Code Name: Crescent: A Matt Preston Novel

by Paul Shadinger

  “We know that,” the colonel snapped back. He paused and looked over at his companion. I didn’t detect any communication between them but when the colonel looked back at me, he continued, “What we want to know is what they told you.”

  I thought, this conversation is weird, but I kept the thought to myself and instead replied, “Told me about what? I don’t understand what you want.”

  “Anything… what did you talk to them about?”

  I wondered what they were getting at. I asked, “When? You’re not making sense. I have no idea what you know about all this, and I also have no idea why I’m even explaining anything to you. But in the interest of getting this over with, I’ll tell you Price broke into my place one evening and when I came home, he ran away. We never spoke. When he tried to escape out my back door he slipped and fell in the vacant lot behind my apartment and broke his leg. I went to call the police and Hollis shot him.”

  The colonel interrupted, “How do you know it was Hollis?”

  “Cause Hollis told me he did.” That wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough to the truth for these two. I asked again. “What’s this all about?”

  Again, the colonel ignored my question. “What all did you discuss with Hollis?”

  “When?” I countered.

  “Up in the lighthouse…”

  They knew about that. I wondered how much they knew about what really happened up there. “Well…” I was stalling for time. There were so many ways this conversation could blow up in my face and I had no idea who these guys really were. I continued, “There really wasn’t a lot of conversation going on. Basically we were shooting at each other. The only chatting Hollis did was to make a few comments about some of my friends, and then my dog, and when he raised his gun and took a shot at me and missed, I shot him.”

  “Between the eyes?” The colonel asked.

  “Yeah, the military trained me well.” I was really getting pissed at these two clowns. I was trying to be polite, but they seemed to be going out of their way to be rude.

  “Is that a joke, Mr. Preston?” The colonel queried.

  “No. But you seem to know my record. I assume you know what I did over there. Otherwise, I doubt you’d be here. I was just saying I was lucky and the training the Army gave me saved my life.”

  “The report we read said that Hollis’ pistol was empty. How did he shoot at you with an empty pistol?”

  “He used all his ammo. I didn’t, so I got the last shot.” I figured since Hollis wasn’t there to dispute my claim, my story was as good as his.

  “That’s interesting, since Hollis’ military records show he was an excellent marksman. Why do you think he missed you?

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea. You need to ask him.” I could feel the smirk on my face.

  The colonel snarled at me, “Preston, your attitude leaves a lot to be desired.” The suit put his hand on the colonel’s arm and when the officer glanced down at him, suit gave his head a small negative shake.

  The colonel continued, “At any time, did Hollis ever mention anything about Crescent to you?”

  “What?” I was totally puzzled.

  “Crescent!” The colonel snapped back.

  “Crescent? You mean like what’s carved on the door of an outhouse?” I asked.

  “Well, yes… you know, a partial moon. A Crescent.” I could hear the exasperation in his voice as he traced in the air the shape of a half circle. “What did Hollis say to you about Crescent?”

  I had to admit, I was totally confused. “Nothing. He never mentioned that word. This is the first time I’ve even heard the word in connection with Hollis. Why?”

  Again, the colonel ignored my question. “You’re sure he didn’t say anything about Crescent? Not one word?”

  I was trying to keep the exasperation I was feeling out of my voice. “No! I told you, I’ve never heard the word in connection with Hollis until this evening.” I paused a moment and then asked, “When do you think Hollis might have said something?”

  This time I wasn’t ignored. “When you were up in the lighthouse. You’re sure he didn’t say anything about Crescent?” Now the colonel sounded exasperated.

  “I’m positive! We were rather busy shooting at each other to have much of a conversation. Look, I really don’t understand what this is all about. Why are you here?”

  Again there was no answer to my question.

  “Oh yeah…” For the first time the black suit spoke, “We were wondering about you shooting Hollis so many times. Why was it necessary to shoot him in both feet? Was he going somewhere?” Suit must have been feeling a little bolder since this was the first time he had spoken.

  “Well, I’m a poor shot,” I popped off.

  The colonel scowled at me, “Preston… come on. We read the report. The report where you stated you shot Hollis in the chest while you were lying on the steps after you tripped. That was not a poor shot. Why did you shoot him in the feet?”

  I was still for a long time. Finally, I asked. “Truth?”

  The colonel said, “Yes, please. The truth!”

  “I was pissed. I was in a lot of pain and I was very angry. He had told me how much he’d enjoyed shooting my two Seattle police detective friends and then I shot him.” I paused for a moment, wondering if I wanted to continue.

  The colonel glared at me as he barked one word, “And?”

  “Well, and cause he kept calling me names.” Boy did that sound lame now that I was saying it aloud. I was telling a high-ranking officer in the US Army I shot somebody because he called me a name. Talk about back in third grade again, but at the time it was how I felt.

  The colonel glared at me a few moments more before he asked, “And what name did Hollis call you that you felt you had to shoot him?”

  This was so embarrassing. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter!” the officer retorted.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Tell us now or else…”

  My voice was almost a whisper as I interrupted him. “He called me a pussy.”

