Like so many people in the National Guard I had joined for the educational opportunities and that little extra bit of cash you got each month. Wanting to be a computer technician and being from a perpetually cash strapped family with no chance at college I jumped at the chance to get the computer training that the Guard offered.

Going to war was the last thing on my mind.

The Guard hadn't gone to war since the Second World War. All the Guard did was work things like flood relief and other national disasters. Occasional they got activated when there was civil unrest like the riots in LA and Detroit, but they didn't go to war. The Guard didn't go to war in Korea in 1950 and, with the exception of the Air Guard, the Guard didn't go to war in Viet Nam or the first Gulf War. So I joined, got my computer training and went to work as a computer technician. I attended my monthly meetings, two weeks of summer camp and refresher courses in my specialty, the monthly checks came in and life was good.

I met Ericka, fell in love and set out to convince her that she needed to spend the rest of her life with me and was surprised as hell when she agreed. We were married and settled down to make a life together. Again, life was good.

And then that idiot Bush stole the election and pushed us into an ill-advised war in Iraq and suddenly the Guard was on its way to war.

At first the letters from home were cheery and upbeat, but as the months passed by they became more and more gloomy. Guard pay wasn't enough to meet the bills even with Ericka working. In one letter she described how she had just barely kept the electricity from being turned off. In another she told me how a loan from her parents helped pay the rent that she was behind on and kept her from being evicted. I and other members of my unit were becoming more and more bitter over the fact that we were bearing the brunt of Bush's stupid war and not even being paid the same as regular members of the Army, Navy or Air Force. The letters from home were full of doom and gloom as family after family fought for survival.

There are rabid Bush supporters (who by the way were not there — and neither were their sons and daughters) who will say, "Stop your whining, you signed up on your own. You knew, or you should have known, that there was always the possibility that the Guard could get called up."

That is true and I accept that, but in all previous call ups the Guard received the same pay and allowances as the regular army troops — but not this time! Next, I was trained to fix computers, not walk down a street in Ramadi with a rifle at port arms while I scanned windows and doorways for some asshole who thought that he would get seven virgins for killing me.

Anyway, enough of this rant.

Suddenly the doom and gloom letters stopped coming. They never got back to the cheery stage, but I didn't hear anymore about the lights, gas, or phone being shut off or about the possibility of being evicted. Then luck took a hand — good luck, bad luck, who's to know — and I got what was called a "million dollar wound." I was on patrol just outside of Ramadi when some one set of a car bomb. I was just close enough to the blast for a piece of the car to slice through my leg. The pipeline took over and six weeks later I'm at La Guardia and waiting for my flight to leave for Kansas City. I made the fateful decision not to call Ericka and tell her I was coming because I thought it would be a kick to surprise her.

My flight got into Kansas City around eleven in the morning and I caught a cab for our apartment. Just as we were pulling into the apartment parking lot I saw Ericka getting into her Honda Accord and as she pulled away I told the cab driver to follow her. He turned to look at me, "You're kidding, right? Follow that car? Just like in the movies?"

"Yeah, that's what I said, follow that car."

We followed Ericka across town until she pulled up and parked in front of Blackie's Sports Bar and Grill. She was already inside by the time I paid off the cab driver and got my duffel bag out of the trunk. I carried my bag over to the Accord meaning to toss it inside on the back seat, but it was locked so I headed into the bar. I saw Ericka sitting at the bar talking to a man who was standing next to her and showing her something from his wallet. I saw her nod her head yes to something he said and the man waved at a man sitting at a table. The man got up and walked over to them, a few words were said and then the man took out his wallet and showed something to Ericka and she nodded her head yes.

Now, all of this was going on while at the same time all kinds of other things were running through my mind. One, it was one in the afternoon on a Tuesday so why wasn't Ericka at work? Two, she was wearing a short skirt, a very low cut blouse with her tits damned near falling out and "Come Fuck Me" pumps with four inch heels — not exactly the clothes that you would wear to work or go out wearing that early in the day. Three, she had on heavy makeup and her hair was highly teased, either that or she was wearing a wig. In short, she looked like a tramp. Four, what was she doing in a bar in the middle of what was supposed to be a work day for her and five, who were those men and what was Ericka making them show her?

