“Lieutenant Kasowitz is a hero.”

The fresh pot of coffee was boiling loud from across the kitchen as the smell filled the morning air. Ivan was standing in front of the dinner table when he caught a whiff, resting the metal pieces back on the blanket that covered the wooden surface. Pulling the dirty rag that rested on his naked shoulder, he wiped his oily palms and walked towards the counter.

“What the hell, Jim.”

“I said what I said.”

Probably his fourth cup that morning, with at least two more to go before he packed up and hung the old Sheffield back on its rack. His eyes were a bit tired from the hours spent wide awake, but other than that there was something revigorating about getting some work done that early on a weekend.

It was a bright lit morning, and the usual shady haze of his crummy kitchen was cut through by a dense beam of sunlight that entered the small window over the counter. Lighting was just right for minutious handiwork such as that, especially with how long that shotgun hadn’t seen any sort of upkeep.

“Jimbo, my man, if you wanna get fired, just quit. You don’t need that severance check that bad.”

“You can laugh all you want, LeBeau, I said what I said.”

Careful not to instigate his back pains after standing up for so long, he rested against the counter as he drank his coffee. Double-checking on his wristwatch, he was reminded that his medication was due in about an hour.

Ivan had his reading glasses on, an uncommon sight even for himself these days, since he barely read anything for long enough for eyes to get tired in the first place. Still, getting work done on the nooks and crannies of old armament was something he could do for hours on end in his youth, the sort of obsession that didn’t go easier on one’s eyesight as middle age approached.

“No one’s laughing, Jim, what you’re saying right now is grounds for legal action.”

“The families of these brave gentlemen, God rest their souls, can see me in court whenever they please. I’m not going back on my statement and that’s my final say on the matter.”

Careful not to stain the lenses with greasy digitals, he took off his glasses and put them on the counter. Drinking his coffee, he daydreamed as the faint sound of the television came from the living room. He had decided he’d stay awake at least until the morning news before he made his move, getting some proper sleep after he came home later. He did get his signature hour-and-a-half cat nap just before dawn, however, as he liked to do in nights he knew he’d spend awake. After the sun was up, he was already boiling his first batch of coffee and picking the gun apart.

“How can you stand there and say that?”

“Do I look like I’m standing?”

He had moved most of the trash from the tabletop before spreading the sheet and putting the Sheffield and his old toolbox over it. Under the light of the low ceiling in the kitchen, he took his sweet time as he gave the old gun the attention it hadn’t gotten in a while.

“Okay, sure, I’ll bite. How is this lunatic a hero for killing three innocent men, one of them a father of two?”

“They knew what they signed up for.”

“Answer the question.”

“I just did.”

The old Sheffield had been his father’s, bought almost fifty years ago when they made the crossing. Buying a trustworthy gun was the old man’s top priority after they settled down. Him and his two sons had wandered the fields and lakes of the entire region for what seemed like over a hundred times at one point, taking turns among themselves to carry the Sheffield on their duck-hunting trips. Vasily would go on to shorten the barrel, over a decade later, but back then it was used mostly to shoot mallards from a fair distance.

“The man is a war hero, he fought the communists.”

“Officer Peralez was a war hero too, but here you are praising his murderer.”

“Can we stop with the straw men for one edition of the show, Susan?”

Ivan never enjoyed the hunting trips, as both his brother and his father didn’t seem to enjoy it either. But he did regret how less frequent they became after what happened to Tanya and Kat. Looking at the gun now, it was almost like a memento of the abrupt changes his family was subjected to ever since they moved to Weaver Parish Road, something he would always have trouble coming to grips with.

Still, besides the .38 he kept upstairs, that old shotgun was all he had to protect himself from whatever was out there to get him. Right now, after the news about Jan, he had never been less sure if it was gonna be the people from the zoo, the cops or something else entirely. All he knew was that he wanted to have a gun handy when the day arrived, all the while hoping to never find a good enough excuse to use it. Between shooting spooks and the type of thing they keep tabs on, neither outcome sounded exciting, even if not for the same reasons.

“People in this country need to stop pretending everything is normal. That the government or the institutions it hides behind have their best interest in mind.”

“And as soon as they stop pretending, what do you expect them to do? Pick up guns and shoot cops?”

“That is not what I said.”

