by Matt Kincade
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Carmen repeated. She stared in disbelief. “How the hell did you do this?”
“That’s the great part. I didn’t do none of it. This here is all courtesy of the US Government. I seen you out jogging. Did you ever notice the big cement pad over cross the hill?”
Carmen nodded. “The one that looks like some kind of foundation?”
“That’s the one. ’Cept it ain’t no foundation. That’s the lid for a nuclear missile silo.” Alex limped forward with his cane. “Whole place, house included, got built back in the fifties. Army officers would live in that house, pretendin’ to be June and Ward Cleaver, and all the time, they’d have their thumbs on the button that could nuke Mother Russia. Crazy, ain’t it?”
“Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“Crazier still is that they forgot all about it. Shut ’er down, lost the paper work. Or somethin’ like that. Mack found this for me. He’s got a way with archives.” He gestured toward the military transport. “That one was down here when I found it. The rest are my collection. Don’t like to take ’em out when I’m working. I’d hate to have to leave ’em, or get ’em get shot up or somethin’.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”
Alex led her across the garage space to a man-size door in the wall. They followed a bare concrete hallway, with conduits running above, and color-coded stripes along the wall painted with stencils that said, power main, staging, and fire control, among other things.
“How big is this place?”
“Pretty danged big. Don’t know what all they planned to do with this place, but it was more than just a missile base. They got bunks down here for a few hundred, mess halls, gym, shooting range, you name it. I still don’t think I’ve seen all of it. For all I know, they were planning to restart the world after Armageddon.”
Carmen, speechless, followed him. They passed empty rooms with windows of wire-reinforced glass, their purposes long since forgotten. Faded squares on the walls marked where desks or pictures had once been. One room held a single broken office chair. “‘Course, it’s more space than I know what to do with. When I come down here, I mostly hang around the control room. Officers’ quarters were a little nicer, and they open right up into the fire control room.”
They came to a door. Alex flicked on a light. Inside was a fully equipped dojo, with a full-wall mirror, hardwood floors, punching bags, Wing Chun dummies, racks brimming with every conceivable kind of weapon: spears, pikes, sai, nunchucks, knives and clubs and maces. One full rack was devoted to katanas. “I’d rather train upstairs in the yard, but this is pretty nice when it’s rainin’.”
Carmen admired the swords. “You have quite a collection,” she said.
He smiled, with a hint of pride. “Guess I do, don’t I?”
“I noticed the sword you brought with you. It says, ‘Protector of Men’.”
“Yeah, friend of mine in California made that. It’s my name. Alexander. Means ‘protector of men’ in Greek. Kinda dumb, really. Good blade, though.” He pointed out another door. “Got a regular gym in there, weight benches ‘n’ such. Then of course…” He crossed the hallway and opened yet another door. “We got the armory.”
The lights came up, and they were confronted with enough firepower to equip a small army. Everything from tiny derringer pistols to mortars. Rocket launchers, grenades, .50 caliber machine guns. Cases upon cases of ammunition. “‘Course, I don’t actually use most of this junk. But you know how it is when you start collecting something. Nice to have it around, just in case.” The next room over was a long dark cavern with stalls at the near end and targets at the far end. “Firing range,” said Alex.
“I can’t even believe this,” said Carmen.
“Heck, you ain’t seen the half of it.”
Next, Alex led her into a room that was the archetype of a control room, a Cold War relic of consoles and computers, darkened scopes and screens, a place where dozens of balding technicians and engineers had sat in swivel chairs and operated machinery that could destroy the world. Now it was a den. What used to be an observation area now held two couches and a flat-screen TV.
All around, on and between the lifeless rows of consoles, was a museum of Americana. A Phillips 66 gas pump. A man-size tiki statue with an attached plastic palm tree. Wood-panel TVs with tiny, rounded screens. A shelf full of vintage lunchboxes, from Hopalong Cassidy to Flash Gordon. A bookshelf with a full set of Hardy Boys books. A row of Kit-Cat clocks, each one glancing left and right as its tail swung. A full-size Howdy Doody puppet. A half dozen jukeboxes. A wall of enameled metal Coca-Cola signs. A Formica-topped diner table with two chrome stools. A flock of plastic pink flamingos standing sentry around a vintage Coke machine.
Carmen wandered through the aisles as if in a museum. She was in a museum. “Mack was right. You really are into this stuff, aren’t you?”
Alex came up behind her as she peered at a neon-and-chrome wall clock. “Guess I always been that way. Can’t rightly explain it. When I was a kid, I’d always watch them old shows on TV, Andy Griffith and such, and it always just seemed…I dunno, like it was a better time. I wanted to live there. Here everything was all screwed up. Watch the news, and there’s pollution, wars, crime. I remember bein’ in the backseat of my folks’ Oldsmobile, and I’d look along the roadsides and see all these faded signs, broke-down old gas pumps, old motel signs…” Alex leaned both hands on one of the old consoles and looked back toward Carmen. “All that stuff seemed like relics from some golden age. Seemed like there I was, livin’ in the ruins. Like I missed the boat. The past seemed magical. Just this…optimism. You know? Like our time had come. We was on top of the world, and we was stayin’ that way. ’Course, it ain’t real. Never was. Just rose-colored glasses…just the great American fairy tale.”
