T. Parker - Full Measure

Grier tried to hang the photo but he missed the hook and it hit the floor for the third time in half an hour, and the frame broke into two L-shaped pieces. He picked them up and sat back down and held them back together. “I can glue it.”

Mindy wobbled back in from the patio with the tequila bottle in her hand. “Do you ever think that we were all put here to learn certain lessons?”

“Sure,” said Marcos, “the lesson a Marine learns in California is he isn’t going to get a date with any of the really hot babes. They’re already hooked up with lawyers, actors, and tech nerds. All the jarheads get are leftover idiots like you.”

“Fuck you,” said Mindy.

“But that’s not true,” said Salimony. “Just having dinner at this table is a good thing for us. Look around you, Marcos. You should be thankful to be alive and not blown to smithereens.”

“Marcos is right,” said Grier. “Bitches like these aren’t going to roll out the welcome mat for me. Patrick, I think you must have drugged Iris here. At the very least.”

Patrick stood. “Time for you Marines to hit the road.”

Grier stood too. “Sir, yes sir, General Pat.”

Marcos said: “You don’t get it, do you? After tonight, you guys won’t see any of these high-end cunts again.”

Messina threw back his chair, wheeled, and hit Marcos in the nose with a terrific cracking sound. Iris screamed, “Stop!” Marcos charged through the blow, stomped on Messina’s foot, then raked his fingers across Messina’s eyes. Patrick and Grier met each other halfway around the table and locked up. Grier, heavier, bulled Patrick back into the china cabinet, which shattered as if hit by a grenade. Patrick felt the frame collapse under his weight, the shards of glass spraying against his neck and rattling down, heard the woeful explosions of plates and bowls on the hardwood floor. He gave in to his anger. He flew into Grier’s slower, drunker body, throwing kicks and punches that landed and landed again. Blood flew. Salimony and Messina pummeled Marcos into the living room, knocking an heirloom mirror to the floor with an explosion of glass. Iris and Mary Ann fell on top of Mindy, who screamed nonsense and flailed away with a table knife in one hand and a napkin in the other. Grier swiped the blood from his face and smiled, then shot in low to grapple Patrick, but Patrick caught him with a knee square to the forehead and elbow-piled him to the floor. Grier dropped to his hands and knees on a bed of broken glass. Patrick lifted one of the heavy oak chairs and crushed the man flat with it. Then he registered motion on his left: Natalie snapping action shots.

Oh, Jesus, he thought.

Iris and Mary Ann had Mindy pinned to the floor and she was sobbing.

Patrick ran into the living room. The TV had fallen from its stand and burst. Glass vases and cut flowers littered the floor and several of Iris’s new electric candles bravely continued to beam in the wet debris. Salimony and Messina had Marcos backed into a bookcase, blows and books and photographs and knickknacks all raining down on him. Patrick shouldered in, kicked Marcos squarely in the groin, and showered him with his fists and elbows. When Marcos fell, the three men dragged him, groaning, outside to the porch, then down the steps and dropped him into the planter. Iris and her two friends lugged unstruggling Mindy down the porch steps, her wedge shoes clunking down each craftsman plank, then launched her on to the grass. “Get out of here and don’t ever come back!” Iris screamed. Her face was a grimace and her fury sent a sobering jolt through Patrick. What should he have done? “And you bastards get out of here too and don’t you ever come back. And you, Patrick, Patrick Norris? You never come back here again or I’ll call the cops and file charges. I swear to God I will!”

Patrick watched Natalie and Mary Ann squeeze through the front door and into the house. Iris gave him one last furious look before she slammed the door and drove the deadbolt home.

Grier had pulled Marcos to his feet and they staggered toward a white Camaro parked at the curb.

“Sorry, Pat,” said Salimony. His new shirt was torn and splattered with blood.

“Yeah, Pat, sorry,” said Messina, who had bloodshot eyes and a jaggedly split lip. “We gotta help fix it. We gotta.”

“You heard her,” said Patrick. “Get the hell out of here. Go.”

Patrick waited until the Camaro and Messina’s Mustang had both disappeared down the hill. He listened for sirens and was surprised to hear only silence. Neighbors left, right, and across the street stood on their lit porches and neat lawns, looking at him, their voices riding softly on the damp night air.

He strode back onto the porch and knocked on Iris’s front door, then knocked again harder. Natalie called through the wood, “You better go, Pat. You better go like now.”

Evelyn looked up from her desk at Anders Wealth Management to find Ted Norris standing in the doorway of her office. She flinched. The morning light coming through her windows illuminated him. “Ted?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?

“I’m good as new.”

“Can I help you?”

“I want to get a few things off my chest.”

“I’ll let Brian know you’re here.”

“But I don’t want to talk to Brian.”

“You’re not here looking for trouble, are you?”

“No. Not in any way.”

Brian appeared in the middle distance behind Ted, glancing up from his tablet. He gave Ted an interrogatory stare. Ted sensed him without turning. “Don’t worry, Mr. Anders. I come in peace.”

“I’m sorry for what happened,” said Brian. “I saw it on the Village View Web site.”

“I lost eighty dollars but saved my life by fighting hand to hand.”

“The sheriffs are going to step up the downtown patrol,” said Brian. “Not everyone can do what you did.”

“I’m not a hero and I don’t want to be.” Ted folded his hands together at his waist. He was wearing another baggy Hawaiian shirt and loose jeans and his huge therapeutic shoes. The shirt hung oddly distended on his right side.

“Come in and take a seat then,” said Evelyn. “I have an appointment in half an hour.”

Ted stepped in and put a hand on the doorknob.

“Leave it open.”

“I was going to.”

Brian circled his index finger around his ear then made the “call me” sign with his free hand and walked toward his office. A spark of fear flickered inside her and she wished that Brian had done something more. But what? Call security? The landlord had terminated the service months ago, and the tenants couldn’t afford security on their own. She’d put PATROLLED BY FALLBROOK SECURITY stickers on the windows and a larger sign by the mailboxes in the ground-floor entry, but any bad guy with half a brain would figure them for what they were — bogus.

Ted sat heavily in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “I’m not drawing any more cartoons of you.”

“Thank you, Ted. Good decision.”

“Patrick ordered me not to.”

“Then I thank both of you.”

Ted adjusted himself on the chair, as if something was physically bothering him. “I disagree with almost everything you’ve done as my mayor.”

Evelyn felt instantly crushed, but the feeling disappeared quickly. Four years in elected office had made her skin much thicker. Still, there was pain in disagreement: democracy hurt. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I was elected for what I believe. And I’m expected to act on those beliefs, for the good of Fallbrook.”

“I’ll probably have to vote for Walt Rood.”

“That’s your right.”