by Jack Ambraw
Decker let that sink in while he finished his beer. “How big is the black market around here?”
Rusty shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure anymore. Used to be everywhere. American cigarettes, shampoo, and candy bars. You name it, you could buy it in town. Still can if you know where to look.”
“How does that stuff make its way off base? The Marine guards search everybody and everything that leaves the base. They search me half the time and, I must say, I’m an honest looking guy.”
Rusty smiled. “It is not easy to move parts off base, but it can be done. I can prove it. Visit Filipino stores in town and you will see navy stuff. I cannot afford it, but I know where I could get it if I wanted to.”
Decker reached for two more bottles of beer and opened one for Rusty. “I had no idea. I guess I’ve never paid attention to stuff like that.”
“Why you care? You can buy those things anytime. For Filipinos, they are luxury items.”
“Well, I don’t know if that explains the missing items,” Decker reasoned. “Cigarettes and soap are quite different from circuit cards and ball valves. I doubt if there’s a market for those kinds of things in town.”
“Not in this town, pare. Other places. I know a man who tell you stories. His name is Mr. Fortuno. He used to be big in the black market. He retired a year ago after Marcos’ power started to fade. I worked for Fortuno when I was younger. Nice guy, but not someone to take lightly. He was one of the Rolex 12.”
“The what?”
“The Rolex 12. A special advisory group under Marcos in the early ’70s. The president gave them a Rolex watch. They gave their support to Marcos’ martial law policies and took control of everything. The military. National police. Businesses. Casinos. Even political opponents. Rumor has it that they ordered the murder of Benigno Aquino. Not a pleasant group to be associated with.”
“What’s happened to them?”
“A few of them are still with Marcos. General Ver and Danding Cojuangco are close advisors, at least for now. I heard that Juan Enrile and Fidel Ramos will join Cory Aquino. I have no idea about the others.”
“What about Mr. Fortuno?”
“He had disagreement with Ver four or five years ago. When you do that, you are on the outside. Ver has all the power of the group. There was even a rumor the Rolex 12 had a contract out for Fortuno. Many people are surprised he survived this long.”
“Sounds like a charming fellow,” said Decker.
Rusty’s face brightened. “He is. Gave me my first job. I drove a truck for him. Did not know what I was carrying, of course, but he paid me good and I needed the job. Only found out later he was in black market business. He would take things from the navy base, Clark Air Base, too, and ship them to Manila. From there I have no idea where they ended up. All I know, he was a rich man. Still is.”
“You’re lucky you survived that,” Decker said.
“I am lucky. I met Weny while I was driving for Mr. Fortuno. She made me quit. Never liked him. Said she could tell he was no good the first time she met him. I did not have another job, but I did not want to lose her.”
Decker ran his finger around the top of the bottle. “I understand that,” he whispered.
“I felt so lucky to meet her. I said ‘God will take care of me and Weny.’ So I left Mr. Fortuno. Been driving a trike ever since. It was a blessing. I do not have much, but I have a nice family and I feel lucky about that.”
Decker sat up in his chair. “You got quiet when I joked about the guy shooting at you. Do you think someone from your past is after you?”
Rusty shook his head. “I doubt it. I left on friendly terms. I do not think about those days very often, but you reminded me of it.”
Decker stood and paced along the porch. “Then I was the target.”
“Afraid so.”
“But who was behind it?” asked Decker, rhetorically. “I don’t know many people in town, and, come on, who would want to harm me?”
Rusty exhaled and blew a series of smoke rings. “Always remember this. Many people live in Olongapo, but it is a small town.”
“What do you mean?”
“People talk. And more people listen. If you have money, you can find out about anyone.”
Decker stopped his pacing and returned to his chair. “You ever stay in touch with this guy, Mr. Fortuno.”
Rusty nodded. “I saw him a few years ago. Remembered my name. Asked me to come back to work for him. He says I was always trustworthy. Probably meant that I did not talk a lot. Some guys talked too much. Would get drunk and brag to their friends. Then one day they would disappear. Some were fired. Some had accidents. Never seen again. Scared me, but I needed money and Mr. Fortuno was nice to me.”
