Wave of Death

by Charlie Vogel

“You’re always here before me. Quit play-acting. I know you go ashore for medical supplies thirty minutes before liberty call. Someday someone will catch you and make you work for a living.”

  “Bullshit, Pencils!” He frowned at me. “Corpsmen and Yeoman have the biggest rackets in the Navy. People in our jobs have been gold-bricking for years, for decades. So, tell me, smart-ass, how’s your new assignment?”

  “Fine. Mister Holcomb and I will have the murders solved in no time.”

  “The rumors are true then? Why are you working for that son-of-a-bitch? He tried to screw you over!”

  “You’re right, he did. But now, I’ve got him right where I want him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it, Rex. You know what I mean. That asshole pissed me off the day we checked Garretson’s body. Pay-back-will happen as soon as I find the murderer.”

  Rex held up a finger to signal Bud for a beer and another Scotch and soda for me. “You think Holcomb’s involved with the killings?”

  “It’s too early to tell, but I’ll keep you informed.”

  Rex took a sip of beer from the bottle Bud slid in front of him. “So, what have you got for me?”

  “I want you to keep me posted on everything you see or hear aboard ship. I have a hunch the suspect may try to push the documents for cash. If that happens, word of it will soon be leaked. You know how hard it is to keep secrets, especially when there’s a large amount of money involved.”

  “What about the documents? Why isn’t there any big investigation going on? I mean, shit! I seen that envelope you carried in Subic. It had ‘Top Secret’ in big letters. Anything like that comes up missing, the big shots from the Pentagon would be on us like flies on shit.”

  “Admiral Collins has the documents. The suspect has copies of the BuPers Manual. Well, the obsolete pages, anyway.” After taking another sip from the melting ice cube, I continued, “I won’t be coming in here anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” He looked over the near-naked women around us. “What the shit are you talking about?”

  “Trust me, Rex. Things are not always what they seem. I want you to drop off your information and correspondence at the YMCA downtown. I have a mailbox there that nobody else knows about.”

  He studied me and solemnly nodded. “What if I have to call you?”

  “I’ll call the front desk at the YMCA three times a day for phone messages. I don’t want you to call me at my office. I don’t want Holcomb to know anything about you assisting me. It’ll be safer for you, too.”

  Rex downed a drought of his beer, then ran his fingers through his long, but regulation cut, dark hair. He looked troubled.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  After a heavy sigh, he said, “Damn it, Pencils, everything’s wrong. I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Do you?”

  “Well, I have speculations.”

  One finger rubbed the condensation from his bottle. “I guess that helps. So, tell me what you got.”

  “I think Barnes was killed for the necklace. So far I haven’t found the reason why the goddamn necklace is so important. Maybe tonight I’ll learn something from Lo’s Restaurant. Garretson was killed because he held some secret. I should find out about that along with my answers about the necklace. Once I find the suspect and his motive, the answer to why the documents are important to this case should be solved.”

  “Shit! You think it’s all tied together. Shit!” He repeated, his eyes rounding in wonder. “Sounds like you put a lot of thought into it, Pencils. What about the missing dog-tag?”

  “Were you issued two tags in boot camp?”

  “Yeah, but I had more made. I put one on my laundry bag and one on the sock bag. Didn’t you do the same?”

  “Yeah,” I sipped my drink and looked at him hard. “The laundry bag! What happened to Barnes’s bag?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When I searched his room, I didn’t see a laundry bag. I’ll bet the tag he used for the bag is tacked to the wall at Lo’s Restaurant.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “Because the goddamn metal of that tag is shiny like its been washed. That’s why it caught my eye on that goddamn wall!”

  “Okay, what about the missing tag on his neck chain?”

  I deflated. “I don’t know. Those tags at Lo’s make me think the customers need them to gain access, maybe to whatever is going on in the back room. That could be it, Rex. The suspect might still need it to get into a place he can’t ordinarily go.”

  * * *

  After leaving Rex at the Barefoot Bar, I stopped at the International Market Place and burned time by roaming through the tourist shops. Finally, I placed a dime in a phone at a booth.

