talk things over."
"What does 'Hangman' mean?" I asked.
Jamie grunted. "That was my nickname back in 'Nam. Hangman, Lynch, get it? Some gallows humor back in the day, literally. I met Richard not long after I got back to the States, so it was still kinda fresh and the nickname stuck."
"So...what exactly did you and Richard do together?"
Jamie glanced away. "I don't really want to get into it. Back then I was still a little ragged, just back from 'Nam. I did a little security work now and then. Couldn't find myself working a real job, you know? I went into the Army at eighteen. I never had a real job, and by the time I got back, the perception of the war, and especially of us Green Berets...it was pretty bleak. No one wanted to work with a baby killer back in those days.”
"That's pretty awful."
Jamie nodded. "You ever see First Blood , the original Rambo movie? Not the one where he's got the bow and arrows, I mean the one where he gets run out of town."
"Yeah, a few years ago. That's where he breaks down and cries because he can't get a job parking cars, right?"
"Yup. You think that movie was exaggerating, but it was really hard for us back then. We came back to the world with all this...experience, but they never taught us how to come home. It took me a long time to settle myself, got into a little trouble here and there. Richard and I had each other's back more than a few times."
"So he's also a vet?"
"I don't think so - I never really got where he learned what he knows. I kinda have my suspicions that he might have been a criminal who went mercenary after a while, or maybe he was a Fed. He's good. I mean, real good. Scary good. But he's a little...peculiar."
"Peculiar how?"
Jamie smiled. "You'll just have to meet him tomorrow and find out."
It had been a long day, so we turned in for the night, and I fell asleep on Jamie's couch in minutes.
FIVE
In the morning, after a quick breakfast and a double espresso, we took Jamie's boat out on the lake for a few hours, alternating between slashing across the water at twenty knots and quietly nosing around the little nooks and crannies of the lake's shoreline while Jamie attempted to fish.
While we didn't catch anything that morning it was a nice diversion, and I found that I really warmed up to my uncle. It was really too bad he didn't get along well with my parents, because once you moved beyond the occasional war reveries, he wasn't that strange a guy. In fact, I'd say he was downright easy-going. I guess after spending four years in a war zone, you learn to not sweat the little things.
After a lunch of sandwiches and iced tea, we drove into town and ran a few errands. I was introduced to a few of Jamie's local friends. Jamie explained that I was his nephew "from the big city" and I'd be staying with him for a while. Everyone seemed very laid back and friendly. I figured the sort of people who needed to go-go-go all the time didn't stay around very long.
We hit the road heading to Bangor around two in the afternoon. It had taken a little shy of two hours to make the drive from Bangor the day before, so we figured we'd get to the airport a little ahead of Richard's flight. Jamie told me that Richard would be coming in to a small private airport south of Bangor.
"The Brewer airport is a little private strip. The jet can come in, land, and he'll be able to just walk off and get in the car. It's a lot less hassle and a lot less paperwork, which is why he picked it."
We sat in the Jeep next to the airstrip with the windows rolled down, the late March breeze cool but still pleasant with the bright sunshine warming the car's interior.
Jamie turned to me. "Just so you know, Richard doesn't drink, so don't offer to buy him a beer. He'll probably just get a soda water with lime, or an iced tea. Also, you'll probably be getting the hairy eyeball from him a lot. Don't let him intimidate you, just be honest with him. Believe me, your request isn't going to