by Jack Ambraw
“Wilson, I was called, well, I’m not sure. I thought someone wanted to see me, but I guess, you know, um, never mind.”
Hack bent over holding his stomach. “I don’t feel so well, sir.”
Limpert put his arm around Hack’s waist to steady him. “Are you going to, you know, throw, I mean, vomit?”
Hack shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not yet. Must be something I ate.” He handed the ensign his soft drink can.
“You need, well, you should, um, go see the corpsman,” Limpert said.
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Hack mumbled.
“You should, I think, you know, you should go see someone,” Limpert urged. “Let’s go in my, um, I’ll call to see who’s the duty corpsman today. I think it’s, well, I’m not sure.”
“No need for that, sir,” Hack said. “I think it’s passed.” He leaned against the bulkhead opposite the Disbursing Office and wiped his forehead. “I’m not sure what happened. I just need to stand here for a couple minutes. I’m afraid if I move, it’ll hit me again.”
Limpert waited until Hack collected himself and then guided him towards the office door. The Assistant Supply Officer slowly turned the knob.
“Wait,” Hack said.
But it was too late. Limpert opened the door and looked at Decker. “We need, um, can you, well, I need help.”
Decker sat in a folding chair at Limpert’s computer terminal, the keyboard in his lap and his feet propped on the desk. “Hack, my boy, what’s gotten into you?”
“He, um, well, I think he’s, you know, sick,” Limpert said.
“I’m feeling better now, sir,” Hack said.
“He doesn’t sound well to me, sir,” said Decker.
Limpert sat Hack in a chair next to Decker. “That’s what I, well, we need to get him to sick bay.” He turned to Decker. “Call to see, um, have them page the duty corpsman.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Decker smiled.
“Really, I’m feeling much better,” Hack argued. “I think it was the coke I just drank. It didn’t sit well or something, but I’m better now.”
“Best not to take any chances,” Decker said.
Hack shot Decker a look that could kill. “I said I feel okay.”
“Could be something, um, well, it could be contagious,” Limpert said. “You need to see the corpsman. That’s a, you know, well, that’s an order.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
1710, Wednesday, January 22
Intuition? A hunch? Hack didn’t know what to call it, but the feeling of being watched had nagged at him for a block. As he passed through the shipyard onto Dewey Avenue, he glanced behind him towards the Spanish Gate.
A swift scan.
Three sailors exiting the cafeteria, crossing the sidewalk. A woman approaching, head down. Two men behind the woman. One with distinctive blond hair. The other middle aged, short hair, wire-rim glasses. Brief eye contact with the blonde-haired man. The kind where you catch someone staring and they look away quickly.
Hack suddenly felt alone. He had avoided Decker most of the day, still angry about his time in sick bay. Three blocks to the main gate. Hack picked up his pace and crossed the street at an angle. A peek over his left shoulder. No sign of the two men. He breathed a sigh of relief. Must be nerves. Decker’s fault for getting me mixed up in this investigation.
One more block to the gate. Hack made it in record time.
An unfortunate Filipino searching for his ID card held up the line. Hack took the opportunity to survey the crowd behind him. Dozens of Filipinos heading home. Several sailors on liberty. One American stood out in the crowd. His blond hair noticeable. To his right stood a middle-aged man.
Hack anxiously fished his ID from his wallet and the marine waived him through the checkpoint. He hustled across the Shit River Bridge, arriving in front of Cal Jam at 1725. One more look down the street towards base. No sign of the two men. Hack shrugged, walked through the door, and flopped in a booth near the window.
Decker pushed a beer across the table without lifting his eyes from his Book of Dates.
Hack stared at the bottle in front of him. “How did you know I’d be here? I thought about not coming.”
“I’m actually surprised to see you. You didn’t talk to me all day.”
“Can you blame me? I spent most of the evening sick in bed.”
“I thought you were faking it.”
“I was until the corpsman gave me some medicine. Then I got sick.” He shuddered. “Vomited half the night.”
“It was perfect cover,” Decker laughed. “Limpert forgot all about being paged. I think he was genuinely worried about you.”
“I’m glad someone was,” said Hack, taking a sip of beer. “Hey, it’s still ice cold.”
“Of course it is.”
“I thought you said you weren’t expecting me to show up?”
“I wasn’t,” Decker said, gesturing out the window with his right hand. “I saw you walking up the sidewalk.”
“Next time I’ll be more evasive.”
“Then you won’t have a cold beer waiting for you.”
“Good point,” Hack sighed. He waited for Decker to finish writing another sentence. “I saw two guys following me.”
Decker set his pencil down and reached for his beer. “It was your imagination. No one was following you.”
“It sure seemed like it. I saw them walking behind me when I left the shipyard. I saw them again when I was leaving the base. Did you see anybody behind me on Magsaysay?”
Decker shook his head. “Nope. It was just you and half the Filipinos in Olongapo.”
Hack leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure I was being followed.”
