CHAPTER 2

Hera: Mossberg Salvage

I needed a drink. A really big one, quart-sized maybe. Luckily I had a bottle stashed in my flop, a full gallon of genuine corn squeezins I’d traded some work for at the farm over the ridge. Horrible stuff straight up, suitable for use as hull paint remover, but not too bad if it was cut with something. Just so happened there was some apple juice left in the cooler and I thought there was one cigar left. Not exactly paradise, but after dis-arming that bomb it’d do me.

My home, such as it is, ain’t much to look at. Just a big white shipping container with a Blue Sun logo down each side, set out at the south end of the yard all by its lonesome. It made for a bit of a stroll each day but I liked my privacy, and the location helped cut down on the noise from all the crashing and banging over in the yard.

The nice thing about livin’ and workin’ in a salvage yard is havin’ access to all manner of hardware and electronics. When I first got here about a year ago this box was just a shell, too tore up to be useful as anything but junk storage. I saw the possibilities in it, so got permission from Jeb to make it my own.

My front porch is roofed over with a tail fin from a fighter, and the posts holdin’ it up are a pair of mis-matched, bent-up landing jacks. A curved piece of engine cowl made a dandy swing once I figgered out how to pad it up. I’d really like to have a rocker, but ain’t got round to it yet. Until then, there’s an ejection seat that’s pretty comfortable. It’s still armed, but don’t tell anyone, eh?

I’d gotten real weary of tugging open the double doors at the end of the container, so I borrowed a sliding hatch from some busted up freighter. Still needs a little grease but it works okay.

The insides ain’t nuthin’ special either. Got a bunk, small kitchen setup, indoor toilet and bath. All the comforts of home. Yeah, right. Does beat sleepin’ in the mud, though. Done enough of that too.

Behind the partition wall rests my baby, a two-seater AG mule. Takes a lot of tinkering to keep her runnin’, but whooee can she fly! Lookin’ at her I debated on passin’ up that drink and just goin’ fer a ride to blow the snakes out. Naw, drink is better. Hands are startin’ to shake a bit which means adrenaline let-down is comin’ on. Hope it ain’t bad cuz I’d hate to spill my hooch all over the damn place.

I’d no sooner gotten semi-comfortable on my swing, drink in one hand, cheroot in the t’other, when Marcus comes roaring up on the yard quad. I figgered he’d swung by to apologize for screwing the pooch with that fighter. He was lookin’ more than a bit nervous, which was understandable. Had he shown up just five minutes earlier whilst I was still all jacked up, well, he’d likely be pickin’ his teeth up out the dirt. If he still had fingers to pick with, that is.

“Boy,” I said, swinging my feet onto the deck, “ whatever lame-assed excuse you got to offer, I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t care if your latest infatuation is the best damn piece of trim you ever had in your soon-to-be short life. Best pull yer head out afore I feed it into a runnin’ engine, SLOWLY. Now git the hell outta my sight , else I might do sumthin’ you’d regret.”

“I didn’t come to apologize, Jake. Well, that too, I mean, I know I screwed up and all, and I don’t wanna see you hurt, and I try to do a good job, and, and, and, “ he stammered.

That tore it. I was off the porch like a shot, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the ground, just that quick. I always did have a temper, and right at that moment I wanted to see this kid bleed so bad I could taste it.

“Jake, wait!”, he gargled with my hand still wrapped around his throat. “Why I came....two guys......the office....lookin’ for you.”

“Lookin’ for ME? What they look like?,” I asked, taking my hand away.

Marcus sat up, rubbing his throat, teary-eyed.

“Little guy..... fancy clothes. Talked through his teeth. Big guy, bald, 150 kilos easy. Got a scar across his throat, and about the biggest gorram handgun I ever seen,” Marcus replied, scrambling to his feet.

Well sheeeeeit. I do believe it’s time for me to find greener pastures far, FAR, away.