“Shit, man, I wanna help you out. That's why I came down here instead of the Lieut, but Jesus, you know we can't have you firing off guns. Unauthorized discharge— Charlie, what's the time off for that?” He turned to his partner, a scrawny-looking rodent who was shrewishly inspecting the wreckage. “Six to eight months.” “You wanna send me?” I offered my ex-platoonmate a glass. “Look, man, I know shit is rough. But we got counseling. The VA is fine. Don't be doing nothing stupid.” I shook the glass. “Tom, don't make me come back here with an MP. You know what they do in the brigs.” “Nothing Sunset hasn't done to me already, Crow.” The ice glimmered gold. “Just keep your hands clean this month. I'm up for promotion, finally.” Then he leaned into me. “And I'll be frank with you, T, army pay isn't the best.” “I see they have you working really hard down on Ocean. What is that, half an hour on, twelve off?” “At least I make an honest living.” He eyed my diplomas on the wall. The bulk of them were real. Beside him, the rodent was sifting through glass without any gloves on, which I took as a promising sign. “What the fuck did you fire?” the rat asked me. “Who's this?” “This is Charley. 81st Airborne. He's cool.” Charley didn't look like he'd served a damn day in his life. He was holding up a broken piece of glass, which was burnt around the edges. “Looks like a Nitro Express.” I nodded. “I didn't know there were elephants roaming on Wilshire.”
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