Page 59 of Stone

He nodded slowly, his eyes studying me intently. “I’m not blowing smoke up your ass here, Private, but it’s no secret that you’re a crack shot. Word’s gotten around, and people are sitting up and taking notice of you.” He flipped open the file he’d just been reading, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to me.

With a furrowed forehead, I took the paper from him and began to read. The second I realized what the words were, I grinned. “I got my MOS?”

“You did, Private Stone,” he confirmed. “But before you accept it, I think you need a little perspective.”

“Sir?” I inquired confusedly.

He took the file from his desk and held it up. “Been looking at your application, Stone, and I’m a little confused. You’ve already got your ASE certification. Am I right?”

“Yes, Sir. I got it when I was eighteen. I love cars and bikes,” I told him. “I love workin’ out how to fix ‘em. I've been doin’ it since I was a kid.”

A quizzical expression fell over Grecco’s face. “So why do you wanna learn how to fix trucks when you can already fix the damned trucks?”

“I’m not here to learn about trucks, Sir,” I explained. “I’m here to keep ‘em running while I learn how to be a good soldier.”

The lieutenant held my stare. “Do you think you’ll learn that under the hood of a vehicle?” His elbows hit the desk again, and he leaned forward. “Your scores on the range are outstanding, Stone. I hate seeing gifted men waste their potential. If you really want trucks, I’ll sign off on your MOS, but first, I want you to really think about the reasons you enlisted and why the hell you’re playing it so damned safe.”

Sitting back in my chair, I bit back a smile at Grecco’s praise.

I had a plan, a fixed idea about what I wanted from the military, but maybe the lieutenant had a point. I knew motors inside out. There wasn’t much more the Marines could teach me unless I wanted to work on planes or ships—which honestly, didn’t appeal to me whatso—fuckin’—ever. A question stabbed at my mind—was I coasting? Did I want to join the Marines with the best of intentions but, somewhere along the way, become complacent about what I needed from it?

Grecco was right; what I didn’t know about engines you could write on the back of a postage stamp. Shouldn’t I have beentrying to learn new skills instead of regurgitating the ones I already had?

My reasons for enlisting were complex, but my main aim was to learn how to think like a soldier. Being a motorcycle club president wasn’t easy. I needed to command respect if I wanted to make a bunch of hard, volatile men follow me blindly. There was no doubt their deference would be more forthcoming if my military career involved learning tactics and handling weapons instead of tinkering with engines.

The brothers of the Speed Demons stood for brotherhood, love, and loyalty, but on the other hand, give ‘em a bare-knuckle fight, shootouts, and blowing shit up, and they were happy as pigs in shit.

I was pulled from my thoughts as Grecco’s commanding voice asked, “So what do you think, Stone?”

My eyes hit his. “I’m tempted, Sir, but it’s a far cry from my original plans. I thought I had everything figured out until five minutes ago. Now, admittedly, I’m a little confused, but it’s not a straight-out no. Maybe I need to take time to think over my options.”

He nodded slowly, studying me. “Do you want to speak to somebody? Get some advice? Maybe run it past your family?”

I felt a tiny stab of relief at the notion of running everything past Dad. My back snapped straight. “Requesting authorization to make a phone call, Sir.”

“Granted,” Grecco replied, nodding toward the rotary telephone on his desk. “I’ll give you ten minutes.” He rose to his feet and grabbed the file before walking around the desk and heading toward the door. “Tell anyone I let you use my phone, and you’ll be cleaning toilet bowls with your own toothbrush for the next week. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said with a grin.

“Press zero to get an outside line,” Lieutenant muttered, strolling out and closing the door gently behind him.

Chewing the shit out of my lip, I picked up the telephone receiver while contemplating the words I needed for Dad. I didn’t think I needed to sell him the idea, which was why he was probably the best person to ask for advice. He’d bust my chops, give me the pros and cons, then tell me to make my mind up either way and stop being a pussy.

What he wouldn’t do was try to influence my choice.

With thoughts still whirring, I dialed the telephone number home, hoping to all the gods that Dad would be home, and waited. After a short wait, the call clicked in, and my shoulders relaxed with relief as I heard Dad bark, “Who is it?”

“Pop,” I murmured. “It’s me.”

He paused briefly before cursing under his breath. “Boy. If you’ve got yourself in some Marine-type shit, you can wallow in it solo. I’ll tell those rat fucker MPs to throw the goddamned key away. Then, when you finally show your ugly face, I’ll make it even uglier. Why the fuck are you calling this phone when I know for a damned fact you’re not allowed to call any fucker while you’re at the School of Infantry?”

“Dad, it’s okay,” I reassured him. “My lieutenant gave me permission. I’m using his phone. He told me to make the call.”

“Are you sucking his cock, boy?” Dad demanded.

My mouth gaped. “Whoa, Dad—”

“Always had my suspicions,” Dad interjected. “I said to your ma, I said, Queenie, there’s somethin’ different about my boy. Bet he likes takin’ it up the ass.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I care, ya little bastard. A hole’s a hole. Back in ‘Nam, I had a bud who liked takin’ it up the shitter. Never bothered me.”

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