Curt Colbert - Seattle Noir

Danny did not recognize the man, had never been to that prison before. Did the man have him mixed up with someone else? Was it a ruse?

Danny didn’t answer, had merely gestured with his rifle for the man to move along onto the truck that would take them to another foul-smelling prison. Danny knew there was torture. He knew there was death. On their way to reinforce the battalion that had lost two soldiers, they had stumbled across a trash heap with five more Iraqi bodies, hands fastened with plastic ties behind them, no IDs.

Danny did not want to be recognized by anyone in Iraq. He just wanted to do his job and get home.

The following day, he was back on the AFB checkpoint. Forbes, Yamada, Meyer, and he had been checking IDs and searching cars for five hours. Their shifts had ended an hour before, but their relief had not shown up. They couldn’t leave their posts. All they knew was that there had been an “unexpected delay.”

Later, it turned out that Vice President Cheney had made an unannounced visit to the Green Zone to meet with top officials. All members of Danny’s squadron who had not been on duty at the time were called in to provide extra security.

“Dang!” said Sergeant Klein when they got back. “They’ve got hot water twenty-four hours a day in there. And a swimming pool! It’s like paradise, while we’re roasting out here like hot dogs on a stick!”

The incident started when a new black Humvee pulled into line for the checkpoint. The driver got out and walked up to Danny.

“We go around,” he said, indicating that they wanted to skip the line.

“All Iraqi citizens must go through the line and show ID,” replied Danny. Every day, a couple of people tried this stunt.

“He is late for meeting,” said the driver, pointing back at the vehicle. Danny could not see in through the tinted windows.

“Sorry,” Danny answered, “those are my orders. No exceptions.”

The driver returned to the vehicle, and Danny went back to asking for IDs, demanding that car trunks be opened, peering into sweat-smelling interiors at frightened men.

About ten minutes later, the Humvee roared up to him and the rear window rolled down silently. Danny found himself staring at a man in sunglasses pointing a rifle at him. Danny cocked his own rifle, and swallowed hard.

“I mean you no harm,” said Danny. He heard the hoarseness in his voice. He and the man stared at each other.

“I’ll take it from here, soldier,” announced a voice behind him. Major Samuelson and a translator approached the Hum-vee. The translator said something, and the man in sunglasses pulled the muzzle of the gun back into the car without taking his eyes off Danny.

Danny stood down, sweat pouring from his body. Samuelson and the translator got into the Humvee with the armed passenger and drove off.

Just then, Danny’s relief showed up. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Oh, man,” said Danny. “Not my problem. Not anymore.”

“Okay, we’re going to try sitting up today.”

Danny opens his eyes to see Pilar, the day nurse, rearranging the tubes attached to his body. Almost everybody who works at Harborview seems to be Filipino. When they speak to each other, their soft, clipped language has a lot of Spanish in it, but even so, Danny can’t understand it.

He thinks of an old punch line: “What do you mean ‘we,’ Kemo Sabe?”

“Very funny,” says Pilar. “Okay, ready?”

“Yeah.”

She puts one hand behind his back and pushes gently, while Danny uses his arms to press up. There is some pain and pulling. He catches his breath and grimaces.

“You okay?”

“Not too bad,” he says. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good. The sooner you start moving around, the sooner you can go home. Want to try standing?”

“Sure.”

Pilar fits some slippers on his dangling feet. His legs look like somebody else’s coming out from under the gown.

“You going to give me something to cover my butt?”

“As soon as you stand up, I can put a robe on you,” she says.

Danny stands. Muscles pull. Bones creak as she holds him by the waist.

“How’s that?” she asks.

“Good.”

“Can you stand by yourself? Here, hold onto the railing.” Pilar works a robe onto Danny’s shoulders.

“Well, well! Look who’s standing.” It’s Danny’s father Sam in the doorway.

“Hey,” says Danny, pleased in spite of himself.

“He’s doing great!” says the nurse. “How about if I get a wheelchair and you can visit in the lounge?”

“What do you think, Danny boy?”

“Good deal.” Danny is so pleased that he doesn’t even object to the eternal nickname.

“Here. Stand right here,” Pilar positions Danny’s father next to him, “while I get a wheelchair.”

“Have you seen Aimee today?” asks Sam.

“I think so.” Time has been elastic for Danny in the hospital. “I think she and Sirena took the kids swimming. Is today Sunday?”

“Yes.”

Pilar returns with the wheelchair and Danny’s mother. “Look who I found.”

“Aye, mi’jo, ” says Letty. She moves to hug Danny, already tearing up.

“Let him sit down first,” cautions Pilar.

Even after two minutes, Danny is grateful for the rest. The nurse attaches his bags to a rolling stand and wheels him down the hall.

“Don’t cry, Mom.”

“I can’t help it.” She dabs at her eyes. “I’m just so happy to see you can stand, gracias a Dios. It means you’re getting better.”

Danny’s father goes straight for the television. “Let’s see if the game is on.”

“Is that all you can think about?” says his mother. “You come to visit your son, and you want to watch the game?”

“Of course not! It’s up to Danny. It’s the Final Four.”

“The game is fine, Dad.”

Danny’s father watches Florida vs. UCLA while his mother recounts what Aimee and the kids did that day. They are staying with his parents on South Plum in what had been meant as a short visit upon his return from Iraq. It isn’t a big house, and Danny figures they must all be getting on each other’s nerves by now.

“They got up and had cereal, then went out. So I’ve just been cleaning all day.”

The sound of the game on the television suddenly rises, the announcers rabid with excitement.

“Turn that thing down!” snaps Danny’s mother.

“I just want to hear the scores. I’ll turn it back down in a sec,” her husband replies.

When Danny spots Aimee and the kids coming down the hall, he breaks into a big grin. Sirena is with them.

“Daddy!” chirp the kids, running up and trying to climb in his lap.

“Careful, careful,” says his mother.

Aimee holds them back, an arm around each waist. “You can’t climb up on Daddy yet. Remember, he was hurt. Just give him a kiss.”

Just then Danny’s father turns up the volume on the TV again. “Here you are,” he says.

The TV shows a clip from the grainy video taken the night Danny was shot. Danny sees the car window slowly roll down, the stone face of the policeman. The officer has his gun out. He yells at Danny, who stumbles out of the car, struggling to comply with the policeman’s orders as he barks out commands and expletives, his voice rising higher and higher. Then he hears himself say it: “I mean you no harm.”

The officer orders him down, then up, and Danny shuts his eyes, anticipating the sound of the gun.

“Not in front of the children,” Letty hisses.

“Sorry.” His father switches the channel to a commercial. Danny’s parents continue to argue in low voices in Spanish, until his father switches off the TV and stomps out.