Chapter 2
Marine Corps Air Station New River
Jacksonville, North Carolina
Three months earlier…
"We’re meeting the boat in Morehead City the day after tomorrow to head up to New York for a few days. Then we’re taking the bird back to New River." Crash sat at his desk, office phone in hand for his weekly phone call to his mother.
"I thought it was supposed to be called a ship, not a boat."
Crash grinned. "Yeah, technically it is. Marines call it a boat just to tick off the Navy guys. They hate it." Just one of the many pleasures of being a Marine.
His mother giggled and he smiled wider. It was good to hear her laugh. Since his father had died, he’d worried more about being apart from her than usual.
The Marine Corps Air Station in North Carolina wasn’t incredibly far from where his mom now lived in Florida, but too far to visit as often as she’d like him to. So for now, until he put in his twenty years and retired, a phone call and the few times a year he got to see her would have to do. Then again, if the promotions he expected came through in a timely fashion, he might just go to thirty years. Nothing was set in stone. Such was life in the military.
"It sounds like a nice trip. New York should be fun. Take lots of pictures for me, but be careful, John. Promise me."
"Yes, Mom." Crash smiled.
His mother would have been equally excited and worried for his safety no matter where this trip took him. The war zone. Disneyland. Wouldn’t matter to her. She’d be happy he was happy, and then she’d worry. That was what mothers did, he supposed.
Crash, on the other hand, was genuinely excited. He’d never been to New York. This detachment would be a hell of a good time. The perfect pre-deployment trip for the whole squadron before they left for Camp Bastion.
Afghanistan. Hell of a place to spend the next seven or so months…and he couldn’t freakin’ wait.
He’d never been there either and he wanted that damn Afghanistan campaign medal before he retired. With the troop drawdown in that region and less and less units being deployed there, it had been iffy for a while if he’d get to go at all.
But the orders came and he was going, though not until after this detachment to the Big Apple.
"Gunnery Sergeant O’Malley—" A Marine who looked young enough to be fresh out of boot camp in spite of his stripes stopped dead in the open doorway when he saw that Crash was on the phone.
He held up one finger to the kid who was making him feel every one of his thirty-something years just from his presence in the office. "I gotta go. I’ll call you soon, okay?"
"Okay, baby. Stay safe."
"Yes, ma’am." He rolled his eyes at her never ending concern for him and replaced the receiver on the cradle of the desk phone. "Yes, Corporal. What can I do for you?"
"Gunny Zipkin asked that you meet him at the Officers Club at sixteen-thirty."
"Oh, did he? And why didn’t he call me?"
"His cell phone, uh, took a swim." The kid’s lips twitched as he said it, as if he was trying to contain a smile.
Crash ventured an educated guess at what had happened. "He drop it in the toilet again?"
"That’s correct, Gunnery Sergeant," the young Marine responded with a barely hidden grin.
"Well, that explains that." With a snort of a laugh at Zippy’s idiocy, Crash glanced at the time in the corner of his computer screen.
Half an hour of his workday left to go. He’d planned to go back to his quarters, do laundry and pack for this det. Now it appeared as if he wouldn’t be heading directly to the staff barracks after work today. "Did he happen to mention why he needs me to meet him at the O Club?"
"He mentioned a tactical planning session."
Crash hid a smile. "A’ight. Thank you."
Dismissed, the Corporal left Crash to his thoughts. He knew very well what Zippy’s tactical planning sessions entailed, especially when they were held at an establishment that served alcohol. Drinking. And while they did that, no doubt they’d be making a plan for more drinking in the near future. Most likely Zippy wanted to discuss logistics for their off-hours in New York.
They’d man the rails as they pulled into port, and have a few official duties—VIP tours of the boat, some party with the big brass—but after that their time was their own. The first night they were free until zero-seven-hundred the next morning. Their last night there they only had until midnight before they’d have to be back on the boat. Good old Cinderella liberty. You would think that a grown man who was a careerist could be trusted on his own home turf to make it back aboard the boat prior to the commencement of any duties, not have a curfew at midnight like a teenager, but such was life in the Corps.
That was fine. They could get into all sorts of mischief about town during that off time. As long as they were checked back in and on that boat by twenty-four hundred hours, it was all good. That kind of boat det he could handle.
