Weird Detectives

by Neil Gaiman, Simon R. Green, Caitlin R. Kiernan

  I hadn’t gotten any chow. My stomach was a hard, hungry knot, and I knew I should have eaten. But I was also pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to keep it down.

  Sure, I had been in trouble before. But back then, I had just been a dumb Bohunk kid who’d gotten in a fight, swiped a Hudson, and insulted a judge. None of that had bothered me. But none of that had been anything like this.

  I wasn’t even sure what “this” was. But I did know that another kid, a kid just like me except that he was Navy, had gotten his skull bashed in. And the colonel thought that maybe I was the one who’d done it.

  It all went through my head over and over again, and the knot in my stomach got bigger and bigger. I lay in my bunk and closed my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep. Outside, the Aleutian wind whistled and moaned, and occasional short rat-a-tats of rain drummed against the Quonset tin. Every so often, I heard planes roaring in and out of the airfield. I tried to guess what they were, since the bombing runs from Adak had pretty much ended once we’d retaken Attu and Kiska. But I had never been good at figuring out a plane from its engine noise. If an engine wasn’t on a tractor or jeep, I was at a loss.

  “First impressions can be so deceiving,” a low, smooth voice said.

  I opened my eyes. Pop was sitting on a stool beside my bunk. He was hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin, his dark eyes regarding me over the rims of his glasses. I hadn’t heard him come in.

  “How’d you know where I bunk?” I asked.

  Pop ignored the question. “Why, just this morning, Private,” he continued, “you seemed like such a tough young man. Such a hardened fighter. Yet here we are, scarcely nine hours later, and you’re flopped there like a sack of sand. Defeated. Vanquished.”

  “Don’t those mean the same thing?”

  Pop gave me that thin smile of his. “My point is, you’re taking this lying down. That doesn’t sound like someone who’d dare to punch a rich kid from Omaha.”

  I turned away from him and faced the cold metal of the Quonset wall.

  “I’m under orders,” I said. “And I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

  Pop laughed a long, dry laugh that dissolved into his usual hacking cough.

  “Under orders?” he asked through the coughing. “Just how do you think you got into this confusing court-martial conundrum in the first place? You followed orders, that’s how. Logically, then, the only possible way out of your current situation is to defy orders, just this once. It’s only sixteen thirty, and the lieutenant colonel won’t be looking for you until twenty-one hundred. You’ve already wasted more than two hours wallowing here, so I suggest you don’t waste any more.”

  I turned back to face him.

  “Just what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “My only choice is to tell him everything that happened, and the hell with our promise to the Cutthroat. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Pop shook his head. “You can’t tell him everything,” he said, “because you don’t know everything.”

  “And you do?”

  “No.” Pop stood and jerked his thumb toward the door. “But I know some of it, and I’m going to find out the rest. You see, unlike you, I’ve spent the past few hours doing something. My job is to get the news, and a large part of that involves getting people to talk. So for the past two hours, people have been talking to me and my boys a lot. But now the boys have to work on the paper. And my cartoonist has to draw a new cartoon, which has put me into a vengeful mood.”

  “So go get your revenge,” I said. “What’s it got to do with me?”

  Pop leaned down and scowled. “It’s your revenge, too. And I don’t think I can find out the rest of what I need to know if you aren’t with me.”

  I rose on my elbows and stared up at him. It was true that following orders hadn’t really worked out for me. But I didn’t see how doing what Pop said would work out any better.

  “You say you know some of it already,” I said. “Tell me.”

  Pop hesitated. Then he turned, crossed to the other side of the hut, and sat on an empty bunk.

  “I know the lieutenant colonel placed a bet on your fight yesterday,” Pop said. “A large one. And I know that your opponent had a reputation as a damn good boxer. He’d won eighteen fights, six by knockout. How many have you won?”

  “Two,” I said. “Yesterday was my second match. The first was with the guy whose bunk you’re sitting on. It was a referee’s decision.”

