A guilty lump rose in my throat. “Why are you asking that?”
“I’m tired of working. I want to go Chicago or New York. Sailors tell me of those places. You have money for food and drink, nice clothes. You send me, yes?”
“I can’t possibly . . . do that.”
“I be servant in your house. I take care of babies and clean for you family.”
“I’m not rich and I don’t have a family. I can’t help you. I’m sorry Kim.” I pulled my hand free and hurried from the bar.
She followed me across the vacant street. Inside the store, I approached the register, Kim now at my side.
The old woman behind the counter asked, “May I help?”
“I would like to talk to Mr. Chung.”
“He is busy. What is purpose?”
“I want to buy something, a necklace called ‘The Storm of Pearls.’”
“One moment, please.”
Ignoring Kim I looked around at the store’s merchandise. Approximately three hundred imitation swords of different sizes and shapes occupied one wall and counter. Curved coconut shells lined the shelves and seashells painted with oriental art took space among the aisles. Souvenir jackets and hats hung from the ceiling.
Behind me, the woman announced, “This way, please.”
In a back room, a heavy set man sat behind a desk piled high with papers. In perfect English, he asked, “I understand you want to purchase a necklace?”
“Yes.”
“Would it be for the young lady?”
I glanced at Kim’s forced smile then looked at the man. “No. I’m a collector of antique jewelry. I heard you have ‘The Storm of Pearls.’”
“I sold my last. I have other items you may be interested in.”
Using a tone of authority, I stated, “No! I want ‘The Storm of Pearls.’”
He steepled his fingers and considered me a moment. “Sit down, please. Let me ask who you might be?”
Sitting in the offered chair at the end of the desk, I made a show of getting comfortable before responding, “I met a Lawrence Barnes a few weeks ago. He advised me that I may purchase this necklace here.”
Silence marched through the dimness of the room. I felt Kim’s hand on my shoulder as if identifying me as her new protector. Shit! I don’t have time for other people’s games! I’m up to my neck already in my own!
The Chinese man finally cleared his throat. “Did this Mr. Barnes give you a reason why this piece of jewelry would be important to your collection?”
“No, but feel free to explain the necklace to me. I need to determine if it is worth my money.”
His almond eyes hardened. He then looked at Kim. “Why did you bring her?”
“She followed me. She was a dinner guest.”
“Did she ask you for money so she could go to the States?”
Kim’s hand dropped from my shoulder. “So what if she did?”
Before I could comprehend the quick movements, a hand gun appeared in Chung’s hand. The muzzle flared and an explosion concussed the small room. I jumped to my feet. Turning, I looked into Kim’s surprised, frozen stare. A small red dot colored the center of her forehead. A soft whoosh of air passed between her lips before she tumbled onto the scenic design of a Persian carpet.
“What the hell did you do?” I yelled at the man coming around the desk.
“I don’t know who you are, mister, and I really don’t care. This is a warning. You lie to me one more time and you will receive the same as that whore.”
Dropping to my knees, I helplessly searched for the absent pulse under Kim’s lower jaw. My mind raced. I couldn’t focus on anything but escape. Planting my hands on the floor, I violently kicked up with both feet, my heels colliding with Chung’s fat face. The impact dropped me to the side. Another shot fired, but I felt no pain. I rolled onto my knees. Seeing his legs as he tried to get his balance, I grabbed his ankles and jerked hard. The round man fell backwards over the swivel chair, his gun dropping to the floor nearby. I lunged for it, pivoting up on one knee. Without thought, I fired two shots into his partly bald head.
A door banged open behind me. I jumped to my feet as a man in dark clothing entered, his gun raised. Snapping off two shots into his chest, I dodged his lurching body and burst into the store aisle. The old woman huddled behind the counter, screaming. I threw the gun at her in passing. She shut up and ducked.
The foot race to the base with unknown pursuers seemed to take hours when actually it was only minutes. The fear of being shot in the back forced my feet faster and faster, even after my sandals fell off.
