Rachel Gibson - Rescue Me

“See ya tomorrow night, Alvin.”

The cowboy colored a deep pink as he walked out the door. “Does he have a thing for you?”

“Of course.” The soles of Luraleen’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she turned and headed back behind the counter. “I’m a single woman with needs and prospects.”

She was also in her late sixties with a bad smoker’s wheeze and had about twenty extra years on the cowboy. Twenty hard, unattractive years. He laughed. “Aunt Luraleen, you’re a cougar.” Jesus, who would have thought? It just went to show that some men had no standards. Some women-mainly his sister-might consider Vince a dog but he did have his standards. Old ladies with smoker’s hacks was one of them.

Luraleen’s raspy laugh joined his and ended in a coughing fit. “You hungry?” She pounded on her bony chest. “I got Wound Hounds in the warmer. My jalapeño dogs are real favorites with the customers.”

He was hungry. Hadn’t eaten since Tulsa.

“And I got some regular all-beef franks. Folks like to load ’em up with Cheez Whiz, salsa, and chili.”

Not that hungry. “Maybe I’ll just have a Wound Hound.”

“Suit yourself. Get a beer.” She smiled and motioned toward the big coolers. “Get two and I’ll join you in the back room.”

While Vince’s mother had been deeply religious, Aunt Luraleen had worshipped at her favorite bar with a bottle of cheap booze and a pack of smokes. He moved to the cooler and opened the glass door. Cool air brushed his face as he grabbed a couple of Shiner Blondes. He hadn’t had a Shiner since he’d been in San Antonio visiting Wilson’s mother. Pete Bridger Wilson had graduated BUD/S with Vince and was one of the smartest guys Vince had ever met. He’d had a big round head stuffed with everything from the trivial to the profound. He’d been a tall, proud Texan, a teammate, and a SEAL brother. He’d also been the best and bravest man Vince had ever known, and the accident that had changed Vince’s life had taken Wilson’s.

On the way to the back room, Vince stuck one bottle beneath his arm and snagged two Wound Hounds out of the warming drawer. Those jalapeño and all-beef dogs rolled up and back on one of the nastiest-looking wiener grills he’d ever seen.

“I expected you hours ago,” Luraleen said as he walked into the room. She sat at an old battered desk with a Marlboro clamped between her fingers. Obviously smoking in the workplace was acceptable at the Gas and Go. It probably didn’t hurt that she owned the place.

He handed her the beer, and she held the neck as he twisted off the top. “I had a little trouble with my truck about ten miles outside of town.” He twisted off his own top and took a chair across the desk. “It’s still parked out there on the side of the road.”

“And you didn’t call?”

He frowned. Still unable to believe what he had to confess. “My phone’s dead.” He was Mr. Prepared. Always made sure his gear was in tip-top working order. There had been a time in his life when preparation had been a matter of living or dying. “I think something is wrong with the charger.”

She took a long drag and blew it out. “How’d you get here? You didn’t have to walk, did ya?”

“Someone stopped and gave me a lift.” He pulled back the foil on his hot dog and took a bite. It wasn’t the best meal, but he’d certainly eaten worse. Silkworm pupas from a street vendor in Seoul came to mind.

“Someone from around here?”

It had either been the pupas or dog meat stew. The pupas had been smaller. He swallowed and took a drink from the bottle. It had helped that he’d been blind drunk.

“Who?”

“Her name was Sadie.”

“Sadie? The only Sadie from around here is Sadie Jo Hollowell, but she doesn’t live in Lovett these days.” Luraleen poured her beer into a Tweety Bird coffee mug. “She took off right out of high school. Abandoned her poor daddy.”

“She mentioned that she doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Huh. Sadie’s back, then.” She took a drink. “Probably on account of Tally Lynn’s weddin’ this weekend over at the Sweetheart Palace Weddin’ Chapel at six o’clock. It’s a big doin’s.” She set the mug on the desk. “I wasn’t invited, of course. No reason I would be. Except maybe I went to school with her cousin on her daddy’s side and Tally Lynn and her friends used to try and buy beer from me with fake IDs. Like I haven’t known them all their lives.”

Luraleen sounded bitter so he didn’t mention that he’d been invited. “If you aren’t invited, how do you know so much about it?” He took another bite.

“People tell me everything. I’m like a hairdresser and bartender all rolled into one.”

More likely she pried a lot. He swallowed and took a long drink of his beer. The door chimed, indicating a customer, and Luraleen snubbed out her smoke. She placed her hand on the desk and rose.

“I’m gettin’ old.” She moved toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Sit tight and enjoy your dinner. When I get back, we’ll talk about that business proposition I have for you.”

Which was why he’d driven to Texas. She’d called him a few weeks ago when he’d been in New Orleans, helping a buddy re-side his house. She hadn’t told him anything else, just that she had a proposition for him and that he wouldn’t be sorry. He figured he knew what the proposition was, though. For the past five years, he’d worked a regular job in security, and on the side, he’d bought a run-down Laundromat. He’d fixed it up and turned it into a real cash-rich business. No matter the dip in the economy, people washed their clothes. With the money he’d made, he’d invested in a recession-proof pharmaceutical company. While others saw their stocks wiped out, his were up twenty-seven percent from when he’d bought in. And six months ago, he’d sold the Laundromat for a nice profit. Now he was taking his time, looking at other recession-proof stocks and cash-rich businesses in which to invest.

Before joining the Navy, he’d taken a few business classes in college, which came in handy. A few classes weren’t a business degree, but he didn’t need a degree to look at a situation, run a cost-benefit analysis in his head, and see how to make money.

Since Luraleen didn’t seem to need highly trained security, he figured she had some sort of fixing-up job for him.

Vince took a bite and washed it down. He glanced about the office, at the old microwave and refrigerator and the boxes of cleaning products and Solo cups. The old olive-colored counters and ancient cabinets. The place was run-down, that was for sure. It could use a coat of paint and new ceramic floor tiles. The counters here and in the store needed a sledgehammer.

He polished off a Wound Hound and balled the foil hot dog wrapper in his hand. At the moment, he had the time to help out his aunt. Since leaving his security job in Seattle a few months ago, he had some time on his hands. Since leaving the teams a little over five years ago, his future was pretty much wide open. A little too wide open.

A few months after he’d been medically retired from the SEALs, his sister gave birth to his nephew. She’d been alone and scared, and she’d needed him. He’d owed her for taking care of their terminally ill mother while he’d been gone, down range in Iraq. So he’d been living and working in Washington State, looking after his little sister and helping her raise her son, Conner. There were only a few things in Vince’s life that caused him guilt; his baby sister taking care of their mother, who could be difficult at the best of times, was one of them.

That first year out had been a tough one, for him and Conner. Conner screaming from bellyaches, and Vince wanting to scream from the damn ringing in his head. He could have stayed in the teams. He’d always planned to do his full twenty. Could have waited it out until things got better, but his hearing would never be what it had been before the accident. A SEAL with hearing loss was a liability. No matter his expertise in armed and unarmed combat, his mastery of everything from his Sig to a machine gun. No matter his underwater demolitions skills nor that he was the best insertions guy in the teams, he was a liability to himself and the rest of the guys.