Stuart Woods - Orchid Blues

Feeling a little buzz of anticipation-not quite nervousness-he stuffed his 9mm semiautomatic into the glove compartment of his truck and drove west toward Lake Winachobee. He followed the dirt road the way he had on his last visit, but this time he wasn't diverted, so he drove right to the beginning of Main Street and stopped. Clapboard buildings lined each side of the street, and they might have been something out of the early twentieth century, or maybe Disneyland. There was a general store and half a dozen small-town businesses. He turned right, and drove down the dirt road. The sun was just setting, and the lights had come on in the first house on the left. It was a one-story house, but new-looking, neat, with a trimmed lawn and flower beds hugging the house. There was a three-car garage and, off in the woods, some sort of metal utility building. He turned into the driveway, switched off the engine, and got out of the truck.

The front door of the house was opened immediately by Peck Rawlings, who came out to greet him. "Hey there, Ham," he said, pumping his hand. "Glad you could make it."

Ham shook his hand. "Thanks for asking me, Peck."

"Come on in the house and meet some folks." He led the way inside.

Three couples were sitting in the living room, and the men all stood up. Ham had met two of them before.

"You remember Jim and James, I guess, from the gun show."

"Sure," Ham said, shaking their hands.

"And this is Mack Harston," Rawlings said, indicating a bulked-up man in a tight shirt.

"Mack, how you doing?" Ham said, shaking his hand.

Harston nodded.

"That's his wife, Emily," Rawlings said, pointing at a pregnant woman by the fireplace. "This is my wife, Betty, Jim's wife, Edie, and James's wife, Laurel," he said, pointing out the other women.

"Are you married, Ham?" Emily Harston asked.

"My wife died many years ago," Ham replied. "I never remarried."

"I'm so sorry," she said.

"Thank you."

"Ham, can we get you a drink?" Rawlings asked.

He noticed that the other men had drinks, but not the women. "Sure, Peck. Bourbon on the rocks, if you've got it. Anything else, if you haven't."

Rawlings nodded to his wife; she went to the kitchen and returned with the drink. When she opened the door, the smell of good cooking filled the room.

Ham accepted the drink. "Better times than these," he said, raising his glass.

"Hear, hear," Rawlings said.

"Are you right on the lake?" Ham asked. "I couldn't see from the front of the house."

"Yep, it's right out back."

"Pretty spot," Ham said. "Pretty little town, too. Looks like you've got just about everything you need out here."

"We go to town to the supermarket and the drugstore, but that's about it for outside shopping, except once in a while we go over to the outlet mall in Vero Beach and load up on stuff."

"I do some shopping out there myself," Ham said. "Everything's cheap."

Rawlings nodded, then there was an awkward silence, which Ham decided not to fill.

He sat back and waited for someone to say something.

"I hear you're ex-army," Harston said, finally.

"That's right," Ham said. "I retired a couple of years ago."

"How'd you happen to choose Orchid Beach?"

"I had an old service buddy who had already retired there, and he talked me into it."

"That the same one who died and left you the house?" Peck asked.

"That's right."

"Lucky break," Harston said.

"If you don't mind losing a friend," Ham said. "I'd rather have had the friend."

"Death comes to us all," Jim said.

There was a murmur of agreement.

"And taxes," Ham echoed.

Nobody said anything.

"What church do you go to over at Orchid?" James asked.

"I don't go," Ham said. "My wife was a Baptist, and I used to go sometimes with her. Me and my Maker seem to get along all right without any meetings on Sunday mornings."

Everyone got quiet again. Ham waited them out.

"You do much shooting?"

"I do some bird hunting from time to time," Ham said.

"Peck says you're quite a shot with a pistol."

"The army trained me. It's like roller skating; you never forget how."

"I never knew anybody who could cut a cattail," Harston said. "Peck told us about your shot."

"I was in an outfit in 'Nam had half a dozen guys who could do that. It helps your accuracy if you're shooting to stay alive."

"I guess it might," Harston said.

It helps if you practice every day, too, Ham thought.

Mrs. Rawlings went into the kitchen again for a few minutes, while the men chatted and the women remained strangely silent, then she came back. "Dinner is served," she said.

Ham followed the group into a large kitchen, with a dining area at one end. A large table had been set there, and it practically groaned with food. Ham took the seat offered him and waited to see if someone would ask a blessing. No one did, so he dug in with the others. "This is very fine cooking, Betty," he said, biting into a fried chicken breast.

"Betty's the finest cook I know," Peck said, biting into his own chicken.

The food was Southern-corn, collard greens, black-eyed peas, cornbread and biscuits, and of course the chicken. Ham ate well, but saved a little room.

"How about some dessert?" Betty asked, as she and the other women cleared away the dishes. "We've got some pecan pie."

"I'd love that, Betty," Ham said.

"Be right back."

"The women'll leave us after dessert," Rawlings said, "then we can talk."

Ham nodded as if he understood. Nothing about this evening so far was any different from a hundred other evenings he'd spent at the home of fellow soldiers, except there had been less drinking. He hadn't been offered a refill after his first bourbon, and iced tea had been served with dinner.

Betty returned with the pie, and when that was gone, coffee. "I've put a pot in your den," she said to her husband.

"Gentlemen, why don't we go in there and have our coffee?" Raw-lings said. He led the way across the living room and into another room that had been paneled in pine and furnished with leather easy chairs.

Ham looked around him and saw the largest private collection of weapons he had ever seen outside a military arsenal. There were hunting rifles and shotguns, but the bulk of the weapons were military-assault rifles, pistols, machine guns. The Barrett's rifle occupied a place of honor over the fireplace.

Ham gave a low whistle. "Hey, Peck, looks like you've been shopping at your own gun show."

Peck gave a little smile and indicated where Ham should sit. "I like to be well armed," he said.

Ham laughed. "That's an understatement."

Peck poured everybody a drink from a decanter. "On the day," he said, "it'll all get used."

The other men raised their glasses. "On the day," they said in unison.

Ham didn't have the slightest idea what they were talking about, but he raised his glass, too. Then everybody sat down.

Peck Rawlings got the ball rolling. "Well, Ham, tell me something: what do you think of our current president of the United States, William Henry Lee?"

Ham said nothing, but held his nose.

Everybody smiled a little.

"I guess you've got some support around here for that opinion," Rawlings said.

"I believe somebody took a shot at him during the campaign," Ham said. "Pity he wasn't a better shot."

"You think his opponent was the better man, then?"

"Yes, but not much better."

"Who would you have preferred?"

"George Wallace, maybe, but he wasn't running, and anyway, he was a little too far to the left for my taste."

Rawlings seemed pleased with that assessment.

"And what do you think of our present form of government?"

"I think it was a great idea that got royally screwed up along the way, especially in the twentieth century."