Carmen leaned forward, examining a red-and-white Burma-Shave sign. “I’m sure it seemed real at the time. We’d just won the war, the economy was booming, science was doing incredible things. It was a good time.”
Alex shook his head. “Nah. World was just as fucked up back then. In lots of ways, more so.” He nodded toward two towering metal cylinders, one fat, one skinny, like a steel Laurel and Hardy. “I mean, you see them? Those two are exact replicas of Fat Man and Little Boy, the atomic bombs we dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The really messed-up thing is that they started it all. How’s that for a mind fuck? The whole atomic age. Elvis Presley, I Love Lucy, flyin’ to the moon, better livin’ through chemistry. The whole American Gilded Age. And it all started when we vaporized two hundred thousand innocent people. It was all because we needed to figure out better ways to murder people. I mean, how the hell do you square that one up in your head? How’s that supposed to make any sense at all?”
Carmen sighed. “Sometimes there’s no making sense of things.”
Alex ran one finger along the headstock of a sky-blue Stratocaster guitar. “Goddamn it, though. I love it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“When I was a kid, I figured out Santa wasn’t real, pretty early on. But the weird thing is, I pretended like I still believed. I wasn’t just foolin’ my parents—I was foolin’ myself. And I was okay with that. It’s like…the lie was too good. I still had to believe. That sound crazy to you?”
“No. That’s not crazy at all.” She hooked an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Alex grinned stupidly. “Glad you think so.” He stood there, enjoying the moment. “Well, c’mon. Let’s finish the tour.”
He led Carmen down a short, carpeted hallway. Here the musty cavelike smell of the rest of the compound didn’t penetrate. The air was warm and dry.
“This was the officers’ quarters,” Alex said. “They had a little rec room there.” He gestured toward a room with a few pinball machines and a pool table. “Kitchen, all that stuff.”
Carmen still h
eld onto Alex. His arm was solid like a bar of iron, yet responsive to her touch. His arm hairs tickled against her forearm. She faintly smelled the clean scent of his sweat.
“This here’s my real room.”
It was a modest square of a bedroom. A queen-size bed, neatly made, with a white comforter and a hardwood headboard. A cherrywood dresser, a wardrobe. A row of cowboy boots lined up on the floor. On the wall, a framed movie poster for Love Me Tender, starring Elvis Presley.
There came a moment when neither of them could think of anything else to say.
He turned to face Carmen and reached out one hand, his calloused fingertips brushing softly against her cheek. She responded with a slight turn of her head, bringing her lips against his hand. He grazed his thumb against her lower lip as he leaned in. She leaned forward in kind. He closed his eyes and kissed her, slowly, tentatively. Something inside her stirred. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his lean, hard body against hers, felt his own stirring in response to her touch. His hands were at her waist, pulling her into him. Strong, capable hands. He kissed her again, with growing confidence.
She realized she was crying. He noticed too.
“Oh, hey, hey, what’s all the…” Alex backed off, wearing a hurt expression.
She pulled away from him. “Oh, goddamn it,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” he said, looking confused.
“It isn’t you, I swear to God. It’s…oh, shit.” Carmen let out a shuddering sob. “It’s a long story.” She stepped towards him and he took her in his arms again, but this time it was a comforting, enveloping embrace. She leaned her face against his shoulder. “I like you. I want this to work…I do. But there’s something you should know about me.” She smiled through her tears. “I’m actually pretty fucked up in the head.”
“Why don’t you sit down and tell me ’bout it?” He sat on the edge of the bed and invited her to do the same. “Is it about the vamp that attacked you?”
“No. Well, yeah. I mean…not entirely.” She sighed. “It’s sort of been a theme in my life.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay. I need to tell you.” She sat down on the bed next to him, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I told you about my parents, right? How they got deported?” Alex nodded. “I stayed, because I was a citizen. They thought I’d have more opportunities on this side of the border. So, like I told you, they left me with my uncle Hector. Well…” She ran a hand through her hair. “That didn’t work out so well. He wasn’t a good guy. He…did things to me. For years, before I understood I could stop it. When I was about Mia’s age, I called the police. He went to jail, and I went to a foster home.”
She took a deep breath, let it out, and continued. “And the really weird thing is…it’s like it made me a magnet for it. Like it branded ‘victim’ on my forehead, you know? I thought I was over it, and then it happened again in college. It was somebody I knew. At a party. I thought he was my friend. And I just couldn’t… That was kind of the last straw. I sort of shut down. I just…” Carmen wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I shut down. I decided nobody was…I don’t know. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Alex gently rubbed her back.
“I thought I was getting better. I thought I could take care of myself. I thought I wasn’t anyone’s victim anymore. But then that vampire…set me back.” She leaned against Alex, and he held her. “I don’t want to be this way. I want this. I like you. I want you. I want to want you. But it’s like there’s this thing inside me, this wall I can’t break through. I can’t let anyone in. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“It’s okay. It don’t matter none. Maybe I got a hangup or two my own self.”
