I also spent some time convincing Emma that “the lady” who played hide-and-seek with her came with two guys interested in buying my bike. Cause I knew there was no way to keep Emma from telling Cindy about them being at the house. Emma hadn’t seen but a glimpse of the two guys, if even that, so I was safe there. Shelley was the problem. Had been ever since I first laid eyes on her.
And yep, Cindy and Dani came through the door a little after five, and there goes Emma gushing on and on about the pretty lady who came and played hide-and-seek with her and how Emma won because nobody but Daddy knew where she was hiding.
Of course Cindy looked at me and said, “What lady?”
“I think she was the girlfriend of this young guy who stopped by to ask about the bike. Him and his father, I think.”
“Ask what?”
“He heard I might be looking to sell it.”
“Where would he hear that?”
“I mentioned it to a couple people at the picnic on Labor Day.”
“I thought we talked about that. How would you get to work in the future?”
“I know. I wasn’t thinking when I mentioned it at the picnic. I guess I was sort of panicking about not having a job and all.”
“Did they make an offer on the bike?”
“Yeah but it was way too low. Plus the guy had never ridden a bike before. I told him he needed to start out on something smaller. Like a five hundred maybe. Get some experience, you know? You don’t start out on an eight-hundred-pound bike unless it comes equipped with training wheels.”
“You told him that?” she said.
“His father laughed and shook my hand for it. Said he’d been telling the boy the same thing.”
Cindy smiled at that, so I knew it was a good time to change the subject. I said to Emma, “Tell Mommy what we made for dinner.”
“Pasgetti!” Emma said.
“We smelled it in the garage,” Dani said.
“The sauce is ready, but I have to put the pasta in and toast the garlic bread,” I said.
“A salad?”
“You bet.”
And that was how I got over the first hurdle. I still had to get out of the house later, and I still had to come back home alive.
I know you know what it’s like to come back home again after a deployment, Spence. I worked a long time after the desert to get my tender feelings back. And now they were killing me. All that afternoon, every time I looked at Emma I’d have to fight back the tears. Then again while all of us were sitting there having supper together. I kept looking at all of them and wondering, what if this is the last time I ever spend with you? Then I’d look at Cindy’s belly, what I could see of it above the table, and think about the tiny little baby in there, and wonder, will I ever get a chance to hold you?
I knew I had to man up and face the music, Spence, but Jesus I was feeling weak. All I really wanted was to gather my girls around me and pull up the covers and shut out the world.
And then I heard your voice. I swear I did. After dinner I’d sent the girls into the living room, so I was out in the kitchen alone, loading up the dishwasher and wiping off the counters. And that’s when I heard you. Brothers stand together, you said. You find yourself in a shit storm, you call on your brother.
I actually turned around and looked, because it sounded like you were right there beside me. I know I didn’t imagine it. And I knew exactly what you meant. It was probably the clearest thought I’d had all day. Before every mission you said the exact same thing to us. We weren’t in it alone, that’s what you were telling us. No matter how afraid and alone we felt, we had our brothers there with us. “Time to do the dance,” you always said. The dance with Death. The one dance we all danced together.
Of course I would’ve called you, Spence, if you’d been here to call. And you would’ve come running, I know that too. But only one other name came to me. I kept asking myself, who else? Who else do I know around here who’s been where we’ve been and done what we’ve done? And I kept coming back to the same one man. The one man I didn’t want to call.
He’d been through it too. A different place and a different time, but it was still the same dance, wasn’t it? The one only soldiers know.
Need your help, I texted Pops. Call me a little before nine and ask me to come see you. Will explain when I get there.
It started thundering around eight that night. Deep, rolling growls that kept getting closer and closer, then finally exploding into booms that made the girls squeal and pull the covers over their heads. I sat there on the edge of Dani’s bed, reading to them and making jokes about the thunder so they wouldn’t be too scared. I could hear Cindy out in the kitchen gathering up the candles and flashlights the way she always did when a storm hit at night.
After I got the girls tucked in I sat out on the couch with Cindy, just sitting there with my arm around her, both of us jumping every time lightning cracked and lit up the windows. When Pops’ call came we both jumped again. But by that time the thunder and lightning had given me an idea.
“I gotta go spend some time with Pops,” I told Cindy after I tucked the phone back in my pocket.
And it was like she had already read my mind. “It’s Vietnam again, isn’t it?” she said.
“He didn’t say as much but . . . yeah. That’s probably what it is.”
“Bring him back here if you want,” she said.
“Yeah, I think he probably wouldn’t want you or the girls to see him that way. You be okay for a few hours?”
She nodded. “I’m awfully glad you got over yours,” she said. “You have, right?”
“For the most part,” I said.
We hugged for a minute in the kitchen, then I went out to the garage. She watched me driving away. I could picture her walking through the house then, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, probably taking a cover off the bed so she could sit bundled up on the couch with her phone, the flashlights, and a big-ass butcher knife lined up on the coffee table.
