Smoke Ch. 01

"Why are we having this damn spaghetti for the third time this week?" He slammed his fist down on the table. His glass tipped over and rolled onto the floor, smashing into pieces.

She cringed when he yelled at her. "We don't have money for anything else. You..." Cindy backed up until she was against the hot stove.

"I... what... what, Cindy, what?" His dark look scared her more than the heat at her back.

"I mean, Clancy's costs money. Chris, couldn't you drink at home? It would be cheaper and we could have something else for a change."

He pushed the plate away, stood up and left. As she heard the car start and pull away, she sat down and cried. She hated her life and she hated him.

He didn't come back until the next morning, smelling of cheap booze and cheaper women... and, smoke. That was it, she thought, no more using her money to help out; she worked hard for the money.

"Chris, please, we have to talk."

"What's to talk? Man comes home from work; don't you think he deserves a good, hot meal waiting for him?"

"But, I never know when you're coming home. And..."

His look stopped her. She cringed and backed away.

"I'll have breakfast for you in a minute."

She turned to leave but he grabbed her by the arm. "Not so fast. Way I look at it, you owe me some lovin'."

He forced her to her knees. "Do it."

His two hands pulled her to his crotch. Trembling, she reached for the zipper and pulled it down. Reaching inside, she tried to pull his it out but it was too flaccid and just lay against his pants. Terrified, she unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants.

Reaching for it, she started to move her hand against it but nothing happened. She tried to suck it but it was too small, drawn up against his crotch. She started to panic, nothing was happening no matter what she tried. She realized all that drinking had made him impotent... at least, with her.

"Who are you? You're not the man I married. You..."

The back-handed slap knocked her down. "Tonight, Cindy, tonight, you goddamn bitch."

He changed his clothes and left her lying on the floor, her lips swollen and bleeding, her face alrady discoloring from the force of his hit.

The sun moved across the wall, marking time. She lay there, just watching it move. She knew what was coming.

He was spending his paycheck before it was cashed and they were close to being evicted. The landlord, living across the hallway, had told Chris numerous times to get up to date... and yet, whenever he saw her, he was always polite and talked to her about life in general.

That's how she found out he was a Marine who fought in the Pacific. Once, when she asked, he showed her his medals but then put them back into a drawer, as if they were haunted by some horrible memory.

As they approached their one-year anniversary, she knew she no longer loved him. Whatever she had for him had died a slow, painful death. She doubted he ever loved her or now he just loved the bottle more than he loved her.

Time passed. They eventually lost the car to settle a gambling debt. How that happened, she was just beginning to learn and the day finally came when two men were at the door demanding to know how she planned on paying Chris' gambling debts.

She was young and had once been naïve but she was not stupid.

"How much and can you prove it?" She asked, curiously, not really caring one way or the other.

"$2875 and the interest is growing each day. Well?"

"Well, what?

"I don't have that kind of money and I don't care."

"We'll hurt him, hurt him bad. Maybe you want to reconsider."

Cindy laughed. The men looked at each other. This meeting of the minds was not going as expected. In almost every case, the woman found the money from her family or took their offer to 'work' it off. This one didn't seem to care.

"What? You think I care? Beat him, cut his balls off, kill him, I don't care. Go ahead. Now, get out and don't bother me again."

She stood in the doorway. Greg, the neighbor across the way had opened his door and stood there. In one hand, he had a .45 automatic pointed directly at her two visitors. Then they all heard the double-click as he chambered a shell.

"You heard the lady, get the fuck out."

The men went down the stairs and he could hear the front door slam, glass shattering onto the floor.

"Well, that's crap. Now I've got to replace it. You OK, Cindy? Where's that useless husband of yours?"

He led her into his apartment and locked the door. She sat down and cried. What had seemed like a wonderful dream had crumbled into an excruciating nightmare.

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm getting a divorce and going back to . This has been the biggest mistake of my life. I should have listened to my father. He told me Chris was no good and I didn't listen. How can I go back to my parents, now?"

"Listen, kid, you're staying here, tonight. Those assholes might be coming back and I want to be ready for them."

Greg took her to his bedroom and told her to lie down and get some rest. Before he left, he went to the closet and got out two boxes of shells and his six magazines.

He sat down on the sofa and began loading the magazines. He cut an 'X' into the tip of each one, ensuring it would shatter when it hit its target and then cause the most damage possible. A .45 caliber slug did damage enough but acting like that...

Even he cringed at the thought, having seen the effect the slugs had on the Japanese who refused to surrender.

His mind drifted back to Okinawa, considered the bloodiest battle of the Pacific War... the carnage of that battle is what finally convinced the American military to drop the A-bomb on Japan. It made men cry to see the carnage, even after the war was over.

He idly scratched a scar, courtesy of the Imperial forces.

He snapped back to the present. There are battles and then there are battles and this one was now personal. He had watched the young woman ever since she and her miserable husband had moved in. He had his doubts about renting to them but didn't like the idea of her out on the streets.

If he had ever heard him hitting her, he would have punished him so savagely... but, there never was a sound except her crying when she was alone.

Lately, the only time she didn't cry was when her friend, that Suzy, came over. Then there were giggles and silence.

His mind ran wild with the possibilities.

The sun went down with no sign of Chris. She told herself she didn't care if he never showed up and then cried into Greg's pillow.

