by H. L. Valdez
“You can play by any rules you want. But if my life is on the line, I’m playing by my rules,” Primo told the group.
“We have to melt the freeze,” Rita replied. “Otherwise, it’s like waxing the floor with Crisco.”
“We can’t melt the freeze until we meet the enemy. But, I’ll melt the freeze,” Primo said, bitterly.
“We need to consolidate the pieces,” Marco encouraged, sensing everyone’s frustration.
“But without access to banking records we can’t speculate if laundered drug money has slipped into the system. This sounds unwieldy. Especially with all the bureaucrats involved.” Justin argued.
“That’s why you’re here," the Superintendent answered hotly. "Japan is at risk because market conditions for drugs are so attractive to syndicates. Japanese banks have foreign branches used by criminal syndicates to disguise movements of drug profits. They use chains of inter-bank transfers from country-to-country.”
“That means cash is going to the States. Maybe Los Angeles?” Butch surmised.
“We’ll never have enough evidence for a case in Japan,” Velvet said in despair. “Maybe we should go to Los Angeles. Maybe Yakuza leaders are working there?”
“The old evidence is solid. We just have to make a decision on faith,” Marco suggested.
“A trust your gut thing, huh?” Rita stated. "Is that good police work?"
“Managers follow the rules, but leaders take risks,” Mr. Ito said, staring at Rita.
“But we need accountability with people in our lives,” Justin reasoned. “And who knows which of those bureaucrats are working with the Yakuza?”
“I’d rather be right than happy,” Primo proclaimed. “What a bureaucratic mess.”
“Confusion over priorities will kill us,” Rita blurted.
“I always like a situation where I'm tested to the limit,” Primo said, snickering sarcastically.
“Frankly, I think we’re chasing a bunch of dead end lunatics,” Rita concluded. “Bureaucrats are covering their ass and trying to get promoted.”
“The drug people have a functional illness. I can’t begin to outmatch their craziness” Justin said, looking puzzled.
“Let’s stay centered, not emotional. Be pragmatic. We’re searching for reason, resolution, and truth. Does it fit, does it follow, and does it have a logical sequence,” Marco advised, displaying psychological leadership and temperance.
“Just find the pattern and work the pattern,” Mr. Ito encouraged.
“Just find the crack in the organization,” Butch replied confidently, sipping his tea, observing the group.
“It’s a cinch by the inch; it’s hard by the yard. Just keep working it,” Marco encouraged.
“It works when you work it. We just have to work it,” Velvet answered. “Let’s review the evidence,” she suggested, reaching for a memorandum. “Two drug couriers, a drug dealer and an undercover officer were found beaten and shot. The courier's were found shot to death in a car. The undercover officer was found floating in Tokyo Bay, and a Chinese businessman got clipped in his restaurant.” Velvet reported to the group.
“It was a messy crime scene.” Ito, said, looking down. “And, our undercover officer was murdered in Shinjuku train station. That’s a lot of bodies.”
“Also, the Los Angeles Grand Jury had a Vietnamese judge leaking secrets to the American Embassy in Saigon about Americans’ involved with heroin trafficking," Butch said stoically. "Unfortunately, he was killed in a helicopter crash and his evidence was stolen.”
“Sounds like the bad guys are winning," Primo said casually.
"But this might be something: recently, a special forces long-range reconnaissance search and destroy patrol attacked a North Vietnamese Army out-post East of Khe Sanh near the Ho Chi Minh trail and discovered an opium processing plant. The resistance was heavy, but government forces overtook the plant,” Marco told the group.
“At last, a good day for the good guys,” Justin said, proudly, grinning.
“There had to be an intelligence officer with that strike force," Primo declared, with combat wisdom.
"Our job is to find out what Intel data they retrieved,” Marco said. “Rita, first thing tomorrow send a message to the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) in Saigon and find out what they have. Maybe captured documents, defectors, aerial reconnaissance, signal intercepts, prisoners. Anything.”
“Sounds spooky,” Justin blurted seriously, raising his eyebrow.
