The Good Soldier (14 page)

"Mike, let's go," the one with spiky hair said. "Cameras in here, man. You ain't s'posed to be near Michelle, anyway."

Mike took a few more steps back and went to the door. Stopped and turned to face me again. "This ain't over. Got it?"

"Yeah it is, Mike," I said. "Now get the hell out of here before I mop the floor with your face."

The men left the store. Mike stopped in the open doorway, pointed at me then pounded his chest twice with his fist. The door slammed shut behind him. He jogged across the parking lot, holding his pants up with one hand, and caught up with his friends. They walked past the glow of the gas station lights and the night swallowed them whole.

"I-I'm sorry about that," Michelle said.

I waved her off. "Don't be. I'm not worried about those guys." I leaned over the counter. "I am worried about you though. You should probably lock up and leave."

She shook her head. "They won't be back. Besides, I'd get fired if I did that."

"They could be. And fired is better than dead."

"They're just drunk. He'll apologize in the morning. He's," she paused and turned toward the front of the store. "He's not supposed to get within one hundred yards of me. One call and he'll go to jail. He knows that. He'll apologize in the morning." A tear rolled down her cheek.

I shook my head. Was there any point in trying? She'd made up her mind about the guy. I knew then that she eventually planned to go back to him. And one day, she'd likely pay with her life.

"Keep your eye out. Call 9-1-1 the moment you see them."

She nodded then looked away.

I dropped a hundred dollar bill on the counter, picked up the bag she'd filled with my items, and started toward the door.

"Hey," she said.

I turned back to her.

"Don't you want your change?"

"Keep it."

I pushed through the door. The cold air hit me like a baseball bat. Beads of sweat felt like tiny icicles as they dried on my skin. I crossed the parking lot diagonally and continued across the street. Five minutes later the roar of a diesel engine filled the air. It wasn't until the engine idled lower that I became concerned. The truck slowed to a near stop next to me.

"Yep, that's him," a voice said from inside the cab.

The truck lurched forward. Red taillights illuminated the immediate area as the truck jerked sideways and screeched to a stop in front of me. Four doors opened. Four men stepped out. The two longhaired rednecks were the first to approach. One held a shotgun. Mike stepped around the one on the driver's side of the truck.

"Hello, again," Mike said. "Remember us?"

Mike stood at the back of the truck, seven or eight feet away from me. His eyes were wide, his body slightly hunched over. He clenched and unclenched his fists a dozen times. A wide smile spread over his face. The man with the gun was to his left, on the shoulder of the road. The other two men moved toward the field. I expected one to stop when even with me and the other to continue behind me. Of course, these guys were amateurs, which meant anything was possible.

I stood my ground. I wouldn't make the first move unless forced to. Something told me that wouldn't be an issue, though.

The gunman shifted side to side. He was jumpy and sweat beaded on his forehead even though a nice breeze blew cool air into his face. Was this his first time pointing a gun at someone? Or the first time he did so with the intention of pulling the trigger? Either way, it concerned me. I had to take him out first.

The heft of my Beretta pressing against my side felt reassuring. I preferred to not use it, though. Not for those guys. I only had twelve bullets left and the way this day was going, I was sure I'd need them before the sun came up.

"Well?" Mike said.

I said nothing, keeping my focus on him and the gunman.

"Aw, c'mon, Jarhead," Mike said. "Ain't you got nothing funny to say?"

"No," I said. "You just said it for me."

"Huh?"

His smile faded and he squinted at me. It looked like he struggled to make sense of what I said.

The gunman didn't. A wry smile formed on his face and his eyes shifted between me and Mike.

"By the time you figure it out, you'll be unconscious. So it might benefit you to concentrate on the task at hand."

The gunman threw his head back and laughed.

At least one of them had a sense of humor, or maybe he had smoked enough pot that I could say anything and he would laugh. I thought about testing this theory out by throwing some nonsense at him, but it made more sense to throw a shoulder into his gut. I had two seconds, maybe three, before his senses would return and he'd take aim. Another second at the most between him aiming and pulling the trigger. Unless he really was stoned, in which case, double those times.

