W E B Griffin - BoW 04 - The Colonels

by The Colonels(Lit)

  "What's on your mind, Parker? I'm not trying to get rid of you, but I am busy as hell."

  "I'd like to join up," Parker said.

  "Then you apply," Hanrahan said. "You must know that, Captain."

  "Sir, Colonel Macmillan turned me down."

  "Then you're turned down," Hanrahan said. "Surely Mac gave you his reasons."

  "Only that it wasn't for me, sir."

  "When did all this happen?"

  "Two days ago, sir, at Rucker."

  "They pulled your records, Mac interviewed you, and turned you down? Is that it?"

  "I was not selected for interview, sir," Parker said. "And I technically don't meet the requirements of DA Circular 23-103, sir."

  "Then you've wasted your time coming here, and are wasting my time standing here," Hanrahan said.

  "Mac admitted to me at lunch, sir," Captain Parker said, "that the provisions of DA 23-103 can be waived. That he had that authority, from you."

  "If you're a friend of Mac's, then you know Mac sometimes talks too much," Hanrahan said.

  "May I make my pitch, Colonel?" Parker asked. "You've got 120 seconds," Hanrahan said, after a pause. "Sir, I'm a regular army officer out of Norwich. My family..

  "You can skip all that," Hanrahan said. "Our friend Lowell has told me all about you."

  "Sir, Parker went on, "I have been a captain more than eight years. I am not on the new major's list. I am currently an instructor pilot. I am apparently in as much of a dead-end job in aviation as I was before I went to aviation."

  "And you see us as a path to promotion?"

  "I think I could make a contribution here, sir."

  "How?"

  "I'm a good combat commander, sir," Parker said.

  "I understand you have a habit of shooting people who don't behave the way you think they should," Hanrahan said.

  "I was acquitted of that charge, sir," Parker said.

  You were acquitted of it, but you know as well as I do that's why you haven't been promoted, why you won't be promoted.

  "Do you regret having shot that officer?"

  "I was accused of murdering two officers, sir. There were two incidents."

  "I asked you if you were sorry about that?"

  "I am sorry it was necessary, sir," Parker said. "You're not parachute qualified?"

  Hanrahan asked. "No, sir."

  "If you're flying, you've passed a tougher physical than ours," Hanrahan said. "But no foreign languages?"

  "Just what I got in college, sir. I can read and write German, but I can't say I'm fluent."

  "And you're over twenty-nine, which is our maximum age for an officer in your grade?"

  "I'm thirty, sir."

  "You're fixed and rotary wing qualified?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you want to throw that away? What I mean by that is that it's fairly obvious that army aviation is going to grow, and you're an old-timer, so to speak. You're asking the army to simply throw away the fortune it's cost to train you, so that you can come here."

  "I repeat, sir, I think I could make a contribution here."

  "And also maybe get promoted?" Hanrahan asked, sarcastically.

  "Yes, sir," Parker said. "That's my motivation. I can see no future for myself as an aviator. If they haven't promoted me, they obviously aren't going to give me an aviation command."

  "You seem pretty sure of that," Hanrahan said, coldly. "Are you feeling sorry for yourself? Taking your ball and going home?"

  Parker came to attention.

  "I beg the colonel's pardon for wasting his time, sir. With the colonel's permission, I will withdraw, sir."

  "Sergeant Major!" Hanrahan called.

  Taylor came into the office.

  "Sir?" "Take this officer with you," Hanrahan said. "Get him a cup of coffee.

  And then get his serial number and so on, and arrange to have him transferred."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Thank you, sir," Parker said.

  "When they stand you in the door of the airplane and tell you to jump," Hanrahan said, "or when we ran your ass off around here, trying to change a flabby flyboy into a Green Beret, you may have second thoughts."

  "I hope not, sir," Parker said.

  "You ever watch Groucho Marx on television, Captain?" Hanrahan asked.

  The question obviously surprised Parker.

  "I've seen him, sir. Yes, sir."

  "You know the part when somebody says the magic words, and the rabber duck comes down?"

  "Yes, sir." "You said the magic words, Captain Parker. What you said should be the motto of this outfit. "We do a lot of nasty things we regret are necessary'

  Parker didn't reply.

  "You are dismissed, Captain," Colonel Hanrahan said.

  (Four) New York City 1235 Hours, 2 March 1959

  When Lowell had called Porter Craig from the Rhine-Main airport in Frankfurt to ask for a letter of credit, he had refused Porter's offer to send a car to meet him at Kennedy.

  "It's quicker, I've learned, to catch a cab," he had said. "I get in at 11:05, so figure half past twelve."

  "Half past twelve for where?"

  "I'd really rather not go downtown, Porter," Lowell had said. "All I'm asking is that you meet me someplace with the letter of credit. How about the Century?"

