[ WP ] As a 55 year old , you begin to suffer the consequences of spraying Agent Orange during Vietnam .

`` Nguyen?'' 
 
 `` Prescott?!'' 
 
 I pull out my revolver and stare down the aging Oriental from my wheelchair. Goddamned. I should've figured it out sooner. You let your granddaughter date an Asian kid and the next thing you know, the bastard who shot you out of the helicopter back in'65 is holding a semi-automatic at your temple while crutching onto a cane. 
 
 What a way to go out. 
 
 `` What brought you outta the jungle, you smelly mongrel?'' 
 
 Nguyen raises an eyebrow at me, `` I thought you died a long time ago, old man.'' His hand sits steadfast in his hand, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. 
 
 `` Please. You have n't got the balls to finish me off, boy,'' I squint my eyebrows. Nguyen seems about my age by now. `` You did n't even bother to do your duty and give me the coup de grace back at Hotel Hanoi.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, well guess who won the war, you fat Yank?'' 
 
 `` You cheated,'' I snap back. 
 
 `` Did not!'' he coughs up blood until my crippled knees, `` You guys just could n't handle the goddamned heat! Scared of losing to a bunch of tunnel-diggers, huh?'' 
 
 `` Please,'' I roll myself into his home while aiming the silver gun square at his head. 
 
 I wind up stuck in the door. He continues to push me to the kitchen with his sight still aimed on me. Clever man. 
 
 Luc Nguyen was a man I'd met back in the Central mountains of the old divided Vietnam. For a while, he worked as an informant for my troop and the rest of the guys I marched around with. 
 
 Unfortunately, Nguyen stabbed us all in the back. The first time was when he skipped out on a fourway with me and two other lovely women I met up at a nearby farm. The second was when he rigged our helicopters to explode after we dropped the orange barrels into the forests and rivers. But that was n't important. 
 
 No, sir. I was still miffed about that abandoned fourway. 
 
 `` Tea?'' he takes his eye away from me, searching through the cabinet for bags. 
 
 I unload a round on him, he ducks and nails me in the kneecap. Jokes on him. I had metal installed into that thing years ago. With the VA care I totally have. 
 
 `` Du ma!'' 
 
 `` How's that, ya Charlie?!'' 
 
 `` What the hell is wrong with you?'' 
 
 The tunnel vision sets in again. Nguyen lunges at my wheelchair and grabs by my grizzly old neck. I do n't let him get the best of me and throw my fat pot-bellied body onto him, pinning him to the ground. 
 
 The Orange he got hit with back in the war's getting to him. His bones are spongy. Weak. As frail as to be expected from a man who's spent ten years sitting on the couch wondering why his kids do n't visit him anymore. 
 
 Nguyen spits at me. I open his mouth and spit back in it. 
 
 Wait, I'm the lonely old geezer. 
 
 Footsteps come launching down the stairs. My darling Jill whips out the concealed point-twenty-two I told her to carry and aims at the both of us. 
 
 Damn. I should've told her to get a bigger gun. Maybe a rocket-launcher with knives attached to it. Whatever kids like these days. 
 
 Whatever happened to the good old times when I can just get a stick of Uranium and shove it down my neighbor's throat whenever he cheats at cards. America and its gun laws nowadays, I swear. Ca n't even bring my Commie-killing sniper-rifle to my grandson's elementary school without having the SWAT team called on me and getting stripped down by a butch woman. 
 
 Actually, the latter was pretty nice. But that's beside the point. 
 
 `` Grandpa Preston! What the hell do you think you're doing?'' 
 
 I pull my revolver in her direction, lowering an eye, `` Bonding! I'm bonding over here! Now help me out and put a few bullets in his back!'' 
 
 `` Bonding? My ass, you are bonding!'' Nguyen barks at me like the lowly war dog he is. 
 
 Minh, Jill's latest beau, comes walking down sleepy-eyed with his pants undone and hair-tousled. Like he just came out of a long petting session... 
 
 Spotting the firefight taht's about to go down, he knocks over a kitchen vase and pulls out what looks like a stick of dynamite and a lighter. 
 
 Nguyen sighs. I sigh. 
 
 We both unleash a cartridge and a chamber each on the boy, reload our weapons, and open fire again. Running out of bullets, I drag myself and Minh to the knife drawer to get some forks to throw at the kid. 
 
 `` Father's father! What the heck are you doing?!'' he shouts at Nguyen, clutching his leg in pain. 
 
 `` No sex until marriage, Minh! I've told you already! Also, you are not fraternizing with the enemy in my house for as long as my heart is still beating!'' Nguyen says, as I'm forced to reluctantly agree with him. 
 
 All of a sudden, my shoulder seizes up with burning pain. My eyes dart over to my grandkid's tall figure, heaving and huffing over her boyfriend's fallen body. 
 
 Gross. Kids and their kinks these day. 
 
 `` Prescott! Do n't you die on me Prescott! I'm supposed to kill you, Not your granddaughter!'' Nguyen shakes me as I feel my vision fade. The light drifts from my view and my blood turns cold. 
 
 He opens his mouth, as if to say something. 
 
 I ignore it. This monster will get what he has coming for him. 
 
 Nobody skips out on a four-way and leaves me with the fat chick while her skinny friend just watches and flicks the old caboose every now and again. 
 
 I grab onto his frail, elderly collarbone and put my lips onto his. Slobbering the inside of his mouth with pure, 100 % USA saliva. He really gets into it, giving up to the Frenchified kiss, the accursed thing. I gingerly stroke his chest while he roughly grabs my hair and pulls me closer. 
 
 My pot belly rubs against his toned abdomen, filled with all sorts of chemical whatsits and disease. He strokes my chin lovingly, I give him a spank on the ass. 
 
 He mumbles affectionately before diving into my man-beard to give it the affection it so deserves. I shiver a bit as his cold, cracked lips drag through my chin. The naughty geezer. 
 
 I move my hand down to his zipper and pull it down with a thirst for vengeance. I tell him to sit up as I lick my lips as seductively as an old, balding man can. 
 
 Jill goes off to barf in a corner. Poor thing, I do n't blame her. War's a terrible, terrible thing. 
 
 Victory at last, I think as I savor the sweet, salty taste of American determination.