All of this rattled around in my head in the first few seconds after I walked in the door and as I was getting ready to drop my bag and rush over to her. Before the bag hit the floor a voice in the back of my head was saying, "Take a seat in a dark corner Ted and watch, because something isn't kosher here." I kicked my bag to the side and slid into a booth where I could watch what was going on.

Ericka and the two men stood there and talked for another minute or two and then Ericka got up and the two men followed her as she went out the front door. I got up, picked up my bag and walked outside just in time to see Ericka and the two men walk across the street to the Shady Oaks Motor Lodge. Ericka opened her purse, took out a key and the three of them went into room 104. Now I might love my wife, be crazy about her in fact, but that did not make me stupid. My mind raced through the possibilities and quickly decided that two and two do indeed equal four. The clothes, the physical appearance, the bar, the checking the men's ID's and having a key to a motel room all added up to Ericka working as a hooker.

My first inclination was to storm across the street, kick down the door to unit 104 and demand some answers, but then that little voice in the back of my head was saying, "Let's not be hasty now. Maybe we are overlooking a five, six or seven that might make the answer something else." I know now that all that little voice was doing was trying to make me go into denial, but I listened to it and went back into the bar and headed for the same stool that Ericka had been sitting on. The bartender was an old guy and when he brought me my beer he pushed my money back at me.

"For servicemen the first one is on the house."

Turns out he was in War Two and Korea and we talked about the differences between the Army of his day and the Army of mine. During a lull in the conversation I asked, "That woman who was sitting her a little bit ago, you know her?"

"Naw, but if I could get it up anymore I sure would like to know her" and then he laughed, "In the biblical sense of the word if you know what I mean."

"She come in here often?"

"Three maybe four times a week, why?"

"I think I know her from some place and I'm having a hard time figuring out from where."

"Don't know pal. I got no idea where she used to work out of before she started working out of here."

"Working out of here?"

"Yeah. She's a hooker. Most places don't allow stuff like that, but I'm an opened minded guy and besides, she's good for business."

"Good for business?"

"Oh yeah. She's got a great reputation as a superb piece of ass and lots of guys come in here looking for her and while they wait, they drink."

"Can't be the one I think I know then. Last I heard she was married and had kids."

"So is Jackie; at least she is wearing wedding rings."

"Jackie? Now I know she can't be the one I thought she was because the girl I knew was named Susan."

"Names don't mean nothing pal. Jackie could be like a stage name or something like that."

I finished my beer, had one more and then grabbed my bag and went outside. I stared across the street at unit 104 for a minute or so and then I flagged down a cab and had it take me back to the apartment.

My pickup truck was sitting in the rear row of the apartment parking lot. Ericka was supposed to have driven it at least once a week while I was gone, but I don't know that she had since it looked like it was parked right where I had left it. I went around to the back and reached up inside the rear frame for the magnetic key box. Inside of the box were a spare key for the truck and an apartment key. I tossed my bag in the back of the truck and then went and let myself into the apartment. It didn't look like anything had been changed since I'd been gone. I went into the bedroom, took off my uniform, got jeans out of the closet and a T-shirt out of the dresser and then I went snooping around to see what I could find.

The drawers of the bedside stand revealed an assortment of sex toys, creams and ointments and three cartons of rubbers. Ericka's dresser yielded dozens of pieces of extremely skimpy lingerie that she hadn't had before I left. In the closet I found several pair of high heeled boots and high heeled shoes, none of which Ericka had when I was still at home. In the kitchen I found a Daily Planner on the kitchen table and I opened it and read some of the entries:

Jules — 7:30 at the Marriott

Smitty — Best Western/7PM (confirm with Gail)]

Steve/House call — All nighter? Check with Gail

There were no entries for that day. While I was thumbing through the planner the phone rang and on the second ring the answering machine picked up the call: