Cemetery Street, John Zunski [read any book TXT] 📗

Memorial Drive. It beat weed whacking.
“There they are,” Shannie nudged my side.
“Who?” I asked.
“The 101st you asshole.”
“Oh,” I said.
Grabbing my hand, Shannie ordered me to stay with her. She pulled me towards the disassembling column. “Excuse me,” she asked a group of flanged helmeted soldiers who mingled with wives and girlfriends. “I’m looking for B Company, 2nd Brigade.”
“Can’t say that I know where there at,” a tall soldier with a deep southern voice said. “Don’t even know if they have anyone here.”
“How about 2nd Brigade? Do you know were they are?”
“Can’t say that I do. They gots ta be somewheres ‘round. Why don’t ya ask a MP, they gots ta know.”
“You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about a Leroy Lightman?” Shannie persisted.
“Should we?” asked a shorter soldier.
“Who the hell is Leroy Lightman?” The tall soldier added.
“He was killed - fratricide - Wadi-al-Batin.”
“Never heard of him,” the short soldier said.
“Name doesn’t sound familiar,” the tall soldier said. “Say, sure you gots the right outfit, I’m thinkin’ the Wadi was 1st Cav’s turf,” the tall soldier continued.
“I’m sure,” Shannie answered.
“Say, Billy Joe,” the tall soldier called to another whose attention was held by a busty brunette. “You know about 2nd brigade spending anytime in the Wadi-al-Batin?”
“They were chopped over to 7th corps right before the air-war. Something about some scare, Iraqi’s planning an attack or something like that,” answered Billy Joe.
“Why didn’t I hear anything ‘bouts that?” the tall soldier whistled.
“Maybe ‘cause you’re a moron,” the short soldier replied.
“2nd only spent a week or so there before re-upin’ with the rest of division,” Billy Joe turned his attention back to the busty brunette.
Shannie approached Billy Joe. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, do you know anything about a fratricide there?” Scowling, the busty brunette nudged closer to Billy Joe, thrusting her breasts forward as she grabbed onto his arm. I smirked thinking she though Shannie’s question was the army’s version of a pick-up line.
“Can’t say that I do,” Billy Joe smiled before turning his attention to the brunette.
“Are you sure?” Shannie asked.
“He said he didn’t.” The brunette ran her eyes up and down Shannie disapprovingly.
I gave Shannie a ‘let’s go’ look.
Shannie stood firm. Batting her eyelashes at Billy Joe Shannie said: “I don’t want to be a pest…”
The brunette sighed.
Shannie continued. “…My brother was killed and nobody seems to care. I can’t get any answers. I’m just looking for answers. All I want are some answers.”
“Write your congressman,” the brunette snapped. “Leave us the hell alone.”
Shannie turned her attention to the brunette. “If it was your boyfriend instead of my brother, I’d help you.”
“Fiancé,” the brunette extended her hand, revealing an obnoxiously large stone on her finger.
“Oh Stacy, stop it,” Billy Joe said to the brunette.
“Don’t oh Stacy me,” the brunette snapped. “I waited seven months for you to come home, I’m not about to let a little hussy interfere with my happiness.”
“Put yourself in her shoes,” Billy Joe entreated.
“Maybe she should put herself in my shoes,” the brunette began.
“What a beautiful ring.” Shannie’s comment went unheard. The couple began arguing. “Where you’d get it, Wal-Mart? Must be pure Zirconium, gotta be the most expensive ring in the trailer park.” Turning to me, Shannie said, “Let’s go Just James.” Leading me by the hand she stopped at the first pair of helmeted soldiers, again asking if they were absolutely sure that they didn’t hear anything about Count’s fratricide. “Thanks for nothing,” she mumbled as we turned away.
We approached group after group of soldiers, their reception civil but cool. None of the groups as inhospitable as the first, none of them friendly. Shannie became disquieted, “It’s like no one gives a fuck."
Late afternoon shadows were long when we stumbled across the first members of 2nd Brigade. Almost immediately they directed us to members of B Company. “You want to ask for a Captain Mulberry,” a 1st Lieutenant Meany instructed.
“Thanks,” Shannie answered. “You wouldn’t know anything about a fratricide in the Wadi-al-Batin?”
“You mean the fratricide. Yeah I heard of it; everyone in 2nd heard about it,” Meany said. “Over and over again. No one really knows the details.”
“What do you know?” Shannie asked with raised eyebrows.
“Not much. Someone went off. You know, like, wanting to execute a one-man invasion of Kuwait. Ended up getting himself and some other poor bastard killed.”
“Anything else, like names or anything?” Shannie asked.
“Nope. Just knew it happened. Tainted a miserable week,” Meany said.
“Thanks again,” Shannie said. We went in search of Captain Mulberry.
Mulberry was a squat, fireplug of a man, whose shoulders were as broad as his legs were high. He wore a square, concrete jaw. Shannie said it was the result of a cinder block implant. A pug nose jutted outwards encasing his mouth between twin peaks. Even when he didn’t speak, his mouth rippled like a windblown lake. His voice was deep and cavernous. His gray eyes were like a lighthouse’s searchlight, constantly scanning the coast in front of him.
“Soon as I saw him, I had the urge to punch his jaw,” I told Shannie.
“Lucky you didn’t. You would have broke your hand.”
When he moved, his cockiness vanished. He didn’t walk, he rolled. His legs moved too fast for his body, giving him the appearance of perpetual stumble.
He towered over Shannie by a mere two inches and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Except for their height, they were complete opposites. Shannie, graceful and delicate, precise as a scalpel; Mulberry, clumsy and coarse, blunt as a sledgehammer, its no wonder they only saw eye to eye standing face to face.
