by Reed Hill
“Same here, you bastard.” Mathews sighed. So many good men dead. Both their survivor groups combined represented maybe two or three percent of the personnel on base. Somebody was going to pay for that kind of bloodshed, and Mathews intended to be a part of that payback. “It’s good to see you too.”
*****
Three Eagles Ranch
Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 5th, 2017 – 3:55 p.m.
Doyle doodled a little in the small, spiral-bound notebook that Brodie had given him as he waited for the next of his host’s crew to come in the little office over the garage. The process was starting to become tedious. Brodie’s friends were pretty much boy scouts. There wasn’t anything of note from the entire bunch of them. One had a drunk driving arrest twenty years ago. Another had a domestic dispute from 2001 with a woman the guy had since divorced – he said she had punched him in the face because she thought he was cheating on her. In Texas that meant the man spent the night in the cooler. Over half were prior military, so that meant Doyle only had to speak with eight or nine of them. The accountant was a pretty cerebral sort, not what he would have expected around some of these rednecks. He was impressed with Brodie’s good friend Kirk Thompson. He was very funny and charming in a guy’s guy way. He could see why Brodie would spend long days hunting fishing with him. One guy, Charlie Duggan, on the other hand, struck him as odd, even a bit paranoid in a harmless way. He admitted to being chronically unemployed but at the same time seemed intelligent. Something was probably a little bit off there that he couldn’t gather from a ten minute chat. Brodie insisted he was okay, just a little weird.
Brodie popped his head up the stairs, “This is the last one.” Brodie took a couple of steps up the stairs and lowered his tone, “I don’t know him at all. He’s a friend of John Finnegan’s.” Brodie went back down and out to the garage, and returned a moment later with the wiry guy with the orange goatee. He let his five-foot nine inch frame fall into the sagging couch, and had to get back up when Doyle stretched out his hand. “Thanks for coming up. I’m Jeff Doyle, the Deputy Chief of Staff for Governor Chase.” The two grasped hands as Brodie sat down in the seat next to Doyle. As he bent back down to the low sofa, Doyle caught a glimpse of double-snakes tattoos, one coiling around each side of his pale neck. “We’re talking to all the men, to see what skills and abilities you may bring to the table. We’re hoping to put everyone in a role where he can be the best fit to help us out here.”
“Yeah,” Brodie broke in, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees, “and Danny you one of the few I don’t know personally.”
“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Danny.” Doyle doodled a random shape on the corner of the notebook paper.
“I’m Danny Haslett,” the redhead shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable spot in the drooping couch. “I have a landscaping business in and around Austin, but I’m originally from Fredericksburg, and I live in Dripping Springs as of now…. To be closer to work. Most of my clients are in Austin. I’m more a small town guy though.”
“How do you know John Finnegan?” Brodie looked at Haslett in the eyes.
“He and I go deer hunting quite a lot in the fall, and shoot pheasant a bit too.”
“He told me you’re quite a shot.” Brodie sat back in his chair and folded his hands together letting them rest against his mouth.
“I reckon I’m better than some, not as good as some others,” Haslett looked at Brodie and then to Doyle.
“And you don’t have any military service?” Doyle scribbled on the pad and glanced up at Haslett.
“Well,” Haslett shifted his weight and brought one leg up high and crossed it awkwardly over the other. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position, but Haslett just threw his arms across them. “I did a stint in the Marines before taking a big chicken dinner raffle ticket out.” A BCD was a bad conduct discharge Doyle recalled and he etched ‘BCD – Marines’ beneath Haslett’s name on the pad.
“Why’d you get bounced from the Marines, Danny?” Doyle was firm and direct, looking Haslett in the eye. “And why didn’t you go with Finnegan and the group that was for prior military.”
