End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) (13 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Robert “Bob” Gene Flaherty

b.1949 – d.1999

I still haven’t figured
out why I’m stuck here. Larry says I have unfinished business and can’t move on
until it’s resolved. When I asked him how a ghost who is stuck on a strip of
land not much larger than a football field and right next to the busiest
highway in Arizona is supposed to resolve said unfinished business, he just
shrugged his transparent shoulders and said if he knew he wouldn’t be here having
this conversation with me.

The events leading up to
my current state of limbo are easy to recall. Did I deserve this form of exile?
Yeah, I probably did. As far as Larry and the other ghosts who haunted this
section of highway are concerned, they all had their own story to tell. Right
now, it’s all about me.

A single bullet killed me
- execution style - right to the temple. It’s an unfortunate side effect to
owing the Mexican Mafia a lot of money for drugs that went missing… right up my
nose. My drug crazed mind didn’t foresee my imminent demise. I was shot in a
warehouse in South Phoenix which, ironically, used to be a slaughterhouse.

***

30 Years Earlier

Metal clanged against
metal, resonating in my already throbbing head. I forced an eyelid open and
immediately closed it to block the light.

“Flaherty, wake up!” a
voice barked.

I opened my eyes and
recognized my surroundings. I was in a jail cell…again. I groaned and tried to
recollect how I wound up in the slammer. Last night was a blur - one giant,
whiskey induced blur. My throat ached for water while my bladder begged for
relief. One before the other, I thought and sat up on the narrow cot. The small
room spun, yet the police officer standing in front of me managed to stay
still. I focused on his blue uniform until the dizziness stopped.   

“Flaherty, the judge is
waiting for you. You know how he loves to wait.”

I rubbed my eyes and
yawned. My stomach rolled and I clamped my mouth shut, willing the contents to
stay south of my esophagus.

“Carl, what am I in here
for?”

“Don’t remember, huh?” I
shook my head. Every movement was painful. “Well, let’s see…there’s drunk and
disorderly plus, you stole a car and proceeded to drive it onto Mr. Parsons’
lawn and took out his lamp post. Damn near drove through his front door too.”

Mr. Parsons owned the
barber shop in town and everyone knew him. He was probably clipping hair and
telling the story. Great, as if my reputation wasn’t bad enough.

“Bob, I know this stuff
was cool in high school, but don’t you think it’s time you grew up?”

I looked at Carl; his
trimmed hair and mustache, the opposite of my unkempt, shaggy hair and side
burns. We had been buds just a couple of years ago. We ruled the school with
our pranks. Now he stood in front of me as a cop, getting ready to cuff me and haul
me in front of the judge.

“I don’t need to hear it
from you too, Carl.”

Carl sighed and unclipped
the handcuffs from his gun belt. “Stand up and turn around, hands behind your
back.”

“Hey, it’s me; you don’t
have to do this. I come in peace.” I made a peace sign with my fingers.

“I have to follow proper
procedure.”

I shrugged my shoulders
and turned my back to my former friend. The cuffs snapped around my wrists,
cold metal pinching my skin.

“Shit, wait, I have to take
a leak.”

“Hold it. Judge Mathers
is going to be mad enough.”

Carl marched me down the
hall, past the one other cell, which contained the town drunk. He only drank
and didn’t get into mischief so he was fortunate to just sleep it off. He’d be
free to go. I wasn’t going to be so lucky. This was my third strike and Judge
Mathers had already warned me this would be my last. The thought of going to
prison made me forget about the pressure in my bladder and the pounding in my
head.

Our town hall and jail were
right next door to one another so Carl didn’t even bother to offer me a jacket.
Even though we were only outside for less than two minutes, the Minnesota winter penetrated my jeans and flannel shirt. The handcuffs became rings of ice
and made my wrists ache.

A half dozen people sat
in the small courtroom. My court appointed attorney wore a wrinkled suit, which
was a little short in the pant legs. His socks didn’t match.

Judge Mathers presided
over the room with a king-like presence. His bald scalp gleamed under the
fluorescent lighting, which cast dark shadows under his eyes. His beaklike nose
turned first and the rest of his head followed. He watched me get escorted to
the table where my attorney shuffled papers.     

“Glad you could join us
Mr. Flaherty,” Judge Mathers said in his booming voice. Nervous laughter could
be heard from the seating area. I clenched my jaw in an attempt to silence the
smart ass remark, but not in time.

