Phantom Limb

by Dennis Palumbo

  On the other hand, maybe he was exactly what he seemed to be—a wounded vet at loose ends, one of many living casualties of that war, struggling to come to terms with a civilian world into which he no longer fit.

  Suddenly, I needed to know for sure. I figured I owed it to him. I knew damned well I owed it to Charlene.

  Glancing to my right, I spotted a rarely traveled side street. A narrow tributary adjacent to this clogged, sluggish river of traffic. Spinning the wheel beneath my hands, I whipped the Mustang out of my place in the line of cars and headed straight for it.

  ***

  Ernie’s Billiard Hall was less like a hall and more like a head-banger’s basement. Dark, low-ceilinged, air thick with the smell of cigarette smoke mingled with the pungent aroma of weed. Its chiaroscuro ambience due to a combination of sunlight coming through the smudged front window and the hazy glow from a half-dozen frosted-glass wall lamps.

  Three guys who looked like refugees from a biker movie, all in sleeveless leather jackets to show off their tats and ’roided-up biceps, lounged at the bar. Behind which a single waitress—slim and barely legal, with nose and lip rings—stood looking vacantly at her purple nails. Her name tag read “Penny.”

  When I came in, there were only two other guys—fraternity brothers of the solid citizens at the bar—playing pool. The other tables stood unused. One of the pool players looked up as I passed, so I nodded. He merely stared.

  At first, there was no sign of Skip Hines. Then I heard a toilet flush, and a worn wooden door at the back of the room opened. It was Skip, zipping up his pants as he shuffled toward the bar. Despite what Polk said, Skip had finally needed to make use of the facilities.

  It wasn’t until I joined him, pulling up the stool next to his, that Skip acknowledged my presence. Then he broke into a broad though uneasy grin.

  “Hey, my man Danny!” He stuck out his hand. I took it.

  One of the guys in leather jackets dropped his cigarette butt in his beer mug and slid off his stool. The other two reflexively followed suit, but not without giving Skip and me a menacing, suspicious look.

  Suddenly, the first guy leaned across the bar, put his forearm around Penny’s neck, and drew her to him. Though she struggled, he gave the waitress a long, deep, angry kiss. Then he shoved her away. She staggered, blood dotting her lip.

  I’d gotten up from my own stool by then, but the girl shot me a beseeching look. Please don’t do anything, mister.

  When I turned back to the creep who’d kissed her, he was holding the business end of a switchblade about six inches from my sternum.

  I planted my feet, muscles tensed. Then heard Skip from behind me.

  “Not worth it, Danny. Bad-ass motherfuckers, these guys.”

  The guy with the knife nodded.

  “Listen to your friend…friend.” Giving me a tight smile.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two guys who’d been playing pool gently lay down their cue sticks. Though looking the part, neither apparently wanted anything to do with what was currently going down in Ernie’s Billiard Hall. Instead, they quickly and quietly went out the front door.

  As they fled, Penny spoke to the guy with the knife.

  “Get outta here too, Joe. Please?” She pointed across the bar, at the door. “No charge for the beers. Okay?”

  I was still gauging my chances, eyes never leaving the tip of that knife as it made lazy little circles at my chest. Even as I realized my chances weren’t good.

  “You gonna back down, hero? Or are ya gonna get cut?”

  “C’mon, Joey!” pleaded Penny, voice rising. “Give the guy a break. He didn’t mean nothin’!”

  Joe stared at me.

  “Is that true, hero? You didn’t mean nothin’?”

  I didn’t budge. Instead, I let my gaze drift up from the knife to Joe’s hard, resolute face.

  “Put that goddamn knife away, pal. Before I take it away.”

  Empty bravado, I assure you. Stupid. Dangerous. Where it comes from in me, from what well of pain and rage and grief, I’ll never know. But there it is. As though bred in the bone.

  I felt Skip’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Christ, Danny. Chill.”

  Joe kept staring at me.

  “Again, I’d listen to your friend…”

  But I could tell that some of the sting had gone out of his words. Joe was starting to look bored.

