Life During Wartime by Lucius Shepard Read Free Book Online Page B

Mingolla asked. ‘Some guy playing Sammy?’
    ‘Fuck off,’ the MP said mildly.
    ‘Listen,’ said Mingolla. ‘It might be this friend of mine. Tall, skinny guy. Black hair. Maybe I can talk to him.’
    The MP exchanged glances with his buddies, who shrugged and acted otherwise unconcerned. ‘Okay,’ he said. He pulled Mingolla to him and pointed out a bar with turquoise walls on the next corner down. Go on in there and talk to the captain.’
    Two more shots, then a third.
    ‘Better hurry,’ said the MP. ‘Ol’ Captain Haynesworth there, he don’t put much stock in negotiations.’
    It was cool and dark inside the bar; two shadowy figures were flattened against the wall beside a window that opened onto the cross street. Mingolla could make out the glint of automatic pistols in their hands. Then, through the window, he saw Baylor pop up from behind a retaining wall: a three-foot-high structure of mud bricks running between an herbal-drug store and another bar. Baylor was shirtless, his chest painted with reddish brown smears of dried blood, and he was standing in a nonchalant pose, with his thumbs hooked in his trouser pockets. One of the men by the window fired at him. The report was deafening, causing Mingolla to flinch and close his eyes. When he looked out the window again, Baylor was nowhere in sight.
    ‘Fucker’s just tryin’ to draw fire,’ said the man who had shot at Baylor. ‘Sammy’s fast today.’
    ‘Yeah, but he’s slowin’ some,’ said a lazy voice from the darkness at the rear of the bar. I do believe he’s outta dope.’
    ‘Hey,’ said Mingolla. ‘Don’t kill him! I know the guy. I can talk to him.’
    ‘Talk?’ said the lazy voice. ‘You kin talk till yo’ ass turns green, boy, and Sammy ain’t gon’ listen.’

    Mingolla peered into the shadows. A big sloppy-looking man was leaning on the counter; brass insignia gleamed on his beret. ‘You the captain?’ he asked. ‘They told me outside to talk to the captain.’
    ‘Yes, indeed,’ said the man. ‘And I’d be purely delighted to talk with you, boy. What you wanna talk ’bout?’
    The other men laughed.
    ‘Why are you trying to kill him?’ asked Mingolla, hearing the pitch of desperation in his voice. ‘You don’t have to kill him. You could use a trank gun.’
    ‘Got one comin’,’ said the captain. ‘Thing is, though, yo’ buddy got hisself a coupla hostages back of that wall, and we get a chance at him ’fore the trank gun ’rives, we bound to take it.’
    ‘But—’ Mingolla began.
    ‘Lemme finish, boy.’ The captain hitched up his gunbelt, strolled over, and draped an arm around Mingolla’s shoulder, enveloping him in an aura of body odor and whiskey breath. See,’ he went on, we had everything under control. Sammy there …’
    ‘Baylor!’ said Mingolla angrily. ‘His name’s Baylor.’
    The captain lifted his arm from Mingolla’s shoulder and looked at him with amusement. Even in the gloom Mingolla could see the network of broken capillaries on his cheeks, the bloated alcoholic features. ‘Right,’ said the captain. ‘Like I’s sayin’, yo’ good buddy Mister Baylor there wasn’t doin’ no harm. Just sorta ravin’ and runnin’ ’round. But then ’long comes a coupla our Marine brothers. Seems like they’d been givin’ our beaner friends a demonstration of the latest combat gear, and they was headin’ back from said demonstration when they seen our little problem and took it ’pon themselves to play hero. Wellsir, puttin’ it in a nutshell, Mister Baylor flat kicked their ass. Stomped all over their esprit de corps. Then he drags ’em back of that wall and starts messin’ with one of their guns. And—’
    Two more shots.
    ‘Shit!’ said one of the men by the window.
    ‘And there he sits,’ said the captain. ‘Fuckin’ with us. Now either the gun’s outta ammo or else he ain’t figgered out how it works. If it’s the latter case, and he does figger it out …’