These weren’t warm thoughts of family vacations and holidays. They were from the nights when she heard him scream, “The gooks are in the bush!” followed by a delirious sounding “In Coming!!!” in her parents’ room in the middle of the night. Minutes later, her mother’s cries would fill her with sadness until her own tears put her to sleep.
Orinda’s father suffered from a mindless soldier’s heart after serving four tours in Vietnam from 1968 through 1974. He wasn’t the same person that left when he returned from the war. Her family couldn’t turn their backs on him the way his country already did, but they couldn’t allow him to continue to physically and verbally abuse them. They had to stand up to him when he became verbally aggressive. That must have been where Orinda got the confidence she needed to stand up to Mr. Chandler who fought the same war.
"That’s exactly my point, Orinda, and that’s why I want you and Mason to get out to New Jersey. We need to make sure that this warrior’s story is told the right way. In order to do that, we need to find the truth. That’s the reason I chose you two. Orinda…because of your father’s service in the Marine Corps during my war and Mason…because of your service in conflicts that get no reaction or attention. That’s all. Can you do this? Can you team up with the authorities and learn this Marine’s story and find out his truth? If you can’t do it, let me know and I will get someone else who can, but I think this is a great assignment for you two. Remember that in the military, we are all family and sometimes in this world our military brothers-in-arms are the only family we’ll ever to come to know. The only family we will have left after life’s bullshit."
Mason understood what Mr. Chandler was saying. He hadn’t felt camaraderie since his early discharge from the Marine Corps, but what Mr. Chandler didn’t know was the stories from scars were wounds inflicted by the Marines in his family. Mr. Chandler didn’t know the ridicule by the same men that were his only family members. They may very well wear the same uniform, but they made him feel like shit about himself more times than they praised his ability to communicate with the enemy. Mr. Chandler didn’t understand those things, but he was right. If not for those Marines that he served with, Mason would have had no one.
Unlike Orinda who knew her father and his government-issued demons, Mason never knew his father nor his mother. He never knew them, but he had heard stories about them from different teachers at the St. Francis Boys’ Home where he grew up before leaving for military boarding school in Virginia. Being circulated in the boarding system was his father’s idea, and the revolving door of social workers was his mother’s.
"Mr. Chandler, h-h-h-as has there b-been any other im-im- important or special details provided?" Mason asked. The fact that a Philly news agency would get the inside track on a New Jersey murder made him wonder if there was any special information provided outside of the immediate detail that the victim was a US Marine.
"As a matter of the fact, there was. I’m glad you asked Mason. The death of this marine and the way he was killed is not the first case of its kind. The NCIS Investigator provided information that this execution is now the third of its kind. Until now the most recent was about two years ago. There was another execution very similar to this one not far from the Air Ground Combat Center in Twenty-nine Palms California. I called the San Bernardino sheriff and found out that a marine had been executed the same way. Both our victim and theirs were shot in the sides of the temple and then shot in the back of the head. The case is still open, and it appears that they have already made contact with the Pennsauken Police Department to provide the same information."
"I remember hearing about this on the news, but the story died out quickly. It was right around the time of another alleged rape of an Okinawan girl by a deployed Marine stationed at Camp Foster. It was as if one heinous crime canceled out another, and then, both stories disappeared," Orinda wondered aloud.
"That’s the American way unfortunately. We will only rally when we feel the hurt of being exposed and vulnerable, but if we are ever at fault of negativity, we want to pass the buck of responsibility to someone else or dismiss the allegations completely. It’s in our history. ‘To hell with Spain - remember the Maine’ was the rally cry to gain the country’s support when 260 sailors and marines were killed. If it weren’t for the Spanish directly attacking a US vessel, the American people would have never supported the efforts leading to the Spanish-American War. If not for the attack on Pearl Harbor, America would have remained neutral in WWII vowing after The Great War to never deploy her future until she was immediately affected. When President Bush declared that we were going to destroy the forces responsible for the attack on America’s soil on 9-11, the entire country rallied behind him until troops started to die and that’s the case here. When a marine is murdered in cold blood in the California desert, America wants justice but once there was word of another rape on an island, a battlefield that spilled more American blood than any battle in the Pacific during the Second World War, the cry for justice is muted,” Vernon Chandler counseled gravely.