  “What did you say?” the colonel barked.

  I spoke a little louder this time. “A pussy… he called me a pussy!”

  Incredulity colored the colonel’s voice. “A pussy!” then louder, “A pussy. Are you serious? You shot him because he called you a pussy?”

  “Yeah, well, you had to be there to understand. There was a lot going on besides that. I mainly just wanted to shut him up. And he kept repeating it over and over… so I shot him.”

  The colonel took an aggressive step toward me. “Isn’t the real reason you shot Hollis because he wouldn’t tell you about Crescent? You were torturing him to tell you about Crescent,” he snarled.

  I wanted this to end. What was it with this Crescent thing? I decided I wanted to know so I asked, “What is it with you and this Crescent thing? I told you I’ve never heard squat about Crescent until now. Neither Hollis nor Price discussed Crescent with me… or anything else. And besides, who the hell are you guys and where do you get off coming here late at night and grilling me?”

  They ignored my question. “You’re sure?” the colonel asked.

  I wanted to scream. “Yes, I’m sure!” I paused a moment, working on getting my feelings under control. “Look, Hollis shot me in the thigh. My girlfriend was in the hospital because Hollis shot her. He also wounded two of my other friends. And, to top it all off, the fruit loop put a zip tie around my dog’s neck and watched her strangle to death. I was in no mood to have a social chat with that fucking psychopath. I was pissed as hell and I wanted revenge. I wasn’t there to talk to him.” Boy, these two were dense.

  “So you admit you shot him?”

  My voice rose several octaves. “Hell, yes, I shot him! It was shoot him or let him shoot me.”


  “He would have shot you with an unloaded gun?’

  I was totally pissed, but I was still careful to keep my lies straight about what had happened in the lighthouse. “Hollis had one shot left.” I held up one finger. “He took it and missed. My shot didn’t. That’s what happened.”

  “Oh…” The colonel looked at me and I could tell he was not buying my explanation of what happened up in the lighthouse tower. Disbelief dripped from his next question, “And you shot Hollis in the feet because he was calling you a pussy?” There was a moment of silence. “You expect us to believe you shot him in his feet because he called you a name and not because you were torturing him?”

  I said nothing. Until I understood more about what was going on, the smartest move was to just remain silent. After glaring at me for a moment or two, the colonel looked over at the suit and this time I saw the suit nod his head. “Mr. Preston. We are here tonight to give you an order.” For a moment I thought about telling them that since I was no longer in the service he had no authority to give me any orders, but I was keeping my mouth shut. “You are never, I repeat, never to discuss anything you know about Hollis or Price with anybody. You have never met Hollis or Price. You do not know anybody named Hollis or Price. Am I making myself clear?”

  I’d already had this conversation with some other uniforms when I was in the hospital after the lighthouse incident. I had a thousand smartass comebacks flitting through my head, but I knew my next answer might have a lot to do with me staying a free man or ending up going somewhere I didn’t want to go. I took the high road. “Yes, sir. I have never heard of either of those two gentlemen. I wish I could help you more, but I have never heard those two names in my life.”

  Suit grunted and the colonel snapped, “And you’ve never heard anything about Crescent either!”

  “Sir, I can honestly say, I know nothing about this Crescent thing either.”

  While the colonel glared at me, the suit pushed the button for the elevator. The colonel ended our conversation with, “And don’t you forget it. Understand?” Again, there were witty comebacks I wanted to use, but I knew better.

  “Yes sir,” I murmured. The two men turned and stepped back into the waiting elevator. As the door slid shut, my dog Beanie gave a halfhearted bark. I looked down at her and laughed. “Hey killer, where were you when I needed you?” I joked.

  The visit nagged at me for many reasons. I thought I knew where I might be able to go to get some answers, but the problem was I really didn’t have the complete question. For several days I considered going back over to see my old Army buddy Walter regarding my late night visitors, but in the end I decided not to do it. I didn’t want to inadvertently involve him in something neither of us knew anything about or understood. For the time being, I was content to let things lie.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE LOST STUDENT

  As I felt somebody tugging on my sleeve, bringing me back from my daydream, I was a little embarrassed. I looked around the table and saw everybody had picked up their cards but me. I quickly picked them up and fanned them out. Now that I was playing cards for the first time in a long time, it felt good. Well, kind of. I was enjoying being with my friends, but so far the evening had not gone well for me card-wise, and I figured I was down about sixty bucks. Looking over the cards I’d just been dealt wasn’t helping. Not one pair, and I couldn’t even scrape up a flush. I was trying to keep a good attitude and not move around too much in my chair, but I just couldn’t settle down and concentrate.

  Tonight there were eight of us gathered to play: Wheeler, Randy Ralph, my best friend Scott, Tom who was hosting tonight’s game, a black gentlemen named William Tate, two newcomers to our game and me. Lamenting the money I’d lost so far, I remembered that old song and I decided it didn’t matter if you were ahead or behind, it wasn’t a good idea to count your money at the table unless you were trying to cover a bet.

