A Couple Shades of Taylor - a spitefic

Ch.1

Shit.  My hand shakes as I sign on the line.  This is it.  A decade as a jarhead, all out the window because I fucked up and forgot to lock up my ammo separate from my side arm.  They don’t care that Marisa, my ex, told me she and her new boy toy want to take my daughter to live in Korea and had filed a petition to take her away.  Maybe they shouldn’t.  Excuses are like assholes, and I just got mine handed to me.

At least it’s not a court marshall, and better than a dishonorable discharge.  Either of those would have ruined my chances at any custody that could keep my daughter in the country.  But there’s no pension, no unemployment for a man like me, a twenty-eight-year-old soon-to-be ex military man, father of a five-year-old, in a place without enough jobs even for those who don’t have discharges on their record.

My end of the custody order is to provide health insurance.  TriCare won’t cover Sophia now.  How can I pay child support?  Marisa won’t even try to get a job, and her string of boyfriends are more like flavors of the week, and now she wants to take my precious girl overseas with one.  If I don’t pay, my kid will suffer more.  Washington isn’t too kind on dads whose kids’ moms go on welfare.  We’re the bad guys if we can’t afford to pay.  The moms aren’t judged if they don’t work the way I’ll be judged if I can’t find a job.  I can’t afford an attorney outside of the military.  

I’m probably going to lose my daughter.

I stand and face my CO.  Everything is a haze.  This has to be a nightmare.  I hand over my creds and he hands me some docs.  I snap to attention and salute.  He offers me his hand and says something.  I don’t hear what.  My heart is pounding so hard I can’t hear anything but my thoughts screaming at me.  You fucking fool!  

The couple hundred yards to my car, I don’t even remember.  I guess I started the car.  It’s moving, and I’m driving through a fog, through the gates of McChord, onto the street.  My brain must have gone on auto pilot.  At least it stops at the reds and let me park without crashing.  

I tremble and stab the door to my bachelor apartment instead of getting the key into the lock.  It takes a few times, but I get it in and turn.  The tumblers falling into place could be a bullet into my head, for all I care.  A bullet into my head....

Cold cranberry juice waits in the fridge next to a bottle of vodka.  Not much else today.  Marisa has been withholding visits out of spite.  My attorney hasn’t done a lot of good.  Maybe I’m no more fucked in court than I thought I was.

A bullet into my head.  

I grab the vodka and juice.  Last night’s tumbler is still on the coffee table.  I fill it with vodka and splash in some cranberry just so I can say it’s a Cape Cod and I’m not really drinking alone.  The yellowing light through the closed blinds don’t help make me feel less by myself. 

I head to my bedroom and pull out a couple boxes.  I unlock them both, and from one I pull out my good ol’ Smith and Wesson Governor.  Beautiful gun.  Powerful.  I’ve respected it.  From the other I pull out a single bullet.

These stupid slacks.  I can’t stand the fabric against my skin.  It’s too familiar, a painful reminder that I fucked up. But who cares.  My kid will hurt more going away.  Still wearing my uniform, I head back to the living room and flop down in the couch, and load the bullet into a single chamber.  

There’s a black pen and old envelope on the end table.  I grab them.  

I, Jason Taylor, bequ

Whatever.  I crumple it up.  Whatever survivor’s benefits there are would go to Marisa no matter what, and I just have to hope she spends some on my Sophie-bug.  I can’t take care of her now, she’s going to be taken away, so at least maybe this way, there’s something for her.

I love you, Buggy.

Those words seem right.  

I down the Cape Cod in one large gulp and chase it with vodka straight from the bottle.  Good shit.  My head’s swimming in a matter of seconds.  Just what I need.

The revolver feels good in my hand, balanced and cool.  Power.  I’ve got control.  I can do this or not.  Yeah, better do it before my liquid courage wears off.  It won’t hurt for more than maybe a second.  The ring of the barrel comfortably fits against my temple.

Click.

My luck.  Why didn’t I load it all?  I check which chamber and close it again.

Sunlight streams through the door as someone walks in.  I look up, blinded.

“Goddamn it, Taylor, what the fuck are you doing?”  My CO, no, ex-CO, barges across my living room and wrenches my Governor away.  “You’ve got a kid, you fool!”

“Marisa’s taking her away. I can’t get job l-like...”  My stomach fills with bile that threatens to come up.

Mike keeps my weapon and storms into my room like he’s got a right.  When he gets back, he’s got my box.  I don’t complain.  I don’t care.  He sits down across from me and hold my cargo beside him.

“Listen, I came here to help you.  A request came across my desk this morning, and I don’t need to send one of the other guys.  Are you familiar with Christian Grey?”

“Who?”  I don’t know if I should know the name.  I burp.  Vodka burps don’t taste too good.

Mike shakes his head and runs a hand over his bald head.  “Some paranoid pipsqueak, owns a company his ol’ man set up for him a few years ago.  Doesn’t have any idea how much of a hand his daddy really has in the operations.  Every few months he asks for a new bodyguard and I keep finding people to send his way.  Pay’s good, but Jack–that’s the most recent one who quit–told me the guy’s got weird habits.  But it’s a job until you can get something better.”

My head falls back and I rub my face hard.  “I couldn’t pass a check for something like that, not now.  You know it.”

“Like hell!” Mike roared.  “If I couldn’t pull the fucking strings to get you in, I wouldn’t have wasted my time!  You interview at nine tomorrow, and that’s an order.”

“You can’t boss me anymore,” I sneer.

“You were trying to kill yourself.  One word from me and you’re going to the psych ward.  I couldn’t cover for you on this, but I can get you this job, Son.”

I laugh.  He’s not my dad, but Mike’s a good man.  He’s right.  “Thanks, man.”  I burp loud.  

Mike stands with my box.  “I’m taking these tonight.  And here’s the address.”  He flicks a business card my way.  “If you’re not there fifteen minutes early, I’m having your ass hauled in for an eval.  I’m worried about you, Kid.”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”  I close my eyes.  Potato vodka always makes me drowsy.  A hand drops on my head and rubs it.

“I’m heading out,” he tells me softly.  “I’m sure the Missus won’t mind if you come out for chow tonight.  Dinner’s at seven.  If you’re not there, I’ll bring some back.  Your kid needs you.  Don’t let that witch of an ex drive you to this because you made one mistake.  Don’t make another you can’t recover from.”

My eyes are still closed when he walks out and closes the door.  I turn over and lay down on the couch.  I don’t remember raising my feet onto it before I fell asleep.