Without a word, he extended the cue to Jack, who rose, setting his beer aside, and took the wooden stick. Neatly, he lined up the cue ball and sank a solid purple into the side pocket, and then the red into the corner. The third shot, aimed at the green, missed. If Mike ever figured out I take it easy on him, he'd be royally pissed. Poor kid sucks at pool at the best of times.
Jack returned to his beer while Mike picked up the cue again. This time he was able to sink his ball, and looked as though he might manage a second success when a loud cheer broke the kid's concentration. Instead of the desired orange stripe, the black eight ball rolled into the corner pocket and ended the game with an ominous thud.
The young soldier muttered curses under his breath before the two men turned to face the new arrival.
Raymundo 'Ray' Lozano seemed about to jump clean off the floor with excitement. His every muscle taut, the Latino soldier clutched a crumpled sheet of paper in one raised hand, waving excitedly.
“I take it you got good news,” Jack said dryly, stretching out his sore leg and rubbing it with one big, calloused hand.
“Hell yeah,” Ray shouted. “I got my orders, amigos. I'm going overseas.”
“I doubt you're going back to the Middle East,” Mike commented dryly, his phony 'tough guy' persona firmly in place with Ray's arrival, “or you wouldn't be so happy.”
“You called it, bro,” Ray replied. “I'm going to Germany.”
“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” Jack quipped, though he knew the answer.
“Nah, not much,” Ray replied. “But maybe I'll find a hot blonde or two to teach me.” He smirked.
“Yeah, a hot blond named Karl,” Jack replied, ribbing his friend.
“Fuck you,” Ray snarled, only half joking, making Jack grin widely. He can dish it out like hell, but he never could take it. “So while you two ladies are cooking to death here in Texas, I'll be enjoying the sweet life.” He plunked down into a chair and put his feet up on the table.
“Dude, I was gonna eat something,” Mike complained.
“What? They gonna put your nachos on the table, culero? Normally, they use a plate.”
Mike glared. “Nah, but once your rank boots have been on it, everything that touches this table will be contaminated.”
Jack shook his head. Mike tries, I'll give him that, but he isn't quite smooth with the banter.
Meanwhile, Ray was still laughing at his own cleverness, though in Jack's opinion, scoring one on Mike hardly counted.
“So, off to Europe, eh?” Jack asked, trying to steer the conversation into more neutral territory. “Good luck. Hope you like it.”
“I plan to,” Ray replied. “What about y'all? Any plans?”
“I'm staying here,” Jack replied. “My dad offered me a job in his church.”
“Mother of God!” Ray exclaimed
. “Do you have to take a vow of chastity?”
A pang deflated Jack's pleasant mood. Even when he isn't trying, Ray can be a dick of the first order. “No, stupid, we're Protestant. Besides, I'm not a pastor. I'm going to be a trustee. You know, like a groundskeeper. At least until I figure out what I'm doing next.”
Ray made a face. “What about you, culero?” he asked, turning to Mike.
“I'm heading to San Marcos. I'm going to work in the admissions office at Texas State University. I'll be a VA rep, helping students with their G.I. Bill benefits. Plus, I got accepted into college there.”
“School?” Ray stuck his finger down his throat and pretended to gag. “You can have it, bro.”
“I like school,” Mike replied. “First thing I plan to do is study Spanish, so I can find out what 'culero' means.”
“It's a good thing you'll be in Germany by the time he finds out,” Jack told Ray.
“Bah,” Ray waved his hand in dismissal. “I can take him.”
“I was thinking he'd probably just shoot you,” Jack replied.
Ray made a different face this time, obviously recalling the fact that Mike was capable of outshooting pretty much everyone, before he said, “No hard feelings, bro. You know I'm just bullshitting you, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Mike replied skeptically. “I'll keep that in mind.”
The men fell into an uncomfortable silence, which Ray broke by summoning a sexy waitress with teased blonde hair and black short shorts to their table. “Cerveza, por favor, baby,” he said, turning on the charm.
The waitress gave him a long, considering look before disappearing into the bar area.