  When Wheel showed up for the evening’s game, as always he was wearing a bespoke suit complete with vest that was well tailored to fit his stout form. All the way around, Wheel looked a lot better tonight than the last time we had played poker together. Tonight seemed to be his night. I remembered when it was my night and I won the houseboat, and Wheel had stomped off mad at all of us. Tonight he kept getting great cards and when a couple of us started raising the pot, he was the winner.

  The hand we were playing ended with me throwing my cards in early. And like so many other hands for me this evening, I would have lost anyway. Scott started pulling in his winnings and a couple of the other players went back into the kitchen to grab a fresh beer while Randy Ralph stepped outside for a smoke. I had noticed William Tate looking at me off and on all evening. Now that we had a break, he asked if he could speak to me alone. I stood and motioned for him to follow me into the next room.

  The year William “Tubs” Tate left college, he was considered the top professional basketball prospect of the year. Since his hobby was playing jazz drums in a band, his nickname was Tubs. Because of his size, one of the top drum manufacturers had made him a custom trap set. The bass drum was almost twice the size of a normal one and every piece of equipment was made to fit his 6’11” frame. His quintet had recorded a couple of CDs and he had given all of the poker players copies when they were released. Bill was almost as good at playing drums as he was at basketball, and that’s saying something.

  We entered the next room and I quietly closed the door behind us. “What’s up, William?” I asked.

  “Bill. Come on Matt, please, call me Bill or Tubs.” He continued, “I know you’re buddies with a couple of Seattle detectives,” he paused and I nodded, “and I’ve heard stories about your time in the service.” This time I shrugged. I wasn’t being uncommunicative; I just didn’t have much to say to Bill’s comments. My service days were a long time ago, and I would just as soon keep those memories behind me.

  To be polite, I interjected, “Yes, I’m friends with a couple of Seattle cops and normally I tell folks I was a musician in the band during my time in the service. But just between the two of us, yeah, I did some strange shit when I was in Nam. But Bill, that part of my life is long past. ‘Sides, I’m not really supposed to discuss any part of what went down, even to this day. Anyway, why’d ya bring it up?” While I was in the service, I’d been selected for some special training and during my time in Viet Nam, I had been places that even today our government claims we were never in and I did things there our government says were never done. It’s a part of my life I don’t like to either discuss, or think much about. I am not proud of the fact I took some lives over there, but at the time it was either them or me. Guess who I chose.

  I could tell Bill was nervous about something, and I watched as he fiddled with his watch, and then straightened the large, jewel-encrusted ring on his finger. It was obvious he had more to say, but he seemed to be having a problem getting to it. Finally, to help things along I said, “Tubs, it’s obvious you want to tell me something.” He mumbled something and I continued, “How about you just start talking and if I don’t understand something, I’ll ask questions. Okay?”

  Bill gave me a fleeting smile and then started, “Thanks. This is tough. Well, it’s about my daughter Kim. She was doing so well at the U, then last semester she took an incomplete in every class but one, and she got a D in that class. Matt, she was a 4.0 student.”

  When he paused, I interrupted him. Family problems are something I have no desire to get involved with. “Look guy, excuse me for interrupting here, but I’m afraid I don’t see why you’re talking to me. My GPA in college was a negative number.” He smiled at my little joke. “What makes you think I can help?”

  He looked down at the floor for a moment and then back at my face. “Well, I know you never talked about the houseboat you won from Slim, but we all heard the stories. We all know Ralph likes to talk and we all kinda knew Slim.”

  I said, �
��Okay, Randy Ralph likes to talk, but I still don’t see why you’re coming to me. What is it you think I can do?”

  Bill finally took a deep breath and then blurted out, “Well, Samara—that’s her mother—Samara and I think she’s doing drugs of some sort. I know she was taking something to keep her going when she was doing finals and all, and maybe she got hooked or…” Bill stopped.

  I knew I wanted this conversation to end. For one, it was embarrassing for both of us, and reason number two was I didn’t see how I could help. To be honest, I didn’t want to get involved in anybody’s family difficulties. I ran my hands through my silvered hair and as nicely, but as firmly as I could, I told him, “Bill, I still fail to see how I can be of any help. It sounds like you and Samara think your daughter dropped out of school because of some sort of drug addiction?” He agreed and why I asked the next sentence I’ll never know. “What would you want me to do about your problem?”

  “I don’t know.” And with that, the huge man standing before me bowed his head again and this time I saw his shoulders were shaking. Oh shit, Bill was crying. When he looked back at me there were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. “I really don’t know what to do, Matt. You know I played professional ball.” I knew Bill had been the top basketball prospect the year he was drafted into the pros, and once he was playing professional ball, he’d been mostly responsible for two different teams ending up with a couple of championship seasons each.

  Bill continued, “Not to brag, Matt, but I had ice water in my veins at the end of some of those games we won. Put me in with seconds to go, give me the ball and I would bring you the win, bank on it! Not conceit on my part, it was how it was. I knew I could do it and I just made it happen, but right now I feel so helpless. I just thought you might have an idea, something you thought you could do to help. I know I’m just grasping at straws.”