Part Seven

Life is a journey. When we stop, things don't go right.

Pope Francis

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He wasn't the kind of man to resign himself to anything. Newkirk flipped Hogan's wallet from one hand to the other. The guv'ner would find out it was missing any time now. He would have probably noticed sooner if he had nabbed his cigarettes instead but he wasn't feeling cruel. He was just restless, having been up and about again for less than a week.

Barney Fife drove by in his patrol car, awkwardly waving out of the open window. He nearly murdered a trash can before veering off at the very last second. He vanished down the street to perplex another part of the unsuspecting town. A few old ladies sitting on there porches laughed, the looks on their faces all the same. There goes Barney again.

He didn't like his life having an invisible clock attached to it, and the mandate from his father was constantly on his mind. Hogan had shoved his sire back on a plane before Newkirk had even thought about trying to regain consciousness again. Carter told him that the man was sporting a very impressive shine, and had been kicked down a flight of stairs.

He smiled at the mental image that the scenario never failed to assemble in his brain. He had never seen the man look so much as ruffled before. At least now he didn't have to worry about the man wanting to repair their relationship. His nerves were better prepared for another World War that that nightmare. He was a Newkirk, not matter what blood and the world thought about it.

A gaggled of children came bursting out of their Grandmother's house across the street holding various sweets that would soon have their parental figures weeping for mercy long before the sugar high wore off. Before evening their little heads would be wobbling, threatening to fall into their mashed potatoes and meat loaf. The grandmother smiled at Peter as she watched the children go, a plate of cake in her hand for her own consumption.

"Peter!" He heard Hogan call from inside. He smiled at the irritation in his former CO's voice. Wait till he found out what Newkirk had done with his watch, hopefully the cat hadn't wandered too far off.

Six months. It would pass in the blink of an eye, he knew that. The more he tried to ignore it the faster the time would fly. Six months to a fate someone else had decided for him, six months to decide if he would go back to the game or try to make his own way in the world. Make his own way...as what? He couldn't stay at Mama Carter's house in this sleepy little town, pulling wackos and criminal towards his with the magnetic pull of his unbelievable bad luck.

He could go into sewing or back to being a magician. He could go back to the small petty crimes that got him through the rough times when he was a kid. Maybe he could go to France and work with LeBeau as a waiter. Maybe...Maybe...Maybe...who cared about maybes? He was only good at two things, on opposite sides of the law. In reality they were the same thing, just on opposite sides of the law.

Life would go on, with him or without him. His choices would not stop the flow of the river of time. Carter would go on and war would eventually to him just be a memory. The same with most of the others from the camp. Hogan would go from war to war to war, convinced that they would be run properly without him. He would probably be correct too. His was the ultimate kind of insanity to which all other insanity bowed and then ran away screaming.

Everyone would be alright in the long run. They had families and jobs, dreams and ambitions. After the war they had all gone home, stepped back into their lives and wormed their way back into the places that had been waiting for them. Newkirk had never had such a place. He just stood where there was room enough to fit him.

So what would Newkirk do? What would he choose to do?

Hogan came barreling out of the house with the little yellow kitten, his watch hanging jauntily from its collar, confusion written all over its little face as to why it was being manhandled be a leather jacket filled by an angry man. Newkirk laughed and turned heel, tossing the stolen wallet into the rose bushes by the side of the house before ducking into the alley.

The kitten screamed its displeasure at the current situation as the once-Colonel tried to run after him and remove the watch from the kitten at the same time. There was the sound of ripping fabric and a yowl of pain that was entirely human.

Newkirk just smiled and kept running. He would apologize later when he had his fill of annoying the other man.

A dog barked and ran alongside its fence, keeping pace with the englishman. Both ran for a few seconds with the pure joy of running. Peter stopped at the corner of the yard, short of breath. For a second he was overwhelmed with the feeling of being 'alive', something he hadn't felt since the end of the war.

What was he going to do? He was going to do as he wanted for as long as he could. He would stay with his friends until they had moved on entirely without him. If and when that happened he at least had a fall back plan.

Bing Crosby swung weightlessly through the air from someone's radio. He sung along a little.

Sunday, Monday or Tuesday

Wednesday, Thursday or Friday

I want you near

Every day in the year

Oh, won't you tell me when

We will meet again

Sunday, Monday or always

If you're satisfied

I'll be at your side

Sunday, Monday or always

No need to tell me now

What makes the world go 'round

When at the sight of you

My heart begins to pound and pound

And what am I to do

Can't I be with you

Sunday, Monday or always

Always and forever I must be with you

Beginning Sunday and Monday and then forever

He turned as soon as the music died away. Hogan was standing behind him, cat long gone, his watch in his pocket. He was watching Newkirk with a thoughtful look.

"Yes guv?"

"What are you going to do now Newkirk? You don't have to do what he said. I'll find out who he works for. You can do whatever you want to, you know that right?" His jaw set itself definitely the moment he stopped talking.

"I know guv. I know." Newkirk pulled a cigarette out and lit it. What was he going to do? For now he was going to stay right here. After that was just a matter of life moving on.

Fin

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"It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul."

William Ernest Henley