this place was one of them.
Thomas and Sarah stepped lightly on the dance floor while Frank and Esther spun with reckless abandon just a few feet away. Thomas rarely saw his father smile and so he was elated to see the old man so happy. Thomas smiled broadly as his parents swirled by in a flash of cotton clothes and leather shoes.
“What’s gotten into him?” asked Sarah.
“He’s just happy for me,” said Thomas.
“For you or himself?” asked Sarah with a tinge of contempt.
“A little of both, I guess,” said Thomas, ignoring the obvious bait.
When Frank saw Sarah for the first time, he was filled with delight. She was the daughter that every father wanted, blonde, beautiful and sparkling with energy, an American beauty. But when Sarah started to talk, it had all gone away. To Frank, she was a radical, a follower of the newest trend in society, hating your country.
Sarah had come to the Riley house in a lovely print dress, her hair beautifully straight and styled conservatively. This she had done because she loved Thomas and wanted to impress his mother. Although Sarah was a modern woman, she still had what was called “home training” and sought to make a good impression.
When the evening moved to the inevitable social conversation, Thomas grew nervous. He dreaded the moment when everyone would know Sarah’s beliefs. He fantasized that his father would find her interesting, a challenge to his very pro-American views.
“That’s silly,” his father would say. “But I respect that. You should know that I...” and so forth.
Sarah would laugh at Frank’s old-fashioned ways and the perfect love-hate-respect relationship would be born. Frank would see in her what Thomas saw.
But it had not happened that way. When Frank brought up politics, Sarah had attacked him with the savagery of a tiger. She ripped and pulled at the meat of his logic and challenged him until Frank had lost his composure and called her a “silly girl.”
That was a declaration of war to Sarah who was about to go for the jugular when she noticed the alarm on the face of Esther, Thomas’ mother. In the end, Sarah had remembered her home training and apologized.
There was a happy ending that day, but afterwards, the two made sure to keep a civil distance between each other. Frank was sure that he had his son’s respect and love and Sarah was sure that those things belonged to her. Thomas stood in the middle of the battle, constantly looking in either direction.
“I think he’d rather I be in Vietnam,” said Thomas unafraid to keep the conversation away from such things on this day.
“I’m sure,” said Sarah. “We need more men to kill those innocent people over there, more boys to die for nothing.”
Thomas loved the way her brow furrowed and her nose crinkled when she got angry. It made her look like a kid who just got a toy taken away from her. Except for her eyes. There was green fire behind them in these times and that always unnerved him a little.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Sarah,” said Thomas. “Not today.”
“You never argue,” said Sarah, “with me or with your father. I keep hoping you’ll take a side, any side.”
“Why?” asked Thomas, smiling handsomely at her.
Sarah sighed and laughed a little in that way a woman does when she’s frustrated by the things about her man that she still hopes to change. “Forget it,” she said.
Like most men, Thomas didn’t know what his woman saw in him. Men, Real or not could never fathom the minds of women. He though t himself lucky to have Sarah’s favor and didn’t question the motivation.
But Sarah’s attraction to him was not a deep mystery. It was not borne from the things he was, but rather those that he could become. To the girl with the green eyes, Thomas Riley was much like America, teetering on the edge of its great potential. And so she fought to change him as she did her country-- for love of both.
Thomas and Sarah took a break from dancing. They made their way to the food table, where Katie sat looking bored.
Thomas was slapped on the back by a graduate and had his hand shook by another. Sarah smiled dutifully and ignored the flirtatious looks from some of the other cadets.
Thomas never said anything about how other men looked at Sarah. Thomas was sure of their relationship and so he displayed confidence when around other men. This was a trait Sarah found attractive. After many jealous boyfriends and a few fights due to it; she warmed to a confident man.
“What’s wrong, Katie?” asked Thomas.
“Nothing,” she said in that way that lets you know something was wrong. How did all women know how to do that, thought Thomas.
“I think she’s not having fun,” said Sarah. She sat next to Katie and hugged her with big-sisterly familiarity.
“You said it,” said Katie, confessing under Sarah’s protection.
“I’m sorry my life is boring to you,” said Thomas. “Too bad.” His face had the mean big brother look on it, the cat chomping on a pretty yellow bird.
“Thomas,” said Sarah and immediately Thomas lost the edge in his voice.
“Sorry,” he said.
If there was going to be any friction, it was cut off when Frank came up and said, “Time for family history.” He was holding two framed pictures.
Esther was standing next to him smoking a cigarette, a habit that Thomas hated after being educated by his fiancée. The true evil of cigarettes was another ten years off, but it was simple logic to Sarah. How could inhaling smoke from burning leaves be good for you?
Thomas often asked his mother. “If the house was on fire would you run or would you stand there and suck in the smoke?” Esther’s answer was glib. ”Depends on if the house was menthol.”
