A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (28 page)

He pushed the bike hard in the curves to the highway. At the Stop & Save in Divide he filled up then broke a few laws speeding through the flats. The rough brown and arid yellow of the hills changed to evergreen and sharp mountains striated with snow as he drove higher. An hour later he turned left at an unmarked road and stopped at a guard post.

“Cold day for a ride, Sarn’t,” said one of the MPs. Jack kept his mouth shut while the other scanned his ID card. “Have a good day.”

To Jack, Altmann looked the opposite of a military operation. The valley with open fields, pine forests, and peaks on three sides could have been a small college, or a religious retreat. A circular plaza in the center surrounded by white-painted concrete buildings concealed the labs and offices that stretched a dozen levels underground.

Jack parked in front of his building. The guard cleared him and Jack took the elevator down.

On the way to his office he didn’t see a soul. He checked a few messages. Still nobody walked by or came to talk to him. Jack heard murmured conversation and followed it down the hall. When he opened a meeting room cheers burst out.

“He’s here!”

“Surprise!”

Uniforms and civvies crowded around and pulled him inside. A banner covered one wall with the text, “Goodbye and Good Luck!” Someone slapped his back and shoved a drink in his hand.

Jack twisted his mouth but had to smile. “You bastards. I told you no parties. I bet this is Mike’s fault.”

A large Asian man grabbed him around the neck and pretended to twist. “You’re so smart, Jack. Were you born that way or did mommy drop you?”

“Jack wasn’t born, he was kicked out of Hell,” said a woman in dark Army blue.

“Both of you are happy as pigs I’m leaving, aren’t you? Mike gets my job and Parvati only has to look at me half the time.”

“You’re a nasty piece of work, that’s true,” said the big Asian. “But I’ll have problems trying to fly your desk, Mr. Chair Force.”

“You’ll have even more problems once I rip off your joystick.”

“I knew you loved me,” said Mike.

A bearded man in a sport coat shook Jack’s hand. “I know I’ve said this before, but thanks for all your help the past few years.”

“I’d say it’s been fun, Greg, but that would be a lie.”

“We need people like you, Jack. The irony is, you don’t seem to need us.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I just need a change of pace.”

Greg shook his hand again. “Thanks and good luck.”

The party came to an end after an hour and employees trickled away. Jack wandered back to his desk slightly buzzed. He tried to concentrate on a few message threads.

Parvati knocked on his door. “You haven’t boxed up your stuff yet.”

“I took the bike. Car problems.”

She leaned a trim, athletic hip against his desk. “What’s wrong?”

“Your skirt’s too tight. That can’t be regulation.”

“Seriously? Jack, look at me. Was it the party?”

He glanced at Parvati and shook his head. “She wouldn’t let me talk to the kids again, so I had a few at Padre’s. Next thing I know it’s morning and the Impala is in the bushes.”

Parvati touched his face. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Had the car towed.”

“I know you better than that. Get your stuff together and I’ll take it to my place.”

HE CLEANED OUT THE office and sent a last few messages, then erased the system memory in his portable and turned it in with his badges. He said goodbye to Parvati and left without talking to anyone else. On the long ride back to the Silver Spur he listened to house rentals on the listfeed and told the phone to search for more.

He stopped his bike in the space next to the Impala and looked it over. The tow driver had put it right where he said to. Jack ordered parts from Hemmings as he looked over the damaged front end then went inside and changed.

When he called the house Colleen answered.

“Dad?”

“How’s everything, baby?”

“You know.”

“Yeah. I–”

“Mom’s not here. She won’t let us pick up if it’s you.”

“That’s too bad. Want me to come by?”

“I’m pretty busy. I’ll give you a call, okay?”

Jack rode his bike through the back roads to Padre’s. It was popular with the local ranchers and the occasional bored drunk from Springs. It reminded him of the old bar in that two-dee film with Patrick Swayze, and he liked bars and old things. The people who came here were usually forgotten old drunks. Including Padre. He was the vision of old Saint Nick, if Santa were half-Arapaho.

Padre saw him walk in. “Look what’s crawled from the devil’s litter box.” He poured a glass of Fat Tire.

“Evening.” Jack drained the glass.

