The Night People (16 page)

Roderick Care shuffled his feet against the carpet and stared at the younger man. “I’m not running down what you fellows did in Korea—don’t misunderstand me! I’m only pointing out that given the right circumstances a massed armored attack can be both impressive and effective.”

Mason leaned back in his chair, enjoying himself for all the surface disagreement. Care, ten years his senior, was the sort of man with whom he liked to argue. “I don’t know,” he said with just a hint of a smile. “If they’re all like you, I don’t know that I’d be too welcome in the AWB.”

Roderick Care, a graying man with a spreading paunch, and no sense of humor, leaped to the defensive. “Come, now! You can’t be serious! The AWB is the finest bunch of guys you’d ever want to meet. They accepted me, and I’m British! That must prove something right there. We’re not the American Legion or the VFW or the Catholic War Vets, you know. We’re strictly social, just a bunch of fellows out for a good time. We like to get away from the wife and children for a few days occasionally and do some hunting or fishing, or just drink beer and talk about our service days.”

“The others have plenty of social activities,” Mason argued. “In fact I dropped out of a veterans’ group once because they were a bit too social. Dinners and dances and all the rest.”

“But those things are with the wife! I know you like to get away with the boys once in a while. Everybody does. Hell, how many other veterans’ organizations have a hunting lodge like our place in River Forks?”

Mason was ready for that one. “The Khakis have a lodge not too far from there.”

“The Khakis! Would you rather belong to the Khakis or the American War Buddies—buddy?”

“Neither group excites me too much, to be perfectly frank about it,” Mason told him.

Care spread his hands in a pleading gesture. “At least come to one of our meetings, see what it’s all about. What harm can that do?”

More to put an end to the discussion than because he really wanted to go. Mason finally agreed. He’d expected an evening of reminiscing when he agreed to dine with Roderick Care, but he’d hardly foreseen the sort of high-pressure sales talk to which he’d been subjected. As he drove home through the warm autumn night he reflected that he had now committed himself to next week’s meeting whether he liked it or not. Well, at least he could tell that to the man from the Khakis, who kept phoning him.

“Nice dinner, dear?” Maria asked him as he came in from the garage. “He didn’t try to sell you any insurance, did he?”

“No, we talked about North Africa and Korea, and tank warfare and stuff.”

She’d put the children to bed and was in the process of finishing the dinner dishes. He sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and watching her, ever amazed that she could still manage to look as youthful as when he’d married her twelve years ago. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t buy anything,” she told him. “Both children are going to need new shoes soon, and we still have the color TV to pay off.”

“He wants me to come to the next AWB meeting.”

“The
what
?”

“You know. The American War Buddies.”

“You’re not going, are you?”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s just that you’ve always been sort of cynical about veterans’ groups.”

“Well, maybe this one’s different. Or maybe it’s a sign of middle age that I suddenly want to talk about my days as a tank commander in Korea.”

“You were never a commander!”

“I was for a day, after Scotty got killed. I told you about that.”

She sighed and went back to the dishes. “I should think when fellows come back from the wars they’d just want to forget about all the killing, not go on being reminded of it at monthly meetings.”

“Oh, they talk about other things, Maria. In fact, Care said it was mostly a social group. They have a hunting lodge up in River Forks.”

“That figures!”

He found himself growing a bit annoyed at her attitude. “Hell, I usually go hunting once or twice every year anyway. If they’ve got a lodge I might as well use it.”

“Do whatever you want,” she said.

He grunted and started reading the evening paper, looking for some newsy item with which to change the subject.

The following week’s meeting of the American War Buddies was about what he’d expected. It was held in a big private dining room at the Newton Hotel, a room which also served the needs of the Lions’ Club and the County Republican Committee. A large American flag hung from the wall behind the speaker’s table, and several of the members wore ribbon-bedecked campaign hats.

A man named Crowder, who walked with a stiff-legged limp, conducted the meeting running through routine matters and the preparations for the autumn reopening of the lodge at River Forks. Peering out from beneath bushy black eyebrows’ he reminded Mason of a movie-version communist at a cell meeting in the Thirties.

