by Len Levinson
The door opened again and a tiny little woman with long brown hair entered, wearing a blue silk dress. Frankie realized she must be Nettie, the little one Julie had told him about, the one Bannon had gone with. He stood and walked toward her, carrying his drink and cigarette in his left hand, smiling in a friendly, sexy way.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Nettie.”
“Where’s your room, you pretty little thing?”
Nettie smiled back, because she loved compliments. “Just follow me.”
Frankie heard the sound of the Old South in her voice and loved her big brown eyes. He could see why Bannon had selected her. She was an excellent choice, even though her nose was a little too small and pointed up too much. She led him down the hall and opened the door to her room.
“Well, what can I do for you?” she asked when they were inside.
Frankie looked down at her. “What do you recommend?”
“The half-and-half for seven-fifty.”
“It’s a deal,” Frankie said. He took out his roll of money and Nettie’s big eyes became bigger. He threw her a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change, honey.”
“I’ll be right back,” she replied. “You can take your clothes off.”
She left the room with the money, but Frankie didn’t take his clothes off. He wasn’t horny, because he was worried that the guy who’d gone crazy earlier might be Bannon, who was his closest buddy in the Army. Frankie stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself as he sipped his drink. His neat, pressed uniform had become rumpled, and his eyes were at half-mast. The Guadalcanal sun had made his skin very dark, and that caused the white of his eyes to glow as if lights were behind them. He hoped Bannon wasn’t the guy who went crazy.
Nettie returned to the room and saw him looking at himself in front of the mirror. “Hey, how come you’re not taking your clothes off? Do you like to do it with your clothes on?”
“Don’t rush me, honey.”
“For seven-fifty you don’t get to stay here all night.”
Frankie took out his fat roll of bills and showed it to her. “I’ll pay whatever I have to. Relax. Have a seat.”
Nettie sat nervously on the edge of the bed. “Can’t you get it up?” she asked. “If you can’t, I know what to do.”
“I can get it up. Don’t worry.” Frankie sat in the chair and sipped his drink. “I heard you had a little trouble here tonight.”
She stiffened. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Everybody’s talking about it. Do you remember the guy’s name?”
“What guy?”
“The guy who went nuts.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I remember his name. Are you an MP.”
Frankie shook his head. “Nope. I just think I might know the guy.”
She jumped off the bed and ran for the door. He lunged for her and grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go!” she said.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I don’t want any trouble!”
“There ain’t gonna be any trouble,” Frankie said in a low, soothing voice.
“It ain’t my fault!”
“Nobody said it was your fault. Relax and tell me the guy’s name. I’m not gonna hurt you. If it’s my buddy, I’ll have to find out where he is, and if it isn’t, we’ll just fuck on the bed.”
There was something about Frankie that scared the shit out of her, but he didn’t seem angry; he was only concerned about his buddy. Also, she didn’t want to call the bouncers again, because the boss might decide she was a troublemaker and fire her.
“What was his name?” Frankie asked.
“Bannon,” she replied.
Frankie closed his eyes. “Oh, God.”
“You know him?”
“He’s my best buddy in the Army.”
Nettie got scared again. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“Relax,” Frankie said. He let her go and stumbled back to the chair, dropping into it. He sipped his drink and looked up at her. “What happened?”
She crossed her arms and walked toward him, swinging her hips from side to side. “Everything was going all right until we were finished and he was getting dressed. I really kind of liked him, because, you know, he’s nice-looking and polite and all. Well, then, all of a sudden he started talking crazy. He said he wanted me to leave with him and get married. When I said no, he picked me up and started to carry me away. I screamed for help and the bouncers came. There was a fight and your friend killed one of the bouncers. Then the cops came and arrested your friend.” Nettie covered her face with with her hands and sat on the bed. “It was awful. Everything always happens to me.”
“Jesus,” Frankie said. “He killed a guy?”
“Yes?”
“How?”
“With a knife. A switchblade.”
“You’re sure the guy was dead.”
“That’s what the police doctor said, and the other bouncer is in the hospital. Your friend beat the shit out of him.”
Frankie went slack on the chair. If Bannon had killed somebody, he was in big trouble. It was manslaughter from the sound of it and Bannon could get put away for a long time unless it could be proved that he had fought in self-defense. Frankie knew something about the law because all his uncles were in the Mob back in New York City and he’d worked for them, doing odd jobs like shaking people down and providing muscle when muscle was needed.
“Who was the first one to pull a knife?” Frankie said.
“Your friend.”
“You sure?”
Nettie thought for a few moments. “No, it was Carl.”
“Carl was one of the bouncers?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Anybody else see Carl pull the knife first?”
“Lots of people.”
“And the Honolulu police took my friend away?”
“Yes.”
“When’d all this happen?”
“Around seven-thirty.”
Frankie took out another cigarette and lit it up. That fucking crazy cowboy Bannon. The bouncers must have crowded him a little and he thought he was back on Guadalcanal. I’ve got to spring him, Frankie thought. He’s my buddy and I’ve got to get him out of there.
Nettie cried softly as she remembered the whole ordeal. “It was awful,” she said, “the worst thing that ever happened to me in my life.”
