Semper Fi by Griffin W. E. B

Author:Griffin, W. E. B. [Griffin, W. E. B.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical - General, Fiction, Fiction - Men's Adventure, War & Military
ISBN: 9780515087499
Publisher: New York : Jove, c1986.
Published: 2010-08-16T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

(One)

The man who walked out to the pump island when McCoy drove in wore an Amoco uniform: a striped shirt and trousers with a matching billed cap. There was an Amoco insignia on the brow of the cap and a nameplate, "Dutch," was sewn to the shirt breast. The man was about thirty, McCoy judged, and already wearing a spare tire.

"Fill it with high-test, sir?" he asked.

McCoy nodded. After Dutch had opened the hood, McCoy got out of the car.

"You must have just had the oil changed," Dutch said, showing McCoy the dipstick. "Clean as a whistle and right to the top."

"Your name Schulter?" McCoy asked.

"That's right," Dutch said, warily curious.

"I'm Anne-Marie's brother," McCoy said.

Dutch hesitated a moment and then put out his hand. "Dutch Schulter," he said. "I heard-she told me-you was in the Marines."

"I am," McCoy said.

"You must be doing all right in the Marines," Dutch Schulter said, making a vague gesture first at the LaSalle. and then at McCoy himself.

"I do all right," McCoy said.

The gas pump made a chugging noise when the automatic filler nozzle was triggered. Dutch Schulter moved to the rear of the car, topped off the tank, then hung the hose up. McCoy looked at the pump. Eleven point seven gallons at 23.9 cents a gallon: $2.79. He took a wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off a ten-dollar bill.

Dutch Schulter handed the change to him, together with a Coca-Cola glass.

"They're free with a fill-up," he said.

"How do I get to see my sister?" McCoy said.

Schulter looked at him for a moment as if making up his mind, and then raised his voice: "Mickey!"

A kid in an Amoco uniform appeared at the door of the grease-rack bay.

"Hold the fort, Mickey," Dutch called. "I got to go home for a minute."

Home was a row house on North Elm, a little wooden porch in front of a fieldstone house that smelled of baby shit, sour milk, and cabbage.

Anne-Marie looked older than he expected. She was already getting fat and lumpy, and she had lost a couple of teeth. She cried when she saw him, and hugged him, and told him he had really growed up.

Dutch touched his shoulder, and when McCoy turned to look at him, handed him a bottle of beer.

"You're an uncle, Kenny," Anne-Marie said. "We got a boy and a girl, but I just got them to sleep, and you'll have to wait to see them. You can stay for supper?"

"I thought I'd take you and Dutch out for supper," McCoy said.

"You don't want to do that," she protested. "You won't believe what restaurants ask for food these days."

"Yeah, I do," McCoy said.

"What I should have done," Dutch said, "is had him follow me in the truck. You want to run me back by the station? Could you find your way back here again?"

"Why don't you take my car?" McCoy said. "I've got no place else to go."

"You got a car, Kenny?" Anne-Marie asked, surprised.

"He's got a goddamned LaSalle convertible, is what he's got," Dutch said.

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