Ohio by Stephen Markley

Author:Stephen Markley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

DAN EATON AND THE MURDER THAT NEVER WAS

ON THE DRIVE BACK HOME to see Hailey Kowalczyk, the girl to whom Dan Eaton lost his virginity, probably his heart, and certainly countless games of driveway H-O-R-S-E, he got to thinking about Elias Wiman. Wiman was a nicotine/caffeine-addicted private who existed on a diet of dip, cigarettes, Red Bull, and Snickers, an emaciated, feral Kentuckian, who had a real chip on his shoulder about Ohioans, who he saw as effete snobs sticking their noses up at the real salt-of-the-earth south of the river. Despite this, he and Wiman became friends and had long, uninteresting arguments about what made their respective states superior. Take the night the two of them stayed up with Greg Coyle while Coyle waited to find out from his wife via Gchat if they were going to have a boy or a girl.

“You call your towns ‘hollers,’ ” Dan objected. “I mean what is that? Russellville? That place was more scarring than anything we’ll see at war.” They’d had Kentucky immersion while living at Fort Campbell, home of the 101st Airborne. Wiman was from Russellville, an hour east. One visit was plenty for Dan.

“A holler,” said Wiman, “means like ‘down the road a ways.’ It’s a term of affection, you fucking snotty-ass bitch.”

“I’m sorry but I got Eaton’s back on this. Kentuckians all have sheep DNA.” Coyle was playing with his knife, leaning back in a cheap desk chair to the point of spill. He’d thunk the blade into the plywood, twist, withdraw. Thunk, twist, withdraw. “You know why they can’t teach driver’s ed and sex ed on the same day in Kentucky?” Coyle asked. “ ’Cuz that poor fucking horse gets too tired.”

This was in Hawija just as Iraq was spiraling into what some people called civil war. They’d agreed to stay up with Coyle because who could sleep anyway? After they lit up a bunch of insurgents that afternoon in a spectacular, invigorating firefight, the adrenaline was still there hours later. Dan half read a copy of Theodore Rex, trying to calm the thunder out of his blood while they waited for Greg’s news.

“Can’t wait till you got a hot little daughter. It’ll serve you right,” Wiman told Coyle. The new pastime was giving Coyle grief about a potential daughter. One of Dan’s best friends since he’d gotten his platoon assignment, Coyle was a butt-chinned, all-American blond, California tan, muscled, and as breezy a guy as he’d ever known. He was also a total cad until he married a woman he’d been dating for only three months right before they deployed.

“I’ve just fucked so much nasty pussy in my life, it would be God’s worst kind of justice if Melody’s having a girl,” he explained.

Without looking up from his book Dan told him, “I’m not sure that’s how God operates.”

“That is how God operates,” said Wiman. His accent dripped. He wasn’t so much playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City as he was gunning down civilians and shooting rockets at the police vehicles that then pursued him.

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