“Primo, are you ready to return to the field?” Marco asked, looking at the briefing paper, then at his glum face.
“Return to the crime scene. Always a good choice,” Butch conveyed, shaking his head in agreement.
“What are you reading, Marco?” Primo questioned.
“The message comes from Command and Control North which is charged with missions into Laos including Kit Cat Missions deep into North Vietnam."
"Yeah, they have launch sites all over,” Primo said casually.
“Sounds like Special Operations Group,” Rita replied unpleasantly, with a stern expression.
“Could be ‘Black Ops’ working with Hatchet Forces?” Justin said, staring at Primo.
“They have Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols living in the bush for weeks. Very nasty stuff,” Primo stated, as the group stared at him in studied silence.
“Primo, since you know the area, I want you to go there and conduct an on-site assessment,” Marco ordered.
“Sure, but I need more recoup time. And, I want some help. I want my two aborigine trackers; they're excellent in the bush. They also saw service in the jungles of Borneo against the Indonesians.”
“That’s a simple request, but recoup time is out,” Marco replied pointedly, shaking his head no.
“Primo, everyone is supporting you,” Velvet said, caringly.
“Okay, play it that way, but I want my own guys who are attached to the Mobile Guerrilla Forces and familiar with VC logistical sites,” Primo replied, agitated, concentrating on his mission. Marco looked at Primo with deep respect knowing that he had seen his men bleed to death in the foul smelling mud of Vietnam. Marco stared into Primo’s eyes, knowing he served in a line unit for over a year, skillfully fighting and surviving in the bush. Primo stared at Marco with the awareness that in the jungle death was never far away. Bullets didn’t care who they hit. Bullets were neutral.
“Okay, Rita, get on the hot line tomorrow and start ordering what Primo needs,” Marco directed.
“One more thing,” Primo interrupted, “Since I'm returning to the bush, I need some serious weapons. And, I don’t mean hand guns.”
“We’ll get `em, we’ll get `em. Get with Rita, give her the list,” Marco repeated, making notes on a legal sized yellow tablet.
“No screw ups this time,” Primo griped, with a tone of anger and revenge.
“You’ll do alright, just take your time,” Marco encouraged him.
“Right is what works,” he replied with a blank gaze.
“Primo, one more task while you're recouping. I need you to start listening to the tapes Detective Ota made of those Chinese conversations. I know it's a lot of work, but don’t worry, you’ll have help.”
"I need a drink," Primo replied, feeling on edge.
“Butch, over to you now,” Marco stated, breaking the psychological momentum between himself and Primo. “I received monthly homicide and arrest reports from Sergeant Ito in the International Homicide Division. I also have a quarterly drug seizure report. The Harbor Police stopped a boat near the Izu Peninsula to give this guy a ticket for a broken safety light and during a routine search, they found heroin.”
“When did this happen?”
“Let’s see. A date, a date,” Marco thought out loud. “Last month. The guy’s still in jail.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. In Japan, possession of heroin can get you life in prison,” Butch said innocently, looking casually at Rita as she turned her head avoiding eye
contact.
“He hasn’t gone to trial,” Marco stated, studying the arrest report.
“That doesn't surprise me either. Where is he?”
“The old Yokosuka Prison,” Marco said, handing him the reports.
“Yokosuka prison? What a dump! It’s a human warehouse. It was built over a hundred years ago.” Butch blurted.
“Building new prisons is very costly. And yes, we need to close that old place. We get many complaints.” Mr. Ito countered defensively, staring hard at Marco, uncomfortable with his honesty and lack of Japanese diplomacy and deference to a higher authority in public. “I see you’ve lost your Japanese sensibilities.” He added, as Butch stared at the Superintendent, feeling embarrassed by not paying deference to Mr. Ito’s rank and position.
“Butch, why don’t you follow up on these reports,” Marco suggested, jotting the date down that he assigned the task, attempting to quickly move past the awkward moment. "Could be a dead end, but you never know?” he said, putting a check mark next to the numbered task.
