Tonight the War Is Over

Tonight the War Is Over


“You killed him, didn’t you,” Cass said. It was a statement, not a question. “Just like the others.” The blonde kept her eyes on the dark woman who sat across the table from her.
Maggie just looked back for a moment, then said “What…? Killed who?”

“You know,” Cass returned. She took her eyes off Maggie for a second to light a cigarette with a match, inhaled deeply, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. She returned her gaze to Maggie. “Estevan. What was his last name? Santistevan? He’s dead now. Killed in the Border War. You know that. His name was on the casualty list. Just like the names of your other tricks were on the previous lists. You’re becoming known as the angel of death. Or maybe that should be the whore of death.”

Maggie waved her hand in front of her face to clear away the smoke. “I don’t look at the lists,” she said taking a sip of her coffee. She glanced over at Jessie, the bartender, who was setting up for the evening crowd. Jessie, dark hair and eyes, glanced back and made a noncommittal tilt of his head.

* * *

The sound of Estevan’s laughter entered the room before he did. Loud and drunk. The door swung open , and he swaggered in followed by two other men, their uniforms disheveled and unable to pass inspection. He stopped, but the other two stumbled into him from the rear. Estevan didn’t seem to notice as he surveyed the room. One of the whores, a thin guera in a skin-tight red jumpsuit leaned back against the bar and motioned to him with a nod of her head. She turned and sipped from a wine glass. When she put the glass down the bartender topped it off from a bottle without a label.

“Tequila,” Estevan said just a little too loudly as he leaned on the bar next to Cass. She turned to him, leaning sideways now, right hand on her hip. Jessie placed a shot glass on the bar filled it with tequila. “Salt and lemon too,” Estevan demanded.

He turned to Cass. “Second night of a three day pass and we’re here to have some fun!”
Cass reached out with her right hand to his waist, moved it up and forward to the large man’s chest, then down to his belt. “Then you’re in the right place,” she said.

“But with the wrong woman,” Maggie interrupted from behind Estevan. She moved up, sucked on the skin between the thumb and index finger of her left hand, then, keeping her dark eyes on then man’s face, poured salt on it. She moved her hand toward Estevan. He grabbed the hand, sucked the salt off, quickly downed the shot of tequila. Maggie reached to the bar pressing herself against Estevan and putting herself between him and Cass. She picked up a slice of lemon just placed there by Jessie, held it up to Estevan’s mouth while he sucked on it. He shivered, grimaced, then let out another loud laugh.

“Come on, Baby,” he roared. He grabbed her, pulling her body roughly against his and buried his face in the curve of flesh between her shoulder and neck.

* * *

Maggie, dark skinned with darker red lipstick, heavily rouged cheeks and eye make-up accentuating her large brown eyes, patted her hair making sure it was still in place. She then moved her hands to her bust, adjusting her bra and pushing up to make sure her large breasts were appropriately exposed, just hiding her nipples. “If I killed Estevan,” she stared, then took another sip of her coffee, “and the others, whoever they are, how did I do It?” She stared back at Cass.

Cass, blonde and slender, stared back without flinching. She wore blue stretch shorts with a just-as-tight pink top, her flat stomach and navel were exposed, but the top went up to her neck,. Few of the other women, and none of the men, could face Maggie like that. “That I haven’t figured out yet,” she said, then took a drink of her first of many watered down wines. She had small breasts, but her nipples were erect and pushed out against the tight fabric of her blouse. She moved her right hand up to her mouth where her index finger made a circuit around her bright red lips. She no longer needed a mirror to check on her make-up.

“At first I thought you were passing military information to the enemy, but that didn’t make sense. The generals don’t come here for their women,” she said looking around the room. It was just a bar with a dance floor, a stairway going up to a balcony. The wooden handrail was worn from many drunken hands grasping it to steady the customers’ trips upstairs and to the small rooms that were hidden beyond the balcony. “The men who come here don’t know anything…”

“They only know they are going to die,” Maggie interrupted.

Cass’ eyes narrowed, blue topped by blue eye shadow, then relaxed. Maggie glanced at Jessie again, who gave his head a little shake, barely perceptible.

* * *

With a grunt Estevan rolled off of Maggie to her left side—spent. She lay there for a few seconds, then turned her head to look at him in the dim light that came in through the window. He lay on his back, naked, breathing deeply, then rolled over on his side and faced away from Maggie. With a sigh she sat up.

“I’ll be right back, babe. I need to clean up.” She reached over and grabbed a white towel from the table next to the bed and put it between her legs. She sat up, her heavy breasts swaying before coming to rest just above her belly. She stood and walked to the bathroom still holding the towel between her legs.
After a couple of minutes she came back out wearing a flimsy blouse that came down to her thighs. Halfway to the bed she stopped. She heard him whimper. Quickly she moved forward. “What’s the matter, babe?” she asked kneeling on the bed, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh God, the blood,” he said, crying.

“Blood?” She moved her hand to grasp his arm pulling him to his back. “Are you hurt?” she asked frantically.

He moved his hands to his face and said “There’s so much blood.” And he rolled back to his side curling up in a fetal position sobbing. “Blood,” he repeated between sobs.

As she touched him she experienced the panic and fear, the tightness of the solar plexus, confusion, hatred, the shakes, the dry mouth, the wet palms. She heard the cries, she smelled the gunpowder and burning flesh. She smelled the blood. She turned her head and closed her eyes grimacing as she tasted it. Like rusting iron. She knelt in it, awash in it.

Maggie lay down at his back, reached over with her arm to hold him. “Hush, Babe,” she whispered, “Hush. It’s all right. Tonight the war is over.” And she rocked back and forth with him while he cried.
* * *

Jessie stopped setting up the bar to watch the two women. Maggie sat, her hands clutching the glass on the table, her façade beginning to crack, just a little, as a single tear ran down her face in the juncture between her right cheek and nose. The tear left a dark track of mascara. Cass looked to Jesus, back to Maggie, then again to Jesus. “What?” was all she could say for once.

Jessie didn’t respond.

“Kill them,” Maggie said, regaining control of herself. She raised her hands to wipe away the tear, smearing her make-up even more. “Kill them,” she repeated, bitterness showing in the two words. She took a drink. “Everyday I see them come in here to drink and have a good time. Everyday.” She looked at Jesus. He shrugged. “And when they come in I can tell. I can see it.”

“See what?” Cass asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I just know the ones that will die in battle…shot down or burned or blown apart by the bombs and mines. It’s in their faces, the look of death. And when I see their eyes and their trembling hands…”

“I don’t understand,” Cass said. “If you know, how can you…” Her voice trailed off.

“How can I refuse them?” Maggie returned, then lowered her head, eyes closed.


End.