two weeks Mike hadn't recognized the place when he had come by after shift to have a couple of beers. The soldiers drank a lot of beer, the bank mortgage got paid, and life was fine. Except for the fights, Mike thought, but you can't load young guys up on alcohol and not expect trouble. Especially when those young men were just waiting on the word to go and maybe die in another battle that remained undeclared as a war. High stress levels meant heavy duty unloading. The M.P.'s got to know the place as well as the soldiers did.
“Mike,” you ready?” Mort asked now.
Mike smiled. “I was thinking back to last year...” He had to shout to be heard. Tomorrow his voice would be hoarse. “This place was empty! … Yeah... One more then I gotta go,” Mike agreed.
Mort leaned closer. “Gov'ment tit. I know it, but fuck it. It's all the Gov'ment tit. Road and Bridge projects. Job centers. One way or the other it comes out the same. Even them subsidies so the paper mills can still run. It's all the Gov'ment tit, ain't it, Mike?”
“Its is,” Mike shouted. He nodded. It was. This town would have dried up years ago without it. Mort left and then came back a few moments later with a fresh beer.
“Vacation?” Mort yelled.
Mike nodded. “Two weeks of silence,” He shook his head at the irony and Mort's laughing agreement was drowned out by the noise.
“If I don't,” Mort said leaning close.
Mike nodded. “I will.” He raised his glass and then tossed off half of it. A few moments later he was outside on the relatively quiet sidewalk punching numbers into his phone, calling for a cab. The night was cold, but the cold sobered him up. It seemed nearly capable of washing away the smoke and noise from inside the bar. He stood in the shadows beside the door waiting for the phone to ring on the other end. The door bumped open and Johnny Barnes stepped out.
“You ain't calling for a cab, are you?” Johnny asked when he spotted him.
Mike laughed and ended the still ringing call. “Not if I can get a free ride from you.” Mike told him.
“Yeah, you were always a cheap prick,” Johnny agreed. “Hey, I heard you're heading into the southern tier tomorrow?”
“Two weeks,” Mike agreed as he levered the door handle on Johnny's truck and climbed inside. His breath came in clouds of steam. “Get some heat in here, Johnny.”
“Coming,” Johnny agreed. “Man, I wish I was you.”
“Me too,” Mike agreed.
Johnny laughed. “Asshole, but seriously, man. Have a good time. You gonna hunt?
“Nothing in season... Maybe snare some rabbits. Not gonna be a lot this time of year.” Mike said.
“Maybe deer,” Johnny offered. He dropped the truck in drive just as the heat began to come from the vents.
“Probably, but they'll be out of season. Rabbit, and I got freeze dried stuff. Trucks packed, which is why I didn't drive it down here.”
The truck drove slowly through the darkening streets as the street lights began to pop on around the small city: The two men laughing and exchanging small talk.
Seattle: 6:00 P.M.
Jessie Chambers sat slumped against a wall in another alley off Beechwood Avenue; Seattle's red light district. He had been dead for over six hours. The money from the wallet had allowed him to indulge in his habit for over forty-six hours with no sleep. The last injection had killed him.
The Cocaine he had purchased to mix with the Heroin had been cut with rat poison, among other things, so that the kid who had sold it to him could stretch it a little further.
The constant hours of indulging in his habit would have killed him anyway, but the addition of the rat poison was all his overworked heart could stand, and it had simply stopped beating in protest.
The alleyway seemed to dip and then rise sharply as a sudden, strong vibration shook the area. The shaking lasted for mere seconds. Dust raftered down from the sky, shaken from buildings. In the silence alarms brayed, and glass shattered, falling