A Soldier Finds His Way (28 page)

“Sure. Lemme ax you this. Where you comin’ from?” She recognized the accent. Brooklyn, maybe Queens.

“We’re on Vine Street and we just passed the King’s Haven Apartments at the intersection of—”

“Say no more. I know that dump. Here’s how you get here.”

She jotted the directions.

They drove just a few blocks and pulled into a common parking area with identical rows of clean and well maintained townhouses on their left and right. Clearly, someone took great pride in the appearance of the place. Audra smiled. This was more like it.

Straight ahead, an office sign hung from a pole outside a single-family home. A short, stocky, middle-aged man leaned against the pole and gave them a nod as they pulled up. He sauntered to them as they got out of the Jeep.

“Vincent Pellegrino,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Audra Lorenzo and this is Hank Fleming. I called about the apartment a few minutes ago.”

Vincent squinted and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Lorenzo. Fleming. You’se two ain’t married? I don’t allow no shackin’ up. I run a resputable extablishment here.”

Hank looked at Audra, one brow raised. “He runs a what?”

Audra tried not to laugh and smiled big to cover it. “Mr. Pellegrino says he runs a respectable and reputable establishment.”

Vincent nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. What she said.”

“Vincent,” Audra said, “I’m looking for an apartment for myself only. Hank and I are just friends.”

“Oh.” He shrugged, then puffed his cigarette and blew a smoke ring. “I’m sorry to say that someone already put a deposit on the apartment anyways.”

“What?” With one step, Hank’s imposing shadow engulfed the man. “She called no more than three minutes ago. How could you have rented it that fast?”

“Call off your goon,” Vincent said, looking at Audra. “I got a bodyguard who’ll put a bullet in his head if I give him the signal.”

“Bodyguard?” Hank looked around. “Where?”

“Over there.” Vincent pointed to a muscular, tattooed man sitting in a lawn chair beside an open apartment door about thirty feet from them. “Eh, Dante!” Vincent shouted.

The man looked up from his magazine, and Vincent said something to him in Italian.

Dante patted his hip, leaned forward in his chair and scowled in their direction. He pointed at Hank, his hand mimicking a gun, then his fingers slowly coiled into a fist. The muscles in his forearm grew wider. He glared at Hank and jerked his fist.

Audra laughed and clapped her hands. “
Bravo
.
Uno spettacolo magnifico. Vale dieci dollari
, Dante.”

Vincent gasped. “You speak Italian?”

“Yes, Vincent. I speak Italian.”

Hank tapped her arm. “What was that all about?”

“Vincent asked Dante, over there, to pat his side as if he had a gun, then shake his fist at you for five dollars. I told Dante his performance was worth ten bucks.”

She laughed again. “Come on, Hank. Why don’t we go get something to eat?”

Hank opened the Jeep’s door and Audra started to get in.

“Hold on a minute,” Vincent said, walking up to them.

Audra and Hank turned.

Vincent smiled for the first time with a broad grin, showing many teeth. He looked at Audra and laughed. “You know what? You got moxie for calling me on my little charade just now. You’re spunky and you speak Italian. I like you.”

He dropped his cigarette, snuffed it out, then picked the butt up and put it in his breast pocket. “When you called, a guy was looking at the apartment. I wasn’t sure he’d take it, but he did.” He eyed her as if he were making some sort of decision, then he sighed. “Come wit me. I got somethin’ to show you.”

They followed Vincent up a flight of stairs to a garage apartment. He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Audra stepped into a tiny kitchen and drew a breath. “Vincent, this is lovely.”

A polished oak table with two matching chairs stood by a window. The counters and cabinets sparkled.

“Go ’head. Look around,” Vincent said.

She and Hank wandered into the living room, then the bedroom, and peeked into the bathroom.

“Hank, this is perfect. I’d love to have furniture this nice. It’s cozy, but the big windows make the place look bright and cheerful. I love it.”

They went back to the kitchen where Vincent waited.

“It’s been empty six months.” Vincent’s eyes misted. He coughed. “My mother lived here. Healthy as a horse, I swear. Went shopping one day, had a heart attack in her car, and just like that,” he drew a finger across his throat, “dead.”

“How terrible. I’m sorry for your loss,” Audra said.

