Radioman (A 2/19th Spinoff) - Complete

Shopping

The little car's gears ground as I shifted into reverse and backed into the parking spot. Aine had helped me clean it out, and the inside of the car smelled a lot better. Part of it was the pervasive smell of honeysuckle and apple blossoms that she had left behind.

I got out, pulling on the bottom of my Levi jacket to get it to set properly. I slapped the lock stud and slammed the door before pushing my hands into my pockets and taking a quick scan of the area.

General store in front. Church to my right. Video rental store to my left. Post office behind me. Sidewalks clear. Rooftops clear. No signs of...

God damn you to Hell, Stillwater.

He just laughed at me in the back of my mind.

The rain kept coming down, but I was wearing a battered BDU softcap to keep it out of my face. The wind wasn't too bad, nothing like the screaming gale force winds that tried to steal what little breath you had, driving ice crystals against exposed skin, snatching away your breath as it sliced through your clothing, icy claws sinking into your skin and muscle to...

I shook myself slightly as I reached for the door of the store.

The bells rang and the complex smell of the store washed over me, instantly reminding me of being a child and coming to the store to buy things with my mother.

Which instantly reminded me of my father smacking her for spending the money "on stupid shit" instead of leaving it to him to spend on heroin.

Aine wanted cast iron cookware, a pitcher, some cleaning supplies, lemons, and a bunch of other stuff. It wasn't like I didn't have the cash and traveller's checks in my pocket, but I didn't like shopping without her.

Part of being in the military, I guess. I didn't do any shopping outside of infrequent trips to the PX or Class-VI. I didn't need to.

I grabbed a cart, pulled out her list written in tiny neat cursive, and started moving through the aisles. I was startled to see that the gingham she wanted was actually available. I wouldn't have thought the local general store would carry bolts of cloth, but then I should have realized that Aine would know if it did or not.

I'd put a wooden box full of cast iron cookware into the cart when I felt someone moving up the aisle toward me. Whoever it was, they weren't the little old lady I'd passed by in the fabric section, this person was looking for me.

God damn you to Hell, Stillwater...

They stopped behind me, waiting while I reached up and grabbed the steel cookware utensils that Aine had wanted. I dropped them in my cart and tensed to turn around.

I could feel the grip of my M1911A1 pistol in my hand.

When I turned around, someone I didn't recognize was standing behind me. My brain instantly calculated everything about them.

Over six feet tall. Not as big as Stokes but taller than Stillwater. Mill work muscle, strangely soft looking to my eyes. Black hair. Brown eyes. No scars. Face trying to look menacing and failing. Smaller hands than the muscle on their arms and chest would suggest. Blue and black checkered flannel shirt over a T-shirt, Levi jeans worn across the thighs, thick leather belt, boots. Old sweat and sawdust smell. Not standing right for any weapons on him beyond the knife in a sheath at his right hip.

"Paul Foster?" He asked me.

"Who's asking," I stared at him, not backing up even though he was right in front of me.

"Heard you were back in town," he said. I just nodded. "Heard you been in the Army since you done disappeared," Again, I just nodded. "Got some new scars on yer face, and ya look different, Paul, ya seen some shit, ain't ya?"