Bottom Feeder (20 page)

The driver nods and pulls away slowly,
so not to squeal tires. Once he gets a good momentum going, he
bumps the car up to eighty until we reach I-16 where he pushes to
100.

I tell the agents everything. “Drop me
on Algers Avenue,” I say. I’m sure Daddy’s been notified of the
break-in so I need to be where I’m supposed to be.

“
Do you think anyone saw
your face?” Hopkins asks.

I shrug. I’m too tired to think about
it.

The car doesn’t come to a
complete stop before I am out the door without so much as a
Talk to you soon.
I
knock on Dixon’s window and climb inside. He doesn’t ask questions
as I quickly strip down and make my way to the bathroom. I shower,
dry my hair and dress in the pajamas I wore when I left home last
night.

I stuff my burglar ensemble in a black
garbage bag.

“
Where are you going?”
Dixon asks.

“
Be back in two minutes.”
I slip on my flip flops and climb out his window. I run behind the
backyard fences until I reach a house undergoing a renovation. I
climb the side of a large construction dumpster and toss the bag
inside. I reach down and lift random debris to cover the trash bag.
I jog back to Dixon’s house and make sure all the windows and doors
are secure before sprawling out on the floor in his
bedroom.

“
You’ll tell me someday?”
Dixon asks.

“
Someday.”

Jackson

“
Street ball,” Lamont
replies when I ask what he wants to do for my last morning in
Georgia. Mama is working on the finishing touches for a large
wedding. I offered to help but she has forbidden me to work on the
last day of my vacation.

I load the Civic with my duffel bag
and drive to Lamont’s hotel.

“
So what happened with
Janelle?” I ask as we walk to the outdoor courts. Since Mrs.
Brenner’s house is the central hub of gossip, I overheard her
talking with Lamont’s grandmother about his date with
Janelle.

“
So what’s going on with
Maddy?” he counters and snatches the basketball from my
hand.

“
I don’t know,” I answer
truthfully.

“
Chris went to see her
yesterday.” Lamont checks the ball and brings it in. “First to
twenty-one.”

“
Why?”

“
Miss Carrington secretly
gave up valedictorian so it would land in his lap.” He dribbles in
and out through his left leg, then repeats through his right and
goes for the layup. “He went to thank her and pledge his undying
love or some shit.”

I check the ball and run to the
opposite end of the court. Lamont tries to slap the ball away. I
dribble low to get him looking below the waist, where my hands and
feet are moving. I round the ball behind my back and toss it over
his head. In a moment of confusion, he looks up and I make my way
around him to sink one in the basket. These moves are illegal in
regular basketball. There are no rules in our game.

“
One-One!” I announce, a
smug smile on my face.

Lamont takes the ball out and checks
it off my face; the only downside to the No Rules rule.

“
I’m a sore loser,” he
answers to my middle finger salute. “Feel lucky you got that
played-out move around me.”

I lose track of how long we play. The
score was lost at one-one. By the time I bounce the ball off his
head—again—Lamont calls game.

“
I think I like
Janelle.”

I laugh. “You think?”

“
She and I mostly talked.”
Lamont spins the basketball on each finger distractedly. “She asked
a lot of questions about where I deployed this time.” He tosses the
ball to me. “I couldn’t make her understand that I was under
confidential orders. I guess people are just curious, you
know?”

I make a non-committal noise.
Sometimes people are too curious.

“
The last mission messed
me up, J. We did good stuff there, helped a lot of people. Shit, we
hurt a lot of people, too. Not all innocent, but they were still
people.” We walk back into the air conditioning of the hotel. “We
played God daily. We determined who lived and died. I don’t know if
I want that kind of responsibility. It boils down to
self-preservation.”

While my experience only involved a
few gunfights and bomb diffusions, Lamont was in the middle of
battle almost daily. I can only begin to imagine what his mind is
like these days.

“
Like this right here.” He
leans against the wall of the elevator. “I have to force myself to
be in closed-in spaces, to try and prove that I’m not crazy. I get
these dreams where I can’t move, see or hear. These psychs . . .”
The door opens to his floor. Lamont waits until we are in his room
to continue. “They don’t tell me anything
except
that I’ve got PTSD. Shit, why
don’t they tell me something I don’t already know?”

“
They aren’t there to fix
you,” I say, remembering Maddy’s words a few nights ago. “They
can’t take away the nightmares or what happened. The psychs are
there to help us learn to fix ourselves.”

Lamont is silent, taking in this
revelation. Finally, as if accepting this as fact, he
nods.

“
So what about
Maddy?”

“
What about
her?”

“
Her daddy is ten pounds
of crazy in a five pound sack.” Gotta love those Southern epithets.
“He probably paid Lucifer himself to fall from heaven just to spite
God. My uncle got involved with him a few years ago and left
Georgia once his debt was paid. I’ve heard
stories
about Cordell Carrington, J.
Stories that make some of the most notorious crime families seem
like choir boys.”

Save the fact that I’m sweating like a
sinner in church, I think I take the news fairly well. I mean, I
knew he was crazy. Right?

“
What I want to say is not
about him.” Lamont shifts uncomfortably. “It’s about her. If she
was anything like her daddy, she wouldn’t’ve done what she did for
me or given up the spotlight as valedictorian so Chris could have
his moment. She sure as hell wouldn’t’ve gotten your wallet from
that girl without asking for something in return. I know you, J. I
see that you like her.” I shoot him a look. “Don’t give me that
look. All I am saying is you have to stop living up to your dad’s
expectations in women.”

I shrug. “I should go.” We take the
stairs going down this time.