  "What are you going to buy now?"

  "The Graf came through where you failed me, Porter. I have a car waiting for me at the Mercedes place, at Park and 58th Street."

  "The showroom's there. I think the garage is on Eighth," Porter Craig said.

  "I was told to go to the place on Park Avenue."

  "You want to have lunch up there?"

  "At the Mercedes place?"

  "Actually, I was thinking of the Plaza," Porter Craig said.

  "God, no," Lowell said. "We'd look like a gigolo and his pimp."

  "Where, then?" "The Century," Lowell said. "There are no women in the bar there."

  "I sent the flowers, by the way, to your lady friend," Porter said.

  "The Century," Lowell said, "at half past twelve."

  And then he'd hung up and walked into the boarding area at Rhine-Main in Frankfurt, where they were calling his name.

  When he got out of the cab at the Century, he was wearing a trench coat with a black Persian lamb collar and a matching hat, which was shaped something like an overseas cap, but several inches taller. The Graf had a similar outfit, and to Lowell with several drinks in him after a lunch in Frankfurt am Main buying such a coat and hat for himself seemed like a splendid idea. Now, he wasn't so sure.

  He was paying the cabbie when a chauffeur appeared at his elbow.

  "I'll take care of those for you, Mr. Lowell," he said.

  Lowell smiled automatically and looked beyond him. There was a Lincoln limousine at the curb. The passenger compartment windows and the divider were of dark glass and he couldn't see in.

  "Mr. Craig's car?" Lowell asked.

  As if in answer, the curbside door swung open, and there was a glimpse of Porter Craig beckoning to him.

  He walked to the car and leaned down to look in.

  "Aren't we going in?"

  "Kitchen's closed today for some reason," Porter said. "I just found out."

  Lowell got in the car and closed the door.

  "This thing looks like a hearse," he said.

  "And I was so hoping you'd be pleased," Porter Craig said, lightly sarcastic.

  "I am, I am," Lowell said.

  "Nice flight?" Porter asked. He was a large, pudgy man, balding, in a nearly black gray suit. Lowell had often thought that Porter Craig looked like what a banker should look like. He looked respectable, honest, trustworthy, and smart.

  "Ugly stewardess," Lowell said. "I thought they had a rule they had to be young and good looking?"

  "I thought your heart was spoken for," Porter said, obviously pleased with himself. "After all, you did send her a dozen long-stemmed roses." "Good God, I told you there was nothing to that
," Lowell said.

  "So you did."

  "Where are we going to eat? All I had on the plane was a couple of rolls and coffee."

  "I thought Jack and Charlie's," Porter said. "21? I thought that responsible bankers should not be seen in there during business hours."

  "It's on 52nd Street. You're going to' 58th. It's on the way." "I don't mind if you don't," Lowell said. "My..appearance there won't cause a run on the banks."

  The chauffeur slammed the trunk, and then got behind the wheel. Lowell picked up the telephone.

  "Will you lower that divider, please? I feel like a corpse back here."

  The divider whooshed down.

  "I like your hat," Porter said. "Tres chic!"

  "You're in a jolly mood today, aren't you, wise-ass?" Lowell said.

  "It's because I'm so thrilled to see you, cousin."

  "It's because I didn't go to the office and check the cash," Lowell said.

  A doorman came out from the cast-iron fence at 21 and opened the door.

  "Good afternoon, sir," he said to Lowell, and then spotted Porter Craig. "How are you, Mr. Craig?"

  "Give us an hour or so, Tom," Porter said to the chauffeur and looked at his watch.

  "If you're on a first-name basis here," Lowell said, "I think I will check the cash drawer."

  A maitre d'hotel Lowell did not recognize greeted Porter Craig warmly and showed them to a table set for four. A waiter and a wine steward appeared immediately, but no busboy to take away the extra two place settings.

  "I would like a Bloody Mary," Lowell ordered. "With lots of tomato juice and no Worcestershire."

  "Yes, sir," the waiter said.

  Porter ordered a martini.

  "They announce they make the best Bloody Mary in the world here," Porter said.

  "If I get one with Worcestershire, it goes back," Lowell said. "What's with you and the martini? I thought you drank those only when you'd just dispossessed a really needy widow."

  "Oh, this is rather an occasion for me," Porter said, gaily. Lowell was as good as his word. His Bloody Mary came with Worcestershire, and he called over the maitre d' and handed it to him.

  "I ordered this without Worcestershire," he said.

  "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the maitre d' said.

  "Good," Lowell said.

  The maitre d'hotel hurried away.

  "My," Porter said, "you certainly know what you want, don't you?"

  "Porter, this surplus bonhomie of yours is making me suspicious. What have you set me up for?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," Porter said.