  “Aw, fuck it,” he said at last.

  Giving Penny a boozy leer, he backed up, flicking the blade in and out of its handle. His two companions flanked him, glaring back at me. Until, without exchanging a word to each other, all three ambled out of the pool hall.

  At that point, I remembered to breathe. Which I did, deeply. Then I let myself sit back down on the stool. Skip’s hand still gripped my shoulder, which now felt rigid as stone.

  “Told ya, man. But I gotta admit, it took guts. First round’s on me.”

  Meanwhile, Penny had taken a cigarette from her blouse pocket and was lighting up. Eyes boring into mine through the rising smoke.

  “Do me a favor, okay, mister? Next time, mind your own fuckin’ business. Joe’s my boy’s daddy, and it don’t do me any good to have some stranger in here pissin’ him off. He don’t give me enough money for the lousy kid as it is.”

  “Hey, girlie.” Skip frowned at her. “Is that any way to talk? Now get me and my buddy Dan a couple beers.”

  She blew a sizeable smoke ring. “Get ’em yourself, asshole. I’m on my break.”

  With that, she sauntered down to the end of the bar and disappeared out a rear exit door. Skip turned to me.

  “Cool place, eh?”

  ***

  Cool or not, it was obvious we suddenly had the place to ourselves. For how long, I didn’t know. Or care. I figured I wouldn’t need much time.

  I grabbed two cold Rolling Rocks from behind the bar and brought them over to the pool hall’s sole booth, wedged in a corner next to the bathroom. Skip had already made his way there and slid into a seat. I sat opposite and handed him his beer. We touched bottles.

  “To my long-sufferin’ sister,” Skip said. “I don’t know how the hell she lives with that lunatic.”

  “I think she and Noah are actually good for each other.” I sipped my beer. “I mean, true, Charlene does most of the heavy lifting, sanity-wise. But he loves her and she knows he loves her. He may be crazy, but he knows what love is.”

  “If you say so, Danny. As long as he treats her right.”

  “No need to worry about that, Skip.”

  Skip guzzled half his beer, then carefully placed the bottle on the table. Turned it slowly with his fingers.

  “This isn’t a social call, is it, Doc? I’m guessin’ Ernie’s is not the kinda place you normally hang out.”

  “Tell you the truth, Skip, I do have some questions I wanted to ask you. About your first deployment in Afghanistan. Your unit commander. Raymond Sykes.”

  He stopped turning the bottle, fingers frozen in place.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Did some research. I was surprised to learn that you served with Sykes. And with Max Griffin.”

  Skip sat back, face tightening. Then, hand still gripping the bottle, he put it to his lips and drained it.

  “Skip…”

  He shook his head. “No way, Danny. I’m not talkin’ about that shit. I wanna forget all about it.”

  “I understand. But, believe me, the best way to come to some kind of peace with it is to talk about it. It’s not a cure. It doesn’t make it like it never happened. Hell, it doesn’t even mean it’ll hurt any less. But you’ll be able to put it in perspective. Give it its rightful place in your memory, in the history of your life. Or else it fucking owns you. Know what I mean, Skip? It owns you.”

  He seemed
startled by the vehemence in my voice. Frankly, so was I. Though I meant every word I said.

  For a long moment, we just looked at each other. Two proud, stubborn men. Staring, as though neither would give an inch.

  Then, finally, Skip let out a low, heavy sigh.

  “I’m gonna need another beer,” he said quietly.

  I got up to get it for him.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “My unit was dug in outside Kandahar. About two months. Started with twelve guys, ended up with eight. Lotta ground fighting. Sometimes goin’ house to house, in some shit-hole of a village, depending on what intel came down. But mostly exposed field. Nothin’ but sand for miles around. Back roads, insurgent supply routes. So you’re lookin’ at snipers, spider holes, land mines. Real fun stuff.

