Page 21 of Pride

Pratt’s eyes narrowed. “You want to give it to the civilians in Iraq?”

“Some of it.” Fisher cleared his throat. “I watched six men in my platoon die in that battle, then I spent seven years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. So, I should be entitled to some of it. I paid for it, no differently than the men and women in that dustbowl we fought in. As far as I’m concerned, the one person who isn’t entitled to it, is you.”

Pratt’s gaze was fixed on the floor. He held it there for some time, and then looked up. “You’re not going to report this?”

“If I did, you’d go to prison. After you give me what’s mine, I’ll give you one week to disperse the remaining funds. Split evenly to a veteran’s suicide fund and the Iraqi people,” Fisher responded. “The only way I could come to terms for what you did to me, was if you paid for it. If you make right, on those terms, I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

I’d grown to like Fisher. A lot. He was much different than any man I’d ever met. I sure wouldn’t want to end up on his bad side, but even so, he was fair with his enemies.

I waited nervously for Pratt to say something.

“I’ll give you twenty-five pounds of it if this is the last time I ever see you. If you come back here after today – for any reason – I’ll--”

Fisher straightened his stance and raised his clenched hands in front of his chest. “Don’t threaten me, you piece of shit. I’ll cut your fucking throat and leave you here to bleed out. If my memory serves me correctly, there was roughly three hundred pounds of it that wasn’t reported. I imagine you had to pay some people along the way, so I doubt you made it here with all three hundred. You can either give me a hundred and fifty pounds of it and disperse the rest, or I’ll cut you once for each day I spent locked up. By the time I’m done, you’ll like a piece of Swiss fucking cheese.”

Pratt let out a long sigh. “Come back tomorrow evening. I’ll have it here for you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Fisher said adamantly.

I had no idea what a hundred and fifty pounds of gold was worth, but I knew it wouldn’t be cheap. My eyes shot to Pratt, wondering what his next excuse was going to be.

“I don’t have it here,” he said. “I’ll need to--”

“You’ve got it here,” Fisher said. “You wouldn’t trust leaving it anywhere else.”

Pratt wrung his hands together and then met Fisher’s hardened gaze. “Give me fifteen or twenty minutes. Five bars weigh about a hundred and forty pounds. I’ll have them out here in a minute.”

“Make it six,” Fisher said. “You’ve already fucked me once, I’m not letting you do it again.”

“Fine. Six.” Pratt shot Fisher a glare. “I’ll never see you again, and you won’t report it?”

“You have my word.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Fisher coughed a laugh. “You’re not going anywhere without me. Lead the way, I’ll follow you.”

They disappeared down the hallway, and to a room at the other end of the house. In five minutes, Fisher returned with a military-style camouflaged backpack over his shoulders.

He motioned toward the door. “After you.”

The entire meeting didn’t take ten minutes. I was excited, scared, and relieved that Fisher had somehow managed to figure out a way to come to a cluster-fuck of justice. With my heart in my throat, I walked toward the front door, thinking all the while that something was going to happen to us, but nothing did.

Without another word out of Pratt, we walked away. When we got to the motorcycle, Fisher lowered the backpack from his shoulder. After glancing over each shoulder, he removed three of the bars and placed them in one saddle bag. Then he stuffed the backpack and the other three bars on the opposite side.

“Need to have the weight even. An extra hundred and fifty pounds is a lot on this bike.”

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“Sell it.”

“How much is it worth? Can I ask that?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Roughly three million.”