“What did you expect?
Room service was late with my breakfast.” I heard Carl cluck his tongue as he
unlocked the handcuffs and my attorney shook his head. “By the way, your
majesty, I need to hit the head.”

“You will sit down and
keep quiet. Only speak when you are addressed. Is that clear?” The judge’s face
turned a shade shy of my mom’s homemade spaghetti sauce and a vein appeared on
the side of his temple.  

“Yes, sir.” I sat down on
a wooden chair.

“Mr. Flaherty, you were
just here a month ago and I said if you got in trouble again, I wouldn’t be
lenient. Do you remember?” The judge regarded me over his reading glasses.      “Yes.”   

“And yet, here we are.”
He closed my file and folded his hands over top. “Someone’s taken an interest
in your case and has presented an alternative form of a sentence.”

I stopped picking at my
cracked cuticles and regarded the judge. A man in a military uniform and a crew
cut walked past my table and towards the bench. He nodded at the judge and then
turned to face me.

“Robert James Flaherty,
I’m here to change your life.”

“Are you my fairy
godmother?” I smirked at the man whose stern demeanor reminded me of my father.

“Keep that up and I’ll
rescind my offer. Your fellow inmates will love your sense of humor.” His
steely gaze bored into mine and I had a rare moment where I actually kept
quiet. Now it was Sergeant Andrews’ turn to smirk. “I’ll get right to the
point. I’m giving you the opportunity to not go to jail. How would you like to
be a war hero?”

“You mean go to Vietnam?”

“Yes.”

“But, I’m not eligible.
Flat footed.”

“The U.S. Army is able to
overlook that. So what do you say, son?”

“I’m not your son,” I
said and broke eye contact to look out the window. The heavy gray sky had
started to spit out snow and sleet. Small pellets of ice rat-a-tat tatted
against the glass pane. “Vietnam is warm, isn’t it?”

“A God damn tropical
paradise,” the Sergeant answered.

“All right, I’m in.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The humidity soaked my
fatigues within minutes of putting them on. I was getting used to not being
dry. Yes, Vietnam was tropical, but not a paradise. I spent three weeks in training
before getting dropped off in the middle of a fucking rainforest. My limited
military training left me as green as my uniform.

Being wet all of the time
was one thing, but the chafing and heat rash were another. Those things I’d
never adjust to. I wiped sweat off my brow before picking up a tray and
standing in line at the canteen. Army issued chow took some getting used to,
too, but I learned that when you got hungry enough, you’d eat just about
anything. Except grubs – I drew the line at grubs.

Scrambled eggs made from
powder, slices of cardboard disguised as toast and weak black coffee made up my
breakfast. I sat down with the few members of my platoon who hadn’t been blown
to bits or injured yet. I had arrived with fifteen new recruits and only six of
us were left. We shoveled the food in our mouths, washed it down with the
coffee and prepared for a long day in the bush.

“Hey, Bobby,” Steve
Hawkes, who was sitting to my right said. I looked at him. He had more sweat on
his upper lip than usual. His eyes were wide and anxious, like a rabbit which
had caught the scent of a predator on the wind.

“What is it Steve-O?”

He handed me an envelope
wrapped in plastic and taped watertight. “If something happens to me out there
today, can you make sure Melissa gets this?”

“Oh, this is a letter? I
thought this was your subscription renewal to Playboy.”

This earned me a few
chuckles at the table.

Steve smiled, briefly.
“Seriously, Bobby, can ya?”

I tucked the envelope
inside the side pocket on my pant leg and stood up. “I’ll give this back to you
at the end of the day,” I said and clapped Steve on the shoulder. Everyone else
got up from the table. We all wondered who wouldn’t be sitting with us the next
morning.

Heavy artillery fire had
been reported in our region. Usually when I closed my eyes at night it was easy
to imagine for a few moments I was listening to fireworks on a sultry Fourth of
July. Screams of the wounded being carried into camp quickly grounded me back
to reality.

Bullets whistled past my
head and I pressed myself further into the mud. Wet earth and blood mixed to
create a cloying organic odor that permanently lodged itself in my nose. Invisible
insects that lived in the muck crawled along my skin, some biting as if
sampling my flesh before deciding whether to feast on me. The burning and itching
became close to unbearable, but I couldn’t afford to move. My platoon had been
under heavy fire all morning. The Viet Cong knew this land. Our ignorance left
us vulnerable and exposed. 

