The Edge of Honor

by P. T. Deutermann

  Vince thinks he can get the fire room up and running in a couple of days.”

  “What about the feed pump?”

  “It’s out of commission until they can inspect casing specs to make sure nothing warped, but he’s got two more in that space.”

  “And I suppose there’s no word on what caused it?”

  Austin gave him an arch look. “Officially ‘unknown’ for now,” he said.

  “And if I were you, I wouldn’t push that question too far.”

  “Sounds to me like some people are getting sensitive to the truth.”

  Austin looked at him. “Sounds to me, Mr. Holcomb, that certain lieutenants are starting to live dangerously.”

  He moved away to join the Operations officers for the morning’s instructions.

  Brian walked over to the Weapons group, where the chiefs waited with the division officers. A strong northeast breeze flowed over the boat decks, causing everyone to hang on to his ball cap.

  “Well, guys, I’m back on afternoons and mids,” he announced, “which means I’ll see you guys at officers’ call and at some meals. I guess we go back to the same system as before. You can catch me in Combat unless the Red Crown business happens to be really cooking.

  Otherwise, if it’s routine, handle it.”

  “How long this time, boss?” asked the chief boatswain.

  “Don’t know, Boats. Depends on what they find down there, I suppose. Mr. Austin thinks just a couple of days.”

  “Way I hear it, Mr. Benedetti had the watch standers take a piss test after they pulled ‘em outta the bilges.”

  “Oh my,” said Brian.

  “And?” asked Fox Hudson.

  “That’s all I heard,” the chief said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Probably all we’re going to hear,” muttered Jack Folsom.

  “Okay, guys, turn to,” Brian said. He signed a couple of special-request chits and approved the monthly ammunition summary message draft. The officers headed down to the wardroom for coffee refills, but the chief boatswain lingered. Brian noticed that the boatswain did not have to hang on to his hat.

  “Yeah, Boats?”

  “I figgered ya might wanta know something’,” he said, ” ‘bout them piss tests.”

  “Well, I’m curious, of course. But it wouldn’t astonish me if the lid was clamped down on the results.”

  “Yeah, well, the way I hear it, the doc took the samples with Jackson watchin’, but Jackson didn’t get to see what happened when the doc put the chemicals in—you know, if anybody changed color? And the doc, he’s doin’ the armadillo. He ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to nobody. XO’s orders.”

  “Which means the XO wants to keep the results to himself.”

  “Well, you know, things are kinda up in the air since you took them shitbirds to mast. And Jackson ain’t too happy he’s being’ cut out. And doc ain’t too happy about doin’ the cutting’, you follow my drift.”

  “I think I’m missing something—”

  “Yeah, well, under the old deal, who took care of the bad guys?”

  “Oh, I get it now. The chiefs—who are now being cut out of the pattern.”

  ” ‘Zactly. He can’t keep it a secret, he wants some ass kicked. An if he does keep it a secret—”

  “Nobody’s ass get’s kicked. His system falls apart.”

  ” ‘Causa you.”

  “Because of me. Right. Terrific. I think I’ll go pack my seabag right now. Do a good inventory. Make it easy on my next of kin.”

  The boatswain laughed. “You hang in there, boss. We might get this bucket back to regulation Navy yet.”

  “Anything more on Bullet?”

  “He’s startin’ to get nervous. I been layin’ the heavy vibes on him.”

  The chief rolled his eyes to show what he thought of the expression.

  “But I think we’re missin’ something. Something Garlic said, night we went to talk to him.”

  “What was that?”

  “Jackson don’t agree with this, but Garlic, one time he said he got the money from him, meanin’ Bullet, I guess, and then the second time, he said he got it from them.”

  “Meaning the drug gang, maybe?”

  “Yeah, that’s the way Jackson sees it. Them is the drug gang. But me, I think he meant that he was getting’ money from two guys, not just one.”

  “Meaning what? Bullet’s a deputy dog and there’s another guy, the real boss?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Brian thought about that for a moment. But why would there be two guys—why would the operation need two guys? He asked Martinez.