  Jenny answered, “Investigation of Ship Board Crime, Petty Officer Allison speaking.”

  “Jenny. Hi. Pencils here. After dark I’ll be at Lo’s Restaurant. Any messages?”

  “No. Where are you now?”

  “Out at Waikiki checking on a few things. Why?”

  “Mister Holcomb’s upset. He thinks you should check in more often. He also believes you are trying to handle everything and excluding him.”

  “Well, shit! Let me talk to him.”

  “He left a few minutes ago. It’s sixteen hundred hours, you know.”

  I glared at my watch. I hadn’t realized the time. “So why are you still at work?”

  “I’m ready to go, but your call stopped me. You will be in the office in the morning?”

  “Yeah, maybe late, but I’ll be there.”

  An inexpensive restaurant near the tourist area served me roast pork, which had been baking on hot rocks all day, buried deep in the sand. The poi and lau laus gave me gas, but I always took several anti-acid tablets that worked.

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I noticed the sun had disappeared beyond the postcard beaches of Waikiki. I drove out of the tourist district and turned onto Hotel Street. The closer I got to downtown, the more crowded the street. Parking across from the YMCA, near the old Capital building, I decided to walk the rest of the way to Lo’s.

  I had not strolled Hotel Street since I took off my seaman strips and placed a crow on my arm. Could it have been six years since I made Petty Officer? Time flew for me in the Navy. The ten years since boot camp had gone too quickly. God, I love it!

  The smell of booze mixed with burnt rice and fish flowed low over the street as I passed the door-to-door bars and hotels. Carefully, I stepped over the cracked and crumbled sidewalk, avoiding the questionable puddles and chunks bigger than a Tootsie Roll. I belched the greasy remains of the roast pork. Shit! Now is no time for the anti-acids to fail me! The neon lights glowed in different hues, reflecting off the faces of drunk sailors, bar bouncers, and street walkers. The Susie Wong dresses became more revealing the closer I got to Lo’s Restaurant.

  As I stepped around a young girl holding out a breast, I listened with disgust as she screamed, “Hey, sailor! I’ll let you suck it for ten bucks. How about five? Hey come back here!” Kim’s hopeful face flashed to mind. I pinched my eyes a moment to block the memory and focused on Lo’s.

  Letting the saloon doors swing back into place, I glanced around the now crowded restaurant. Night didn’t help the place much. Twenty-year-olds would gather in the regular bars, but the younger sailors found places like Lo’s to drink soda pop, sneak illegal booze, and meet young whores. The white uniforms stood elbow to elbow around the tables and chairs.

  A line had formed at the register. I stood at the end of the soda bar and watched each Seaman pay a big Hawaiian money. The cashier had biceps the size of coconuts. He waved them through a side door. As each person disappeared, another took his place.

  Then I noticed something interesting. Next to the man at the register stood a small woman checking an occasional customer who held out his dog-tags. She compared each against one on the wall. I grinned. I had been right about the tags. But what di
d the pass buy for the sailors? Was there more to the back room than just the strip joint and illegal booze Teddy had described?

  The young man beside me looked like he had stepped right out of boot camp, his seaman apprentice strips new, his hair chopped close. I stepped closer so he could hear me over the chatter.

  “Hey, son, where’s everyone in that line going?”

  His young face turned and he stared warily into my eyes. “I don’t know, Sir.”

  “I’m not an officer. My ship just pulled in and this is my first liberty here. I’m just looking for some action. So what’s going on over there at the register?”

  “Oh, that? They have girl strippers in the next room. They collect a five dollar cover charge.”

  “You want to go in with me? I’ll pay your way, son.”

  “We have to wait for the next show. They’ll be taking reservations during the performance.”

  “That’s okay with me. I’ve got the time. What’s with the dog-tags? Why do some guys have their tags hanging out?”

  “They’re members. They’re allowed to go into special rooms behind the stage where they can get a closer look at the girls.” Disappointment strained his youthful voice. “It costs a lot of money for membership.”

