by Don Reid
It was three thirty in the afternoon; the dead time for all restaurants. The lunch crowd was gone, and the supper crowd was yet to be. A few coffee drinkers on a break from nearby businesses were scattered about, but most of the Mulligans staff were in the alley on a break of their own—smoking a cigarette and cooling off from a steamy kitchen. Vic was pouring iced tea in the back booth; first for Cal, then for Buddy. After he poured his own he sat down heavily and sighed at the pending subject.
“I went to see Harlan yesterday after we split up here. He was doing better,” Vic said.
“I’ve talked to him since,” Buddy interrupted. “We talked on the phone briefly this morning.”
“Good. Because yesterday he was still pretty mad at you. Said you were treating him like a villain instead of a victim. Did you two patch it up this morning?”
“Can’t say for sure. Our conversation was all about Fritz. I’ll tell you about that later. But he seemed warm enough. Now, his wife’s feeling toward me is a different story.”
Cal smiled. “I’m sure.” Then he continued with the wrap-up of his visit with Harlan. “The store’s in trouble. He can’t pay the bills. He stopped short of saying he was gambling in hopes of coming back financially, but if I had to guess, I’d say that’s what’s happening.”
“I can add to that,” Vic offered. “Nick practically threw me out of his restaurant when I came down on the Thursday night games. He was quick to tell me Harlan didn’t owe him any money personally, but that was all he was willing to say. I had the feeling if there hadn’t been customers at some of the tables, he would have gotten physical. Of course, just between us boys, I wish he had. As a matter of fact, I wish he had years ago.”
Buddy and Cal looked at each other as Vic lifted his glass, drank from it, and set it down. Neither pursued what he meant by that last statement. Buddy was determined to keep the conversation on track.
“Funny Nick should say that. Christopher admitted Harlan didn’t owe him any money either,” Buddy said thoughtfully.
“They both could be lying,” Cal said.
“Sure. But what if they weren’t? That leaves only one other family member who might be out to collect a debt.”
“Nicoli.”
“He’s the creepiest one of them all,” Cal said.
“Yeah, and that’s his best trait,” Buddy said solemnly. “I think he’s my next move. I’ll call him in like I did Christopher and look him over.”
“Be careful, son,” Vic warned. “I never see him without a twenty-two caliber in his pocket.”
“Odd you should say that, Uncle Vic. It was a twenty-two that took a piece out of Harlan’s side.”
No one answered Nicoli Drakos’s phone. So Buddy went to his house in the Baymont section of town. It was the newest development and the most expensive. Houses were going up at an unprecedented rate and never-before-seen prices. Nicoli, a twenty-nine-year-old bachelor, had just built the biggest home yet in the curve of a cul-de-sac on a street he had bartered the city fathers to name after his family. 333 Drakos Drive. Buddy knocked on the front door. It swung open, and a man in his suit pants, suspenders, and undershirt stood with one hand on the door and the other on the door frame, defiant.
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Say it. But I don’t have long. I’m busy.”
“I’m not sure how long it will be. But I can tell you for sure, Drakos, it won’t be over till I say it is.”
“Come inside then. I have air conditioning in here, and I don’t want it going out the door.”
The house felt like a movie theater. Not too many houses in Mt. Jefferson had the luxury of cool air in the middle of June. The thought passed through Buddy’s mind that this interview might take longer than he had originally thought it would. And he also felt this was not the place to hold it. Here stood Nicoli Drakos in the comfort of his own home, relishing the perfect temperature, causally dressed and at ease in familiar surroundings.
“Put your shirt on, Nicoli. We’re going down to the station.”
“What? You can ask me anything you want right here.”
“I know I can, but I don’t want to. Get a shirt.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I cuff you and drag you out of here by your feet. Now get a shirt.”
Nicoli rode in the backseat of the police cruiser in total silence for the twelve-minute ride to the Mt. Jefferson police station. He walked in of his own accord and sat in the same cubicle and the same chair his brother had. Buddy took off his sport coat, loosened his black knit tie, and sat behind the desk.
“I’ve talked to my father and my brother. I know why I’m here. I have nothing to tell you they haven’t already told you.”
“They haven’t told me anything. Except that Harlan Stone owed you gambling money.”
“What? They told you that? No, they didn’t tell you that. That’s some sort of trick or something. Nobody told you that.”
“What if I told you they even gave me a number?”
“I’d call you a liar to your face.”
“Be careful, Drakos. Those are pretty strong words.”
“My family wouldn’t sell me out like that.”
“Sell you out? Is that how you see it? They’ve sold you out. Given you up. You can’t sell out an innocent man, Nicoli.”
“No. That’s not what I mean. Chris said you had a slick tongue. But you ain’t tripping me up.”
“Don’t intend to, Nicoli. Just want some honest answers. Were you at Harlan Stone’s house yesterday morning?”
“No.”
“How did your fingerprints get on the back door and the kitchen sink?”