  “I dunno,” the chief said. “It’s just sometnin’ stickin’ in my head.”

  “If you think that’s how it is, maybe you guys ought to go have a session with Bullet like you had with Garlic—if there’s a bigger fish to catch here, it might be worth it. Long as you could do it without giving the guy a heart attack,” Brian said pointedly.

  Martinez shrugged. “Shit happens, Mr. Holcomb.

  Shit happens.”

  Brian was on his way forward when he saw Austin talking to the exec by the port-side boat davits. They both gave him a look as he went by but did not resume their conversation until Brian was out of earshot. He was restowing some laundry when his phone rang.

  “Lieutenant Holcomb speaking, sir.”

  It was the exec. “Mr. Holcomb. I’m told you think the command has a problem handling the truth.”

  Fucking Austin! “I simply meant—”

  “You had better take some care with what you say, mister. We’ll find out what happened down in that fire room, but I think you have enough problems of your own without sticking your snot nose in other people’s business. If you don’t, come see me—I’ve got lots of problems I can share with you. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And where’s the report on your preps for the admin inspection? And your next quarter’s Optar budget—got that ready yet?”

  “No, sir.” Brian sighed.

  “Well, make sure I have them both by the close of business today, hotshot. Man of your vast interests and talents ought to be able to handle that, no sweat.”

  Brian was silent.

  “I don’t hear you, Mr. Holcomb.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “There you go.”

  Brian hung up and finished stowing his laundry. He was wondering whether he could still grab a quick pre watch nap when there was a knock on the door and Chief Jackson stuck his head in.

  “Mr. Holcomb, got a minute?”

  “Yeah, Chief. Why not.”

  Jackson came in and closed the door behind him.

  “FROM Three Warren came in to see me. It seems he’s catching some heat from some of the other junior enlisted.

  He wouldn’t come right out and say it, but the impression I got was that it was the other black junior enlisted.”

  “What kind of heat?”

  “Somebody stenciled his pillowcase with the name Tom Fink. As in Uncle Tom, the white man’s boy, and a stool pigeon besides. That was two days ago. Last night, some guys ambushed him in the missile house’s passageway, turned off the passageway lights and pushed him around. Guys were wearing their knit caps over their faces. Said he better stay off the weather decks, because they were gonna fix his ass for messing around in some of the brothers’ business.”

  “But none of the guys who went down were black.”

  “Exactly. Which means the warning is probably coming from Bullet—it’s his drug business that Warren is supposedly messing around with.”

  “Shit. I don’t need Warren hassled,” Brian said. “Below the first class FTMs, he’s the senior petty officer watch slander I’ve got left.”

  “Yes, sir. He knows that. He seems like a good kid, but this is starting to get to him. I just thought you ought to know.”

  “Okay, thanks, Chief. Please tell his division officer, Mr. Hudson. Ask him to counsel Warren. Is there an
ything you can do?”

  “In what sense, Mr. Holcomb?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Maybe in the sense that you’re one of the more senior black men in the ship.”

  Jackson looked down at the deck. He had an embarrassed expression on his face.

  “As the Sheriff, I’ve got some power, Mr. Holcomb, but that’s not the same as saying I have any influence on the guys who are probably doing this. When I try to talk to them as a black man, the younger ones look at me as the Uncle Tom of Uncle Toms.”

  “Names shouldn’t bother us, Chief.”

  ” ‘Us,’ Mr. Holcomb?”

  “Right. I beg your pardon. Point taken. I guess what I meant was if you and Chief Martinez cornered some of these guys and put the fear of God, or at least of Godzilk, into them, they might leave Warren alone.”

  Jackson grinned. “Like that gun-deck justice stuff, now, do we?”

  ” ‘We,’ Chief?”

  Jackson laughed out loud and then shook his head.

  “Yes, sir, I hear you. But then they would know we’re aware of them as a drug organization. We should probably not confirm that right now.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. Okay. We’ll do what we can for Warren. But here’s another thing—Martinez told me he thinks there might be two kingpins, based on something Garlic said.”

