The Last Infidel by Spikes Donovan

come back and, in the end, do something big and wonderful and magnificent.
    “What now, Jadhari?” Cody asked, just like he used to do when the two were kids.
    Jadhari put his hand on Cody’s shoulder and turned him towards the café. “There seems to be a very great problem that has come up.  Two guns in the hands of terrorists---”
    “Some might call them women, Jadhari.”
    “Two women, dead---”
    “And four young girls.”
    “One soldier burned up, horribly, and three BLMR – and who cares about them anyway? – shot to death in front of Bashar’s men.  But that, my friend, is only a small part of the problem.”
    Cody raised his eyebrows and said, “Oh?”
    “My guards found something interesting in your truck.  What do you have to say for yourself?”
    Cody, grinning, looked at Jadhari and said, “I’ve been saving up those bottles of Jack Daniels’ for a special occasion – looks like you’ve spoiled your birthday surprise.”

{ 11 }
    The smell on the top floor of the hardware store was damp, sweaty, and stifling, the odor of twenty-five men who hadn’t been able to bathe in days nearly unbearable.  At the end of the aisle running between two rows of beds, sitting at a small, solitary table near the window, was Jose.  He had his shoes on the table, and he was leaning back on the two rear legs of the chair.
    Cody came up the stairs, his boots thumping and the old steps squeaking.  He saw Jose quickly set a book down, get up, and turn and smile.  Cody shook his head, berating himself for having left his diary out on the table.  And he felt a bit angry that Jose, who knew better than to go through his personal items, had taken liberties with the book.
    “It was sitting here, man, honest – just like you see it,” Jose said.  “I swear I didn’t know it was yours.”
    Cody picked up the book and turned it over in his hands.  He saw a piece of paper sticking out, something he didn’t remember putting there.
    “So, really?  She just didn’t show up for the wedding, and you waited for four hours?”  Jose said, and he smiled the way he often did when he’d been caught, or thought he’d been caught, with his pants down.
    Silence filled the room.  Nobody bothered listening to the conversation between the two, thinking it to be nothing more than talk about the mosque.  Dinner had already been served downstairs, each man got a shot glass of home-style brew, and nobody had anything better to do than kick back and stare at the ceiling.  There would be a couple hands of poker later on; but, for now, just like they did every night after dinner, they laid back in their beds and thought of their families.  Some of them cried.
    “You know the story, Jose,” Cody said.
    “But you guys never fought, right?” Jose asked.  “And you never found out why she left?”
    Cody shook his head and pursed his lips.  He started to walk away, but he pulled a small bottle of golden whiskey from his hip pocket, pulled up a second chair, and motioned for Jose to sit back down.
    When they were both settled – Jose couldn’t take his eyes off the bottle – Cody took a deep breath.  He broke the seal on the bottle of Jack Daniels’, dribbled a small taste into his mouth, and handed the bottle to Jose.  “Just taste it,” he said.  “It’s forty years old.”
    Jose did as Cody told him and smiled.
    “We met at the church building the night before to do some decorating,” Cody said, in a plain, monotone voice.  “I had a passing feeling that something was wrong because nothing seemed to be right.  I didn’t know what to make of it.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, so I brushed it off.”  He reached over and picked up the bottle.
    “Maybe it was like, you know, that time of the---”
    “Are you ever serious?” Cody asked in a voice that expected no response.  “Now I know.  I think now that maybe she seemed beaten, defeated, or something.”
    “You were heading out to fight the