“You’ve been saying that all morning.”

Having finished his coffee as he turned around to pour another one, Ivan shook his head at the sheer level of excrement-hurling that Saturday morning television discourse had rapidly approached thanks to his old colleague’s newest stunt. Schwartzman, proud as ever of his current tenure as resident button man for whenever local networks wanted to capitalize on tragedy, had spent what seemed like a solid hour trying to complete some sort of bingo card of unethical journalism he probably had hidden in his shirt pocket.

Ivan was generally unimpressed by Jimbo’s schtick on any given day, but seeing a weasel like him try to project himself as some kind of rabble-rousing guerilla truthsayer felt particularly egregious when it was being made on the back of a tragedy starring a man he had once considered his friend. That thought came across in troubling fashion, as Ivan appeared to realize right then and there he had never considered Jan a friend at all.

Whatever the case, the following news report had its share of credit into really hammering that feeling home.

“Special agents ahead of the Federal Secret Service have arrived in Wyatt County this morning, where they are expected to be working closely with local law enforcement as well as representatives of the Republican Branch of Containment in hopes of apprehending wanted murderer and suspected domestic terrorist Jan Dykstra Kasowitz, who remains at large.”

On screen, a familiar face caught Ivan’s attention much like the night before. The surprise, this time around, wasn’t nearly as unexpected.

“Colonel Leland Burroughs, another decorated veteran and former commanding officer of Kasowitz during the Gévaudan campaign, was approached by our news team in the wake of this tragedy.”

Looking about as rested and well-groomed as an ambulance-chasing lawyer working his second twelve-hour shift back to back, Burroughs pretended to stand tall and firm in front of the camera, mostly just managing to look feeble and distressed inside his otherwise broad-chested olive green threads.

“It is very unfortunate that a man with a brilliant military career such as Lieutenant Kasowitz would resort to violence in such a crass, unprovoked manner. My thoughts are with the families of the brave men who gave their lives to put an end to the risk this deranged individual posed to his community. On behalf of the Republican Army of New Pretoria, I can guarantee we are eager to work in close tandem with federal authorities in bringing Kasowitz to swift justice, as well as closure to the families of his victims.”

Ivan didn’t resist and let out a hearty laughter at the sight. He always did have a bone to pick with Burroughs, it was true, but seeing his old drill sergeant squeezed in a Monday suit on a Saturday morning? Just for a fifteen-second blurb of corporate slop on a local news network, scrambling to cover up for one of his men’s most career-damning screw-ups? That was the sort of vindication people in Ivan’s position would give up on ever receiving in their lifetime, and yet there it was, delivered right to his living room.

“See how life can be wonderful when you don’t just waste it in bed?” he said out loud to himself, proud of his own sense of humor, which he truly felt was a good change of pace from everyone else’s.

Whichever the case, seeing Burroughs on TV almost felt like a call to action, he had to admit. He’d finish his last cup of coffee, take his pills, finish the work on the Sheffield and be on his way. After he was done, he could have lunch somewhere decent, drop by the liquor store and grab something to help him sleep earlier. For a man in his position, it was the little things that made it worth it.

—

It was a windy day like any other when a brown pickup truck drove up to Interstate 17 and pulled up by the dusty phone booth sitting in the middle of the intersection. The dirt road led up to a wide trail that ended up on a farmhouse, which was visibly long abandoned and in a state of disrepair. Not much else to be seen around that spot, except for the lonely advert sitting on a small hill about half a mile away.

As the engine went silent, Ivan stepped out and walked toward the payphone, all quiet except for his steps along the gravel and the sound of the wind dashing along his ears. Inside the booth, facing the sign, he could get a clear look at what was displayed there this time around.

Apparently it was “Grossman & Miller, business consulting.” The overly-doctored photo of two unsuspecting white men standing side by side took the opposite half of the advert. The one on the right appeared to be having the worst day of his life on the occasion that picture was taken, which prompted Ivan to wonder how bad things could really be for whoever wasn’t that man.

He looked at his wristwatch. Half past twelve. Fair game, he decided.

Ivan picked up the phone from the hook and slammed a pair of coins inside before dialing the usual number. It rang three times when a male voice picked up.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, this is John Miller from channel five news. I’m looking for mister Lee Grossman, I believe we had an appointment today at the current hour.”