"It-it-it-it makes sense for a-a-crime ag-ag-against military personnel to be-b-b-be committed near a military insta-insta-facility, but there isn’t one he-here," Mason said. His eyes rolled behind his eyelids while he shook in effort to force his words out.
"Mason is right. Military men, especially Marines, are involved in altercations that often result in fights, and the police are called all the time. Usually it’s in a location near a marine base where they were last stationed if they’re inactive or where they’re currently stationed. There is no military installation in Pennsauken which makes this odd and very different from those other incidents. Not that Marines can’t live anywhere, but it wouldn’t make sense to compare this to the other marine that met his demise near Twenty-nine Palms," Orinda speculated.
"That’s a good point to make, but while we are here in the news room trying to solve all of the mysteries and inconsistencies, time is running away from us. Now get out of here, and put these questions to work by asking the investigating officer and maybe help find a few answers. On your feet!”
Chapter 4
The conversation with Mr. Chandler took longer than expected causing Orinda and Mason to travel during lunch time. Though Pennsauken was a mere 20 minute drive, traffic going over the Betsey Ross Toll Bridge made the drive feel closer to 40. Lanes closed on Interstate 95 due to construction didn’t help them get to their destination quicker, but it allowed them to talk about Mr. Chandler and the dead Marine without the discomfort of an awkward silence because they had nothing else in common to talk about.
"What do you think about that Mr. Chandler? He is such an asshole sometimes. Lo que es un idiota! (What an asshole!) He chose us to report this because of our connection to the Marine Corps, but when we try to piece things together, he hurries us out of the office without words falling on ears.”
"I’m-I’m-I’m used to-to-to that from supervisors. Its only important to-to-to listen to them at all times."
"You’re used to it from the Marine Corps, huh?"
"Yes of c-c-course. I tried to-t-t-t-t-o talk to many but none listened."
It was hard for Orinda to listen to Mason as well. Sounds he made while trying to articulate his words made her feel as uncomfortable as she ever had, it also made her feel sorry for him.
"I need-need to take another pill to calm-ca-calm myself. I’m nervous," Mason said as he reached into his messenger bag to retrieve his prescription of Ativan and a flask. Orinda watched him but didn’t say a word. In a way, she sympathized with him because she had to deal with severe anxiety during her younger years. Anxiety attacks came so often that her friends in her college days could predict how many she would have in a weeks’ time. That was the moment she realized that she and Mason had more in common than she originally thought.
"What’s in the flask? Who carries a flask with their name stenciled in old English letters anyways? I know you’re a well-dressed man but I’ve never se
en anyone put water in a flask before."
"I hope you-you-you won’t tell Mr. Chandler, but I need to a drink to calm my-my nerves. I don’t want-want the NCIS investigat-investigator to think I’m some kind of retard. Since you haven’t made-made fun of me yet, I t-t-trust you," Mason confided, putting his knuckle into the bottom of his jaw to aid the swallowing of the pill. He could tell she felt for him and used it to his advantage because she at least hadn’t made him feel like everyone else had in his life.
After taking another dosage of Ativan and a swig of his liquor, Mason closed his eyes and laid his head against the head rest. Orinda watched on as they inched along in traffic wondering what she did to allow him to feel so comfortable with her that he could reveal such an unprofessional gesture but she also wondered what he did to her that made her to feel it was okay. She didn’t ask any questions, she didn’t want to put a dent in the armor of trust that he had donned. In fact, she felt compelled to prove her worthiness of his trust. Instead of asking about the obviously prohibited substance, Orinda reached across his lap and opened the glove compartment. The movement startled him, removing him from a state of medicated tranquility. She fumbled throughout the glove compartment to find something all the while focusing her eyes on the road.
