He looked like he might be fifteen. Jason had seen plenty of his type in the military. What they lacked in stature they tried to make up for with their mouths. Big talkers. Bullshit talkers. He told them his name was Falco, as he grabbed a chair from the corner and asked, “You mind if I join you fellows?” Fellows? Not fellas. His English was good but too formal. And not good enough to hide the Spanish accent. Jason wondered why he bothered. Who cared? “Suit yourself.” It was Tony who answered for them because it was Tony who Falco addressed.Jason didn’t blame the guy for singling out Tony. Even gathered around their poker table, they probably looked like a sorry bunch of rejects: Jason with his empty shirtsleeve dangling, Colfax with his glass eye and Frankenstein scars, and Benny with both legs sliced off above the kneecaps. Tony was the only whole one. In another world, in another lifetime, he’d be holding down a good job with benefits as an electrical engineer for some big frickin’ corporation.
