“You’re gonna spoil him!”
“He grew up in a ditch, he don’t know from being cold!”
“It’s like giving a pig a Rolex, ma’am, he’s got no appreciation for the finer things in life.”
The lady laughs and waves them off. “Thank you!” the Bravos cry as she and her group file out of the row. “Thank you for supporting the troops!”
“Nice lady,” Mango says, settling back in his seat. Billy agrees. They look at Lodis and laugh, then Mango shivers. He hunches over and clasps his hands between his thighs.
“You look like you gotta piss.”
“I sorta do gotta piss.” Mango winces and shivers but stays put. “You gonna see Faison before we go?”
“Hoping.”
“Dude, gotta be some way you can get with her.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t wanna push it.”
Mango laughs.
“No, I’m serious. I mean, if this was a normal situation all I’d be thinking about right now is where to take her on a date. Trying to nail her, I mean, come on. I’ve only known her about four hours.”
“Billy, our situation ain’t normal, in case you hadn’t noticed. You think she’s gonna keep on liking you a whole year, and you a million miles away sending her dipshit emails? Dear Faison how are you I am fine today we busted down a house and killed many bad fuckers as much as we could. That shit gets old, dawg, shit gets old real quick. Even our moms don’t wanna hear it after a while.”
“You are one depressing fuck, you know that?”
“I’m just sayin’! This is your best shot, dawg. This is as close as you’re gonna get, so go for it. If she’s a nice girl and she wants to support the troops…”
“You’re an idiot.”
Mango laughs. Billy’s cell is ringing again.
“That her?”
“No,” Billy says, checking the screen. “My sister.”
“You ain’t picking up?”
Billy shrugs. The call rings out. A minute later he gets a text.
Dont go pls.
B hero x2.
CALL HIM BACK.
Pls.
Yr sis loves u.
Billy punches up the phone message again, this time listening not so much to what the man says as to the sound of his voice, whatever information might be coded in timbre and pitch. The voice is white, male, educated, middle-aged; Texan, but with a big-city crispness to his words. Strong. Assertive. Sympathetic. Son, if you’re thinking about taking a new direction in your life, we can sure help with that. It is a good voice. Billy is tempted to listen again, but here comes Dime barreling down the row, blasting through the obstacle course of Bravo knees and feet. He reaches the aisle and pulls out his cell, crouches by Billy’s seat. “Sykes is driving me fuckin’ nuts,” he says, studying his messages.
“Better living through chemistry, eh, Sergeant,” says Mango.
“Yeah, well, it was either meds or ball-gagging the little shit. He’ll be fine,” Dime says, though no one has asked. “He’ll be fine once we get him back on post. It’s all this other…” He falls silent. Billy clears his throat.
“Sergeant, if you had a choice, would you go back? To Iraq, I mean.”
Dime lifts his head; he is not pleased. “But I don’t have a choice, do I? So your question lacks relevance.”
“But if you did have a choice.”
“But I don’t.”
“But if you did.”
“But I don’t!”
“But if you did!”
“Shut up!”
“I’m just—”
“SHUT!”
Billy shuts. Mango is giving him a WTF? stare. Dime snorts and shakes his head.
“Do you wish we had a choice, is that what you’re saying?”
“Well.” Billy understands he’s gone too far. “But we don’t.”
“That is correct, Billy, we don’t. We’re going back, and we all know what we’re going back to, and that’s why we’re gonna have our shit high and tight and look out for each other twenty-four/seven. But I will say this.” He pauses; his cell is ringing. “If I’m never in another firefight as long as I live, that’ll be okay by me. Hey.” He’s got the cell to his ear. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Interesting. How about this, how about if Swank sits on his face, would he do it then?”
Billy and Mango look at each other. The damn movie.
“So it’s either that or…” Dime looks up at the scoreboard. “Albert, we’re running out of time.”
Mango turns away, hissing something low and hot in Spanish. Down the row Sykes has launched into the old boot camp chant, Pick up your wounded, pick up your dead…
“He’s right here,” Dime says, glancing at Billy. He listens for a moment, then asks Billy: “Are you available for a meeting?”
Billy laughs. “Am I what? Sure, yeah. When?”
“Now. With Norm. Josh is coming for us.”
Billy’s throat knots up. “Okay.”
“Yes he is available,” Dime says to the cell. “Anybody else?” Dime listens, then grunts and clicks off. For several moments he just crouches there, staring at the field.
“Sergeant, are you okay?”
Dime snaps out of it. “I was just thinking, rich people are crazy.” He turns to Billy and adds, with feeling: “Don’t ever forget that.”
“Roger, Sergeant.”
MONEY MAKES US REAL
THEY COME UPON ALBERT in the corridor outside of Norm’s suite, head down, back propped against the wall, tapping on his BlackBerry with his silver tapping stick. He beams when they turn the corner.
“Guys! What up?”
“Up, down, all around,” Dime answers.
“Let’s hang here a minute, I’ll bring you up to speed.” He turns to Josh with a pleasant, pointed look.
“I’ll go tell Mr. Oglesby we’re here,” Josh says.
“Excellent idea.” Albert herds Dime and Billy down the corridor some distance from the suite. “Looking good at halftime, guys, you did yourselves proud. You meet Beyoncé and the girls?”
“Hell no,” Dime grumps.
“What? No? That’s lousy. So what was that about down on the field, after? Looked like a flash mob or something, Black Friday at a Wal-Mart out in North Jersey. We couldn’t figure out what was going on.”
“It was nothing,” Dime says. “Just boys being boys.”
“Somebody giving you a hard time?”
Dime looks to Billy. “Was somebody giving us a hard time?”
“No, relatively speaking,” Billy answers.
“He’ll go far,” Albert says to Dime. “All right fellas, here’s the deal.” He pauses to smile at a passing couple, waits for the swish of their fur and cashmere to recede down the hall. “Norm’s in. He wants to put together an investor group to make our picture, but that’s not all. He’s inspired, shall we say, you guys have inspired him to think big thoughts today. He’s decided to form his own production company and start making films.”
“Might as well. His football team sure sucks,” says Dime.
Albert sniggers, glances up and down the hall. “Apparently he’s been mulling it over for quite some time, then we show up and he figures that’s God’s way of telling him to make his move. And frankly why not, the studios are looking to slough off risk any way they can. A guy who comes in with his own product, his own money, this is a very desirable commodity in Hollywood these days.”
He pauses while several more couples pass. One of the men snaps his fingers at Dime.
“Hey, great job at halftime!”
Dime snaps his fingers back. “Hey, you too!”
Albert waits until they’re gone. “It helps that he’s going all in, we’ll have that much more credibility shopping our picture around. With a one-off deal you’re sort of a lame duck, but if they know you’re sticking around? All the more reason for him to make a statement with this picture. Anyway, as far as our deal goes, as soon as he gets the company formed I’ll assign my option over to it, then when we’ve got the package together the company exercises the option, you guys get some money, and we go into production.”