And Crawling Things Lurk

Laura’s snug-fitting denim shorts at the tops of her long, shapely legs made little sashaying movements as she walked away from Don across her patio to the table. His wine glass paused half way to his lips while he enjoyed the view. After she leaned over to place the large bowl she carried in the center of the table, she stood there studying the layout with her weight on one leg, which caused the taut back pockets to cock sideways a bit and stay there.

Don cocked his head to match the tilt of the stitched pockets before remarking, “Why, Miss Webster, I believe you do, indeed, have the finest butt I’ve encountered all year.”

She wiggled her rear a couple of times before turning slowly to face him, then, with hooded eyes and puckered mouth, walked toward him with a slow, exaggerated bobbing gait. In a sultry voice straight out of a Bogie-Bacall movie, she said, “And, don’t forget my well-kneaded buns, either.”

“Oh, my,” he said, shaking his head after a short but hearty laugh. He set his glass on the table next to his end of the bench swing and added, “I fear I may have caused poor Miss Farr to experience palpitations – and probably Miss Muffy, too.”

With a swish of her short cut hair, Laura sat beside him on the slowly moving bench, curling one of her legs beneath her. With the other one she gave the swing a gentle shove to get it moving again then curled it up, too.

“That was some pretty fancy footwork, too. I never knew you were so nimble.”

“Well, a fella has to develop some abilities to dodge those bullets if he’s going to be taking potshots at his own feet.”

She reached over her end of the swing and picked up her own glass of zinfandel from a table that matched the one next to Don. “Well, you can relax. Tonight, we’re having ribs – or should I worry, now, about that part of my anatomy being discussed around town?”

“Well, you do have some mighty tasty ribs, as I recall, but we’ll keep that as our own, little secret.”

Her low, languid laugh was, again, reminiscent of Lauren Bacall.

At the sound of squeaking gate hinges behind them, Laura arose and went around the end of the swing. Without looking in that direction, Don raised his arm and waved his hand in a come-on-back motion.

Pam McBee handed over her foil covered casserole to Laura then preceded her husband into the back yard. She was about Laura’s height, which was just a couple of inches shorter than Don’s, and she might have had a pound or two on her husband’s receptionist and office manager. Otherwise, they could be sisters. Pam veered over to the bench swing and sat beside Don, matching her movement to the swing’s to avoid stopping it. Laura and Jim headed for the table. The addition of their baking dish and a basket from which two loaves of sourdough bread peeked from beneath a checkered towel pretty much filled the table.

“Artichoke hearts-a-la-Pam?” Don asked, nodding towards the casserole.

Pam chuckled and patted him on the cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of coming to a cookout without ’em. Not if you’re going to be there.”

“Aw…you’ve got yourself a keeper, here, Jim.”

Laura handed a poured glass of wine to Jim then picked up another full glass and headed towards Pam.

Jim took a sip as he turned slowly about until he faced the charcoal barbecue at the edge of the patio around which hung a haze of smoke. “Hmmm! Forget the flora. I smell fauna.”

“It’s still got a bit to go,” Laura said, “so you may nibble, but only from the bowls on the left.”

“Yessum. Tough lady, you’ve got there, buddy.” Jim scooped some dip onto the side of a small plate and filled the rest with chips, then lowered himself into an Adirondack chair with a small table at the side and a fire-pit at his feet.

“So, what have you heard from your friend, the professor?” Don asked.

Jim lowered his glass and shook his head. “Nothing yet. I took Be-Be over to his place and left her in his freezer with a briefing report. His housekeeper said she doesn’t expect him back for another month or so. She said he’s gone off somewhere west of the Black Sea and south of the Danube where he told her he would be roaming the hills to find anything that hasn’t been found yet.”

“Ah, the Balkans,” Don remarked. “Now, that brings back memories.”

Laura walked over to Don’s end of the swing and motioned him to scoot over, then sat so he was sandwiched between her and Pam. She curled her legs beneath her, and leaned into his side. “Have you been to Greece and the Adriatic? The Black Sea? I hear it’s lovely.”