She returned with a tray on which a green bottle sat atop a napkin. “Dos Exxis?” she suggested, and he accepted with a nod. She set the bottle and the napkin on the table then promptly disappeared.
“Hot damn!” Ray cheered. The girl had scrawled her name – Misty – and a phone number on the napkin.
How the hell does he do that? Jack wondered. All he has is cheesy pickup lines. Do they really sound so much better in Spanish? He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help remembering just how long it had been since he'd been with a woman. The errant thought made him wonder if anyone would be willing to have him now… now that I'm no longer a whole man.
“It doesn't really feel right,” Mike mentioned thoughtfully. “You know, being all together without Sam.”
“Fuck Sam,” Ray chuckled, trying to cover his irritation by sounding like he was joking.
“I don't think he'd go for that,” Jack quipped, making Ray stammer and curse again.
Mike and Jack ignored the hot-tempered Latino and Mike asked, “Has anyone talked to him lately?”
“No, but I probably should give him a call,” Jack replied. “Maybe we can all get together for a drink some night.”
“Yeah,” Mike smiled, genuinely happy at the idea of seeing his friends together.
“I saw him at the Air Force Base the day he arrived home. His girlfriend, Amy was with him and man, he wasn't lying – that girl is fine,” Ray remembered with longing. “Do you think he'd bring her hot ass along?”
Jack and Mike gave each other a knowing look. It was obvious Ray still saw himself in competition with Sam, though no one really understood why. I guess two stubborn males naturally just butt heads and those two are arrogant as well as stubborn, making it that much worse.
* * *
Jack double checked the numbers as he punched them into his cell phone. I hope Sam answers, not knowing my new number. He was relieved when his friend did answer, picking up the call on the third ring, sounding as hesitant as Jack had expected he'd be.
“Sam, it's me, Jack,” he said quickly.
“Oh, hey,” his friend replied. “It's been a while. How's the leg?”
Jack shrugged. Dummy, he can't see you. “It sucks, but I'm trying to ignore it. Hey, what would you say if we all headed your way sometime soon to hang out? Without your smart mouth to rein him in, Ray's turning into a real asshole.”
Sam snorted. “Ray's always been an asshole.” And I expected the edge in your voice too, Wallace. “Yeah, sure. Mind if I…” Sam trailed off as though not sure how to finish his statement.
“Bring your girlfriend? Yeah, that's cool. I'd like to meet her. She must be one hell of a chick, to put up with your sorry ass.”
“Shut up,” Sam replied, laughing at the good natured ribbing. “You're just jealous.”
“Nah, blonds aren't my thing,” Jack replied. Now if she had medium brown skin and big hazel eyes… cut that shit out! He forced himself to listen to Sam.
“How did you know Amy was blond?” Sam sounded perplexed.
“You kept her photo with you everywhere you went,” Jack reminded him. “Everyone saw it.”
“Oh.”
“So, tomorrow?” Jack urged.
“Yeah, sure,” Sam replied. “We'll be there.
They exchanged information about where to meet and hung up the phone. I can't wait to see Sam again, even if watching him hang all over his girl hurts like hell.
* * *
Malcolm sense
d the boy before he heard him. The prickling of the hair on the back of his neck alerted him to the watchful eyes of the youngster as he crouched outside the pastor's office door. Realizing the child was trying to be sneaky, Malcolm proceeded to work, acting as though he was unaware of the guest hovering just beyond the threshold.
With no reaction coming from the man, the little boy seemed to gain in confidence and courage. He peeked around the corner, farther and longer than he had to date, and eventually, rolled a small toy car into the room. The playful, albeit shy, antics made the older man grin.
“Oh my,” Malcolm feigned surprise, rose from his desk, and moved towards the toy. “I wonder where such a sporting car such as this came from.”
A high pitched giggle sounded from the hallway before a small frame appeared.
“It's mine,” Andres chimed, his grin spanning from ear to ear.
“It is?” the pastor inquired, playing along with the child.
“Uh-huh,” the boy bobbed his head excitedly.
“Well, what's it doing here?” Malcolm squatted down to grasp the little car and face Andres eye to eye.