  “How much?”

  “Forty bucks.”

  An hour later, I pulled back a metal folding chair and took a seat at a small round table. The surface allowed only enough room for a drink, the center candle, and my elbows. My space was further crowded with the boot Seaman I accompanied. I scooted a few inches to my left, rubbing elbows with someone at the next table. Three hungry-looking sailors at that table squeezed together like they were in a boot camp chow line.

  Waiting for the show to start, I glanced around the small auditorium. Although it appeared the maximum five hundred persons already filled the place, more white uniforms flooding through the door. The tables in the front row had been pushed against the four-foot high stage. From my seat in the third row, the view would be poor but I had always hated to watch strippers anyway.

  Through the chatter of the near-by tables and the warming up of musical instruments from off stage, my hearing was strained. I couldn’t understand the young sailor next to me. Finally, I ignored him and stared at the stage. Why would a woman want to take off her clothing in front of a crowd of men and boys? Thinking back, I could understand the pleasure I felt when Donna removed her clothing, and her actions demonstrated she felt the same. But would a woman like Donna feel that same sexual gratification in front of a huge, impersonal male audience? I knew I wouldn’t have the same respect for someone who stood naked! in front of a ship load of horny swabbies.

  The house lights dimmed. The white and red spot-lights waved over the stage and the six member band started a rapid beat. A loud voice vibrated over the speaker system, “Welcome to Lo’s, folks. Tonight’s entertainment comes from Las Vegas, the Moore Girls. The more you clap the faster they move . . . and you will see their clothes no more. Your first dancer is a pretty, young blonde with a pair of knockers that your girlfriend back home would envy. Let’s give a warm welcome to Sassy Mae!”

  It didn’t take long for the outer clothing to drop and the tassels to twirl. The G-string covered just enough to allow the imagination to take over. The body movements became more seductive as the beat of the music became louder. Neither the soft drink or the girl had any fizz. I didn’t want to waste any more time, so I left my chair and gave more room to my drooling table partner.

  I concluded Lihua Liyi didn’t work in front of the stage, so I decided to go in back. Squeezing between tables and stepping over sailors, I soon faced a huge Hawaiian bar bouncer. He looked about two sizes too big for his shirt and shorts. Although his build had my attention, his voice made sure I followed directions with “Hey punk, go back to your seat!”

  “I’m looking for the head.”

  “You have to hold it until after the show. No one’s allowed to leave their seats.”

  “But, I have to go bad.”

  Folding his arms and blocking my way, he responded, “I guess you’ll have to piss your pants, unless you can find your way out that exit door.”

  In the dim light across several rows of tables, I picked out shadows of two bouncers of equal size standing under the red exit sign. I swallowed hard then asked, “Before I leave, I would like to find a Lihua Liyi. Does she work here?”

  He didn’t say a word, just stared down at me, silently announcing if he did know her, he wasn’t about to tell me. I stepped over the knees of the under-aged gawks. Since I could see only one exit, I wondered if Lo’s Restaurant even had a permit for this place. Maybe I should call the police and find out.

  An introduction of the next dancer blared from the speakers as I approached the door. The two Hawaiians did not move, even after I said, “Excuse me.”

  I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, especially when my patience became over-burden by large people with little minds. I kicked my right foot into the closest man’s groin, immediately twisting my body to deliver an upper cut with my right fist to the jaw of other guy. The only movement came from the first man I assaulted as he bent over, but apparently his pain was short-lived. He snapped up, his arms encircling my neck, pulling me back against his chest. His body jerked as his knee rammed my lower back. My legs lost all feeling. I felt the pressure at the back of my neck as the man held me up at the base of my skull. Everything faded to black.