“Right, history,” said Thomas looking at his father.
“Katie’s a little bored,” said Sarah.
“She’ll get over it,” said Frank. “Thomas, let’s go and-—“
“Maybe we should go to a restaurant or something,” Sarah interrupted.
Thomas could feel it coming before it happened. One thing you never did to a Real Man was tried to exert control over what was his. Katie was still a kid and she still belonged to her father.
“Katie, stay here until we come back,” said Frank and he glanced at Sarah to let her know there would be no discussion.
There were many things Sarah could have done in this moment. She could have spit venom back at Frank. She could have fell silent and just let the moment pass. She could have deflected the statement with a humorous line like “Hey, I am pregnant—- just kidding!” But what she did was worse than all these things.
She looked at Thomas.
The look asked him to stand up to his father, to back him away from the woman he loved with his own Real Maleness, to declare himself in the world that was different from his father’s and all of his beliefs.
Thomas’ reaction to this awful gesture was even worse. He looked away. And not with a “you’re right look” or even an “I’m afraid of him” look. He
turned with the dutifulness of a son who also still belonged to his father.
“Be right back,” he said to Sarah. She looked shocked and then sighed as if exhausted.
Frank and Thomas walked off to the corner where the DPD seal was. It was big and noble against the wall with soft light reflecting off its accents.
The two men were both in great shape and looked heroic against the seal and for a moment Thomas felt a surge of positive energy. This was good, he thought. Being a cop was going to be good.
Frank held a black and white photo of his father who smiled in his dress uniform from the 1940’s. Thomas held a color picture of his brother, Shaun in his police uniform.
Without thinking, Frank switched pictures with Thomas almost whispering, “Here, you hold your grandfather.”
Thomas gave up the picture of his brother without protest. In truth, he felt the whole thing was a little morbid but it was a tradition and what was family without that?
He glanced at the picture of his grandfather. He stood tall and handsome in his uniform, like a great soldier protecting the innocent. A lot to live up to, he thought.
Thomas smiled as a photographer took the picture. He knew they were celebrating the beginning of a career and yet he felt something had ended here in this room with all of its ceremony and good cheer.
Thomas smiled as his father clapped him on the shoulders again. As they walked back, Thomas tried not to look at the green fire in Sarah’s eyes as she looked on.
3
SECTOR 23
Rain fell in swirling sheets on Robert and The Cleaners. The drops seemed impossibly large and slammed into everything around them like tiny bombs.
The sound of the rain would have been disturbing were it not for the mortar shell explosions and local gunfire around them.
The roasted pork and chicken, which Robert and The Cleaners had consumed the day before, was a distant memory as bombs thundered and bullets whizzed over their heads.
Robert was crouched behind a barricade and fired randomly at the enemy hoping to hit anything.
The Cleaners had secured the road for the convoy. The supply trucks had rumbled by, taking what seemed an eternity to pass. But moments later, they were cut off from both sides by the enemy who had conceded the convoy but decided that as a consolation prize, they would kill the soldiers who had kept them at bay.
Bullets zipped through the falling water. It doesn’t sound the way it did in the movies, Robert thought absently. It’s not a low whistle. It’s a sharp, ripping sound, like God splitting the air.
The rain only made the fighting harder. There were no light rains or drizzles in Vietnam, Robert mused. Either it was clear or pouring like hell. It seemed that there were no subtleties in the country’s politics, its people or its weather.
A bullet ripped the air just over Robert’s head as he popped up to take a shot.
“Shit!” said Robert ducking back down.
The other men in the platoon were all in the same pickle. So far, they’d only lost one man. The dead soldier was Wilson Saunders, a kid from a well-to-do family in upstate New York. He’d defied his family by joining the Army, shunning a college deferment.
Wilson was lobbing some of the new bombs they’d been given when they discovered that the enemy had sent part of its platoon to hit them from another position.
Wilson was shot in the neck by a sniper and the look on his face was one of pure surprise, like he’d been struck out on a sucker’s pitch.
Robert grabbed his field radio again. He turned it on and waited to get a connection. When it crackled, he heard the voice of Lieutenant Ferguson, the man who had sent them into hell.
“Sergeant?”
“Sir,” said Robert. “We’re still in deep shit out here!”
“We lost contact with your air cover,” said Ferguson, “but they’ve got to be close.
A bomb exploded near Robert and he missed the last part of this statement. When he asked again and heard it, he cursed openly in front of his superior officer and did not apologize for it.
Ferguson told them to hold on.
“Yes, sir,” said Robert out of instinct.
“I’ll see you soon, soldier,” said Ferguson confidently but Robert heard the concern under the officer’s coolness.
Robert ended the call hoping the air cover commander would come and lay waste to these gooks. Robert had heard and used the words gook, dink and slope many times but had never thought of their relation to the word nigger or the irony of him using it.