“Probably a couple sailors,” Decker said. “A lot of people get off work this time of day.”
“I don’t think they were sailors. Too civilian looking.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“They looked out of place. Even in civilian clothes, you can spot a sailor a mile away. One was young enough to be in the military, but his hair was too long.”
“You noticed his hair? That’s a bit troubling.”
“It was blonde like it had been bleached. Reminded me of a surfer.”
“And how many surfers do you know?”
“None,” Hack admitted. “But I’ve seen them in movies. The other guy was older, but I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Could’ve been an old master chief,” Decker said. “Hell, some of these lifers have been in over thirty years.”
Hack peered out the window, scanning both directions along Magsaysay Drive. Several people ambled along the sidewalk in both directions, but none were the two men he had seen walking behind him earlier. “Maybe you’re right. It gave me a funny feeling, though.”
Decker waved his hand. “Forget about them. We have more important issues at hand.” He pulled a stack of folded papers from his back pocket. “Let’s take a look at the requisition lists. I was able to print two recent ones.”
They each took a printout and spent the next few minutes scrutinizing the data. Decker gave up first, tossing aside the papers he was reading. “This doesn’t do us much good. It’s the same as before. A record of what’s been ordered.”
“Maybe we’re missing something,” Hack argued.
“I don’t see anything,” said Decker. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you check the inventory on board ship against these printouts.”
“Why am I the one to check the inventory?”
“Chief doesn’t watch you like he does me,” Decker said. “You’re the new guy. He assumes you don’t know anything yet. All you have to do is check the big ticket items. Anything over one thousand dollars.”
Hack sat back and shook hi
s head. “No way.”
Decker didn’t persist. He grabbed the lists from Hack. “Let’s see. This was submitted on January 2. What day of the week was that?”
Hack thought for a moment. “It was a Thursday.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you remember that.” Decker looked at the other list. “These orders were placed yesterday, January 21.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Nothing,” Decker said, handing the papers to Hack. “Keep these in a safe place until you’re ready to do the inventory.”
“Why do you want me to hold on to them?”
“Because you have the other documents. We need to keep all of them in one place.”
“Why can’t you keep them? I’ll give you what I have and then you’ll have everything.”
“That’d be too complicated.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” said Decker. “You’ve got the other papers in a safe place, right?”
“I think so.”
“There’s your reason. I don’t know any safe places to hide things.”
Hack grew weary of the argument and folded the papers into his back pocket. “I still think we ought to concentrate on the names. Especially Allen Sumner.”
Decker shook his head. “I’m beginning to think we need to work the problem from the other end.”
“What other end?”
“Who’s buying this stuff after it finds its way off base.”
“Maybe the people Chief had on his list? Which brings us back to the names.”
“That’s a dead end for now,” Decker said. “We need to find someone with an insider’s knowledge of the local black market scene. We find out who’s buying, we find out who’s supplying.”
“What about Vega? She’ll know.”
“I haven’t talked with her in several days. In fact, I have no idea when I’m going to see her again.”
Hack shrugged. “I don’t know anybody else in town besides Lee’s maid. And Rusty, your trike guy. And I don’t really know either one of them too well.”
Decker suddenly sat up. “Hack, my boy, you’re brilliant.”
“What did I say?”
“Rusty. He could be our ticket into the local underworld.”
“How’s he doing anyway?” asked Hack.
Decker sat back and rested his hands on top of his head. “I ran into his wife a couple days ago. She said he’s doing fine. About ready to start driving again.”
“That’s good. But how is he going to help? Vega said it’s probably someone at the supply depot.”
“I’m not worried about the depot at the moment. Rusty’s hinted at a previous job. He hasn’t talked much about it, but I think I’ll pay him a visit while he’s still recuperating.”
“What other job?”
Decker leaned forward. “I don’t know exactly, but it’s time I find out a little more about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
1745, Friday, January 24
Decker crossed the quarterdeck at 1730, passed through the main gate a few minutes later, and stood at the end of the Shit River Bridge. He looked down Magsaysay Drive and smiled at the sight of the long line of neon signs that lined the street. Not tonight, he said to himself, resisting the pull of the bright lights. He turned right on 1st Street and walked past the beckoning bargirls standing at the entrances of the smaller clubs that sprinkled the landscape a block or two either side of the main strip. He weaved his way through the mass of kids, street vendors, and trikes and jeepneys sharing the narrow roadways. A left on 6th Street and a right one block later on Kessing put him in sight of his destination.
Decker found Rusty sitting on his front porch, his leg propped on a milk crate. The damaged trike leaned against his cinder block house, a painful reminder of the shooting and subsequent wreck. A red sports car blocked a narrow concrete driveway.
“Hello, pare,” Rusty shouted, excited to see Decker. “Long time, no look.”
“Rusty, you are truly a man of leisure” replied Decker. “Is that your Camaro?”
