“Now that we've got the formalities out of the way,” said the captain, “what do you want to know?”
“I want anything you've got on Lieutenant Blue. Anything.”
“He's charged with desertion in the face of the enemy. That's the most serious charge that can be brought against you in the Army. Maybe treason is as serious, but I doubt it. He could get the death penalty. Death by hanging, that is. The Army has yet to move into the twentieth century when it comes to doing away with its own.”
“And you think he's innocent?”
“I'm paid to think he's innocent.”
“I realize that,” said Cathy Joice, tapping her right index fingernail on the bar, twirling her hair with her left one.
The bartender scurried behind the bar, filling a glass with ice and gin, adding tonic almost as an afterthought.
“Nha Sang is going to get you drunk if you don't watch it,” Captain Morriss said with a laugh.
“It's his job,” said Cathy Joice. “And what about you? You said it's your job to think Lieutenant Blue is innocent. But that doesn't answer my question. Do you think he's innocent, or are you just going through the motions, saying so because you have to?”
Captain Morriss took a swig of beer and stared into the middle distance for a moment. Then he looked at Cathy Joice. His eyes seemed to have receded gravely into hooded holes in his face, and his lower lip quivered as he spoke.
“I don't know as much about the case as I'd like to, but I think Lieutenant Blue is as innocent as you are. He claims it's a frame, and I believe him.”
“But why would anyone want to trump up such a charge against a young officer with his background? Whoever charged him would have to know that he was asking for trouble. His grandfather isn't exactly a house painter from Biloxi. He's a very big man in Washington, and he must still have a lot of pull in the Army. Have you heard anything from him?”
“From the grandfather? General Blue? Not directly. I heard he was here a few days ago. Some inquiries were made. Somebody was making calls for him. I don't know who he was, but he carried a big enough stick to pry answers loose from my office faster than I've ever seen them pried.”
“That's all? The General was here and somebody made some calls for him and he left?”
“He wanted to get in to see the Lieutenant, but they drew the line on him. They wouldn't let him near his grandson. They're railroading this guy, Cathy. They moved Lieutenant Blue around like crazy for a couple of days, apparently afraid that the General would pull enough strings to get through to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“They moved him out of Long Binh, stashed him in a locked room. He doesn't know where he was. They had him blindfolded all the time. Then they moved him again, this time to a sandbagged bunker somewhere else. They drove him in the back of a three-quarter-ton truck from place to place. He said it took about an hour to get to the first place, the locked room, and two hours to get from there to the bunker. It looks like they kept him around the outskirts of Saigon somewhere, probably Bien Hoa, maybe down at Vung Tau. It's hard to tell. All we know is, he was on the move the entire time his grandfather was over here. When he left, they put him back in Long Binh.”
“Did you hear from anyone else in his family?”
“Just today I heard from the Lieutenant's father, Colonel Blue. I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow. He's here in Saigon, but I don't know where he's staying.”
“Do you think I could come along?”
“I don't know. I'd have to ask Colonel Blue, but as I said, I don't know where he's staying, so I don't know where to call him.”
“Has he tried to see Lieutenant Blue?”
“He tried, but he didn't get any further than General Blue did. They won't let anyone but me near him, and for a couple of days there, even I couldn't see him. They're not real thrilled every time I show up.”
“Is that standard? Not allowing visitors?”
“Not to my knowledge. I've never heard of them shutting the door on everyone but the defense lawyer. Lots of prisoners up there get visits from guys in their units, from their company commanders; one guy gets visits from a Vietnamese girl he married.”
“Are they awaiting trial or serving time?”
“Both.”
Just then a white-jacketed boy passed through the bar, calling Captain Morriss's name. Morriss stopped the boy.
“I'm Captain Morriss. What do you want?”
“Telephone, Captain, sir,” said the boy in halting English. “In lobby. Quick-quick. Very important, man say.”
Morriss followed the boy into the lobby and returned five minutes later.
“What do you know about that!” he exclaimed as he sat down next to Cathy Joice and gulped the last of his beer.
“What's up?”
“That was Alvie Dupuy. They're releasing Lieutenant Blue to my custody tonight. The order came down about an hour ago from Washington. He's on his way down here with him right now.”
“You weren't expecting this, were you?”
“Hell no, I wasn't. Alvie sounded pissed as hell, but the release order came down and specified they let him go immediately. They pulled Alvie out of his weekly card game to go pick up the Lieutenant.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Dupuy said he has given Lieutenant Blue orders not to talk to the press. Normally I'd counsel him to obey orders, but these aren't normal circumstances. I'll talk to him about it, but I'm sure you understand that I'll have to respect his wishes.”
“Where are they taking him?”
“Over to my quarters. I've got to be there ... let me see ... in twenty minutes.”
“Where are your quarters?”
“Out by the MACV Compound. A BOQ. Trés luxurious.”
“Well, you know where I'll be. Please give me a call if Lieutenant Blue decides he'll talk.”