“I’m sorry, you must’ve gotten the wrong number.”

“Oh, I see. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He hung up and went home.

—

Ivan was sitting on one of the booths of the roadside diner, facing the door. Along with his ball cap and sunglasses, he had the denim jacket he usually wore whenever he left his field jacket at home for whatever reason. Not being recognized as a man who always wears a field jacket was chief among them, and his visits to that particular diner had always been ruled by this reasoning.

Resting both elbows on the table, fingers intertwined, he looked around to make sure nothing looked suspicious. The place would be completely empty if it wasn’t for him and other two people: a young brunette girl behind the counter, who Ivan didn’t know, and an unsuspecting old man with a trucker hat and a red and black plaid shirt, reading a newspaper over a cup of coffee.

Mostly because he had nothing else to distract himself with, Ivan was paying extra attention to their movements, making sure the girl wasn’t staring at him every few seconds, or that the old man wasn’t spending either too much or too little time on each page. Ivan’s years of mental conditioning into the most troublesome directions had made him obsessed with the idea of being obsessed with his surroundings. Reading rooms, reading people, reading that again a second or a third time before drawing any conclusions; he was at a point he didn’t know how to turn it off. It was second nature to him, perhaps even first by now.

What he felt was very pathetic, however, was that for all the attention he would always be paying, he’d still manage to find a way to be blindsided by the simplest of things. A good example would be the girl disappearing from behind the counter without him noticing before she approached him from behind his booth not a few seconds later.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked in a sweet tone that still managed to provoke Ivan’s signature catlike startlement.

“I’m still waiting for my friend, thanks”, he answered, swiftly switching gears to a warm smile. His attention was pulled by the bell on the front door letting out a loud ring.

Burroughs showed up in his old fur collar bomber jacket and a pair of blue jeans, also wearing sunglasses and a duck hunting cap he probably got from his granddaughter. Ivan suppressed a groan at the realization that neither of them knew how to dress like civilians.

“There he is”, Ivan said, still smiling at the girl, who smiled back and returned to the cashier.

Appearing almost aloof in that disguise, Burroughs walked toward the booth looking shiftier than usual. Before sitting down, he took his sunglasses off and Ivan could see how much more poorly-rested his old commander looked in person compared to television. Ivan let out a loud, juvenile snort.

“Busy day at the shop, I bet.”

“Fuck you.”

As Burroughs straightened himself on his seat, Ivan’s expression changed.

“You’re never this early.”

“Yeah, we need to talk about that.”

“Something wrong?”

“Not now”, said Burroughs, looking straight ahead and then feigning surprise while turning to the waitress as she approached their table from Ivan’s side.

“What can I get you, today?”

“Just coffee, please.”

“Sure thing. How was the trip, by the way?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow while Burroughs, without breaking eye contact with the young lady, smiled and said:

“Exhausting. We got there and couldn’t see anything because of the fog, can you believe that?”

“I know, right?” the girl said, almost giggling. “My sister lives with her husband like a fifteen minute drive from there, she says this time of year it just rains all day. You should go there in the summer, if you can avoid the tourists.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my wife I got insider info”, he said with a nod and a warm, fatherly smile.

“You do that”, she said with a giggle once again, before turning to Ivan without moving an inch of her grin. “Can I get you something else?”

“Just coffee too, thank you”, he replied, raising a hand. Faking smiles was starting to get taxing.

“We need to be back before dinner”, Burroughs added.

“Gotcha. I’ll be right back.”

Ivan kept looking at the girl while she walked away. Burroughs’ gaze met his when it switched targets.

“Who’s that…?” Ivan asked, genuinely confused.

“She’s new.”

“How come she knows you, then?”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk about”, Burroughs continued, looking almost embarrassed. “Me and Tess were coming back from a road trip last month and we stopped by. She saw me.”

“Wait, why did you stop here of all places?”

“It was dark and I was dead tired. Tess needed to use the ladies’ room, and I promised we’d stop at the first place that was open. This was it.”

Ivan looked around the half-empty place with a blank expression.

“Well, fuck.”

“Yeah, you should’ve seen my face when I was sitting right there and realized where I was.”

“So I’m guessing that’s when she saw you.”

“The place was empty, she just started chit-chatting while I waited for Tess. I had to say something.”