Greg had turned the lights off the moment he had pulled Cindy into his apartment. It was now dark outside, the only illumination from the street lamps... and then, he saw them.

From their actions, he immediately knew they were never in the military, goddamn draft dodgers...

Talking to himself, "Used to just taking what they wanted, tactics aren't part of their existence. This should be a piece of cake. Better check there's no one coming around the back."

He went to the back bedroom and glanced out. "Well, imagine that. Somebody's thinking, just not enough... too bad."

There were two more in the alley climbing over the fence.

He carefully pulled the window up and took aim. "Fuck you, assholes!" he yelled and pulled the trigger, hitting both. One was still screaming so he shot him again, cartridges flying to the side.

That taken care of, he ran back to the living room just as the front door was kicked in. Firing blindly in the dark, he knew he hit one for he heard the body fall but the other one ran back down the stairs. He patted down the body and found car keys.

"Damn it!" He looked into the bedroom and found her huddled in the corner. "I'm going after the last one." He pulled another gun out of the closet. "I should have given you this to start with, I'm sorry. Just aim and shoot. Shoot anything coming through. I'll say 'songbird' so you know it's me. Repeat it."

"Songbird... but, I..."

"I'll be right back."

She slowly nodded her head; things were still moving too fast for her mind to comprehend now.

He put another magazine into the gun, jammed the door shut and stepped into the hallway. Peeking over the edge of the stairs, he then took them two at a time and he looked out onto the sidewalk.

Blood. Actually, a lot of blood... leading away from the apartment house and across the street.

He sensed rather than heard the slug just missing his head. Then he heard the 'pop'. A .38, by the sound of it.

"Damn it. I'm getting careless. Be stupid to die this way." He crouched down behind a car and this time, a little more intelligently, started down the street toward the shooter.

In the distance, he could hear police sirens rushing toward him. If he was going to do something, he knew he had to hurry. He started to run; heedless of the danger to himself but knowing he had to protect his little songbird.

Sirens louder now, he ran as fast as he could. Another whizzed by, putting a hole into someone's new Pontiac. This time, though, he saw the flash and sighting along where he thought the shooter was, fired four shots in quick succession.

The bark of the .45 was matched by the bark of the neighborhood dogs. Greg walked over to where he was sure he would find a body, where he hoped he would find a body.

There he was, lying on the ground, two bullet holes in him, one in the chest and one in the leg. Where the other two went, God only knew. He knocked on the door of the house behind the body.

"It's OK. It's over now. Are you OK in there?"

He saw the curtain move slightly. It was a middle-aged woman staring at him. At least, she wasn't screaming bloody murder.

"It's all right. I'm Greg from up the street. I own the apartment house. You've seen me before, haven't you?"

She let go of the curtain. He thought she was going to leave but then heard the chain on the door rattling and then the door swung open.

"I'm sorry for what happened. The man I shot outside was a hired killer and he was trying to kill a woman in my building. Maybe you've seen her, little blond, about five-two?"

"Cindy?"

"Yes, Cindy. Right now she's hiding in my apartment, scared to death. Are you alone? I need to see if anyone was hurt from the other two bullets."

"No, I'm alone. Come in and see what you need to see."

He looked at the side of the house, now lit up with house lights and eventually found two bullet holes. Both went into the crawlspace.

"You're OK, I think. I'll come by later in the morning and take a better look. Could you come with me and stay with Cindy. I see the police have already arrived and I really need to talk with them."

She was still a little shocked but got a sweater from the hall closet and followed him back up the street.

In the distance, he heard three more shots. It sounded like the .38 he'd given Cindy and took off running across the street.

"This is my building," he said, out of breath. "There's a frightened woman in my apartment up there. I gave her a .38 for protection and she's waiting for me to come get her. Let me by."

There were police everywhere and finally they accepted his explanation and he was allowed to re-enter his apartment to find four policemen, guns drawn standing near the door to his bedroom. He also saw three bullet holes in the door.

"Well, she did what I told her. How's she supposed to know you're cops?"

"We told her."

"How's that working out for you? Stand aside.

"Hey, baby... Songbird, it's me, Greg. Please, open the door. Songbird, do you hear me?"

They waited and a short while later, he heard her call out.

"Greg?"

The door opened slowly and he entered the bedroom, took the gun from her hand and as he held her to him, her arms reached around his neck and stayed there.

"Shhh... it's over." God, he never wanted to let her go.

One of the officers was looking at a small photograph on the wall. "Jesus Christ. You were at Okinawa? Damn. OK, let's go. I'll get back to you later, Sergeant. You'll have to wait for the coroner to show up."

"There's two more out the back, by the fence."

"Damn, you've been busy. Why don't you take her across the hall to the other apartment? Good night."

Even though the police left the apartment, there were still plenty of people tramping around the building, front and back and even down the street at the other house.

"C'mon, we're leaving. You, too, Mrs. Shocley."

As they walked outside, Cindy saw Jeff and moved behind Greg. She preferred Greg to the policeman she had been having sex with each Friday. Oh God, she thought, I don't want him to see me. Jeff may have the uniform but Greg knew how to use his gun.

"You two get into my car over there and I'll be along in a second." While the women walked over to his '50 Ford Deluxe and got in, he talked to the homicide detectives, in several different directions at once. After several minutes and one of the men writing down information on a notepad, Greg got into his car and they drove away into the night.

coming...

Chapter 2: California Dreaming