by Saler
Last night, the cons had insisted on taking him out to celebrate his birthday, and he was beginning to regret not being a little more prudent with the number of drinks they insisted on buying him. He didn't exactly have a hangover, but....
He walked over to the window and looked out over the Estate grounds. There was a dusting of snow clinging to the evergreens and covering the parkland with a crystal coating, making it look like a Christmas card. It certainly looked pretty, but he knew that in reality it would cold and uncomfortable to be out in it. He shivered at the thought and moved over to stand by the fireplace that warmed the office with its cheery glow, reluctant to go back to those reports.
Sometimes, he thought, there seemed to be more paperwork since the war ended than there had been after a mission into enemy territory. They were, as Goniff rather aptly put it, in the 'and six months' phase of the cons' agreement with the Army, although it certainly didn't seem to be almost three years since he had first selected his motley crew from the prisons of America.
In a few short months, they would have earned their paroles and would soon be going their separate ways. He wondered what would become of 'his cons' back in the real world. Although he hoped they would all use this chance to wipe clean their respective slates, he knew the temptations out there and, perhaps more important, the attitudes of the average man-in-the-street toward ex-cons. He no longer wondered why men returned to a life of crime time after time - he knew that often they were given no other choice. He hoped he had in some way given them that choice.
He couldn't believe how far they had all come in such a short time.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
About this time yesterday, there had been a knock at his office door, and he had been surprised to see that it was the cons - usually they didn't bother to knock, just barged in, unless they knew he had 'official' company.
"Oh, good, you're not busy," Goniff started with a grin.
"Yeah," added Casino, "we wouldn't want to interrupt anything important."
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Garrison asked with a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
"We merely wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Lieutenant," Actor explained.
Garrison noticed some nudging going on "And...?" he asked.
Actor frowned at his companions. "And, we'd like to invite you out for a birthday dinner."
"On us," Chief finished for them.
His face must have betrayed some surprise, and Actor hastened to add, "Lieutenant, this is likely to be the last time we'll be together for your birthday, and we would like to show, in some small measure, our appreciation for the past three years."
Garrison looked at the group for a long moment. Finally, he replied, "Gentlemen, I'd be honoured."
"It's a date, then," Goniff responded with a big grin. "Be ready at 1900 hours, OK? Best bib and tucker!"
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
The meal, at a small restaurant in the city, was delicious, to the point that Garrison felt that he would need to loosen his belt before he was finished. It was owned by an acquaintance of Actor's - why didn't that surprise him? Who else could have organised a meal like that in still-rationed post-war London?
Drinks were ordered but, before he could even take a sip of his brandy, a waiter wheeled up a large decorated cake on a trolley, complete with candles. Before he could comment, Goniff was accepting kudos for it - "Me Uncle Bert works in the trade. 'E put me onto a baker in 'ammersmith 'oo said 'e'd make it if we supplied the ingredients."
Garrison decided not to ask where said ingredients originated.
A large silver cake knife was thrust into his hand, and, as he blew out the candles, the four cons burst into a spontaneous chorus of "Happy Birthday to You". Their fellow diners in the small restaurant looked over and smiled their good wishes, and he felt himself colouring with embarrassment. He decided he'd rather face the German army any day.
A short time later, when he returned from a necessary visit to the men's room, there was a small gift-wrapped box sitting in the middle of his place. He raised his eyebrows as he looked around at the men who had, against all odds, become his friends. "Don't worry, Warden, it's all strictly legit," Casino assured him.
"Yeah, Actor 'as a friend 'oo knows a bloke, 'oo 'as a brother that works there," Goniff explained. Garrison had long ceased to be amazed at Actor's 'contacts' in every strata of society, and merely nodded as he turned the box over in his hands.
"Are you goin' to open it, Warden?" Chief asked quietly. "We got it specially."
He had removed the lid carefully, then slowly unwrapped the multiple layers of tissue paper that swathed the contents.
"We wanted to get you something that you could keep. Something that would remind you of your old Gorillas when you're a General," Casino joked.
"Well, this will do it," Garrison replied, removing the last piece of tissue from the heavy object in his hand, and examining it closely. "I really didn't expect anything. Thank you all, very much."
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Back in the present, standing in front of the fire in his office, Garrison smiled at the memory, and mentally forgave them all for his 'almost' hangover. It HAD been worth it. (And at least there were no worries about being sent off on a mission in the foreseeable future.)
He walked over to his desk to retrieve his pack of cigarettes from the top drawer, and felt his pockets for his lighter. Then he stopped himself, his eyes searching the room for the box from last night.
He retrieved it from the side table by the door, and removed the contents - a sterling silver Dunhill table lighter...in the shape of a gorilla. He pressed a stud and a flame erupted from the top of its head. As he exhaled the first of the smoke from his lungs, he read again the engraved message - "Always watching your back, Warden. The Gorillas".
He smiled as he carefully placed it on the desk.
They'd said it was to remind him of them - but it was impossible to think that he'd ever forget them.
The End
