Chapter 1: Cards

Saturday the 14^TH

I sat looking at the cards and shuddered, it was the third time in three days I had drawn the hand. In front of me was the eight and Ace of spades while in my hand were another eights and another ace. Looking up I waved the smoke away from the cigars being puffed around me. With a glance at the pot and then at the dealer I wondered as my hand hovered over my chips.

'Was it a warning? An omen?' I thought.

With another look around the table I watched each of the five other players faces. Two had dropped out and one was wavering or I thought he was. He was a little hesitant on the last raise I made when I got the ace of Spades. Which only left the young kid from Amarillo, with two three's and a King showing on the table. Looking at my hand again I reached down and picked up a stack of hundreds and tossed it into the pot.

"Thousand to you, Mike," I said as I looked at the old air force colonel.

His weathered face showed the age of flying aircraft and balloons. On his left pocket of his jacket was some stitching that said, '477th Bombardment Group, Elmendorf Air Force Base.' Mike picked up his cards and looked at the pot and shook his head.

"Walter my old friend, it's too rich for my blood," Mike Sampson said as he tossed his cards in.

"I'll see your thousand and raise you another," Matthew Holt said as he sneered at the man across from him. He knew he had the pot with two threes and two kings as he picked up the stacks of chips. Pushing back his cowboy hat he pulled out a cigarette and lit it as he waited for the man across from him to do something.

"Call!" I said as I tossed in another thousand.

"Two pair, Kings over threes," he said as he turned the cards over and reached for the pot.

With a frown I said as I rubbed my chin and watched him, "You know young'en, that's a good hand. But this time, it's just not good enough."

Turning over the two eights and an ace I said, "Aces over eights!"

"The dead man's hand," Mathew said in shock as he leaned back in the chair.

"Yep, that it is," I replied as I pulled the fourteen thousand dollar pot to me. I looked at the dealer and said, "Cash me out."

"Wait a minute, that's a lot of my money," Mathew cried out.

"Shouldn't gamble what you can't afford to lose," I said as the dealer handed me thirty-six, one thousand dollar chips.

I watched the man fume as I stood up and walked away from the table. Going through the casino, I walked past the wall of hero's and stopped. Reaching out I touched the picture of my son with a purple ribbon on it.

I stood there for a minute with my eyes closed, and with a weird feeling as I was being watched. I turned and looked around myself, but no one was paying attention to me.

Sending another quick prayer, I walked over to the cashier's booth and slid one of my chips onto the smooth surface and said, "Cash this for me, little lady."

I examined the lady behind the steel bars, and she was quite good looking. Her red hair was up in a bun at the top of her head. She was wearing the typical black pants and white shirt that all casino workers wear. Her nails were painted bright red, and she had an American flag stickpin in her left collar.

Mary MacDillard looked at the cowboy in disgust at his comment and watched as he slid the chip to her. Opening her drawer, she pulled a stack of one hundred dollars bills out. She slid her fingers tips through the paste stick as her other hand took the chip and counted the bills out in her hand and then she quickly counting out the ten one hundreds as she replied, "Here you go, Sir."

"Thank you," I replied as I placed another chip down and said, "I want to cash this one out as well."

"Sir, why didn't you just hand me both at the same time?" Mary asked as she opened the drawer again and quickly pulled the money out and counted it.

With a grin, I pulled out a third and replied, "I have my reasons. Please cash this one too."

Mary blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and snapped, "Look just hand them all to me and I will cash them out!"

"No, we will do it my way. This way the Feds get nothing," I snapped back at her as I waited for my money.

Mary growled under her breath and opened a bottom drawer and pulled out another stack of hundreds and counted them out. "Next," she said, and waited as he placed a fourth chip down and picked up the bills. Ten minutes later she watched him walk out of the casino.

"Fucking asshole! But he tipped well," she said as she placed the one thousand dollar chip in her can.

Whistling, I walked out the door, and headed towards my truck, which was parked in the back parking lot. Getting the feeling again, I looked around and saw someone duck behind a pillar. Before anyone could peek around the column, I stepped around the corner heading for where I had parked when I saw the niche. The niche was another entrance to the casino. Looking up I saw the camera so I ducked into the small alcove. I stood there waiting in the dark, and then three men walked by me not even looking into the alcove. I recognized one of them, right away.

"Where the fuck did he go?" Mathew snarled in anger.

