CHAPTER 27
“Welcome home, soldier.”
It was dark. And they looked like three ghosts sitting in the front seat of a parked car at Southgate Apartments. They were almost afraid to move.
“Crazy.”
“You think they followed us?”
“Dead.”
“I didn't see any lights on in the house.”
“Stupid.”
“I think we're safe.”
They sought confirmation from the following silence.
“I think you're right, Rick,” Nat finally said. “What do you think, Julian?”
“What?”
“You think my car is hot?”
“How should I know? But if it isn't, it's a miracle.”
“That's for sure,” Santo said.
“What the hell happened in there, man?”
“This guy, Manford, pulled a gun on us. I flicked off the lights, and Paisley went for him. A few shots later, I turned on the lights and saw Paisley bury his knife into Manford's chest. Paisley was badly shot and died before I could do anything for him.”
“And Manford?”
“He's dead, too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Nat muttered.
“I don't get none of this,” Julian said. “They let us go. Why?”
“I don't know.”
A slow and bewildered whistle escaped from Julian in response. “Man.”
“This is too much for me,” Nat said. “Hey, I'm just an ordinary guy.”
“What happened to the four bags of weed and—”
“I left it all behind, Julian.”
“But…but that was a lot of stuff, man.”
“Yeah. And maybe…just maybe…they'll really leave us alone.”
“Maybe. And maybe—”
“Just maybe, he's right,” Nat interjected, with a finality that led to a silence as dark as the unlit parking lot surrounding them.
They stared straight ahead like three ceramic owls until a tap on the rear window startled them. Julian hit his right knee against the window crank.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Shit!”
“Hey guys,” Kerry said.
“Goddamn it! Scare the hell out of us, why don't you.”
“Sorry, Richard. I saw you all drive by. Is anything wrong? Where's Paisley?”
“What happened to the lights?” Santo asked, avoiding Kerry's question.
“What lights?” Julian said.
“I noticed they were out when we drove by.”
“The electricity has been cut off,” Kerry said.
“How come?”
“Looks like somebody didn't pay the utilities.”
“Are you sure it's the utilities?”
“We're the only dark house on the street and the fuses in the box aren't blown.”
“Well,” Santo said, “that's why they invented candles, right?”
“If you say so,” Kerry said. “Where's Paisley?”
Santo waited until they were safely in Six-thirteen's porch before answering Kerry's question. “He's dead.”
The light of a match shattered the darkness before touching a candle wick.
“Who's dead?” Gladys asked in a tremulous voice before blowing out the match.
“I'm sorry, Gladys…Paisley.”
The flame danced and curled in response to a draft. She sat down, looking stunned. “Are we safe?”
“I don't know, Gladys. I'm not sure about anything anymore,” he said.
“What happened?”
Santo explained the details once again. But he left out most of his vocal inflection because he was tired. He stripped the story to the bone; it left them feeling cold.
“We've run out of luck,” she concluded. “I need a drink. Do we have anything left?”
“There's wine in the refrigerator,” Melisa said.
Santo escorted her into the kitchen. The edge of the counter guided them to the refrigerator where he found what she was looking for. She drank deeply and with the need to alter her state of mind.
“Can I do anything for you?” he asked.
“Don't worry, hon, I'm fine.”
His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark; he could see Melisa approaching them.
“Is there anything I can do, Gladys?” Melisa said.
“I'd like to get some fresh air.”
“Come on, hon. I'll take her, Rick.”
“Be careful, okay?”
“Don't worry, I've got her.”
He sat down at the kitchen table with the bottle of wine as they dissolved into the darkness.
“Take care of her, Melisa,” Julian said, as he emerged from the darkness. He found a chair and sat on the opposite side of the table. “I can sure use a hit off that wine.”
He pushed the bottle toward Julian and watched him drink voraciously. When Julian was finished, he set the empty bottle on the table.
“That's how it used to happen in country,” Julian murmured. “Suddenly…there was death.”
“Yeah. In country. You've been to Nam.”
“Army. You?”
“Marine Corps.”
“Yeah,” Julian said. “Sometimes they just wouldn't be around anymore. Like Paisley. I don't know which was worse: to see them get wasted, or feel their nonexistence.”
“What outfit were you with?”
“187th Infantry Battalion. Alpha Company.”
“Then you saw action.”
“Yeah. And you?”
“First Recon. 1st Marine Division.”
Julian acknowledged the unit's combat reputation. “Welcome home, soldier.”
“Yeah. Welcome home.”