by Jack Ambraw
“I’ll be out of your way, sir. I can promise you that,” Bogen said. “I’ll touch base with you before I leave the ship.”
Decker heard a door open and close from within the wardroom. Then silence. He sprang to his feet and slid down the ladder handrails, his feet never touching the steps. He hustled over to Hack, who was sitting alone at a table on the starboard side drinking a coke. “You’re up.”
Hack stood and nervously adjusted his uniform. “How’d it go? I’m sure you sailed through it.”
Decker looked at the ladder leading to the wardroom. “Not exactly.”
CHAPTER FIVE
1430, Friday, December 27
As the ship drew closer to the pier, a handful of sailors stood at attention topside fore and aft, waiting patiently to throw mooring lines ashore and step off the ship after five days at sea. A couple hundred yards from land, the ship turned to port and sat motionless, with its starboard side facing the pier. Pushed by a tugboat the last few feet to its resting place, the Harvey inched its way closer, until finally, sailors heaved mooring lines onto the pier where stevedores scooped them up, tossing them over bollards. With precision and almost without notice, the U.S. flag dropped from high amidships the instant a sailor raised an ensign on the fantail’s flagpole. The Harvey was home, minus one of its crewmembers.
A fleet of forklifts ferried pallets of supplies toward the ship, and a large blue crane on rails moved into position, lowering the gangway. A throng of Filipino welders, machinists, and pipefitters gathered at the foot of the brow, waiting to board the ship to begin the around-the-clock work necessary to keep a navy vessel at sea.
After two hours of loading supplies, Decker and Hack finished the workday, precisely at 1700. They changed into civilian clothes. Decker into his usual polo shirt and khaki shorts, Hack into T-shirt and jeans. They walked to the quarterdeck, where Decker spent a few minutes in quiet conversation with the petty officer-of-the-watch. He finally turned to Hack. “What are you waiting on?”
“You,” said Hack, waiting patiently.
“Let’s go then.”
They walked down the gangway and spotted Commander Doerr and his wife waiting to go up the brow. Piper Doerr stood nearly five foot ten with her yellow sundress providing a stark contrast against her tanned skin and shoulder-length auburn hair. The supply officer stood to her left, noticeably a couple inches shorter than his wife. A dedicated gym rat, the commander has maintained a trim figure and athletic build from a childhood spent roaming the mountains of northern Vermont. A khaki garrison cap covered his retreating hairline. A Naval Academy class ring on his left hand, perched above a wedding band, glistened in the sunlight. The two sailors stepped onto the pier and saluted the supply officer. The commander returned their salutes. “Decker, you know my wife, Piper.”
“Nice to see you again, ma’am,” said Decker.
“Piper, this is Lewis Wilson. He’s been on board about a month. You go by Hack, though, right?”
It surprised Hack that the supply officer knew that about him already. “Yes, sir. But Lewis is fine, too.”
Mrs. Doerr flashed a smile. She turned to Decker, took his hand, and held the handshake a bit too long. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Decker looked at Commander Doerr, who luckily was scrutinizing something on the ship. Piper turned to Hack. “And nice to meet you.”
The commander turned his head towards the sailors and put his arm around his wife’s waist, signaling it was time to go. “You guys stay out of trouble tonight. We don’t need another accident to hit the department.”
“We always try to,” said Decker.
The commander laughed, and Decker and Hack watched the supply officer and his wife walk up the gangway to the quarterdeck. Piper’s yellow sundress showing off her long, tanned legs.
Decker grabbed Hack by the shirtsleeve, nudging him to start moving. “Don’t look at that. It’s the boss’s wife.”
The walk to the main gate at the north end of the base cut through the heart of Subic Bay Naval Station. A slice of Americana in the Far East. Palm-tree-lined streets with softball fields, a Baskin Robbins, bookstore, and taxi stand. Moderate traffic with people walking—mostly sailors—heading to town on liberty. And Filipino workers heading home after the workweek.
Twenty minutes later, the sailors stopped at the entrance to the main gate complex, a two-lane street and a sidewalk that passed over a small river on the Philippine side. A security checkpoint stood on the base side in the middle of the road, with Marine guards inspecting every vehicle that entered or exited. A similar checkpoint blocked the sidewalk, causing a bottleneck of foot traffic. The sailors decided to wait for the line to thin.
“Where are we going?” asked Hack.
“To California Jam,” said Decker. “As soon as we make it through the crowd.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“You’re missing out. Cal Jam’s the best club on Magsaysay Drive. And I know the owner, Pong Dango, so I get free beer sometimes.”
“I knew there had to be a reason.”
“I go for the music,” Decker said. “But the free beer helps.”
“How do you know the owner?”
“He was my landlord when I rented a place in Olongapo for a few months. Good old man. Nightclub owner, man about town, and an avid collector of WWII memorabilia. I paid my rent on time, and he took care of me. He even lets me in the bar when it’s closed.”
“So, you do know a Pong,” Hack mused.
“You doubted me?”
“A little. I still think it’s a funny nickname.”
“And here comes another example.”
Hack saw a man in khakis pass. “Senior Chief Wall?”