“You asked me once why I wanted to become a cop. It was a cop that took me out of my uncle’s house. I still remember him leading me out to the car. I felt safe for the first time in years. Just…safe. That’s how you make me feel. Safe.” She leaned harder against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’m crazy.”
“You ain’t crazy.” He leaned in and buried his nose in her hair. “You’ve just had a rough time of it. Ain’t nobody can blame you for that.”
“Thank you.”
He lay down on his side, and she nestled into the curve of him. He wrapped a hand around her waist, and she took his hand in both of hers. Strong, nimble cowboy hands, hands that seemed to exist in two worlds, hands that could belong to a carpenter or a concert pianist. She rubbed her thumbs along the calloused ridges of his fingers. Alex nuzzled against her neck, kissing her gently above the collarbone. She flushed and breathed deeper. She said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m ready for anything more right now.”
Alex closed his eyes and enjoyed her warmth against his body. “It’s okay,” he said. He drew her in closer and let out a contented sigh. “This is enough. This is plenty.”
They lay there like that for a time, enjoying the moment.
“Her name was Maggie,” Alex said. He cleared his throat. “My…my wife. Her name was Maggie. And I had a daughter. Allie. Cutest little thing. She was three when they…”
He spoke low and soft, his voice like gravel. “I told you I was a bad man. But it’s kinda hard to…I dunno. I was a different person then. I loved to fight. Loved it. Loved to hurt people. That’s all I wanted to do with my life. Fight and fuck and drink, and drive fast cars. I worked for bad people, and I did bad things.” He paused for a moment then went on. “And I was good at it. I was happy as hell. But then something happened.”
“You met Maggie?”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, you called it. She was workin’ as a carhop at a drive-in restaurant. I ordered a burger, and Maggie rolled over on her roller skates and brought it to me. And wham. Just like that. Can’t quite explain it.”
Carmen smiled. “I think we’ve all been there once or twice.”
Alex laughed softly. “Thing is, she hated me. Hated my ever-lovin’ guts. But I changed. For her. And for some crazy reason, she chose me. She made me a better man. Gave me my little girl. Best years of my life.”
Alex was quiet for a few hearbeats, then he cleared his throat and continued. “Thing was, before I met Maggie, I wasn’t actually workin’ for a man. I was workin’ for a vampire, and I didn’t even know it. He went by the name of Hard-Way Tony. Aside from bein’ a vampire, he was just another two-bit gangster. Ran protection rackets and loan sharking and the like, down around San Antonio. I guess he took a shine to me. Thought I was vampire material.”
“And you didn’t know was a vampire?”
“Didn’t know there was any such thing, then. And hell, I hardly met him. He was my boss’s boss. And he never smiled much. But, he didn’t take it so well when I left. And this vampire, he wasn’t the sort you just up and quit on. I thought I’d gotten away clean. Me and Maggie moved to another state. I found work as a skip tracer. We was gonna buy a little house. But eventually they found me. They—” Alex was silent for a moment. “He tried to talk me into coming back. I guess I got a little fed up. I maybe gave him a piece of my mind. You can probably figure out the rest. They came for me. Except me and Maggie had a fight that night. I was out gettin’ drunk when Tony’s crew showed up. They… well, they did what they do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So yeah. That’s my deal.”
In response, she pressed his hands a little harder against her belly.
“It’s been more than a few years now. And I just never wanted no one else. It was like there was this hole in me. I couldn’t even think about movin’ on. Weren’t no other woman who could do it for me. Not for a long time. But then you know what happened?”
Carmen said, “No, what?”
“Well, then I saw you.”
Carmen smiled. “Oh, yeah?”
Alex nodded matter-of-factly. “Yeah.”
“Well, I guess that’s just
fine,” said Carmen.
***
Neither of them could have said how much later it was when the buzzer went off.
“What’s that?” said Carmen, raising her head.
“Perimeter alarm.” Alex rolled over and grabbed a remote control from the nightstand. He turned on the television. From a grid of a dozen different camera feeds, he selected one and brought it up to full screen. “Looks like Jen’s here.”
On-screen, Jen climbed out of her van. She stayed behind the door and drew a pistol. With her other hand, she held her phone to her ear. “Aw, shit. I left my phone up top. She’s probably wonderin’ why I ain’t answerin’. Alex leapt to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go say hi.”
He led Carmen through the control room, and to a metal staircase in a concrete shaft. Four flights of stairs up, Alex pulled a lever, and a massive vault door swung open with an ease that belied its bulk. They stepped through into the den of the little house. Carmen watched in amusement as the vault door swung shut, and a bookcase slid into place to conceal it. “If this was here the whole time,” she said, “why did we go through the garage?”
“‘Cause goin’ through the garage is cooler,” Alex said, as if it should have been completely obvious. He crossed into the living room, where his cell phone vibrated its way across the coffee table. He snatched it up and answered, “Hey, sugar! Sorry ’bout that. C’mon in!” He hung up the phone and crossed to the door. He pulled it open and grinned. “Sorry. We were down in the basement. Didn’t want you to think we was…” He noticed the expression on Jen’s face and fell silent. “What?” he said at last.
Jen said, “It’s Mack.”