“I rolled it through the door,” the boy said in a tone which implied the answer had been obvious. He tilted his head and raised his chubby little hand, palm up, emphasizing his comment with a shrug.
“Why did you do that?”
The child flapped his arms up, ballooning them out before he dropped them carelessly at his sides while he exclaimed, “I wanted to play with you.”
“Oh, I see,” Malcolm was genuinely touched. “What did you want to play?”
“Cars,” the youngster replied simply.
Nodding in response, the pastor handed the little car to the boy. “Well, I think we're going to need more cars then.”
Malcolm rose and walked over to his large oak desk, where he pulled open the heavy bottom drawer. When the child peered into the depths, a look of amazement crossed his features and his mouth opened with a little pop, causing the man to chuckle in a rich baritone. Seated in the bottom of the drawer were two small plastic bins, one filled with an assortment of toy vehicles and the other packed full of plastic army men.
“Wow,” Andres gasped in awe. “Where did you get all of those?”
“Well,” Malcolm began to explain as he plucking an aged firetruck from the neatly stacked Matchbox cars. It was missing paint in spots, showing the wear and tear of years of use. “They were Jack's, from when he was a boy. I used to play with him whenever I had the chance.” It was never enough, but the times we did play were priceless.
“Doesn't Jack play with them anymore?” the boy wondered, reaching tentatively towards the enticing array of metal vehicles, afraid to touch them, but desperately wanting to.
“Well, when he became a soldier, he didn't have time to play with them anymore, so I brought them here.” So I could remember the times we spent together.
“Did you do that so we could play with them?” Andres inquired, hope thick in his voice.
“That's precisely why I brought them here - so you and I could play with them - together,” Malcolm told him in a hushed tone, as though he were conspiring with the child. He couldn't help smiling at the glow in the little boy's eyes, which touched him deeply as it called memories of his own son's face to mind. Time moves too fast and I missed so much. I don't want to miss anything anymore.
The old pastor settled himself onto the floor as the little boy clapped happily. Andres bounded towards the man and jumped into his arms without notice, almost tipping Malcolm over.
“I love you,” the child announced and then quickly pulled himself away, grabbing the firetruck. He scooted it around the floor making siren sounds, obviously unaware of the dampness escaping around Malcolm's eyes.
* * *
Jack sat at the kitchen table in a ladder back chair, his bad leg stretched out on a second, inhaling deeply as his mother dolloped whipped cream over a mass of peaches and sweet biscuits. The aroma awakened nostalgia. Its familiarity proved he was home and fond childhood memories of his mother warmed his heart.
“Thanks, Mama,” he told Shonda as she set the plate in front of him. He forked up a bite of his favorite dessert and blew on the steaming, soggy mass. Tucking it into his mouth, he closed his eyes and savored the tangy, sweet flavors.
“Good?” she asked innocently, setting a cup of coffee in front of him, and taking a seat herself.
Her cup, which had the words “God is good” printed in white on a navy blue background, reminded him even more strongly of years gone by. She'd had the thing so long only memory rendered it legible. Funny how one's home isn't a building or even a location, but rather, it's the little odds and ends which hold us together. She was drinking out of that very cup when we got the call saying Dad was retiring from military service. She was drinking out of it again when I told her I was enlisting. That cup is the keeper of so many memories.
“It's delicious,” he replied. “Don't you want any?”
She shook her head sadly. “The doctor says I have pre-diabetes. If I don't lose some weight and watch what I eat, I'll need insulin injections. No more 'fun foods' for this lady.” She sighed deeply then added, “It's hard getting old, son.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement, his gaze dropping toward his itchy wound. “Yes, I think I know what you mean.”
Shonda frowned deeply. “I guess you do. I'm sorry, but I still think of you as my little boy.”
“It's okay. I get it,” he responded simply.
“I know it's hard, honey,” she continued, “realizing you're mortal. I mean, you know, of course, but that first piece of irrefutable evidence… it hurts, but it's also a sign of maturity. You're turning from a boy to a man, son. It's good to see.” Funny, my friends always saw me as the mature one. In order to avoid replying to her sentimental words, he shoved more of the delicious cobbler into his mouth. She grinned sweetly. “But you're always going to be my baby.”