  Pop’s eyes narrowed. “So any sane wager yesterday would have been on the Navy man. And I saw the fight, Private. He was winning. Until the third round, when he dropped his left. And as you told me this morning, you took advantage. Who wouldn’t?”

  I sat up on the edge of my bunk. In addition to the knot in my stomach, I now felt a throbbing at the back of my skull.

  “You’re saying it was fixed,” I said.

  “If I were betting on it, I’d say yes.” Pop waved a hand in a cutting gesture. “But leave that alone for now. Instead, consider a few more things. One, we know that the ulax we found was used by Navy men for unofficial activities. The dead man is Navy. And the Navy boys we talked to said they didn’t know of anyone but sailors having any fun up there. After all, they control access to that part of the island. Yet the lieutenant colonel sent you up because, he claimed, he had reports of Army GI’s entertaining nurses there. Which doesn’t quite jibe with the Navy’s version.”

  “That’s odd, I guess,” I said. “But that’s not anything you found out in the past two hours.”

  Pop looked down at the floor and clasped his hands again.

  “No,” he said. Now I could barely hear him over the constant weather noise against the Quonset walls. “I learned two more things this afternoon. One is that the lieutenant colonel will soon be up for promotion to full colonel. Again. After being passed over at least once before. And I know he wants that promotion very badly. Badly enough, perhaps, to do all sorts of things to get it.”

  Pop fell silent then, and kept looking down at the floor.

  I stood. My gut ached and my head hurt. And I thought I knew the answer to my next question. But I had to ask it anyway.

  “You said you learned two more things,” I said. “What’s the second?”

  Pop looked up at me. His expression was softer than it had been all day. He looked kindly. Sympathetic. I had wanted to hit him earlier, but not as much as I did now.

  “It’s not really something new,” Pop said. “It’s what you already told me. Or almost told me. But of course I know the order that the lieutenant colonel gave you on Attu.”

  I clenched my fists. Maybe I would hit the old man after all. Maybe I wouldn’t stop hitting him for a while.

  “I won’t say it aloud if you don’t want me to,” Pop said.

  I turned and started for the door. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I was getting away from Pop.

  He followed and stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, so I whirled with a roundhouse right. He leaned back just in time, and my knuckles brushed his mustache.

  “Jesus Christ, son,” Pop exclaimed.

  I grabbed his scrawny arms and pushed him away. He staggered back, but didn’t fall.

  “He was a Jap,” I said. I was trembling. “He was trying to kill me not five minutes before. And it was an order. It was an order from a goddamn colonel.”

  Pop took a deep, quaking breath and adjusted his glasses.

  “It was an order,” I said.

  Pop nodded. “I know. And now I need you to listen to me again. Are you listening, Private?”

  I glared at him.

  “Here it is, then,” Pop said. “No one, and I mean no one—not your chaplain, not the general, not anyone back home, and sure as hell not me—no one would condemn what you did. If the circumstances had been reversed, that Jap would have done the same to you, and he wouldn’t have waited for an order.”

  I could still see him lying there, his bl
ood staining the thin crust of snow a sudden crimson. He had been as small as a child. His uniform had looked like dirty play clothes.

  He was a Jap. But he was on the ground. With his hands tied behind his back. His sword was gone.

  Pop wasn’t finished. “The problem isn’t that you followed the order. The problem is that out of the three thousand Japs you boys fought on Attu, we took only twenty-eight prisoners. I’m not saying that killing the rest was a bad thing. But prisoners can be valuable. Especially if they’re officers. And a man with a sword might have been an officer. So someone would have wanted to ask him things like, what’s your rank, who are your immediate superiors, where are your maps, what were your orders, what’s your troop strength on Kiska, and where does Yamamoto go to take his morning shit. That sort of thing.”

  Pop was talking a lot, again. It wore on my brain. And Yamamoto’s plane had been shot down a month before we’d hit Attu. But at least now I had something else to think about.

  “You mean we need a supply of Japs?” I said.

