Dead of Winter

The man ignored it. “Look, we don’t have to put up with your shit this time. We’re not in your fucking jail now. We’re on my land. My land, officer. And unless you got some search warrant you’ve got no business here.”

Louis sensed the men behind him moving closer. His eyes flitted up to the black soldier. He was staring at the card. Suddenly, he turned and walked off into the trees. It started to snow.

“Louis, let’s get out of here,” Jesse said tightly.

“I’d take your partner’s advice, friend,” the man said.

Louis hesitated. This was going nowhere. He stuffed the bag back in his pocket and brushed the snow from his face. Jesse was right. He wasn’t going to get anything out of these head cases.

He turned and started back toward the cruiser. Jesse followed quickly.

“I told you,” Jesse said when they were out of earshot.

“Shut up, Jess.”

“Christ, look at this shit,” Jesse said, gesturing at the snow. “We’re never gonna get the cruiser back up that hill. We’re gonna get stuck up here and – ”

Jesse froze. Louis looked up.

The black soldier was standing a few yards in front of the cruiser. He was holding a large gun of some kind.

“Oh, great,” Jesse said through clenched teeth. “If that motherfucker – ”

“Shut up!” Louis hissed. He approached the soldier, his eyes going to the gun. With a twist in his gut he realized it was an AK-47. How in the hell did he fire it with one arm?

From the lines in his face, the soldier looked to be in his forties. He gave off an aura of harnessed energy, his sinewy body a coiled spring, his black eyes snapping. Louis looked at the faded name on his worn jacket. CLOVERDALE. He recognized two patches from Phillip Lawrence’s souvenirs: a sergeant’s strips and a CIB, a combat infantry badge. “If you ever see a man wearing a CIB, he’s worthy of your respect,” Phillip had told him.

“You’re lucky Randall didn’t blow your head off,” the soldier said.

Jesse stepped forward. “Listen, asshole – ”

The soldier tensed. Louis’s arm shot up against Jesse’s chest. He turned his back to Cloverdale and glared at Jesse.

“Goddamn it, Jess,” he whispered tightly, “we need this man’s help. He knows something.”

Jesse’s eyes darted over Louis’s shoulder to Cloverdale and back to Louis’s face. Jesse’s neck was red, the flush creeping up into his face.

“Go wait in the cruiser,” Louis said. “Please.”

Jesse hesitated, glared again at the soldier then stomped off toward the cruiser. Louis waited until he heard the slam of the door and the start of the motor then turned to face Cloverdale. He pulled out the card and held it up.

“You know about this?” he asked.

Cloverdale’s eyes didn’t leave Louis’s face. “Why should I talk to you?”

“Because I need help,” Louis said.

The man gave a low bitter laugh. “Help? Well, ain’t that ironic.”

Louis thrust the bag forward. “You know what this card means. And I think you want to tell me about it.”

“Why? Because you’re black? You think we got some kind of special brother thing going here?” Cloverdale laughed again. “Let me tell you something, bro. The only brothers I got are those six white guys back there.”

He sobered and looked toward the cruiser, at Jesse sitting sullenly behind the wheel. “That your partner?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Too bad, man.”

Louis wiped the snow from his eyes. It was coming down heavy now. But he couldn’t leave, not yet. This man wanted to talk, he was sure of it.

“Hey, you got a cigarette?” Cloverdale asked.

“Sorry. Don’t smoke.”

Cloverdale hoisted the gun up, holding it against his shoulder. He saw Louis looking at it.

“Yeah, it’s heavy,” he said. He studied Louis’s face. “Go on, ask me,” he said.

“Ask you what?” Louis said.

“How I lost my arm. It’s what you were thinking about.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

Cloverdale smiled. He had beautiful, straight teeth. Movie star teeth. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-five,” Louis said.

“I was twenty-four when I joined up,” Cloverdale said. “I grew up in a shithole town in Arkansas…Marked Tree. Man, I would have done anything to get out of the South.”

“Mississippi,” Louis said.

“What?” Cloverdale said, squinting through the snow.

“Black pool, Mississippi, that’s where I was born. Probably makes Marked Tree look like Paris.”

Cloverdale stared at him for a moment then smiled. “You don’t strike me as military,” he said. “You serve?”

Louis shook his head.

The soldier’s smile turned pensive. “I was at Fort Campbell,” he said. “They picked me for Delta Company, second battalion, 501st Infantry, 101st Airborne Division.” He cocked his head. “You ever see that movie The Dirty Dozen?”

Louis nodded.

“We were kind of like that, the leftovers, the guys nobody else wanted. We had guys who liked to steal shit, you know, supplies and equipment. So they started calling us “The Raiders.” We were tight, a really great unit.” Cloverdale’s eyes grew distant.

Louis glanced at the cruiser, hoping Jesse wouldn’t do anything stupid to disrupt the soldier’s reminiscence.

“So how did it happen?” Louis asked, nodding toward the soldier’s missing arm.