Don eyed Jim over the top of Laura’s head, and they both gave out chopped-short laughs. She looked up at him to see if he was laughing at her. Still not sure, she said, “I suppose it might also be amusing.”

“No, no,” Jim said. “We weren’t laughing at you, just the idea that Bosnia is lovely. Although, I suppose it could be by now.”

“The last time we saw it, things were a bit of a mess,” Don interjected. “What was it, about 1994?”

“And a bit into ninety-five. Don’t you remember toasting the new year with that local stuff we found?”

Laura turned from one to the other. “I forgot that’s where the Bosnia thing was – but that was so long ago. I didn’t know you two were over there at the same time.”

Don snickered. “Well, we were in the same outfit. That’s the way it works in the army. They ship your unit out, everyone gets to go.”

Laura gave him a jab in his ribs. “Don’t give me any of your crap. No, I knew you were in the same unit, I just didn’t think about you being over in that mess, too. I knew Jim was there for the U.N. mission. You never told me you went, too.”

“Like you said, it was a long time ago. Besides, it was hardly a vacation on the Riviera.”

“I thought it was just peace-keeping.”

“Well, there wasn’t a whole lot of peace to find, let alone keep. Our unit didn’t do much more than chase small groups around the countryside until they blended in with everyone else. Then, about the time we caught our second breath, off we’d go after another bunch that thought blowing up their neighbors was the proper way to do things. And why not? It always worked for their fathers and grandfathers.”

“And, I’ll have you know, that’s where Don saved my bacon from a rabid dog,” Jim said and raised his glass in a toast to Don.

“A rabid dog?” Laura looked over at her boss like she was expecting him to give her the punch line. When he didn’t, she gave him a prompt. “You encountered a rabid dog in the middle of a war?”

Now that he had the interest of his audience, Jim leaned forward and continued with his war story. “Well, I can’t say positively that it was rabid, but based on the education I’ve received since, I’d say it was a fairly likely diagnosis without lab tests to verify it. I had left my weapon and things against a wall just inside the entrance in a little, sorta enclosed courtyard – oh, man, the sergeant woulda killed me. I was taking a…well, a wholly natural and really necessary break from my usual martial activities. After I had disencumbered myself of my military accoutrements and was in such a position that I would have had a really hard time running, or just about anything else, that mutt showed up out of nowhere. He must have been hiding in the rubble of the house we just checked out, just lying there in the dark, suffering the last of his days away. He was probably nearing the last stages of the disease. Could hardly get around. Enough, though, ’cause he sure looked like he was going to thoroughly chew me up. Then, like the seventh cavalry, Don came around the corner of the building and put the poor thing out of its misery.”

Laura turned back to Don, “You shot a dog? You couldn’t have just chased it away or something?”

Jim came to Don’s defense before Don could say anything. “Believe me, Laura, he did that poor animal a favor. I would have done it, myself, if I could have reached my weapon. It wasn’t like there was a vet hospital in the next block. It was dying a long, agonizing death, and its only relief was a quicker one.”

“Oh, I know. I just automatically get my protective instincts fired up when I hear something like that. I suppose a lot of bad stuff happens when a country falls apart.”

“And that place is good at it.” Don reached past Laura for his glass. “They’ve been doing it in one way or another for at least a thousand years. Even when the Ottoman Empire tried to absorb it, the place never stopped trying to eat itself.”

“Peacekeepers, they called us,” Jim said. “I don’t know how much peace we kept, but, yeah, we did do our share of chasing bad guys. Well, I suppose they were the bad guys. That’s what the folks telling us what to do said they were.”

“And that reminds me, Jim. Remember when we chased that bunch into a cave?”

“Oh, yeah, they had just firebombed a mosque full of people.”

“No, that bunch went into a mine. I mean the ones we flushed out of the farmhouse. They went across that little valley and disappeared into a cave on the other side, a natural cave. Remember, you said there should be bats in a place like that, but there weren’t.”

“Oh, yeah. There weren’t even signs that bats had been there any time recently. Odd. I mean, bats are everywhere, right? The bad guys never did come out while we were there, did they?”

