Texas Nights - Book 13 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Talking in the Dark

Before it had been the III COSCOM patch, with 2/19th SWG on top, First Twenty - Last Out, under the patch, and 84-91 under that. Still in black ink. No color. It was the addition of the years and "Last Out" that was new.

But that wasn't what had my attention.

He wasn't wearing an eye patch, that ruined red eye staring at me.

That cold intellect stared back at me through that ruined eye. Judging me. Weighing me.

His other eye was clear, green, with a gold ring around the pupil.

"Cromwell," he said. His voice was shocked, incredulous, it vibrated something inside of me, shocking me, tensing me up.

Before I could react he stepped forward, putting his arms around me, pulling me tight and lifting me up.

"Oh, God, Cromwell, you survived," Anthony said, squeezing me tight. My arms went around him and I hugged him tight back. We held that pose for a long moment, just holding onto each other. He set me down, staring down at me, holding me out at arm's length. "You're alive."

"So are you," I said.

"Come in, come in," he waved his hand at the mostly empty room. There were only two beds, four wall lockers, a desk, and a single chair. No wall hangings, no posters, no computer, no personalization. Two of the wall lockers were open, one full of military, the other with a single change of civilian clothes inside.

He hit the light switch, turning off the light, and I followed him in. I looked around the room, noticing that there was a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey sitting on the desk next to three empty cans of coke and an empty glass.

"Want a drink?" He asked me, moving over to the little mini-fridge.

I shook my head.

...that taste, that bite, the click of the ice cubes against your teeth, the sparkling popping of the bubbles on your tongue...

...one little drink won't hurt...

...just like old times...

I shoved the desire down, back in its hole, where I hoped I could ignore it.

"Gonna make myself another," Stillwater told me, pulling out the ice tray and a can of Coke. I watched him pour a third of the glass full of Wild Turkey, add four ice cubes, then pour in the Coke. He pulled out the chair and looked at me. I shook my head, moving over and sitting on his bed, crossing my legs primly and looking around.

"Seems a little stark," I told him.

Stillwater smiled at me and I suddenly remembered that most of his teeth had been replaced by implants over the years. He capped the bottle and set it down, moving over and half-jumping onto the bed. He squirmed back so his back was in the corner where the wall met the headboard. I sat and watched him as he took a hit off his drink then put it on the desk.

Stillwater grinned at me, taking a pack of smokes of the desk. Marlboros. He lit two, passing me one, then one of the empty cans, and leaned back, putting his drink between his thighs.

"How ya been?" He asked.

My head spun a bit. Little-Bit had said that Stillwater hadn't spoken to her the entire time, that there was something different, darker about him than before.

I couldn't see it.

"Busy," I told him honestly. "As soon as I got here they made me the training officer."

"Noticed your bar and block," Stillwater grinned. "Congo-rats on becoming an asshole I guess."

That made me laugh.