“I just figured I would make it easy on you guys since I had a less-than honorable exit, and I’ve done two stretches in the joint as well.” Haslett was taking a keen interest in his dirty jeans as he spoke. “I thought I’d likely be somebody you wouldn’t want real close to the Governor, so I reckoned I would go ahead and volunteer for the jobs that won’t be anywhere near the house where he’s at. I guessed that’s what you’d want from the non-military folks.”
He’s certainly not stupid. “So why did you get discharged, Danny?”
“I was a drinker and liked to fight.”
“That would describe most Marines I know.” Brodie scratched at his beard and stared hard at Haslett. “What’s the real reason?”
“They would tell you it was conduct unbecoming a U.S. Marine and detrimental to unit morale and cohesion.”
“Translation?” Doyle patted his lips with the pen and tried to hide his skepticism.
“When I was younger, I used to dislike black folks quite a lot. I had a hard time mixing with them in the Marines, especially at first.”
“What do you mean, ‘at first’?” Doyle raised his eyebrows and jotted down ‘racist?’ on his pad.
“Just out of the world, I still had a lot against them,” Haslett looked up from his jeans at Doyle. “After a while, I figured out I had more in common with them than I did the splendid, privileged ‘officers’ that were in charge over us.”
Doyle shot a quick look at Brodie, who sat iron-jawed, looking at the lean ex-Marine. “What got you thrown out, if you’d made peace with the people you once hated?”
“I never said I hated anybody,” Haslett sat up and put his leg down. “I don’t think I’d ever been around one for more than five minutes before.”
“So what happened then? How’d you get tossed?” Brodie asked.
“I was a bit of a brig rat. I had already been written up twice for brawling, so I had two strikes when I got in another fight. There was a big bar fight with a bunch of goddamn road graders who were all in our faces over being jarheads in an Army bar. I had just got my bloodstripes and only had one tour after finishing top of my class at sniper school. The bigwigs said they’d had enough of me, so they bounced me out.”
“What about the pinches and time in jail you did out in the world?” Brodie continued to level his eyes on Haslett.
“What can I say? I was angry at the world for a while,” Haslett looked over at Brodie and then back to his hands which he had wrapped together and set on his lap. “I loved being a snake eater for the corps. I had finally found a home for the first time in my life, and they told me I wasn’t needed. That I was a bad seed. It’s the same shit folks been telling me my whole life.”
Doyle could see that Haslett was getting charged up, so he tried to dial it a down a bit. “So what would you differently, if you could?”
“Hell man,” Haslett threw his hands in the air. “What do you think? Not get in so many fights. Not be a young hothead. They’re the ones that trained me to fight, and now these damn people are running around saying ex-military like me are terrorists. That we shouldn’t even be able to own a gun. What about liberty? Where’s the justice for guys like us? These damn bureaucrats burn us out in these god-awful places and then make themselves rich. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
“I think you’ll find we’re all behind the former military here, Danny,” Doyle put his hands down and moved forward in the chair. “Those kinds of laws are ridiculous and would never be passed here in Texas.”
“Danny,” Brodie widened himself on the chair and sat up a little taller, “we know you can’t change the past. None of us can. Lord, knows there’s things I’d change if I could.” Brodie stared out the small window for a moment. “But, Finnegan vouched for you, and that means a lot to us. I think
we can use you around here, so would you like to be useful?”
“Of course, that’s why I came out here.” Haslett sat back and relented to the softness of the couch. “That’s exactly it. I want to be useful to Finnegan and you all.”
Doyle could see the anguish and embarrassment in the flushed cheeks of the young ex-Marine. He had clearly had a tough go of things since getting out. Doyle wondered how things would have been for him if he had been discharged that way. He would have lost every dime he put away for college – which was just about everything – and would have had the black mark on his record, which probably would have followed him around on every reference check for ten or fifteen years. How would he have ever gotten a job in politics, at any level, with that mark hounding him like junkyard dog?
“Let us talk a minute, Danny,” Brodie rose and offered a hand to Haslett who looked like a puppy being house trained. “I would bet we can find some way for you to help us out.”
