Read Online Full Measure: A Novel by T. Jefferson Parker - Free Book Online Page B

quarter of the time because the contact was so heavy. They’d drag out their dead and we’d never know.”
    Patrick wiped the sweat and soot from his forehead then Ted did, too. “Wow, Pat. That must have been a rush. I wish I could do something like that.”
    Patrick looked out at the burned world that they were trying to repair, one sprinkler, one tree at a time. “Yeah, it’s a rush.”
    Ted nodded and took up his shovel again. “I had a gun pointed in my face just two days ago. Right here in Fallbrook. I thought I might get shot for sure. I was driving my taxi and it was one of my fares. A young Mexican guy. He lured me to his ’hood on Ventana so his homies could watch him jack me. He took all the money I’d collected, and all my tips except for ten bucks. I was really scared but really mad, too. I could feel those two things fighting it out in me for what I should do. Scared and mad. I got short of breath and my vision shrunk down to like a tunnel like it always did, remember? I chased him but you know how slow I am. I went to the cops then turned around in the station and walked right back out. I’d seen the Mexican guy before around town and I’m sure I’ll see him again. His gun was old and the bluing was rubbed off the end of the barrel.”
    “How come you didn’t say anything?”
    “I just did, Pat.”
    “This happened the day after I got home?”
    “Yeah, that day. I was thinking about you the whole time I was driving. And the next thing I know there’s a gun in my face. I haven’t told anybody but you.”
    “You didn’t report it?”
    “You know me and cops.”
    “What are you going to do, Ted?”
    “I don’t know what to do. I got robbed, so there’s supposed to be justice. On the other hand, I didn’t get shot and I’m only out some tip money. What do you think I should do?”
    Patrick dug out a ruined valve as he thought. “Tough call. I’d go back to the cops. Report it. They’ll question him. Maybe he’s had other complaints.”
    “Then I go to court and a bunch of people stare at me? And the judge dismisses the case for lack of evidence? And don’t forget, I’m the guy who got expelled for making fun of the mayor on the Web, so they all would think I’m a whack job.”
    “That wouldn’t properly figure in, I don’t think. But this wouldn’t go to a trial. No witnesses except his buddies, and you know what they’ll say. But you don’t have to press charges to file a complaint, I don’t think. You just have to let the law put this guy on notice.”
    “What if he robs me again?”
    Patrick emptied a shovelful of good Fallbrook decomposed granite around the valve. “Then that’s a whole different story. If we’re out and about and you see him, point him out.”
    “Sir, yes sir.”
    “Stop that, Ted.”
    “Okay. Should I get a gun?”
    “No. Then things just escalate.”
    “Would you say that to anyone, or just to me?”
    “To anyone. Speaking for myself, I can’t tell you how good it was to check in my weapons in at the armory. I like being able to walk around without guns. It’s a privilege.”
    They worked silently for a few minutes and Patrick wondered what would be the right behavior for Ted, given the young Mexican man, the gun, the money, the fear and anger. He’d seen that anger spike. A gun for Ted didn’t seem like the right thing. It struck Patrick that in many ways civilian life was more difficult than combat. In Fallbrook, things were not clearly divided into us or them, friend or enemy, kill or be killed. In Sangin, the things he had done as a fighting man were simple and clear, bloody though they sometimes were. Here, things were complex.
    They replaced the burned valve and walked to the truck for water. Patrick saw his father down in a swale two hundred meters away, painting a tree trunk with the sprayer. Something about it was amusing and sad at the same time: an aging man in a burnt grove, painting tree trunks white. White for Archie; black