“I never touched the kitchen sink.”
“You left traces all over that place. And I have a warrant here in my hand to search your house. And when I find a Halloween clown mask, you are sunk.”
“You really got a search warrant?”
“Yeah. And you’ve really got a clown mask. So what do you say we get down to business? Harlan Stone is a good friend of mine, and I sorta want you to resist arrest. Do you hear me? I want you to put up a fight because there’s nobody here but just us boys, and nobody will know but just you and me what really took place.”
“Wait a minute, Briggs. I don’t want to fight you. And you said I wasn’t under arrest.”
“Don’t believe everything I say. Just look me in the eye and see if you think I mean what I say.…”
“Lieutenant, here.” A uniformed officer interrupted and walked to the desk and placed a sheet of paper on it. As he left, he winked at Buddy, who took his time reading the paper and then looked back at the perspiring man across from him.
“You know what this is?” Buddy asked.
“How would I know? You’re the one reading it.”
“It’s the medical report stating it was a twenty-two–caliber pistol that shot Harlan. A Saturday-night special. That’s what you carry, isn’t it?”
“Who said I carry anything?”
“Come on, Drakos. We all know you’ve got something stuck in your belt every time you leave the house.”
“Prove it.”
“I’ve got the search warrant, remember.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have that gun anymore. So search all you want. You won’t find nothing.”
“Why did you get rid of it?”
“I didn’t. I lost it somewhere. So if it shows up, I don’t know where it’s been. I’m reporting it stolen right now. Reporting it to you.”
“That’s a little late, don’t you think?”
“Listen, Briggs. I didn’t shoot nobody. I’ve never shot anybody in my life.”
“But you carry a gun.”
“Only carry. I’ve n
ever had to use it.”
“Until yesterday morning. Your car was seen parked in the Stones’ neighborhood.”
“That’s all I got to say. Either I’m leaving here right now, or I want a lawyer.”
“Things getting hot, are they, Nicoli?”
“I swear I’m leaving. Arrest me and let me call my lawyer, or I’m walking right now.”
“Stone owe you money?”
“Yeah, he owes me money. Lot of people in town owe me. But I ain’t ever shot any of them either.”
“You can leave, Nicoli. We’ll be watching you. And if you need a ride home …”
“I don’t need nothing from you.”
Nicoli Drakos stormed out through the police station, past the front desk and past a man leaning back against the wall in a straight chair, smoking the stub of a cigarette. The man pushed his straw dress hat to the back of his head and stood and watched as Nicoli rounded the corner of the building, heading apparently toward his father’s restaurant.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, members of the Senate and the House of Representatives;
Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan….
Every radio in America was tuned to the presidential speech. Classrooms and garages, department stores, factories and grocery stores, offices, kitchens and living rooms. Every dial was turned to the president’s voice, and every person in America was listening with a grave expression. What had been conjectured was now a reality. There would be tears and pain and gnashing of teeth as mothers and lovers reluctantly let their loved ones go, but the morning after the speech, there was only an eerie silence and a sanctity that bonded strangers on the street. By noon, the front door of city hall was a riot scene. Young and middle-aged men, eighteen to forty, stood in line to sign up, proving they were American to the core. A few boasted and some even laughed to break the tension, but most stayed silent. But they all were of one mind and heart. A tumultuous blow had struck a safe and secure homeland, and its men were stepping up to take the responsibility of protecting all they cherished and held sacred.
Standing with the present and loyal were the three childhood friends. They were among those who held their silence and observed the attitude and mood of the men around them. Come their turn, they filled out the forms handed them and signed their names on the bottom line that would commission them into the United States Army “for the duration of hostilities” and would take them to places they could never imagine, physically or emotionally. Their families, though proud, were saddened by their commitment, and the next few weeks of freedom were spent in a dreamlike world of sharing and planning. Every moment of tenderness was exaggerated, and every hint of discomfort was diminished so as not to waste a moment of the cherished time they had together.
They were mailed a notice of induction for the date of January 4th, 1942. They still had one Christmas and one New Year’s Eve at home, and both were spent quietly with wives and parents and other loved ones.
When Buddy walked into Mulligans at nine o’clock on the evening of January 2nd, Mabel Talley motioned him to the back booth, where the others were waiting. She locked the door behind him and began the process of closing up for the day. Harlan slid over, and Buddy sat down beside him and across the table from Cal and Vic.
“There’s just nothing to say, boys,” Vic said solemnly. “I’m lost for words. Except to say I’m proud of you. I’m mad at the reason you’re leaving, but I’m proud of all three of you for doing what you’re doing. I look at you sitting here, and I remember three little sneaking boys coming in here selling me my own bottles. I wouldn’t have given you any odds then that I’d be sitting here with you fifteen years later as men—men who have signed up to stand up and defend our country and maybe give your lives for it.