Moments like this made me
wish I had opted for prison. We weren’t heroes, we were targets. An explosion
to my left made me turn my head. Someone had crawled over a land mine. Severed
limbs and other gore sailed through the air, landing with sickening thuds in
the swamp. I recognized the tattoo on a forearm that landed not ten feet from
me. “Melissa Forever” it said in cursive.

“Fuck!” I swore under my
breath. Why Steve-O? He was going to be a dad and had a job. He was a
productive member of society and not some fuck up like me. I reached for his
arm and that’s when the bullet hit.

A medic ran over,
crouching over me as a shield and assessing my wound. I tried to lift my head
and survey the damage to my shoulder, but the pain rippled across my muscles so
I stopped moving. A UH1 chopper appeared over the treetops and touched down. I
was pulled up to my feet. Since I could walk, the medic ran to assist another
soldier whose bones were sticking out through his pant leg. My left arm hung
limp against my side, but I considered myself lucky. I was alive.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The burning ache
increased and couldn’t be ignored.

“Nurse!” I yelled. A few
minutes passed and still no one showed at my bedside. I yelled again.

“Relax, Grunt. They’ll
get to you,” the guy in the bed next to me said. His name was Darren Johnson
and he was a Marine, hence my new nickname.

“It hurts, man.” I
whined.

“Well at least you still
have your arm. Some of us didn’t get so lucky.” Darren made a point to remind me
every day of this. His stump was wrapped in layers of bandages and I had
ringside seats twice a day when the nurses came in to change his dressing. Johnson
had been disarmed in combat, literally.

“You’re right, man,
sorry.” I turned away and looked out the window. Our ward was on the first
floor of the hospital in Saigon. My view consisted of a picnic table in the
courtyard. Other wounded soldiers sat around smoking and talking. Only a few
wanted to go back to the front. The rest of us prayed for a one way ticket back
to the states. I had already been informed that once my wound healed enough, I’d
be fit for duty again. I hoped for an infection.

“Bob, did I hear you
yelling for me?” a soft voice said. Nurse Banks stood at the foot of my bed
reviewing my chart. She was an angel in all white. Her triangle hat offset her
heart shaped face, which was framed by hair the color of sunshine.

“Yeah, my shoulder hurts
really bad.”

“You’re not due for
morphine yet. Can you wait an hour?”

“No, it hurts.”

“Can you give him
anything to shut him up?” Johnson said.

Nurse Banks laughed.
“Darren, you’re too much.” She playfully swatted at his leg, which peeked out
from under the sheet.

“It doesn’t hurt so bad
when you’re here Nurse Banks. I’ll take you over morphine any day,” I winked at
her and she laughed again.

“You guys…I don’t know
about you two.” She chuckled while reading my chart again and then checked her
watch. “I’ll go talk with the doctor. Be right back.” She spun around and I
craned my neck to watch her walk away.
Her hips swung from side to side, the starched skirt of her
uniform stopped at the knee and we admired her shapely calves. I noticed Darren
was leaning over too.

“Thank God for a co-ed
military,” I said.

“Amen.”

Nurse Banks returned
moments later with a syringe in her hand and I licked my lips in anticipation
of relief. Within minutes a blanket of numb warmth began at my toes and crept
up my legs. My entire body sighed and I drifted.

When my shoulder had
healed enough, I was permitted to sit outside in the courtyard and for an hour
a day, I was free to roam the streets of Saigon. My presence was met with a
mixture of contempt and gratitude. I preferred the pretty young things who
shared their gratitude willingly. Lucky for me, an hour’s furlough was all I
could afford. Girls, barely old enough to be called women, beckoned me from the
front doors of their parlors. Once inside, I’d drink strange liquor and smoke
some opium before indulging in pleasure.

I didn’t want to go back
to war, but my return couldn’t be avoided. As soon as my stitches were removed
I was back on a chopper flying over lush green fields. Most of the soldiers on
the helicopter wore the same expressions of apprehension and the bitter scent
of fear mixed with sweat hung in the air. At least I wasn’t alone.

I killed people, too many
people, but it was either them or me. It got to the point where I stopped
seeing blood. Colors ceased to exist for me.

By some stroke of luck I
survived my tour and was sent back stateside.