“Great. And now she remembers you. This couldn’t have gone worse.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Ivan saw the girl coming back with the coffee jar and waited for her to be within earshot before changing the subject.

“How’s Tess, by the way?”

“I mean, she’s getting by, I suppose. Still grieving, but we’ll work it out.”

“What about you?”

“Same here. You know how this goes for guys like us. It’s her I’m worried about.”

After she poured a cup for each, Ivan waited for the girl to move along before stepping back into his usual tone.

“She’s an army wife, she’ll manage. I’d send her my best wishes, if I could.”

“Of course. She asked about you the other day, y’know.”

“That’s sweet. What’d you tell her, though?”

“That I tried calling you a couple of months back but your old line had been disconnected. It’s what I usually tell anyone when they ask.”

“Good. Someone else been asking, then.”

Burroughs drank his coffee in silence for a brief moment, pretending to remember something.

“Just the usual spooks”, he finally said with a small tilt of his head.

“Did you notice it got worse lately?”

“I mean, did it, though?”

“Not exactly, at least not on my end. I don’t think anyone’s looking to pull this thread for now.”

“You do realize that’s gonna change very soon, don’t you?”

“What, with your sleep-deprived ass on local news basically asking cops to go look somewhere else for people to blame? Yeah, I think you can tell how concerned I am.”

Burroughs seemed unfazed by the gravity of the situation, but his face did betray a hint of a cringe at the first part.

“Did I look that bad?”

Ivan stared at him stone-faced while trying to come up with something honest to say, before he settled for:

“You looked like you woke up in the middle of your own memorial ceremony to give a speech before laying back in the casket.”

“I was wide awake for a solid twenty hours juggling calls between departments, so I guess I’ll just need you to forgive me.”

“Why aren’t you answering calls right now, then?”

“Because it’s a Sunday, the feds already hijacked the investigation, and the only reason they need us around is to have someone to blame if nothing turns up. In other words, they don’t need me. So yeah, here I am. Playing spy with my least favorite person.”

“Good”, Ivan nodded. “I got something for you.”

“I sure hope you do.”

“First of all, just one question.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Did you know?”

“Know what”, Burroughs said with a humorless snort. It didn’t sound like a question.

“That this was going to happen.”

“You mean, if I had a premonition that one of you was gonna go apeshit and start shooting authorities during business hours? Sure, I get those all the time.”

“I’m being serious right now, I need to know this.”

“Is that why you decided to call a meeting during the absolute worst moment yet ever since we started doing this?”

“To gauge just how much you were aware of Kasowitz being a fucking powder keg that was gonna blow up three feet away from us?”

“Don’t say his name out loud, you moron”, Burroughs said in a low tone as he leaned forward, trying to not look too much like he was whispering instead of talking.

“I don’t give a shit if someone hears us”, Ivan said on his usual volume, his back laying against his seat. “I don’t have nearly as much riding on this as you do.”

“Easy on the lone gunman routine, Johnny Boy. It’s going out of fashion very soon.”

He stared at Burroughs for a second. He let out a long, quiet sigh before saying:

“What the fuck is going on, Leland?”

Burroughs straightened himself back on his seat before looking over his shoulder and leaning forward once again, this time ever so slightly.

“If you knew how many people”, he whispered, calmly. “from the top brass to the press, have asked me some variation of the question ‘what the fuck is going on, Leland’ in the last twenty four hours, you’d realize how pointless it was calling me here just to ask that.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t know, you stupid son a bitch.”

“So you’re telling me this is news to you as much as it is to everyone else.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“Not exactly.”

“So there you go. Are we finished here?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you shit, Bosconovitch”, he whispered through gritted teeth. “You get that through that thick skull of yours or you can forget about me helping you from now on, do I make myself clear?”

Ivan just stared back in silence. He knew Burroughs long enough to know when he was not supposed to say even the most placid “yes, sir” he could muster. Almost like a nerve response, the colonel just straightened himself back on his seat in a way that seemed to be getting progressively more nervous the more he did it. His voice was toned down a notch or two as he continued:

“The only reason I’m doing this is because they put us in the same boat. And I don’t want it sinking because of selfish fucks like you and J.D., who deep inside I always knew was gonna pull a number like this as soon as I wasn’t looking.”

