Chapter 10
“Well, damn, guys, I hope it doesn’t take another battle plan to see everyone again.” McKenzie laughed as he looked around the table.
Rob had taken them all out to one of his favorite steakhouses. The kids were there with their mother, McKenzie, John, Chuck, and Cliff rounded out the table. Bobby and Marissa had already taken off in the middle of the night. Rob had told McKenzie that Karen was filing charges against Bobby, and he didn’t blame her. McKenzie didn’t either. In fact, he had offered his skills to hunt the asshole down for her, if she wanted. As thankful as she was, she declined.
McKenzie was pretty sure that dumbass Bobby would either kill himself with dope, or really step on the wrong toes at some point soon. Tough shit.
“You guys ever wonder why we’re still doing stuff like this. I mean, with PTSD and the craziness of the war, and if you’re anything like me, you sure as hell don’t sleep real well.” Cliff stared at his empty plate, the dregs of potatoes and sauces from the steak all that remained from his meal.
“All the time,” John spoke up. “I think we’re getting too damn old for our own good, really.”
“No, the hell we’re not.” McKenzie grinned, “At least I’m not, not yet.”
John smirked, but the look didn’t reach his eyes.
“For me, I can’t stop.” Chuck sipped his ice water before scanning their faces. “I love Shawna, and she makes me happy, hell of a lot more than wives one and two did. I love my ranch and the peace out there. But I need to shoot, I need the adrenaline, and a .50 cal to the head of a coyote isn’t as fun as it sounds. I need it to mean something.” The guys nodded, thoughts somber as they reflected over their own needs.
“I understand that. I feel like if I do stop, I’ll die. If my brain and body can’t be a machine for fightin’, for doing something’, then it’ll shut down.” McKenzie glanced at the others. “You can’t be trained, war hardened, and scared shitless and then put back in the real world to sit on your ass and collect a government check. It’s not enough.”
Cliff, in his usual way, cracked a joke to break up the seriousness of the conversation, to everyone’s relief. It bothered McKenzie to think about his age and how much time he had left to do things like this. What if he had a heart attack that night? His back and legs still ached as if they were black and blue. How much more did he really think he could get away with doing before he would have to hire some young guy to do the leg work, the fun work?
McKenzie and John were sad to say goodbye to everyone, time always seemed to stretch forever and so many changes happened, each time they all saw each other again. But the idea of taking meds and collapsing in his bed for a week was something he couldn’t pass up.
Rob refused to allow McKenzie to leave unless he took a check with two extra zeros on it. McKenzie was aggravated until Rob told him it was what his firm would charge for a case like this. That helped ease the guilt, but it still felt wrong. John suggested they use it to buy better gear or spruce up the office. Shrugging, McKenzie passed it off to John. And then Rob handed over several soup cans, suggesting the guys might want to split the contents. Seems one of his operatives had relieved Marissa of the money.
The ride home seemed to take twice as long. It was great to get back to his little house on the Suwannee.
The pills didn’t have time to kick in and dull the pain before the world dropped away. McKenzie’s night was dreamless, his brain too exhausted to even try to cause him problems. He woke refreshed for the first time in a long time, and prepared to see what he was given next, and bracing for the day he wouldn’t be able to do it, the day he couldn’t take a case. Pushing that thought away, he got up to begin his morning routine before another day at the office with John. “Bring on the lost pets and cheating spouses,” McKenzie whispered to himself as he stretched his aching legs.
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About The Author
After a career in the US Army Corps of Engineers, Mr. Hill fell in love with computers and spent most of his life in the software business, even when he was sailing the Caribbean. Why not? But now he is supposedly retired, but that can boring at times, so he is writing novels. Again, why not? He lives with his lovely wife, Heidi, in beautiful Alachua, Florida. Why not?
Titles By Richard F Hill
The Old Farts In Miami
The Old Farts In The Swamp
The Old Farts In The Keys
Iron Soldiers In Vietnam
Contact Richard F Hill
Visit https://www.richardfhill.com
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Preview
The Old Farts In The Swamp
Leaning over the top wooden rail of the sun-bleached boardwalk, Travis Mills double checked his first head count of the alligators below. The water was only a few feet at its deepest, and most of the gators were already bathing in the morning sun on the sandy shore. Their eyes blinked slowly as a few made lazy strides around the others. Yellow teeth poked out of their broad flat snouts, a constant reminder of the danger they were.
His numbers matched up, as he nodded and made the notation. Scanning the large enclosure once more, he continued around the walkway that overlooked half of the exhibit. Currently, they had 52 gators in the large habitat, and all were accounted for and looked healthy. With the park opening in an hour, Travis walked at a brisk pace towards the ramp leading down the sidewalks that wound throughout the entire facility.
His brown eyes flickered over the dark water and around the bottom of the wall below the boardwalk. He carried a long pole with a claw at one end and the trigger at the other to grab the random trash that made its way into the exhibits. Although some chores did necessitate entering the dangerous enclosure. Travis had no problem doing that. Walk arounds usually meant he could work alone and he didn’t have to keep on his toes while glancing over his shoulder at the large eyes watching him.
Putting the clipboard under the arm holding the pole, Travis brushed his shaggy, blonde hair out of his face. His hand froze at the back of his head as his eyes locked onto an odd object bobbing in the water below. Setting the clipboard down, Travis guided the pole through his left hand as his right hand stayed poised on the trigger. As soon as the light colored object was between the three grasping claws, Travis pulled the trigger mechanism and the claws shut, holding the item firmly as he drew back the pole. His eyes widened in horror as he realized it was a human hand and part of an arm. In his shock, Travis let go of the trigger, causing the hand to splash back into the water below, and a few of the gators to turn and start making their way towards the disturbance in the water.
Travis pulled the portable two-way radio off of his belt and keyed up the office.
"Dee? Is Mr. or Mrs. Patrick in yet?" His voice shook as he watched the gators slide around in the water a few feet from the disembodied hand.
"Not yet. Why?"
"Call the cops. There’s something in the main gator pen."
"Like what?" Dee’s irritated voice crackled through.
"Just call the damn cops! Tell ‘em there’s a human hand and arm in the gator pen."
"Holy shit!"
"The cops, Dee."
Travis keyed off and put the radio back on his hip, his eyes unable to leave the faint silhouette of the hand in the water below. Worried the gators would eat the evidence, and wondering if that’s what happened to the rest of the body, Travis used the pole to push them away from the hand when they swam close. The air was already becoming stifling as the sun rose higher. The humidity joined with his nervous sweat, soaking his clothes through. He radioed the office again and warned Dee to keep the park closed until the police gave the go ahead. Baffled, Travis sat do
wn, his legs dangling over the edge as he wondered if there were more pieces of the body in the dark depths below.
The Old Farts In Miami Page 15