  “I think I hated Lieutenant Sykes on sight, but maybe it took a couple days. Listenin’ to his bullshit. His big-shot Ivy League way o’ talkin’. Thought he was better than everybody else. No ‘Band of Brothers’ stuff with this guy. Used to walk around with these highbrow books in his pocket. Sit off by himself, readin’. Philosophy and that shit. He loved this one guy, Shopen-somethin’…Always quoted stuff this dude wrote about how fucked-up life was…”

  “You mean, Arthur Schopenhauer?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Typical for Sykes. He loved showin’ off how smart he was. Pissed the rest of us off. Even Max Griffin, who was pretty tight with Sykes, used to make fun of him about it. Not to his face, but…”

  He paused, took a slug of beer. Maybe his third since I’d shown up. No way to know how many before that. But Skip’s eyes had already turned glassy.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “every other day, Sykes gets intel from HQ, sends us on search-and-destroy missions. Rootin’ out snipers, mostly. Out in the middle of nowhere. Half-blind from the goddamn sand and sun. Gettin’ our asses shot at by some towel-head with a Kalashnikov, or maybe takin’ a mortar shell in the gut. Yet Griffin…man, that macho jerk loved it. Always took point. Like he dared the bastards to try to waste him.”

  “What about Sykes?”

  “Big surprise, he always stayed behind. Well back from the advance line. Sat on his ass in the Humvee, nice and safe. Probably jerkin’ off to one of his bullshit books. Meanwhile, there were a couple times the unit took some heavy fire out in the field. By the end of the first month, we’d lost two guys. Third was shot up pretty bad and got choppered out. By the end of the second month, another guy—some Okie kid, good buddy o’ mine—got his damn fool head blown off.”

  Then Skip glanced over his shoulder. I’d seen her, too. Penny, the young waitress from earlier, now sidling back behind the bar. Watching us with a feigned lack of interest.

  Moments later, a pair of lowlife guys in denim and cowboy boots strolled in. The taller of the two threw some bills on a vacant pool table and started racking up the balls. His partner, who also wore a cowboy hat, went over to the bar and ordered some beers. Then something he said made Penny laugh, though it was more like a cynical snort.

  “Maybe we oughta go somewhere else,” Skip said.

  I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring look.

  “We’ll be fine here, Skip. Just go on. What happened after your friend got killed?”

  After another nervous glance across the room, he lowered his voice to reply.

  “I guess I did somethin’ stupid. When we got back, I went over to Sykes, in front of the whole unit, and accused him of bein’ a coward. Of not givin’ a shit about his men. I mean, I just lost it with that cocksucker. Called him out on all the crap he pulled since we got there. The way he talked down to us, treated us. Couple of the other guys tried to restrain me, get me to calm down. But I practically spit in Sykes’ face.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “He just smiled at me, the smug bastard. The next thing I know, Griffin has me in a choke hold. Draggin’ me away. Some of the guys have to restrain him. Then Sykes orders everybody to stand down, or he’ll put us all on report. So I finally manage to chill out. Just start walkin’ it off, ya know? By myself. But the next couple days, me and Sykes stay the fuck away from each other. No eye contact, nothin’. Which is fine with me.”

  “Was that the end of it?”

  Skip finished his beer. Looked at the bottle in his hand.

  “I wish. Two days later, we move further in-country. Intel says there’s significant activity. Which is command-speak for there’s a bunch o’ sand-rats waitin’ to frag your sorry asses. So Sykes gets the coordinates sent down from HQ and orders us to scour the perimeter. Which we do. Me, Griffin, and the rest of the unit.”

  “And Sykes stays behind again?”

  He nodded. Slowly and deliberately. As though steeling himself for what he was to say next.

  “Anyway, a couple hours in, the patrol finds itself in a firefight. Bullets, smoke, guys screamin’ and yellin’. Our guys, their guys, who the fuck knows? Then, somehow, I get separated from the unit. Maybe twenty clicks away. I freak out, and start runnin’ back to where I think my guys are. But there’s so much smoke and swirlin’ dust, I can’t really tell. All of a sudden, my foot slips on somethin’ and I hit the ground. At the same time, a bullet flies past my head. I swear, I could hear and feel that sucker whizzin’ by. Missed me by an inch. If I hadn’t stumbled when I did…”

  Another long pause. I waited.