“I see you made it home last night.”

“Halfway right.”

“Well don’t blame me,” said Padre. “I water down the beer. It’s your fault if you keep drinking it.”

“I’m not blaming anyone.”

“If you weren’t so stubborn you’d get a car with auto-drive.”

“Yeah. When pigs fly.”

Padre re-filled the glass. “Did you get a place yet?”

“No.”

“That house I got across the road is empty.”

“I thought your cousin was there.”

Padre laughed. “Well, he and the sheriffs had a polite debate on the terms of his parole. Any sane person would think he won, because they gave him a pair of shiny bracelets and free room and board from the county for six months.”

“Super.”

“So the place is vacant. You can stay there for five hundred.”

Jack shook his head. “Highway robbery.”

“It’s a real house, you ungrateful wretch. Consider what you’ll save in car repairs.”

“All right. I’ll do it.”

The little finger on Jack’s right hand twitched and he snapped his fingers.

“Hello?”

The voice of his ex-wife vibrated in his head. “You’re drinking, aren’t you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Don’t call the house again.” The connection dropped.

Padre smacked a fly on the counter. “Damn cold-callers.”

“Yeah.”

A truckload of mestizos came to spend the Friday paycheck and Jack moved to the far end of the bar. Padre came over later.

“One thing I always wanted to know about you, Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“Why you never had your arm fixed. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a right to your business. Just seems like you’ve got a phone, why not fix the rest at the same time?”

Jack pulled off his glove and flexed the metal fingers. “You ever lost someone, Padre?”

“Both of my parents.”

“You never want to forget, right?”

“Of course not.”

“How? Do you visit the cemetery? Do you look through old photos?”

“Sure.”

“Well, this is how I never forget Karachi. Their wives moved on, the Army moved on, hell, everyone moved on but not me. I owe them.”

Padre sighed. “Remember how fleeting is thy life. For what futility you have created all humanity!”

“Don’t start quoting the Bible again.”

His finger twitched and it was Parvati.

“Jack, are you at Padre’s?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, I’ll drive over.”

Jack finished his beer. He asked for a car-bomb and Padre brought over the beer and shot.

“You were never a priest,” Jack said.

“My friend, the world drags down the best of us.”

PARVATI WENT BACK TO the motel with Jack but didn’t stay over. The next day was Saturday and she had a thing.

He skipped his morning run and rode over to Mike’s place with a heavy backpack. Mike and his family piled into the minivan and Jack followed them along the interstate to Red Rock Canyon. Gina and the two girls relaxed in a green picnic area while he and Mike sorted through climbing gear at the base of red sandstone crags.

The face was a two-pitch climb with a middle belay point. A narrow crack split the face like a fossilized lightning bolt and widened to a chimney after the middle belay.

Mike used a Grigri to hold the belay rope while Jack chalked his hands and began to climb. Around his waist clinked an array of small ropes with nuts, cams, or wedges at the ends. Jack had triple-strapped his metal hand for safety, and wore a tight, rubberized glove made for prosthetic climbers. Two opposing points on his body were always in contact with the rock. He scaled the rough, uneven surface to the first crack. He forced a wedge inside and clipped to the belay rope, then continued up the sheer face by jamming his hands and toes into the vertical gap. Wedges or nuts went in every few feet for safety.

Jack pulled himself up to the short ledge of the middle belay point and tied off to a bolted anchor. Mike removed the Grigri and started up. As he climbed, the big Asian removed the nuts and wedges Jack had placed. In the middle of the pitch he slipped but Jack held the belay line and Mike fell only five feet.

“Was that your robot arm?” Mike yelled.

“Does it matter?”

At the rest point he took over the belay and Jack took the chimney up. He pushed with his legs and locked with his arms, then turned to the other side of the chimney to repeat the slow process. At the top he clipped in to another bolted anchor and pulled slack on the belay while Mike ascended. Jack watched the children kick around a soccer ball in the green grass below as a breeze dried the sweat on his face and back. After Mike pulled himself over the top they both took a break and looked over the jumbled red sandstone and green meadows dotted with the chit-chit wedge of sprinklers.

“The first time I came here, I thought those crags looked like scattered dinosaur teeth,” said Mike.