After the surprisingly brief meeting, he walked over to greet Mason personally. “Pleasure to have you here, Mr. Mason. I’m Crowder, this year’s president of AWB. Roderick Care tells me you’re thinking of joining.”

“Only thinking right now.”

Crowder offered him a cigarette, shifting weight onto his good leg. “This is the best time of the year to join. There’s the lodge, and the Christmas party, and then the big national convention in the spring. Frankly, Mason, we’re looking for young blood—Korea and after. Too many of our members are left over from wars that everyone’s forgotten. You could go high in the organization right now—maybe even a national office on the executive committee.”

“I’m not looking for more work,” Mason told him. “Besides you look young enough to have been in Korea yourself.” His eyes dropped unconsciously to the stiff leg.

“I was over there, right at the end of things. But not a tank commander like you.”

“I came out without a scratch,” Mason said. “I have great respect for those who didn’t.”

Crowder gave a short, husky laugh. “This leg? Foolish hunting accident two years ago. Shot myself in the kneecap.”

“Oh.” Mason felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned to see Roderick Care beaming at him. He had another man in tow, a white-haired man with a small and gentle face.

“Mason, this is Dr. Fathion, one of our most respected members. He was a major during the South Pacific campaign.”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Mason said.

“A pleasure, Mr. Mason. I trust you’ve been won over by our president?”

“I’m considering it,” Mason replied with a smile.

Roderick Care motioned toward the back of the room, where the hotel waitresses were preparing to serve coffee and cake. “Let’s discuss it over some coffee. Or would you rather go down to the bar?”

“Coffee’s fine.”

It was good coffee, and Mason found himself beginning to like these men who clustered around him.

“Tell us about Korea,” Crowder said. “I never saw much action over there myself.”

“Except with the girls,” Care said, muffling an explosion of laughter. “Crowder here is quite the lover.”

“You will be joining us at the lodge, won’t you?” Crowder asked Mason. “You
do
hunt?”

“A little,” he turned to the doctor. “How about you, Dr. Fathion? You do much hunting?”

The doctor shook his head, slightly horrified. “I never fire a gun. Never even fired one in the army. But I go along with them for the opening of the season. I’m a great poker player, and we usually get a few nice games going.”

“It must have been tough going through the South Pacific without firing a shot.”

The little doctor shrugged. “Oh, they made us fire at a few training targets, but in battle I was always too busy with the wounded. Field hospital, behind the lines. One day I operated on fifty-five wounded men. I was ready to drop by nightfall.”

Mason liked the doctor, and he liked the others too, to varying degrees. After the coffee he joined them at the hotel bar for a quick drink, and found himself signing a membership application with no resistance at all.

Maria was waiting up for him when he got home. “It’s pretty late,” she said. “I thought you’d be home by ten.”

“We had coffee and then I stopped with them for a drink.”

“You joined, didn’t you?” she asked, making it into something like an accusation.

“Well, hell, yes I did! That’s no crime! They only meet once a month and for a few social gatherings. If I get tired of it I just won’t go.”

“All right,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to sound like a shrew.”

He mumbled something and went out to the kitchen for a glass of milk.

“So now I’m an AWB wife. Do they have a ladies’ auxiliary or something?”

“I’ll ask,” he replied, not certain that she wasn’t continuing to needle him.

“That means you’ll be going hunting with them, I suppose.”

“Just the first day. I’ll only be away one night. Or two at most.”

In the morning she was her usual cheerful self, and his membership in the AWB was not mentioned again.

About a week later he received a call at work from a lawyer he knew slightly, a member of the Khakis. “Have you thought any more about joining us, Mason, boy?”

“Sorry, Cliff. I’ve signed up with the AWB.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“They seemed like a nice bunch of fellows.”

“Well … yes. But that sort of puts us on opposite sides of the fence.”

Mason chuckled into the phone. “Not really, Cliff. I’ll still throw some legal business your way. How about lunch one of these days?”