"I don't know. I saw him turn down here, maybe he started running and we didn't see him. Lets hurry, the back parking lots are this way," said the blond haired man as he looked around.

The dark haired man who looked like an older version of Mathew looked right at me. I know he did, he should have seen me, but then he turned away.

"Mat, where the fuck did he go?" he said.

"How the fuck should I know James. I just said the same fucking thing. I don't know how you could lose him, he was in front of you," Mathew snapped back at his older brother.

"Let's do what Dakota said, and check the parking lot," James said, and they took off for the end of the alley.

I stood there watching and listing to them talk. The one named James had looked right at me and should have seen me. I was prepared to hit him if he said anything. Shaking my head in confusion, I waited for them to reach the end of the alley and turn out of site. Stepping out, I got dizzy for a second and looked around. I had the feeling I was being watched again, but wasn't sure from where. I knew it wasn't the camera, because I had stepped around the corner and it couldn't see me. I was looking to the back parking and then I turned and went back to the main street and jumped into a cab.

I told the driver where to take me and he took off for the RV Park. Five minutes later we pulled in and I had him take me to my spot. I pulled two twenties out and said, "You didn't see me."

The man took the money and replied, "No, Sir, I didn't see you."

"Thanks," I said as I climbed out.

I walked to the door as the cab drove away. Opening the door, I went inside and back to the garage area. Standing there, I looked at my son's Yamaha dirt bike, and shook my head.

"Fucking Army," I snapped in anger.

I turned to the gun safe and punched the safe in anger. Gripping the lock, I quickly entered the combination and pulled the safe door open. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled the money out. I opened the lock box on the bottom of the tall safe. I dropped the money into the bottom lockbox, next to my son's .44 Desert Eagle he had bought before deployment.

Holding the heavy weapon, I thought of my son killed in Iraq. How I wanted to go over there and kill a bunch of rag heads and send them to their makers. Dropping the automatic in the case I snapped the lid closed and stood up.

With anger flowing through my body, I slammed the safe door and spun the lock. The lock continued spinning as I opened the door and went into my home for the last two years.

Opening the fridge I grabbed a chicken leg and stripped the meat from the bone and then went into the living area and sat down in my lazy boy chair. Sitting there, I though back to how the video had showed my son begging for his life. They asked him to fill out his parents address and they told him he could write a letter to us letting us know he was ok.

He had smiled as he wrote the address down and then he gave them the paper with the address and was offered a sheet of paper to write on. As he picked up the paper and started writing, the man who left the screen started talking. I had seen the horror flashed through Andrew's eyes as the man said 'Lieutenant Andrew Brakes, for crimes committed against the Iraqi people. We the free Iraqi council sentence you to death. Executioner, do your duty!'

He said he was found guilty and then the two men stepped in and yanked him to onto his back and then he was murdered as the other one continued talking. He was sending a warning to all the American forces to get out of his country or this would fall to all the prisoners they took. A new leader was in Iraq, and they wouldn't catch him like they had done to the rest.

I closed my eyes. I could still see Andrews pleading look as they bent him over a small table behind the big one and another man stepped into the picture and a sword came down with a hiss. I heard my wife's screams when I saw my son's head fall to the ground and my tears ran down my face. The day we watched the tape, my son's body was found in a warehouse in Mosul.

Not only did I lose my son, I lost my wife of thirty years and my life, as I knew it. She had been standing next to me and had suffered a massive heart attack as we stood there in shock, watching our brave son being butchered like so much meat in a butcher shop. Before I could get back with her medicine, she was gone.

Grabbing the bottle of whiskey and a glass that I kept on the end table, I poured myself a full tumbler. I drained it, as I looked at the pictures of my beloved Gail and our son Andrew on the wall. I filled the glass again and then sat there sipping the second glassful. I flipped on the TV with the remote.

The newswoman was talking about a tornado that had torn apart a house and killed five people, and dozens of animals, the night before.

With a quick tap of the remote, the DVD player came on. I watched, once more, the murder of my son. The tears flowed down my face again, as I drank my Southern Comfort.

There would be no comfort for me.

Rala

I appeared in the trailer and watched the old man reclining in his chair. He was snoring away, and the glass was about to fall to the floor. I quietly walked over and took it out of his hand. Setting the glass on the end table, I stopped and looked at the TV screen. I again saw the young man being murdered, and shuddered at the brutality of these humans.