Ballistics Read Online Free PDF

a stack of chopped lumber was dark with moisture. The lawn was green save a few patches of piss-puddle brown, which he blamed on neighbourhood dogs. We climbed a short flight of concrete steps to his front door, where he banged his boots together over a welcome mat, tried the doorknob and found it open, and went inside.
    Nora, he called as we entered. You here?
    In the kitchen.
    Can you put on some coffee? he said, and turned back to me with a shrug, as though to ask if he should have added anything else. I got someone with me.
    There was a pause, and then footsteps on linoleum and then his fiancée—Nora Miller—popped around the corner. She had dark red hair that framed her face and hung to her chin, a small nose with an upward turn at the tip, big eyes with eyebrows that seemed always on the verge of lifting incredulously. She glanced to me and then to Cecil and her nose scrunched up—hopefully not because I smelled that bad, but I may never know—and she reached for Cecil’s face. Her small hand touched his chin and she pushed his head sideways and examined the scratches lining his jaw.
    I take it something’s going on, she said.
    This is Archer, Cecil said. Archer, my fiancée, Nora.
    Hello, I said.
    Nice to meet you.
    Archer needs to use our shower, Cecil said.
    He certainly does.
    I’ll explain.
    Nora grinned: a wide, authentic, lovely grin that showed her molars. I’ve always thought the prettiest smiles are the ones that show the most teeth.
    Yes, you will. But let’s get Archer into the shower, she said, and turned to me. We’ll get you a set of Cecil’s old clothes, too. Those ones—likely beyond saving.
    They set me up with a pair of faded jeans and a plain navy T-shirt stamped with Smokey the Bear’s sombre frown. Cecil gave me a disposable razor and a bar of soap, and that was that. I stepped under the hot water and inhaled the steam and felt as if I could scrape the dirt off my arms with a palette knife. The heat throbbed through my scarred arm, through the wrinkled skin on the bicep, but it always does that—muscle memory, or something. It seemed unfair that I’d get to wash first and not my daughter, stuck at that cabin with Jack. The soap stung the cut and I prodded the wounds, inspected the pucker and Cecil’s handiwork. I’d be lying if I said it was a flawless execution, but I’d be lying if I said I cared.
    I came out of that shower almost a different man. My leg even felt alright, but that was probably in my head—I always feel better after a shower. I carried my ruined clothes bundled under my arm, into the kitchen, where I found Nora with her back to me at the sink. She fiddled with a disassembled water tap. I cleared my throat and she whipped her head sideways, enough to see me in her peripherals. Just toss ’em, she said, and, with a rubber-gloved hand, gestured at a garbage can in the corner.
    I did so, sat down at the table.
    Thanks for the clothes.
    She unstoppered the sink and the water gurgled down the drain. Cecil went into town, to see the doctor, she said, and pulled the rubber gloves off. A few bubbles of dishwater clung to her ear, but I didn’t say anything. She crossed her arms under her breasts, leaned on the corner where the counters met. You’re in a predicament.
    I figured so.
    Draft dodgers are one thing. Government gives them amnesty.
    I’m not a draft dodger.
    That’s what I’m talking about, Nora said. With her pinky, she hooked a string of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind one ear. She had nice ears. And your daughter, too. We can say you’re Cecil’s army friend and your wife left you without any money.
    Not that far from the truth.
    That last bit was Cecil’s idea.
    I had a hunch.
    You army guys, she said, and brushed past me out of the kitchen, and I smelled the air that breezed by in her wake—a scent of grapefruit detergent, of warm bread like someone who’d been baking all day, and something else, too: a tougher smell, like the