Slivovica Mason

by Clifton L Bullock Jr.

  To avenge one who died mercilessly is to take the life of the one who mercilessly killed, but how would that be a case for Mason? He never took a man’s life, but he was the reason many men had died either by instruction of a higher military authority or because he didn’t have the balls to stand up to his detail especially to Stockton. If he had done so, one Cheta in particular would probably still be alive today and maybe his daughter would be, too. He had already lost his wife to the violence of war but to lose his daughter at the hands of the brutal American "liberators" was worse than death only to confirm death was the ultimate minutes later.

  Mason could have prevented it all, but he didn’t. If he hadn’t translated the words of anger and hurt or if he had spoken up for the man who witnessed his princess’ demise, the guilt would not weigh on his shoulders as personally, but he didn’t think about the personal guilt at the time. He was afraid for his life more so than theirs.

  They have a saying in the Corps. “Nothing is more dangerous than a Marine and his rifle,” but on the contrary there is something far worse, and that is a scared Marine with no voice and a rifle to accessorize. It was he who was the most dangerous man out of the detail. It wasn’t Obispo, Buckley, Steen, Cruz, or Stockton; it was him. When a man doesn’t speak up for injustice, his obligation to the cause is voided and becomes nonexistent. When a man is so afraid for his life that he will allow others to perish instead of speaking up, he is no better, no different than the aggressor.

  The Marine Corps didn’t teach that. They only taught you to follow your given orders or endure the agony of Court Marshalls, Captains’ Masts and brig time for violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). The Marine Corps taught a few other things as well and that was to kill, kill, and kill. They also taught that as Americans, it is your civic duty to take risks and endure injury or death to defend the interest of The United States of America and never to challenge whoever is given the authority. Mason now figured it may have been better for him to suffer through the inconvenience of court proceedings, restrictions and dock of pay than to deal and suffer with the internal court guilt and morale.

  These were the thoughts of a man in constant turmoil while still lying in bed with his flawed skin stuck to the bed sheets because of sweat. He finally sat up on the side of the bed. He felt out of place but wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he knew that Orinda was still there or maybe it was because of the dream he had. Seeing Stockton’s body lying in literal cold blood could not be expunged from his memory the night before, and his dreams reminded him of that. Still he felt more from reality than the dream.

  Why did he feel out of place in his own home? Whatever it was, he knew that it was because he made it possible. The voices that he heard could have been prevented if he would have used his own. The regret and guilt didn’t melt way with tears of remorse, and it was all his fault. He would never forgive himself, and the brain doesn’t forgot what it’s not supposed to. The other reason he was out of place…the temperature’s warmth.

  Even if the weather was cold out, Mason would never leave the heat on in the room before bed. He would usually cut it off before sleeping, but the sandman came early last night and when he awoke, it was warmer than he was used to. The usual was no longer a constant, and today he couldn’t be his abnormal normal self. Though he had awakened the same way he would every day for the past few years, this morning he didn’t even go to the restroom to look at his wounds.

  The wounds he showed Orinda last night explained his oft periods of anger and pain because of a horrific past of war, abandonment and isolation. Not only did he explain how he had received them, but he explained the abuse he received as a kid being bullied in school.

  The only reason he didn’t have scars from the early days was that he chose not to look at his back side. He had mental scars on his mind that would not heal on their own, and that’s why he needed the VA hospitals’ help. At the darkest moments when the pain was too much, he felt he would finally react to himself for allowing the torment. He revealed to her his scars and fears but not all of them. She was one of his fears because of how much he liked her.

  The smell of breakfast being cooked scared him as well. This must be what it felt like with another person there. How dare she make herself so comfortable she would go into his kitchen to cook while he was asleep? It did smell good though, and he was hungry, thirsty and probably dehydrated. After drinking so much last night to keep his nerves in control, he was on the edge of a hangover. He looked in the mirror at himself as he did every morning before putting on his house robe and slippers. He didn’t want her to become acclimated with poor, abused Mason.

  While walking from the bathroom and into the bedroom suite, Mason was able to take a look out of the window. Everything was completely covered with snow except for the streets. Plow trucks must have worked diligently through the night to remove the snow from the roads but pushed it against the parallel parked cars. They were now barricaded behind a wall of snow and soot.

  If the neighborhood streets were treated, that meant she would be able to drive them to work to meet with Mr. Chandler. This was a relief because he didn’t think he would feel comfortable around her the entire day if they were still snowed inside.

  "G-g-good M-m-m morning, Orinda," Mason said as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen. The fire in the living room was burning as if a new one was started, and it made the entire open area so warm he began to sweat again.

  "Mason, good morning! How did you sleep? I hope it’s okay that I made breakfast. We have a big day today. I already emailed Mr. Chandler, and he replied to confirm we need to be there this morning, but I wanted to talk with you before we went into the office. What better way to talk than over a nice breakfast? I hope you don’t mind me being in the kitchen."

  Inside he wanted to scream at her for invasion of his privacy but instead of saying what he felt, he only sat there quietly. He would hold his words until they were needed.

