Ray Fluker set his fork on the table and leaned back in the booth. He washed down his last bite of steak with the final sip of beer from the tall Pilsner glass. He had never been to a Ruth's Chris Steak House before. "That was the best meal I ever had."
George smiled from the other side of the booth. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
A waiter appeared beside the table like a genie from a bottle and asked if they wanted dessert. Fluker glanced over at George. "Okay if I have another beer?"
"Of course," George said. "That's a great idea." He looked up at the uniformed waiter. "Two more tall ones."
"Coming right up," the waiter said. Then he plucked up their empty plates and glasses and vanished.
"Thanks for all this," Fluker said. "I wasn't expecting...A burger and fries would have been just fine."
George shook his head. "Don't mention it. It was my pleasure. In my business, all the lunches, all the dinners, they're always with such fakes. It's good just to go out and have a steak and some beers with a real buddy."
Fluker nodded. But his friend's generosity embarrassed him. He couldn't repay it, couldn't even hope to. Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. And that made him nervous. He wasn't good at small talk. He knew that. There had been a time when he was. But not anymore.
"How's it going with the VA?" George asked.
Fluker shrugged. "About like I expected. Not good. Terrible, really."
"What's the problem?"
"When I finally got in to see the doc, he put me on some medication, you know, on account of my headaches."
George nodded. "That's good, though. Right?"
"It would be," Fluker said. "Except I can't get the VA to approve the payment to the pharmacy, so I can't actually get the medicine."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Not unless you get elected president. Or get appointed head of the VA"
George smiled. Then his face took on a serious look as he said, "How did it happen?"
"You mean how did I get hit?"
George nodded.
Fluker smiled. "I forgot to duck." He hated talking about it. Although, if he had to talk to somebody, George would probably be the guy. George didn't say anything. Fluker could sense his friend was reluctant to ask again. It was one of those social phobias, asking a guy about the war. "Just kidding," Fluker said. "Although that's not too far from the truth. Not much to tell, though, you sure you want to hear it?"
"Yeah," George said. "If you don't mind telling me."
"It was my second tour."
"Iraq or Afghanistan?"
"Iraq. In 2007, during what they called the surge. I was eleven-bravo, that's infantry, but I was doing convoy escort. This one trip through downtown Baghdad, I was riding shotgun in the lead Humvee when we hit a mine, an IED. Flipped us over. Blast killed the driver. The sixty gunner lost a leg. I got burned."
"Your Humvee caught on fire?" George asked.
"Yeah," Fluker said. "Turned out my burns were pretty bad." He rubbed his beard, which he knew only partially hid the scars on his face and neck. "And I hit my head. I guess my helmet came off. I hit it hard. A closed head traumatic brain injury, they call it. The doc said it did some permanent damage, but I can't really tell. I healed up. Feel pretty good now."
The waiter reappeared with two tall Pilsner glasses, their surfaces slick with condensation. "Here you are, gentlemen," he said as he set them down. "Will there be anything else?"
"Not right now," George said.
The waiter nodded and took his leave.
Fluker took a long sip. All that talking had made him thirsty.
"How long were you in the hospital?" George asked.
"Four months."
"Then what happened?"
"I tried to stay in the Army and finish my hitch, but they put me out on a medical. I only had three years in service, so I don't get much of a pension. But I am supposed to get free medical for life. It's just...it's hard to actually get it, to get what they owe me."
"That's awful."
"Were you ever in the military?"
"No," George said. "I thought about it, but another opportunity came along."
Fluker nodded. "It's not for everybody, but I liked it. I liked the Army. I was thinking about staying in and doing my twenty."
"I'm sorry, Ray."
Fluker shrugged. Then he cleared his throat. Time to talk about something else. "So, what's this favor you need?"
Grinning like he was embarrassed, George said, "It's such late notice, I hate to even ask."
"That's what friends do, right? They help each other."
George nodded.
"So come on," Fluker said. "Whatever you need, consider it done."
"Thing is," George said, "I bought a new washer and dryer, and they're being delivered tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"But I read online that the president is going to be in town giving a speech not far from my apartment."
"I read that too," Fluker said. "In the newspaper. There's usually a copy in the break room at work."
"Yeah, and by ten o'clock all the streets downtown are going to be blocked off, so the guys delivering my washer and dryer have to do it early...like eight a.m. early."
"And you need help hauling them up."
"Exactly," George said.
"That's nothing," Fluker said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "I'll take the bus over before work."
George smiled. "Man, you're a lifesaver."
Fluker felt his face flush. "No problem. Anything for a friend."