The first thing Pops said to me was, “It’s about those McClaine boys, isn’t it?” He was fully dressed and ready to go, and he didn’t even know yet what was waiting for us. Still tough as nails after all these years. I filled him in on everything that had happened that week, and he kept getting madder and madder. “Let’s go,” he finally said.
“Pops, I’m doing this alone. I’m only telling you this so that, I don’t know, you can give me some advice or something. I felt like you should know about this in case things go bad for me.”
What I was really hoping for was that he would have some kind of miracle solution to everything. He didn’t.
“Things already went bad,” he said, and then he walked right out of his little apartment and into the hallway. “Pull the door shut,” he said.
I followed him to the front desk, where he signed himself out. “My son’s taking me out for some Chinese food and fast women,” he told the attendant. “Don’t wait up for me.”
She chuckled and gave me a wink. “Make sure you use a condom,” she said.
As soon as we were in the truck, Pops said, “Where you keeping my .30-30? Is it at your place?”
“It’s at your storage unit.”
“Let’s go then,” he said.
“I already been there, Pops. To get the money in that shoebox.” He looked down at it on the floor by his feet.
He gave it a little nudge with his foot. “You say it’s short?”
“I took some out to pay my ER bill.”
“Why in the world didn’t you come to me for a loan?”
“I should’ve, I know. I didn’t want you to know I was in trouble.”
“Let’s find us an ATM then.”
“It won’t be enough, Pops. There’s a limit on how much you can take out in one day.”
He sat there thinking for a minute. Gave the shoebox another nudge. “Money’s not all they’re going to be looking for tonight.”
“I know that,” I said.
He looked at me then—a long, hard look. “Take me to the storage unit. We’re not meeting those fellas unarmed.”
“I already told you, Pops. I don’t want you getting hurt. You can wait for me out in the truck while I deal with them.”
He wasn’t going to hear it. “You can get yourself that old revolver of mine too. “You’ll need something you can keep out of sight.”
I pointed at the glove box. “It’s in there.”
He opened the glove box, took out the .22 and checked to see it was fully loaded. “You bring extra ammo?”
“I forgot and left it at home.”
He shook his head, and I knew he was right. I’d stopped thinking straight the moment I decided to go back to that damn shower stall. And tonight I hadn’t planned anything beyond me either walking back out of the crusher building, or crawling out all busted up, or trying to take both of the McClaines down with me before I bled out on the concrete floor.
I should’ve been more like you, Spence, the way you always laid out all the possibilities before a mission, the way you looked at all the angles. “This is what’s probably going to happen,” you’d say, and then you’d tell us how to play it out. But then you’d run through all the other possibles too, and tell us what to do in every case, Scenarios A, B, C and D. Most likely to least likely. High percentage to low.
Me, I’d only been thinking what I was going to do. What I should’ve been thinking was what the McClaines were most likely to do. Scenario A, B and C at least. Then how I could keep them from doing any of it in the first place. Or how I’d better react when they actually did it.
That’s the way Pops was thinking. He tapped his finger against the face of the dash clock. 9:17. “Quit driving like an old lady and step on it,” he said. “You think they’ll come waltzing in at ten on the button? They’re going to be early. They’re going to assume you weren’t stupid enough to come alone, and they’ll want to pick their own best spots in case they’re right. So we got to be earlier. Now punch that fucking gas.”
I drove as fast as I could without spinning out on the wet roads. Pops sat hunched forward, keeping his face close to the windshield like he was searching for something in every flash of lightning. The only other thing he said before we got to the storage unit was, “You need to replace those wipers. They’re about as useful as tits on a rooster.”
Pops had me douse the lights at the bottom of the hill leading up to the crushing plant. A heavy chain hung across the dirt road at a height of three feet or so, suspended between a couple of concrete poles. “Looks like the Chinese haven’t changed it yet,” I said. “It’s only an S-hook on each end, hanging from an eyebolt.”
Pops wound down the side window, but there wasn’t much he could see by then. The rain was pounding down on the roof and against the windshield harder than ever. Just hearing each other talk was an effort.
I watched the rain sheeting off the glass with every swipe of the wiper blades, and that’s when I realized something. The trouble got started in a rainstorm, and now it was going to end in a rainstorm. How it would end was still to be seen.
After getting his face soaked, Pops rolled the window up again. “It’s impossible to tell if they’re here already or not.” He tapped the readout on the dash clock again: 9:43. “My guess is they are.”
I said, “So I drive on up, go in through the open end of the building, and hand over the money. You stay in the truck, all right? And keep out of sight. If they come back out and I don’t, wait till they’re gone before coming in to check on me.”
“Coming in to scrape you up off the floor, you mean.” He rubbed a hand up and down against his cheek. Then he picked the revolver up off his lap and handed it to me. “Go ahead and take the chain down. Wait for me to drive on through, then hook it up again. That way, if they aren’t here yet, they might think we aren’t either.”
“What’s this for?” I said, meaning the revolver.
“In case they’re out there laying for you.”
“Why would they do that, Pops?”
“Just take it, okay? Makes me feel better.”
