The Last Calls

Cliff would make good on his last three calls before he could rest.

“Uh… good morning, Marine.” The voice was cracking, it would be about 4 o’clock in the morning there.

“Good morning, General. Very sorry to be calling you this early.”

“Nonsense… I told you to call me. That makes you a good marine. So, tell me…” Brigadier General Denton waited, rubbing his eyes, for what he wanted to wash out of them or what he knew would be coming to them.

“Well, sir, we can’t thank you enough for your assistance… the people are grade-A bad asses and they kept us good company. Mission accomplished, sir, and I just wanted to let you know. Gifts were delivered to five guests and our host with the most is taking a very hot steam bath as we speak.”

General Denton understood the message he was receiving… but the steam bath? “Marine? Steam bath?”

“Yessir, a very hot steam. Hot enough to cook a Turk. Snugly, if not permanently. But we’re all set, sir. If there is any value left in the subject; it’s your call.”

Michael Sherrill Denton teared up, recalling Mark’s induction ceremony, his proud achievements in service of the country, to be ended by an oily thief and a team of penny-ante mobsters… he didn’t need to think long.

“With prejudice, Sergeant.”

“Yessir, copy. Consider it done. Should we be needed further, you have my stateside number.”

“I do, Sergeant.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you again for your support on this…” all the guilt of any failure he ever left on a battlefield, abroad or in Nevada, rung like a death knell in his head, “… and “I’m very sorry about Mark, sir. He was one of my finest. Soldier and friend.”

“Appreciate your words, Cliff…” a soft sob leaked into the phone call, “… but not your doin’ son. You brought recompense. Mark’s mom and I are grateful. Safe travels, soldier. Give our best to your team.”

“I will sir. Good night, sir.”

“Good night soldier.”

He turned to his companions, “He says flush.”

“Yes!” Johnny blurted out… Art smiled and nodded vigorously.

For his second delivery he would call out to the mercenary driving the car, “Rem, we got a green light. Hand me the phone, will ya?”

“Glad to hear it, sir…” Reaching into the console, he withdrew a little flip-phone cell, as common as a scooter around Istanbul. “Happy to have been a part of this one, sir.”

“Glad we had you and your people. You’re all-stars. Thanks.” Cliff looked at his own friends, and said, “Mark, Laz and Donnie, the Polish lover, 13 law enforcement officers and one lost little girl, Margot. This one’s for all of you!”

A collective chortle let out, “Oorah!”

He dialed in the digits to ring the cell phone triggering the first detonator, and in sequential, mammoth blasts, the circuit ran to each stack of C-4, blowing the beautiful villa into small pieces of scrap, and raining debris. The life of luxury and lust, built from grand larceny and murder, was aflame, scattering pieces of corruption into the winds, and into the shimmering waters of the Sea of Marmara. An otherwise beautiful sight.

*******************

It was that Nevada number again, and it was picked up at the first ring, despite the hour.”

“Cliff… good… what is it… dinnertime there?”

“Good morning Darlene… Yea, that’s pretty good. Coming up on dinner anyway, but mom says we gotta get cleaned up first.”

“Is that bad, Cliff?”

“All said and done, we’re squared away, but Artie got laced a bit. Seems to like the attention, and the Vicodin, so he’s gonna be fine… he says, hi. Johnny too.”

“So, Art’s good? He’s the only one who took any trouble?”

“Well, it was all trouble, but he’s the only one who took a souvenir home. We’re pulling up to the med-center. But he’ll be fine…” Art in the backdrop shouted out, “Copasetic, Sheriff Coyle. I recommend the vacation.” A collective chuckle rolled through the car.

“You hear that?”

“Yes, Cliff…” she bellowed along, fellows of that brash bravado, grit in their teeth and coming out the right side of things, “… I heard him loud and clear. I’m glad. Does this mean?” she hung on the question, not sure what she should ask, or what she hoped to hear… or would she be satisfied with the answer. “What does it mean, Cliff?”

“It means the war’s over. Mission accomplished.”

“Yes! Yes! You sonsofbitches, yes! God bless you boys… Yes! Tell me, please.” That stiff spine and tough demeanor cracked, and she became the endearing cake-lady that the town of Pahrump had come to love, and her tears fell for every man and woman lost over the course of that terrible event.

“Well, Darlene, there’s always a good time to leave it behind you; and I think this might be your time, what d’ya say?” He was encouraging the healthiest of decisions, taking little satisfaction in death anymore. It has its own intoxication in vengeance, and that can leave a mark on your soul if you dwell there. It was done, after all.

“Fuck that, Marine! Tell me. I gotta know. I got 13 families here who are mourning, and one girl’s family in Nebraska… and probably 200 or more friends… My people deserve to know what you fine men did, Cliff. Don’t hold out, please.” Who could argue with that plea?

“Well, Darlene, I will tell you, there isn’t anything left of the Turk or his people. I mean that literally. The villa by the sea is debris, and half of it is floating in the water. Nothing left standing. It’s over, Darlene.” He could hear her sigh, almost feeling the tension evaporate through the phone.

“Well, glory be.” Meditatively, Darlene would finish in a subdued dreamy tone, “For the one in authority is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are God’s servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer.”

“What’s that Darlene?”

“Scripture. Paul, in Romans… he was talking about you guys… Thank you Mr. Polite, long ‘E’, spelled like polite. Thanks to your boys. We need to break bread one day, soldier.”

Cliff knew it would never happen. Some experiences should never be invited back, even if through the shell of the experience, something good or righteous may have come from it. No, Cliff, Johnny and Artie knew they would never go back to Vegas, Pahrump or Nevada. No matter what heroes thought of one another, it was death, and only death that they had in common.

Cliff calmly said to Sheriff Coyle, “That’d be real nice, Darlene. It’s something we can look forward to. But for now, Calamity Jane, ‘all in and all done’ as Lazlo used to say! And when you think about these sorry events, just remember, you saved more than my life, you saved many. And we walked away. Not all, but we don’t get to choose these things. But we did walk away.”

Darlene knew that was final. And she knew nothing more was needing. You don’t leave such a thing, or such people behind. You live with it all; every hard bit of it, and anything you can reclaim. She just held the phone, wanting Cliff to know she was sorry… wanting them to know she tried her best… and knowing, they knew already. Because they were warriors. She spoke nothing else.

“Goodnight, Darlene. Live a good life; the kind you deserve. The boys send their best.”

Cliff closed on his last call.

The war was over.

End