Chapter 2 of "Untitled"

It was late in the evening and Willard sat outside with some of the other soldiers. A couple more sat several feet away, enjoying the cooler temperature that had come with the sun going down.

 

"Who were you talking to today, Willard?" asked Patrick.

 

Willard looked at Patrick. "Well, that was Mr. Ainsworth. He works for the government. I supposed he'll be trying to find some reason or another to keep me from getting my pension."

 

"Should be a straight-forward process, there, Willard. Mine didn't give me any trouble."

 

"You're a straight-forward man, Patrick. Have you ever broken any laws in your whole life?" Willard grinned.

 

Patrick smiled sheepishly. "Can't bring myself to be a rebel, Willard. I'm either a scaredy cat, a fool, or a good man."

 

"You're a fool, you are," Willard joked. "A scaredy, foolish, good man."

 

A tall, bold voice interjected. "I agree. You're a doggone fool if I ever saw one, Patricia," spat the big Irishman Daniel Murphy, who had appeared behind them. He slapped Patrick on the side of the head and chuckled.

 

Patrick didn't say a word; instead, he stared off into the darkness.

 

"What's wrong, scaredy?" Murphy slapped the other side of Patrick's head, chuckled again, and looked defiantly at Willard.

 

In an instant Willard was in Murphy's face, his chair tumbling to the floor. "I've had just about enough of you, Murphy. No more bullying the fellows. That’s all I’ve ever seen you do around here. It’s going to stop," Willard snarled.

 

"Or what, Willard?" Murphy smirked.

 

Willard's thumbless hand tightened into a fist. Murphy glanced at it.

 

"You wouldn't dare. You're halfway out the door here as it is."

 

Willard took a slight half-step back. Patrick continued to stare at the shadows. The air stood still.

 

Murphy leaned in towards Willard’s face. Willard could smell the alcohol on his breath. “How can you stand there and say things about me, Willard? You can’t even pay your debts. You're a lousy, cheap son-of-b***h." He spat at Willard's feet.

 

Willard's arm flew up and his fist smashed Murphy's grin with enough force to send him sprawling. The two men who had been sitting farther down got up and ran inside. Patrick jumped up out of his chair.

 

Murphy lay stunned, and Willard knelt over him. He raised his arm, preparing to punch Murphy’s face again. Patrick's hands fluttered over Willard's back. "Willard, stop!"

 

Willard hesitated and then was grabbed by two security guards from behind. He didn’t fight their grip at all but spat on Murphy before he was dragged off to a holding cell.