“You mean we set the guy up for a hit? Louie asked. “Like in New York or Chicago?”
“Well, coastwatchers spotted him and we shot him down, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Ingram.
Louie looked up to the rear-view mirror and asked, “Ain’t that political?”
“Maybe you should ask Leo,” said Ingram.
“Who’s Leo?” asked Louie.
“Forget it,” growled Landa, rattling the package in his lap.
After a dark moment, Louie said, “Look you guys, I’m sorry if--Whoa!” A red neon sign loomed out of the fog; an eerie beacon blinking: OLSEN’S. He made a great show of jamming on the brakes and lurching to a stop. “So how’s that for navigatin’?”
“Eh.” Landa tilted his hand from side to side.
“So get out. You swabbies are stinking up my cab.”
“That’s it.” Ingram threw his hands in the air. “Let’s go.” He and Helen climbed out.
Landa reached for his wallet.
“Your money’s no good here.”
“You serious?”
“You bet.”
“Thanks.”
Louie nodded to Todd and Helen, “Those kids are tops in my book. I hope your leg gets well real soon. And thanks to you and all you guys out there.” His head dropped for a moment. “ Me and Loretta have three kids. But I tried. I got a busted eardrum. The Navy turned me down three times, the Marines twice.” He held out his hand.
Landa shook and flashed a thirty-two tooth grin, “You just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s why we’re out there. For you and Loretta and your kids.”
“Okay, Boom Boom.”
“Get out of here.” Landa handed his package to Ingram, hobbled out, and pulled his crutches clear. Louie peeled out just as the door slammed, disappearing into the fog.
“Sorehead,” muttered Landa. He hadn’t noticed a car parked before him, --- a light green Cadillac convertible with its top down. A lone woman sat at the wheel, a scarf over her head. She turned to him, clacking her mouth, as if it were full of chewing gum and said, “Hi ya, toots. Wanna ride?”
“Well, how do you like that?”
Laura West got out and walked up to Landa, threw her arms around him and kissed him. “You’re walking much better. I’m proud of you, hon.”
“It ain’t easy.”
“Baloney. You’re just looking for sympathy.”
Ingram’s mouth hung open. Finally, he managed, “You and Laura?”
“Do I need your permission?” asked Landa.
“No, I meant... Aw, hell.” Ingram reached for Laura and hugged her. “Good to see you, Laura.”
“You too, except,” she stepped back, “you’re looking kind of thin.”
“It goes with the job.”
She waved toward the restaurant’s front door. “Well, I guess that’s why we’re here.”
“You still offering piano lessons?” Helen hugged Laura.
“Anytime, hon.” She cocked her head as a cumbersome melody drifted out from the restaurant. “Sounds like the guy in there needs ‘em, too.”
“Let’s go see,” said Helen.
“Okay, Toots,” said Laura, clacking her gums. She slipped an arm through Landa’s.
A ship’s horn echoed loudly through the basin: one long blast was followed by three shorts. The fog rolling up Ninth Street made Olsen’s seem close, obliterating everything else, as if this was the only refuge on the planet. Ingram turned to Helen finding a tear running down her cheek. “Brrrr. Must be the damp air,” he said kissing the tear away.
“Must be,” she replied.
Both of Landa’s eyes were misted, too. He caught the others looking and said, “Damn fog.”
The ship’s horn bleated again.
Ingram said, “Come on, Boom Boom. Let’s go have a steak.”
JOHN J. GOBBELL is a former Navy Lieutenant who saw duty as a destroyer weapons officer. His ship served in the South China Sea, granting him membership in the exclusive “Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club.” As an executive recruiter, his clients include military/commercial aerospace companies giving him insight into character development under a historical thriller format. When Duty Whispers Low is the third of five stand-alone novels in the Todd Ingram series. Altogether, he has written seven novels involving U.S. Navy action and is currently at work on his eighth. He and his wife Janine live in Newport Beach, California. He can be reached at [email protected]
WHEN DUTY WHISPERS LOW (The Todd Ingram Series Book 3) Page 42