you’d left things alone, Louie would be alive. Or dead. This is war, after all.”
“Cole?”
“The bastard killed himself! What, are you going to blame me for every nutcase who takes a nosedive off a building?” Flint shoved Danny closer, his voice rising, his face red with sudden anger. I needed to calm him down.
“Pretty smart, the way you drove him to it, with the doll, always reminding him about that cellar.”
“You found the doll, huh? I didn’t know your skills extended to rummaging through garbage. Yeah, I had something I wanted and Cole was the guy to find it.”
“So Galante told you about the pearls, and you figured out how to find them?” I tried to keep my voice steady, just another guy in awe of his intellect.
“Galante told me they were hidden in the palace. He was big on museums and Italian history. I think he liked the idea of educating me. He even said I could lead a normal life one day. Normal! Can you imagine that? Being one of you faceless creatures, one of the nameless? Not for me.”
“Pearls,” I said, desperate to keep him talking. “The pearls were for you, right?”
“Bingo! They’d been stolen, Galante said, and hidden in the palace. No one ever found them. I gave Cole all the dope I got from Galante as he figured things out, based on what that old Italian broad told him. Cole and I were going to split the take if he found the pearls.”
“He did,” I said, doubting he would have lived to collect. “He gave them to me right before he jumped.”
“That crooked bastard! He held out on me. Goes to show, you can’t trust anyone.” He shrugged, as if it made no difference.
“Don’t you want the pearls? I could get them for you.”
“The pearls! I don’t want the goddamn pearls anymore, they’re no good to me.”
“What, were they for your girl back home, and she dumped you?”
“Drop the rifle, Boyle. Your sidearm too. Then let’s go inside, I have a surprise for you.”
“Your mother,” I said, remembering the letter. “They were for your mother. Then she died, and spoiled all your plans. You were going to bring them home to mother, weren’t you?”
Flint’s face contorted into a twisted, teeth-crunching snarl. His cheeks went red and he began to tremble. I prayed I hadn’t gone too far and was about to speak when I saw movement in the bushes they had just come out of. A flash of camouflage, and then I made out a German, limping on one bloody leg, making for the canal. He turned, Schmeisser in hand, and I fired once, and missed; again, and hit him. He staggered, but he was still up. Then a third shot to the head, and he went down, firing into the ground as his finger involuntarily twitched on the trigger.
I swung the carbine back to Flint, and his face was calm, as if the previous exchange had never happened. How many bullets did I have left? Two? None?
“Thank you again,” Flint said, his politeness a knife in my gut.
“Why go through all this, Flint? What’s the point, in the middle of a war, for Christ’s sake! Why?” I wasn’t stalling now, I wanted to know. If he killed Danny, I needed to know.
“Why? Because I can. Because I’m not one of the sheep,” Flint said, the last word hissing out between his teeth. “I’m not a man who depends on what’s sewn on his sleeve to tell him who he is and what he can do. Or who needs a uniform to run his own world. Your rules, your ranks, your salutes, they mean nothing to me. A street sweeper is the same as a bishop or a general to me. You all play roles and kiss the ass of the player above you, and thank him for the privilege. Why? Because you all make me sick. I’d kill the whole fucking world if I could.”
“You’re a powerful man, Flint, I can see that,” I struggled to keep my words even, to not react to Flint’s venom. “So how about a favor, for a kid who doesn’t even know what his role is yet? Let Danny go.”
“I don’t think so. Now, let’s go inside, like gentlemen,” he said. “I have a card to play.” Flint herded us into the house, me first, Danny between us, the shotgun at Danny’s head. I held onto the carbine, not sure how many rounds were left. The first thing I saw was a chair. Communications wire lay on floor, some of it still tied to the armrests. Cosgrove. He’d had Cosgrove tied up in here, but he’d gotten away. Blood stained one of the armrests. Not much, but enough to tell me Cosgrove was hurt.
“Big surprise,” I said. Explosions erupted outside, sending a blast of dirt and smoke into the ruined house. We each instinctively went into a crouch, Flint still pressing the shotgun against Danny. “Mortars.”
