Decoys

Decoys

by

AJ Davidson

* * * * *

For Jackie

CHAPTER ONE

Early April

Throughout his thirty years in the US Marine Corps Josh Mitchell had been fully prepared to die for his country, and on a few occasions—rotting in a South American jungle and sweltering under the Kuwait sun—he had even given the manner of his death some thought. Would it be an anonymous sniper’s bullet, the treachery of a hidden landmine, or a whiff of some insidious poison gas? He didn’t much care, as long as it was quick.

Yet he had somehow reached his last day in uniform without as much as a scratch.

Josh checked the time from the clock on the red brick courthouse as he marched briskly through the quiet streets of Jacksonville. It was ten minutes to six. The morning was so still and calm the leaves on the oak trees lining the path were silent. The deserted sidewalks meant he was making good time. His measured pace had the relentlessness of a metronome − never altering, neverbreaking step at junctions, or slowing to peer in shop windows. Josh had covered five klicks since closing the door of his small two-bedroom on Hansom Drive, yet not a trace of sweat broke on his brow. His breathing came as rhythmically and effortlessly as his stride. The Ford pick-up still parked, as it usually was, in the driveway of his house; a ninety-nine model with 26,000 miles on the odometer. He was fond of taunting the younger men that riding in cars would make you soft. Clean shaven and forty- seven years old, few would have thought of calling him soft; tough, disciplined, uncompromising, hard as steel, but never soft. He picked up the pace for the last few hundred yards to the diner. The pool of bright yellow light thrown from the front windows of Kay’s bore promise of a warm welcome.

Apart from the quality of her home cooking, which was the best Josh had ever tasted, the other attraction of breakfasting at Kay’s was her passion for fine soul music. That morning the sound of Screamin’Jay Hawkins’Heart Attack & Vinespilled from the jukebox and reverberated around the small diner. Monochrome posters of soul legends adorned the red brick walls of the cafe. The music and the smell of fresh coffee cracked a broad smile across Josh’s face as he pushed open the door.

“Morning, Gunny.”Kay threw him a radiant smile from behind the counter, her voice raised to compete with Screamin’Jay. She made a point of tending to the early morning regulars herself. It would be close to seven before Antonio, her British/Italian short order cook, would show up. Josh watched her turn to the gas griddle and cracked the shells of two eggs, letting their contents flow neatly onto the hot surface.

“The usual?” she asked.

“Affirmative,”Master Gunnery Sergeant Josh Mitchell confirmed. As on most days, he was the first of Kay’s breakfast regulars to make it into the diner.

Sandwiched like a two ounce burger patty in a thick roll between a Woolworth's and Scofields’s department store, the diner was tiny in comparison to the other restaurants in Jacksonville, North Carolina. Strangers passing through town would eat at McDonald’s, or Denny’s, or one of the other franchises that dominated the town’s eateries, before climbing back into their cars and heading on down the Interstate. Locals that appreciated good food, however, knew what a jewel they had in Kay's. Only large enough to accommodate thirty customers, six booths of four and six fixed chrome and leather stools at the counter, it was a place where the regulars could nourish both body and mind while easing themselves into another working day.

Josh watched as Kay wiped her hands on a cloth and placed an extra large white ceramic cup in front of him which she filled from a pot of fresh coffee. Not once had he changed his order in the six years he had been going to her diner. Ham, with two eggs on the side, washed down by three cups of scalding coffee. He called it his eye-opener.

Josh removed his khaki cap, folded it flat and set it on the counter-top next to his coffee cup. He threw a leg over one of the stools and lowered himself down. Even when sitting he still felt like amuscle-bound ape next to the diminutive Kay.

“You are looking extra sharp today,”she said over her shoulder as she laid a couple of strips of ham on the sizzling griddle next to the eggs.