  “The thing is, Danny…when I turn around, I see Griffin. About ten clicks away, half-hidden behind a dead olive tree. M-16 in his hands. And he’s just smilin’ at me. Doesn’t move for a couple seconds. Like he wants me to see it was him.”

  “Jesus…”

  “Then he runs off. And I’m still shakin’ like a leaf, with a mouthful of sand and a leg cramp from fallin’. My left leg, in case you’re wonderin’.”

  “The left leg…?”

  “Nice irony, eh? Same leg I’m gonna kiss good-bye a couple years later, when I’m back in that godforsaken country. Don’t tell me God doesn’t have a screwed-up sense of humor.”

  His sudden smile was a rictus of pain.

  “Skip, what happened when you met up with your unit again? Did you confront Griffin?”

  “Sure did, once we got back to safety. I accused him in front of everybody. Includin’ Sykes. But Griffin just denied it. Said why would he waste a bullet on a shit-stain like me in the middle of a firefight? But I saw the look that passed between him and Sykes. And I knew. For certain.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That Sykes had ordered Griffin to take me out. So it’d look like I got killed in action. All them bullets flyin’…”

  I rubbed my chin. “Even if somebody took the trouble of matching the bullet to Griffin’s gun, it could still be chalked up to accidental death in combat. Friendly fire.”

  He laughed shortly. “Goddamn unfriendly, ya ask me.”

  “I believe you about Sykes, by the way. Given who he is, how he’s built psychologically, he couldn’t tolerate being confronted by you earlier. He’d have to make sure that you were punished for it.”

  Skip shrugged. “Like they say, payback’s a bitch.”

  “Any other incidents like that?”

  “Nah. The unit got called back to Kandahar base soon after. By then, my tour was almost up. So I just kept my head down ’til I could catch the next plane stateside. Damn shame, too, since I loved the service. Loved being part o’ somethin’ important.”

  “Is that why you re-enlisted? After working at Starr Sentinel for a while?”

  “What, you got a private eye checkin’ up on me?”

  “No, I have your sister, who gave me the details. Who wished you’d never gone back. Who loves you very much.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Then he reached under the table, rapped his knuckles on his prosthetic leg. A dull, dead sound.

  “Guess I wish I’d never go
ne back, too.”

  ***

  “You want anything to eat, Skip? I saw a place down the block. Didn’t look too bad.”

  “Nah. Maybe just another beer.”

  He signaled for Penny, who sullenly shuffled over. Skip asked the waitress for two more Rolling Rocks.

  “Not ’til you guys pay for the beers you drunk already. Includin’ the ones you stole from the bar while I was takin’ my break. Sneaky bastards.”

  I looked up at her. “Of course we’ll pay for them, too. We always intended to.”

  “Yeah, like I believe you. See, Ernie don’t just count the cash in the register every night, he counts the bottles. If the numbers don’t add up, it comes outta my pay.”

  “Your boss sounds like a total dick.” Skip smiled at her.

  “Takes one to know one.” She held out her hand, palm up. “That’ll be thirty-two bucks, even. You want any more beers, I’ll have to start you a new tab.”

  Skip reached behind him for his wallet, but I beat him to it. Handed her two twenties.

  “Keep the change. And, yeah, bring us a couple more Rocks. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”

  She pocketed the bills and scowled. “Won’t be soon enough for me. You two shit-heads are bad for business.”

  Skip and I sat in silence until she came back with our beers, and then departed again. As Skip took a pull from his bottle, I noticed Penny sauntering over to the two cowboys playing pool. Something the shorter one said made her laugh again, though more invitingly this time. Flirting.

  When I turned back to Skip, I saw that he’d been watching the girl, too. He sipped his beer reflectively.

  “Jesus, Danny, I ain’t been laid in, like, forever. I mean, I love my beer as much as the next guy, but I love me some pussy more. But it’s been damn slow since I got back.”

  I smiled. “Who knows? Play your cards right and you might get lucky with our girl here. I think she’s warming up to you.”