David Eddings - High Hunt

“That’s a Gyrene for you. Sometimes they get kill-happy.”

I finished my beer. “Well,” I said, “if you’re done with that beer, I think I’m ready to face the world again. Besides, I’m coming down with a bad case of the hungries.”

“Right,” he said, draining his glass. “Hey, Lou, let’s go.”

“Sure thing,” McKlearey said, concentrating on the machine. “Just a minute—goddamn it!” The machine lit TILT, and all the other lights went out. “I just barely touched the bastard,” he complained.

“We got to go, anyway,” Jack said. “You guys go on ahead, and I’ll give Marg a quick buzz.”

Lou and I went back on out in the sunlight to Jack’s Plymouth and had another belt from the bottle.

“I’d just hit the rollover,” Lou said, “and I had a real good chance at two in the blue.” His eyes had the unfocused look of a man who’s just been in the presence of the object of his obsession.

“That pay pretty good?” I asked.

“Hundred and sixty games,” he said. “Eight bucks. Goddamn machines get real touchy when you’ve got half a chance to win something.”

“I prefer slots,” I said. “There was this one over in Germany I could hit three times out of four. It was all in how you pulled the handle.”

He grunted. Slots weren’t his thing. He wasn’t interested.

“She’s puttin’ the steaks on right now,” Jack said as he came across the parking lot. He climbed in behind the wheel. “They’ll be almost ready by the time we get there.” He spun us out of the nearly empty lot and pointed the nose of the car back down the highway.

We pulled in beside his trailer about ten minutes later and went on in. Margaret came over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. She seemed a little self-conscious about it. I got the feeling that the “cousinly” kiss or whatever wasn’t just exactly natural to her. “Hi, Civilian,” she said.

“That’s the nicest thing anybody ever said to me,” I told her, trying to keep my eyes off the front of her blouse.

We all had another drink—whiskey and water this time—while Marg finished fixing dinner. Then we sat down to the steaks. I was hungry and the food was good. Once in a while I’d catch myself looking at McKlearey. I still didn’t have him figured out, and I wasn’t really sure I liked him. To me, he looked like a whole pile of bad trouble, just looking for someplace to happen. Some guys are like that. Anyway, just being around him made me feel uncomfortable. Jack and Margaret seemed to like him though, so I thought maybe I was just having a touch of the “first day out of the Army squirrelies.”

After dinner Marg got the kids up from their naps, and I played with them a little. They were both pretty young, and most of the playing consisted of tickling and giggles, but it was kind of fun. Maybe it was the booze, but I don’t think so. The kids weren’t really talking yet, and you don’t have to put anything on with a kid that age. All they care about is if you like them and pay attention to them. That hour or so straightened me out more than anything that happened the rest of the day. We flopped around on the floor, grabbing at each other and laughing.

“Hey, Civilian,” Jack said. “Let’s dump your gear over at your trailer. I want you to see how we got it fixed up.”

“Sure,” I said. “Uncle Dan’s gotta go now, kids,” I told the girls. Marlene, the oldest—about two—gave me a big, wet kiss, and Patsy, the baby, pouted and began to cry. I held her until she quit and then handed her to Marg. I went to the door where Jack was waiting.

“You guys go ahead,” Lou said. “I got my shoes off. Besides, I want to watch the ballgame.”

I glanced at the flickering TV set. A smeary-looking baseball game was going on, but I’d swear he hadn’t been watching it. I caught a quick glance between him and Margaret, but I didn’t pay much attention.

“You guys going to be down there long?” Margaret asked.

“We ought to unpack him and all,” Jack said. “Why?”

“Why don’t you put the girls out in the play yard then—so I can get the place cleaned up?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Dust McKlearey, too—since he’s a permanent part of that couch now.”

Lou laughed and settled in a little deeper.

“We’ll take the jug,” Jack said.

“Sure,” Lou answered. “I want to rest up for tonight anyway.”

Jack and I put the little girls out in the little fenced-in yard and drove his Plymouth down the street to the trailer I’d rented. We hauled my duffle bag out of the back seat and went in.

It was hot and stuffy inside, and we opened all the windows. The trailer was small and dingy, with big waterstains on the wood paneling and cracked linoleum on the floor. Jack had been able to scrounge up a nearly new couch and a good bed, as well as a few other odds and ends of furniture, a small TV set, dishes, and bedding. It was kind of a trap, but like he said, it was a place to flop. What the hell?

“Pretty good, huh?” he said proudly. “A real bachelor pad.” He showed me around with a proprietary attitude.

“It’s great,” I said as convincingly as I could. “I sure do appreciate all you’ve done in here, Jack.”

“Oh, hell, it’s nothing,” he said, but I could see that he was pleased.

“No, I mean it—cleaning up the place and all.”

“Margaret did that,” he said. “All I did was put the arm on Clem for the furniture and stuff.”

“Let’s have a drink,” I said. “Christen the place.”

“Right.” He poured some whiskey in the bottom of two mismatched glasses and we drank. My ears were getting a little hot, and I knew I’d have to ease up a bit or I’d be smashed before the sun went down. It had been a real strange day. It had started at six that morning in a mothball-smelling barracks, and now I’d left all of that for good. Soon I’d be going back to the musty book-smell and the interminable discussions of art and reality and the meaning of truth. This was a kind of never-never land in between. Maybe it was a necessary transition, something real between two unrealities—always assuming, of course, that this was real.

We hauled my duffle bag and my civvies back to the tiny little bedroom and began hanging things up in the little two-by-four closet and stashing them in the battered dresser.

“You gonna buy a set of wheels?” he asked.

“I guess I’d better. Nothing fancy, just good and dependable.”

“Let’s see what we can finagle out of Sloane tonight.”

“Look, Jack,” I said, “I don’t want to cash in on—”

“He can afford it,” Jack interrupted. “You go to one of these two-by-four lots on the Avenue, and they’ll screw you right into the wall. Me and Lou and Sloane will put you into something dependable for under two hundred. It may not look too pure, but it’ll go. I’ll see to it that they don’t fuck over you.”

I shrugged. Why fight a guy when he’s trying to do you a favor? “OK,” I said, “but for a straight deal—I want to pay for what I get.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said.

“Where’s the big blowout tonight?” I asked him.

“Over at Sloane’s place. Man, wait’ll you see his house. It’s a goddamn mansion.”

“McKlearey going to be there?”

“Oh, sure. Lou’ll show up anywhere there’s free booze.”

“He’s an odd one.”

“Lou’s OK. You just gotta get used to him is all.”

“Well,” I said, depositing my folded duffle bag in the bottom of the closet, “I think that’s about got it.”

“Pretty good little pad, huh?” he said again.

“It’ll work out just fine,” I said. “Hey, you want to run me to a store for a minute? I’d better pick up some supplies. I guess I can’t just run down to the friendly neighborhood mess hall anymore.”