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maged through the few remaining items in his closet until he found the oversized canvas bag his mother had given him, wrapped two of the jars in newspapers and carefully packed them for the journey to the Crystal Club. |
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After he finished dressing, he went briskly down the back stairs of the BOQ, brushed the residue of the late afternoon snow squall off his car and drove off. The journey on slippery streets would take all of ten or so minutes. It would give him an opportunity to think about the two remaining jars. |
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One, of course, was for Ruthie. These days he seldom said her name without tagging on the epithet, ''that two-timing bitch." His thoughts dwelled for a moment on the then trim young blonde who had married him just three short months after his graduation from officer candidate school. Ruthie hadn't waited long to deal out her own special brand of misery. In the twelfth month of his first tour of arctic duty, she informed him of the separation, and by the time he returned to the States, she had the divorce in her hot little hands. Now she was remarried, and Charlie Frazier had gone to a lot of trouble to locate her. But persistence paid off, and Ruthie, bless her little black cheating heart, was entitled to a gift from Sixkill. Before he stepped on the plane tomorrow morning, the postal service would be doing its best to see that she got it. |
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