The width of the truck separated Mike and the gunman. Mike stood slightly behind the bumper and the gunman near the corner.

I lunged at the gunman. One hand aimed at this throat, the other at the barrel of the gun. I needed to disable and disarm him at the same time. I took two steps before he opened his eyes. My left fist crashed into the soft spot of his throat about the same time recognition flashed in his eyes. I grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it so that his wrist bent unnaturally backward.

The gunman gasped and gargled for air. He steadied himself by placing his free arm on the lip of the truck bed.

I struck again with my left arm, driving my elbow into his nose. I delivered a swift kick to his kneecap. He went down and let go of the shotgun. I spun and stepped back toward the road, aiming the gun at the group of men approaching me.

Mike stood in the middle flanked by the other two men. The gunman rolled on the ground next to me, clutching his throat and sucking in whatever bits of air he squeeze into his shriveling lungs.

"Don't move," I said.

The moon glinted off the blade of the serrated edge hunting knife in Mike's hand.

"Drop the knife or lose your hand," I said.

"Screw you," he said.

I studied his face. His upper lip curled and his cheek quivered. He looked crazy enough to charge me with the knife extended. I had a decision to make. Take the truck and haul ass, or shoot and add to my already inflated murder count. I aimed the shotgun and fired into the air over their heads.

The knife fell to the ground.

I emptied the gun and moved toward the men. Mike stepped up. I drove the butt of the gun into his stomach and followed it up with a smack across his head. He fell to the ground. The other two men came at me together. I kicked the spiky haired man in the gut. He doubled over. I smashed the butt of the gun into the back of his head. The fourth man pulled a knife. I tossed the gun into the bed of the truck. The odds were already against the longhaired man.

"I'm going to cut you, man," he said. "Then I'm going to slice your gut open."

His words sounded tough. But his twitching and shaking revealed how scared he was.

I didn't waste any time. I took a step toward him. Blocked his swipe at me and took control of his wrist. I spun inward and drove my elbow into the bridge of his nose.

He grunted and went limp. The knife dropped to the ground. I darted toward it and scooped it up.

I heard a voice speak up from behind me. "You and me."

I spun around and saw Mike standing six feet away, knife in his hand. Blood covered his forehead and split into three lines at his eyebrows. The streams of blood poured down his face. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. Blood smeared across his cheeks.

"You don't want to do this," I said.

"Scared?"

"For you."

He laughed then spit. "You don't know me man."

"Sure I do," I said. "I know all about you. I've run into bitches like you every place I've ever been."

He said nothing. He stuck his arm out and lunged toward me.

I stepped to the side and watched him slip by and fall to the ground.

Mike got to his knees and turned as he stood. He approached again, this time slowly and cautiously.

He brought his hands up and flipped the knife around in his hand to a tactical fighting position. The kind of position they teach in advanced combat training. Had he been a Marine or in the Army? Is that how he pegged me so easily? He stepped in and took a swipe at me.

I countered and played defense while he attacked. He'd already taken a couple heavy blows from me. He might have a few broken ribs and a concussion. All I had to do was wear him down and then knock him out.

I kept an eye on his friends in between his attacks. Only one stirred, but he wasn't a threat, yet.

"Attack me," Mike said. "C'mon."

I said nothing. His attack was weak and easy to counter. He might have had training but it had either been a long time ago, or it had not been very advanced.

He broke pattern and swung wildly, opening himself up to a counterattack. I took advantage of the opening and sliced then stabbed, first into his side and then his shoulder. I took care to avoid any major organs and arteries. Despite this guy's overwhelming sense of asshole, I didn't want his death hanging over me.

The strike to his shoulder did enough damage to cause him to drop the knife.