“So you really didn’t know.”

“I told you, this is news to me as much as it is to you.”

“Were the two of you still in contact? Like we are right now, I mean.”

“Not exactly. I still talked to him every once in a while, but he always seemed… I dunno, off.”

“What do you mean ‘off’?” Ivan asked, frowning ever so slightly. “Shellshocked? Depressed?”

“Just absent-minded. Hard to explain. ‘Distant’ is the word I’d use. Like he wasn’t fully there.”

That choice of words troubled him deeply. It wasn’t the first time Ivan saw a comrade being described in such a way, and the memories of the last instance in which that happened still lingered on like a bad smell you can’t scrub off. 

“I thought he just wanted to be left alone”, Burroughs continued. “get all that shit behind him. But after seeing what happened, well… I guess he just wanted to keep a low profile while he plotted his next move.”

“And what next move was that, anyway?” Ivan asked. “Kicking his front door open, guns blazing, as soon as someone knocks and says ’open up, it’s the zoo’? Doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know it doesn’t add up, but the truth is that it’s anyone’s guess, at least for now. Whatever it is, the feds are all over it.”

“Are they disclosing anything to your people?”

“You’re joking, right?” Burroughs said without even hinting at a smile. “They might as well arrest me instead. The RBC, the FSS, the Committee… Everyone’s desperate to pin this whole thing on the military. The sooner the feds gather enough evidence to get the Committee to sign a waiver saying this is grounds for some bullshit mental health bill for veterans they’ll leap at it and clock out.”

“Why? So the zoo can move in and sort it out by themselves?”

“No. It’s because they’re already swamped with federal investigations, most of them surrounding disappearances and civil unrest. It takes too much manpower for them to afford wasting any of it on something as big as internal power struggles between agencies, especially with men gunning each other down in broad daylight. This isn’t the civil war anymore, you don’t put a lid on stuff like this and it’s your money out of the window.”

Burroughs finished up his cup and gestured for the waitress to come back around with the jar, then continued.

“Also, they’re a bunch of lazy fucks. Whatever they can streamline to the zoo, they will.”

“Unlike us, you mean”, Ivan was quick to say. Burroughs laughed as he glanced sideways.

As the waitress circled back and poured new servings, Ivan waited for her to leave before asking:

“What do you think is gonna happen to J.D.?”

“What do you think?”

“That they’re gonna shoot him on sight and claim self defense.”

“It was a rhetorical question, sergeant”, Burroughs replied, almost annoyed. “Of course that’s what you think, because there’s no chance of anything else happening.”

“So you don’t think the zoo is gonna try to get to him first?”

“What for?”, Burroughs said, arching his brow.

“I dunno. Put the squeeze on him?”

“Ivan, stop being an idiot, why would they even do this?”

“To get info out of him, or whatever he was up to”, Ivan said, and then just threw his hands up to the sides. “I don’t fucking know, man. Jesus.”

“Look, you’re just on edge because of this whole thing”, Burroughs said, fishing for something in his jacket’s inner pocket. “Trust me, I get it. But we need to play it smart from here on out, the line is drawn and it’s our asses on it.”

Laying a small handful of pocket change on the table, he started getting up.

“Come on, finish your coffee.”

“Wait, we leaving already?”

“This place’s not safe to talk. Come on, let’s head back. I’m driving.”

—

The day had gotten much windier. The thin veil of gray that covered the sky was already giving place to a few splashes of blue, the afternoon sun shining bright through the breaches on the sheet of white. Ivan stood a few feet beyond the front door of the diner, finishing a cigarette while Burroughs made small talk with the waitress before leaving.

He could see the reasoning behind his old commander’s whole act: if they left in a hurry without saying anything, it would look suspicious. Lingering for longer than necessary, on the other hand, although riskier, would work in the act’s favor. Ivan wasn’t in the right mood to play the part, so he just pretended he needed a smoke instead of socializing. That didn’t require much in the way of his acting range, if nothing else.

He heard the bell ringing over his shoulder, followed by the sound of the door closing. Burroughs slid into his field of view, standing right beside him as he put his sunglasses back on. He also faced the empty highway for a moment, meanwhile letting out a loud, long sigh.

“The new kid’s pretty nice”, Ivan commented.

