Chapter Five
Jarrett
If I could drown myself in this whiskey glass, I would. Maybe I’ll buck my nickname and get lucky for once.
“She’s gone, mate,” Ozzy says to my right. “She won’t be bothering you anymore. Well, in the physical sense. I suppose she could still bother you in the metaphysical, but I’m not really drunk enough to help with that.”
“No, it’s fine, Ozzy,” I say, before downing another whiskey.
He doesn’t take the hint to fuck off, pats me on the back, and chugs a half-full pint in a blink.
“I could try getting that drunk, if you want. Though I might not be too useful. Last time I tried to get philosophical-drunk, I was pounding tequila. I blacked out and came to in an abandoned lot in Tacoma, surrounded by a flock of sheep.”
“Tacoma’s a fucking city. How did you wind up there? And how the fuck did you wind up with a bunch of sheep?”
“I don’t know. And the question’s haunted me ever since,” he says, looking wistfully into his beer. “I guess everyone has their tequila story though, right?”
“Tequila stories aren’t like that,” I say, motioning for another round from Sam. I take a sip and then stare into the glass, trying to picture just how Ozzy conjured a flock of sheep from a bottle of tequila. It’s a welcome distraction. “Tequila stories are about waking up with a fucking tattoo you regret, or some ugly bitch in your bed. Not about becoming a shepherd.”
“You got a tequila story, brother?”
“I got a lifetime of ‘em. Drinking’s given me plenty of problems, and plenty of relief.”
Ozzy’s quiet a minute.
“Well, I don’t want to overstep things, brother, but you’re drinking like you’ve got a problem. Would it have anything to do with that woman you tried to kill earlier?”
I laugh, put the drink to my lips and let the burning whiskey flow down my throat. “Man, you are just running on all cylinders tonight.”
“Just who is she then, that’s got you so upset? I’ve never seen a woman get you worked up like that.”
“Selena is just some cunt from Reno that I never should’ve put my cock in.” The less I say about her the better — even those words make my cock hard and my blood boil in anger. With any luck, she’s taken the hint and left town. “It got pretty intense between us… until it didn’t. But, she’s not why I’m pissed, man. She’s just the icing on the cake. I shouldn’t be on this charity duty. I should be running security on this weapons convoy.”
As a soldier, being sidelined from combat duty is the ultimate ‘fuck you’. As our president, as a former Marine, Gunney knows that. And did it anyway.
I need this action.
I can’t just settle into some fucking homemaker role, I can’t live a quiet life with some lawyer wife and a bunch of fucking kids. Years of my life went into the service, years of my life on deployment to blood-soaked sandy hellscapes. I need that purpose in my life.
“I reckon it’ll work out fine, Jynx,” Ozzy says. “I’m not too happy about finding out about all this, but as crazy as it sounds, I trust Gunney. We were in a tight spot, and he’s doing his best for us. Plus, payment at the end of all this wouldn’t be unwelcome. It’s been a while since I’d put a good contribution to my retirement account.”
Rog, sitting a few stools away, lets out a guffaw. “You’ve got a retirement account, Ozzy?”
As our treasurer, I’m not surprised that caught Rog’s attention.
“Yeah, it’s called a KiwiSaver account. Most New Zealanders have one. It’s government supported. Retirement isn’t a joke. It’s the rest of your life that you’re talking about… once you get past the first two-thirds of your life. So it’s a smaller portion of your life, now that I think about it. But you’re old and feeble then, so you need to take care of yourself.”
“God damn, dude.”
“Amen to retiring well,” Rog says, raising his glass. “And, trust me, brothers, once this is all over, that goal will be a lot more real.”
“How much?” I say.
“Let me put it this way: you won’t be eating fucking caviar every day, but you’ll be pretty well set,” he says. “Especially if this shipment to the Triads works out and leads to some more business from them.”
Hearing that doesn’t make me feel any better. Knowing how important this shipment is — and that I’m deliberately being kept from it — gnaws at me.
“Word’s going to get out that we’re supplying the Triads. And you’re not worried about any blowback from the Jackals?”
“The Jackals have their hands full with the Triads. We can’t stop word getting out about us selling — hell, that’s how we get some of our business — but all we’re doing is a little arms-dealing to some guys already in conflict. People have been doing that since the dawn of time.”
“Since this is so fucking important, why don’t you talk to Gunney and get me reassigned? Except for Bear, there’s no one here with anything close to my record: three fucking tours in fucking Kandahar. I’ve been shot, I’ve had IED’s tear apart my Humvee and rip my fucking friends to pieces. If you want this done right, you need me on it.”
Rog sighs. “We all know your record, Jynx. But this isn’t fucking Afghanistan. This kind of job needs a delicate touch. It’s a business deal as much as anything else. Go home. Sleep this off, ok? We can talk about it some other time, maybe once we’ve all cooled off.”
“You mean once I’ve cooled off.”
“No, I mean once everyone has cooled off. We need to get past this in-fighting or we’ll find ourselves in rough fucking waters.”
I bite my tongue. Arguing any more with him isn’t going to help my case — he’s made up his mind. The more I fight this, the more certain it is that I’ll be stuck with party planning.
Mumbling ‘good night’ to them both, I pat Ozzy and Rog on the back and head to the door.
The night air is refreshing and the cold is a sobering slap in the face. Exactly what I need before a ride. Sucking the cool air into my lungs and letting the air chill the whiskey burning in my blood, I head for the edge of the parking lot. Finding a spot by a big pine, I take a piss.
I’ll figure this problem out. One way or another, I’ll get off of this bullshit detail and into the thick of it where I belong.
Zipping up, I turn back around to face the lot, squinting to focus bleary eyes in the dim light.
Where the fuck is my bike?
I cross the lot to where my bike should be.
In the empty space, there’s a giant heart carved into the loose gravel.
That bitch stole my bike.