  “Yeah, he’s run that by me, too. The druggies don’t operate that way, though. There’s one guy—just one guy who runs the show.”

  Brian stifled a yawn. “But suppose Garlic was lying.

  Suppose there is just one guy but that it isn’t Bullet.

  Suppose Bullet works for the one guy and everyone else works for Bullet.”

  “Everything we’ve got so far points at Bullet. There’s nothing pointing to a second guy, Mr. Holcomb. I think we gotta concentrate on where the evidence is leading.”

  Brian yawned. “Okay, Chief. I have to concentrate on saving my young ass from the XO’s are. You go catch Mr. Bullet Wilson.”

  When Jackson returned to his office, he found Radarman First Class Rockheart sitting in one of the chairs, filling out a divisional inspection report.

  “Yo, Chief.”

  “Yeah, morning, Rocky. What’s happening.”

  “Not shit, Chief. Just doing some MAA paperwork.

  You look like you died and just woke up.”

  Jackson shook his head wearily and sat down.

  “I tell you, this drug shit has me coming and going.”

  “Yeah, well, we got three—no, I guess it’s four in the past month. That has to be some progress.”

  “Users, Rocky. Users. Not the guys I really want.”

  “Any ideas on that score, Chief?”

  Jackson eyed Rocky for a minute. He hadn’t brought any of his MAAs into the investigation up to this point— only Chief Martinez. But maybe it was time. And hell, this was Rockheart.

  “Lock that door, RD One. Let me tell you about it.”

  When he was finished, Rocky was staring at the deck.

  “Bullet,” he said. “Hell, I know the guy, or thought I did. He seemed to be upstanding people among the first class. Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit. My problem is, I don’t have one shred of real evidence on Bullet, much less on any second guy.”

  “What would you consider real evidence, Sheriff?”

  “Drugs or money, or, hopefully, both. Especially some of that marked money I put in circulation before Subic.

  Oh, and a witness or three. And a signed confession would be nice—shit, you know.”

  Rocky grunted but then was silent for a few moments.

  The Sheriff was locked on Bullet. The trick was to keep him there.

  Jackson sighed and turned to the paperwork on his desk, and Rocky finished his own report, which he turned over to the chief. He got up to leave.

  “That’s all close-hold stuff, Rocky,” Jackson warned over his shoulder.

  “Absolutely, Chief. But I’m glad you told me. Maybe I can come up with something—who knows? Another pair of eyes, right?”

  “Evidence, RD One. What I need is evidence.”

  San Diego Maddy awoke from a dreamless sleep to the sounds of someone ringing the front door bell. She lay on her stomach, trying to focus her mind, to understand what that noise was. The bedroom was fully dark. All of her muscles were stiff with fatigue. The bell rang again. She lifted her head and looked at her watch, struggling to see the radium dial.

  Eight-thirty. Day or night? The windows were dark. Night. The bell rang again. She felt across the bed for Autrey, but he was gone. Gone. She sat up then, quickly enough to make her head spin for a few seconds.

  She turned on the bedside light. Gone. No clothes. Just gone. Damn. She took a deep breath, then focused on the insistent bell.

  “Just a minute,” she called through the bedroom doorway.

  Her voice was weak. She cleared her throat and said it again, louder.

  She swung out of bed and shoved her hair from her face. She went into the bathroom, got a nightgown and her bathrobe. Maddy looked at herself in the mirror. Hope to hell this isn’t one of the wives, she thought.

  There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be able to recognize the symptoms of what kind of weekend this had been. She washed her face with a cold washcloth and then went through the apartment, turning on some lights and wishing she could just go back to the bathroom and ruminate for a while. She peered through the peephole.

  Oh my God. Mrs. Huntington. She stepped back from the door, ran her hands through her hair once more, gave up, took another deep breath, and unlocked the door. The captain’s wife gave her a five-second long, studied look before speaking.

  “Well, Maddy. I’m glad to find you’re all right. May I come in?”