“Don’t be scared. It’s just rocks.”

Mike waved at his daughters in the meadow. “You’re not the romantic type, Jack.”

“Do I look it?”

“Not ‘romantic’ romantic. I mean a dreamer.”

“I have simple dreams. Beer and women,” said Jack.

“But use your imagination. Think about the people who lived here hundreds of years ago. No cars ... no pollution ...”

“No beer.”

“What if those people could see us? Maybe they’d think we had it made. Wouldn’t that be a laugh,” said Mike.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m just thinking out loud.”

Jack sniffed. “That’s the problem, people think too much. Everyone pulls their hair out over what’s happened or what might happen. The moment’s all you got, so enjoy it.”

“I’ve never seen you enjoy anything,” said Mike.

Jack smirked. “Never said I was perfect. Just mean and ugly.”

“I wonder if I’m doing the right thing sometimes. If what I’m doing really matters.”

“If what matters is your kids, then yes.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah … Greg wants me to go through the implant program.”

“I told him to pound sand.”

“Is that why you’re leaving? I thought it was the paperwork.”

Jack spat on the sandstone. “His implant thing was the last straw.”

“I just want my kids to look back with pride,” said Mike. “I want them to look back and think, my dad was part of that. He was part of something great.”

“Kids don’t care about that,” said Jack.

“But you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just … I hate this bio-med stuff,” said Mike. “I didn’t get a phone for the longest time just like you, Jack. So I’m not feeling good about the program right now.”

“You can’t transfer back to Benning. Your kids love it here and it won’t be that bad,” said Jack. “When the ship launches you’ll be in the history books.” He paused. “Come over and help me move tomorrow. I’ve got something to cheer you up.”

They gathered the rope and gear and hiked down the back of the rocky sandstone hill.

JACK WENT OVER TO Padre’s first thing to look at the house. The place stank of bleach, malt liquor, and the heavy, oily smell of unwashed men. Trash covered everything, including the cheap plastic furniture. Furniture that normal people kept outside. A huge TV had been taken apart and the guts were scattered along a wall.

“Maybe these words don’t go together,” said Jack. “But this is one shithole of a meth lab.”

Padre kicked an empty can of drain cleaner. “That piece of–”

“You didn’t know he was a tweaker?”

“I should call his mother right now,” said Padre.

“Does she clean houses?”

Padre grabbed a screwdriver from the floor, turned it over in his hands, and dropped it. “She wouldn’t care anyway, that’s the problem.”

Jack helped Padre push a dumpster across the road and they filled it with most of the stuff from the house. Clothes and the few things that weren’t trash went into the shed at the back. Mike brought cleaning supplies with him and they mopped and scrubbed, rinsed, then scrubbed again. At dark they stopped and left all the windows open.

“You sure know how to have fun on a Sunday,” said Mike. “So housework is what cheers people up?”

Jack went to his bike and took out a bundle of yellow cloth from the side compartment. Mike unwrapped it and held a flat wooden box stained in dark walnut. Inside lay a silver revolver, a leather pouch, and a box of rounds.

“This is amazing, Jack. Is this antique?”

“It is, and it still works. My dad gave it to me when I joined up.”

“Your father? You sure you want to give this away?”

“Only something special makes a special gift. Anyway, he gave me guns all the time. A few like this one I smuggled overseas.”

“You used this in the army? It’s not standard issue.”

“Me and the guys did lots of stuff like that.”

“Thanks, Jack. Did you want to move your things tonight?”

“No. I’ll rent a truck. This shack still has to air out, and I want to paint it this week.”

“Give me a call if you need help.”

Jack watched him back up and spin gravel out of the driveway. He rode back alone to the Silver Spur.

FOURTEEN

S
ince her mother wanted nothing to do with parties of any kind, Jack agreed to let Colleen have her sweet-sixteen at the house he was renting.

On the night of the party Jack regretted his decision. He sat on his porch next to the door and took bottles from the kids like a grinch on Christmas Eve. Most of the kids were stupid and didn’t try to hide the booze. They walked up with plastic bags and Jack put the stuff right in his cooler. Some of it was pretty good, he thought, and popped open another beer.