“Thanks. Tell you what. You seem like a nice girl. I’ll let you have the apartment, fully furnished, utilities included, for…” He puckered his lips and turned his eyes upward as in deep thought.

Audra held her breath.

* * * *

Savory aromas made Audra’s mouth water. Trattoria Della Nonna smelled like home. She looked at Hank over a basket of breadsticks. Soft Italian music played in the background.

“Can you believe it, Hank? I thought I was going to faint. Around here, what Vincent’s charging me for rent is nothing. I’m so pleased.”

Hank dove into his manicotti as soon as the plate hit the table.

The waiter slid Audra’s meal in front of her and left. She bowed her head for a moment of prayer then smiled as Hank smacked and hummed with gusto. A forkful of tender, creamy fettuccini melted in her mouth and warmed her soul.

The day had started out bad and had gotten worse. But God was working behind the scenes.

Hadn’t He provided everything she needed? Hank had jumped into action at the mere hint that she was in distress. And Vincent. Didn’t the Lord work in his heart to help him let go of his mother’s apartment and, in turn, help a stranger?

Folded in the purse beside her, Edward’s letter ended with words of hope. Words to hide in her heart.
My feelings for you are genuine.

Audra took a hearty bite of buttered bread and looked across the table at Hank’s saucy face. And smiled.

Bullets whizzed overhead and pinged off the rocks around Edward. Rapid fire from automatic weapons raked the ground nearby. He dove for cover. The sickening, unmistakable thud of lead striking flesh pierced his ears. A man groaned.

He squatted with his back against a boulder. He had to think quickly. The shots had come from an elevated position behind them as they walked. He guesstimated the shooters to be at his four or five o’clock, over his right shoulder.

All quiet. That could be good or bad. Either the men were safe behind cover, or there were casualties. Why else would the shooting stop?

Profanity-laced grunts came from Dexter. If only he could get to him.

“Dex? How bad?” Edward called out.

“I’ll live.” More curses. “Took one in the thigh.”

What about the rest of the guys?

“Alvarez?”

“I’m okay. Jackson’s with me.”

“Sanchez?”

“Yeah. I’m all right.”

Good. All men accounted for.

“LT.” Sanchez’s voice sounded close. “I see movement. Two guys. No, make that three. Back near that cluster of fallen rocks.”

Edward stayed low and peeked around the left side of the boulder. In front of him, Sanchez was hiding behind two large roundish rocks that butted against each other. Edward crouched and came up alongside him.

“There.” Sanchez pointed between the crack in the rocks. “One of them is by the broken boulder that’s shaped like a crescent moon. See him?”

Edward looked. “Yup.”

“The other two moved over there.” Sanchez pointed with the muzzle of his rifle.

The tops of two heads, scarfed and banded, bobbed above the rocks for a split second.

“I see ’em.”

Forward and to their right, Jackson and Alvarez hid behind ample cover.

“Alvarez,” Edward called. “Can you see Dexter?”

“Maybe ten yards, that way.” Alvarez indicated Dexter’s position. “He’s safe, for now.”

Edward loaded a grenade in his launcher. Sanchez followed suit.

“Jackson, Alvarez, lay down suppressive fire while Sanchez and I move forward. Fire when ready.”

Jackson and Alvarez fired bursts toward the enemy.

Edward ran from cover to cover. He kept an eye on Sanchez’s location out of his peripheral vision and passed Dexter who fired from a one-kneed kneeling position despite the blood that oozed through his pant leg.

Edward fired his grenade.

Thwoop.
Sanchez’s launcher sounded.

Two explosions rocked the targets almost simultaneously. Adrenalin coursed through Edward’s system as he moved in and swept the area with his weapon. Colors seemed brighter, small sounds, louder. All senses awake, on high alert.

Sanchez approached from his right flank, beyond the pile of rocks. Jackson joined them. Edward stood over a mangled body. A few yards away, Sanchez looked toward the ground for a moment before holding up two fingers.

Edward nodded. Got ’em.

Alvarez was tending Dexter’s wound when Edward returned. He knelt beside Dex. “The threat’s been eliminated. But, I say we get out of here ASAP. Can you make it to the pickup site, or—”

“Help me up.”

Edward looked at Alvarez. “What do you think?”