So I climbed out with the revolver in my hand. I unhooked one side of the chain, then stepped aside so Pops could drive on through. Thing is, he kept on going. He hit the gas and away the truck went, up the road, spraying me with mud as I stood there by the concrete pole with the chain in my hand, wondering what the hell he was doing.
It didn’t take me long to figure it out. He knew the layout of the plant as good as I did. He knew how long it would take me to climb a hundred yards up that slippery road on foot. He knew he would have plenty of time to turn over the money and deal with whatever happened next. He wanted to keep me out of it. Wanted to make sure I got home again.
I went up that hill as fast as I could, but it wasn’t easy going. I kept slipping and sliding in the mud, falling down and getting up and falling down again. Exactly like in some of the fucking nightmares I have, except in them I’m always trying to save one of the girls from something. This time it was Pops, and this time it was for real.
Up near the top when I could finally see the yard I got a surprise. All the machinery was gone. The conveyers, the feeder, the washer, even the big front loader. The yard was empty but for a couple piles of rock. All this time I had been figuring I had an advantage over the McClaines because I knew where everything was. Knew where to run for cover if I had to. Where to tell Pops to hide out if he had to run.
As far as I could tell, the truck was nowhere to be seen. Nor was any other vehicle. The long metal building where the cone crusher was had a row of narrow windows up near the high roof, and in the dark I could see a light moving around inside. So either Pops was in there with his flashlight, checking things out, or one or more of the McClaines was. So I sneaked up to the building as quiet as I could. What with my footsteps squishing the entire way, I was grateful for once for the thunder and pounding rain.
The feeling I had was the same as being on patrol, Spence. That same adrenaline rush like when you come to a house that needs to be searched and you’ve got no idea what’s waiting on the other side of the door. Worrying about the guys on the stack team and wanting to be there with them when they go rushing into the unknown, but you’re on perimeter security and need to keep your eyes focused on the other houses. And all this time you’re waiting for the bullets to rip, or for an explosion to light up your world and knock you ass backward out of it.
I made my way around to the big open end where we’d drive the front loader in and out. Inching closer to it I could hear snatches of voices inside, so then I knew. I couldn’t make anything out, what with the rain banging and echoing like birdshot against the metal roof, but voices meant Pops wasn’t in there alone.
At the edge of the open bay I sank down on my knees, one hand in the mud, so that my head wasn’t two feet off the ground, and peeked inside. They had Pops sitting up against an I-beam, facing the bay, with the McClaines standing there beside him, one on each side. The whole building was empty, with nothing but a few oil stains where all the equipment used to sit. Phil was facing me but looking down at Pops. Bubby was standing sideways behind Pops’ right shoulder, no doubt keeping an eye on the two closed doors, one on the front of the building and one on the narrow end opposite me. The shoebox with the cash in it was at his feet.
I couldn’t tell if Pops was hurt or not. But he was talking to Phil a mile a minute, I could see that much but couldn’t make out what he was saying. With nothing but roof, I-beams, and the concrete floor, their voices sort of rolled around in there so that when they reached me it was just a kind of hum. Both Phil and Bubby were holding chrome handguns. Nine mils, it looked like. The light was coming from a little battery-operated lantern set up in front of Pops.
Pops’ mouth kept working, with him looking up at Phil all the while. Probably trying to convince him he had come alone. Probably something like, “If I’m not back in my bed by midnight, one of my poker buddies is go
nna pass the news on to every last remaining member of Company 271, along with names and photos of you two and Shelley and even that shit-ugly dog of yours.”
Pops could spin some real stories when he wanted to. Mostly he did it as a joke, but I figured he was doing it in there so as to alert me he wasn’t alone. Whatever his reasons, those McClaine boys didn’t seem to care much. They stood there watching and waiting. They knew I had to come in sooner or later.
I kept peeking into the building, never for more than a second or two at a time, trying to figure out my next move, my knees and one hand sinking into the mud. Finally I told myself to get up and do something. Should I walk in with the revolver popping, first shot toward Bubby, then swinging a bit to fire over Pops’ head at Phil? A .22 doesn’t have a lot of stopping power, not unless it’s used up close enough to leave a powder burn on the skull. So should I tuck the revolver in behind my back and walk inside with my hands in the air? Should I leave the revolver in the mud? I had no fucking idea at all.
I eased myself up and backed away from the opening and then worked my way back around the building, across the wide front, then to the narrow end close to the squat little cinderblock office building. I still had no idea what to do, just that I had to get closer if I was going to do any good. If I tried to rush them, even from behind, they would have a clear shot at me, not to mention at Pops. And I doubted very much that Pops had convinced them of anything. It was me they wanted, and sooner or later they were going to have me. Even if I walked away tonight, that wouldn’t be the end of it. Would they have Shelley charge me with rape? Would they keep harassing us through the girls, so that there’d be no end to this hell? And what about the missing money? How would I ever pay that back?
I’d never see the end of it. That’s the only thing I managed to figure out for sure while sneaking around the building in the mud and the rain. It’s like the war, Spence, you know? It never lets you be. Even after you come home, buy a nice little house, try to fit in and live a decent life, it’s always there with you, isn’t it?
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