“You’re an asshole,” Frankie said. “You should’ve gone with him.”
She lowered her knuckles from her tear-stained face. “He wouldn’t have married me!”
“Oh, yes he would’ve. If he said he’d do it, he’d do it. I’ve known him for nearly two years, and I’ve never seen him go back on his word. When he said something, you could build a house on it.” Frankie’s face took on a disgusted expression. “He must’ve fell in love with you, you stupid bitch, and he wanted to get you out of your crummy fucking life. I don’t know what he saw in you, but he saw something, and thanks to you he’s in jail right now.”
Nettie stared at him for a few moments and then cried uncontrollably. She covered her face with her hands and collapsed sideways onto the bed, her body wracked with sobs. Ever since the cops took Bannon away, she had been distressed by what had happened, and now she was breaking down completely.
Frankie looked at her and felt no pity. Bannon was the one he was worried about. He pulled his bayonet out of its scabbard and walked towards her. Grabbing her hair in his hand, he pushed her onto her back and laid the blade against her throat.
“I ought to fucking kill you for what you did,” Frankie said through clenched teeth. “But you’re just a dumb fucking whore and you’re not worth the trouble.”
Frankie pulled the bayonet back and pressed it into the scabbard attached to his leg. He gulped down the remainder of his whiskey, put on his cunt cap, and reached into his pocket, taking out his roll of bills, peeling off a ten. He th
rew the ten onto the bed beside Nettie, who stared at him, horrified and trembling, and then he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Nettie looked at the ten-dollar bill, thought for a few moments, and then rolled over onto her stomach, covering her face with her hands and crying pathetically.
SEVEN . . .
Frankie pushed open the front door of the Curtis Hotel and stepped onto the sidewalk which pulsated with the flashing of neon lights. Drunken servicemen still stumbled around, and all the bars were open, although business was slow that time of the month. He looked at his watch: It was one o’clock in the morning. What the hell should I do now? he thought.
He walked toward the center of town, his hands in his pockets, and tried to work out a plan of action. He’d have to find out what jail Bannon had been taken to and go to see him. Maybe he could hire a lawyer and spring him in the morning, but what would the Army do? Maybe the Army had jurisdiction. Frankie didn’t know all the ins and outs of the Army’s legal system, but he knew who would have that information: Butsko. Frankie realized that the best thing to do was find Butsko and tell him what had happened. Butsko would know what to do. Butsko always knew what to do.
Frankie took his notepad out of his shirt pocket. Before he and the others had parted earlier in the day, Bustko had given them an address where he could be reached if anybody needed him, and Frankie had written down the address. He found it in the book and then looked around for a cab.
None were visible, but he figured he’d run into one before long. He headed for the center of Honolulu, walked swiftly, wide awake now. He wondered if Bannon had been hurt in the fight and cursed himself for not asking the whore. Actually the whore wasn’t bad-looking at all, but Frankie didn’t want to tell her so and give her the satisfaction. He could understand why Bannon had fallen for her. She was like a little bird in paradise, but she had no common sense. If Bannon had married her, he would have taken care of her for the rest of his life.
He came to a street lined with bars. He wanted to go into one of them for a drink, but he told himself he didn’t have time. The sooner he saw Butsko, the sooner they could get Bannon out of the clink. Butsko would take care of everything. Butsko was the man you could always rely on in a pinch.
A few blocks later Frankie saw a taxicab pulling up to the curb of an apartment building. He ran toward the taxicab as the rear door opened and two long beautiful legs swung out toward the sidewalk. A tall blonde followed the legs out and stood up. She heard Frankie approaching and spun around.
“Hey, baby,” Frankie said to her, “what’s going on?”
She looked at him like he was a piece of shit, and then a major with a black mustache got out of the cab.
“Something wrong, soldier?” the major asked.
“No, sir. Uh-uh.”
The major looked at him disdainfully and Frankie wanted to deck him. There was no one around and he could get away in the cab, but maybe he couldn’t get away, and one man from the recon platoon in the can was enough.
The blonde hooked her arm in the major’s and walked with him to the front door of the apartment building. Frankie dropped into the backseat of the cab and closed the door.
“Where to?” asked the driver, a tubby Hawaiian guy.
“Twenty-nine–ten Palmetto Drive,” Bannon replied, reading from his notebook.
The driver shifted into gear and drove off. Frankie took out a cigarette and lit it up, watching the bars and hotels pass by his window. He was thinking about the sexy blonde and realized that he could probably be with somebody like her right now, and she could be copping his joint, but instead he had to do something for Bannon.
“Dumb fucking cowboy,” he muttered.
“What was that?” asked the driver.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Frankie said. “Step on the gas, will you? I’m in a hurry.”
“Sure thing,” the driver said.
Forty-five minutes later the cab stopped in front of 2910 Palmetto Drive. A light was on in one of the rooms, Frankie thought Butsko was probably fucking his old lady, and the last person he wanted to see was Frankie La Barbara. All the lights in the other houses was out, and the street was lit only by streetlamps. Frankie paid the driver, gave him a big tip, and got out of the cab. He straightened out his shirt and tucked it in neatly, because he was afraid to be sloppy in front of Butsko, who would kick his ass if he looked sloppy.