He heard the air rip again then the sick sound of a man groaning. Robert looked around and saw Foster lying prone near an open area.
Robert’s heart leapt. A commander was not supposed to let his personal feelings interfere with his job but he had to confess that he liked the kid and now he was hit.
Robert crawled quickly over to Foster and half way there, he saw Foster move. Foster began to crawl in the same direction Robert was going.
“Foster!” Robert yelled.
Foster stopped and looked over his hindquarters to Robert. His eyes were clear and he looked scared but uninjured.
“Cole’s hit!” Foster said.
Robert sighed a little. It was Cole who had issued the groan. Foster, his friend, was okay.
Robert looked beyond Foster’s prone body and saw Peter Cole, lying out in the open. Robert crawled over to Foster and pulled him back.
“Get back!” he said to him.
Foster moved backwards and Robert looked at the body lying in the middle of the gunfight, unmoving. Chances are he was dead already, he told himself.
Robert pulled his rifle aside, getting ready to make a run to the wounded man. Then from the recesses of his mind, from his inner Wartime Fool, he heard the words he felt in his heart.
Leave him.
Letting Cole die would be a boon to mankind, Robert thought. One less racist to worry about said the Fool. Cole had this coming. God let him get hit so he could die here surrounded by the people he despised.
The idea was so attractive. Let fate take care of Cole. Let the inhumanity that is war do some good by wiping Cole from the ass of life. But then another voice piped up. The soldier, the patriot spoke.
Robert pushed the Fool back into his filthy hole and raced out to Cole. God ripped the air around him as he grabbed the fallen man. Cole groaned as Robert pulled the dead weight behind the barricade toward safety. The whole thing took about ten seconds but it had seemed much longer.
Without warning, the enemy sent a mortar towards them. It missed but something shot up from the broken earth and Robert was hit.
His helmet rang, his head rang and then the whole world rang. The ground rushed up, slamming into the side of his face.
Robert lay there next to the life he had saved and stared up into the falling rain. God cut the wind and the enemy exploded the earth beyond him.
Then inside his ringing head, he heard a sound; a sweet, thin melody and it rose, pushing aside the pain and the sound of death and battle. It was an old Temptations song, smooth, calming and beautiful. Just as quickly, the magic words faded and distantly, Robert heard a rumble. He looked up and through hazy vision; he saw dark angels coming over the battle. They moved like huge birds above the falling rain and cut through the air, just like God.
“Coming to get me,” Robert thought thickly.
As the first Bell UH-1 helicopter swung low for a strafing run, the darkness took him.
**********
“Sarge?” said Foster as Robert opened his eyes. His lashes stuck together for a moment and then separated with a tiny sound that only he could hear.
Robert was in a warm bed in an army hospital that had been set up near Sector 23. He looked up into the face of Foster and Percy. They smiled like kids at him. His head felt okay, better than okay. He was feeling good. Then he thought: morphine. Morphine had done it. Morphine was good.
You got hit by a rock,” said Foster.
“Bet it felt like a gr
enade,” said Percy.
“Cole,” said Robert. And he heard the scratchy sound of his own voice.
“That asshole’s still in a coma,” said Percy. “But he’s gonna be okay, I guess.”
“You saved him, Sarge,” said Foster. “It was a beautiful thing.”
Robert sat up in his bed and now he felt something bad. His head pounded dully and his neck was stiff.
“It’s my job to save his ass,” said Robert. “Even if he don’t deserve it.”
The army hospital was better looking than it should have been. It had walls and a ceiling. It was probably being held together by string but it seemed like heaven to Robert right now, swathed in white and soft light.
“They got food here?” asked Robert.
“They did but we got hungry waiting for you to wake up,” said Percy.
“I ate the Jell-O,” said Foster. “Good.”
Robert laughed and felt sharper pangs in his head. Maybe he would ask for another meal only this time laced with morphine.
“I think you’re up for a medal or something,” said Foster. “The Lieutenant’s been hanging around all day.”
“Shit on a medal,” said Robert. “I’d kill for a hamburger and a cold beer.”
Percy and Foster shared a look. “We saw some beer when we got here,” said Percy. “It was marked for officers.”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Robert. “You go to the stockade for stealing a brew and I’ll shoot you myself.”
They laughed again as Robert spotted Lieutenant Ferguson walking in. Foster and Percy snapped salutes and waved goodbye to Robert as Ferguson sidled up to the bed.
“Sir,” said Robert, saluting.
“At ease, Sergeant,” said Ferguson. “Good job out there. Sector 23 is now ours, such as it is.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Robert.
“As soon as you’re up and about I have new orders for you.”
Robert heard himself say, “Yes sir.” But in his head, he cursed Ferguson. Can I take a piss before you send me out to be killed again, he thought.
Dark Town Redemption Page 3