by Jack Ambraw
“Does he still work for him?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?
“I haven’t seen him in two years.”
“Is he still in Olongapo?”
“I have no idea. He disappeared a week before Christmas a couple years ago and no one’s heard from him since.”
“Did you see him much when you moved back with your father?”
“I saw him all the time. We lived together. I was only twelve, but I took care of the house. Our father was sick at the time. Heart problem. Liver infection. Ato made a lot of money. He said he was working for a businessman. But Tatay knew he was up to no good. Most Filipinos don’t make that kind of money.”
“Did you ever meet Agana?”
“Just once. When I was a little older, probably fourteen or fifteen, I followed my brother to work one day.”
“A young detective.”
Vega smiled. “I guess I was. I wanted to know where he was working. I followed him to the same place we visited today. I walked in and when Ato saw me he got me out of there. But I saw Agana. He didn’t speak to me but I got a bad feeling just seeing him.”
“How did he get hooked up with Agana?”
“Through basketball.”
“Basketball?”
“Tatay had big dreams for Ato. He played in high school and two years of college at Far Eastern University near Manila. Tatay was so proud of him. Said he was going to be the next Sonny Jaworski.”
“Who?”
“Sonny Jaworski. The Michael Jordan of the Philippines.”
“It doesn’t sound like a Filipino name.”
“It’s not, but he grew up in Manila. His mom’s Ilocano. I think his dad’s an American.”
“Your brother was that good?”
“I don’t think so, but Tatay always bragged about him like that. The sad thing is our father died without ever knowing what happened to him.”
“Why did he only play two years in college?”
“He hurt his left knee. Ended any hope he had of playing professionally.”
“Where does Agana come into the picture?”
“He got a job with the San Miguel Beermen.”
“My favorite team name of the Philippine Basketball Association,” said Decker as he strode through the doorway wearing a red towel wrapped around his waist. He held out his underwear for Vega to take. “Of course there’s stiff competition with the Tanduay Rhum Masters, Great Taste Coffee Makers, and Hills Brothers Coffee Kings.”
“I’m not touching those things,” she said, holding up the plastic bag. “Put them in here.” She sat the bag on the patio and threw him a T-shirt and pair of shorts. “And here’s something to wear. I’ll let you guys borrow some flip-flops. I’ve got plenty of old pairs.”
Decker held up the yellow t-shirt with prominent red vertical stripes. The words “I’ve Got Style!” were printed in white across the chest. In his other hand he held up the shorts. One leg was pink. The other orange. A bright blue stripe ran across the bottom. “You’re kidding, right?”
“That’s what the kids bought.”
“My money paid for these things?”
“It was worth every peso,” Vega laughed. “It’s the irony I love best.”
“Very funny,” Decker said. “Hey, what did you get?” But Hack was already indoors.
Decker slipped the shorts on under his towel and put on the t-shirt. He looked at his reflection in the glass door and shook his head. “Why were you talking about Philippine basketball? I don’t think Hack is much of a fan. Mo’s your guy for sports talk.”
“I was telling him about my brother.”
“Oh.”
“And his connection to Agana.”
“The same Agana?”
“O o. It’s something I’ve never told you about.”
“You’ve said he worked for a basketball team and then a local businessman. You sure it was Agana?”
“Positive.”
“How did he get hooked up with him?”
“Through the basketball team. I think he was some sort of assistant to the coach with the Beermen.”
“I still don’t understand how that led to Agana.”
“It was gambling at first.”
“Your brother was involved with gambling?”
“That’s what Tatay suspected. The government owns the casinos and those close to Marcos probably benefitted the most. Sports betting has become a big-time business since Marcos legalized gambling two years after the PBA formed in ’75.”
“Rusty told me Agana’s father knew Marcos during the war.”
“Then we can assume Agana gained access to Marcos through his father.”
“But Marcos is out of the picture now,” Decker said. “Rusty told me Agana’s switched allegiances to Cory Aquino.”
“Makes sense,” Vega said. “I’m sure he’s been playing both sides for a while waiting to see who would win the election. But that doesn’t really matter. The problem we have—we, the police—is that he’s in business.”
“You’re right,” Decker agreed. “And it’s a maze of political relationships that I don’t even want to try to figure out.” He started to pace around the patio. “So how does Chief Fray fit in?”
“That’s your deal. I’m not so sure he’s involved. Someone is helping Agana from inside the base, but I’m not sure it’s someone on the Harvey. More likely it’s a sailor at the supply depot. Maybe Agana even has some Filipinos working for him inside the base.”
Decker folded his arms and looked at a bird flitting in a nearby tree. “Chief had the initials A.A. on a note.”
“Could be someone else’s initials.”
“But he also had “J-Bee” written next to the initials. There’s a Jollibee near Agana’s.”
“And several more Jollibees in Olongapo.”
Decker suddenly remembered something that Ponytail had said. “I thought I heard one of Agana’s men say the name ‘Pinto.’”
