Page 145 of Nash Falls
Nash eased the trembling smaller man back to his feet, pulled him close, and punched him in the throat with just the right amount of force, not too much and not too little. The man fell unconscious both from the punch and the relief from Nash letting go of the crushing pressure on his wrist. Nash set him on the stool next to hisknocked-out friend, and then leaned them into each other like two pillars on a house of cards.
When a waitress eyed him, he said, “Seems the boys have hit their limit.”
She did an eye roll and turned back to her work.
Nash paid his bill in cash and left a nice tip.
The bartender eventually wandered over to the pair and noticed they were not conscious.
Outside, Nash drew a deep breath. He should have felt proud of that moment, which validated all his hard work, but he didn’t. He felt like an idiot for bringing unwanted attention to himself. But they had started it. And he had ended it as quietly and discreetly as possible.
But there was something else, even more disturbing.
I actually wanted to kill them both. I could see myself doing it, in fact. And I could have, so easily, in a dozen different ways. And they would have died so quietly.
And the old Nash, resurfacing briefly, was appalled by these thoughts.
He slowly walked back to the motel, climbed into his pickup, and drove to his father’s old neighborhood.
CHAPTER
70
THE LIGHTS WERE ON INthe house, and Nash watched as Rosie Parker moved across the front picture window. For a moment it was as though Nash had slipped back in time and he was returning home from his paper route and glimpsing his mother headed to the kitchen to start his breakfast. But his mother was dead, he was no longer a child, and this was not his home.
I don’t really have a home, not anymore.
He walked up to the front porch with his cover story rehearsed. This would also be a good test, and hopefully a source of information.
He knocked, and a few moments later Parker answered the door. She had clearly taken Nash’s advice on getting some new clothes, and the slacks and colorful sweater rode well on her long, lean frame, which, he was glad to see, had filled out a bit. And she was wearing her hair in a new style that Nash thought attractively enhanced her features.
“Yes?” she said, looking nervous. Nash realized he probably looked intimidating to the woman just by his appearance. And at this hour of the evening it likely amplified her apprehension in a neighborhood that Nash was aware had its issues.
He took off his hat and said in a voice very much unlike his own, “I’m Dillon Hope, ma’am. I’m the son of one of Ty Nash’s old Army buddies. I told my old man if I was ever passing by here I’d say hello.”
Parker’s features softened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m afraid Mr. Nash died quite some time ago.”
“Oh, damn. My pop will sure be sad. He told me lotta stories ’bout Ty Nash.”
“I’m sure. He’d been sick for a long time and was in a lot of pain.”
Nash looked over her shoulder and saw a blown-up photo in a frame on the wall of his father and Shock in their Army uniforms. He pointed. “My daddy has some pictures from when they were all in Nam.”
Parker turned to look and her face crinkled in pleasure. “He was one handsome man, Ty Nash.”
“My daddy said he was the best soldier the Army ever had. And that man there next to him, Isaiah York? He said the same ’bout him, one helluva soldier.”
“Oh, so you know him?”
“Shock? Oh yeah. He came by to visit us. He was Ty’s best friend, my daddy said.”
“Yes, he was. I haven’t seen him since Ty’s funeral,” she added wistfully.
“He’s probably still getting over Ty being gone. Well, I guess I’d better be heading on…” He hesitated and glanced at her with a hopeful expression.
Parker said, “Look, um, would you like to come in? I can make some coffee? And we could… talk?”
“Well, that’d be real nice, ma’am. Thank you.”
