Medicine Man. Cheryl Reavis

Three

      “Have you called home in the last couple of weeks, E.T.?” Copus asked pointedly.

      “Yeah,” Will answered, getting better and better at deciphering Copus’s science fiction analogies.

      “Written any letters?”

      “Yeah, why?”

      “Mailed them?”

      “Copus—”

      “You’re sure you haven’t been neglecting the keeping-in-touch-with-the-family-in-a-timely-manner thing.”

      “I’m sure.”

      “Well, it ain’t that, then.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “The lieutenant is looking for you, son,” Copus said ominously. “I got it straight from the horse’s mouth—a couple of stalls removed. Any minute now, he’s going to be wanting to see you ASAP.”

      Will accepted the prediction without comment. He was mildly curious, but he kept stacking long packages of unsterile 4x4 gauze on the supply closet shelf. The unit phone was ringing in the background—making no impression whatsoever on the obviously non-busy Copus.

      “Could I at least get a ‘hooah’ so I know you heard me?” Copus said.

      “Hooah.”

      “Son, how do you do that?” Copus asked.

      “Do what?”

      “That. Anybody else would be all over me wanting to know what he wants. You don’t even blink.”

      “I blink,” Will said. He moved down to the next shelf and continued restocking supplies.

      “Yeah, but you don’t ask.”

      “Not much point—since you don’t know.”

      “Yeah, well, it just so happens, I got a theory or two. And, lucky for you, I’m willing to share them. Assuming that I’m handsomely rewarded for my trouble, of course.”

      “Forget it.”

      “No, now wait. See, I’m willing to help you out here—get you prepared. But I got to have something for my trouble.”

      Will glanced at him. Copus was ready to levitate off the floor at the prospect of snagging a few bucks from the unsuspecting but curious.

      “No,” Will said.

      “Well, then, what do you think he wants?”

      “Beats me.”

      “Could be he wants you to give him some pointers,” Copus said.

      “I don’t have any pointers.”

      “Sure you do, son. You could tell him how to jump-start his love life.” Copus grinned from ear to ear in appreciation of his own stellar wit and his not-so-subtle assessment of Will’s nonexistent female conquests.

      “If he wanted pointers for his love life, he’d be looking for you, not me,” Will said.

      “Then maybe you could give him some advice on how to live dangerously.”

      “He’s in the army. He’s probably already got that worked out.”

      Will moved to another shelf.

      “Okay, William,” Copus said. “You want to try to figure out what he wants or not?”

      “Not,” Will said without much hope.

      “We could make a friendly little wager—how’s about that?”

      “Copus, I’m not losing what little money I’ve got on some dumb-ass bet.”

      “Okay, forget the bet. I think this is big, William. If it wasn’t, one of the sergeants would be wanting to see you, not him. For some reason, you’re on the fast track, son. I think you’re going to want to get some kind of story worked out before you—”

      “Copus!” someone yelled down the hall. Kate Meehan, now Doyle, had returned from her honeymoon and was in rare form.

      “You’d think she’d be a in better mood,” Copus said under his breath. “Yes, ma’am!” he called, trotting off to see what she wanted.

      Will continued restocking. He could hear Copus attributing his unfortunate lack of compliance to her will to circumstances beyond his control, specifically, his urgent need to find Specialist Baron on behalf of one Lieutenant Quinlan—who was not happy.

      “I know all about the lieutenant’s unhappy state. Baron!” she yelled. “Leave that and go see what he wants! And stop fiddling around!”

      “He lives to serve,” Copus said helpfully. “Fiddling around is not him.”

      “I meant you, Copus. Get busy!”

      Will tried not to smile and went on his way, more than puzzled by the summons in spite of his outward nonchalance. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, and as he passed a row of windows on the ground floor, he realized it was raining again, a soft and steady “female” rain this time, instead of the usual summer thunderstorm. He was desert-raised, and the smell of it on dry earth was already in his mind. It wouldn’t smell like that here, but it was still all he could do not to stop and simply admire it. He kept going until he reached the lion’s den.

      “The lieutenant wanted to see me,” he told the only clerk he could find.

      “He just left. He didn’t say when he’d be back—but I’d wait around if I was you,” he added when Will turned to go.

      Will waited, watching the rain after all, amusing himself with visions of Copus having to take up the slack in his absence, however unlikely that might be.

      About the time he decided to go back to the ward anyway, the lieutenant reappeared. Will could see immediately that Copus was correct in at least some of his estimation of the situation. The man was not happy. He looked as if someone had taken his harmony and drop-kicked it in front of a moving train.

      “In!” he said sharply when the clerk advised him of Baron’s presence, leading the way into his office. “Close the door.”

      “Sir, yes, sir,” Will said.

      “Sit.”

      Will sat.

      The lieutenant plunked himself down behind the desk and carefully placed the stack of papers he was carrying on the desktop. “I’m not going to beat around the bush about this, Baron. We’ve had a complaint.”

      Will frowned slightly, rapidly trying to review the most recent aspects of his military life. Nothing came to mind that would cause his having to go straight to the assistant principal’s office, once removed.

      So he waited—one of the few military traditions which coincided with his own upbringing.

      “Look. Specialist, you can not—I repeat, not—go around insinuating yourself into another man’s marriage.”

      “Sir?” Will said, the unblinking state Copus admired so abruptly leaving him.

      “Enough said?”

      “Sir, no, sir. I don’t understand—”

      “Damn it, Baron, how much plainer can I get than that? Leave the woman alone!”

      “Sir, what woman, sir?”

      “How many damned married women are you chasing after?”

      “Sir, none, sir.”

      The lieutenant gave a sharp sigh. “No? How about the one that fouled up the colonel’s best golf game to date? He got a direct complaint from one of the civilians in his golfing party. This civilian says his son’s estranged wife is getting herself tangled up with one of our own—a Specialist