“Just the Krauts covering their retreat,” Flint said. “No heavy stuff.”
“Let me go, Sarge,” Danny managed to croak. Another series of explosions hit, closer to the canal.
“No can do, kid. As a matter of fact, if your brother doesn’t find that old Limey general and drag him back in here, I’m gonna redecorate the place with your brains.” He looked at me with a smile and raised his eyebrows, daring me to call his bluff. I had my carbine, but there was no chance to get a shot off, and he knew it.
More explosions hit the far end of the house, shaking dust and grit loose from the ceiling and showering us all. We covered our heads, the instinct of the battlefield taking over. A flash of movement caught my eye, and I saw Cosgrove, moving faster than I thought possible, a tire iron in his grasp, which he brought down on the kneeling Flint, smashing into his wrist and breaking his grip on the shotgun, not to mention bones. Flint howled, but kept a firm grip on Danny with his other hand, pulling him up and out of the house, the shotgun wrapped around his neck but hanging free. Another mortar round hit the house square above us, sending timbers crashing down around Cosgrove and me. Cosgrove’s face was gray with dust and streaked with bright red, but I could see he was more angry than injured.
“Go,” he said, working at a section of roof that had pinned one leg.
Mortar rounds churned the water in the canal, but Flint was headed straight for it, Danny in tow. He was ahead of Danny, keeping him as a shield. In seconds they were in the canal, Flint making his way through the waist-deep water. I heard a German machine gun open up, close by. There were still plenty of them out there. Then, a burst stitched across the water, driving me back. Flint and Danny were up on the other bank now, Danny fighting, punching at Flint with one hand and trying to get a grip on the shotgun with the other. Flint had only one good hand, and he needed it to hold onto Danny, to keep him between us. He kicked Danny twice, and that put an end to his fight.
Rifle fire picked up. Something was happening, but I couldn’t focus on it. Flint stood with Danny on the opposite bank, his good arm around his neck. He yelled something, but with more mortar rounds dropping all over, it was lost. I knelt, and braced my arm on my knee, aiming at Flint. I could see his white teeth, his mouth wide, speaking to Danny, his eyes on me all the time. I watched Danny, wondering if Flint would take him, or find a way to kill him. And if Danny got away, how long until a bullet or a bomb caught up to him? How long until he’d be a corpse or a combat fatigue case, unable to control the shakes, his dreams and waking nightmares, his life? I didn’t want him serving beefsteak to the brass and diving for cover every time a plate dropped. I didn’t want Danny to become one of the faceless crowd of casualties in this war.
I tried to count the number of shots I’d fired. Flint was too far away for the pistol, so it had to be the carbine. Gunfire echoed up and down the canal, louder now, and more explosions hit behind me, the Germans working their mortars overtime. I steadied myself, let out a breath, lined up the target in the sights.
Flint shouted one last time, then pushed Danny down the bank. He stood alone for a moment, silhouetted against the sky. Danny faced away from me, trying to free the shotgun, its strap still twisted around his neck. I had my target. I fired.
And shot my brother.
I WAITED, WATCHING for Flint, but he was gone. So was the machine-gun fire. I tossed the carbine away and ran to Danny, my legs heavy in the brackish water. His right shoulder was bloody, and his eyes dazed. He blinked, as if he thought I might not be real.
“What happened?” He clutched at my arm, wincing in pain. It tore me apart, and I held back the tears I knew would give me away.
“You’ve been hit. Take it easy, I got you.” I took the shotgun from around his neck and hung it from my shoulder. I picked up Danny like I’d done so many times, carrying him in from the backseat of the car, sound asleep, cradled in my arms. His weight was nothing as he rested his head on my chest, grabbing at my shirt with his good arm, his face contorted in pain.
“Am I going to make it, Billy?”
“Don’t talk stupid, Danny. You caught some shrapnel in your shoulder, that’s all. You’ll be fine.” I sloshed through the water, watching Cosgrove turn over Big Mike, wadding his jacket under his head for a pillow.
