Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

hitting on a married woman, you are out of luck, pal. I’ve got a good man, and he would tear you to pieces if—”

“I get it, Gina. Read you loud and clear.”

“Okay, you’ve got the American accent going on now. Very smooth.”

“Sorta like changing hats for me,” he said.

As if to demonstrate, he removed his walking cap and set it on the picnic table. His hair was black, with tufts of gray in his sideburns. His skin had the tanned look of a wealthy European, one who spent winter months in Cairo or Eilat. Only his cerulean eyes hinted at Germanic heritage. Gina recognized such things from her overseas childhood, as well as her daily interaction with international tourists.

Schaefer shrugged. “I’m fluent in more languages than I can count. Enough to make your head spin. Let’s see . . . Ancient Greek and Aramaic, Italian, German, Mandarin, a bit of Farsi—”

“Right,” Gina said. “Because you also are immortal.”

He said nothing.

“You’ve had lifetimes to learn it all, I bet. A real man of the world, soaking in knowledge like a sponge. Must come in handy with the chicks. I mean, you talked me into lunch, right?”

“Fast food?” He thumbed the soggy meat patty in his burger basket. “This hardly counts. You want the good stuff, you should visit a Brazilian churrascaria.”

“Speak Portuguese too, do you?”

“Enough to get by.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Not like I can prove you wrong.”

“Try me in Romanian.”

“You think you’re up for that?”

Cool and casual, he cupped his hand and waved it toward himself.

“Fine then.” She asked him how he was doing. “Ce mai faci?”

“Bine.” Good.

“Ah, too easy. How about this?” Gina planted an elbow on the table. “Intoarce-ti fata la dreapta stinga pentru ca soarele sa nu-ti bata in ochi.”

He turned his head to his left, avoiding the sun as she had suggested. She’d intentionally steered him wrong, however, and he blinked as the mid-day glare off of a parked car stabbed at his eyes.

“You’re wearing contacts,” she said. “I can see the edges of them.”

“But are you convinced? By my Romanian, I mean?”

“Are your eyes really blue?”

“Why so nosy? Can’t a guy pass on a message without an interrogation?”

“You come talking and acting like you’re German. Then you switch to English. You imply that you know friends of mine in Romania.” Gina leaned forward. “And, as if that’s not strange enough, you decide to take it up a notch and tell me I’m immortal.”

“You are,” he said. “That’s what this is really all about.”

“See, the thing is, I knew that already. Now I’m just bored by the whole deal. I mean, I regularly pass through walls and catch bullets with my teeth, but it’s lost all its excitement. Skydiving’s not as thrilling when you know you can’t die doing it.”

“Man, you gotta be kidding. That’s what makes it so much fun.”

“You, buddy boy, are out of your stinkin’ mind.”

“Yeah? I’ve been told that before.”

Gina started to rise from her bench. “Nice chatting. Back to the grind for me.”

Schaefer crossed one leg over the other, glanced at his slim-faced wristwatch, and said, “You’ve got twenty-one minutes left. You wanna hear this or not? And, oh, if you really wanna know . . . my eyes are green.”

“Show me.”

“Right here?”

“Or I’m walking.”

“You’re no pushover. That’s good.” He ducked his head, squeezed his fingers around his contacts till they popped loose from his corneas. He flicked them to the ground, then edged forward and lifted his gaze. From the side, sun rays highlighted every speckle of gold in his deep green irises. “Look familiar?”

That voice . . . his minty cool breath swirling over her . . .

Cal? In Chattanooga?

After eight-plus years without communication?

Gina rocked back from the table, her hand toppling the cup of Sprite. She grabbed napkins and started mopping up the mess, her downturned eyes wide and scared and confused. She saw liquid dripping onto the JanSport pack tucked by his seat, and she nudged it to the side with her foot. It was heavy.

“My hair’s still yellow-blond underneath,” he said. “But I look older like this. A little gray does the trick. Gotta keep changing up the look, you know.”

“For all your different personalities? To fool the multiple wives?”

“Marriage isn’t for me.” Deep sadness in his voice.

This was crazy. Why should she believe anything he said? She shook her head from side to side, her pink streak cutting through the black like the coloring on a fifties poodle skirt. She thought of her own makeover. The tattoo. The dyed hair. Boots. Technically, she had no good reason to doubt his transformation.

“I promised you,” Cal said, “that one day—when it was the right time—I’d find you again. Well, here I am.”

“That was 1989. A long time ago.”

“A matter of perspective. I’ve tried not to draw any trouble your way.”

“Trouble, huh? Okay. Listen, Mr. Schaefer, Cal—whatever your real name is—thank you for helping me and my mom get to America. It’s been awesome. It’s been great. I’m glad I can finally thank you in person. Now I need to get back to work.”

Cal touched her hand with his fingers.

“No. No, look.” She pulled away and flashed her wedding band. “I’m married, okay? Whatever schoolgirl crush I might’ve had for a day or two, it’s gone. I’m over it. I mean, every girl has those, and we all grow up even-tually. As you can see, I’m having a baby soon, so that should give you a good feeling, knowing you had an early hand in my well-being. Maybe you should stop by on your way out of town, say hi to my mom.”

“Already tried. She wasn’t too thrilled.”

“Don’t take it personally. She and I aren’t even speaking nowadays.”

“We all do things we regret, Gina. I’m more guilty than most.”

She used his split second of introspection to study his features, to verify what her heart had already confirmed. She saw the same nose, same cheekbones. Young face. Tanned skin, which he could’ve come by naturally or unnaturally. She visualized