Haslett allowed the quick handshake and started down the stairs where Brodie was leading him with an outstretched arm. Doyle didn’t know what to do with the guy. Could he be trusted? Doyle wasn’t sure. He trusted Brodie’s judgment and when his old Captain came back up the stairs he looked at him. “What do you think, Cap? I’m not so sure about him.”
Brodie was back to rubbing that short, stubbly beard. He didn’t answer right away, rather he returned to the chair before looking over at Doyle. “I think we can use him.”
“Me too,” Doyle jotted another note in the pad. “Not near the Governor, but he could prove useful.” Doyle glanced at his pad to the note he had circled. It read ‘Sniper’. We’ll need to keep an eye on you, Danny, but yes, I think you could be quite useful.
*****
Danny Haslett kicked in the dirt as he walked away from the garage back toward the garden, where he saw Finnegan talking with a group of five or six others. That pencilneck son-of-a-bitch Deputy politician so-and-so had put him through the ringer but good. He was no saint, but he just hated when politicians lorded over the unwashed stupid masses, and this one had just seemed to enjoy twisting Danny in knots, with his notes on his little pad.
Haslett paced back and forth a bit before heading toward the garden, where he saw a small concrete bench near a couple of large flower beds full of white, purple and yellow flowers. Probably just getting away from people for a little bit would do him a lot of good, he thought. Getting away from that politician would be a great start. What was it that his favorite podcast host, Paul Revere would always say? This world would be a pretty damn nice place without all the criminals, elitists and politicians – but now I’m being redundant.
He wanted to sit down and enjoy the breeze for a minute. He had spent so much of his time lately – hell his whole life – being mad at the world. Maybe it was just time to let it all go. He had become so angry when the U.S. refused to allow Texas to protect its own borders. Then that damn Attorney General had held the press conference standing beside the president saying they were going to arrest the Governor for standing up for Texas. This was after they said that former military were the biggest threat to the country and they were going to look at taking our guns away, just a couple months before. All the warrantless wiretapping they were doing. That federal order that let them hold you without trial forever, no lawyer, no nothing. Everybody up in Washington getting rich off the public money – even had the balls just to smile and lie when they got caught. The old guy at the barbeque had even said we don’t really have a republic no more. Not in any way that it was ever intended.
Now, setting up to kill that AG was overboard he had to admit, but he felt like he had been pushed too far. A man can only take so much. All of our rights are being trampled on. These crooks and phonies might as well be wiping their asses with the Bill of Rights. He could hear his daddy telling him he was soft, giving him another beating to toughen him up.
A bunch of guys on FreeAmericans.com said they would take the shot if they had the chance. He had the chance, when Jenna’s sister called. At the time, he felt obligated to do it, but now he wasn’t sure. Maybe his mama was right. Just like he learned black folk were pretty much like him. Trust in God and try to do what’s right. That was the thing that ate at him. God didn’t care if you were happy – the Lord just wants folk to be strong for Him and his purposes. And that’s what Danny thought he had been doing. He could see now it was another lie.
He closed his eyes and took in a long breath, enjoying the scents of the flowers. He thought he could smell the apples from the orchards in the warm breeze as he traced the outline of the floral carved relief along the edge of the concrete seat with his finger. Haslett knew he couldn’t control any of that now, but he could control what he did from here. He had always tried to be a good person. No, that wasn’t the full truth. He always wanted to be a good person. Danny Haslett wanted to live life from here on with no excuses, and seeing John Finnegan wander over by himself as he opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do.
“Hey Danny,” Finnegan strode over to him with a broad smile. “You look like somebody stole your brand new car or something.”
“I just got done talking to the politician, up there,” Haslett pointed to the office over the garage. “I’da preferred if he’d just horse-whipped me I guess. Would’ve been less painful I reckon.”
“He seems okay to me,” Finnegan put his size fourteen boot up on the little bench. “Maybe a little heavy-starched, but not a bad guy overall. Word around is that he did a stretch with the 10th Mountain, but I never remember meeting him. Must not have been in real long.”
