by Layla Wolfe
I glanced down at Linus, and I could’ve sworn he was grinning.
I was too.
Who was Heaven, aside from a Morbot fundy from a secretive enclave? I’d met up with people who had been prisoners of war. Not a pretty experience trying to navigate their minds. It took a lifetime to iron them out, if ever. But this angel—my angel—had willingly, with trust, gone with me, a complete stranger. Maybe she was overly rustic . . .
We crunched the rocky driveway that led to Sax and Bee’s A-frame under the pines. A gruff and gravelly sort of guy waited by the front porch light wearing a Bare Bones cut, a pitcher on a tray in front of him.
I took Heaven’s helmet and placed it in Linus’ sidecar. Heaven bent to open his door, and he licked her face in gratitude. Her bun was messed up from the helmet, and she slid out the hairpin. That’s when her long and silken caramel-colored hair came loose. It’s like she was removing curlers or something, how it bounced to her waist. Her bust was much too large for the button-down shirt, and I looked away in shame. I needed to treat her like a respectable woman.
“Welcome, Town and Heaven,” Sax said, his voice gravelly too. He poured a glass and lifted it to me as we approached. I was afraid it was beer, so I let Heaven go before me.
She whipped the glass from his hand and gulped as though we’d been riding across the desert instead of the cool mountains.
“Oh, that’s delicious. What kind is it?”
Sax held his chin high. “Bass Ale. Town?”
I made a “pass” sign with my hand. “I’m good.”
“Come on in,” said Sax. “Bee should be here in a couple minutes. She just had to go close up her nursery.”
“Plants?” said Heaven, surprisingly taking the lead. “I love plants. In Cornucopia, I used to plow the ground with a horse. I grew potatoes and corn. I loved working with the soil.”
Sax said, “Then you should get along with Bee. She does love her plants. Come on in.”
The steepled roof soared, and I breathed in the woodsy scent of the house materials.
“I always looked forward to winter,” Heaven babbled on, and I saw she’d already finished her beer. “It was a sort of hibernation period. Of course we still had the chickens to deal with. And it still took me sixteen hours a day to keep the stove going. I did the lunch dishes, had two sips of coffee, took a dead leaf off a succulent, and then it was time for dinner. I think it would be much nicer taking care of only one man, no women and children.”
Sax chuckled. “Talk to Bee about how nice it is. I’m a rock man myself, not the cleanest fellow but not the most demanding either.”
“Rock man?” I asked, as we took seats on overstuffed leather couches that formed an L before an unused fireplace.
“A mineralogist. I have a rock shop in P and E. I’m off at shows and conventions or just on the road looking for a specific item.”
I spoke directly to Heaven now. It wasn’t the rock man I wanted to get to know. “So you, ah, love farming?” Of course I had in mind my mushroom farm dream.
“Oh, yes!” she said as she accepted another pour of beer from Sax. “I would stand for an hour soaking in the glory of a sun-drenched branch of jasmine. I’d walk in the citrus orchards and sink my face into the fragrant boughs. I just thanked God for the miracle of fertility.” Her face fell a bit. “But mostly I worked in the chicken coops.”
Sax said, “Your brother Sock Monkey is big into the pot plantation on Mormon Mountain. Run by Lytton Driving Hawk.”
“Yes!” Heaven said. “That’s the guy I spoke to on the phone when looking for Arkie—I mean Sock Monkey.”
“Doctor Driving Hawk,” said Sax as he rolled a joint on top of a magazine. “He’s a real good fellow to know in a tight spot. And what’re you here for, Town? Aside from escorting these two lovelies.”
Sax smiled at Linus. I was mortified when Linus got the idea this meant he could leap onto the couch, nearly bowling over Heaven. I let him do that at my condo.
“Oh, sorry, sorry,” I said.
“No worries,” said Sax. He scrunched Linus’ head in his broad palm. “It’s leather. So what’re you here for?”
“Well,” I said, at the risk of sounding corny, “I finally mustered out of the army after ten years, so I’m just on a road trip to get to know my new self a bit better.” I could feel myself blush, admitting this personal shit to two strangers, but for some reason I kept on. “I was in Syria for a long time. Coming back is pretty strange. Everything is so fast, glamorous, and colorful. And of course, I need to learn the ins and outs with Linus here.”