As I approached the gates, the same Marine guard stood at attention to block my entrance. I stopped before him and bent over, gasping for breath. “Anyone behind me?”
Unimpressed and steely-eyed, he looked over my shoulder. “No, Sir. What is the problem?”
Prepared to drop and roll, I scanned the empty street and sidewalk behind me. I took several deep breaths and regained control. “Nothing, I guess. I, ah, I forgot to tip the bartender and he had friends who wanted to remind me.” The unconvinced guard frowned. “I’ll be leaving the base soon . . . to catch my plane back to my duty station. What will be the best way out of here to, ah, avoid the goons?”
Captain Harris did not bother to close the blinds to the dusk outside his window. A single street light below threw eerie, moving shadows against the pane. I remained at attention in front of his desk while the Captain read my report.
Letting it fall from his fingers and drift to his desk top, he said, “This doesn’t tell me a thing about why you were involved. Goddamn it! What in the hell happened in Olongapo?”
Staring directly over his head, I said, “It seems Mr. Chung will not be elected mayor”“
“A comedian? This is no joking matter, Mister! I have a thousand people trying to push their way through my goddamn gates. They don’t know who you are, but they want your hide. What in the hell am I to do?”
“I don’t want to sound disrespectful, Sir, but I remind you that Admiral Collins wants me flown out as soon as possible.”
His face reddening with anger, the Captain pushed himself slowly from his chair. “I know what he wants. To do that, I have to get your goddamn ass off the base. Those Filipinos will storm this place any minute . . . unless the local authorities join us in stopping them. They don’t want to until they have an explanation.” He ground his teeth and leaned toward me. “Do you understand? Give me some goddamn story about who you are and your purpose here! Maybe, just maybe, I can straighten things out with the local government and they can get rid of that goddamn mob before people get hurt!” A light bulb went on in his eyes and he jerked upright. “That’s it! There’s a hospital attachment here, a reserve unit. They have a helicopter. Get your bag packed, Mister, while I arrange for the chopper.” He began to spit his words. “I am not putting down a riot over some careless lack of intelligent Intelligence work! I want your ass out of here and I wished to hell I could join you! But, no, I’ve got to stay . . .”
“Thank you, Sir,” I interrupted his tirade in a placating tone. “Could you tell me how did the local police found out about me?”
“They presented me with some damn court order to view the log book at the gates. Yours was the only name in the book for that period of time. Do the Navy a favor and don’t use the Lieutenant Fisher I.D. for the rest of your life.”
I shrugged at that. “Maybe the Admiral can come up with a different name for me.”
He took a deep breath and rubbed his neck. “Speaking of the Admiral, I’m glad to say his screaming told me you are in deep shit.”
When my eyes widened, the Captain smiled for the first time since the interview began.
* * *
After the Commander of the hospital unit observed the mob outside the gate, he made his decision to authorize use of the helicopter, even though the pilot didn’t think it would be safe after dark. I wore my travel dress blues and took a seat next to the ner
vous operator at the controls. I didn’t know how he did it, but through the dark mountains and low clouds, he located Clark Air Force Base. To my surprise, they had a plane waiting for me. No one smiled or greeted me this trip. Word of an Admiral’s displeasure travels fast.
Chapter 8
Admiral Collins read my official report while I finished a bottle of cola. I expected the worst, but he grinned in approval.
“How did you feel, killing a man?” he asked.
“I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. How do you wish me to answer that, Sir?”
“Answer it honestly,” he thumped a hand on the report on his blotter. “Look, Marinous, you shot that son-of-a-bitch in self defense. His death is a plus. I have a file from the CIA indicating he was a drug dealer. On top of that, he was in the white slave market for years. I’m happy to get Chung out of Olongapo. Can you imagine him being mayor and someday even president of the Philippines?”
“I see what you’re saying, Sir . . . but I’m also thinking about Captain Harris. How is he going to handle the situation I put him in?”