  Lowell looked at him and snorted. And then Porter stood up.

  "Clem," he called, "over here!"

  "Who the hell is Clem?" Lowell demanded.

  Porter was beaming. Someone approached the table. A hand came over Lowell's shoulder to shake Porter Craig's.

  "Clem, I don't think you've met my cousin Craig Lowell, have you?"

  Porter said. "Craig, this is my old friend, Clemens Thomas."

  Lowell got to his feet and put out his hand and found himself looking into the surprised and angry face of Cynthia Thomas.

  "I believe you do know Miss. Thomas, Clem's sister?" Porter Craig said.

  His pudgy face was a map of delight.

  "We're old pen pals," Lowell said.

  "I'm going," Cynthia Thomas said, furiously. "This was a hitty thing for you to do, Clem."

  Heads turned.

  "Very funny, Lowell," Cynthia went on. "Screw you again!"

  She turned on her heel and stormed to the door.

  Lowell went after her. He caught her at the hat check counter and spun her around.

  "I didn't want you to go away thinking I set this up, lady," he said.

  "My asshole of a cousin has got a sick sense of humor."

  She shook free of his hand and then looked into his face. Her eyes were even bluer than he remembered.

  Her brother rushed up.

  "My God, Cyn," he said. "He did send flowers, after all. Come on back."

  "Did you send the flowers?" she asked Lowell. "Or was that something these two thought. was clever?" "I sent the flowers," Lowell said. "Or I had Porter send them." "So your wife wouldn't see the bill?" she asked. "My wife is dead, Miss. Thomas," Lowell said. "Oh, Jesus," she said. "I'm sorry, Lowell." She reached out and found his hand. It was vibrant, he thought. He caught himself caressing it, and let it go.

  "Let's go eat," Cynthia said, reaching for it again. "They say you can order anything you want in here. Let's see if they have some arsenic for these two."

  "Now that you're here," Lowell said, without thinking, "I'll even spring for lunch."

  She looked at his face and blushed, then averted her eyes. "No," she said. "My asshole of a brother will pay. But thank you for the thought."

  She did not let go of his hand until they were back at the table.

  He had, he thought, been chaste since the session with Jane Cassidy at her beach place. That was some time back. Was that why he now found Cynthia Thomas an absolutely fascinating female?

  (Five) Mercedes-Benz of America Showroom Park Avenue at 58th Street New York City 1540 Hours, 2 March 19S9

  "God!" Cynthia Thomas said when she saw the car. "It's gorgeous!" She looked at Lowell and smiled.

  "So are you," he said.

  She shook her head at him, as if to indicate he was crazy.

  What was crazy was that she was here with him. He couldn't remember much about lunch, except that he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and that it had somehow not seemed at all important that her brother and his cousin were visibly smug that they, had "carried it off."

  Normally, he would have left Porter sitting with whatever "nice young woman" his cousin was trying to palm off on him. And he somehow knew that the same was true of Cynthia. But he hadn't left and neither had she.

  Finally, they had left together. They had walked. He had taken her arm crossing the street, and the soft warmth of it had been delightful.

  And then he had taken her hand, and despite the glove, it had been warm and soft, too. And she had seemed to welcome the touch. They had walked over to Park Avenue, and then up, holding hands like teenagers.

  The two-passenger Mercedes convertible, top down, was sitting in the center of the showroom, where it could best be seen from the street. It was the first thing Walk-in customers would see when they came in off Park Avenue.

  "We had rather hoped to have it on display for several weeks," the sales manager said.

  "But why baby blue?" Cynthia asked.

  "That is Capri blue, Madame," the sales manager corrected her.

  "It was the only color they had," Lowell said.

  "You do understand, don't you, Mr. Lowell, that this is the very first of this model to be sent to the United States?"

  "Then there's a discount?" Lowell asked, as if he were serious.

  "We were given to understand that we were not to deliver this car until others were available," the sales manager said, not amused. "We don't even have the winter season top."

  "The what? You mean it doesn't have a roof?" Lowell asked.

  "It has, of course, the folding top," the sales manager said. "The winter season top which does not retract, but rather is fastened in place is recommended for use in the winter season."

  "This top does go up?" Lowell asked. "It would be a long, cold ride to Alabama with the roof down."

  "It would be a long, cold ride to Central Park West with the roof down," Cynthia said.

  She got in the car and tried some switches. When nothing worked, she tried the ignition.

  "The battery's dead," she chortled.

  "The battery has been disconnected," the sales manager said, "against untoward incidents. You would be amazed to hear what I could tell you about what people do to cars on display."

  "Well, let's get the battery hooked up, and the roof up, and let me pay you for it and whatever," Lowell said.