When Dead Shadows Live. Don Boshard

Enough was enough, he started to walk away, but they all hurried to their feet and ran after him. “We’re sorry buddy, but it’s rare to find a virgin anymore.” They all wanted to laugh again but somehow they restrained themselves.

       They hailed a taxi and all piled in, over the protest of the driver. He had the audacity to try and tell them, Marines, what they could or could not do. The odds were stacked against him literally stack and besides that it was only a short distance to 5^th Ave. They waffled themselves into the taxi and off they went.

       It was fully a five minute drive when the cabbie pulled over to the curb and they all piled out. A two dollar tip was enough; after all it was only a few miles. The cabbie said nothing but sped off giving them a Caesar to Brutus look as the dagger pierced his heart.

       “Ok, now what?” asked Fred.

       “We recon the area and then plan our attack zone.” Zeto jumped in.

       “Since this is a Democracy lets vote.” It was unanimous.

       After an hour of recon they decided to start with Rockin Baja and work their way up the street to The Merk. That made at least five stops, which didn’t include the side streets. They all the bars were fairly nice and offered military discounts plus Wally had pulled off some discount coupons from the internet.

       The Rockin Baja wasn’t the classiest place but it was nice. There was only one table large enough to accommodate the eleven of them and it was secured against the back wall, which was perfect for them.

       A petite red head with freckles spotting her face came over, “what’ll it be boys?”

       “Ten Buds and a Coke, for our friend from Beaver Dam, Arizona.”

       Frivolity was on the explosion list when Braydon interjected, “Staff Sargent, make it all Buds.” He said with Sargent Mary Taggart in mind.

       They all just grinned at him. They were going to be fun at Braydon’s expense, you could tell by their smiles.

       Two hours and five beers later it was time to move on to La Puerta. Like the Rockin Baja it was nice but nothing out of sight. They again found a table large enough to house them.

       “Butch, have you ever tried a Boiler Maker? Of course, you’ve never had a drink until tonight.” The grin seeped from ear to ear. Albert was setting him up.

       “What’s a boiler maker?”

       “It’s a mug of beer that you gulp down, non-stop and a chaser of whisky it’s a one gulp move it doesn’t give you time to think. Want to try one?”

       Braydon knew he was being setup but this was his first party night. “Ok, let’s go for it.”

      “Staff Sargent, we would like Boiler Makers around.” She just gave them a surprised look.

       The drinks arrived; they raised their mugs and saluted the Marines and chugged down the beer then grabbed the whisky and slammed it down.

       Braydon wasn’t sure what he had done but his guts were on fire and he coughed. There was no way he was going to let on that the drink had about killed him.

       “Anyone want another?” Braydon was the first to say yes. He was not a pansy.

       After that round he was not certain who, what, or where he was. The rest of the night blurred and each bar meshed in with the others. Noisily other Marines joined in and they must have been a brigade of Marines marching up and down 5^th. Some of them looked strangely identical to him, or were his eyes deceiving him. The end of the world was no were to be found. Blackness was his friend because all he could hear was the laughter of the others as they moved away like the tide. The gutter was his friend as he lay face down on the sidewalk.

       He felt gentle arms pull him, trying to get him up off the sidewalk. He had never seen anyone so beautiful.” I’m in love,” he slurred.

       “Private we better get you up and moving or the next beautiful face will be that of an MP.” The insistent pull finally jolted him into action and into a car.

       “You’re gorgeous,” was the last thing he remembered saying as the world went black.