  Maddy wasn’t sure what to say. If Mrs. Huntington could see that she was all right, why did she have to come in? Don’t be an idiot, girl. This is the captain’s wife. She wants to come in so that she can give you a lecture about your evil ways. She stood aside.

  “Yes, of course, although I’m not very presentable. I was asleep.”

  Mrs. Huntington paused in the doorway. “Are you alone, Maddy?”

  Ah, there we are. “Yes, Mrs. Huntington. I am.” She looked straight at the other woman. “Now.”

  Mrs. Huntington smiled, and Maddy was slightly embarrassed to see that it was not a bitchy meow smile.

  Mrs. Huntington walked past her and went over to the sofa, where she sat down, placing her purse and a jacket on the table. She was wearing slacks, a long-sleeved blouse, with a scarf at her neck, and penny loafers.

  Maddy stood there in her bathrobe feeling as rumpled as she undoubtedly looked. Mrs. Huntington looked at her.

  “Why don’t you go freshen up, dear. Freshen up and wake up a little.

  Tell me, if I go out there in the kitchen, would I find some coffee makings? I could use a cup and so could you, I think. Yes? Good. Go right ahead. Take your time, get yourself together. I know that my visit is probably a little unsettling, but we do need to talk. I’ll find what I need out there, so go on now.”

  Like a chastened teenager, Maddy left the room. When she returned twenty minutes later, she was showered, dressed in slacks and a sweater herself, and fully awake.

  And a little worried. The captain’s wife walking into her little love nest. The only thing worse would have been if Autrey had answered the door.

  Mrs. Huntington had two cups of coffee on the living room table, along with a small pitcher of milk and the sugar bowl. There were even napkins and spoons. Maddy gave a tentative smile and sat down, not really knowing how to proceed. Over Mrs. Huntington’s shoulder, she suddenly focused on Brian’s picture, and the room tilted.

  She waited for Mrs. Huntington, who smiled and passed her a cup of coffee. She then looked around the room.

  “This is a nice apartment, Maddy. And a lovely location, right across from Balboa Park.”

  “Yes, we like it,” Maddy said. “It seems to be secu
re, and I can play tennis every day, too.” How inane, she thought.

  This visit is sure as hell not about tennis.

  Mrs. Huntington sipped some coffee and then put the cup down, sat back, crossed her legs, and smiled again.

  Damn woman was full of smiles.

  “Maddy,” she began, “I have sensed that our wardroom wives’ organization is more than a little foreign to your experience. I know you and Brian are new to Hood, and that you are relatively new to Navy married life.

  And it’s not that I think you don’t like us; I suspect it’s more a matter of lifestyle. Most of our wives do not have jobs and have a houseful of kids to chase after. You have a full-time job and no children. Most of our wives have college degrees, but the objective for many of them was always the Mrs. degree. You have a professional business education from a first-rate school, and you’re on a career track with the Bank of America. As I said, I think it’s cultural—our worlds impinge on each other because of your husband’s career and his assignment to this ship, whereas otherwise, I don’t think you and I would ever cross paths.”

  It was Maddy’s turn to sit back, cross her legs, and wait to see where this was going.

  “Yes?” she said, with a coolness she did not feel.

  “Over the past few weeks, you’ve regretted several invitations, some of them spur-of-the-moment, some of them more along the line of our regular wives’ functions.

  I decided to see if we’ve managed to offend you, or if perhaps you were depressed and just holing up here.

  Sometimes that happens, especially to women who are new to these awful deployments and who have less of a family focus than our girls with children do. I called several times this weekend, and when you didn’t answer, I decided to check it out.”

  “I see. Well, there’s certainly been no offense, Mrs. Huntington.

  Everyone’s been very nice and I’ve met some lovely people, but you’re right: I have a full day in the office, and I have to pursue a vigorous sport daily or my body blows up like a balloon. The deployment … well, the deployment is just there, I guess. I hate every minute of it, and most of the time I try just to stay busy enough so that I don’t get irretrievably down about it. In a way, being with the wives makes that harder. Maybe it’s because I look at them and see the future. But no, I’m not mad at anybody, and I’m no more depressed than I should be, I suppose.”