I kicked him from behind. He crashed head first into the truck's liftgate. Fell to the ground. He got to his hands and knees and then, using the truck to help him, stood. He was shaky at first and slowly steadied.

Cars had passed during the fight. A few slowed down, but none stopped to help or intervene. One of them must have notified the police, because I heard sirens approaching.

Mike turned his head at the sound. He looked back at me and smiled.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" I said.

"You're going down, Jarhead. I'm untouchable here."

I hiked my shoulders up an inch and let out a quick laugh before taking a step forward and whipping my right fist across his face. The thud of my fist connecting with his head coincided with the snapping sound of his jaw breaking. He fell back onto the truck. His head rolled forward. His eyes rolled backward. He collapsed on the ground in front of me.

I looked over my shoulder and saw blue lights reflecting off the sky. My cue to leave. I cut through the field and sprinted toward the trees. I ran blind until I was hidden in the cover of the woods, and even then my pace didn't slow down.

* * *

"Jack," Jessie said as I burst through the door. "What the hell happened to you?"

I looked in the mirror mounted over the dresser and noticed four cuts on my face and several on my arms. My adrenaline had been pumping so high, I didn't realize I had received the injuries while running through the woods.

"Jack?"

I spoke between breaths. "Took a jog through the woods."

Bear lifted his head. "Why?"

I fell back onto the bed and stared at the yellow tinted popcorn ceiling.

Nobody spoke.

After a few minutes I went to the door and looked through the window next to it. "Bear, can you go around front and see if any cop cars are out there?"

"Cop cars?" he said. "What the hell did you do?"

I crossed the room and stopped outside the bathroom door. "I got jumped."

"Then why were you running?"

"The cops were coming."

"Again, why did you run?" Bear asked.

"Something the guy said," I said. "He said he was untouchable."

Bear shook his head. He got up and moved into my field of vision. "What happened?"

"That's not all," I said. "He made me for a Marine."

Bear shrugged. He hunched over and we were eye to eye. He nodded slowly and changed facial expressions repeatedly, like he was thinking about saying something but was stuck searching for the right words.

"Just go check out front," I said. "Stay out of view, though. There were four of them and only two are hurt enough to go to the hospital."

He moved to the door. Turned back and nodded, then stepped outside. The door closed with a thud.

I looked at Jessie. She smiled, but her furrowed brow gave her away.

"Jess," I said. "I'm sorry I got you involved in this. I wasn't thinking when we stopped-"

She waved me off. "I'm glad you showed up."

"Are you kidding? Your life might be ruined. Is ruined."

She crossed the room and stood in front of me. Placed her hands on my shoulders and leaned in. I felt her hot breath on my neck. "My life's been ruined since I walked out of yours."

I leaned back. Our eyes met and locked in that familiar stare. She brushed her lips against mine and held them close. We kissed. My stomach tensed and eased. I was transported back in time for a moment.

She pulled back and dragged her hand down the side of my face.

I winced as her nails crossed a cut on my face.

"I'm sorry," she said, leaning in to kiss the wound.

"It doesn't hurt."

She smiled, stood and grabbed my hands, pulling me to my feet. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up."

I stood and our bodies pressed together momentarily. She smiled and turned.

I followed her into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. She turned the faucet on. I spun her around and grabbed her by the waist. Lifted her onto the sink and leaned in to kiss her. She kissed me back. Our hands rediscovered each other. I pulled away.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Bear," I said.

"Why are you thinking about Bear? Don't tell me I was right about you two?" A smile formed on her lips as she winked.

I grabbed her hands and pulled them together, resting them on my chest. "He's going to be back any minute."

"Send him out again."

"Too risky. This place is not safe."

She sighed and leaned forward, placing her head on my shoulder, lips against my neck. "Should have rented two rooms."

I stepped back and lifted her chin with my finger. We stared into each other's eyes for a few moments.

"I have to fix this," I said.

"Fix what?"

"This situation. I have to clear our names. Something stinks and I need to get to the bottom of it. But I promise, I'll fix it."