When the Night Calls

by Rashad Freeman

  “Looks like you clipped yourself or something, old man. Is that blood?” Tom pointed at his back.

  “What? No, I’m fine I just slipped.”

  Daniel wrenched his head around and turned his shirt, so he could see the back of it. The white button-up was now stained crimson with blood. He ran his hand across it and rubbed the thick syrup in between his fingers

  “Not mine,” he mumbled.

  His eyes shifted from his shirt to the cobbled road. A trail of blood trickled down the street, coming to a small pool where he had fallen. He followed the trail with his eyes to a dumpster behind a convenience store that looked condemned. The windows were boarded up and graffiti smeared nearly every inch of free space.

  “It looks like it’s coming from over there,” Daniel pointed.

  He looked around and surveyed the streets. Everything seemed quiet and empty. The way things normally looked before bad things happened.

  Daniel paused for a moment. The little voice in his head that had kept him alive during his military days was screaming, pleading with him to go home, but city life had made him careless, made him far too curious. Ignoring his common sense, he started walking towards the dumpster.

  “Danny!” Tom shouted. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  “One sec, I wanna see what this is.”

  “Come on man, leave that shit alone,” Tom yelled.

  Cajun Wills Food Store was a rundown little shop that had been known in the neighborhood for selling home remedies. They once carried the type of things that you normally wouldn’t find in traditional stores, things that required a witch doctor to work properly. But when Will died the store closed and the vagabonds and mysterious stories moved in.

  The back area of the store was partially fenced, but the side to the street was completely open. It exposed several green dumpsters lined against a brick wall. Blankets and old, tattered clothes covered most of the parking lot as the place was under constant assault from the growing homeless population.

  Daniel hesitantly walked around the back where a large, black trash bag was propped against a dumpster. He looked nervously from side to side, then continued following the trail like a hound. Tom shouted obscenities from the street as Daniel disappeared into the darkness.

  The area near the dumpster was hidden in the shadows. A large oak tree towered over it and a gang of cats manned the brick wall. Pizza boxes and soda cans had erupted from the top and tumbled onto the floor. Roaches scurried across the pile of trash like it was a treasure chest.

  Daniel stared at the lumpy trash bag. A constant stream of thick, red blood oozed out of the bottom. He could still hear Tom screaming from the street, but ignored him and reached out to untie the knot on the top of the bag.

  “Dr. Montague,” a booming voice exploded from behind him.

  Daniel spun around to his right. Instinctively, he crouched down, poised to attack. His fists were balled up and his jaw clenched tightly.

  “Sheriff Lawson! Jesus, you scared me,” Daniel panted as he straightened up and relaxed his hands.

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows and stepped closer. He surveyed the scene, eyeing Daniel skeptically, then cleared his throat and rested his hand onto his revolver.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” the sheriff finally spoke.

  “Well, we were headed home from the pub and…well it’s fucking blood. It’s coming from this bag over here.” Daniel pointed towards the dumpster.

  The sheriff gazed down with an alarmed guise on his face. “Step back, let me look.”

  He approached the bag and gave it a poke with the toe of his shoe. A glob of blood gushed from the hole on the bottom. This was one of those moments when the sheriff didn’t quite like being the sheriff.

  He looked over to Daniel who gave him a look that he perceived to mean well you’re the guy with the gun. Reluctantly, he knelt and started to untie the bag.

  It was a large, thick, black trash bag, the kind that contractors use. He untied the first bag only to find that there was another bag tied together inside of that.

  "Damn it," he grumbled in a shaky voice.

  The sheriff’s hands started to quiver as he untied the last bag. Swallowing, he steadied himself and mumbled a few choice words as motivation. With Daniel looking on, he slowly opened it and peeked inside.

  “Holy shit!” the sheriff yelped and fell backwards.

  With a look of absolute revulsion, he turned his head and puked chunks of tuna all over the cobbled street. A smell permeated from the bag so rancid it was almost visible. It was enough to make someone tear their nose off.