“He’s adorable,” gushed Heaven, rubbing her face on his ear. “I’d say you are doing a good job of training.”
I sighed. “It’s a process. I know when it’s Linus time. I’ll put on his working dog collar and walk him, and he holds his head up. So far, I’ve been bouncing balls for him off the hallways of my condo. Since leaving Fort Carson, I’ve let him run off-road a few times, and he’s like a furry streak. He enjoys watching YouTube.”
“Seriously?” cried Heaven, hand to chest. “Our dogs never paid attention to a screen.”
“Oh, he follows it avidly! He moves his head in time to the action, barking at the good stuff. Chirping squirrels make him stand at attention. He likes to watch horses run, and he puts his head down like a horse.”
Heaven’s smile was fluid, as though she were on the verge of tears. It was always difficult to tell when my own tears reflected a deeper, ingrained sadness. I cried at sappy things, like the Puppies Behind Bars videos where a scraggly, ill dog gets a bath and is rehabbed into a fluffy pup with a forever home. Was that sad crying or happy crying?
“That’s adorable,” whispered Heaven. Linus agreed, making a “ruff” without even opening his mouth.
There was a clamoring at the front door then, and Bee entered with what looked like a bundle of swiss chard in her hand, a plastic bag of maybe carrots in the other. Sax went to help her, and I was left alone—well, if you didn’t count the dog—with Heaven.
She cut right to the chase. “Why’d they give you a companion dog? Because you limp?”
I had not met many new folks since getting Linus. Just the usual crowd of Joes around my condo, getting plowed like professional juicers. They already knew of my ailments, so I had nothing to explain. I stammered, “Ah, my spine is messed up. Compression on the disks. It affects my left leg sometimes.” I was glad I hadn’t had to use the cane in front of her . . . yet.
Her hands clasped between her knees, eyebrows furrowed, she leaned forward. “How did it happen, though? In the army?”
“Yes.” I paused. Heaven was expecting an explanation. I loathed the way it came back to me, complete with smells and sounds. The burnt body of a boy. The scent of my Syrian cohort’s mango tobacco. I almost shot a man just because he entered an alleyway and I didn’t know him. That’s the sort of thing that mangles your soul, day in, day out.
The cracking of tracer rounds when we were ambushed in the middle of the night. We were in a giant bowl, the indigo sky shimmering with trillions of stars. And there they were, Iraqis peeking over the berm, blasting us with machine guns and heavy munitions from a Soviet tank. We returned fire with adrenaline and exhilaration. Raining rounds from our .50 cal machine gun, our M240s hammering away.
Syria is where I ran up against people I can never forget.
I tried again. “Yes, in the army. I was, ah, heading for the Iraqi border police HQ. From a hundred yards off, their dozen red cigarette tips glowed in the darkness. Twenty tractor trailers were parked outside because the drivers couldn’t finish paperwork, or didn’t have it. The feeling was . . . either boring or sinister, whichever way you looked at it. In Syria, you never knew.” Why was I telling her all this? I didn’t want to bore her to death.
Yet her eyes gleamed with excitement and empathy at the same time. “Oh, no! I have a bad feeling about this.”
I quirked my mouth. “Yeah, well. It was too dangerous to let
the truckers stay inside our defensive perimeter while they waited for the office to open. They nodded, flicked out their cigs, and got back into their trucks. This was our nightly round.”
“But then an Iraqi yelled ‘Mushkila!’’ That means ‘problem’ in Arabic. He kept pointing at the rigging behind his cab, in between two trucks. I should’ve known better, I really should’ve.”
“Oh dear God, no,” whispered Heaven.
I nodded. “The second I leaned over to inspect the coupling, someone shoved me from behind, jamming me into the metal and wiring. When I turned, a second man was coming at me with a long knife in his hand.”
“Like an ambush!”
“Exactly. That’s what it was. I call it an assassination attempt. I dodged the knife, and we became locked together like two boxers in a clinch, unable to connect any blows. He stabbed the top edge of my body armor, then tore through my triceps.”