“Hindi, pare. It is friend’s car. He let me borrow it this morning. Went for long drive. Weny told me get out of house.”
Decker laughed. “How’s the leg?”
Rusty tapped his knee with his hand. “Doing okay. Only eighteen stitches. The bullet barely got me. Want to see?”
Decker held up his hands. “No thanks, my friend. I’ll take your word for it. How long until you’re driving the trike again?”
“The doctor said I work next week.” Rusty swatted a fly buzzing near his face. “No ships visiting so business would have been slow anyway.”
Decker looked at the bike and back at Rusty. “How about dinner? I’ve avoided navy chow all day and I’m beginning to regret it. I’ll run out and pick up something for you and Rowena and the kids. You have rice, right?”
“Of course we have rice, pare. Always got to have rice.”
“Okay then,” said Decker. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be back with dinner.”
Decker flagged down a trike and was at a nearby market in two minutes He bought several pieces of freshly cut chicken, a bag of santol fruit, and a handful of calabasas, one of his favorite vegetables. He caught a trike back to Rusty’s house and walked across the street to the local sari sari store and bought eight San Miguels and four sticks of Marlboro cigarettes. Though he didn’t smoke, he knew Rusty would appreciate it.
The kids came running out as soon as they heard Decker return. He set down the packages and scooped up one in each arm. The boy, Emil, especially liked Decker and pleaded with him to grab his arms and spin him around. Decker let go of Elenita and took hold of Emil’s arms and spun him around eight times several feet off the ground. Decker set him on his feet and they all laughed as the little boy stumbled along the sidewalk dizzy and giggling. Elenita, just beginning to learn English in school, always enjoyed Decker’s visits, finding it the perfect time to practice speaking with an American.
She tugged at Decker’s shirt tail as he watched Emil finally regain his balance “Hello. How are you?”
Decker knelt down to her level. “Hello, I am doing fine. Thank you for asking.” With that, Elenita lost her nerve and, with her younger brother hot on her heels, ran inside the house to find her mother who had scooped up the sacks of food and was preparing the dinner.
Decker pulled up a folding chair, opened two beers, and sat next to Rusty on the porch. The street was quiet except for the sound of kids playing in the distance and the periodic interruption of a trike or jeepney zooming by. As dinnertime approached, street vendors appeared, slowly walking the neighborhood selling maize and balut, reminding Decker of stadium vendors back home, yelling the name of their products.
The two friends sat quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. Rusty finally broke the silence. “Thank you for dinner. It is nice of you.”
Decker picked up a toy at his feet and set it aside. “Glad to do it. We haven’t talked since the shooting and it’s been forever since I’ve seen the kids. I think Emil has grown two inches since I last saw him.”
“They are growing. We are so thankful that Emil can see with both eyes. I wish I could be home more often, but work keep me busy. No time for rest until I got shot. But something is on your mind. I can tell. I have a good, how you say it, feeling about things like that.”
Decker laughed and took a drink of beer. “You’re right, my friend. I’m in a bit of a quandary.”
“What is her name?”
“I do have a bit of a delicate situation on that front, but that’s not what I’m thinking about at the moment. Did you hear about the sailor who died on the Harvey a few weeks ago?”
“O o,” Rusty nodded. “I saw it in the paper. Did you know him?”
“
I did. In fact, Petty Officer Kippen worked in my department. He was a decent guy.”
“Sorry about that, pare. Fell overboard, right?”
“That’s the official navy version,” Decker said. “An investigator flew out to the ship after it happened. He nosed around, talked to several people. Came to the conclusion that it was either an accident or a suicide over his ex-girlfriend.”
Rusty eyed Decker. “You agree with that? Something in the way you say it. I think you have doubts.”
“You can read my mind,” Decker smiled. “I do have doubts. And part of my doubt comes from a conversation I had with Kippen the night he died. He told me about an inventory problem with the ship’s repair parts.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Missing parts.”
Rusty studied Decker’s face. “I did not know your friend, but I am sure sailors misplace things all the time.”
“That was more or less my first reaction. ‘So what?’ I told him. ‘It’s probably just a computer problem.’ But he didn’t think so, and now I’m beginning to believe he was on to something. Hack and I snooped around the ship some and then came the shooting. Unless that trike driver was after you for some reason, it makes me think we’ve stumbled into something serious.”
Rusty took a swig of beer, picked up a Marlboro and lit the cigarette, slowly blowing smoke out of his mouth.
“Hey, that was supposed to be a joke,” Decker said, studying Rusty’s face. “Now it’s my turn to ask. Is there something on your mind?”
Rusty didn’t look up. “Could be the black market, pare.”
Decker cocked his head. “You think so? Vega said the same thing. She told us the local cops are investigating a growing black market operation in town.”
“Do not trust the cops,” Rusty scoffed. “Vega is an honest girl and means well, but she is new on the force. I bet anything that Inspector Navarro and his cronies are paid to look the other way where the black market is concerned.”