A Feral Chorus: A Novel by Matthew J. White

Author:Matthew J. White [White, Matthew J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781739103125
Publisher: Helvellyn Press
Published: 2023-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

At seven, I went downstairs to meet Fritz. He wasn’t in the lobby, so I walked outside, where I saw the Allanté parked in the fire lane. A tackle box was wedged into Scottie’s quarters, and several fishing rods jutted skyward from behind the seats. The rods flexed in the breeze like the antennae of a mutant insect, making the vehicle resemble a float in a small-town parade.

I went back inside and spotted Fritz at a table near the breakfast buffet. He was attacking a tall stack of syrupy pancakes and drinking a generous glass of grapefruit juice, his cheeks puckering with every considerable gulp. Constance stood next to him, and Fritz was regaling her with details of yesterday’s action.

“Slippery little fella, I tell you. Thought he was armed, but it was a bushel of cigars. Those fat ones, look like torpedoes.” Fritz spotted me. “Sleeping Beauty. Well, well, counselor, glad you could make it. Damn good spread they’ve got here, puts the navy to shame.”

I wasn’t hungry enough to risk another run-in with Constance and her tongs, so I grabbed a banana from the buffet and sat across from Fritz. He’d exchanged the Nimitz for a red cap with “Huskers” scrawled on the front in cursive lettering. An assortment of freshwater lures was pinned to the cap.

“So, you’re still a Husker fan after all these years?” I asked him.

“Not everything’s crap in Nebraska,” he replied, without mention of the Cornhuskers’ recent mediocrity on the gridiron.

Fritz scarfed down the last of his pancakes, and we walked out to the parking lot. I noticed he was still limping. He said Nancy had made him soak for a couple of hours in a tub full of lavender bath salts, ergo, if he smelled of lavender, that was the reason. He knew the soaking wouldn’t do anything, but Nancy was adamant. He complained some more about the indignity of the lavender treatment, throwing around a few military metaphors that were hard to follow. I listened, but all I gleaned was that there were often uncanny similarities between marriage and trench warfare.

Fritz asked me if I was married.

“Yes, although it’s complicated,” I said.

“Complicated?”

“We’re in the middle of a trial separation.”

“Trial separation? What in the goddamn hell is that? You’re either married or you’re not. Whose idea was that?”

“Hers. I told her the same thing, but it didn’t do any good. The worst of it is I think she’s sleeping with her boss. I believe they’re shacked up at a resort in Seaside as we speak.”

“Does he wear a uniform?”

“No, I don’t believe so. Why?”

“Women like a man in uniform. And not just the armed forces. Plumbers, bus drivers, pest-control men, they’re all known to punch above their weight with the ladies.”

“What about double-breasted suits?”

“Waste of fabric. Want to dress up like a sailor, join the navy.”

“No, as a uniform.”

Fritz thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible certain women might treat it as such, the lapels and all.”

I explained about the toe and

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