He wasn’t even pissed they’d be in uniform the entire time, even while on liberty. Nothing worked as efficiently to attract the ladies. That had been proven time and time again in real world experience. There was good reason Marines called their uniforms Superman clothes, and it wasn’t because it gave them the ability to fly. It did, however, often give them the ability to see beneath women’s clothing.
New York City. Women. Two nights of freedom. It sounded like a hell of a good time to him.
Glancing at the time again, he realized he’d daydreamed away the end of his day. Good thing he’d gotten all his work done early so it didn’t matter that he was goofing off now. Frontloading, getting the needed work done as fast as possible, was something he’d been taught during his first days in a squadron. It was the best way to enjoy more FOT—f*ck off time.
He stood and ran his hand over his closely cropped hair before planting his cover on his head. He’d have to get a haircut before they left for this det so he didn’t start to look shaggy by the end of the trip. Weekly haircuts, no matter what. So it had been since he’d joined. So it would be until he retired.
Maybe he’d grow his hair out after that. Probably wouldn’t go with the mullet that had been so popular when he’d joined, but he’d keep it longer than it was now. It never got long enough nowadays to tell for sure, but he feared he had a whole lot less hair than he used to. Sad but true, but that’s what the years will do to a man. He had nothing close to the amount he had when he’d first sat in that chair at Paris Island and the barber buzzed off what had been a nice thick head of dark blonde waves.
The ladies who used to be jealous of Crash’s hair in high school would no doubt hardly recognize him now. The hair may be questionable, but at least he still had the blue eyes the girls used to swoon over back in the day. Though there weren’t a whole lot of swooning women lately, time couldn’t take those from him.
It was a short drive from his office at the squadron to the O Club, which was walking, and sometimes stumbling distance from his barracks. He could have walked if he’d wanted to, but it was hot as hell today. Why walk when he could drive in the air conditioning? Not too long from now he’d be sweltering in Afghanistan so he might as well take advantage of whatever moderate luxuries he had here on base, driving privileges included.
Crash parked his car in the nearly empty lot of the Officer’s Club. The place was never crowded unless there was a party being held there. It could be because only officers and senior staff NCOs were allowed to go there. It could be because it was only open Wednesday through Friday and closed at nineteen-hundred, which was pretty damn ridiculous. More likely it was because the places off-base, just outside the gate, were a lot more fun. Particularly the ones that featured poles…and dancers wrapped around those poles.
Nope. No strippers here at the O Club, but at least there was a pool table and sometimes strategically placed vats of hot chicken wings and fresh popcorn.
Lack of scantily clad females aside, the Officers Club at New River was pretty nice. The coolest part was the bar area. Squadrons from on base donated different pieces of memorabilia to dress up the place. Tail rotor blades, murals, mugs and the like lined the walls and the shelves behind the bar.
Crash didn’t care what it was that kept other Marines away. All that mattered to him was that it was close by, the beer was cold and fairly cheap, and he could walk home if he needed to. It was a winning combination for him.
For his buddy too, apparently. Zippy had arrived enough ahead of Crash that he’d had time to get himself a beer already.
Crash walked up behind him and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. "You know, if you didn’t insist on playing that stupid ass word game on your cell while taking a crap, you might not have to go get yourself another phone."
Zippy twisted on the bar stool to glare at Crash. "Just because you can’t spell for shit doesn’t mean Words with Friends is stupid, and that’s not how it happened anyway."
"Oh? This was a new and different phone toilet mishap? Do tell." Crash dragged a stool from beneath the bar and propped his ass on it.
"No. It doesn’t matter. Forget about it. Just order yourself something." He frowned and became overly interested in the label on his beer bottle.
Zippy avoiding the question so vehemently had Crash intrigued. "Well, damn. Now I have to know."
"No. Drop it." Scowling, Zippy raised the bottle and chugged.
"Come on. What? Tell me. Were you looking at porn while snapping your bean over the bowl and dropped—" He’d meant it as a joke, but Zippy sputtering on his mouthful of beer had Crash halting mid-sentence. "Oh my God. That’s it? Is that what happened?"
"Shh." Still coughing into his fist, Zippy glanced behind him, no doubt to see where the bartender was. Probably concerned because for this particular shift the bar was manned, as it were, by a female.
Crash was close to busting a gut laughing, but he managed to contain himself. Mostly. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation at the O Club, but it was just too good to let go. "Oh, man. That is too funny."
Zippy turned back, frowning. "As if you’ve never done it."
"Held my phone in one hand to look at dirty pictures and jerked off into the toilet with the other? No. I haven’t."