“Senior Chief Dingding,” whispered Decker. “It’s the Tagalog word for ‘wall’.”
“That’s his nickname?”
“In a way. That’s what the Filipino sailors have started calling him. They find it amusing that some American names sound like everyday words. Wright, Carr, Hart, House, Byrd.”
“Woods, Day, Field, Dahl,” Hack added.
“Exactly,” Decker agreed.
“What’s he think of the nickname?”
“He doesn’t,” Decker said. “No one says it to his face. Everyone does it the proper way and only calls him Dingding behind his back.” He nodded towards the dwindling crowd making their way off base. “Let’s go.”
The sailors passed through the checkpoint with a grunt from the Marine and exited the main gate onto the Shit River Bridge. The “river” was, in fact, a drainage canal that skirted the southern edge of town, separating the naval base from Olongapo. Sailors gave the canal its epithet decades ago from the water’s raw-sewage smell. The name stuck. Decker and Hack were half way across the bridge when Decker spotted a crowd of sailors throwing coins in the water. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?”
Decker pointed towards the canal. “They’re throwing coins in the river. It’s disgusting. Making those kids dive in that filth to fish them out.”
Hack watched a gaggle of grade-school-aged boys swimming in the muddy brown water. “Let’s keep going.”
The sailors continued their walk along Magsaysay Avenue, the main strip, with the smell of the bars, of food cooking in the streets, of fumes from the hordes of trikes and jeepneys mixing with the hot, humid air that drifted in from the sea. A sprinkling of restaurants, barbershops, pawn dealers, and massage parlors nestled among the multitude of nightclubs that lined the street. Vivid neon signs lit the sidewalk, drawing attention away from scruffy, indiscreet exteriors that belied the sumptuousness of the clubs’ interiors. Music blared from each open door, creating a symphony of rock, hip-hop, and country as one walked down the street.
Up to this point, Decker had not told anyone, except the navy investigator, about his conversation with K
ippen the night he went overboard. Decker looked at Hack as they walked along the bustle of Magsaysay and figured it was time.
He had to tell someone.
Hack listened to the story without saying a word. When they approached the entrance to Cal Jam, he turned to Decker and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s tell Mo and Vega.”
The sailors climbed the three-step staircase. A rush of cool air hit their faces as a young Filipino opened the door, escorting them into the interior. Half full, but it was early. The two-story club featured a stage along the west wall, with floor-to-ceiling speakers towering along either side of the platform. A dance floor next to the stage was nearly empty as groups of two, three, and four sailors sat at round tables and flirted with bar girls, company-owned prostitutes who floated between tables endlessly searching for their one true love for the evening. A bevy of waitresses scurried across the scene, distinguished from the bar girls by their modest wardrobe of black shirts and sensible skirts.
Big Mo sat at a corner table nursing a San Miguel. Six-foot-five inches and north of 250 pounds, he’d been coming to Cal Jam for the past three years. He liked the music, the atmosphere, and the bar girls. Depending on his mood, that order of preference often changed. Despite the heat and humidity of the evening, he sported a faded red-and-white, checkered long-sleeve shirt over a black t-shirt. His brown cargo pants groaned at the seams. An old, discolored Atlanta Braves ball cap, turned backwards, sat atop his crew-cut black hair. Black, size 17 navy boondockers completed the ensemble.
Vega Magpantay sat opposite Mo, her back to the entrance. Her long black hair tied in a French-braid ponytail. A rooky police officer in Olongapo, she was one of only two women on the force. Tonight, she had on her favorite off-duty attire: a light-green cotton tank top, denim shorts, and white tennis shoes. Her silver diamond-shaped earrings sparkled when the lights from the dance floor hit them just right.
Raised in the U.S. with her American mother, Vega had moved to the Philippines at age twelve to live with her father. She spoke fluent English, Tagalog, and Ilocano, the predominant language of northern Luzon, her dad’s home province. She had met Decker one night when she came to a nightclub in town with a group of police officers to make an arrest. Lovers briefly, they now were just friends, with their romance confined to occasional nights when loneliness and a desire for intimacy overpowered her wish to keep things platonic.
Mo saw them first and leaned in close to Vega. “Here come the tools. Hack and Decker.” They both giggled loudly.
“Greetings everyone,” Decker said. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”
Mo winked at Vega. “Nothing. You’re late.”
“Sorry about that. Got held up with work. The supply business never stops, unlike the machinery on board the ship.”
“Then let’s trade jobs,” Mo said.
“Not a chance,” said Decker. “I value my nice, clean workspace too much.”
Decker ordered a beer for himself and Hack and kissed Vega on the cheek. “You look lovely as ever. Merry belated Christmas.”
“Thanks,” Vega said, “And sorry about Kippen. Mo told me what happened.”
Decker sighed and put his elbows on the table. “I need a beer. Or three. It’s been a long week.”
“Tell me about it,” Mo said. “It still bums me out. It’s been four days and still no sign of him. He was an okay guy for a supply type. The idiot should’ve been more careful. It’s a damn shame.”
Mo noticed Decker and Hack exchange glances. “I saw that look. What’d I say?”
