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I looked back and saw that the ravens were gone.
XV
THE LIGHTS WERE BURNING BRIGHT IN THE WINDOWS AT THE ADAKIAN HUT when Pop and I came up the hill. They were shining down through the fog in golden beams. And as we drew closer, I could hear the clatter of typewriters and the steady murmur of voices. Pop’s staff was in there hard at work on the July 6 edition.
“I’m sorry your cartoonist has to draw his cartoon over again,” I said as we climbed the last dozen yards.
Pop coughed. “He was upset. But between you and me, it wasn’t his best work. I suspect he’ll do a better one now. Unfair losses can be inspirational.”
As we reached the entrance lean-to, a figure stepped out from behind it. It was the Cutthroat. Neither Pop nor I was startled.
“What took you guys so long?” the Cutthroat asked. “The colonel’s shack ain’t that far. I’ve been here five minutes already. Thought you might have died or something.”
Pop and I exchanged glances.
“You were listening outside again, weren’t you?” I asked.
He looked at me as if I were a moron. “What do you think? I wanted to know what you guys were gonna do. Which wasn’t what I expected, but I guess it was okay. Might’ve been better if you’d gone ahead and shot him.” He scratched his jaw. “You sure he’s gonna let you be? More important, is he gonna let me be?”
“I suspect he’ll have no choice,” Pop said. “You see, I’ve already asked my new Navy comrade to inquire with his high-placed friends regarding a transfer for the lieutenant colonel. So whether he asks for one or not, one will soon be suggested to him. Assuming he doesn’t find himself in Dutch before that happens. Because whenever the general returns, I may be having a conversation with him as well.”
The Cutthroat gave a snorting laugh. “You are one strange fucking excuse for a corporal.”
“That I am,” Pop said. “And you brew the goddamnedest cup of coffee I ever drank. Next time, I’ll make my own.”
But the Cutthroat was already heading down the boardwalk. “Leave my six beers outside my shed,” he called back. He glowed in the golden shafts of light from The Adakian for a few seconds, and then was gone.
Pop turned to me. “It was kind of you to walk back with me, Private. But unnecessary. I may seem like a frail old man. But despite my white hair and tuberculosis-ravaged lungs, I do manage to get around, don’t I?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Jesus Christ,” Pop said. He pointed at me with his bottle of Johnnie Walker. “What did I tell you about ‘sir’ and enlisted men?”
I held out my hand. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to salute you.”
He gave me a quick handshake. His grip was stronger than he looked.
“It’s been a long and overly interesting day, Private,” he said. “And I sincerely hope, you dumb Bohunk, that I only encounter you in passing from now on. No offense.”
“None taken.”
He turned to go inside. “Good night, Private.”
But I couldn’t let it go at that.
“That Navy boy is dead,” I blurted. “It was the colonel’s fault, and we’re letting him get a
way with it.”
Pop stopped just inside the lean-to. “Maybe so.” He looked back at me. “But sometimes the best you can do is wound your enemy . . . and then let him fly away.”
“Is that what happened?” I asked. “Is that what it meant when you showed him the feather?”
Pop rolled his eyes upward and grinned with those bad teeth.
“That didn’t mean a thing to me,” he said. “But it meant something to him.” He checked his wristwatch. “And now I really do have a newspaper to put out. Any more silly questions?”
There was one.