“The actual muscle?”
Instinctively I put my hand over the scar. “Yeah . . . I shoved him off and ripped my pistol from my holster. I shot one round square into his chest. He screamed like a guy going off a cliff in a western movie.” I tried to chuckle. “But then I was falling, the guy with the knife on top of me. I managed to squeeze off two more rounds before my head hit concrete and everything went black.”
“Oh. My.” Heaven, too, fell backward into the luxury of the couch cushions. She exhaled mightily. “Town. You’ve been through a lot.”
I leaned back too, running one arm on the couch above her shoulder. It was a chummy move to make, but fuck, I’d just told her the most monumentally bad day of my life. “Yeah. You, too. How’d you wind up with the Friends of Distinction?”
Bee butted in then, wanting to whisk Heaven off for a shower and clean clothes. Was it my imagination, or did Heaven look back longingly at me over her shoulder?
Sax took over, again offering me a beer from the refreshed pitcher. I was actually tempted for the first time in two months, but my mouth automatically said no. What would be the harm? It’s nine o’clock. Not like Heaven and I are continuing to P and E tonight. How many times had I wondered, when my buddies sat around my condo slamming liquor, whether or not I could take just one or two?
But for now, I decided to keep it safe. I must’ve put the bottle down a thousand times in the days leading up to meeting Linus. I could leave it untouched now.
We went onto Sax’s rear deck, where crickets cheeped in the undergrowth. Linus came with us, lying primly with his couch legs sticking out straight, cocking his ears at the insects. The back floodlight illuminated an open space carpeted with pine needles, and the scent was almost overwhelming, blooming in my nostrils. What would it be like, living with a woman you loved passionately? Would it involve breakfast in bed? Kissing her shoulder while she washed the dishes? Raking the, uh, pine needles? I realized I really had no idea what it would entail. My only concepts of marriage came from observing my parents, and they really weren’t a model I wanted to emulate.
Sax cut right to the chase. “She’s from that fundy stronghold.”
I nodded crisply, soldier-like. “Yes.”
“You better be careful. We don’t need anything going tits up.”
I frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Those fundies. They’ve got eyes and ears all over this state. If they had half a mind to, they could put us right in their crosshairs. We just got a shipment of coffee beans from Colombia. The investigators at the airport decided to check the bag because it was addressed to Santino D’Antonio, which stupidly is a character from the movie John Wick.”
I shrugged. “What’d they find?”
He shrugged. “Cocaine. We’re in a bit of a sensitive spot right now.”
“No doubt.”
“We’ve had peripheral ops with those fundies. We don’t need any more sights on us since we’re running our own ops. Brother club the Assassins of Youth set up right outside their front door.”
“Never heard of them. Then again, I’m from Fort Carson. Never been this far south.”
Sax managed a small smile. “We got a couple guys who are former military. You’ll run up against them if you’re down there with Crybaby. Fox Isherwood and Tanner Principato.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking of starting a mushroom farm.”
“Now there’s a fucking idea. You got any experience in that?”
I had to admit, “No. It’s just an idea. I always wanted to farm.”
Sax gestured with his beer. “This gal Heaven seems to know a lot about it.”
Frankly, I hadn’t put two and two together. Now that Sax mentioned it, she had talked a lot about farming. “Hm, you could be right. But she talks chicken farming.”
“And soil. Don’t underestimate anyone with farming knowledge. My wife was studying to be a nun, but she wanted to fulfill her love of plants, so she left the order and opened a nursery.”
“Well . . . I get the impression Heaven won’t be around after awhile.”
“You think she’s going back to that stronghold? Nah. Once a woman has been traumatized to that extent, she’s done. She wants to put some distance between her and them.”
“Well. She’s got a clean burner phone. I don’t see how they could find her down here.”
Sax lifted his chin. “Speaking of Crybaby. Make sure to give him shit about his rice rocket Suzuki. He just won’t give that thing up. And hassle him about the time he cried when his lottery ticket didn’t win.”
We both roared with laughter. I realized I hadn’t laughed like that in many months. How can you find humor in the constant assault on your senses of unwelcome memories? Chief among them was the day I’d just described to Heaven.
I was still chuckling when I said, “To be fair, he had to shoot one of his own men who’d been gutted like a horse in the bull ring. He has reason to cry.”
That sobered us up. We were silent when Heaven darted out from the house, holding aloft her burner phone. “I think it’s ringing!” she cried. “What do I do?”
At least, I think that’s what she was saying. I was so damned distracted by her wet hair squiggling over her swinging breasts, I didn’t really listen to her.
She wore some kind of sleeveless sports jersey, and as thin as her frame was, her tits really spoke to me. Round and juicy, and even through the bra you could easily see her nipples protruding. I suppose she wore leggings under that shirt, but I knew instantly I wanted to bury my face in her chest.
And that’s when I noticed the spreading green-purple bruise on her shoulder. Rage broiled in the pit of my stomach. I knew that blow had come from Cornucopia—it was too old to have come from Flagstaff and our Friends of Distinction—and I wanted revenge. A strike that misses its mark can injure you even more. I wondered what emotional damage had been done to her.
We were both beaten, wounded warriors. And I wanted to see Heaven thrive.
Chapter Nine
Heaven
Sax whipped the phone from my hand, giving Town and me a chance to share an uncomfortable glance.
During the split second we locked eyes, something happened. I knew I looked like heck, hair still dripping from the shower, wearing a sports bra under a football jersey. I felt as naked as a crown without stones, yet for the first time in years, it didn’t irritate me.
I was sort of proud in a weird way when Town’s eyes jumped to my rack. It was obvious that he felt ashamed of having glanced there, and he looked back into my eyes with a crisp military nod. It was my turn to feel ashamed. I was about to talk to my brother for the first time in ten years, yet I cared so damn much about this soldier, this wounded army captain just brimming with emotion. Why had he told me that intensely personal story about being attacked in Syria? He barely knew me.
Then it occurred to me, he might feel he “owned” me in some way for having saved me from those brutes in Flagstaff. They were just rapists, pure and simple—although I still didn’t know what Town’s motivation was for delivering me from t
hem. Was Town yet another rapist lined up at my door, so to speak? Yet for a few blissful moments riding bitch on his ride, I had reflected on Nathaniel Hawthorne. “Our creator would never have made such lovely days and deep hearts to enjoy them unless we were meant to be immortal.” Could Brighten and my sister-wives have been right? Was God real?
Or was my destiny to attract twisted assailants at every step of the way?
Oh. Sax was talking into the phone. “Hey Sock Monkey. I’ve got your sister here at my house. Yeah, your actual sister Heaven. Heaven, right?”
I nodded, eager and morose at the same time. Could that be Arkie?
“Nah, I think she’s the real deal. One of our men found her in Flagstaff, saved her in a way, brought her here. Fuck yeah, I’ll be at the fish fry. But only if you make that Navajo fish. Semolina? Yeah whatever it was, it was superb.”
I was growing impatient with the chatter. I screeched, “It’s me, Arkie!” Sax grinned warmly and handed me the phone. “Arkie, Arkie!” I shouted into the slim black thing.
“Heaven?” He sounded completely mystified.
“Yes, it’s me!”
“How the fuck did you wind up in Flagstaff?”
“Oh, it’s a long fucking story”—I was becoming like one of them, with my language!—"which I’ll tell you when I see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Who are you with?”
I glanced at Town, who looked at me from under his eyelashes while holding a conversation with Sax. “A guy named Town. He’s former army, so he’s very good at protecting me.” Did a smile flash across Town’s lush mouth?
He mumbled to Sax, “Yeah, I’ll definitely make sure she’s in good hands before I jet off to see Crybaby.”
I was inordinately let down at the thought of Town “jetting off.” “Pardon?” I had to ask my brother, because I hadn’t heard him.
He said, “What about your husband in Cornucopia? He know you’re out here?”
“Oh hell no, Arkie! And don’t you go calling there either! That guy was one abusive sonofabitch”—I used some of the sweetbutt terms for Orson—“and I’m never going back there again. I’ll get a job in Pure and Easy. Don’t worry, I won’t be a burden on you.”