CHAPTER SIX
1745, Friday, December 27
Decker gave an abbreviated version of what he had told Agent Bogen and what he had overheard after his interview. “The navy investigator ruled it an accident or suicide,” he added. “I stopped and chatted with Pitchford on the quarterdeck before we left the ship. He saw the message traffic about it. With no other apparent motive, the official theory is that he either lost his footing and fell overboard or jumped on his own because of Claire. The navy’s going to keep searching for several more days, but, unless they find a body, the case is closed.”
“I can’t believe it’s suicide,” Mo said. “Hell, no woman’s worth that.” He caught Vega’s eyes and turned red. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Vega said, reassuringly. “But do you guys know anything else about the missing parts?”
“I’m surprised you’re interested in navy talk,” said Decker. “You never seem to want to hear about our heroic efforts at sea and keeping the world safe for democracy.”
“I usually don’t,” Vega said, taking a swig of beer. “I have to put up with sailors every day on the job.” She straightened in her chair, her face turning serious. “It’s just something I’m working on. The black market’s a big deal in Olongapo. People are always stealing stuff from base and selling it in town. It’s mostly small stuff like soap and cigarettes. Things that aren’t worth the time to investigate, for us or the navy.”
“All he mentioned was some missing parts,” Decker said. “We don’t stock soap and stuff. Another department does that.”
Vega leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. “I’m not worried about those things. The black market’s been relatively quiet for a few years. Until recently, that is. Over the past few months there’s been a flurry of activity. Military parts. Expensive items. We received a report a few days ago about material from the base making its way to town. You made me think of it when you mentioned the missing inventory on the ship.”
Decker perked up. “That rings a bell. Kippen mentioned they were expensive items. I’d completely forgotten about that.”
“You think someone on the Harvey is involved?” Hack asked, one eyebrow raised.
Vega took another drink of beer and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know if it’s a sailor on the Harvey, but someone is working from the inside. Someone on base. I’m not even supposed to know about it, though. My boss doesn’t think a woman should be a cop. He treats me like I’m an idiot, or his personal secretary or something. But all his paperwork comes across my desk, so, naturally, I read it. We all know who’s the real idiot. And he hardly ever let’s me out of the office unless I’m with him.”
“That sucks,” Mo said.
“Sucks big time,” Vega agreed. “But at least I get to read everything that crosses his desk.” Her eyes twinkled and a broad smile spread across her face. “If I can solve a case like this, it’d prove a woman can be a damned good cop.”
“Why not talk to the navy police?” Mo said.
“I can’t talk to anyone,” Vega replied. “I can’t even talk to Filipino cops in neighboring towns. ‘That’s not your job, young lady’ is all I ever hear.” She looked at Hack. “You’re navy girlfriend, what’s-her-name, Cassandra?”
“It’s Leeandra,” Hack corrected her.
“Okay, Leeandra. She works at the supply depot, right?”
Hack leaned forward and set his beer down hard. “What do you mean? I’m sure she’s not involved with black market stuff. She’s not the type.”
“I’m not saying she’s involved,” Vega laughed. “But maybe she can help.” She put a hand on Decker’s leg. “Maybe you guys can look around the ship, too. It’s about navy material, and that’s your job. It’d only be natural to do some extra checking on things.”
Decker leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “What do you think, guys?”
“Count me out,” said Mo. “You’ll come up with wild schemes, and Hack and me’ll be the ones who do the dirty work.”
Decker shot Mo a look of mock surprise. “When have I ever talked you into doing something you didn’t want to do?”
“About every other weekend for the past year.”
“I believe that’s an exaggeration,” Decker smiled. “I am deeply offended.”
Mo nudged Hack
with his elbow. “You don’t need me, you got the new guy to do your ‘detective’ work now.”
Hank put his hands up as if he’d been accused of something. “I don’t like the sound of this,” he said.
“Look, Decker, just go the navy police,” Mo said. “If the black market has anything to do with Kippen taking a dive, they need to be the ones to investigate.”
“We’re talking murder,” Decker said, his voice tight.
“Hold on, guys,” Vega interrupted. “I didn’t say there was a murder. Besides, the navy investigator found no motive, so I doubt there’s any connection between the missing parts and Kippen’s fall. But I do know something’s going on with the black market. Just look around the ship a little. That’s all. I’m just interested in your inventory problem because if there’s something fishy going on, I’ll need hard evidence to go to my boss.”
Decker sipped his beer, and tipped the bottle toward Vega. “Let me think.”
“Maybe we should wait a week or so and see how things go in the supply department,” Hack said.
“A week?” Vega protested. “Someone could cover their tracks by then.”
“But maybe Kippen’s body will be found and it’ll be clear it was an accident.”
“Even if they find him, it won’t prove he wasn’t pushed,” Decker said.
Mo looked at Hack and pointed at Decker with this thumb. “I don’t like the sound of this. All I know is that if Columbo here gets involved in whatever is going on, it ain’t going to end well for anybody. Especially you and me.”
“This could go on all night, guys,” Vega said, changing the subject. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting crowded, and the band’s about ready to start.”
Decker, Hack, and Mo agreed and the three sailors and police officer walked out of Cal Jam and stood on the crowded sidewalk.