  "I-I-I guess it’s f-f-fine this time. What’s for b-b-breakfast?" he asked as he sat down at the breakfast bar. He watched as she maneuvered around the kitchen. It appeared she was at home and that she was very comfortable. It seemed very familiar to her.

  "Good question and I will gladly tell you. I wanted to thank you so much for you being so nice to me and letting me stay here last night and to repay you, I wanted to make you my world famous bacon, mushroom, and spinach eggs benedict with a homemade hollandaise. I even cut up a medley of fruit and melon," she said as she pointed over to the cutting board on the counter.

  This was the method she used because she knew he wouldn’t let her rummage around his kitchen uninvited to look through his mail. She had to get another look and she did. The handwriting on the envelope from the Department of Veteran Affairs was identical to another piece of writing she had recently seen, but where from was the hard part. They were journalists, and they had paper with handwritten notes everywhere. Now her job was to be cognizant of her surroundings and play the age old game of match. The game the nurses would have her dad play in order to help him process good memories. The same game she played with him as a little girl with playing cards while sitting together at the breakfast table, Match and Memory.

  "It-it-it all smells s-s-s-so good. How long have you been awake?" he asked as he sat at the breakfast bar. There he had another bottle of Ativan on the counter he immediately opened to calm his nerves and his tongue. Without any water to wash it down, he popped one and then aided it by tilting his head back and pressing his jugular with the knuckle of a pointer finger. He usually would just have a small something to eat while or before taking his medicine, but today he would take full advantage of Orinda’s invasive but kind gesture.

  "Today is going to be a busy day for us. I think that we should try and get out of here and to the office within a decent hour. I’m sure Mr. Chandler wants to yell at us about what we found out yesterday. How are you feeling, Mason? I sure hope today is already better than yest
erday."

  "I-I’m-I’m feeling okay. It’s n-n-n-not every day that I wake up to a woman wearing my clothes making breakfast in my kitchen. I guess that’s a better start than waking and walking to work in the bitter cold, but I still have to go to the office and talk with my overbearing boss about my dead...," Mason said and then paused. He didn’t know what to call Stockton because their history wouldn’t allow him to call them friends.

  "You don’t have to talk about it now, Mason. Just enjoy some breakfast," Orinda said as she passed him a plate.

  "It just all seems so matter of fact, that out of all the assignments that we get, we get one to investigate a murder of a Marine that I actually know. What were the chances that Mr. Chandler would send us on this without knowing the connection?" Mason asked as the Ativan began to calm his nerves, and he began to enjoy his breakfast. Orinda fixed herself a serving of food and began to eat where she stood. She had made herself comfortable because she needed to get closer to Mason, and today would be the day she did.

  "Vernon sent me an email this morning saying he wanted us in the office no later than 1030. He wants to go over notes and information about the crime scene location, the victim, the detectives and etcetera. Do you wanna go over this before we get there? I figured this would be the best time to do so without the pressure of a hovering dictator," Orinda said.

  She looked beautiful standing around in Mason’s long sleeved shirt. He couldn’t focus on the topic at hand because his concentration was stolen by the way her quad muscle on the side of her thigh flexed when she stood on her tip toes at the counter.

  "I t-t-think the location where Stockton was killed has more significance than we understand." Mason said looking at her under form from the other side of the bar. He couldn’t believe he turned down her sex last night. He was drunk, she was drunk, and it would have been detrimental to them working together if he had taken advantage of her intoxicated situation. Now that she was sober, he wanted to indulge in her Spanish trap.

  "What do you mean? Do you think we should go back?" she asked.

  "I think we should. It was hard to understand what was going on because of all the chaos with the homicide squad and Detective Griffin."

  Once Mason said Detective Griffin’s name, he was unable to hide on his face how he felt about him. Because of Griffin, a disconnect had grown between them. He flirted with her in front of him which was understandable because she was beautiful, but the way she responded to him after they bonded in the car made Mason feel betrayed.

  "I think it would be a good idea to see what we can find. They did mention the snow would erase the scene clean. I hope it’s not too late,” she said as she took both of their plates from the bar. The time on the stove said that it was a little past 7.

  "D-d-d-did you want to go home and change before we head t-t-t-o the office? Or did you want to back out to Jersey first? It’s after seven and we will have to make a decision soon either way," Mason said. He wanted them to get out of the house. He felt his loins growing hungry for her. Also because he noticed that she didn’t seem to feel the same way that she did last night. She seemed more business than she usually did even more so than when he would see her in the office.

  "Let’s get out to the crime scene before we go into the office. I want to get another look around. I want to piece something together. I don’t believe the killer even thought about the snow clearing the mess of murder. I think the killer wanted us to look past that. Also, I was thinking about that Samuel Butler line, and I think it might have given a direct clue about the killer himself. Maybe he was gay or maybe he had family and abandonment issues. It’s a wonder if the two knew each other."

  "W-w-w-what ma-ma-makes you say that?" Mason asked. He was impressed with her investigative ability. She was more than just a pretty face with a high libido.