“No, they didn’t. Did you go deep with me when we were searching?”

“Huh uh. The sergeant posted Higgins and me to watch the big room in case they had a way to circle around and come back out past you. Why, did I miss something?”

“Higgins. Now there was a character. No, those tunnels beyond the big room were like a maze, and we never got even close to searching them all. When the sergeant saw how extensive it was he called us back out. Remember, we waited outside the cave mouth for a couple of hours before we finally left? We figured they probably had another way out, or they were just happy to spend the night in there. Anyway, when I was in there, deep down and past I don’t know how many twists and turns and forks, there was a smell – foul and rank – even worse than what hits you two or three days after a really messy battle. I had never come across anything like it before or since. Close, but not quite the same – never, until I found Be-Be. And then again today with Josie Reynolds’ body.”

“Really? Josie Reynolds…isn’t she one of the bunch hangs around the waterfront? Homeless? You saying she was in the same shape as Be-Be? Wrapped up like a cocoon and more than a bit over-ripe?”

“Yeah, she’d been missing for a few days. Her body turned up in the old Vasov building.”

“And that’s where you found Be-Be. If she was in the same condition, looks like a pretty good indication their deaths are related.”

“You’d think so.”

“Well, when she’s autopsied, at least you’ll probably be able to say what happened to Be-Be. We won’t have to wait for Carl to come back from Europe.”

“Only if I push it. De Leon says there’s no connection between Josie and Be-Be except where they were found, which he sees as just coincidental. Hell, he’d scratch Josie’s autopsy if he could get away with it. He’s not even going to be there, but at least I will. They’re going to do it tomorrow morning, and I had to push to get it for then. It was going to get shoved off to the back burner and maybe get done in a couple of weeks.”

“Scratch the autopsy? Why would he want to do that? I thought it was required unless she died while under a doctor’s immediate care.”

“He couldn’t scratch it; he’d just like to. He’s not concerned with what killed her since he figures he’s already got it figured out...by pure deductive reasoning. Sorta something like Sherlock might do. No lab tests or actual probing for evidence is required. He saw two small puncture holes through the wrappings, so he concluded she was stabbed in the neck. But there’s no blood around the wounds or anywhere else on her at all. She’s just like Be-Be, covered by those filaments, and light as a feather. I don’t think she’s got any blood in her, even worse than if she had just been bled out. You felt what Be-Be was like. And how the hell could Jackie have managed that?”

“Jackie?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that. De Leon arrested Jackie Simms for the murder.”

“Jackie Simms, the wino? Why would he kill her? Wasn’t she one of the Hole crowd with him?”

“De Leon reasoned it out that it was probably either a lovers’ quarrel or over a bottle. I know it’s possible, maybe even likely, but I don’t buy it – especially with the similarities to Be-Be, whether De Leon admits them or not. Can you imagine Jackie overcoming Be-Be? Maybe what I learned about him recently has biased me in his favor, but I’d still need more than flimsy circumstantial evidence to go on before I’d hang a murder charge on him.”

Lauren poured the last of the zinfandel into his glass. “So, what’d you learn about him? Is he actually the pope working undercover or something?”

Don took a sip and gazed into the dark elixir. “You guys all knew he was wounded while in the military, didn’t you?”

After they all nodded and confirmed that they had heard such rumors about the town’s most well known drunk, but not much beyond that.

“Well, I didn’t either until Muri Astor taught me to be less judgmental of my fellow man. While I was trying to teach her to stay away from a man she knew nothing about, she got me to join her in learning something about him. I took her to visit Jackie’s Gramma. I figured she’d educate Muri about how much of a failure and disappointment he was to his family. Muri sat there soaking up Gramma’s proud tales of his childhood, including how he wound up with her when his parents were killed in a car wreck, but I nosied about the living room while I listened. I had heard that he got a Purple Heart, but not how he got it. Most people that know him, or think they do, probably don’t even believe that much is true. Well, I can verify that he was, indeed, awarded a Purple Heart. I saw it. Gramma’s got it in a frame along with the citation and the Silver Star he got with it.”