“She is”, Burroughs agreed. “Reminds me a lot of the one from the old place. The owner’s niece or granddaughter or whatever.”

“Shame we blew it and won’t be seeing either of them again.”

“You can say ‘shame you blew’ it, I won’t be mad.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Burroughs put his hands on his jacket’s pockets and looked at both sides.

“We should go back to meeting there, from now on.”

“Wait, you mean the old place? You sure?”

“They’ll start getting suspicious if we just disappear for over a year all of a sudden.”

Ivan frowned in confusion as he finished his cigarette.

“You think they even remember us?”

“Mom-and-pop types like those?”, Burroughs asked, hinting at a smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they worked for the zoo.”

Ivan smiled too as he nodded.

“Those spooks are missing out.”

Burroughs’ smile widened for a second, almost betraying a laugh. He gestured at Ivan while fixing his sight on his right hand, which held the cigarette butt.

“Tell me you got another one of those.”

“You sure about that?”

“It’s been a long weekend, I could use the slip.”

Ivan pulled the cigarettes out of his denim jacket’s breast pocket, getting a second cigarette for himself. As he held toward Burroughs the open pack with the red filters poking out, the colonel just stared at the black and red logo before taking off his sunglasses and giving Ivan a look of genuine reproval.

“Ballards? Are you fucking kidding me, right now?”

“Do you want the smokes or do you not want the smokes, sir?”

“Unbelievable”, Burroughs declared, shaking his head while he fished for the cigarette. “Twenty years later and there he is, smoking the same foreign garbage he spent his entire life being made fun of for smoking. I swear, Bosconovitch, you’re living proof that some men never learn.”

“Don’t forget you need to light these up. Sir.”

Burroughs noticed the small chrome object on Ivan’s other hand, as he pulled it out of another pocket. He chuckled as he reached for it, lighting up the red-filtered Ballard and coughing loud almost immediately. The first drag came in rough and nasty as a gust of wind dragging the heat off a dumpster fire. First one in maybe over two years, the colonel realized. Starring his least favorite brand, no less. That long weekend was getting longer by the minute.

Before handing it back to Ivan, he took a closer look at the lighter. One side had the symbol of the Republican Army, with the yellow-eyed raven and the dagger, while the other read the inscription “ST. GERMAIN – ’72” on the upper half, with the lower saying “DON’T ASK ME SHIT ABOUT COMMIES & CRYPTIDS”.

“I can’t believe you still carry this old thing”, Burroughs said as Ivan picked it up and lit his own cigarette.

“It still works”, he said, putting it back in his pocket.

“You’re a romantic, Johnny Boy. That’s what’s gonna get you killed.”

“Almost thirty years telling me this and guess who’s still alive.”

“Against all odds.”

“And my better judgement, it seems.”

Burroughs gave him a pat on the shoulder and started walking toward his car.

“That sense of humor has got to go, soldier. Not a good look for old boys like us.”

“It’s the only look I got left, sir.”

As he walked along the colonel on that empty parking lot, he did feel a strange sense of belonging. One that to him appeared to have laid dormant for what seemed like years at that point. It was true that Burroughs was a key player in the long-term development of Ivan’s worst personality traits, but for that same reason he was one of the few people who knew him for who he believed he truly was. As his drill instructor and, later on, as his fireteam’s staff sergeant, the man had been standing on the same boat as him and his men whenever it rocked the hardest. Maybe the bureaucratic years of the republic’s still young independence had made him no more than a pencil-pusher with a bloated salary, but Ivan still respected what old Leland had accomplished in the field when the only men who could do it were few and far between.

That didn’t change how he felt about what came after, though. That brief moment of respite lasted as long as any other he was gifted with.

“You took the bus this time, didn’t you?” Burroughs asked.

“Like I do every time.”

“Good. I got something I want to show you.”

As they approached the colonel’s brand spanking new off-road truck, which Ivan could tell for a fact was not driven to their previous meeting just a few months before, he was bitterly reminded of a few truths that never quite left the room.

“It’s the 95, already”, Leland said, fishing for his keys. “Quite a beauty, huh?”

“You said it”, Ivan mumbled, holding out on the “not me” at the end. His voice had every inch of the enthusiasm one would expect from a man who had been driving the same truck for longer than he was in the military.