"Detective work is scratch and sniff, scratch and sniff," Mr. Ito replied, coldly staring at Butch.
"Just keep on scratching," Velvet said smiling, scratching and sniffing the desk, satirically.
“Okay, before we close, a few items," Marco announced, looking at the somber group. "This room will be our command center. So Rita, we need a sign on the front door stating, "Top Secret: Authorized Personnel Only." Then, have the door locks changed and get filing cabinets with combination locks on them," Marco ordered, writing notes to himself. "Rita, make sure we get a chalk board, a wall map and sofa beds. Then get a large coffee pot, a small refrigerator, and put six wall lockers against the wall with everyone’s name on them,” he directed, pausing to write on his yellow legal sized pad.
"Rita, I can supply people to help you,” the Superintendent volunteered, with a willing smile.
"Thank you sir, that will help a lot," she replied. "Anything else Marco?" Rita asked, writing notes and shaking her head at all the tasks assigned to her. "I didn't agree to be some gofer-secretary," she mumbled under her breath.
"What's that, Rita?" Marco questioned.
"Nothing, nothing. Just verbal notes to myself," she groused.
“Better get a tape recorder, phone books, and get at least six more phones in here with multiple lines, and office supplies,” Velvet suggested proficiently, looking at Butch and Rita. “We’ve got to get operational, pronto. We also need a hot line to Justice Headquarters in D.C., the Pentagon, and to the Commander in Chief Pacific, CinCPAC, in Hawaii.”
“Good call,” Marco said, confidently.
"Good call," Rita mumbled, mimicking Marco under her breath, unhappy with all the tasks while taking copious notes.
“Rita, tomorrow, I need you to arrange a conference call with the American Ambassador in Saigon,” Marco said, absorbed with writing notes on his tablet.
"Sure, Roger, OK, great, right," Rita grumbled. "I could be in jail watching TV right now," she muttered to herself.
“Okay, that’s it for today," Marco said, watching Rita mumbling to herself, hunched over her note pad. "Let’s meet in the morning at seven-thirty,” Marco said, standing up and gathering his notes. Rita gradually stood up, stretching and glancing at Marco, waiting for him to make eye contact.
“Velvet, how about dinner tonight,” Butch asked, as she sorted documents in front of her.
“Let’s make it coffee,” she suggested, smiling.
“Sure. Coffee’s fine,” he answered, disappointed. “I know a place nearby. It’s walking distance,” he added.
“I'm ready,” she answered, reaching for her purse. “Let's go,” she said standing up, walking toward the door with Butch dutifully following her.
“Time for dinner, boss man,” Rita told Marco, as he stretched and yawned.
“What do you have in mind?” he questioned, as Rita looked at him with a faint smile on her face, staring into his brown eyes.
“Tube steak,” she whispered in his ear.
“What?” he replied with a puzzled grin.
“Never mind, just come on, let’s go,” she said, patting him gently on the shoulder.
“Okay,” he answered, rising from his wooden chair, nodding to Mr. Ito and following Rita.
“Anything planned?” Justin asked Primo.
“Just lock up the office,” he replied.
“Let’s get a drink some place,” Justin suggested.
“That’s a good idea. A real good idea,” Primo said, straightening the chairs and collecting pencils and notes left on the conference table. At that moment, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Primo shouted, gathering and organizing loose papers on the table.
“Come in!” he repeated. “Better open the door, Justin,” Primo said, stacking tablets.
“Well hello,” Justin said opening the door wide, smiling at the petite Japanese female police officer dressed in a neat two-piece blue uniform.
“Who are you?” Primo asked, inhaling her raging estrogen scent. Inhaling deeply, his amorous curiosity transported him into a sexual fantasy as the officer approached. Primo shivered in sexual desire as his urges exploded into lust.
“I’m Sergeant Masako Ito, an interpreter from the International Homicide Division. I’ll be working with your team during this case.”
“That's great,” Justin replied, smiling. "But you missed our first meeting, why are you late?” he asked, admiring her manicured appearance and shoulder length black hair.