Jim paused a dip-laden chip half way to his mouth. “A Silver Star?”

“Yep.”

Jim sat up. “A Silver Star? Jackie? Our Jackie?”

“Our Jackie.”

“I’ll be damned. Tell me more.”

Don leaned back and gazed upward, as though reading again Jackie’s citation written in the stars. “Jackie was a sergeant in the army. His unit was part of the U.N.’ s peace-keeping mission in Somalia.”

“Oh, God!” Pam said, shaking her head. “He got sucked into that mess?”

“He sure did. It was a couple of years before Jim and I went tromping around Bosnia. Jackie was leading a three-vehicle convoy somewhere in Mogadishu, riding in an open Humvee mounted with a fifty-caliber machine gun in the back seat. They were going through an intersection when about a dozen AK-47 types opened up on them, killing his driver and gunner. Jackie took one in the leg. The second vehicle, an enclosed Humvee carrying troops, was hit by more light machinegun fire, killing the driver and a couple others, and it crashed into a building on the corner. The third vehicle, another enclosed troop carrier, took an RPG hit. That’s a rocket-propelled grenade,” he said to Laura and Pam. “It went up in a ball of fire, no survivors.

“Jackie pulled the driver’s body out from behind the wheel of his Humvee and drove back to the second vehicle where some of the survivors were pinned down but managing to return fire. The ambush force was in cover behind walls and inside buildings. Jackie climbed into the back of his Humvee and opened up with the fifty. He provided enough covering fire so the survivors could help each other from the wrecked Humvee and into his. Then, while one of them drove it out of the intersection, Jackie stayed in back and kept up his fire. He still caught return fire, though, taking two more hits, one in his right arm and one in his left side. After they got away from the fire zone, he learned there was still one soldier alive in the wrecked Humvee. The guy’s leg got pinned when they hit the building.

“So, after they got the others out and under cover, Jackie asked his new driver to take him back. While his driver pried the guy’s leg free, Jackie continued to stand up there, an easy target, providing covering fire. He was hit again, tore a chunk from the side of his leg, but he stayed on the gun. As they were leaving the intersection the second time, a hit to the head finally dropped him, but not out of the Humvee. His driver was hit once more, but not so bad that he couldn’t continue driving. After they got back to the others, someone else took the wheel and got them all the hell out of there. Jackie got a Silver Star, and the kid that drove got a Bronze star with a V. They all got Purple Hearts.”

After a few silent moments, Laura asked, “What’s the V for? Is it significant?”

“Valor,” Jim answered. “Thing’s about that big,” he held his finger and thumb about a quarter of an inch apart, “right in the center of the star, and, yes, it’s significant.”

“But Jackie only got a plain one?” Laura was indignant. “Why didn’t he get a V? Certainly seems like he was valiant.”

Don took her hand in his and smiled. “No, sweets. A Silver Star is the next one up from Bronze, just like in the Olympics, and it is for valor. There’s only one other between it and the Medal of Honor.”

“Oh. Oh, my.”

“His Gramma said there was a push by some to award Jackie a Distinguished Service Cross if not a Medal of Honor, but the Pentagon shot it down. There’s often a lot of politics involved with those things, and lots of times not even relevant to the incident. Except for the part involving a denied up-grade, I read all this, myself, from the citations, themselves. It’s not just some fantasy Gramma wants to believe. She said he was hospitalized for some time, and by the time he got out and came back to Cedar City, other things and other places were in the news, like Bosnia. Jackie just sort of blended back into the town, and no one bothered with him. Still don’t until he gets stinko, and then I’m frequently the one that has to do something with him. Gramma said he used to be pretty sharp, athletic, good grades in school, made rank in the army. Now, it’s like he left part of his brains over there.”

Laura looked from one friend to the next, started to take a sip of wine but changed her mind. “Well, I guess, in a way, he did.”

The others remained quiet while Don walked over to pick up another bottle of zinfandel from the table along with a corkscrew. While he worked on opening it, he said, “I know that only demonstrates that he has killed in the past, but killing in battle is different. I just don’t believe he killed Josie.”