Cliff seemed to hedge at that. “Um, let’s make it after Thanksgiving, huh? I’m getting into my busy season.”

“Fine. I’ll be talking to you.” He hung up, wondering if he had made the right choice. But Cliff had told him very little about the Khakis, really, and had never invited him to one of their monthly meetings.

He went back to the pile of work on his desk and promptly forgot about it.

A few days before the opening of hunting season, Roderick Care phoned him. “Monday’s the big day—just thought I’d call to remind you. A group of us are driving up to the lodge Sunday night, just to be there at dawn when the deer start running. You might as well come along.”

Mason hesitated only a moment. “All right,” he agreed.

“What kind of rifle do you have?” Care asked.

“I’ve got two—a Remington and an old Italian army gun I don’t use much any more.”

“Better bring them both. Somebody might be able to use it.”

“All right.”

“I’ll pick up Dr. Fathion and then swing by for you around six. It’s a three-hour drive.”

Mason was ready on Sunday evening, and he stepped into the brisk night air as soon as Care’s auto pulled up in front. He wasn’t too anxious for the men to come in and face Maria’s cool indifference to the trip.

Dr. Fathion was in the back, and Mason rode in front, feeling good for the first time in days. “Put these with the others,” he said, passing over the two gun cases.

The doctor accepted them. “You should get rid of that red hat,” he suggested as they got under way.

Mason fingered the fluorescent material. “This? Hell, I don’t want to get shot for a deer.” He glanced into the back seat at the other cased rifle. “Mind if I look at yours, Care? Not loaded, is it?”

“No, no. Go ahead!”

Mason leaned over the seat and unzipped the case. “A carbine? Semi-automatic? I thought they were illegal in this state.”

Roderick Care smiled. “The deer never said they were illegal.”

They drove for a long time in silence, with both Care and the doctor reluctant to join in any conversation about their common interests. Mason mentioned North Africa and the South Pacific and finally Korea without getting a rise out of either man.

It had been dark for more than two hours by the time they turned off the main highway, and there was another hour’s trip over a rutted mountain road before they finally reached the hunting lodge at River Forks. Three other cars had gotten there ahead of them, and a dozen men were already inside, playing poker and drinking beer.

Crowder limped over to greet them, startling Mason with his costume of green-and-brown camouflage. “That’s a heck of a thing to wear when you’re hunting,” Mason said.

“I probably won’t go out with this knee anyway.”

The lodge was large enough to sleep a score or more men. There were three big bedrooms with an array of cots, plus a kitchen, indoor toilet, and central living room where others could sleep. It was a pleasant place, though it seemed to Mason that none of the men were very relaxed.

Mason chatted with the various men and examined an AWB banner that he hadn’t seen before. He ended up in a card game with Care and Crowder and the doctor, and won five dollars. He drank a few beers, talked guns with Care for a time, and finally caught a few hours’ sleep on one of the cots. None of the others seemed interested in sleep, and he awakened around three-thirty in the morning to hear Crowder sending one of the men out of the lodge on some mission.

Mason felt around for his fluorescent cap but it was gone. While he slept someone had substituted a dark brown one with ear flaps that was a size too large. He got up and joined the others, yawning, noticing for the first time that none of them wore any brightly colored garment.

“Where are the cars?” he asked, glancing out the window.

Care walked over to stand beside him. “We have a garage around back. They’ll be safe there.”

“What? Say, who was that just went out?”

“Schlitzer. He’s just looking around.”

“It’s a couple of hours till daylight.”

Dr. Fathion was making coffee, and passing the steaming cups around at random. Mason drank, feeling an odd sort of tension building in his gut. It was almost the way he’d felt in Korea.

Then something about the windows caught his eye, something he hadn’t noticed before. He walked over to feel the folded shutters, then turned to Roderick Care. “Since when do you need steel shutters on a hunting—”

The crack of the rifle shot was very close, off in the woods somewhere but very close. Instantly Crowder was on his feet shouting orders. Two men grabbed their rifles and hurried outside, while a third picked up the AWB banner and went out the door behind them, planting it in the soft earth with a firm hand.