Vega laughed. “Now Pinto is involved, too?”
“What does kaibigan mean?”
“Friend. Why?”
“I thought I heard that word, too.”
Vega began to brush her hair again. “What would be his motive to help Agana? Or any American’s motive?”
“Money. It’s always about money. Or a woman.”
“We can rule out a woman. No need to risk jail time for that in Olongapo. There are plenty to go around.”
“Then it’s money.”
Vega set aside her brush and began to braid her hair. “I doubt if Agana would pay someone that much money.”
“You said your brother was getting paid.”
“For a Filipino it’s a lot, but not to an American. Especially someone of Chief’s rank. Plus, there’s too much to lose if he gets caught. Significant jail time. No retirement pay. Plenty of reasons not to get involved.”
Decker rubbed his chin. “Maybe Agana has something on Chief?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But there’s a connection. We just need a break.”
“A break from what?” asked Hack, emerging from the apartment freshly showered and sporting his new outfit.
“Not a break from something,” said Decker. “But a break in the case.”
“You need to stop investigating,” Vega said. “Let the police handle it. I shouldn’t have encouraged you guys to snoop around in the first place. And I definitely shouldn’t have gone to Agana’s with you. I could lose my job.”
Decker ignored her. “Hey, you never did say what you saw behind Agana’s place. Any Navy parts?”
“Could’ve been, but I couldn’t tell.”
“What did it look like?”
“A bunch
of crates, but I didn’t get a good look at them. I had a hand feeling me up and Agana’s men running out the back door towards us. Not much time to look at the surroundings. I read an address on the crates, though.”
“Do you remember it?”
“Mahárlika and Co. 228 Palanca St. MM”
“What’s the ‘MM’ stand for?”
“Metro Manila.”
“When are we going?”
“We are not going,” Vega said, firmly. “Let me handle it.”
“But you’ll need help. Hack and I will be glad to tag along.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hack countered. “I’m with Vega. She can get along fine without us.”
Vega stood and put her hands on her hips. “There are way too many protests going on in Manila after the presidential election. It’s not a good place for Americans to be.”
“We won’t get mixed up in any of that,” Decker said. “How are you going to get there?”
“I don’t have a day off until Tuesday. Maybe I’ll catch a bus.”
“What about your boyfriend?”
Vega shrugged. “He works all the time. I’ll take a bus.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Decker said. “I happen to be off work that day. A planned vacation day. I’ll ask Rusty to drive us. He has a friend with a car and he’s mentioned this guy in Manila, Ducky, who maybe can help us.” He turned to Hack. “Take the day off, too. We’ll run over to Manila in the morning, let Vega take a look around Agana’s place, have a quiet lunch, and then be back in Olongapo before dark. It’s as simple as that.”
“Nothing’s ever as simple as you say,” Hack said.
“A car ride rather than a crowded bus sounds nice,” Vega said. “And having Rusty along would be reassuring.” She sat in silence for a minute in obvious contemplation. She finally stood and eyed the two sailors. “Okay, we can go on Tuesday, but don’t wear anything yellow.”
“Why not?” asked Hack.
“Cory’s supporters have adopted the color. They’re all wearing it. Although I support the revolution, I don’t want to get caught up in it, especially with you two with me.”
“What if someone sees me?” asked Decker, suddenly apprehensive.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Vega.
“I’m not talking about Agana or protestors. I’m talking about these clothes. How am I going to make it back to the ship wearing this outfit?”
Vega couldn’t stop giggling. “I’m sure you won’t run into anyone you know. And if you do, just tell them it’s a new look for you. Maybe it’ll catch on.”
Decker ignored the comment and focused on Hack’s attire. “How did you get those?” I should be wearing them. I have my reputation to uphold.”
“You showered first.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Hack smiled and put his arm around his friend. “It makes perfect sense, my boy,” he said in his best Decker voice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
0825, Tuesday, February 25
Rusty downshifted and gripped the wheel of the red Camaro as they sped up the hills along Jose Abad Santos Road north of Olongapo. Hack sat white-knuckled in the front seat as they zoomed past slow-moving cars, jeepneys, and buses, sometimes passing on the right. The trio finally relaxed when Rusty merged onto the North Luzon Expressway in San Fernando, paid the toll, and headed south to Manila. Forty-five minutes later they passed through the Balintawak toll gate and entered the suburb of Caloocan on the northern edge of Manila.
“Don’t get on EDSA,” Vega warned. “Epifanio de los Santos Avenue,” she explained to Decker and Hack. “That’s where most of the anti-Marcos demonstrations are taking place. Take Bonifacio into the city.”
Rusty nodded and followed Bonifacio and then an array of sidestreets to the corner of Palanca and Plaza Santa Cruz streets. He pulled the car to the side of the street 100 yards north of the intersection. The MacArthur Bridge over the Pasig River loomed in front of them.
Vega studied her map. “We’re close. Let’s take a left on Palanca and find a parking place.”
