Back Night Train Save as PDF
Chapters (37)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. The Truth of Thom Jones
  5. Selected Stories
  6. The Pugilist at Rest
  7. The Black Lights
  8. I Want to Live!
  9. Silhouettes
  10. Mosquitoes
  11. A White Horse
  12. Cold Snap
  13. Superman, My Son
  14. Way Down Deep in the Jungle
  15. Pickpocket
  16. Pot Shack
  17. I Need a Man to Love Me
  18. Sonny Liston Wasa Friend of Mine
  19. The Roadrunner
  20. A Run Through the Jungle
  21. 40, Still at Home
  22. Tarantula
  23. Mouses
  24. Daddy’s Girl
  25. New Stories
  26. Night Train
  27. Volcanoes from Hell
  28. A Merry Little Christmas
  29. All Along the Watchtower
  30. Diary of My Health
  31. The Junkman of Chengdu
  32. Bomb Shelter Noel
  33. Acknowledgments
  34. Credits
  35. About the Author
  36. Also by Thom Jones
  37. Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.

Gerber sidled right up to the bar and said, “She’s got a snatch on her like Bert Parks’s toupee.”

Sergeant Ondine said, “Either the bitch likes it or that sailor boy has got massive salivary glands.”

L.D. Pfieffer, our machine-gunner, said, “Man, I’d like to stick my whole head up her pussy.”

Felix Toliver, a radioman from Connecticut, eyeballed Pfieffer and said, “With a pinhead like yours it would fit like a glove.” Toliver was 6′5″ tall and accordingly thought of himself as a badass, and well before the fun started these two marines locked eyeballs. Sergeant Ondine stepped in and told them to knock it off, but Toliver had this nasal Connecticut accent and said, “Stay out of this, Clarence.”

There were two things you didn’t do in First Recon—you didn’t get on the wrong side of L.D. and you didn’t call Ondine “Clarence.” I figured Toliver must have a death wish, but just then a big whore came along, took L.D. by the hand, and turned him around. Pretty soon she’s running her fingers up and down his thigh, squeezing his meat. Gerber handed me a beer and guided me to the back of the club where some of the classier whores sat. He was saying, “I’m in love, Hollywood. You should see this babe.” But when we got to the back, Gerber’s prostitute was nowhere to be seen. I suddenly found the love of my own life, negotiated a price, and went upstairs. A half hour later I was back. The stage show was over and it was all jukebox. The Mar-Kees were cranking out “Last Night.”

Ondine and Pfieffer were at the bar slamming down overpriced shots of tequila. Sergeant Ondine was a lifer. The Marine Corps was his career, but he was an all-right guy. With Vietnam on his mind, he was deep into his rap where the essential secret to being a good soldier was first of all to concede your own death. “If you do that, you can do anything. No one can outsoldier you. No one can take a run at you and live to tell about it. No one can take you out. You can do seven-mile forced marches in full field gear with a poncho over your head and call yourself a tough guy, but if you aren’t ready to give it up, you’re nothing.”