  Daniel inched forward and glanced inside. He gagged and immediately covered his mouth, swallowing back vomit.

  “What kind of bastard would do this?” the sheriff uttered.

  TAKING OUT THE TRASH

  Daniel’s black BMW zipped down the road in silence. He stared straight ahead, nervously tapping on the steering wheel. His mind ran off to dark places, corners and crevices where the evil things lurked.

  Tom gazed out of the window in a trance. He watched his breath turn to fog on the glass as he tried to recall the phone number of one of the ladies he'd met that night.

  The car slowed as they rounded the corner into the neighborhood. Humming streetlights glowed overhead, illuminating the wide swatches of pavement.

  "Moving on up," Tom mumbled under his breath.

  Daniel lived in a prestigious community known as Olivander Oaks. The streets were lined with large, Victorian houses that harkened back to the renaissance. Each residence occupied a small football field and was the size of a small motel. Enormous oak trees lumbered like giants on every corner and the lush green grass looked as though it’d never known a day without water.

  “What do you think the sheriff’s gonna do?” Tom asked as he turned away from the window.

  “Not sure, but he’s a cat lover. What can he do though? I mean it’s just a bunch of dead cats.”

  “Yeah, takes one sick son of a bitch to do that though and leave em behind a dumpster. Guess it could’ve been worse, I was expecting to find Victor’s fat ass."

  "Hey, that's not funny. You know how this stuff starts."

  "Yeah, Mr. Superstitious. I'll keep my evil thoughts to myself."

  “So, let’s keep this cat stuff between me and you. I don’t wanna freak Monica out,” Daniel said as he pulled into his driveway.

  “You’re the boss."

  Daniel grabbed the wrought iron handles and pushed open the heavy wooden doors to his New Orleans home. Stepping inside, he was immediately tackled by a large, brown retriever named Pocket. Pocket was rescued from the pound after he had been confiscated from his previous owner; a homeless man who’d taught the dog how to snag wallets from unsuspecting tourists.

  “Down boy. Where’s mommy?” Daniel asked as he rubbed the dog’s head.

  Pocket let out a deep bark and took off around the corner, his large claws sliding across the hardwood floor. Daniel nodded at Tom and they followed Pocket further inside. He made his way to the family room, where Monica sat scrolling through random web pages on her laptop.

  “Sorry I’m late, you can see why,” Daniel said and motioned towards Tom.

  Monica glared up at Tom, then to Daniel, then back to her laptop. Tom raised his eyebrows as Daniel grinned and tried to cover his face.

  “Um, this is Tom, my old army buddy,” Daniel spoke up.

  Monica looked up again and smiled politely. She was a fair-skinned redhead who wore glasses, not because of a medical condition, but because she felt they made her look smarter...at least that was what she told Daniel. She was petite, but had a quiet strength to her like a wolverine or badger.

  She sat slumped on the couch with her laptop covering her barely visible baby bump. A somber ballad of jazz music played softly in the background and a few scented candles emitted a lavender aroma.

  “Evening, Tom, or morning anyway. Nice to finally meet you,” Monica sa
id in an almost sarcastic tone. “Daniel has only told me absolutely nothing about you.”

  "That's not true. I... I told you something about him," Daniel objected.

  Monica rolled her eyes. Extending her arm, she slid forward and started to stand up. Tom quickly stepped towards her and reached out.

  “Oh, don’t get up,” he said and shook her hand. “Daniel has a knack for trying to block out his glory days. It’s not surprising that he’d leave out our exploits. Besides I’m pretty sure if he told you, he’d have to kill you,” Tom said with a laugh.

  “He could try,” Monica said with a grin.

  “What are you doing up this early anyway?” Daniel questioned while staring at the clock on the wall.

  “You know I can never sleep when you’re not home,” she replied as she looked back down at the computer screen.

  “Well it was nice meeting you, Monica.”

  “Same to you, Tom.”

  “Danny, if you let me hold the keys I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Daniel gave him a sideways glance then tossed to the keys to Tom. “Have it back here tomorrow and hey, no strange fluids on the seats.”