Rusty spent the next half hour circling the block, finally locating a spot in an empty dirt lot between two low-rise apartment complexes across the street from the riverfront buildings.
“Let’s walk to our left towards the Ayala Bridge,” Vega said. “We’ll stay on this side of the street and mix in with the pedestrian traffic.”
The four friends walked among a growing number of Filipinos filing towards Malacañang Palace, most were wearing yellow, obvious supporters of Cory Aquino. A half block later Vega took Decker by the arm and pushed him into a furniture store. Rusty and Hack followed silently. Vega chatted briefly with a clerk and then pointed with her lips out the window. “Across the street. The blue building. It’s the right address.”
“I don’t see a company name,” Hack said.
“I don’t either,” Vega agreed. “And I don’t see any open windows facing the street. They’re all covered with blinds. And just the one door to the sidewalk. I’m going to watch the place for a while.”
“I am going to Malacañang to find Ducky,” Rusty said. “How long you going to be here?”
Vega shrugged. “I’ll give it an hour.”
“I’ll tag along with you,” Decker said to Rusty. “I’ve always wanted to see the presidential palace.”
“There is a bank on the corner a block north,” Rusty said. “We will meet you in an hour.”
Decker glanced at Hack. “You coming with us?”
Hack noticed the determined look on Vega’s face. He thought of her brother. “No, go ahead. I’ll hang out here and keep Vega company.”
“Suit yourself,” Decker said, as he and Rusty exited the store. A half block later they drifted out of sight, lost amidst the people and traffic.
For forty-five minutes, Vega’s eyes stayed glued on the blue building. Finally, impatiently, she said, “Let’s go in there.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hack said, nervously.
Vega took him by the arm. “There’s a travel agency next door to the left. If we run into anyone, we’ll tell them we’re taking a vacation and must have walked into the wrong building by accident.”
“You think they’d buy that?” Hack asked, skeptically.
“Sure they will. I can sell it.”
“I don’t know about this. Last time it was the clap.”
“What?”
“Decker. That’s what he told those goons at Agana’s. That we were looking for a medical office because I had the clap.”
Vega groaned and took Hack’s arm. “No clap. I promise. Fifteen minutes max,” she added, nudging Hack towards the door. “I want to check what’s in there and get out.”
Vega and Hack left the furniture store and jaywalked across the busy street, narrowly avoiding honking vehicles. Safely on the opposite sidewalk, Vega motioned with her head towards the door in the middle of the blue building. Hack tried the knob. Bingo.
They stood in a drab vestibule with faded white plaster on the walls. A single naked bulb dangled from the ceiling, providing the only light for a well-worn wooden stairs leading to the second floor. The shiny brass handrail looked like it belonged in a more elegant setting.
Sweat dripped from Hack’s forehead. Vega exhaled loudly and headed up the stairs, motioning for Hack to follow. When he caught up with her on the fifth step, she took hold of his hand, their fingers interlocking. “It’s our cover,” she whispered. “We’re a couple looking for the travel agency.”
At the top of the stairs they faced another door. Hack turned the knob. “It’s locked.”
Vega sized up the obstacle. “The transom window is open. Give me a boost.”
Hack hoisted her up with his hands. She opened the window as wide as possible and w
edged half her body through the portal. “I’m stuck.”
“Suck in your gut,” Hack suggested.
“It’s not my tummy,” Vega laughed. “My rear end is caught.”
Hack didn’t have a suggestion for that, but could only watch as Vega eventually wiggled herself through the opening, tumbling with a thud on the other side of the door.”
“I hope no one heard me,” she whispered, opening the door for Hack.
They entered a long hallway with two doors along the left side. They crept along the passageway, cringing each time the wood floors creaked under their weight. They pasued at the first door, listened intently for a few seconds, and tried the knob. Locked. At the second door, Vega got on her knees and listened at the threshold. No sound coming from within. She stood and tried the knob. A sly smile formed on her face as it slowly turned in her hand. They were in.
Six rows of material covered with tarps filled the interior space. The six windows along the far wall were small, letting in only a small amount of light. Hack reached for switch. Vega stopped him with a gentle slap of his hand. “Someone could see the light under the door,” she warned. “Let’s look under the tarps.”
Hack nodded and tiptoed with Vega to the far end of one of the aisles near a window partially blocked by a large filing cabinet. One drawer hung open. “Check out the parts,” Vega said. “I’m going to examine the cabinet.”
Hack nodded and lifted one of the tarps. “Look at this,” he said, pointing to the military parts stacked to the ceiling. “It looks like one of the storerooms on the Harvey.
“Aha,” Vega replied, pocketing a slip of paper. She closed the drawer and tiptoed over to Hack. “Any of these navy parts?”
“I think so. But there’s not enough light in here.”
Vega started to pull more of the tarp from the pallets but a noise in the hallway froze her in place. “Someone’s out there,” she whispered. “I hope they didn’t hear us.”
Hack glanced around the room. “Let’s hide.”
“Where?”
“Under one of the tarps.”