Decker leaned back and propped his legs on the free edge of Rusty’s milk crate. “Doesn’t the military do anything about it? Seems it would be easy to stop, even for the navy.”
“They try, but there are many people going on and off base. And trucks from the supply depot have official papers.”
“Maybe I can talk to this Mr. Fortuno,” Decker said. “He may be able to fill in some details about what’s going on.”
“You cannot just go and knock on his door,” Rusty said, speaking quietly. “He would never see an American who showed up at his house. He is careful. You could be somebody working undercover.”
“How do I get to him then?”
Rusty turned and looked through the screen door. Satisfied that Weny was still in the kitchen, he took a drink of beer and glanced at Decker. “I can go with you. Don’t tell Weny. She kill me if she knew I was going to see him.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble. Just take me there or tell me where I can find him. I’ll bring Hack along. I’m sure he’ll be eager to go. If Fortuno throws us out or refuses to see us, so be it. At least we’ve tried. A shipmate died and I’ve been shot at. I have to find out what’s going on. No one else seems to want to pursue it.”
Rusty stood and gestured to Decker to follow him inside. “Sige, pare. I will talk to him and try to set up a meeting. Might be a few days, but I see what I can do. Now, let’s go eat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
1905, Sunday, January 26
Hack and Lee stood on the sidewalk at the west end of the parking lot, arms wrapped around each other, when a silver car pulled into the lot. “I think that’s your ride,” he whispered, as two women in the front seat waved in their direction.
“Yep, there they are. And on time for once.” She put her hands on his chest. “I’ll see you when I get back from Manila. It’ll only be a week. Don’t let Decker get you into trouble while I’m gone.”
“Don’t worry about that. Not today anyway. He’s got duty.”
She patted his backside. “Then don’t get into trouble on your own.” She planted a long and lingering final kiss on his lips, grabbed her suitcase and climbed into the back seat. Lee waved good-bye through the back window, and Hack suddenly found himself in an unusual position. Alone.
Hack hung around base for most of Sunday afternoon, wandering out the gate close to sundown. A few minutes later he found himself standing on Magsaysay at the entrance of Cal Jam with an unwelcome companion at his side.
“Sunglasses?” a young boy pleaded, tugging at Hack’s shirttail.
“No thanks,” replied Hack. “It’s almost dark out.”
“Cheap,” the boy countered.
Hack shook his head.
“One hundred pesos.”
“No money,” said Hack.
“Eighty pesos,” the boy offered, knowing the sailor was fibbing.
Hack thought about ducking into the bar to rid himself of his new friend, but decided against it. Cal Jam was too big, too loud, and not the kind of place he wanted to visit alone. Instead, Hack walked to the next block, turned right, and found what he was looking for. Th
e Sea Gull. Quiet, small, and just far enough off the main strip to give him the peace and quiet he was looking for.
Hack took two steps inside the bar and took off his new pair of sunglasses, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting. A dozen or so sailors, each one sporting an assortment of tattoos, lounged at cheap wooden tables. In a far corner, he spotted a few grey beards, retired sailors, who decided to retire in the islands. Hack smiled. Perfect. He didn’t recognize a single soul.
Sitting alone at a table in the back of the room, Hack stared at his beer bottle, peeling the edges of the label and thinking about Lee in Manila. When he finally looked up, he surveyed the room and wondered how he had ended up in the Philippines. Just a few months ago it was boot camp in Orlando, his first trip ever out of his home state. Before that it was high school followed by a dreary succession of part-time jobs: farm hand, overnight clerk at the one and only hotel in town, and then a short order cook. He hated them all, but Halsey, Nebraska, didn’t offer much.
