Read Online Promises to Keep by Nikki Sex, Zachary J. Kitchen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nikki Sex, Zachary J. Kitchen
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difficult
to have your life peak in high school. He'd been flying high, seemingly able to
do no wrong. Prom King, MVP of every game, kicker of every winning goal, wanted
by every woman and his dad's favorite.
Tommy’s
mind was stuck in all of the achievements in his past. He couldn’t move on.
Unfortunately for him there was nowhere to go but down.
Jack’s
older brother felt invincible. Success in everything had come easily to
him—throughout his teens and adolescence. However, in the real world, things
were very different. Outside of school, he was just another pretty face—one of
millions. His earlier accolades meant nothing.
Now
the only love he and his dad shared was a mutual love of beer.
Shaking
his head, Jack put those memories away. He and Sally said their good byes, and
he’d returned to his tent to sleep.
But where
had he left that dammed ring?
Jack
strode back to his quarters and checked everything once more, this time with
meticulous care so that he knew with absolute certainty that it wasn’t there.
Then he re-checked himself.
He'd
already gone through his pockets a dozen times.
He'd
found lint, bandages, pencils, pens, two pairs of scissors he's thought he'd
lost, and innumerable amounts of those plastic discs called "pogs"
that the post exchange used for change.
Pogs
had something to do with a combination of the military not wanting to ship the
weight of heavy coins into the war zone, and wanting to minimize the amount of
American currency that might fall into enemy hands.
This
amused the troops to no end. The government worried about the insurgents having
nickels and dimes when the very same government offloaded twenty dollar bills
by the pallet load into the local economy.
The
pogs were colorful, had various patriotic and "homey" scenes printed
on them. They came in five, ten, and twenty five cent denominations. They were
good for buying a coke, or a pack of gum at the exchange trailers in every base,
but they were not in any way, shape or form, a plain gold ring.
Dammit!
Jack
wracked his brain.
He'd
had it yesterday, as usual in his left breast pocket. He swore to himself that
he'd taken it out before he took his dirty clothes over to the propane heated
fifty gallon drums, the containers that served as a clothes wash station.
With
dogged determination, Jack went back there and searched the ground around the
drums with the fastidiousness of someone afflicted with obsessive-compulsive
disorder.
When
that proved fruitless, he tipped each of the drums over, spilling their suds
all over the dusty sand—much to the annoyance of an unhappy supply sergeant who
was watching his actions.
Taking
his time, Jack carefully and methodically search inside each drum.
Still
no ring.
Stomach
churning, heart pounding, Jack was sick with himself. It was the last wish of a
dying man —a man he'd been responsible for. Like some irresponsible
six-year old, he'd lost it.
I’ve
fucking lost it.
Chapter 14.
Jack
made a pledge to honor Bob's dying wish and even though she didn't know it yet,
he'd also made a promise to Laura that he'd bring Bob's ring back to her. He
was a man of his word, and by God, he was going to carry out that promise.
In
desperation, he went to the washed out, dusty, olive colored trailer that
served as a field expedient morgue.
Gray-green
insulated walls hid a stainless steel interior lined with man-sized shelves.
With the usual dark, battlefield humor, the Marines called it "the meat
wagon."
There
was only a single body bag inside —it had been a light day.
Jack unlocked the trailer and opened the door.
A
blast of cold air hit him, instant relief from relentless desert heat — except
that it smelled of burned meat, mixed with sickly sweet formaldehyde.
Jack
knew where the body was. After all, he'd put it there.
He
located the zipper on the thick rubberized canvas and pulled. The bag split
open like an alien seed pod from a horror movie. He took an involuntary step
back at
to have your life peak in high school. He'd been flying high, seemingly able to
do no wrong. Prom King, MVP of every game, kicker of every winning goal, wanted
by every woman and his dad's favorite.
Tommy’s
mind was stuck in all of the achievements in his past. He couldn’t move on.
Unfortunately for him there was nowhere to go but down.
Jack’s
older brother felt invincible. Success in everything had come easily to
him—throughout his teens and adolescence. However, in the real world, things
were very different. Outside of school, he was just another pretty face—one of
millions. His earlier accolades meant nothing.
Now
the only love he and his dad shared was a mutual love of beer.
Shaking
his head, Jack put those memories away. He and Sally said their good byes, and
he’d returned to his tent to sleep.
But where
had he left that dammed ring?
Jack
strode back to his quarters and checked everything once more, this time with
meticulous care so that he knew with absolute certainty that it wasn’t there.
Then he re-checked himself.
He'd
already gone through his pockets a dozen times.
He'd
found lint, bandages, pencils, pens, two pairs of scissors he's thought he'd
lost, and innumerable amounts of those plastic discs called "pogs"
that the post exchange used for change.
Pogs
had something to do with a combination of the military not wanting to ship the
weight of heavy coins into the war zone, and wanting to minimize the amount of
American currency that might fall into enemy hands.
This
amused the troops to no end. The government worried about the insurgents having
nickels and dimes when the very same government offloaded twenty dollar bills
by the pallet load into the local economy.
The
pogs were colorful, had various patriotic and "homey" scenes printed
on them. They came in five, ten, and twenty five cent denominations. They were
good for buying a coke, or a pack of gum at the exchange trailers in every base,
but they were not in any way, shape or form, a plain gold ring.
Dammit!
Jack
wracked his brain.
He'd
had it yesterday, as usual in his left breast pocket. He swore to himself that
he'd taken it out before he took his dirty clothes over to the propane heated
fifty gallon drums, the containers that served as a clothes wash station.
With
dogged determination, Jack went back there and searched the ground around the
drums with the fastidiousness of someone afflicted with obsessive-compulsive
disorder.
When
that proved fruitless, he tipped each of the drums over, spilling their suds
all over the dusty sand—much to the annoyance of an unhappy supply sergeant who
was watching his actions.
Taking
his time, Jack carefully and methodically search inside each drum.
Still
no ring.
Stomach
churning, heart pounding, Jack was sick with himself. It was the last wish of a
dying man —a man he'd been responsible for. Like some irresponsible
six-year old, he'd lost it.
I’ve
fucking lost it.
Chapter 14.
Jack
made a pledge to honor Bob's dying wish and even though she didn't know it yet,
he'd also made a promise to Laura that he'd bring Bob's ring back to her. He
was a man of his word, and by God, he was going to carry out that promise.
In
desperation, he went to the washed out, dusty, olive colored trailer that
served as a field expedient morgue.
Gray-green
insulated walls hid a stainless steel interior lined with man-sized shelves.
With the usual dark, battlefield humor, the Marines called it "the meat
wagon."
There
was only a single body bag inside —it had been a light day.
Jack unlocked the trailer and opened the door.
A
blast of cold air hit him, instant relief from relentless desert heat — except
that it smelled of burned meat, mixed with sickly sweet formaldehyde.
Jack
knew where the body was. After all, he'd put it there.
He
located the zipper on the thick rubberized canvas and pulled. The bag split
open like an alien seed pod from a horror movie. He took an involuntary step
back at
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