Dark Sky (The Misadventures of Max Bowman Book 1) by Joel Canfield Page A
Authors: Joel Canfield
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can counsel me on my future after I get done with this. I’ll either end up famous or dead.”
He looked like he was going to cry. He took my arm and walked me to the door.
“Look, you need anything, you know where I am.”
Then the motherfucker hugged me.
Dinner Date
Well, that was fun.
It was Monday morning, mid-morning actually, and I had spent more time drinking than sleeping the previous night. On my way home from Howard’s, I had found a place on the D.C. side where I could procure a small bottle of Jack. I paid for that myself, because the drinking had nothing to do with the job, it had to do with the ghosts that always waited for me around these parts. The ghosts of my marriage, my kids, my parents and…well, the one ghost that nobody talked about, but nobody could forget.
I woke up with a splitting headache and a determination to stave off the spooks and get back on track with what I was supposed to be doing. Just because Howard’s wife insisted on keeping the bad old days alive didn’t mean I had to participate. I had spent a lot of years burying that shit in the basement of my subconscious and I wasn’t about to get it out of storage at this point.
I had something to keep me busy so I worked at refocusing. That process began with calling the front desk and asking if I could keep the room another night. They were agreeable. I wouldn’t be leaving today because, now that the General had actually told me what I was after, I needed to do the research I would have done before I left Roosevelt Island, had I had any fucking clue what I needed to be researching. I never liked walking into situations blindfolded - and that’s all I had been doing since I met up with Mr. Barry Filer.
I found a Best Buy nearby, where, on a Monday morning, there were a lot more blue-shirted salespeople than customers, not to mention about eight billion more DVDs than the American people were inclined to buy at this point in the digital revolution. I was pleased to see the entire run of Mr. Ed had finally earned its own boxed set, but I had to wonder when Hazel would have her day. Maybe there would be no hooray for her after all.
After a brief high-level consultation with an employee who looked like he had never been laid and maybe never would be, I bought an economy-priced Chromebook – well, my new credit card did, anyway. Then I came back to my room, which had the “Do Not Disturb” sign still hanging on the doorknob. It was still hanging there when I unlocked the door and went in. My experience has always been that the housekeeping people always show up just when you don’t want them to. Besides, I’m neat for a guy my age. I don’t really need cleaning up after.
I ordered up a club sandwich, no mayo, from room service and hooked up my new purchase to the hotel Wi-Fi. And I tried to find what I could about First Lieutenant Robert Davidson and his tragic death at the age of 32, half a world away.
Of course I knew going in that I would be looking at the “official” story. Back in 2005, most “war journalism” was a lot more like reprinted press releases than actual reporting. This was no exception. Robert Davidson was a patriot and a hero. This was a horrible tragedy for America and his father. He died for his country and we had to keep fighting idiotic wars to justify his sacrifice.
I read some more. About how Robbie signed up with the Army right out of high school and put himself in Ranger School, working towards Special Ops status, rather than going the straight officer route at West Point as his dad had. That decision maybe provided the contours of the tension between father and son that the General alluded to during our conversation; the son bought into Bush and Cheney’s disastrous left turn into Iraq in 2004 and the father knew it was folly. Still, Robert Davidson had apparently served valiantly both in Iraq and then in Afghanistan, where he was killed.
Assuming he was.
Again, this was
He looked like he was going to cry. He took my arm and walked me to the door.
“Look, you need anything, you know where I am.”
Then the motherfucker hugged me.
Dinner Date
Well, that was fun.
It was Monday morning, mid-morning actually, and I had spent more time drinking than sleeping the previous night. On my way home from Howard’s, I had found a place on the D.C. side where I could procure a small bottle of Jack. I paid for that myself, because the drinking had nothing to do with the job, it had to do with the ghosts that always waited for me around these parts. The ghosts of my marriage, my kids, my parents and…well, the one ghost that nobody talked about, but nobody could forget.
I woke up with a splitting headache and a determination to stave off the spooks and get back on track with what I was supposed to be doing. Just because Howard’s wife insisted on keeping the bad old days alive didn’t mean I had to participate. I had spent a lot of years burying that shit in the basement of my subconscious and I wasn’t about to get it out of storage at this point.
I had something to keep me busy so I worked at refocusing. That process began with calling the front desk and asking if I could keep the room another night. They were agreeable. I wouldn’t be leaving today because, now that the General had actually told me what I was after, I needed to do the research I would have done before I left Roosevelt Island, had I had any fucking clue what I needed to be researching. I never liked walking into situations blindfolded - and that’s all I had been doing since I met up with Mr. Barry Filer.
I found a Best Buy nearby, where, on a Monday morning, there were a lot more blue-shirted salespeople than customers, not to mention about eight billion more DVDs than the American people were inclined to buy at this point in the digital revolution. I was pleased to see the entire run of Mr. Ed had finally earned its own boxed set, but I had to wonder when Hazel would have her day. Maybe there would be no hooray for her after all.
After a brief high-level consultation with an employee who looked like he had never been laid and maybe never would be, I bought an economy-priced Chromebook – well, my new credit card did, anyway. Then I came back to my room, which had the “Do Not Disturb” sign still hanging on the doorknob. It was still hanging there when I unlocked the door and went in. My experience has always been that the housekeeping people always show up just when you don’t want them to. Besides, I’m neat for a guy my age. I don’t really need cleaning up after.
I ordered up a club sandwich, no mayo, from room service and hooked up my new purchase to the hotel Wi-Fi. And I tried to find what I could about First Lieutenant Robert Davidson and his tragic death at the age of 32, half a world away.
Of course I knew going in that I would be looking at the “official” story. Back in 2005, most “war journalism” was a lot more like reprinted press releases than actual reporting. This was no exception. Robert Davidson was a patriot and a hero. This was a horrible tragedy for America and his father. He died for his country and we had to keep fighting idiotic wars to justify his sacrifice.
I read some more. About how Robbie signed up with the Army right out of high school and put himself in Ranger School, working towards Special Ops status, rather than going the straight officer route at West Point as his dad had. That decision maybe provided the contours of the tension between father and son that the General alluded to during our conversation; the son bought into Bush and Cheney’s disastrous left turn into Iraq in 2004 and the father knew it was folly. Still, Robert Davidson had apparently served valiantly both in Iraq and then in Afghanistan, where he was killed.
Assuming he was.
Again, this was
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