Hey, it's a new chapter! Winston Greene has problems. But at least he's happy.
Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.
- o – o -
Chapter four: Tell Me What It's Like
Winston Greene—Winny, to his few friends—was in a bad mood again.
It was a normal state of being for him these days, but this time it was a lot worse. He took a drag on his cigarette, inhaling the nicotine. He'd picked the habit up a few days ago. It was still doing nothing for him. He'd finished the box—this was the last one—and he wasn't going to waste his money on anything else. Self-medication had also been experimented with over the past few years, before being discarded as a bad job. (Getting mugged while strung out on knock-off vicodin was not a pleasant way to spend an evening.)
He was standing in the rain outside the post office, waiting for it to open. Very few people knew how to get in contact with him. One of them wasn't allowed to talk to him, except under limited circumstances, and the other was in the loony bin and probably wouldn't be contacting him even if the circumstances had been met. Winny hated his life some days.
"And some days," he muttered, flicking the spent butt into the pouring rain, "it's really not worth chewing through the straps." The man laughed bitterly and pushed himself off the wall as the door to the Greenville post office opened. Time to get his mail—mostly junk mail, and the occasional jury duty notice—before going back to yet another inspiring day of work at a bar he hated with a passion. (He would have found another better, more fulfilling job, but the point of his exile was to avoid military prison or the psych ward, like Hartman.)
Winny grabbed his mail out of the box, grunting a hello at the postman, who glowered at him. The former soldier pushed his damp hair out of his eyes, glared at the man as he stuck his mail under his coat, and headed out into the pouring rain. The Last Chance diner was open for breakfast, which was only a good thing. It meant he could have something that resembled real food before he went to work up to his elbows in stale beer and boiling oil.
He opened the first package as he sipped his coffee. His eyes widened and he began choking on the hot liquid. Fifteen pictures spilled out across the table.
"And some days," Winny muttered in awe, staring at the picture of his old CO getting hitched to some guy who looked kind a familiar (for some reason, Winny wanted to think of really big guns and things that went boom). The kissing was… Well, there was a reason Mrs. Captain Faraday had threatened the Jackals with castration if they tried to get her husband-to-be drunk at his Stag Party. (And then there was the fact that, even after eleven years, she was probably mad at them for taking her husband to see the Chippendales instead of honest female strippers. Why she would… Oh yeah. The booze.)
"I wonder how much he had to drink before these," Winny mused, looking at the photos Hartman had sent him. He shrugged. "Least he found a guy who's better looking than that Chippendale." He laughed for the rest of the day.
The best picture was taped next to his cot at home.
- o – o -
So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Vince is just going to give up with the assassination attempts if he ever finds out about this at this point? Drop a line and let me know!
Author's note: I hit over 83K today! WOOOO! I might actually make 100K this year. :D