"Can I help you f-f-find something?" Mason asked curious of what she was looking for. The glove compartment usually held either drivers registrations and insurance information or a weapon. None of the three was needed. He didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable in her own vehicle. While looking in the compartment, her eyes didn’t tell him about her history of anxiety and she wouldn’t tell him directly either, but she did officially tell him that she understood and wanted to help him. She handed him breath spray and gum.
"If we are going to have a drink before a work assignment, we should at least try and doctor the smell. Cops have this thing about alcohol and driving, and bosses have a thing about drinking on the job," she said as she handed him the gum.
Confused, he looked at her as she reached for his flask and commenced to indulge in the mystery substance without conscious effort. Immediately all of her feminine grace vacated the vehicle. She began to cough viciously and hack uncontrollably.
"Take your time. This stuff is strong," Mason said. Her eyes watered and her cheeks flushed. She was amazed by two things. The first was his speech; it was slow but much improved. There was a hint of hesitation with each word as he knew his tongue was cursed, but words flowed without impediment. Also, she noticed that what she drank in the flask was like nothing she ever had before. During college, she drank everything from top shelf firewater to cheap malted gut liquor but never anything like this. She wanted him to be comfortable, but her body’s reaction to his elixir made her quite the opposite.
"Oh Dios mío Mason! ¿Qué diablos es eso?! (Oh my God Mason! What the hell is that?!”) she exclaimed. Mason had already taken another swig before closing the latch of the flask and putting it away. She didn’t need another shot and from the looks of it, she couldn’t handle another anyway.
"It’s just something I use when I really need to calm my nerves," he said spraying his mouth with a spearmint scented spray followed by the same flavored chewing gum.
"Why did you put it away? I wasn’t done," Orinda said.
"I don’t want to say that you can’t handle it, but it’s strong, and I don’t want you intoxicated while we are reporting a murder scene."
"What makes you think that I can’t handle it, Mason? Is it because I’m a woman?" she asked but as the word spilled out, her body began to shiver down her spine and she began to feel warm. Instantly she understood why he wouldn’t let her have another.
"I’m starting to feel the warmth. Maybe I should to take off my sweater before I overheat," Orinda said while trying to take off her sweater and staying in her lane. She hadn’t yet covered the smell of alcohol from her breath, and the last thing she needed was to be pulled over by police smelling like booze.
For the first time in what seemed ever and for the first time in her presence, Mason smiled. It was an odd smile as if he had forgotten how to because it had been such a long time since he had done so. It was uncomfortable.
"Why are you smiling at me? Are you making fun?" Orinda asked with a shy smile. He wasn’t making fun of her at all. She had given him a reason to smile not to ridicule. He wasn’t sure if it was because she had taken off her sweater and reemerged the roundness of her breasts which had caught his attention like back in the office or his sedatives mixed with the liquor were beginning to work, but he could not help his expression.
"I’m only smiling because it’s been a long time since I’ve been comfortable enough around a person; it’s tough sometimes being a loner, but it is funny to see you react to the drink," he said handing her the same packet of gum and breath spray that she had given him.
"Well, I’m glad you’re comfortable, Mr. Mason. You must think I’m some kind of square, that I’m just used to the good life, but I want you to know that I’m not. I know how to unwind; I also know how to behave. I saw you needed to relax, and I wanted to help by joining. Excuse me, if I’m not used to drinking whatever the hell that miracle substance is that you carry around," Orinda said. She tried to sound as stern as possible, but the smile that he had never vanished which caused her to express one of her own. She was embarrassed, and they both knew it.
During their moment of connection, Orinda made an exit off of Interstate 95. According to the address provided by Mr. Chandler and according to the global positioning system, the destination was close. Before being abruptly kicked out of the office, Chandler revealed that the crime scene was on the property of an automotive scrap part yard in an industrial area.
