Chapter 29. The Dark Night Closes In

 

I went along with Ted to meet his pal, Hank, at a bar owned by a Jar Head. It was quite a reunion. I was considered an honorary guest but, though I was a Vet, I knew I could never be an equal in that company. I sat and listened to Hank and Ted catch up. They had been together through some heavy shit in the bush. I understood that the experience drew a line between them and, so-called, civilized society that sent them there to do our bidding. There was a feeling that the potential for violence was moderated by discipline, but it was no less potent than if I was sitting in a Hell’s Angels clubhouse. I drank, and while I sat there, I heard some things I’d rather not have heard.

“Max, you can dig it, Ted and me…” Hank slapped me on my back with a massive hand that damned near knocked my wind out, “well, we’d go into the bush all fucked up on acid. We’d get inserted for a couple days and then drop a tab. Or once, we missed our Huey, maybe a week. We fuckin’ loved it!”

I looked over at Ted to see if I could read anything otherwise in his face and saw him grinning at the memory of it.

“No shit, you dropped acid in the bush? Wasn’t that a freaken, fuckin’, place to trip?”

Ted confirmed what Hank said, “Everything was clearer, man. You could see things better. Like, if Charlie was setting up an ambush, anything different stood out… and we could stay awake… alert, ya know?”

“Ted,” Hank continued, “these guys I’m tryin’ to tell you ‘bout… civvies… ex-grunts like us. They come in here… friends of Calvin.”

Ted asked, “Who’s Calvin?”

“He owns this joint. Cal’s Recon and some other shit... served in the Nam and fuck-holes all over the place. I'll introduce ya. See, these guys set me up with a meeting to go back… like, Laos, Cambodia… Make more money in a week than we could get in a year State-side.”

Ted’s face lit up, “Did you go for it?”

“Yeah, I sure as fuck did. All I had to do was… we were in this old fuckin’ hotel… ya know, that pink one, … South Beach… The Flaminco.”

“The Flamingo?”

“Yeh, Flaminco, that’s right… I was sayin’, we was in a board-room at a conference table, ya know, one of those big tables. They pitched ‘bout being private contractors and so on, but this guy came around to us, plopped down AK’s and M-16’s in front of us, and blindfolded, they told us to break ‘em down and put ‘em back together… which we did… piece o’ cake… and they told us that the agency we’d be working for was PRU.”

 “What the fuck is PRU?” Ted asked.

“I have no fuckin' idea. But they told us we’d be doing a security job, slippin’ in and out of villages in Laos … Cambodia … taking out NVA and shit.”

“No shit?” Ted was interested.

“Then the bad news… They were honest and warned us that life expectancy in the field is short.” Hank was grinning, “But you could retire after six months.”

Ted toasted, “Fuck, that’s what they told us in Nam. Semper Fi!”

I wasn’t paying much attention after that much was said. I got good and drunk while Ted and Hank were talking business and left the table to sit at the bar. At the bar I got into a face-off with a character there. All the testosterone of the earlier conversation, mixed with the booze, triggered something in me I hadn’t felt since my drinking bouts in the Navy. Ted and Hank saw what was happening, swept me up and walked me out to the car.

“Hey, Max,” Ted scolded, “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?”

“That fucker wasss wantin’ to fuck with me,” I slurred.

Ted wasn’t putting up with a drunk, “Yeah, we woulda let him kick your ass, but you don’t know who you’re fuckin’ with. He’d be feeding your ass to the gators.”

I passed out in the back seat and didn’t come-to until the next morning.

The car was parked at a motel.  It was one of those old ones with rooms in separate cottages. The door to the room was open. Ed and Hank were sitting on the stoop as I peeled myself out of the back seat and stumbled inside for the can. Passing through the room I noticed a bloodstained North Vietnamese flag pinned to the wall along with an AK47. An M-16 was leaning on the dresser. It looked as though Hank had been living there for some time. I wrenched out the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. While in there, I overheard Ted and Hank casually talking about the meeting they’d been to the night before.

“So, what happened last night?” I was trying to remember but everything was a fog from the time Hank was telling Ted about the meeting and I'd sidled up to the bar.

“We dumped you like a sack of potatoes in the car and Teddy here put in his application with PRU.” Hank snorted.

“What…?” I was confused, “You goin’, Ted?”

“Yeah, I’m goin’, but it won’t be for a month or so ‘fore I do. I’ve got some stuff to take care of in Crestview and I gotta get my little brother home.”

I wondered what I was going to do while Ted and I drove back to Hollywood. I could go north with Ted and his brother? Try to make it back to New Mexico or California from there? Shit, I thought, I don’t wanna be here and I don’t wanna be anywhere at all. I had run out of places I wanted to go. I heard myself moan out loud, “Just a log cabin in Northern Canada… a jug of wine and a squaw.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Ted asked.

 “Oh, nothing, I just know Corky’s right. The gigs up here in Florida and I’ve got to go somewhere, but I have no idea where. You know, I’ve been thinking about my share of all that money we’ve made. I know I didn’t do much to deserve it and don’t need it. You guys can divvy-up my share. I just need enough to get the fuck outa Florida.”

“Awe c’mon man, deserve it? Say, buddy, you’ll need some cash. There’s a town on the sand-spit near Crestview called Fort Walton. It has an amusement park where we can get rid of some of this acid we got stashed and split it three ways. That oughta give you some more traveling money.”

“Yeh, I kinda wish I could go through PRU with you and Hank. Man, I’ve got nothing holding me here.”

Ted laughed, “Funny, I figured you for some sort of peace and love hippy guru when we first ran into you and Stan. I thought Stan was your Butt-Boy… know what I mean?”

I found it hard to believe what Ted was saying because I had been pretty much following Stan’s lead since leaving New Mexico. It was, however, what he’d said after that that drove a nail in my soul.

“Max, when you drink you hit it harder than you can handle and when you’re drunk you’re an asshole.”

“I know, that’s why I…”

He scowled, “You’re just no good under fire, buddy. Never seen you like that.”

It felt like a dagger went straight into my heart because I respected Ted and wanted badly to be respected by him. I knew that I had lost that respect and understood that it would take something extraordinary to gain it back. I knew better than to dispute Ted’s judgment… that I wasn’t someone who could be trusted...  His words would haunt me, “no good under fire.”

I had become something dark since leaving Jamaica… the curse… the Hoss Bozz curse.

“That bad, huh?” darkness closed in on me. 

“Yeh, that bad.”