“Those people who’re causing the riot are paid by Chung’s men. In a couple of days, everything will be forgotten. Of course, we’ll have a bunch of pissed off sailors denied liberty, but they will just have to wait until their ships arrive at another port to satisfy their sexual appetites.”
A brief smile twitched my lips, then I thought about his original question. “About killing Chung and his goon, I don’t think any less of myself. I know under the same circumstances, I would kill again. Is that honest enough for you, Sir?”
“Definitely. You have the look, Marinous. You value life, but not the scumbags of the world like Chung. That’s going to be important. The CIA believes he was connected to a group here in Honolulu, which may be tied to the murders abroad the STEVENS.”
“You mean the CIA will be taking over the investigation?”
“No, they don’t have the manpower because of the Vietnam crisis . . . but they want to be informed and updated on your investigation.” I grunted in surprise and that made him grin again. “If you chose to continue. The situation has gone from simple to complex. There seem to be more levels than we first suspicioned, dangerous levels. I can’t order you to continue this murder probe. If you go on, I can’t authorize you to carry a firearm. You would be putting your butt on the line and accepting the consequences. The decision is yours. What are you going to do, Marinous?”
“Will I work as a First Class Petty Officer?”
He frowned. “You have something against acting as an officer?”
I thought about the officer’s quarters and the food at the O-Club, as well as the deference of the enlisted and respect of the fellow officers, then Captain Harris’s angry face came to mind. “No, but I believe Lieutenant Fisher is now wanted for a crime in the Philippines.”
* * *
The following three days included storing my sea bag at the enlisted barracks and settling into my new duties. My bunk and lockers took up one cramped cubicle on the main floor inside a three story, brick building, which the Navy had conveniently built next door to the detachment facilities.
Captain Baker assigned me an office, but I also received authorization to equip it. Lieutenant Holcomb had been testifying at the Military Court of Inquiry since he departed the USS STEVENS, and had not had time to order the furniture and supplies. Moving office furniture twenty miles by truck from the Supply Depot in Pearl took most of the those first three mornings. The constant dickering over the amount of file folders, papers, and pens I needed to run an office filled in the remaining time. Typically, the Marine support group showed a lack of common sense in meeting my needs. I came to a thorough understanding of the reason why they were! called jar-heads.
Sitting at my desk near the window, I looked over the area I had to share with two other people. I decided Mister Holcomb would have the bigger desk at the wall to my left and a Third Class Yeoman would be assigned near the door.
The new Yeoman would take care of the paper work and incoming reports, while Mister Holcomb would assume the role of officer in charge. Naturally, I elected to do most of my work outside the office.
The OOD on the STEVENS sent Mister Holcomb the list of seven names of men who had been off the ship those first hours after we tied up. After bouncing around in the mail room, the list arrived in a crumpled envelope. I unwound the string from the flap and quickly read over the names. Each had been assigned to Supply Division and each had a specific purpose for leaving the ship once the mooring lines had been secured.
I checked the names against the list of people who had keys to the supply locker where I found Mister Barnes and the canvas locker where Chief Berry found Seaman Garretson. Three storekeepers had keys, plus the five members of the Master at Arms force and myself. A question mark had been entered next to four officers who may have been assigned keys.
Also in the mail was a letter from the FBI indicating they had examined the two bodies and concurred with my reports. The cause of Lieutenant Barnes’s death was a high concentration of tetraodontoxin and Seaman Garretson’s wound was not self-inflicted. They decided to go along with the Admiral’s decision and recommendation allowing me to work the investigations. Of course, they stood by as a support group . . . and would probably take the credit.
The Admiral’s office sent a memo, clarifying that Mister Holcomb would work under Captain Baker. Our little office would be known as the Departmental Investigation of Shipboard Crime. Since the Navy functioned on abbreviations, the memo addressed us as DISC.