“Is that right?”
“He led a fireteam for Brodie, I guess. For a couple of years in the Korangel Valley and Pech River area.”
“No shit?” Haslett had a hard time believing it. “I thought he was pure paper pusher, civilian all the way.”
“I think it’s been a while, but the guy was a genuine mud dog, just like you and me.”
“All right,” Haslett stood and wiped his boots in the grass near the garden. “Might make what I’m going tell you go better, in that case.”
“Whadda ya mean, Danny?”
“Well, I got to tell you something, and I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”
“Start talking, man,” Finnegan stood up tall and put his balled up fists on his hips. You’re making me nervous, and I don’t like being nervous.”
*****
Brodie was right. It was a good idea of keep an eye on Haslett. He had followed him when he left the garage and took up a spot in the garden when Haslett started to speak with Finnegan. Coming from the back side of the garage, Brodie made his way quietly into the tall garden and eavesdropped on their conversation.
Brodie was astonished as he listened to Danny Haslett tell how he went out to the field and lay in wait for the Attorney General of the United States. How his girlfriend’s sister, who worked in the U.S. Attorney’s office as a secretary, had called in the middle of night when she found out when the U.S. Attorney General Ross-Brown was coming into town by private jet and to make arrangements for her stay and her a private car. Haslett admitted to being in the field, even putting the AG in his sights before he saw her killed before his eyes, but claimed not to have shot her. What kind of a loon was this Haslett?
Brodie burst out from the tall rows of sweet corn and wheeled all of his weight into a round house that landed right on Haslett’s check, sending him back into the bed of yellow and purple flowers. Brodie stood over him and shook his fist in his face, “You want to try that all again from the top in front of the Governor and the Chief of Staff.” Brodie stalked forward and grabbed Haslett by his jacket, bring him to the tips of his toes in the flowers. “I can’t believe you’d come out here and pose as someone who cares about liberty and justice.”
“Hell, yeah, I’ll take it to the Governor,” Haslett pushed his way out of Brodie’s grip.
“Danny, whiskey tango foxtrot, man,” Finnegan looked like he w
as about ready to take a swing and knock Haslett into next week. “How are you just now telling me this? I trusted you. You damn son-of-a-bitch.”
“Let’s go tell the Governor and the other pencil-dicks,” Haslett took a step back, trying to stand tall. “I’m the only bastard around here that can prove the Governor had nothing to do with that U.S. Attorney General being killed.”
“What are you saying?” Brodie narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. “Let’s be very clear about this.”
“I didn’t shoot her,” Haslett stuck his neck up and fixed his shirt. “I had my glass on her and saw it happen. And I saw the guy that did it run off through the field too – saw him running outta there with his rifle case and everything.”
“You’re saying that you witnessed her shooting?” Brodie put his hands on his hips.
“Yep, and none of you can say that, can you?” Haslett remained defiant, tapping his own chest, “I’m the only one who can clear the Governor’s name and I’m the only one who can I.D. the guy who did it.”
Brodie stood panting. He couldn’t believe that the piece of garbage was right. He was right if he was telling the truth. Was he telling the truth?
Haslett answered Brodie’s question, “Look, I ain’t lying.” Haslett rubbed the welt that was already forming on his cheek. “I’ll sign anything, do anything. I saw the bastard that did it, but I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“It’s real had to believe that, Danny.” Finnegan took a step back, “I don’t know if anyone would trust anything you’d say right about now.”
“Look, just because I don’t look like some country club type,” Haslett bared his teeth like a rabid animal, “doesn’t mean I murdered anybody.”
Brodie glowered at Danny. “Sit down and don’t move.” Brodie motioned to Finnegan to come closer and the two stepped off a few feet away, facing Haslett as he sat down on the concrete bench. The wiry redhead pulled out his hard pack of cigarettes and fired one up.
