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“Right.”

“Right. So he’s in shock, he’s sitting there, holding his leg like you’d hold a baby, and he says, They gotta get Flores back. You know about Tom Flores?”

“Sure, he won two Super Bowls as a coach.”

“He was a quarterback first.”

“No s.h.i.+t?”

“No s.h.i.+t.”

Perry was leaning forward now, his eyes wide with interest.

Dew continued. “Quarterback. First hispanic QB in the league, so of course Alvarez, El Mexicano, he thinks Flores is f.u.c.king G.o.d in a helmet and pads. The Raiders traded Flores to Buffalo, and Alvarez was p.i.s.sed. He says, Dew, they gotta get Flores back. He’s sitting there holding his severed leg, and he’s talking G.o.dd.a.m.n football.”

“So what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I’m killing gooks left and right and I’m thinking, G.o.d help me for thinking it, but I’m thinking, if he can hold his leg, he can hold a gun, and why isn’t he laying down fire? Anyway, our line forms up on the right and left and we held, and then our F-O called in artillery.”

“F-O?”

“Forward observer.”

“Oh.”

“So the artillery comes in, practically right on top of us. I’m still shooting. Marty starts talking again, but he has to yell to be heard over the artillery. So he’s yelling, I just got this G.o.dd.a.m.n tat and they trade Flores to Buffalo. I’m not getting a Buffalo Bills tattoo, Dew. I’m just not. Artillery stops, Charlie is gone, so I decide to get the unit the h.e.l.l out of there. I turn to help Marty, and he’s dead.”

“But you said he was just talking all normal and stuff.”

Dew nodded. “He was. We could have been in my living room watching Monday Night Football. He was just dead, laying there with his foot and leg in his arms like it was a teddy bear.”

Dew stayed quiet for a moment, wondering if Perry would get it.

“I don’t get it,” Perry said.

Maybe Perry knew computers, but he had the common sense of a goat.

“How old are you?” Dew asked.

“Twenty-seven,” Perry said.

“Marty Alvarez was nineteen and three days. He’ll never have kids, either. He never even saw his twenties, man. Your life is f.u.c.ked up, I’ll give you that, but you’ve already had a decade more than Marty ever had. And he went out way more peaceful than most, hoss. I watched guys go out trying to stuff their guts back into their bellies. I watched guys crying and begging when someone stabbed them in the chest with a bayonet, over and over. So your life is f.u.c.ked up? So f.u.c.king what? At least you’re alive. You play the hand you’re dealt. You can either be a man, or not.”

Dew stood up. It took two tries. Perry didn’t say anything. Dew swayed a bit as he looked down at the big man.

“Kid, I got to know something.”

“Okay,” Perry said.

“When you knocked out Baum and Milner, you didn’t take their guns.

Why?”