A Morning for Flamingos (Dave Robicheaux 4)

"He grabs Mouse by the back of his shirt and pulls him up out of the dirt, just like you pick up a dirty clothes bag.

"'Fuck you, man. We're not going back up there by ourselves,' I say. 'We heard something clank up there. You dideed out on us. They get through, your ass is in a sling.'

"He's frozen there, with Mouse hanging from his fist. He says, 'What d'you mean, something clanked?'

"Before I can answer an old man runs across the clearing out of nowhere and tries to get in the hooch, where a couple of other guys are taking their turn inside. He's yelling in gook, and the big black dude is holding him by the wrists, and everybody's laughing. Then one of the sisters starts screaming inside, and more zips are coming out of their hooches, and it's all starting to deteriorate in a hurry. Elvis lets loose of Mouse and walks fast across the clearing just as the two guys come back out of the hooch.

"One of them is the guy who gave the kid a heat tab. He and Elvis look at each other, then the guy says, 'The shit's already in the fire, man.'

"The old man goes in the hooch, and there's more yelling inside, and Elvis says, 'What'd you do to her?'

"The guy, the heat-tab guy, says, 'Nothing you didn't.'

"But the guy who was in there with him says, 'He told her he'd kill her baby if she didn't blow him.'

"By that time I just wanted to get out of there, so I don't know who threw the grenade. I was already headed down the trail when I heard it go off. But somebody threw it right in the door of the hooch, with the two sisters and the old man and maybe a baby inside. Then I started running. When I looked back I could see the sparks above the trees from the burning hooch. I don't know if they killed anybody else there or not. I never asked, and I never told anybody about it. The next day I volunteered to work in the mortuary at Chu Lai."

"The mortuary?" I said.

"That's right, man. I peeled them out of the body bags, cleaned the jelly out of their mouths and ears, washed them down, embalmed them, and boxed them. Because I'd had it with the war. And I'd lost my guts, too. I just wasn't going out again. I didn't care if I was a public coward or not."

He drank from the bourbon, then leaned forward on his thighs. He rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck and looked at his hand.

"Maybe it took courage to do that, Tony," I said.

"No, I was afraid. There's no way around that fact." His voice was tired.

"You could have gotten out of the bush in other ways. You could have given yourself a minor wound. A second Heart would have put you in a safe area. You think maybe it's possible you volunteered for the mortuary to punish yourself?"

He looked up at my face. The skin around his left eye was puckered with thought.

"You can beat up on yourself the rest of your life if you want to. But no matter how you cut it, you're no coward. I'll give you something else to think about, too. On your worst day over there, you probably proved yourself in ways that an average person couldn't even imagine. It was our war, Tony. People who weren't there don't understand it. Most of them never wanted to understand it. But you ask yourself this question: would any grunt who was, in the meat grinder judge you harshly? In fact, is there anyone at all who can say you didn't do your share?"

He widened his eyes and looked between his legs at the concrete floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and made a snuffling sound. He started to speak, then cleared his throat and looked at the floor again.

"Better get some clothes on," I said. "You'll catch cold down here."

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"I guess I'll see you at the house," I said.

"I lied about something. I don't use this place for Paul and me to camp. You see that AR-15? I used to come down here and sit in the dark with it and think about doing myself. When you turn off the light it's just like a black box, like the inside of a grave. I'd put the front sight under my teeth and let it touch the roof of my mouth and my mind would go completely empty. It felt good."

I pushed on the trapdoor, which was made of steel and overlaid with concrete and swung up and down on thick black springs, and walked up the steps into the balmy November afternoon. The moss-hung oaks by the back wall were loud with blue jays and mockingbirds. I looked back down into the shelter and saw Tony still seated on the side of the bunk, his face pointed downward, the skin of his back as tight as a lampshade, bright with sweat.

I went up to the shopping center and called Minos at his office to find out about Kim, but he still hadn't returned. When I got back to Tony's house, the school bus had just dropped off Paul, and Jess was wheeling him inside.

"How you doing, Paul?" I said.

"Great. Special class got to go on the Amtrak train today." He wore a striped trainman's hat, a checked shirt, and blue jeans with a cowboy belt.

"I bet that was fun, wasn't it? Where's your old man?"

"Getting dressed." He grinned broadly. "Dad was exercising on the lawn in his underwear."

"Why not? It's good weather for it," I said, and winked at him.

"You got a phone message," Jess said. "From that friend of yours who runs the bar, what's his name?"