  "Well, yesterday when we were looking at the note and I mentioned Samuel Butler from my literature days, I noticed something that caught my eye about the note. It wasn’t so much the Butler quote as it was the romanticizing of death on a personal and not so personal way. I think the personal side of the note was supposed to be answered by the known quote of Butler. I want to get a look at the letter again, but it was collected as evidence. Maybe we can speak with Detective Griffin before we go out there. He did say to give him a call if we needed anything," Orinda reminded as she walked over to her purse to pull out the detective’s card.

  Mason shifted on the bar stool a little. It would be a little awkward to meet with the detective after their tense time yesterday due to jealousy and his emotions. Orinda noticed his discomfort and she knew why. She felt especially embarrassed because she knew that she caused it. She did flirt with Griffin, but it wasn’t because he was so charming. It was more so that she was used to planting a seed of sexuality to grow fruit to feed a gentleman caller in order to get whatever she would need from him later. For her it was instinctive.

  “I know how yesterday made you feel, Mason, and I’m sorry about it. I know how you feel about me, okay? I’m not blind to how you are when you are around me, so understand my intent yesterday was not to hurt you and make you not like me. Last night in your kitchen was no fluke. I like you, too. I think there is a lighter side to the man that you are. It’s just hidden under a heavy blanket of darkness and bad memories. I only needed to get Detective Griffin’s attention because this is a big deal and we need the advantage. This can be a big deal for the both us. I’m tired of working for Chandler, and I’m ready to move on to a better place. Plus, as a woman in this business, you have to sometimes use your strongest ‘assets’ to compete with the ego of a man. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I did it help us. Not just me, us. Trust me because when I leave the Daily, you will, too. I promise," she said.

  He didn’t know how or where to begin to process the words spoken to him. She admitted that she actually liked him too which meant Mason had to change his position. He knew he could no longer hold the flirtatious acts with Griffin against her, but they both knew he couldn’t ignore what else she said. From that point until the next, their general dynamic was now altered.

  "If we need to use Griffin to get another look at this letter, let’s call him. I don’t want to be the reason why we don’t get all the information we need to complete this assignment, but he will respect me as your partner," Mason said.

  He purposely did not mention her admission of why she did what she did even though she was aware of how he felt and how she felt for him. He knew if he admitted to her how he felt in addition to what Orinda thought she knew, she would have total and absolute control. Not just over his heart but over his actions and this case. He also knew she already knew that she did.

  Anytime a woman knew a man has interest in her, she already has the power because he is waiting for her, “Yes.” He couldn’t admit this, but they could still exist at least until they collected enough information to help solve this case.

  "Let’s get ready. I spoke with Griffin and told him you and I will be there in about an hour. I’m thinking we should call Mr. Chandler before we go and give him a heads up, I don’t want him blowing his top if we are late for this meeting," Orinda said.

  "Maybe we should ju-j-just ask him if we can reschedule. We have an emergency meeting with the lead detective of an investigation that he wanted us to assist with. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we canceled a meeting with him if were doing that," Mason posed. He wanted to give her a sense of reassurance especially after she admitted her feelings and after his blatant attempt to ignore it. Plus, he also wanted to get a second shot at being around Detective Griffin. Yesterday was an emotional day and maybe he came off softer than he was.

  Now that he knew Orinda had a historical obligation to herself in order to prep for gaining what she wanted and needed from resources, he wouldn’t allow yesterday’s flirtation to bother him. He would not let the corpse of Stockton bring him to his knees again.

  Just then the doorbell rang. Mason looked at the clock on the s
tove to see what time it was. It was too early for the mailman, and he never ever had company making the ring off-timed and eerie. The look on his face made Orinda worry as well. She was worried because she felt Mason was in danger but didn’t know how to tell him since she didn’t know for certain. She got a chance to get a look at the envelope before she started making breakfast, and it hit her of where she knew the handwriting from.

  That was the real reason she really wanted to meet up with Detective Griffin because she needed to see the letter, the letter of death. The letter of death with the signature curve of the pen who may work for the Department of Veteran Affairs or who had very close ties. She was afraid Mason was in as much or more danger than Petty Officer Stockton. The killer was nearby hovering just as he did when he wrote Stockton’s death letter.

  As Mason walked to the door to see who was ringing the bell, Orinda felt an overwhelming feeling of protection over him. She would do what she needed for him because he would do the same for her but also because if she didn’t, he would be the next Marine in a serial string of suspicious deaths to die without a name.

  She counted the minutes until he returned and began to worry. It was as if Mason had forgotten she was there because he had yet to return. When she ventured into the foyer to see what the matter was, there was Mason standing paralyzed.

  In his right hand was a handwritten letter and in the left were two lapels. They looked familiar for more than one reason. They looked familiar from his time served but even more familiar because they were the same that replaced Stockton’s Eagle, Globe and Anchor on the snug dress blue uniform he had outgrown and the cover of a service he was no longer a part of.

  The letter read the words that he would read out loud to her, but his voice flickered like a candle in the wind. He now knew he was next.

  "Had I been some young sailor, continent. Perforce three weeks and then well plied with wine. In due time you and her will dance the last dance Slivovica and I will watch and count the seconds before you have no time."