nervously.
“Then they’re in deep shit,” announced the colonel. “I’ve
got four hundred men who just spent the past nineteen months in
Baghdad. They’ve been back with their families for less than a
week, so it’s safe to assume they don’t appreciate this little
exercise they’re getting thrown into this evening.” He stopped
for effect. “I don’t care what kind of peashooters those convicts
have. We go through those gates”—he cut the air with the side of
his hand—“they damn well better be ready for hellfire and
damnation, ’cause that’s what they’re gonna get.”
10
“Another day or so,” Melanie Harris spoke into the receiver.
The silence at the other end of the line spoke volumes. She tried
another tack. “Maybe we could take a little time off. Go back to
Michigan . . . visit your parents . . .” She stopped. The silence
went on for some time before Brian’s voice broke the spell.
“You’re not hearing me.”
“Of course I am.”
“You know, Mel . . . you have the most amazing ability to hear
only what you want to hear. It’s like you’ve got some kind of
built-in filter or something. Some device that doesn’t allow
anything negative to get in the way of the grand plan.”
She sucked in a breath of air. Used the power to keep her voice
modulated. “It’s called focus, Brian. The ability to stay locked
on something until it’s finished.”
“Unlike me, of course.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to. It comes up every time.”
“Not from me,” she insisted “You know . . . I think you
attend too many of those group think meetings where everybody sits on
their well-heeled asses nodding at stupid things. You forget what’s
it’s like to just come out and say whatever you’re thinking.”
Before she could speak, he went on. “You ought to try it now and
again. It’s a breath of fresh air. Listen . . . I’ll show you.
Ready?” He took a deep breath. “I’m sick to death of Hollywood
and I’m going home to Michigan.”
She could feel his intensity over the phone line. “There. Did
you hear that or should I say it again?”
“I don’t need this right now.”
“Would the ‘right now’ part of that statement indicate that
there would be some other more convenient time to bandy this about?”
“I hate you when you’re like this.”
He laughed. “You don’t pay enough attention to me to work up
anything as strong as hate.”
Melanie began to sputter. “I . . . I mean . . . how can you . .
.”
The motor home’s door flew back with a bang. The springs
compressed as someone weighted the stair. Martin Wells bounced into
the room with the kind of glee usually reserved for furloughed
schoolchildren. In his right hand, he held a DVD in a plain white
jewel case. The carefully combed lock of hair that usually lay
plastered to his scalp had been blown straight up like a rooster’s
comb.
“We’ve got it,” he announced.
Melanie pulled a smile across her face and covered the mouthpiece
with her hand. “Could you give us a couple of minutes here, Marty?”
she said in a strained voice.
Wells was too agitated to be so easily deterred. He shook the DVD.
“Got the whole damn thing. Exclusive. Just us . . . nothing . . .”
Melanie raised her voice and cut him off. “A couple of minutes,
Marty . . . pleeease.”
When he failed to move, Melanie pointed at his head and made a
smoothing motion with her hand. Marty got the message, using both
hands to steer the shingle of hair back into place, before stepping
over and using the rearview mirror to check his efforts.
“For the time being, you can reach me at my parents’ house,”
Brian said. “I get something more permanent, I’ll let you
know.”
Unable to suppress it any longer, she heaved a massive sigh into
the mouthpiece. “Come on, Bri, let’s be reasonable here . . . I’m
in the middle of a prison riot . . . I’ll be home in a few days . .
. we’ll sit down and . .
“Then they’re in deep shit,” announced the colonel. “I’ve
got four hundred men who just spent the past nineteen months in
Baghdad. They’ve been back with their families for less than a
week, so it’s safe to assume they don’t appreciate this little
exercise they’re getting thrown into this evening.” He stopped
for effect. “I don’t care what kind of peashooters those convicts
have. We go through those gates”—he cut the air with the side of
his hand—“they damn well better be ready for hellfire and
damnation, ’cause that’s what they’re gonna get.”
10
“Another day or so,” Melanie Harris spoke into the receiver.
The silence at the other end of the line spoke volumes. She tried
another tack. “Maybe we could take a little time off. Go back to
Michigan . . . visit your parents . . .” She stopped. The silence
went on for some time before Brian’s voice broke the spell.
“You’re not hearing me.”
“Of course I am.”
“You know, Mel . . . you have the most amazing ability to hear
only what you want to hear. It’s like you’ve got some kind of
built-in filter or something. Some device that doesn’t allow
anything negative to get in the way of the grand plan.”
She sucked in a breath of air. Used the power to keep her voice
modulated. “It’s called focus, Brian. The ability to stay locked
on something until it’s finished.”
“Unlike me, of course.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to. It comes up every time.”
“Not from me,” she insisted “You know . . . I think you
attend too many of those group think meetings where everybody sits on
their well-heeled asses nodding at stupid things. You forget what’s
it’s like to just come out and say whatever you’re thinking.”
Before she could speak, he went on. “You ought to try it now and
again. It’s a breath of fresh air. Listen . . . I’ll show you.
Ready?” He took a deep breath. “I’m sick to death of Hollywood
and I’m going home to Michigan.”
She could feel his intensity over the phone line. “There. Did
you hear that or should I say it again?”
“I don’t need this right now.”
“Would the ‘right now’ part of that statement indicate that
there would be some other more convenient time to bandy this about?”
“I hate you when you’re like this.”
He laughed. “You don’t pay enough attention to me to work up
anything as strong as hate.”
Melanie began to sputter. “I . . . I mean . . . how can you . .
.”
The motor home’s door flew back with a bang. The springs
compressed as someone weighted the stair. Martin Wells bounced into
the room with the kind of glee usually reserved for furloughed
schoolchildren. In his right hand, he held a DVD in a plain white
jewel case. The carefully combed lock of hair that usually lay
plastered to his scalp had been blown straight up like a rooster’s
comb.
“We’ve got it,” he announced.
Melanie pulled a smile across her face and covered the mouthpiece
with her hand. “Could you give us a couple of minutes here, Marty?”
she said in a strained voice.
Wells was too agitated to be so easily deterred. He shook the DVD.
“Got the whole damn thing. Exclusive. Just us . . . nothing . . .”
Melanie raised her voice and cut him off. “A couple of minutes,
Marty . . . pleeease.”
When he failed to move, Melanie pointed at his head and made a
smoothing motion with her hand. Marty got the message, using both
hands to steer the shingle of hair back into place, before stepping
over and using the rearview mirror to check his efforts.
“For the time being, you can reach me at my parents’ house,”
Brian said. “I get something more permanent, I’ll let you
know.”
Unable to suppress it any longer, she heaved a massive sigh into
the mouthpiece. “Come on, Bri, let’s be reasonable here . . . I’m
in the middle of a prison riot . . . I’ll be home in a few days . .
. we’ll sit down and . .
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