Jack chuckled. “I'm a pretty big baby, Mom.”
She giggled in respond as he washed down his mouthful of spiced peaches with a gulp of sweet, milky coffee. “Did you have fun with your friends tonight?”
“I did,” he replied. “It was nice to see Sam again.”
“I remember the time I met Sam. He seemed like a wild stallion, just waiting for the chance to run free. He still like that?”
Jack considered and, following his mother's metaphor, he remarked, “Now he's more like a skittish colt, ready to go bucking and jumping in all directions, uncertain and sort of… afraid. I think he might be a bit shell-shocked.” He paused a moment before added, “Sam brought his girlfriend last night. I guess they've known each other a long time, grew up together on the ranch. She seems nice and… I don't know, they seemed… good together, I guess.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Shonda said, smiling sincerely. “What's her name?”
“Amy,” he answered and then he grew more pensive. “Of course, even Amy's presence couldn't curb the tension between Sam and Ray. Those two set off sparks in each other like never before. Of course, we all understand why, but…”
“Why's that, son?” Shonda wondered, which reminded Jack she didn't know everything that had transpired in Afghanistan. There are so many things you don't know and yet, I naturally assume you do. I need to be more mindful.
“Well, at first, it was the cliché of a pampered rich kid verses the underdog, climbing from the streets of poverty, but then…” the dark mood which cast shadows across his face made his mother shiver involuntarily. “Sam blames Ray for Jorge's death.”
“Marithé's Jorge?” Shonda looked surprised. Jack nodded, prompting his mother to ask, “Why?”
Jack took a deep breath, contemplating his response. “Well, maybe 'blame' isn't the right word. See, Jorge and Sam were in the Air Force together.”
“Oh, right,” Shonda interjected, adding to the conversation. “I remember now. I recall how surprised I was to hear you had been assigned Air
men under your command.”
“Yeah, they were the two-man team attached to our squad, backfilling our numbers. Anyway, when the building we were in was hit,” he took a sip from his coffee mug, trying to regain his composure before he continued, hoping not to worry his mother with his discomfort. “When we were hit, Jorge was fatally injured.”
“You were there? You were with Jorge when he died?” Shonda gasped.
“Sort of,” Jack confirmed his mother's suspicions. “Radar – ah, Asa – was ahead of Mike, Sam, and me, preparing to exit the building with Jorge and Ray when the mortar struck. Asa… he, ah, he died immediately, but Jorge… Well, he wasn't leaving with us.”
“Oh, honey,” Shonda dabbed tears from her eyes. “I didn't realize.”
“Ray was hurt from the explosion that killed Asa and Jorge, but not as badly.”
“He was blessed, like you,” Shonda sounded thankful. I wish I could believe that.
“Yeah, well, Radar – I mean Asa, sorry. I keep forgetting you don't know him by his nickname – he was, ah, in the lead and his body… it sort of… blocked the other two, protecting them from the brunt of the explosion.”
Shonda covered her mouth, stifling her reaction, trying to hide her grief and horror.
“Of course, Jorge was close behind him, followed by Ray. Sam, Mike, and I were further back in the house and when we realized what had happened, Sam really struggled with it. When he had to leave Jorge behind and carry Ray out, well… Let's just say, it was really hard for all of us, but for Sam most of all.”
“I'd say for Marithé most of all,” Shonda commented in a shaky voice, filled with emotion, her eyes slightly swollen from the retention of tears.
Jack felt his cheeks heat. “You're right, of course.”
“I know I am,” she replied, sniffling. “You boys are all in the habit of thinking mostly about yourselves and each other. Don't forget you all have families at home, worrying about you. We all know, when you leave for war, you'll return changed. The only question remains, how will you be changed? Shell shocked, like Sam; injured, like you,” she eyed his leg with a hint of regret pinching her expression, “or in a box, like poor Jorge and Asa. We don't know until the call comes, and you soldiers never give us a second thought.”
Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) Page 4
