Read Online A Slow Walk to Hell by Patrick A. Davis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patrick A. Davis
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in the ass.”
“I don’t want to play.”
Disappointed, he shook his head. “You’ll never get a star, Marty.”
Tell me something I didn’t know.
The door opened and a slight Hispanic man in a tux peered out. Since General Baldwin didn’t have hired help other than maid service, I concluded the guy was associated with a catering company. “Mr. Collins?” His accent confirmed he’d answered the phone when I’d called.
I nodded and eased inside.
“The general asked that you wait in the study, sir.”
“I know the way.”
I cut across a large living room done all in pale cream. The furnishings were minimalist and elegant, modern art work on the walls adding splashes of color. Several Asian artifacts tastefully accented the decor, softening the sterile feel. From hidden speakers came the sound of soft classical music.
As I angled toward a hallway, more laughter erupted and I glanced past a Chinese screen into the dining room.
A full house.
Ten people, six men and four women, spaced around a stunning glass table that appeared to be suspended in midair. A blond man in a tux hovered over them, refilling coffee cups from a silver decanter. General Baldwin was seated at the head, his back to me. Since this was a social gathering, he had on a dark suit instead of his medaled Air Force uniform. I recognized two of his guests. The red-faced man doing all the laughing was a former Virginia congressman with a reputation as a military hawk. The severe looking woman across from him was the secretary of the Air Force.
General Baldwin said promotions came down to how well you played the social game. He played it well.
He glanced over and we exchanged a look.
Continuing down the hallway, I entered a masculine study lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Most senior officers had an I-love-me wall and Baldwin was no exception. His was filled with plaques and photographs highlighting his career as a fighter pilot and military stud. Several Civil War–era rifles also were mounted above his desk. They were part of the general’s impressive collection of military guns, many of which had been used by his predecessors in war.
My eyes fell on a picture on the wall, which was larger than the rest. It showed General Baldwin as a young major, receiving a silver star for his heroics during the first Gulf War. The beaming full general who was pinning the medal to his chest was Baldwin’s father.
“My second favorite photograph,” a deep voice said behind me.
Sam Baldwin entered the room, drawing the door closed behind him. Even in a suit, he still resembled the college basketball player he once was. At forty-six, his six-five frame was spare and hard, and his close-cut brown hair showed no signs of gray. Only his facial lines reflected his age. Numerous and deeply etched, they hinted of a life filled with more than its share of stress.
It wasn’t easy, making general.
“Is that your favorite, Sam?” I nodded to a silver-framed photograph sitting on his desk. An attractive woman in her late thirties stood beside a teenage boy with a remarkable resemblance to Baldwin.
“Yeah.” Sam walked over to the desk and stared at the picture, smiling faintly. “Ryan just got accepted to the academy. Class of 2007.”
I heard the pride in his voice. The legacy was continuing and another Baldwin would serve his country. “Congratulations.” I added, “How’s Ann?”
“She remarried last month. Even sent me an invitation to the wedding.”
“You didn’t go?”
“No. It would be…awkward.”
It didn’t surprise me his ex-wife had invited him to her wedding. Even though they had divorced ten years ago, they’d remained very close.
“Ann’s one in a million,” I said.
“Don’t remind me. You know we spoke at least once a week. It’s true.” He was quiet, a suggestion of sadness moving across his face. “I’ll miss our talks.”
A reference to the fact that Ann now belonged to someone else.
With a sigh,
“I don’t want to play.”
Disappointed, he shook his head. “You’ll never get a star, Marty.”
Tell me something I didn’t know.
The door opened and a slight Hispanic man in a tux peered out. Since General Baldwin didn’t have hired help other than maid service, I concluded the guy was associated with a catering company. “Mr. Collins?” His accent confirmed he’d answered the phone when I’d called.
I nodded and eased inside.
“The general asked that you wait in the study, sir.”
“I know the way.”
I cut across a large living room done all in pale cream. The furnishings were minimalist and elegant, modern art work on the walls adding splashes of color. Several Asian artifacts tastefully accented the decor, softening the sterile feel. From hidden speakers came the sound of soft classical music.
As I angled toward a hallway, more laughter erupted and I glanced past a Chinese screen into the dining room.
A full house.
Ten people, six men and four women, spaced around a stunning glass table that appeared to be suspended in midair. A blond man in a tux hovered over them, refilling coffee cups from a silver decanter. General Baldwin was seated at the head, his back to me. Since this was a social gathering, he had on a dark suit instead of his medaled Air Force uniform. I recognized two of his guests. The red-faced man doing all the laughing was a former Virginia congressman with a reputation as a military hawk. The severe looking woman across from him was the secretary of the Air Force.
General Baldwin said promotions came down to how well you played the social game. He played it well.
He glanced over and we exchanged a look.
Continuing down the hallway, I entered a masculine study lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Most senior officers had an I-love-me wall and Baldwin was no exception. His was filled with plaques and photographs highlighting his career as a fighter pilot and military stud. Several Civil War–era rifles also were mounted above his desk. They were part of the general’s impressive collection of military guns, many of which had been used by his predecessors in war.
My eyes fell on a picture on the wall, which was larger than the rest. It showed General Baldwin as a young major, receiving a silver star for his heroics during the first Gulf War. The beaming full general who was pinning the medal to his chest was Baldwin’s father.
“My second favorite photograph,” a deep voice said behind me.
Sam Baldwin entered the room, drawing the door closed behind him. Even in a suit, he still resembled the college basketball player he once was. At forty-six, his six-five frame was spare and hard, and his close-cut brown hair showed no signs of gray. Only his facial lines reflected his age. Numerous and deeply etched, they hinted of a life filled with more than its share of stress.
It wasn’t easy, making general.
“Is that your favorite, Sam?” I nodded to a silver-framed photograph sitting on his desk. An attractive woman in her late thirties stood beside a teenage boy with a remarkable resemblance to Baldwin.
“Yeah.” Sam walked over to the desk and stared at the picture, smiling faintly. “Ryan just got accepted to the academy. Class of 2007.”
I heard the pride in his voice. The legacy was continuing and another Baldwin would serve his country. “Congratulations.” I added, “How’s Ann?”
“She remarried last month. Even sent me an invitation to the wedding.”
“You didn’t go?”
“No. It would be…awkward.”
It didn’t surprise me his ex-wife had invited him to her wedding. Even though they had divorced ten years ago, they’d remained very close.
“Ann’s one in a million,” I said.
“Don’t remind me. You know we spoke at least once a week. It’s true.” He was quiet, a suggestion of sadness moving across his face. “I’ll miss our talks.”
A reference to the fact that Ann now belonged to someone else.
With a sigh,
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