their game. “Will someone tell me what in God’s name is goin’ on?” asked Pete. “What the fuck am I? Road kill? No one pages me and no one sends a damn pro shop manager after me.”
“Calm down, Pete,” said Leonard. “This doesn’t concern your jets—not this time, at least. Be glad. It appears that the Honorable Mr. Coughlin desires a helicopter flight Tuesday.”
“And a full-fledged ground-based dog-and-pony show,” Joe growled.
Leonard sympathized. “I hope your operational tempo isn’t as bad as mine.”
“Sounds like all Coughlin wants to do is show his face at Camp Pendleton for some free press time with Marines in the field,” Joe said.
“Coughlin?” asked Pete. “That lunatic? You gotta be shittin’ me! Both of you have to jump through hoops for that pompous—?” Pete grew red-faced. “You’re right, Joe. My predecessor loved the guy and gave him joy rides in our jets. Don’t ask me to do it, that’s all I got to say. I have more important things to do with my F-18s than play Disneyland to Congressmen and Senators—especially that bloated bastard!”
“Sounds like we’re all singing the same song,” said Leonard.
Joe’s voice lacked enthusiasm. “Let’s play the game and worry about this later.”
“Certainly,” answered Leonard. “Nothing we can do to help the Congressman now.”
“You’re damn right we’re continuin’ the game!” Pete declared. “No politician is screwin’ with my golf schedule.”
As they resumed, Leonard said, “Our predecessors were pulled from their golf courses with news like, ‘Colonel! The Japanese are bombing Pearl Harbor!’ or ‘Colonel! The North Koreans have crossed the thirty-eighth parallel!’ or ‘Colonel! Krushchev has ships bound for Cuba!’”
“I know what you mean, Colonel,” lamented Joe.
“This is the down side of the Pax Americana in the new world order. ‘Colonel! You can kiss a politician’s ass!’” The colonels laughed, albeit somberly, at Leonard’s perspective.
“Well, Leon and Joe,” advised Pete, “maybe—just maybe—when you two put those stars on your collars, you can change the new world order!”
“Perhaps.” Leonard pierced the ground with his tee, lining up his shot. “But unless we’re in the four percent selected, all we’ll be changing is the filter in some general’s coffeemaker.”
“Excuse me—hello! Son? You all right?”
“What?” Jay slowly came out his daze. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
The clerk had a concerned expression. “The total is nineteen dollars. You gave me a ten.”
“Oh, sorry.” Jay gave the elderly man two fives and retrieved his change. He took the bag, griping to himself that snacks, sodas, dog food and the Sunday paper cost so much. His legs were heavy as he walked to his car, and his back and shoulders ached. His watch showed two o’ clock in the afternoon but his body and brain were in a twilight zone. He hadn’t slept in thirty-two hours and the lack of sleep had dulled his mind. Focusing was a challenge and his coordination was gone.
The clerk informed him that the name of the quaint neighborhood was University Heights, although a university didn’t seem to be anywhere in the vicinity. All Jay saw were early-twentieth-century houses and a scattering of postwar structures. Many were in the same California bungalow style as Ed’s, but Ed’s—now his heir’s—was the nicest one on his street.
Jay drove to the spot of the vigil he’d maintained for the previous twelve hours. He shut off the ignition, wincing as Ed repeated his last words: How did you know that my dog, which you haven’t seen—is a dachshund? And why are my sunglasses—which were on top of—“Stop!” Jay shouted. He put his head down and rubbed his eyes but nothing halted the video. Although he’d blacked out at the time, the scene had lodged itself in his subconscious. Each time it replayed, the images were more ferocious than before.
Ed reached for the drawer containing the pistol, sending Jay into automatic pilot. All he’d meant to do was take the gun from Ed. That’s all! Gunmen had pulled weapons on Jay in the past and he’d vowed that no one would ever point a gun at him again. A man was never more powerless than when he was staring at the wrong end of a loaded firearm. Jay’s intentions—seemingly reasonable at the time—had been to immobilize Ed’s shooting arm with his left hand and wrest the gun from Ed’s grip with his right. Once Jay had the gun, he’d remove the bullets and reach a truce with the Sailor. Looking back, peace was probably what Ed wanted too, but Jay’s instincts wouldn’t let him give away that much power. No, Jay had to control the gun.
But everything had gone wrong. Instead of immobilizing him, Jay had slammed Ed’s gun arm against his chest. Because his right finger had been on the trigger, the Beretta fired, launching a bullet into his skull through his throat and sinuses, the softest part of the head. Jay watched helplessly as the chain reaction unfolded. The strangest part was Ed’s smile just before he died. The smile unsettled Jay most of all. Why had he smiled? Did he see something? Did he learn some—truth? Some truth that only death teaches? If so, what was it?
Jay didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on Ed’s serene face at the moment of his death. Jay assumed that a neighbor heard the gunshot and called the cops, giving him little time. His mind, never at rest, went into hyperdrive. Ed’s blood and brains had splattered the wall behind his lifeless body, resembling a typical suicide scene. The investigators wouldn’t find a note but fewer than twenty percent of people who committed suicide left a note. Looking around, Jay realized a note wasn’t necessary. The room—filled with pictures and mementos of Ed’s recently deceased lover—was a visual suicide note.
Two pieces of evidence might divert an investigator from the conclusion that Ed’s death was a suicide. Jay picked up the crushed Ray-Bans from the floor near Ed’s feet. No one would miss the Sailor’s sunglasses. Next, Jay removed his jacket and stripped off his T-shirt, using it to wipe his fingerprints off the front and back covers of the address book. Although its information seemed too valuable to leave, he decided against taking it as Ed’s friends would notice it was missing. To be safe, he wiped the desk, the sofa and the other furniture clean. Backing away from the death scene, he used his shirt as a mitt and opened the door, wiping prints from the doorknob. He gasped when the chilly early morning air hit his bare chest and he hurried to put his shirt and jacket back on. Racing across the front lawn to his car, Jay heard the dog bark, a bittersweet reminder of Porky’s unconditional love. If only he’d used his head, he wouldn’t have mentioned his grandma’s dachshund! Too late, though—the dog’s owner was dead.
As stealthily as possible, Jay drove his car around the corner, parking by a curb where he had a view of Ed’s house. He slid low in the seat and dreaded the inevitable siren. But as the hours went by, the sun arced overhead and the community remained at rest. Jay’s world was the opposite of peaceful as he relived that final gruesome scene dozens of times throughout the early morning hours. By late morning, his stomach ached and he felt like his bladder would explode but he remained motionless for a few more hours. By Sunday afternoon, his discipline was no longer enough to stave off Mother Nature. He found a store with a public toilet and purchased some food for himself and the dog. The poor thing had to be starving by now.
But back at Ed’s house, after seeing the death scene in his head again, Jay decided feeding the dog was too dangerous. “Sorry, little guy. You’re going to have to wait until it gets dark.”
10
“Always wondered what the inside of the bachelor officers’ quarters looked like.”
Patrick laughed. “I don’t mean to insinuate anything by what I’m about to say—”
“That means you’re totally about to insinuate something.” Don set the bag of Chinese takeout on a cheap faux-wood table and playfully pushed