  “Of course, Danny, don’t be ridiculous,” Tom said loudly as he balled up his fist and moved it back and forth in front of his face. “All of my lady friends swallow,” he mouthed silently then turned to leave.

  "No comment," Daniel sighed then turned back to Monica. “You see anything worthwhile on that thing?”

  Daniel hated how she was always glued to her laptop. It may as well have been permanently attached to her hands.

  “I have a signing in a few weeks,” she said to him.

  Monica had written a book that possibly sold fifteen copies, yet her agent was keen on scheduling her for appearances and book signings. Daniel didn’t think anyone knew or cared who she was. The last signing she did was only twenty miles from where they lived. A handful of school kids showed up, only because someone had said J.K. Rowling was there.

  Monica still didn’t get the message. Daniel didn’t have the heart to tell her she lacked the talent for writing or that he’d purchased at least fourteen books himself.

  “Oh good…. sell any more copies?” he asked.

  “Not yet, but Sandra says it’s getting good traction now and we are coming over the hurdle.”

  Sandra, her agent, was always talking about this infamous hurdle. Either they were behind it, approaching it, or about to clear it. Most times Daniel saw Sandra as the hurdle, the hurdle to Monica accepting the fact that she was no Virginia Woolf.

  “Well that’s good,” Daniel chirped in an uncharacteristically high tone.

  He looked over to the clock and yawned. It was already four in the morning and the hands on the clock seemed to be moving faster every minute.

  “Go to sleep, Daniel, I’ll see you this afternoon,” Monica said.

  Daniel stroked her long, amber hair and kissed her forehead. Monica cooed, then rubbed her hand across his stubbly face.

  "Time for a shave," she whispered.

  Daniel laughed and brought his hand to rest on her belly for a minute. He closed his eyes and tried to envision the life growing inside. The reality was starting to set in, in a few months he'd be a father.

  As he turned to head to the room he paused. He slowly looked back at Monica and then almost in a whisper he spoke, “I love you.”

  “I know,” Monica replied. “Now get to bed. I want to get some shopping done later for the baby’s room.”

  Daniel knew sleep would probably not come, but it was important for Monica that he went through the motions. So, he played his part and made his way to the bedroom.

  He quickly showered and climbed into bed, certain that he wouldn’t sleep at all. Once again, Daniel watched the minutes and hours on the clock melt away. He lay replaying his day and thinking of how crazy it was that Tom showed up. He hadn’t seen him in years and suddenly he was standing at his car.

  Tom was his brother in arms, the one person who knew the best and the worst of him. Tom was also a reminder of a life Daniel had left long ago. A life much more complicated than the one he lived now. A life he had tried so hard to forget.

  Daniel looked away from the clock and began to watch the blades on the ceiling fan rotate in a counter clockwise fashion. The wooden blades spun rapidly, blending into one solid circle. Suddenly the smell of sweat and dirt flooded into his nostrils and the familiar sounds of his home began to fade. In the distance, he could hear men screaming as he lifted his hands to shield his eyes from the sand being blasted by the blades of the helicopter.

  “That butter bar right there’s a sharp shit,” the heavyset captain yelled, pointing in Daniel's direction.

  Daniel looked up from his tent across the swirling dirt. Two stoic-faced men wearing fatigues with no insignia were making their way towards him.

  “You Lieutenant Montague?” one of the men yelled over the roar of the blades.

  Daniel nodded as they waved him over. He sighed and followed them into one of the green canopies that lined the dirt road.

  “There’s some work for you over in the Mekong Delta. The company has two high value targets that need to be dealt with yesterday.”

  Daniel grinned and took the large, padded, manila envelope containing his mission details.

  “Charlie aint getting no prettier,” Daniel murmured as he stared at the picture of the two Viet Cong officers. “What’s my tranpso?”

  “You’ll be heading down river in a PBR leaving at 1300 hours.”

  Daniel nodded then left the tent and headed straight to the riverbank to wait for his pick-up. Shady meetings like these, with shady characters, were commonplace for Daniel. It’d become routine and he seldom asked questions anymore.

