“Thirty-nine going on sixty,” she said to herself, unsmiling. The last week had worn her down. She stared defiantly at her reflection, and when she spoke again the words were hard, unpitying. “Don’t you go getting desperate, Suzy!” She took a step back in surprise. There was the old, cold determination back again. Hello, old friend, she thought. Where you been? Skipped out for a few hours back there, didn’t ya? Good to have you back.
“We’re gonna get that skin-and-bones son of a bitch, aren’t we?” She answered her own question with a nod, liking this determined voice more than the doubts she’d been listening to in the car for the last few hours.
She felt more ready for the night’s search. Get out of here and head on down to the riverside. She promised herself the luxury of a motel tomorrow morning.
She was still thinking of the joys of a shower and a bed, rather than catnaps in the back of the Chevy, as she walked out past the man in the corner.
“Miss?” he asked, and his voice held none of the leer she had heard at the bar.
Susan turned to look at him.
“Did I hear you say you’re lookin’ for the man with the lantern?”
A voice called from the bar: “You ignore old Freddie, sugar. He asks everyone comes in here about his damn old lantern man. Come on over here and let me buy you a drink.”
She ignored the voice. “Yessir, I did.”
The voice from the bar came again. “He’s crazy, honey, and he ain’t got much left to satisfy a woman, if you know what I mean. Come on over—”
Susan spun round and fixed the would-be Romeo at the bar with a killer look. “Shut your pie hole, else I’m gonna come over there and bust you across the head so hard you’ll be seein’ stars for a week. Got it?”
The bartender said, “Lady, this here’s my bar. I think it’s time you—”
He broke off as she left the man in the corner and stalked back to the bar. “Listen, Cletus, or whatever your name is. I’m talking to someone over there and you boys are interruptin’ us.”
The bartender sneered at her as he came around the bar. When he spoke, his voice was quiet enough so that only she and the two at the bar could hear it. “Get outta the bar, bitch, before I throw you out.”
She stepped right up to him. When he put his hand on her arm, ready to make good on his threat, she didn’t stop him, but instead leaned in close. Speaking softly in his ear, so only he could hear her, she said, “I understand you don’t like me raisin’ my voice. I’m talkin’ real quiet now, cause I want to make sure you understand what I’m saying. That bein’ the case, I’m gonna speak slow as well. I’m gonna go and talk to that gentleman there, and if you interrupt me one more time”—she laid a hand on top of his and touched something that made him gasp in pain—”you’ll be serving drinks with a hook, got it? Now get your hand off my arm before I break it.”
When she let go of his hand, he dropped it off her arm with a confused and pained look on his face. He stepped back, and she spoke louder, so the men at the bar could hear her apparent good cheer. “It’s been a long day, sugar, and all I want is a drink. Could you get me a bottle, and him over there”—she jerked a thumb at the man in the corner—”whatever he drinks? Then bring it over. Keep a tab running.” The bartender stared at her, unsure what had just happened.
Not waiting for an answer, she headed back to the corner booth.
She sat down opposite the man. She pulled out her cigarettes, lit one, and offered him the pack. He took one, lit it, and smiled. “Ain’t half as fearsome as he thinks he is, is he?”
“No,” she said, smiling a little herself.
“Not when you’ve seen what you’ve seen, am I right?” There was a twinkle in his eye, and she thought that once he might have been a good-looking man. Now, the unruly beard and crisscross-veined face hid it pretty well.
“Honey, he wouldn’t have been scary even before that.”
“Reckon you’re right,” he said, and gave a little chuckle that made his chin wobble. “So, they told you I was crazy. What you doin’ talkin’ to a crazy man?”
She blew smoke out. “Hell, I’m crazy myself. Ain’t you figured that out?”
The man ran a hand through his beard, smoothing it down a little. “Reckon you are, or if you’re not, you’re goin’ that way. He’ll do that to you.”
“He?” she asked quietly.
“You know who I’m talking about. That old velvet-nosed bastard. Tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
She shook her head. “Not the way it’s going to go. You tell me what you know. I’ll buy you drinks, and if you’re not tryin’ to yank my chain or get me into bed, I won’t kick your ass for you. How’s that?”
He laughed a wet, slightly sick-sounding laugh. “Sounds good. But I am crazy. They told you that. So if I tell you anythin’ that you don’t believe, well, maybe it’s just this party in my head that I brought back from the war with me.”
He rocked a little with laughter, and there was something not quite right about the movement. She glanced down and saw there was nothing below either of his knees. He caught her looking, and it reminded her of when she’d caught guys in these places staring at her titties. She felt ashamed.
He chuckled at her shocked expression. “I got a million war stories, honey, but you don’t want to hear about me losin’ my legs.”
“I’m sorry about the ‘gettin’ me into bed’ comment,” she said.
He shrugged. “Well, I still could be tryin’ … but I ain’t. Let’s talk.”
Before she could say anything, drinks appeared in front of them. Budweiser for her and a shot of something she couldn’t place for the old soldier. The bartender gave her a look again, but this time there was a tinge of fear in it. He returned to the bar without a word.
The man tipped his glass in a salute to her. “Name’s Freddie, just like the moron at the bar said. Once it was Captain F. T. Worthington. But that was a long time ago ….”
“Nice to meet you, Freddie. I’m Susan.” She gave him an encouraging smile.
He returned the smile, and his eye did a lazy wink. “Don’t worry, Susan. I ain’t one to talk much, and you’re wantin’ to get out of here quick. It’s just that the military stuff’s important.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “When you say military you’re talkin’ about Vietnam, aren’t you?”
He nodded agreement. “You know how many Vietnam vets it takes to change a lightbulb?”
She looked at him, puzzled. “No.”
“That’s right,” he snarled, mock anger in his voice. “’Cause you weren’t there!”
She didn’t laugh, but she smiled a genuine smile.
“You’re here for a man.” A statement, not a question.
“The man with the lantern. Yes.”
He made a pshwah sound. “You’re here for another man as well, ain’t you? A man you’re tryin’ to help?”
She caught his drift. “Yeah. Another man. Johnny. Even got his name next to mine on my arm. Didn’t seem that corny when we had them done.”
“A lot of us are like that joke I just told you. You can’t know what it was like if you weren’t there. Your man fight in the war?”
She nodded. “Not yours, though … the Gulf.”
He smiled sadly. “Weren’t ever mine, sugar. Weren’t ever mine.”
“That’s where you saw him, though? What did you call him? Old Velvet Nose?”
He nodded and took a small sip of his drink. “I’ll tell this quick. You won’t get the whole picture, but enough so you’ll know if it means anything to you.”
She nodded for him to go on, grateful that he seemed to understand the urgency. She could almost see the memory clouding over his face; part of him was no longer with her in this shitty little redneck bar.
“It was back in 1968, deep in Vietnam, near a big river. I could tell you where, how green the jungle was, how hot the air was, but this ain’t no geography or history lesson, so I’ll leave it at that; you know why the river’s important.
“I was heading up a twelve-man unit, and we’d come under sniper attack. One young fella, Larry Bradbury, crept ‘round back and took the sniper out about the time we all thought we were done for. There was a lot of shooting going on, then we heard a different gunshot, a pause, and another shot. Larry came walkin’ back, gun hanging down and face like a ghost. We were all telling him he was a hero and he was going to get a medal, but he started snapping at people to forget about it.