I would call him a bastard, but since we are twins that would make me…
“Burgers sound good. I could use a beer.”
As I walk forward, Will pivots out of the doorway. We are careful not to bump into each other too often in this tiny townhouse. I am glad we got housing close to the base, but it is barely bigger than the footlockers we had in the barracks during basic training. For two big guys, it takes a lot of mental energy to stay out of each other’s way.
“Yeah, good,” Will says distractedly. “Let’s get out of here.”
The email flashes through my mind again. I push it away, but realize that it would be difficult to escape thinking about it so close to government land.
“Hey, how about we go off-base?” I suggest innocently.
Will pivots toward me again, scowling.
“The NCO club has jalapeno poppers.”
“Every place has jalapeno poppers,” I scoff. “I’m just saying that it’s nice to get out, right? Live among the free peoples? What, are you afraid they are going to offer you a college professorship or something?”
Will rolls his eyes.
“No, man, I’m committed to the cause. You know that. Five minutes.”
He walks away before I can catch his eye. This is a conversation we have had many times. Will doesn’t really love the military
the way I love the military. Like I said, he’s the brains. He would rather be writing books or some kind of bullshit like that than actually living the military life. Not that he would ever admit it. But I know my brother. He has a strong sense of duty, but would probably rather be performing that duty behind a desk if he could.
Still, I’m glad I won the argument. I don’t want to risk running into anybody here who might ask about the email. Not that anybody would. I mean, chances are slim. With 250 square miles of military base around here, and all of the secrets operations going on at any time, nobody really asks a lot of personal questions. We all know better. You never know when you’re going to run into somebody who is legitimately working on a top-secret project of national security. That thing where people joke about how “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you?” Not really a joke around here.
Since it is Friday night, I know just the place. Will is going to hate it, or at least that’s what he will try to say. Secretly, he’s going to love it. I will make sure of it.
“Hey, quick,” I call out, slamming two shot glasses on the counter and filling them with Patron.
Will raises an eyebrow at me. “Seriously? Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Nah, I know what a lightweight you are.” I shrug innocently as I shoot back the ounce of tequila.
I can feel it seeping through my chest, warm and sharp. Feels good. Feels really good.
Will swallows his without complaint, and I fill the glasses up again without saying anything. He doesn’t even remark on it, just knocks it back and then rinses out his shot glass in the sink.
“That’s enough, let’s get going.”
Is it enough? I’m not sure. I take another quick shot for good measure, just in case. I’m a big guy.
All the towns around the base seem to still be half military. We would have to go practically to the state line to experience real civilian life. But at least we can get a taste of it here.
And you can tell who is active duty and who is civilian. People either have that look of predator or prey about them. Not in a bad way… it’s just that there are sheep, and there are sheepdogs. And then there are wolves. The sheep don’t really know they are sheep. It’s our job to know they are sheep, and keep them safe in their happy little sheep lives.
But every once in a while, there are people who seem to kind of straddle the fence. Sometimes I will look at a guy and it takes a half a second to figure it out: is he really a soldier, or just some hard-on who wants to fight? The difference is courage. That’s how you can really tell.
Like this guy Ty. I know what he is. Everybody can see exactly what he is.
Our boot heels crunch on the gravel as we cross the parking lot. Ty is sitting next to the door outside, slumped on a barstool while he stares at his phone. When he notices our approach, he stands up, heels shoulder-width apart. I don’t know if he is doing it on purpose, but he is trying to front like he has some kind of military training. Like he’s ready to go.
Next to me, I feel Will bristle slightly. He senses the challenge too. He may be the brains of the operation, but he is still a fucking giant. He could beat down Ty without breaking a sweat.
“Who is this guy?” Will asks under his breath.
Without breaking stride, I answer, “Club owner. Thinks he is tough. He’s nobody.”