“
Take care, little
brother,” Lamont says. “I’ll visit your mama before I
leave.”

As I’m driving away, I cannot shake
the feeling that I may never see my best friend again. Or if I do,
everything is going to be different.

I glance in the mirror but Lamont is
already gone.

I think about calling Maddy. I pull to
a red light and send a text instead. Lame.

Me:
I’ll be there by 5
.

Maddy:
K

I was hoping she would tell me to drop
by earlier.

I drive to North Beach and find a
secluded spot to take off my sneakers and socks. I dig my toes in
the warm sand.

Normally being near the ocean clears
my head. I’m sure there is something poetic in here about feeling
small compared to its vastness.

But I will save that for another
day.

That morning seventy-three days ago
plays in my mind like an old movie reel. It wasn’t the first gun
fight we encountered. Or the last. Eighty-three days ago our
Company lost soldiers, parents lost sons, children lost fathers,
and wives lost husbands.

“
We’re taking fire! We’re
taking fire! Move your asses!”

The sky was beginning to
lighten. Some were awake, some were sleeping, but those words
sprung us into action with the precise quickness of well-trained
soldiers ready to defend themselves and each other. Our bodies and
minds were set to autopilot. We knew the drill.

This was not a
drill.

I forced the too-small
head gear over my far-from-regulation haircut. I pulled the Kevlar
vest over my bare chest and shoved my bare feet into
boots.

I ran into action with the
combination of mountain air, gunpowder, and fear prickling against
my adrenaline-fueled, hypersensitive skin.

The scene was chaos. With
the echoes on this part of the mountain, we couldn’t calculate
where the gunfire came from until it struck the north side of a
boulder. Then everything began happening in slow motion. It was
like the Furies were released and riding to earth on hellhounds.
The sky rained bullets and shell-casings. Hell on earth on the side
of a mountain. And I had to piss more than a little bit. It’s weird
what you think about with bullets flying. Because you’re trying to
think about everything
except
bullets flying.

An immeasurable amount of
time later, the firing ceased. The only sound was the click-clack
of magazines reloading. Somehow this was louder than the
shooting.

First Sergeant made his
rounds, giving orders for what to do next.

“
Monroe!” First Sergeant
yelled. He gave me the onceover and barked a laugh, “You look like
a shitty soup sandwich, Specialist. Get the rest of your gear on
and lace up those fucking boots! We’re moving out.”

“
Hooah, First Sergeant!” I
responded.

As soon as I squatted to
lace up the boots, I hear the unmistakable sound of a bullet
ripping through fabric and flesh. There is no shock on the face of
First Sergeant Hauton, only recognition of what happened. He
collapsed in a boneless heap on top of me, his blood staining my
skin.

“
Sniper!” I
screeched.

I rolled Sergeant Hauton
gently off of me and lowered him to the ground. I checked his
pulse. Nothing.

“
Medic! I need a fucking
medic over here!”

Specialist Morris ran to
my side, his face laced with pure terror. “He’s already dead,
Monroe.”

“
I don’t give a fuck,
Morris! Do something!”

At that time a
rocket-propelled grenade hit below our camp and we hauled ass to
cover, dragging Sergeant Hauton’s lifeless body behind
us.

At four o’clock I pick Mama up from
her shop. She wants to say goodbye to Maddy. Their relationship is
somewhat disconcerting. I cannot help but wonder why Mama never
told me about her.

I ask when she settles in the
passenger seat.

“
Because I didn’t want you
circling her like a rooster outside a hen house.” Again with the
Southern epithets.

“
She’s not my type,” I
snap.

“
Then why are you
concerned with why I never told you about her?” she snaps right
back.

Hmph. Good question.

Cordell is standing at the open trunk
of the BMW, his hands inside a suitcase. Mama says a quick hello
and rushes inside. I toss my duffle in the backseat and awkwardly
avoid watching whatever Cordell is doing. A few minutes later Mama
emerges with tears in her eyes. She hugs and kisses me on the
cheek, then counts off reminders to drive carefully, call her soon
and come back before Christmas.

When the taillights of her Civic fade
away, I ask Cordell if he needs any help. He waves his hand toward
the house and mumbles something along the lines of “girl can’t do
shit without help”.

Dixon pulls through the gate just as I
step inside the house.

Awesome.

This is going to make for a great end
to my time in Georgia.

I am surprised to see the door to
Maddy’s bedroom is partially blocked by Larry Duvall’s body. Dixon
pauses beside me. He follows my eyes to the figure standing in the
doorway. His face settles into—resentment? Confusion?
Rage?

Definitely rage.

Larry mutters in hushed tones, his
hands flailing with angry gestures.

“
Maddy!” Dixon yells.
Larry turns, startled.

“
You remember that,
sweetness,” Larry coos and winks. Grown men should
never
coo. Dixon glares,
a low growl forming in his throat.

Larry brushes past me as Dixon hurries
into the room, checking Maddy over like she has been in an
accident. He looks intently into her eyes, sending a private
message. With a small shake of her head, Dixon wraps his arms
protectively around her.

I spot a suitcase by the door. “Want
me to grab this?” I ask quietly. She nods without acknowledging my
presence.

Cordell appears from the garage,
shifting his eyes with the paranoia of someone who is, in Lamont’s
words, ten pounds of crazy in a five pound sack. He takes the
suitcase, running his hands around the lining and inside the
pockets.

O-
kay
.

I head back to Maddy’s room to remove
myself from Cordell’s paranoia.

Maddy smiles when I walk in. Something
sharp tugs inside my chest. Huh. Weird.