Bitter Creek Read Free Page A

Patchen stood in the parking lot near the Fort Harrison building where Chappie had gotten presented with his Navy Cross.
    â€œThank you,” said Patchen. He hugged Chappie.
    Du Pré rolled a smoke.
    â€œLike everything else with this bunch,” said Patchen, “it’s a damn wonder they didn’t have the ceremony in the dead of night. …”
    Chappie held the case in which the medal had come in his right hand, or what was left of it.
    â€œWe’re out of it,” said Patchen. “But they aren’t.”
    â€œGood bunch,” said Chappie.
    Patchen turned to Du Pré and Madelaine.
    â€œI have to go back to Virginia for a bit,” he said. “A month or so—family matters—and then I would like to come back. … That voice I heard in the sweat lodge haunts me, and I think he meant to … This is mine to pursue. … The other voices are of murdered people … aren’t they?”
    He looked at Du Pré. Du Pré and Chappie finally nodded, both together.
    â€œGot plenty places, you stay,” said Du Pré.
    â€œI wouldn’t want to impose,” said Patchen.
    â€œChrist,” said Chappie, “you come, don’t stay, you hurt our feelings. You are a friend. …”
    â€œApologies,” said Patchen. “I have a plane to catch. I must go, and I thank you again, Gunnery Sergeant Plaquemines.”
    Chappie snapped to attention and saluted and so did Patchen and then they both laughed.
    Patchen got into his rented car, started it, drove away. “So you saved his life,” said Madelaine.
    â€œSo I am told,” said Chappie. “Don’t remember much but noise and fire and screaming. …”
    They got into the big green SUV and Du Pré drove off. They stopped in Fort Benton and ate at a saloon and restaurant. The cheeseburgers weren’t bad, but they weren’t good either.
    They walked down to the Missouri and looked at the keelboat that Hollywood had made for a film about the mountain men.
    â€¦ once this shore was full of steamboats, so many saloons and so many people playing cards … they throw the used cards on the boardwalks, it’s hard to walk on them, slippery … long time gone …
    â€œCome on, Du Pré,” said Madelaine. “We will be plenty tired we get home. I know you can see, steamboats, Métis in big canoes, Crows camped across the river there, …” Du Pré laughed.
    They got back in the SUV and Du Pré drove across the bridge over the Missouri and up the long grade of the hills.
    The grass was still green but would soon die and turn yellow and pale brown.
    Two-lane blacktop, Du Pré got up to only about eighty.
    â€œThis thing a piece of crap,” he said.
    â€œFifty-thousand-dollar piece of crap,” said Madelaine.
    â€œAll the same, you,” said Chappie, “I like it. Du Pré is not driving one-twenty like mostly. This thing feels like it will fall over one side or another. Me, I am having a drink now. …”
    He fished makings from the cooler, poured Madelaine some pink wine, a ditch for Du Pré, one for himself.
    â€œWe are all illegal,” said Chappie. “Used to be you drive Montana, go from bar to bar, get another road cup. Fucking yuppies. …”
    Madelaine turned in her seat and she looked at her son. “That Patchen, he is a good man I think,” she said.
    Chappie nodded. “Hard for him,” he said. “He is only out of Annapolis two years, thinks he will make his life, Marines, now he got to do something else.”
    â€œLike you,” said Madelaine.
    â€œYeah,” said Chappie, “I got more time in, I guess, but that bomb, change our plans. …”
    â€œHe is what, twenty-four?” said Madelaine.
    â€œâ€™Bout that,” said Chappie.
    They rode on, silent. The sun was still high, a few days before the solstice of summer. It would be light until ten and