One night in early July he had driven down to the Middle Loop River and planned his escape. The navy. A month earlier he had watched a movie at two in the morning, The Gallant Hours, and learned about the man, who he had assumed, was the town’s namesake, Admiral “Bull” Halsey. In the moonlight, skipping stones along the bank of the river, he thought about the movie and decided to make his own adventures at sea. He drove to Kearney the next day and signed up. Only later, after receiving orders to boot camp, did Hack learn the truth from the local librarian: Halsey Yates, a 19th century railroad surveyor, not the admiral, was the town’s namesake. Six months later he took a sip of beer and shrugged off his naiveté. It’s worked out fine, he told himself. I’m farther from home than I could ever imagine and I’ve met the kind of girl I didn’t even know existed. He set down his bottle and glanced around the Sea Gull, finding comfort in being anonymous and alone with his thoughts.
That’s when he noticed them. They didn’t fit in. Too neatly dressed. Clean and pressed T-shirts and jeans. Spotless tennis shoes. Two guys who had tried to dress down for the occasion but couldn’t quite pull it off. Not the attire of someone who’d been walking around Olongapo all day. The younger of the two men stood out in Hack’s mind. The blond hair. The surfer.
Alarmed, Hack got up to leave, but a voice distracted him. A young woman approached his table. “Company?” she asked.
Hack didn’t want to be rude his first time in the Sea Gull. “Uh, I guess so. Sure.”
The girl sat down, smiling warmly. “What your name?”
“Hack. What’s your name?”
“Lucy. Buy me drink?”
Hack ordered her a cocktail and paid the 120 pesos for what he knew was mostly soda with very little, if any, alcohol content. She had long brown hair down to her waist. Her beige top revealed nothing on underneath. Her red skirt, showing a great deal of thigh, made Hack slightly uncomfortable when she scooted her chair close to him.
Across the room, the two men, deep in conversation, seemed oblivious to Hack and anyone else in the bar. Hack peeked over Lucy’s shoulder and studied them. He dubbed the surfer dude Biff. The other man, somewhat older, maybe in his early 40s, Hack thought he’d seen before. It took him a couple minutes and then it struck him. David Letterman. The same hair style, glasses, and facial expression.
“Where you stationed?” asked Lucy.
“The Harvey.”
“My boyfriend is on USS Midway.”
Hack looked puzzled. He knew her job description at the Sea Gull. “Boyfriend?”
She dug a picture out her pocketbook. A portrait of a small boy, around two years old, wearing a blue jumpsuit. His hair, dark brown, contrasting with his blue eyes.
“Cute kid,” Hack said, honestly. “Are you going to get married?”
“I tell him I want to. I write him often. He never write me.”
Hack didn’t know how to respond. He had seen several Filipino-American kids running around Olongapo. Most, he knew, were the results of one night stands during port visits. The fathers, only in town for three or four days, were long gone and either unaware of their kids or, like Lucy’s paramour, knew the truth and chose to ignore it.
“Maybe you’ll hear from him soon,” Hack said, trying to sound reassuring. He glanced once more towards the two men and this time caught Biff looking at him. Hack quickly turned towards Lucy. “I’d better go.”
He downed the remainder of his beer and said good-bye to his female companion, obviously heartbroken over his swift departure. He left a twenty peso tip on the table, handed Lucy another twenty peso bill, and walked out of the bar.
Hack breathed in the humid night air. He waved away two trike drivers who were eager to give him a ride. It was only a block to Magsaysay and four more blocks to the main gate. Nice night to walk. And to think. He was sure the two men were the same guys who had followed him on base a few days earlier. Curious, and, by now, more than a little paranoid, Hack strolled half a block south and stopped at a sari sari store.
“Hi sailor,” said a high school-aged girl. “What you want?”
Hack scrutinized the items for sale. “Gum, please. Peppermint.”
“How many sticks?”
“The whole pack.”
As the girl reached for the merchandise, Hack stole a quick glance towards the Sea Gull. Biff and Dave were standing near the entrance talking to each other. Probably stalling, he guessed. Hack paid for the gum and continued to walk towards Magsaysay.
This time, though, he picked up his pace.