  It was now mid-afternoon, and the sun was beaming down, radiating from the trees like a sauna. All manner of insects seemed to flock to their forward operating base, their loud buzzing sounded like incoming airplanes.

  Standing at the edge of the water was a tall, slender man smoking a cigarette. As Daniel approached him, the man slowly turned around and eyed him suspiciously. He flicked his cigarette into the murky waters of the Mekong and spat onto the ground.

  “I’m Tom, Tom Naph. I’ll be your spotter today,” he said and held his hand out to Daniel.

  Daniel laughed then slapped his hand down. “Get the hell outta here, Tom. Seriously though, I hope you’re ready for some hairy shit.”

  Tom nodded then lit up another cigarette and sucked in a deep breath. “Hairy, I like hairy,” he laughed as he blew smoke into the air.

  Tom and Daniel had worked together for some time, but if Daniel was a daredevil then Tom was Evel Knievel. He was always eager to accept the most dangerous missions, always wanting to be the first to fight.

  This time was no different. Miles behind enemy lines, hours away from any rescue. This was where Tom excelled. This was where they both excelled and like the Master Sergeant had told them before, killing was in their DNA.

  Once the boat arrived, Daniel tossed in his bag and he and Tom settled down for the six-hour ride south to the delta. As the boat drifted down the twisting river he stared off into the jungle. Funny he thought, under different circumstances this would be a pretty nice place to visit. I could grill a few hot dogs over there and maybe do some fishing over there; he envisioned selecting ideal spots in his head.

  As the boat listed to the side, Daniel looked across the way to Tom, who was busy getting into what he called, warrior mode. He was deep in meditation, staring off into the ether. His lanky arms dangled from the side of the boat. The dirty brown water swirled a few inches below like a clogged toilet.

  In the distance the rapid staccato of gunfire played like a soundtrack. Daniel shifted his weight and pulled his hat over his eyes. He’d grown to love the noise, to yearn for the sounds of conflict and destruction. It had become the only thing that calmed him, silence was now his enemy.

  As night fell over the jungle,
they arrived at their location and dismounted the boat. Under the cover of dark, they made the two-mile trek to the delta. It was an uneventful, yet grueling march through patches of spider infested bushes.

  Tom dropped his pack and started to set up. The two targets were set to pass the location in less than five hours. Daniel had been instructed to demo the entire roadway, demolishing the convoy that the targets rode in. Anyone not destroyed by the blast would be taken care of with his Remington model seven hundred.

  Daniel sat motionless blending into the foliage, as tiny drops of rain trickled down the leaves. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed nearby, while the creatures of the Vietnamese jungle sang a melodic tune. Tom rustled through the brush, trying to find a comfortable place to watch what he called the barbeque.

  “Everything is set,” Tom whispered.

  “Good, I’m ready to go home,” Daniel grumbled. “I’m freaking hungry.”

  He stared through the scope on his rifle, watching the tiny dots morph into a convoy of trucks. Slowly they all entered the blast zone and Daniel squeezed the detonator.

  The glare of the explosion lit up the night sky. The munitions carried by some of the trucks set off secondary blasts that may have been a Fourth of July celebration, if not for the screams of burning men and severed body parts that littered the jungle floor. From the lead vehicle the driver exited, seemingly uninjured.

  “Target, three hundred meters left,” Tom said in a hushed tone.

  Daniel carefully aimed his rifle, zeroing in on the man’s head. He took a slow breath, paused and gently squeezed the trigger.

  A sudden buzzing erupted like a siren, piercing his ears with an angry stab. He rolled over, squinting as he glared at the green glowing numbers.

  8 AM. Three hours he thought to himself, far above the norm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that long.

  “I’m so sorry, babe,” Monica professed as she rushed into the room, slamming her hand onto the screeching clock. “I totally forgot to turn it off after I got up this morning.”

  “No worries, I was ready to get up anyway. We have to get a move on this baby shopping.” Daniel smiled as he rubbed her slowly growing belly.