over to the office pool. When he was sure no one was looking, he whipped his dick out of his fatigues. Standing on tiptoe, he put it on the glass of the machine, set the enlarger to 150 percent and hit COPY. Zipping up, he folded the image and, laughing, stuffed it into another envelope. Back in his room, there was no safe place to hide anything, so he put the photocopy and the letter to Joan in Sparky’s closet between a few old boxes. There was a good chance his own stuff was being searched, maybe even by his own roommate. In Sparky’s possession, though, at least no one would find them in the next few days.
His next stop was Taszár’s small bookstore of government-approved texts, which operated under the auspices of a university in Budapest that served as the personal propaganda ministry of a well-known Hungarian billionaire war profiteer. They didn’t have a copy of
Julius Caesar.
He would have liked to bring Magda some poetry, but she had already read
everything,
and all they had for sale was that old Emily Dickinson shit. “Stop for death, my ass,” Brutus told the clerk, a lanky, bucktoothed Hungarian girl of fifteen or sixteen. She didn’t respond. The shop had nothing worth buying, so Brutus left without spending any money, a noble accomplishment. He didn’t like the idea of giving any more of his money to the army than he had to. Didn’t want to sell his soul to no Bravo Company store.
The base was unusually busy. Transports rolled out one after the other for either bridge-building duty in Novi Sad or to oversee still more landmine sweeping in Kosovo. All the trucks had SFOR stenciled on them in bright blue letters. A couple of them carried soldiers up to Budapest for R and R. The army reserved countless hotel suites along the Danube for years at a time. One of the hotels supposedly had thermal baths in the basement where all the women bathed together naked. That sounded like a damn good way to relax.
He was anxious to see Magda. It had been a few days. He wanted to question her about Sullivan, see if she had overheard anything. He went in through the back door and poked around, but couldn’t find her. A few officers looked at him funny, but he saluted and pretended he was supposed to be there. He wasn’t
supposed
to be anywhere in the whole goddamned country so the executive suite was just as good as anyplace else. Magda wasn’t around. The fifteenth was still a few days away, so he had some time before giving her the letter to mail home.
He returned the next day, let himself in again, and finally caught up with her. She looked great, her hair down at her shoulders instead of all tied up in knots and loops, like it usually was. She didn’t have any makeup on and it was the first time Brutus had ever gotten a look at her full, natural splendor. She had bright eyes that floated like lily pads when they looked at him. No perfume this time either, which he found strange.
The bosses must have been up her ass because she couldn’t get away.”
Not
a good time,” she said. “Let’s catch up later.” She didn’t want to be seen talking with him. She worked for a private civilian contractor, though, so it wasn’t like they could throw her in the stockade.
“That’s cool, but here,” he said, and handed Magda an envelope with her name on it. Inside was another envelope addressed to his sister. She slipped it into her pocket without opening it and kissed him on the lips.
“See you tomorrow?” she wanted to know.
“Yeah, tomorrow’s good.”
She kissed him again, a half second longer, and headed off in the direction of Sullivan’s office. Brutus returned to his room to prepare for afternoon rattrap duty, which meant cracking open a Dreher and rolling up a blunt.
Work was more tedious than difficult, and he had trouble concentrating. Still too much to do before the fifteenth. Afterwards, he took a shower and tried to empty his thoughts of his responsibilities and duties.He wrote a letter to
His next stop was Taszár’s small bookstore of government-approved texts, which operated under the auspices of a university in Budapest that served as the personal propaganda ministry of a well-known Hungarian billionaire war profiteer. They didn’t have a copy of
Julius Caesar.
He would have liked to bring Magda some poetry, but she had already read
everything,
and all they had for sale was that old Emily Dickinson shit. “Stop for death, my ass,” Brutus told the clerk, a lanky, bucktoothed Hungarian girl of fifteen or sixteen. She didn’t respond. The shop had nothing worth buying, so Brutus left without spending any money, a noble accomplishment. He didn’t like the idea of giving any more of his money to the army than he had to. Didn’t want to sell his soul to no Bravo Company store.
The base was unusually busy. Transports rolled out one after the other for either bridge-building duty in Novi Sad or to oversee still more landmine sweeping in Kosovo. All the trucks had SFOR stenciled on them in bright blue letters. A couple of them carried soldiers up to Budapest for R and R. The army reserved countless hotel suites along the Danube for years at a time. One of the hotels supposedly had thermal baths in the basement where all the women bathed together naked. That sounded like a damn good way to relax.
He was anxious to see Magda. It had been a few days. He wanted to question her about Sullivan, see if she had overheard anything. He went in through the back door and poked around, but couldn’t find her. A few officers looked at him funny, but he saluted and pretended he was supposed to be there. He wasn’t
supposed
to be anywhere in the whole goddamned country so the executive suite was just as good as anyplace else. Magda wasn’t around. The fifteenth was still a few days away, so he had some time before giving her the letter to mail home.
He returned the next day, let himself in again, and finally caught up with her. She looked great, her hair down at her shoulders instead of all tied up in knots and loops, like it usually was. She didn’t have any makeup on and it was the first time Brutus had ever gotten a look at her full, natural splendor. She had bright eyes that floated like lily pads when they looked at him. No perfume this time either, which he found strange.
The bosses must have been up her ass because she couldn’t get away.”
Not
a good time,” she said. “Let’s catch up later.” She didn’t want to be seen talking with him. She worked for a private civilian contractor, though, so it wasn’t like they could throw her in the stockade.
“That’s cool, but here,” he said, and handed Magda an envelope with her name on it. Inside was another envelope addressed to his sister. She slipped it into her pocket without opening it and kissed him on the lips.
“See you tomorrow?” she wanted to know.
“Yeah, tomorrow’s good.”
She kissed him again, a half second longer, and headed off in the direction of Sullivan’s office. Brutus returned to his room to prepare for afternoon rattrap duty, which meant cracking open a Dreher and rolling up a blunt.
Work was more tedious than difficult, and he had trouble concentrating. Still too much to do before the fifteenth. Afterwards, he took a shower and tried to empty his thoughts of his responsibilities and duties.He wrote a letter to
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