“Don't get your hopes up. It's been all I could do to get what little I've gotten out of him. It's like he's in a trance. One moment he's lucid, the next, he's staring at the wall. It's pretty strange, I've got to tell you. He doesn't behave like a man who's facing the gallows. Most of the time, even when he's in a trance, he's more relaxed than I am behind three martinis.”
“That is strange,” said Cathy Joice, sipping her gin and tonic. “Why do you think he's behaving like that?”
“I don't know. It's not like he doesn't care what happens to him. He does. And I've seen flashes of anger, real molten-lava stuff, from way down deep inside him. Every time he blows up, he starts talking about some kid called Strosher. Then he'll drift off into the trance again and just stare at the wall. God only knows what he's going to be like when they let him out.”
“You sound worried about him.”
“I've seen guys with more emotional stability, I'll tell you that much.” Morriss stood up. “I've never represented anybody in this much trouble before,” he said. “Most of the time I have this feeling I'm in a dark room with a gun, shooting at targets I can't see. I don't know what's behind these charges against him, but I'll tell you one thing. They're very serious about putting this kid away for a long time or hanging him, one. I hope I'm hitting a few of the targets I've been shooting at. But that's all I can do. Hope.”
“Hanging him?” asked Cathy Joice. “Are you serious? Do you really think they would hang him if they convict him?”
“I don't know,” said Captain Morriss. “Seems to me I recall that the last time they hanged anyone for desertion was World War II, although I'm not sure that little detail would get in their way. One thing is for sure. It's a hanging offense. If they convict him and they want to hang him, they can ask for the death penalty. Whether they could get a jury to sentence him to die, I just don't know.”
“What do you think his chances are?”
“At this point? Not good. He's going to have to start cooperating in his defense for him to have any chance at all.”
Captain Morriss shook hands with the television repo
rter.
“It's been nice getting to know you,” he said. “You're kind of a legend around here, you know. They just love you over at the Five O'clock Follies.”
“They're going to adore what I do with Lieutenant Blue, if I ever get to him.”
“I'll let you know what he says about talking to you, one way or the other,” said Captain Morriss.
“Sure. Thanks,” said Cathy Joice, as Captain Morriss turned and walked out the door of the bar.
But with you or without you, I'm going to get to him, she thought. She finished her gin and tonic, tapped the bar with her fist, and called out, “Put it on my tab, Nha Sang.”
“Yes, missy,” she heard him say as she headed across the street to the Continental.
15
* * *
* * *
Danny Jannick was about to get up. It was the middle of the night, and the noise downstairs was loud as hell, but loud noise wasn't the problem. It was Vietnamese loud noise. All the weird banging and clanging and thumping and screeching and sounds you'd never heard before and sounds you hoped you'd never hear again. He had been in the Pension Gravois for two years and by this time he knew what made one of the sounds. It was a mynah bird, and the damn dirty bird had been taught to say “fuck you” in English, but it was Vietnamese English with that awful Vietnamese accent, and the damn dirty bird sat there all day and all night squawking fawk ooo! fawk ooo! fawk ooo! fawk ooo!
Nobody could sleep through a mynah bird squawking fawk ooo! all night to the delight of the collected hookers and mama-sans who owned the damn dirty bird and had taught the damn dirty bird his delightful little trick.
Delightful! My ass delightful! Oh shit there he goes again . . .
Fawk ooo!
Tee-hee-hee . . .
“FUCK YOU!” Danny Jannick yelled from his bed.
He rolled over and faced the window, the better to scream out the window and downstairs into the ears of the hookers and the mama-sans and whoever the fuck else was down there tee-hee-heeing . . .
"FUCK YOU!"
He was bellowing now, the words coming from deep within his chest from down in the place where he lived down below his heart in his belly . . .
Jannick rolled over and looked for something to pick up and throw down in the courtyard, something he didn't care about, something cheap and heavy that would make a big noise and do some real damage if it hit the bird or one of the hookers or a mama-san or two . . .
His typewriter!
He sat up and squinted through the dimness at his desk. There sat an old steel portable grinning its black toothy grin at him and beckoning to him and reminding him forever reminding him that he hadn't filed in two weeks . . .
C'mon over it was saying c'mon over and it was saying I've got some words for you . . . they're right here hidden down in my little black keys . . . all you've got to do is find the hidden words . . .
There was something next to his typewriter, something that hadn't been there when he went to bed last night. The something was large and wide and the something was sitting in his chair and the something had two beady eyes and the something had arms and the something had legs and the something had feet and the something had white shiny teeth and the something was grinning at him . . .
Jannick bolted from the bed and opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out but dry air and a rasping noise as he tried to get his breath again. He crawled into the corner and turned around with his back to the wall and pulled his knees to his chest and asked in a voice that sounded very small and very far away . . .
“Who are you? What do you want?”
The something reached out with an impossibly long arm and turned on the light next to the typewriter on the desk and the something opened its mouth to speak . . .
“Hey, dude,” the something said softly.
It was Repatch.
“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Jannick, releasing his knees and trying to stand up.