“A letter arrived at our Division for Lieutenant Pascal,” she said, ignoring his question.
“For me?” Primo asked, staring at the Sergeant. “Okay I give, who’s it from?” he asked, walking toward her with his arm outstretched.
“It’s not my business,” she replied, handing him the letter.
“Good answer, Sergeant,” Primo said, accepting the letter and reading the return address. “It’s from my wife,” he whispered, smelling the envelope while returning to the conference table.
“It’s kind of rare to see a Japanese police woman,” Justin said, as Primo sat down tearing the edge of the envelope open.
“Not really, but my father and brother work here and we’re a police family,” she replied softly, watching Primo remove the letter from the envelope.
“So how did you get started in police work?”
“At first, I studied languages and criminology at Tokyo University,” she answered, while watching Primo’s face as he reacted to the letter. "After University, I went to the police academy and was assigned to the Traffic Division's Motorcycle Unit," she added, watching Primo’s expression as she talked with Justin. Masako watched Primo’s facial muscles tighten as beads of sweat broke over his forehead as he began emotionally reacting to the letter in his trembling hands.
"So your father's a cop? Who is he?" Justin asked.
"You met him at today's meeting," she informed him.
"Superintendent Ito, he's my father," she said politely. Masako was an intuitive genius; she could sense the pattern that connects one moment to another. Primo read the words over and over in disbelief. Masako studied his lips moving in synch to what he was reading.
"My Darling Primo,
As I write this painful letter, I’m looking at the pictures we took on New Year’s in Times Square. At that time, my heart was filled with happiness, hope, and love. But our love has been too short and the pain too long. Loneliness best describes my feelings. I ache from the loneliness as my days are filled with silence. I wish you were here to fill the emptiness in my life. Have you forgotten how to love? Have you forgotten our love? What happened to us?
Staring at your picture, I’m filled with desire. I want to be close to you. The other night I was so lonely, I walked past our old house and listened to the memories. The house is like a big wound. I stood there reliving our nights of passion. We were one spirit then. Now, I feel empty. I long to be filled with passion. I ache
deep in my heart.
In Vietnam, you were remote. I agonized, thinking of you in combat, wondering if you were ever coming home. Now, with your new assignment, I’m choked with grief. “Come back. Come back to me," I cried into my pillow. At that moment, I knew our love was over; I cried harder at the realization. My heart sunk in despair, the light of my spiritual beacon went out and I quietly died inside. My dream ended.
Our love has been strangled by your lifestyle. I saved myself for you, but your true love and mistress is your career. I can’t compete with your passion for your work. We had a great love, but you’re not capable of being a friend to me. Our world has fallen apart. I'm shattered. My inner world has fallen apart. I can’t live your life. I love you, but I can’t live with you.
All I wanted is forgotten. My soul is tired of the pain. I'm wounded too deeply to continue. It seems you’ve gone on without me. There is so much to remember, but it’s better to forget. Please don’t contact me; it would only make the pain worse. I can’t go on; I'm tired and worn out. I’m emotionally bankrupt from loving you. I only want the best for you and for me. I’m truly sorry. Please sign the divorce papers when they arrive. Bye for now, Michelle.”
Fighting back tears, Primo swallowed his emotions and sluggishly walked to the window. Choked up, Primo stared at the evening skyline frozen with guilt and remorse.
“Life is a painful drama,” Sergeant Ito said gently, walking up to him.
"I didn't realize how much I hurt and ignored her," he answered. "There's a part of me I'm not aware of. I took her for granted," he agonized.
“In human relationships, pain is inevitable, but misery is optional,” Masako said gently. “Make peace with yourself.”
"Like I need to hear this right now?" Primo replied with a bite to his tone.
“Easy on her, man, it ain't her fault you got a Dear John Letter," Justin intervened. "Come on, let’s get a drink,” he suggested, gripping his arm leading him toward the door.
“I don’t deserve this. I love my wife," he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I truly missed her,” he moaned, walking away from the window. "I’m not the best talker. I never could express my feelings right,” he argued with himself.