The store had changed since the last time Themis had been in it. It was evident that full ownership of it had passed to Flora, Cynthia Reyes was not a woman that liked change and the layout of the store had been left essentially untouched since the seventies when her father first opened it up. Flora was far from a sentimental person though. The products were neatly arranged by type and by quality, there were displays and stands showcasing rare or interesting items and the empty spaces in the walls were decorated with plaques, framed photos and US army posters. A bit jingoistic for Themis’ taste, but she had to admit that at least the store didn’t look, and smelled, like a football team’s locker room anymore.
The counter was next to the entrance, surrounded by bulletproof glass. Above it were family photos, with a wide shot of a platoon, that could have been straight out of Apocalypse Now, as its centerpiece. The corner was marked with white marker, reading “Miguel Jose del Maria Fernandez Reyes, Shaigon, 1969.” Themis vaguely remembered old Miguel taking Flora to and from school, he was a gentle giant always carrying candy in his pockets. Even in his late seventies he walked with his back straight and regularly exercised, to Themis’ eyes he looked invincible. Until a boat tragically hit him while on a fly fishing trip. Needless to say it had been a closed casket funeral.
Next to Miguel’s photo was Cynthia’s, posing in full Iraq War kit next to her first husband, and Flora’s father, Domingo. He was a sniper, and a good one from what Flora had told Themis. He and Cynthia had met and fell in love in the frontline of their first tour, him leaving for a second while she stayed behind to give birth. A second tour he’d tragically never come back from. Flora never got to meet him.
At the other side was the photo of Maverick, Cynthia’s second husband, a helicopter pilot stationed in Fort Thornton a few hours outside the city. He was the man Themis was the most familiar with, he had a lot of fond memories with him in the periphery. He was the one cheering for Flora when their high school’s Little League team played, the one taking the team for pizza after a win or for ice cream after a loss. He had taught Themis how to roll her first joint and covered for her and Flora to Cynthia once she smelled weed and found out. Maverick was the best, Themis really missed him.
So much death, Themis thought as she looked at the final picture below the rest, that of Flora posing in front of the Air Force Academy she had graduated from. Her hair was buzzed and she wore the meanest scowl Themis had ever seen. The only part of the Reyes family missing from the wall was Eugene Branson, Cynthia’s current partner, though it made sense. Gene was a retired accountant and the closest he had ever been to the military was his great-great-great-grandfather’s Civil War era revolver he kept under his bed for self defence.
“Are you gonna stare all day long?” Flora asked.
“Sorry, I just haven’t seen that photo of Miguel before,” Themis said.
“Yeah, I found it folded and shoved inside an old boot, believe it or not,” Flora chuckled. “I almost threw it away.”
“That would have been a shame.”
“Mhm.”
Themis followed Flora as she gave her a tour of the store. She picked up a few things along the way. A brand new Ka-Bar knife, like the one Carmen and Dinah had, a telescopic baton that fit in her kutte’s inside pocket when collapsed, and a shoulder holster that she put on right away. As much as she tried to keep her idea of herself grounded in reality, with her gun fastened properly to her side, under her armpit, she felt like Jax Teller. Satisfied with her purchases she focused on the tour, taking in the sights. Tan and camo were not her colors, but it wasn’t every day that she got to see so much of it. Plus she hadn’t seen Flora since they graduated high school, when she left for Colorado Springs. They could be looking at paint dry and it would still be fun.
They turned a corner, deep into the store, and Themis almost walked crotch first into a low table with a strange khaki device on it. It was boxy, full of jacks and buttons.
“Hey, what is this?” she asked Flora, who was currently showcasing a fancy rifle scope.
“Oh, that’s the AN/GRC-125,” Flora said. “Mobile radio, they used to mount these on Jeeps and MUTTs in ‘Nam. VHF FM, up to ten miles range, and nine hundred and twenty channels.”
The specs went right over Themis’ head, yet the device was still pretty cool. “And they used those in Vietnam?”
“This one is an eighties model,” Flora said. “But Miguel got his hands on a couple authentic ones from way back when. Though they are a bit banged up, so we keep them in the back. This one is pretty pristine as you can see. Easier on the eyes.”
“Makes sense,” Themis said, shaking her head. “Do they still work?”
Flora smiled. “Like a charm. They don’t make things like they used to. Back then equipment could take a bullet and keep going.”
Themis remembered having to replace her first phone after she fell asleep with it in her hands. They finished the tour and Themis paid one hundred and fifty for everything, arguing against Flora’s insistence to give her a discount but ultimately losing. They chatted for a bit, catching up on their time apart. Themis couldn’t bring herself to tell her friend that she had gone to prison, evading the question of her disappearance every time. Flora knew her well enough to understand she was hiding something, but she didn’t press the issue further. They said their goodbyes, and Themis was on her way.