“I needed a place to stay, man.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I don't know. I been here last coupla nights. I know that. I just needed a place to sleep, man. Hey! Some weird shit goin’ on downstairs tonight, huh? What is that noise, man? A fuckin’ parrot?”
“A mynah bird.” Jannick could barely get the words out of his mouth. He was in shock and his mouth was dry and his palms were wet and he still couldn't stand up.
Repatch walked across the room and held out his hand and helped Jannick to his feet.
“You've been staying in this room with me for three nights, and I've never seen you,” Jannick said in a tone of stunned amazement.
“That's right, man. I didn't want to disturb you. I was just gonna let you sleep like I done last night and catch a little shut-eye for myself.”
“You have been sleeping bolt upright in that wooden chair? For three nights? Really?”
“Hey, man. Rack is rack. I've packed some serious Z's on my eyeballs in worse spots.”
“Like where? What could be worse than a ladder-back wooden chair?”
“Foxhole fulla rainwater during the rainy season. Thing about a foxhole is when it rains you got to pull yourself up on a little ledge you dig in there just so's you can sit on it when it rains. You see what I mean? I ain't seen a hole and for sure I ain't dug a hole big enough for a ledge that would really hold you comfortable-like. Know what I mean? I mean, a hole is a hole and they're all miserable as hell when it rains, right? Fillin’ up with water and shit is what holes do. You see what I mean?”
“Right,” said Jannick, sitting down on the bed. The mynah bird had shut up and it was strangely silent in the room, a condition to which neither Jannick nor the room was accustomed.
“What are you doing in Saigon?” he asked blankly. He wasn't focusing. He knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it except to try to force words from his mouth and hope like hell they added up to something.
“I come down to keep an eye on the Lieutenant. I got to be there if he needs me, you know what I mean? The Lieutenant, he's a real good guy and all that shit, but he needs somebody to look after him. You know?”
“Lieutenant Blue? He's in LBJ.”
“Not no more, he's not. They let ‘im out tonight. He's in Saigon now.”
“Jesus! I've got to get up and find him!”
Repatch grinned. “I know where he is.”
“Where?”
“He's at a hotel ‘cross town.”
“Here? In Saigon?”
“Yeah. I followed him in from Long Binh tonight.”
Repatch sat there with his brow furrowed and his eyes glistening and shining wildly in the light from the desk lamp.
“You want to get some sleep?” Jannick asked, surprising himself at the ease with which he had accepted his new roommate. Something about this guy Repatch made you trust him. Jannick didn't know what it was about him, and didn't want to know what it was, that simply made you feel better that he was there.
“I think that damn dirty bird has shut up for a while. We'd better get to sleep while we can.”
“Sure,” said Repatch.
“Do you want me to see if I can find you a cot? They've got a few of them rattling around this place somewhere.”
Repatch held up his palm.
“Nah. I been gettin’ real good rack right here. Anyway, I'll be goin’ out after a while to check up on the Lieutenant.”
“Whatever,” said Danny Jannick, his head finding the pillow automatically. The damn dirty bird was quiet and Repatch was already asleep in the chair and the thing was it all seemed somehow so right.
She had been asleep for two hours when she heard the noise at her door. She sat up in bed and looked at her alarm clock. It read 2:20. Outside the lights of Saigon had dimmed as businesses closed their doors and sleep settled over the city.
She slipped into her robe and walked across the room to her door. She stood there for a moment, listening.
Nothing.
She turned and walked back across the room to her bed and was slipping out of her robe when she heard the noise again. She hurried to the door and pressed her ear against the wood. Then she stepped back.
“All right. That's enough. What the hell is going on out there?” she called in a loud, assertive voice.
“Miss Joice?” The voice was low, almost a whisper.
“Who's out there?” she called again, louder this time.
“Miss Joice? It's Lieutenant Matt Blue.”
She stepped forward and opened the door. The Lieutenant nearly fell on her. He had been leaning against the door, and he staggered to regain his footing. By the time he was standing upright, he was in the middle of the room.
“I didn't mean to wake you, but Captain Morriss said—”
“That's all right,” Cathy Joice said hurriedly. “Wait right here. Give me a minute to get dressed.”
She grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. It was dark, and she hadn't seen him very clearly, but what she had seen was gaunt and drawn. He was wearing a set of khakis about two sizes too big for him, and his shoes didn't look as though they belonged to him, either.
“Are you still there?” she called from the bathroom.
“Yes, ma'am,” said the Lieutenant.
“Don't call me ‘ma'am,’ “ she called through the closed door. “My name is Cathy.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said.
“Hey! Cut it out with the ‘ma'am’ stuff, I said.”
“Sorry.”
She opened the bathroom door. He was standing right where he'd been when she left the room, lost in a tent fly of khaki.
“You look like you could use something to eat,” she said, switching on the light next to the bed.
“I sure could. Food isn't one of their priorities at Long Binh, I found.”
“How long were you in there?”
“A week. A week and a day. Eight days,” he said haltingly.
“You lost some weight I see.”
He looked down at his uniform.
Army Blue Page 28