“I need to talk to you,” Shannie said.
A corner of the Captain’s mouth rose into a smile, his eyes paraded up and down Shannie. “Who are you?” Mulberry sneered.
“I want to know what,” Shannie began.
“I can do for you?” Mulberry jeered, cutting off Shannie.
“Kind of. Tell me what you…” Shannie said before being interrupted again.
“Tell you what I can do for you? And how I’m going to do it,” The captain said. Uh oh, I thought. The fool doesn’t know what he’s getting into.
“Wow, we have ourselves a live one,” Shannie scoffed.
“Wouldn’t you love to find out,” Mulberry’s sneer widened, his concrete jaw erect in front of him.
“Yo Napoleon, I didn’t come here to listen to your fantasies. Take them up with your sister.”
“My, my, I think you’re the live wire,” the captain crowed.
“Cut the shit! Tell me what you know about the fratricide in the Wadi-Al-Batin!”
The condescending smile vanished from the Captain’s face. “Don’t know nothing bout no fratricide. Got the wrong outfit babe.”
From the corner of my eye I noticed a large black soldier watching Shannie.
“This is the 101st, 2nd Brigade, B Company, is it not?” Shannie scoffed.
“It is,” The captain mumbled.
“I got the right outfit; babe!” Shannie jeered. Unnoticed by Shannie or Mulberry, the black soldier stepped closer. “I want to know what happened to my brother,” Shannie continued.
“I don’t know what happened to your brother,” Mulberry dug his heels into the ground.
“I didn’t tell you who my brother is. How would you know?” Shannie asked.
Mulberry eyebrows curled, trying to get a fix on the unrelenting demon in front of him. A small part of me felt sorry for him.
“Mitchell or Lightman?” Mulberry asked after a long silence.
The black soldier crept closer, as unaware of me as Shannie and Mulberry were of him. He appeared transfixed by Mulberry’s question.
“Lightman,” Shannie sighed. A slight breeze rustled her hair.
“What can I tell you about Sergeant Lightman?” Mulberry asked.
“Everything you know,” Shannie said.
Extending his arm, Mulberry touched Shannie’s shoulder with a concrete hand. “This isn’t the proper place to discuss this matter. Maybe we should be alone,” he nodded towards me. “Possibly over dinner, maybe a bottle of wine.”
“My brother’s dead and you’re hitting on me?” Shannie cried. “You fucking pig!” Shannie slapped the captain’s face. A sharp crack echoed across the disassembly area. The black soldier, who I noticed was a captain, flinched. People further away stared towards the source of the crack. The collective gaze of dozens of eyes rained upon the diminutive imp and the stone-faced captain, her handprint glowing upon his face. The two combatants were locked into a loathsome stare.
The black soldier nodded for me to restrain Shannie, he motioned he’d check Mulberry.
“Bitch,” Mulberry lunged at Shannie. Like lighting, the black soldier struck. Leading with his shoulders he slammed into Mulberry, driving him to the ground. Mulberry grunted as the weight of the black soldier fell atop of him. Count would have been proud, I know I was. “Burn in hell you rat bastard!” Shannie shrieked. “My brother’s dead and you’re hitting on me! Burn in hell! Burn in hell you rat bastard!” Another murmur arose from the onlookers. For good measure, the unknown soldier slammed Mulberry’s head against the ground.
Mulberry mumbled something. “Don’t even think of it asshole,” the black soldier warned. “You say another word, I’ll open your piece of shit skull, you know what I’m saying?”
I stood between Shannie and scrum on the ground. Her eyes teared. Her hands clenched into tiny fists. “We better get out of here,” I told her.
“He’s right, you oughta get out of here,” said the unknown soldier, still holding Mulberry to the ground. Covering Mulberry’s ears, the unknown soldier continued. “Meet me on the steps of the Lincoln memorial in an hour. We need to talk. Now, get out of here. Go count blue cars! Go on, scram!”

“What do you think he knows?” I asked trying to inspire conversation. We sat on the top step of the Lincoln memorial, glancing past the reflecting pool and the Washington monument towards the Capitol. The mall swelled with a sea of humanity. Many in crisp, pleated uniforms, arms around significant others. Giddy with the patriotic fever, their laughter and smiles crashed over us.
Shannie glanced at me before turning her attention back to the crowd. With slouched shoulders and chin resting in her upturned hands, she was the picture of exhaustion. Dark rings emerged under her eyes, which were absent and pallid.
Our silence thickened. I returned to looking for the black soldier. It was well over an hour and still no sign of him. “We didn’t even get his name,” Shannie bemoaned. “I don’t believe it. We just fucked up the chance of a lifetime. We blew it, we’ll never know. And all because of that rat bastard Mulberry.”
I nodded in agreement. We watched the crowd thin. “Nothing like being at funeral when the rest of the world is at a wedding,” Shannie said.
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Shannie sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay.” I agreed.
We stood. “Just James, make me a promise. Don’t ever leave me! Promise you’ll never leave me! Please? I mean you’re the only friend I’ve got. I need you.” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me against her.
For a moment, I felt we were one. I imagined our hearts beating together. Her feel showered me with goosebumps. “I won’t leave you. Never, ever, I promise!” She smiled, took my hand and led me down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. From the corner of my eye, I watched Shannie’s hair sway back and forth over her lowered face, each step playing peek-a-boo with her tired smile. Despite everything, it was the happiest moment of my life.
I wonder how different life would be if we’d left a minute earlier? How different life would be if we missed Calvin Gray at the bottom of the Lincoln Memorial? I’m positive two people would