He repositioned his cunt cap on his head and walked to the front door of the house, noticing that the living-room window was boarded up. What the hell happened there? Frankie wondered. Well, I imagine Butsko will fix that window now that he’s home.
He came to the front door and knocked three times. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time. He figured Butsko was really going to be pissed off at him, but he’d calm down once he realized that Bannon was in trouble. Bannon had been Butsko’s fair-haired boy ever since Bannon had saved Butsko’s life in the fighting around Tassafaronga Point. Nobody was coming to answer the doorbell, so Frankie knocked with all his might. The door shook on its hinges.
A light came on in another part of the house, and then a light was turned on in the living room. Frankie heard footsteps approaching but they were shuffling footsteps, not firm, decisive ones like Butsko would make. He heard the inside latches being flicked, and then the door was opened by a frowzy-looking woman with big tits and a black eye.
Dolly looked at Frankie. “What the hell do you want?” she said.
“Sergeant Butsko here?” he asked.
Dolly knitted her eyebrows together, and Frankie wondered if Butsko was the one who’d punched her out. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Private Frankie La Barbara, ma’am. The sergeant ever mention me to you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Well, me and a couple of other guys from Sergeant Butsko’s platoon on Guadalcanal came to Hawaii with him, and he told us to get in touch with him if any of us had any trouble, and—well, ma’am, one of us is in a lot of trouble.”
“Jesus,” Dolly said. “What did he do?”
“He killed somebody in a fight.”
“Good God,” she said, raising her hand to her forehead. “I think you’d better come in, Private—what you say your name was?”
“Just call me Frankie.”
Frankie followed her into the living room, which Dolly had cleaned up after Butsko had been taken away, and then they entered the kitchen.
“I’ve just made some coffee,” she said. “Have a seat.”
“Is Sergeant Butsko sleeping?”
“I don’t know what he’s doing. The son of a bitch is in jail.”
Frankie’s jaw dropped open. “Jail!”
“That’s right.”
“What he do?”
“He got in a fight here. How do you think the front window got broke?”
Frankie dropped onto a bench in the breakfast nook, and Dolly lit the fire under the coffee pot.
“Who started it?”
“Johnny threw a punch at a guy who insulted me.”
“He hurt him bad?”
“Damn near killed him and a couple of other guys too. There was a big brawl here. I’m lucky they didn’t put me in jail.”
“Jesus,” Frankie said.
“Johnny is a mean son of a bitch. As soon as I saw him walk through the door I knew there was going to be trouble.”
Frankie shook his head as he took out a pack of cigarettes. He realized that he’d be in jail, too, if that old Chinese guy didn’t break up the beef he was having with the sailor at the card game. For all he knew, Longtree was in jail with Butsko and Bannon.
“Guadalcanal messed up our minds,” Frankie said. “That’s why we’re all a little crazy.”
“Johnny was crazy long before he ever went to Guadalcanal,” Dolly said, turning off the fire under the coffee pot. She poured into two cups. “Cream and sugar?”
“Please.”
Sh
e fixed Frankie’s cup and carried her black coffee to the breakfast nook, sitting down opposite Frankie.
“So you’re one of Johnny’s boys,” Dolly said. “I never met one of Johnny’s boys before. He always kept me away from them. What’s it like to have him for a sergeant?”
“To tell you the truth,” Frankie replied, “he’s kinda hard on all of us, but he knows what he’s doing, so we put up with him. He’s a helluva soldier.”
“Yes, I imagine he would be. He loves the Army.”
Frankie turned down the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think he loves the Army so much.”
“Yes he does. He wouldn’t know what to do if he wasn’t in the Army. He’s one of those guys who found a home in the Army. That’s why he’s a lousy husband. Thank God he hasn’t been shot up yet.”
Frankie hesitated to tell her, but thought he ought to. “He’s been shot up,” he said. “You didn’t know?”
“What happened?”
“He was shot in the stomach. He spent about a month in the hospital on New Caledonia. I was there too. I had malaria.”
“My God,” Dolly said. “I wonder if he’s all better now.”
“Sure he is, Mrs. Butsko. He’s strong as a bull.”
She smiled. “It’s funny, but almost nobody calls me Mrs. Butsko. I think I like it.”
Frankie sipped his coffee. “Listen,” he said, “I want to try and spring the sergeant out of jail. You know what jail he’s in?”
“The main Honolulu jail downtown—I think it’s on Prince Street.”
“I wanna go see him right away. Maybe he knows of a lawyer who can help.” Frankie patted his pocket. “I won five hundred dollars playing poker tonight. I can afford the best lawyer in Honolulu for the arraignment.”
She smiled. “And you’d spend it all for Johnny, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re damn straight.”
“Yes, I know. He’s that kind of guy. But you can’t see him now. You won’t be able to see him until morning. I’ll drive you into town—I got a car. We’ll both see him. You can spend the night here.”
“Okay,” Frankie said. “If I can’t see him tonight, I might as well stay here, but I want to see him first thing in the morning.”