“That’s what just breaks my heart tonight, fellows. If I could say, ‘Well, we’ll all meet back here in this booth when it’s over,’ it wouldn’t be so bad. But I don’t know that all or any of you will be back. This is no game. This is a war, and not everyone who leaves will come back. I’ll pray every day you will, and I know your pretty little wives will pray too, and all your families. But our wills aren’t always His will.
“I’ll be here every day, so tell your women they can depend on Uncle Vic. I’ll see none of them go without anything they need. And if I could go in your places, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’m a fifty-year-old man. I’ve lived most of my life. It should be me instead of you. But that’s not how it works.
“When you get on that train Sunday morning, you won’t see me. I’ll be there, but you won’t see me. Those good-byes are for your families. So I’ll tell you good-bye tonight. Plus I don’t want you to see me as that train pulls out, ’cause I already know I won’t be fit to be seen. I couldn’t care for you boys more if you were all three mine. I suppose in a way you are. You’re all I’ll ever have. Don’t know how long you’ll be together after you leave here, but take care of one another if you can. As for me, I’ll be in this booth every night by myself, waiting for you to come home. So see that you do. See that you do.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
No one came out of World War II unchanged. Some changed less than others, but all were forever carrying the burden of the times. You could see it in the faces of the women and the children. You could feel it on the streets of the big cities and the small towns like Mt. Jefferson. Everything was drab army green. Not just the posters and the products, but the attitudes and the mood. Teens grew up much too quickly. Women were overworked much too often. And the stress and heartache that filled each letter sent home and abroad was more evident with each passing day. Then the days became years.
Ellie was the first of the three wives to feel the change. When she knew that Cal was signing up, she felt sure he would enter as a chaplain. But the news that he didn’t crushed her.
“Why wouldn’t you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Didn’t you even ask about it?”
“Yes, I asked.”
“Cal, you aren’t considered a combat soldier if you go in as a chaplain. They can’t fire on you. They can’t hold you prisoner. All of that isn’t just a myth, is it?”
“Not all of it. But …”
“No buts about it, Cal. Chaplains are needed just as much as foot soldiers. Why in the world wouldn’t you take the safest way; if not for yourself then for your parents and me?”
“Ellie, I can’t go to war empty-handed. They gave me all the papers. But I handed them back. I can’t march into combat with a group of men and be the only one without a gun. For heaven’s sake, think about it. I don’t want to tell my son one day that ‘I fought the war, but, oh yeah, I didn’t have a gun. The other guys took care of me.’ I can’t do that. You’ve got to understand.”
“No, Cal. I have to accept it, but I don’t have to understand.”
Two months after he left on the train, Ellie moved back to Louisville to live with her parents. She told everyone it was to save money, but she was never sure if it was or not. She had become a part of Mt. Jefferson, but it had never really become a part of her.
Darcy’s wartime job was a given. She would take over the jewelry store and run it as close to the way Harlan had as possible. The business had been through so many changes, she was sure it could weather another disaster. Harlan, their attorney, and their banking adviser had all assured her the store would continue to flourish if only she did nothing to hurt it. Management was not the problem. Overmanaging was the only harm she could do. She was well aware that there would be a dip in romantic sales. With so many husbands gone, there were few anniversaries and birthdays celebrated with the sparkle of jewelry, no matter the price or quality. Harlan had told her to concentrate on the youth. The
preteens, the teens, the dating crowd. Show them interest, and appeal all the ads to them and to grandparents. Harlan knew his market, and Darcy learned it quickly. All this kept her occupied but was no partner for the loneliness she felt when she’d go home each night and close the door on the outside world. She, like millions of others, missed her mate and often cried herself to sleep.
Amanda’s situation was more unique.
“Does anyone know?” she asked Buddy.
“Not from me. Have you told anyone?”
“I so want to tell my mother and dad before you ship out.”
“We’ll tell them together. But let’s wait until the weekend before I leave. Let’s get through Christmas and New Year’s.”
“Why wait?”
“Oh, I don’t know, honey. Maybe I’m just scared to say it out loud too soon. Maybe I don’t want to make myself too aware of it. I mean, this is something I always thought I’d be shouting from the hills. And now, here I am, trying to keep it quiet. I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s okay, Buddy. Nothing in the world right now is making sense.”
“And to be honest, I’m scared to death. Not of where I’m going or what I have to do. But that we are about to bring a new life into this world at this time with the world in the shape it’s in. What kind of life can we expect to give this baby? That’s what scares me, and maybe I’m just not ready to face it yet.”
“I understand, honey. I understand.”
Their little girl was born five and a half months after Buddy left for induction. They named her Shirley Ann. She was three years old before he ever saw her and touched her face and felt her arms around him. He was happier then but still just as scared for her.
Chapter Fifty
The man in the straw dress hat snubbed out his cigarette in a sand bucket by the front door. He walked back through the bustle of police headquarters to a small alcove where a man sat writing at his desk.
“You going to arrest him, Buddy?”
Without looking up, Buddy answered, “That’s none of your business, Gary.”