In the phone directory yellow pages, I found Lo’s Restaurant and compared the listing to the address on the chop-stick holder I had recovered in Lieutenant Barnes’s quarters. Since I had no more tedious duties in the office, I decided it was time to begin my totally independent investigation.
As I brushed my shoes, a thought stopped me. Who do I check out with? I wanted to leave my office and ask a few questions at this Lo’s place. Who do I tell? Since Lieutenant Holcomb and Captain Baker were at a briefing called by Admiral Collins, I decided I could leave anytime I wanted. Habit made me put a note on the door.
The vial containing the blowfish poison sat on my desk. The Admiral must have told the FBI about it because their memo asked to compare its contents to blood samples. I carefully wrapped the glass vial before placing it into an addressed envelope. I stared at it wishing the Admiral would hurry and send me a Yeoman, so I wouldn’t have to do all the menial work.
The door opened and a familiar voice drew my gaze, “Pencils, my favorite Yeoman! I’m reporting in for duty.”
“Mister Holcomb, it’s about time you showed up.”
He placed his briefcase on the empty desk near the door. “Damn, I could kick your ass! Why in hell didn’t you tell me you knew Admiral Collins?”
“I guess I could never bring him into a conversation. Well, Sir, tell me what went on at the briefings.”
“We went over your reports and compared them with the ONI’s reports. I got my ass chewed for screwing up the goddamn investigation.” He laid his hat next to the briefcase. “You are right, Pencils. I was trying to protect the CO. Good intentions gone awry. I am sorry I messed things up for you.”
“You did piss me off, but that’s behind us. Right now I need to run to town and talk to someone. I’ll be at Lo’s Restaurant.”
“That will have to wait, Pencils. The Admiral wants a job description typed on each of us. Plus, we have to format a progress report which we have to send to the Admiral’s office each Friday. Also, there’s a requisition signature approval form we have to send and an inventory list that . . .”
“Wait, wait, Sir. I’ve got investigative work to do. You stay at the office and do what you have to.”
Mister Holcomb frowned, his chin lifting slightly. “Pencils, you’re not giving me orders, are you?”
Thank god I didn’t roll my eyes. “No, Sir. I’m just trying to do what I
was sent here for. I’ve got two murders to solve.”
He held his hands up. “I would do the paper work, but you know more about that than I. I’m sorry, Pencils, but until the Yeoman gets transferred here, this will have to be your responsibility.”
I played on his ego. “Since you’re in charge, Sir, why don’t you call someone and tell them you need a Yeoman ASAP?”
“I was told Captain Baker’s working on it, so I’m not about to step on his toes.”
I shifted to loyalty. “What does a jar-head know about Navy priorities?”
“Pencils, don’t be disrespectful towards a commissioned officer. Captain Baker is well informed of our needs. I got to know him at the briefing. He appears to be a fine officer, even if he is a Marine. So for now . . . let’s get to work. I see you took the desk near the window?”
“Yes, Sir,” I spoke through gritted teeth, trying not to regret my request for the man’s assignment to this office. “I thought you would want the bigger desk.”
He nodded approval just as a knock sounded at the door. Automatically he yelled out, “Come in.”
We both stared at the shapely WAVE stepping in. When she stood at attention, her breasts high against her starched uniform, I saw Mister Holcomb snap his mouth shut.
“Petty Officer Third Class Allison reporting, Sir.”
Why did Admiral Collins send a WAVE? And why the hell did he send the pretty girl who worked outside his door?
Half-listening to Mister Holcomb giving her instructions, I assessed her form under the light blue, service dress uniform. Everything she wore had been tailored to Navy regulations. Her blonde hair, tightly pinned into a bun under the brim of her cap, seemed to push her perfect kewpie-doll face well above her long, narrow neck. Then I was looking from her blue eyes to her full lips as she repeated a question I didn’t hear the first time.
“Petty Officer Coleman, do you drink coffee?”
I stuttered, “Ya . . . yes, yes I do.”
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