Drone Command

Troy still had to change the oil and plugs on the big Husqvarna chainsaw after he finished sharpening it. It was running like crap. His fingers were still numb from the early morning cold. He left his gloves in the trailer like an idiot, but he couldn’t go back and get them now that his dad and his new lady friend were back at it, and knowing his dad, that could take a while.

Troy was careful to count eight drags of the chainsaw file for each tooth and even more careful to keep the file at the same angle as the tooth, just like his dad taught him. Failure to do either meant the saw wouldn’t cut straight. It was tedious but important work. Work his dad wasn’t getting done lately, like a lot of other things. If he and his dad didn’t clear the stand of dead trees by the end of the week, they’d lose their Forest Service contract, and work was hard enough to come by these days. All the damn environmentalist lawsuits had practically shut down the lumber work on federal lands, and the Gulf War recession had crushed timber prices and demand. The job they were doing was chickenshit, but it was the only work they’d had this year and maybe likely to get for the rest. But between his drinking and his whoring, Troy’s dad was proving to be an unreliable supervisor in their failing two-man operation.

The women he didn’t care about so much. The death of Troy’s mother had hit them both hard. It was the drinking that was going to kill his old man. In a way, it had killed his mother and sister. Why his mother had decided to leave Troy with his drunken father he’d never know. He’d probably be dead if she hadn’t, but this wasn’t exactly living, either.

Troy finished up the chainsaw and stored it in the back of the rusted out pickup with PEARCE LUMBER crudely stenciled on the side. He thought about driving it to school, but then his dad wouldn’t be able to work today, and work was more important. A vice counselor threatened to expel him if he had one more tardy, but it just couldn’t be helped.

Twenty minutes after the woman’s howling stopped, Troy headed back in to wash up. He made his way past the unfamiliar bright orange hardtop Jeep Wrangler and pushed through the door of the single-wide trailer. A coffeepot wheezed on the yellowing Formica kitchen countertop. The aroma was strong and sweet, masking the stale cigarette stink that permeated everything. He heard the shower running.

He washed the grease off of his hands with Ajax and hot water in the kitchen sink and toweled off just as his dad’s bedroom door swung gently open. The woman’s dirty blonde hair was still wet. She gasped.

“Oh, honey. You scared me,” she whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her. “Your daddy went back to sleep. Let’s not wake him up.”

“Nah, don’t want that.” Troy grabbed a chipped coffee mug out of the cabinet. “Coffee?”

“Please. I thought I’d make some before I run off. Hope you don’t mind.”

The woman was closer to his age than his dad’s. Plain face. A nice smile, though. She seemed familiar. Wide hips, big chest. Just his dad’s type. She wore a brightly patterned polyester dress down to her thighs with black tights. Must’ve been the one she wore last night, too, but the polyester didn’t hold wrinkles so you couldn’t tell.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked.

He shook his head, embarrassed for her. Prayed she wouldn’t ask his name. He sure wouldn’t ask hers. What would be the point?

An awkward smile. “Doesn’t matter.” She squeezed past him in the narrow galley kitchen on the way to the living room to fetch her coat and boots. “Excuse me, honey.”

Her breasts brushed against his back. Troy wasn’t sure if that was on purpose or not. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Women had their fantasies, too. His dad said he was good-looking like his mother, sometimes proudly, sometimes mocking. Troy’s dark hair was straight and thick, and he wore it long, to his dad’s chagrin. But it was his blue eyes that grabbed most women. Since the summer, he stood just over six feet tall, but his size-fourteen feet suggested there was more to follow. He was still boyishly thin, with long, ropey muscles and a broad back, hardened by years of swinging an ax with his dad. His father was just five-eight, with dark curly hair and dark eyes that women like this one couldn’t resist — cold-blooded eyes that could steal away a lesser man’s courage. He was wide in the hips and shoulders like a fireplug, heavily muscled, and his powerful arms were slathered in tats drawn by the best ink artists in the Philippines.

Troy pulled down another mug and poured coffee into both.

The woman flopped on the couch and pulled on a boot. “Hope we didn’t make too much noise this morning. Hated to wake you up.” She blushed a little.

“I was outside doing some work. Didn’t hear anything.”

“Aren’t you going to be late for school?” She pulled on the other boot and grabbed her coat.

“They won’t start without me.”