"Shh!" Zippy shushed Crash again. "Jesus, Crash. Not so loud."
To keep the man from blowing an artery, Crash leaned forward and kept his voice low as he said, "How about using your imagination, Zip? Or, I don’t know, look at it once then put the damn phone down somewhere safe."
"Can we let this drop now, please?"
Crash ignored that request as a horrifying realization hit him. He’d borrowed Zip’s phone. Not too long ago, actually. He’d had that damn thing pressed right up against his face.
"Shit." Crash shook his head. This situation was definitely less funny after that memory. "I’m gonna remember to never ever touch your phone ever again. Jesus, God only knows what’s on—"
"I’ll have another one and he’ll have the same. Thanks." Zippy talked right over Crash as the bartender neared their end of the bar.
She turned to get their beers from the cooler and Zippy spun on Crash. "Can we please talk about our plans for New York instead of this?"
"Sure, let’s talk about New York. So while we’re on the boat, are you planning to watch some porn and snap in the dark in your rack with all the rest of the squadron right there, or you gonna hog the head so you can do it in private?"
Zippy narrowed his eyes and shot Crash a less than friendly look. "Just for that, I’m not gonna tell you my news."
"Aw, I’m heartbroken." Luckily for Crash and his broken heart, his beer arrived. He grabbed the bottle, dripping with icy condensation, and took a sip, letting the cold foam wash down his throat.
Definitely worth stopping in for the ice cold beer alone. The fun of torturing his friend was just a bonus.
"Fine. I won’t tell you that my sister Trish and her hot friend Dawn are meeting us in New York while we’re there."
Now it was Crash’s turn to narrow his eyes at Zippy. "Hot friend? Zip, this better not be a fix-up."
"No, of course not. You want to be alone. Be alone. I don’t give a shit. Don’t mean I can’t have a nice visit with my sister before we deploy."
"Your sister and her friend. Why is she bringing a friend if she’s there to visit you?"
"Because I don’t want her wandering around that friggin’ city alone, that’s why."
"Okay." Crash had a sister of his own so he couldn’t argue the point. Zippy was a New Jersey native, not a born and bred Southerner like Crash, but a man’s instinct to protect his sister was universal. Still didn’t mean he trusted Zippy in this situation. The man had been trying to play matchmaker for him for a month now. "But I swear, Zip, if I think you’re trying to hook me up—"
"I know. I know. You’ll find your own damn woman when you’re ready." Zippy lifted his beer and mumbled behind the bottle, "if you’re ever ready."
Why couldn’t his friends understand his situation? Finding out the girl you’d been dating had been running around on you was enough to turn a man off relationships for a good long while.
"Give me a damn break, Zip. It’s only been a few months." Crash didn’t think that was an excessive amount of time to take to recover. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone out and had a few flings to soothe his male ego after that particularly devastating blow.
"Whatever. I didn’t say you had to date Dawn. Just be nice to the girl so my sister doesn’t feel bad for bringing her—" Zippy stopped. "Aw, crap."
"What?" Crash hated to ask, because it probably wouldn’t be good.
"I was supposed to call Trish today to firm up plans." Zippy blew out a breath. "I’ll have to stop by the office on the way home and use my desk phone. I called to get a new cell overnighted to me so I’d have it for the det, but it won’t be here until tomorrow."
And so they’d gone full circle, back to the sunken phone. Happy Zippy’s attention had moved away from Crash’s sorely lacking personal life and on to something else, he slid his cell across the bar. "You can use my phone. Just don’t take it into the bathroom."
Zippy reached out and grabbed it. "Ha, ha. Funny man."
"I think so." Crash grinned. "You remember her number, butter fingers?"
"Yes, of course I remember her number." Zippy screwed up his mouth and shot Crash a look. "She’s my sister, you dork."
Crash shrugged. "Just asking. A man who hasn’t learned after drowning not one but two phones in the shitter over the past six months might be a little challenged in the uh, area of mental capacity."
"Whatever." Zippy pressed the phone to his ear. "Be quiet. It’s ringing."
While Zippy waited for his sister to answer, Crash took another sip of beer. He was starting to get excited about the det again.
It would still be a hell of a fun time up north. Zip and his sister might very well be up to no good and playing matchmaker, but not even that could ruin this trip.
He just had to get through his workday tomorrow and then he’d be on his way. New York City had better watch out.