“I’ve got the bleeding under control, and I...” Alvarez did a double take and his attention settled on Edward’s upper right arm. “LT, you’ve been hit.”

He felt the underside of his sleeve then wiped his bloody hand on his pants. A wound close to his armpit burned like fire. “Probably grazed.”

Jackson stepped in, hung his weapon over his shoulder and reached for Edward’s arm. “Let’s have a look.”

Edward shrugged and turned away. “No time for that. Alvarez, Sanchez, get Dexter up and let’s go. Jackson and I will bring up the rear, and I’ll call this in.”

* * * *

“Take care, Buddy. We’ll see you stateside.” Edward locked hands with Dexter. It killed him to see one of his guys, his good friend, lying on a stretcher, leg bandaged and stained with blood. His own arm throbbed, and the antiseptic Marcus had applied still stung. But what was a scratch, even a deep one, compared to a bullet lodged in a leg?

Dexter motioned from his prone position for Edward to draw closer. “You’re beating yourself up. I see it in your ugly mug.” Dexter’s weak smile thinly masked his pain. “This wasn’t your fault. You had point, and I was bringing up the rear. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I—”

Greco interrupted with a loud sigh. He stood across from Edward, hands on hips, and said, “How ’bout we draw straws and blame the short pick?” His cheeky grin dispelled some of the gloom. He grasped Dexter’s other hand for a moment. “Transport’s ready. Time to go, Dex.”

The vehicle exited the gate and kicked up an orange dust cloud as it headed south to the main support base.

Greco gripped Edward’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring shake. “They’ll take good care of him.”

“They better.” He turned and strode quickly toward his tent. A shower, change of clothes, and something to eat might not erase the events of the day but would at least ease some of the tension.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Sergeant Browning jogged a few steps to catch up. “You’ve been gone all day, sir, so I’m wondering if anyone’s told you we’re having pizza and a movie at the mess hall tonight?”

“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.”

Browning kept up as Edward marched onward. “Excuse me, sir. The base commander does this every now and then, and it’s not optional.”

Edward halted and grunted. “Mandatory fun. Great. Just what I need.” Could the day get any worse?

“Sorry to hear about Sergeant Dexter.” Browning’s weathered face showed concern.

“Thanks.”

Browning turned to go.

“Hey, Sarge. Did we get any mail today?” A pink envelope would be a welcome sight.

“Nothing for you or your guys. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

* * * *

At dark, Edward entered the mess hall with an exit strategy in mind. Once the lights went out and the movie started, he would slip into the darkness of an adjacent storage room and make his way out the side door. No one would be the wiser.

Laughter and loud talking filled the room. The faces of his teammates dotted the crowd. For the troops, a night like this was a respite from routine and the demands of duty. Who could begrudge them a little fun? He secured a chair by the storage room door, downed a few slices of pizza, and chased them with a can of root beer.

“Find a seat everyone. We’re about to start the movie,” an unseen voice announced. Guys filtered into rows of chairs. The room went dark. A computer-based projector came to life and cast the opening scenes against a white wall.

While all eyes focused on the flickering images, Edward made his escape.

* * * *

Silence greeted Edward in the tent. Alone at last.

At the foot of Marcus’s cot, a Bible lay open with a frayed ribbon wedged in its binding. Its delicate pages fluttered in the wisp of a breeze and settled as the tent flap closed behind him. He stared at the book for a few moments.
Are you a good man?
His jaws tightened.

Reruns of the firefight played in his head. Dexter, all bloodied up with a slug in his leg weighed heavily on him. He stretched out on his cot, closed his eyes and tossed a forearm over his face.

Painted across the canvas of his mind, Audra’s image appeared plain as day. Why shouldn’t it? He’d looked at her picture a thousand times. She was beautiful in every way, the personification of perfection, and the highlight of his life. Thinking about her stoked the flames of loneliness and desire that burned inside him. If only he could see her in the flesh, touch her, and tell her how much she meant to him.

The question as to whether she was getting married or not speared his heart and made him wince.

Footfalls approached.

He sprang to his feet.

The tent flaps parted, and Marcus came in.

The man’s presence kindled Edward’s anger. Why couldn’t he have one stinking, lousy hour by himself without intrusion? Was that too much to ask? At his sides, his hands coiled and tightened on their own accord.