the long hours she often worked. But she set the Ringer’s box in the seat of the truck, and while the marines dismantled the tent, she helped Nghuy Tran arrange boxes on the truck bed and make room for the frightened goat. When the truck was loaded and Lois had squeezed into the cab with the box in her lap, Nghuy stepped up onto the running board, and through the open window she said, “You give Ruby a good life in America, yes?”
At that moment the sky opened up and rain ran down Nghuy Tran’s face in rivers. With sudden clarity, Lois realized she would never see this woman again. She nodded. “I’ll do my best.” Then she touched Nghuy’s shoulder and said, “Good-bye, old friend.”
Nghuy looked in the box one last time. The baby was awake, but quiet. The woman gave Lois an uncertain smile and said, “Good-bye, Lois Burnett.” Then the truck began to roll. Nghuy jumped down from the running board and stepped back. Lois adjusted the rearview mirror and watched the tiny woman, standing unfazed by the tropical downpour, until she was out of sight.
As it turned out, six months later, Ruby and Lois were among the few survivors when artillery hit the hospital. Lois got her ticket home; the price was two pieces of shrapnel—one in her left thigh and the other (the one that was still there) in her lower back. Getting Ruby out of Vietnam turned out to be easier than getting her into the States. But in those days, it wasn’t uncommon for a G.I. to bring a child home—often his own child.
Myrtle’s voice startled her. “What you got there?”
Lois looked at what she had there. How could she hide it now? Hadn’t Myrtle been in the bedroom on the computer? Lois stammered, “It’s an old rifle we’re planning to sell on eBay.” Lois didn’t know what eBay was, but she’d heard others in the pinochle group talk about it.
Myrtle said, “Would you be willing to post my gun?”
“Your gun?”
“The ex left it. Thirty-eight revolver. That’s how she planned on starting our retirement plan.”
Lois chuckled. “Could you shoot somebody?”
Myrtle considered this. “I sure could if it was that or live in the streets. I might even be able to shoot the next woman that leaves me for an ex-Playboy Bunny in the kneecap.”
“You’re a cold woman, Myrtle Dixon,” Lois said.
Myrtle’s face lit up.
Then Sophie put a hand on Myrtle’s shoulder and guided her toward the door.
When Sophie returned, Lois asked, “You find anything for her?”
“Actually, there are a couple of lesbian dating sites for seniors.”
“You’re kidding.”
Sophie shook her head. “I am not.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Why were you working on that thing with Myrtle in the house?”
“I thought you’d be busy for ten or fifteen minutes,” Lois said.
“We were on the computer for close to an hour.”
“Oh.”
Brushing aside the topic of Myrtle, Sophie said, “I just put the ad up on a Web site called Dirty Work for Hire this morning, and we have a customer already.” She laid a piece of printer paper on the table. It was an e-mail.
Lois quickly snapped the rifle back together. “Who?”
“That’s the trouble. On the Internet you never really know for sure.”
“Could be undercover police or that 60 Minutes guy who busts into your kitchen with cameras.”
Sophie shrugged. “I suppose so. I figure we should charge a lot on this deal and put some money away against the day we get arrested—if we ever do.”
“What exactly did the ad say?”
“Something like, ‘Mature, reliable, and honest, we will do your dirty jobs and resolve your biggest problems for a fee. If you want it done right, hire a woman.’”
“How the heck are our customers supposed to know we want to bump off their enemies from that?”
“Several scary ads said something similar. Look, this customer knew what we meant.”
The kitchen was silent for several moments. One of the cats stretched, then jumped onto the table and lay
At that moment the sky opened up and rain ran down Nghuy Tran’s face in rivers. With sudden clarity, Lois realized she would never see this woman again. She nodded. “I’ll do my best.” Then she touched Nghuy’s shoulder and said, “Good-bye, old friend.”
Nghuy looked in the box one last time. The baby was awake, but quiet. The woman gave Lois an uncertain smile and said, “Good-bye, Lois Burnett.” Then the truck began to roll. Nghuy jumped down from the running board and stepped back. Lois adjusted the rearview mirror and watched the tiny woman, standing unfazed by the tropical downpour, until she was out of sight.
As it turned out, six months later, Ruby and Lois were among the few survivors when artillery hit the hospital. Lois got her ticket home; the price was two pieces of shrapnel—one in her left thigh and the other (the one that was still there) in her lower back. Getting Ruby out of Vietnam turned out to be easier than getting her into the States. But in those days, it wasn’t uncommon for a G.I. to bring a child home—often his own child.
Myrtle’s voice startled her. “What you got there?”
Lois looked at what she had there. How could she hide it now? Hadn’t Myrtle been in the bedroom on the computer? Lois stammered, “It’s an old rifle we’re planning to sell on eBay.” Lois didn’t know what eBay was, but she’d heard others in the pinochle group talk about it.
Myrtle said, “Would you be willing to post my gun?”
“Your gun?”
“The ex left it. Thirty-eight revolver. That’s how she planned on starting our retirement plan.”
Lois chuckled. “Could you shoot somebody?”
Myrtle considered this. “I sure could if it was that or live in the streets. I might even be able to shoot the next woman that leaves me for an ex-Playboy Bunny in the kneecap.”
“You’re a cold woman, Myrtle Dixon,” Lois said.
Myrtle’s face lit up.
Then Sophie put a hand on Myrtle’s shoulder and guided her toward the door.
When Sophie returned, Lois asked, “You find anything for her?”
“Actually, there are a couple of lesbian dating sites for seniors.”
“You’re kidding.”
Sophie shook her head. “I am not.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Why were you working on that thing with Myrtle in the house?”
“I thought you’d be busy for ten or fifteen minutes,” Lois said.
“We were on the computer for close to an hour.”
“Oh.”
Brushing aside the topic of Myrtle, Sophie said, “I just put the ad up on a Web site called Dirty Work for Hire this morning, and we have a customer already.” She laid a piece of printer paper on the table. It was an e-mail.
Lois quickly snapped the rifle back together. “Who?”
“That’s the trouble. On the Internet you never really know for sure.”
“Could be undercover police or that 60 Minutes guy who busts into your kitchen with cameras.”
Sophie shrugged. “I suppose so. I figure we should charge a lot on this deal and put some money away against the day we get arrested—if we ever do.”
“What exactly did the ad say?”
“Something like, ‘Mature, reliable, and honest, we will do your dirty jobs and resolve your biggest problems for a fee. If you want it done right, hire a woman.’”
“How the heck are our customers supposed to know we want to bump off their enemies from that?”
“Several scary ads said something similar. Look, this customer knew what we meant.”
The kitchen was silent for several moments. One of the cats stretched, then jumped onto the table and lay
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