  * * *

  It might have been the rat which dodging my nose as it trotted across my face or the constant drip on my forehead. Whatever the sensation, I awakened to an awareness of intense pain at the base of my skull and down my back. Opening my eyes, I looked up at the silver droplets of water falling from a leaky sewage pipe high above me lining the building’s wall between the first and second floors. Moving my head away from the water made me groan. Unfortunate but distinctly memorable images flared through my aching head. Slowly I took in my surroundings and realized I didn’t want to stay there any longer. Shaking violently, I turned to my side then lifted myself. I balanced first on my knees then shoved my sore body up onto my concrete-filled legs. To prevent a repeat collision with the pavement, my hands flew out to gasp the cardboard boxes of trash and rotten garbage. Renewed pain ripped down my back with the movement.

  My eyes roamed over the filthy alley where I had been thrown. A single bulb over a distant door gave off dim light. Several yards further on, at the end of the dark canyon of dilapidated, wooden buildings, vehicle traffic moved on a busy street. I stumbled forward. After what seemed like hours, I crawled onto a dry sidewalk and rolled onto my back. When my eyes opened, I looked up into the face of a sailor wearing a duty belt, a gun, and a nightstick. The Hawaiian Armed Service Patrol, better known as the HASP, had found me before the police, but I didn’t know if that was lucky or not.

  The voice roared, “Hey Bud, I got another drunk that’s been beaten and rolled. Help me throw him in the truck.”

  Before I could say anything, someone grabbed up my shoulders and someone else lifted my legs. I yelled in pain, “Goddamn it! Put me down! I’m not drunk, you bastards! I’m hurt!”

  The same voice growled, “Shut up, mister. You’re going to the brig for a couple of hours.”

  Another voice asked, “Did you check his I.D., Hank?”

  “No, his shorts are wet. He probably pissed his pants and I ain’t searching him. When he sobers up, he can damn well hand over his I.D. himself!”

  I tried to speak, but the pain in my back and limbs threatened another black-out.

  Bud’s words drifted over my head, “But what if he’s an officer? We can’t throw him in with the enlisted. Remember the last time?”

  They tossed me onto the hard metal floor of the HASP truck. Pain racked my abused body. I worked not to throw up my pork and antacids. A moment later, I managed to cry out, “Damn it, would one of you assholes call Captain Baker’s office at CenPacFleet?”

  The
door didn’t shut. Gritting my teeth, I turned my head to see Bud filling the space of the open door. Half afraid, he asked, “Are you an officer?”

  Stupidly, I muttered, “Goddamn it, no, and I ain’t drunk either. Get me to the hospital.”

  Chapter 10

  Each time the vehicle slowed or came to a stop, the jerking movements intensified my pain. I braced myself against each turn but that only tightened the corkscrew of agonized muscles and spine. At first my legs had felt like dead weight, then a prickly feeling spread through them, like they were waking up. I silently chanted that I could tolerate it and forced myself to believe the tingling torture was a good indication that circulation, normal sensation, and strength were returning.

  Too optimistic, I pushed myself to a sitting position. The truck lurched at the same time. A wave of dizziness swamped me. First, I belched the damn pork then vomit filled my mouth. Pain blinded me as I twisted to the side to spew all over the rough floor of the HASP truck. The cough to clear my throat nearly drove me back to unconsciousness.

  I was determined not to end my Naval career and life in the back of a goddamn HASP truck, passed out and choking on my own vomit. I glared into the dark interior to see if they had any other passengers who had witnessed my embarrassment, but couldn’t make out much beyond the end of my nose. Turning onto my hands and knees, I attempted to stand. A sharp turn rolled me against a wooden bench attached to the outer walls. I kept my scream deep inside my head so loud my ears rang. Again I gagged.

  The voice came from the blackness, sounding as if the man talked through a megaphone. “If you barf one more time, I’ll punch every one of your goddamn teeth down your throat and you’ll be shitting ivory.”

  I pushed into a sitting position, my back braced against the plywood wall. Through quivering lips, I managed to whisper, “Sorry.” I swallowed once then again. Taking deep breaths helped, too.

  During the following period of silence, I opened my eyes and stared at an opening, large enough for a person’s head to squeeze through, but secured with steel bars and wire-mash, embedded squarely in the upper half of the rear door. Lights filtering through this solitary window bounced against the empty bench opposite me.