When they arrived, the scene was more chaotic than expected. Marked and unmarked government vehicles clogged the area preventing others from access to the area which caused them to park farther away.
Inside of the auto yard at a distance was a section quarantined off using customary caution tape with swarms of law enforcement and investigators all around. There were a few numerical tags scattered about to identify critical evidence. Since this was still New Jersey in the winter after a snow storm, footprints marked the entrance to the lot of the very spot where Mason and Orinda could see from a distance. Several investigators surrounded what looked like a man in a Marines dress uniform.
"May I help you two?" a tall, older gentleman with an unidentifiable accent asked them as they wandered up to the crime scene.
"Yes, my name is Orinda Costa and this is my partner Mason Sessions. We’re from the Philadelphia Daily. We were instructed to report here by... "
"Vernon Chandler. You’re from the Philadelphia Daily newspaper? Great, I’ve been expecting you. My name is Sheldon Griffin, and I’m from the Pennsauken Detectives Bureau. Before we continue we need to get you lanyards with badges, so there is no confusion to why the press is here. I got a call from the NJSP and that’s how I learned of this situation, Mrs. Costa, so thank you."
"It’s Ms. Costa, Detective. I’m not married. You mentioned that you were contacted by my NJSP connect? That’s odd. We were under the impression from Mr. Chandler that a NCIS investigator leading the investigation would be waiting to meet with us," Orinda demanded.
It didn’t matter to Detective Griffin about the missing holes. Once Orinda disclosed her marital status, his demeanor changed. Initially, he didn’t extend an offer to shake hands upon their first meet, but now that Orinda had revealed her marital status, he couldn’t wait to.
"M-M-Mr. Griffin, I’m Mason Sessions," Mason said feeling ignored as he extended his hand.
"Oh, yes, Mason. Hello. You guys stay right here, and I will be right back with your access badges. Due to the sensitivity of the area and risk of evidence compromise, it’s imperative that you do not move from where you are standing.” Detective Griffin ordered and then walked away into the chaos.
"Did you notice how that the mother fucker didn’t want to s-s-
shake my hand, but he was in every inch of your face? Is this the asshole that Chandler wanted us to work with?" Mason was furious but more so he was jealous. The look that Detective Griffin and Orinda shared was the reason.
"Mason. Oh, cállate. Él estaba muy bien." (Oh Mason, shut up. He was nice.) I think he was very professional yet still showed that he was a gentleman."
"Gentleman? Professional? Am I as invisible to you as I was to him? We both are here in professional capacity. Manera de apoyar a su pareja, la señora Costa.” (Way to support your partner. Ms. Costa).
Immediately, Orinda felt anger towards him but was also impressed by his ability to fluently speak Spanish.
"I’m sorry if you feel that way, Mason. Maybe he did give me more attention but as your partner for this assignment, I don’t want there to be any hard feelings, okay? I’m sorry," she said looking up at him. His eyes were glazed over and watery. She wasn’t sure if the results were from the cold wind chill or because he was holding back his tears but she noticed.
"Whatever, it’s fine. Let’s just continue on in a professional matter, Ms. Costa, so we can get this job done," Mason stated and then turned away. They stood in silence while waiting for Detective Griffin’s return, Mason with damaged feelings and Orinda feeling that maybe he had a point but still didn’t understand why he was upset with her.
"I didn’t know you spoke Spanish so beautifully, Mason," Orinda said attempting to break the silence between them, but Mason would have none of it.
"Háblame ahora, Mason. Tratando aquí." (Speak to me now, Mason. I’m trying here.) she pleaded but Mason ignored.
He ignored her attempts until Detective Griffin returned.
"Ms. Costa and Mr. Sessions," Detective Griffin said being sure to acknowledge Mason. Mason smiled sarcastically as he received his badge and put it on. Detective Griffin then returned his attention to Orinda, the one whom he wanted to interact with the whole time.
Slivovica Mason Page 3