I’d met a lot of good guys. Some were here to fulfill their ROTC obligations; some were lifers, and a lot had families at home waiting. I’d learned it was possible to do both, maybe not ideal, but it was possible. Four years it had been since I saw Thea. I knew she was well, that she had graduated last year and was still looking for the job. I thought about her every damn day. I pulled out the picture of her. I could spend hours looking at her picture and that letter she had sent. She nearly broke me with that fucking letter. The paper was worn from the amount of times I’d read it. We were heading back to North Carolina for leave, I was now stationed at Fort Bragg after becoming a Green Beret; I was taking my leave in New York though. Thea and I needed to talk. Bullet nudged Matthew the all clear. I tucked Thea’s picture away.
It was hot as fuck here and the sand and dust…I would die a happy man if I never saw fucking sand again. Summers in North Carolina were hot as hell as well, but that was a reprieve to this oppressive heat.
A few hours later and after a debriefing, I was off to the showers. We’d been gone for a week. I think I could sleep for a week after I ate my body weight in food. I didn’t even make it half way to my destination when the commotion started.
Matthew came running up behind me.
“What’s going on?”
“Firefight in the village.”
I ran with him to the waiting Humvees. “Locals?”
“Fucking power struggle.”
As if there wasn’t enough shit going on, local crime lords used the unrest to make power plays and they didn’t care if civilians were gunned down during their grab for control.
Poverty, I’d never seen anything like it. Children living with so little, the constant threat of being gunned down by stray bullets and yet they could play, smile and run to us when we rolled into their rural villages. Today was different though. The mud houses themselves weren’t burning, but flames were shooting out of the windows. Screams and the smell of burning flesh carried on the wind. It wasn’t a smell I was familiar with before coming here and now it was one I’d never forget. The local tyrant had been escalating to this. The building used for the school was where the villagers huddled in times of trouble. That was one of the buildings burning.
“Son of a bitch,” Matthew hissed at my side.
“There could be survivors.” I was already on the move. Staying low, sweeping for threats, my finger on the trigger of my rifle. Matthew had my back, covering me as I covered him. Bullet barked. There were survivors.
It took three hours to get the survivors to safety, another few to help put out the fires. By the time we returned to base I was moving on fumes. I didn’t even shower, went facedown on my bunk and slept for the next twenty-four hours. And even being exhausted, both physically and mentally right before sleep claimed me, it was Thea I thought of.
It had been a year since we graduated from NYU and Kimber and I had clicked so well as roommates that we now shared a one-bedroom walk up in Chelsea. Cam had found us the place. Kimber won the coin toss for the bedroom. My bed was a daybed sectioned off from the living room and kitchen by a decorative screen. During the day, while Kimber pounded the pavement looking for an entry-level position in marketing, I was submitting my art to agencies in the hopes of getting a position in graphic design.
Cam had gone right into the Academy after graduation and was now a cop. He often worked with Dad on cases and I was a bit envious that they got to see so much of each other. But Dad and Cam’s station was in my neighborhood, so even though I didn’t get to spend the day with them I did join them for lunch often. We were at Dahlia’s, my favorite little neighborhood bistro. Dad looked tired. He put in long hours being a detective, far longer than he ever had as a beat cop. And seeing Cam in his blues wasn’t a sight I was used to yet.
Once we were seated and our orders placed, Dad asked, “Any luck on a job?” I was doing busy work to pay the bills, but I had yet to find the job.
“Not yet. I did get a request from a new author to help her design a book cover.”
“That’s interesting.”
“I hadn’t really thought of that kind of work when I applied for positions, but I’m finding it challenging to realize her vision through design. How are you? You look tired.”
Dad reached for his water. He had recently turned sixty. He looked young for sixty, but I didn’t like seeing the stress lines around his eyes. “Detective work is exhausting.”
“Are you thinking about retiring?”
“I still have a few more years in me, plus I get to see your brother in action.” Dad teased Cam but there was pride in his voice. He loved that Cam was a cop, a chip off the old block.