Hack made a right turn on Gordon Avenue and started to jog. A half block later the sights and sounds of the crowd on Magsaysay came into range. He hit the strip at a steady clip, veering away from the direction of the base. He slowed to a brisk walk and hailed the next jeepney coming down the street. The driver slowed the vehicle, Hack jumped in the back and found an opening next to an elderly Filipino. His heart racing, he peered out the back over the head of a young mother. Biff and Dave were nowhere in sight.
“I have to tell Decker,” he said out loud, drawing looks from everyone on board. He did a quick scan of his fellow passengers: two elderly Filipinos, one young woman and her three kids, and two drunk sailors, one passed out and the other nearly so. A familiar face sat across from him.
“Wilson. I’m surprised, um, it’s nice to see you,” Ensign Limpert said. “Are you, well, you seem to be in a hurry.”
Hack’s eyes widened in shock. “I’m surprised to see you, too, sir. Do you live out here?”
Limpert shook his head. “No, I’m just, well, I come out here once in a while. I have a, um, it’s a guy I know. Where are you going?”
Hack said the first thing that came to his mind. “I’m visiting my girlfriend.” He looked out the jeepney and had no idea where he was. “In fact, I need to get out at the next block.”
“I thought she, um, doesn’t she live on Jones close to base?” Limpert said.
“She moved,” Hack said, startled not only that he knew who Hack was dating, but also that he knew where she lived. Luckily, Lee had taught him how to ride a jeepney. He handed ten centimos to the passenger next to him who passed it to the driver. He rapped the roof of the jeepney two times, said “para,” and climbed out the back when the vehicle came to a stop.
“See you later,” Hack said, exiting onto the street. To his surprise, Limpert climbed out of the jeepney right behind him.
“This is my, um, I need to get out here, too. Good night, Wilson.”
“Good night, sir,” Hack replied as he watched Limpert toddle down the sidewalk.
Hack was lost. He was several blocks from base, away from all things American. He saw a Jollibee fast food restaurant across the street and decided to get something to eat. Fifteen minutes later, he caught a trike back to a few blocks from Magsaysay. He spotted a hotel with a vacancy light and decided to spend the night. H
e bought two San Miguels from a sari sari store across the street and booked a room on the third floor. It was plainly furnished, but clean, and had a decent sized bathroom and fresh sheets on the bed. He opened a beer and pulled a chair in front of the window. For the next half hour he watched the traffic and the people moving in both directions along the street below. He finished his first beer, burped, and sat it on the window ledge. Things are getting crazier, he thought to himself. And more dangerous.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
1955, Monday, January 27
Hack stood on the corner of Fendler and 3rd and looked up at the sign. The Bumper Bar. He didn’t know why Decker chose this place, but he shrugged his shoulders and headed inside. A young Filipina met him at the door, taking hold of his right arm and guiding him inside the club. She wore a black sleeveless dress falling mid-thigh and her hair was tied in a knot on top of her head with a red chopstick holding it in place. The hostess greeted him with a smile. “Good evening, sir. You like table?”
Hack looked over the crowded room. “I’m waiting for a friend. He should be here by now.”
“How he look?” the girl asked.
Hack saw the crowd of sailors in the bar and didn’t know how to distinguish Decker. “I’ll take a table if one’s available,” he said. “I’ll look around for him.”
The girl took hold of Hack’s hand and led him to a table in the middle of the room. “I get you beer,” she said, turning to speak to a waitress.
Hack sat sipping his beer for the next few minutes, adjusting to the crowd and noise. A DJ in the far corner interrupted his thoughts, announcing that it was time to start the karaoke. Hack turned to look, but couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. He settled back into his chair and began to curse Decker for being late until, a moment later, he heard a familiar voice booming through the speakers. Decker on stage, microphone in hand, belting the Manfred Mann tune, “Do Wah Diddy.” Jeez, the guy was nuts.
Hack shook his head and watched in amazement as half the bar joined in, singing the chorus with beers hoisted in the air. Decker leaned back and belted the next line, and again the barroom patrons finished the stanza.