  Now Pop smiled his thin smile. “I mean that a lieutenant colonel in the Intelligence Section did a stupid thing. He wasn’t even supposed to be near the fighting. But that banzai charge came awfully close. So in rage or fear, he forgot his job and ordered you to destroy a military intelligence asset. That’s an act that could negatively affect his chances for promotion.” Pop pointed at me again. “If anyone happened to testify to it.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to make the pain at the base of my skull go away.

  “I don’t understand how anything you just said adds up to anything we saw today,” I told him.

  Now Pop pointed past me, toward the door. “That’s why there’s more to find out, and that’s why I need you to help me with it. There was one other man on the mountain with us this morning. And since you and he were freezing and fighting on Attu while I was elsewhere, I think he might be more willing to part with any answers if you’re present.”

  That made some sense. The Cutthroat hadn’t liked me, but he might respect me more than Pop.

  Still, there was one thing that I knew Pop had left out in all his talk.

  “What about the eagle?” I asked.

  Pop bared his false teeth.

  “That’s the key,” he said. “That’s why we have to talk with the Scout again. Remember what he said about magic and power? Well, he also said that he told those same stories to officers on Attu.” He went past me to the door. “Now, will you come along?”

  I turned to go with him, then hesitated.

  “Wait a minute.” I was still trying to clear my head. “Are you saying the colonel believes in Eskimo magic?”

  Pop held up his hands. “I have no idea. But magic and religion are based on symbols, which can be powerful as hell. And I know the lieutenant colonel does believe in that. After all, there’s one symbol that he very much wants for his own.”

  I was still confused by most of what Pop had said. But this one part, I suddenly understood.

  A full colonel was called a “bird colonel.”

  Because a full colonel’s insignia was an eagle.

  I went with Pop.

  XI

  The 179th Station Hospital wasn’t just one building. It was a complex of Quonset huts and frame buildings, and it even had an underground bunker. When Olivia de Havilland had come to Adak in March, she had spent an entire day there, visiting the sick and wounded. There were a few hundred patients on any given day.

  But all we needed to do was find the Cutthroat. So I waited outside the main building while Pop went in and charmed whomever he needed to charm to find out what he wanted to know. I was beginning to realize that there were some things, even in the Army, that superseded rank.

  When Pop came out again, his hands in his jacket pockets, he tilted his head and started walking around back. I followed him to three Quonset huts behind the main building. He stopped at the lean-to of the first hut and looked one way and then the other as I joined him. There were a few GI’s trudging along nearby with no apparent purpose. Maybe, I thought, they were just trying to look busy so they wouldn’t be sent to the South Pacific.

  “Do you see anyone you know?” Pop asked. “Anyone who might tell the lieutenant colonel we’re here?” I tried to take a good look. But the usual gray light was dimming as evening came on, making all the soldiers appear gray as well.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “But everyone’s starting to look alike to me.”

  Pop gave me an annoyed glance. “You sound like the Scout,” he said. He stepped away, moved quickly to the center Quonset, and slipped into its lean-to. I followed. Then he barged into the hut without knocking.

  The Cutthroat was in a small open space in the center of the hut, surrounded by shelves packed with boxes and cans. He was sitting on the edge of a cot under a single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling, leaning over a battered coffeepot on a GI pocket stove. The smell was not only of coffee, but of old beef stew, seaweed, and mud. My still-knotted stomach lurched.

  The Cutthroat looked up, and his slick dark hair gleamed. “You guys.” He didn’t sound surprised. “Did you bring my beers?”

  Pop and I stepped farther inside, and I closed the door behind us. There were two folding stools set up on our side of the pocket stove.

  “I’ll bring your beers tomorrow.” Pop went to the right-hand stool and sat down. “In the meantime, I want you to know that both the private and I are doing our best to live up to this morning’s agreements. For one thing, we haven’t mentioned your presence on Mount Moffett to anyone else.”

  “I believe you,” the Cutthroat said.

  “But we have a problem,” Pop continued. “So we may not be able to keep that confidence much longer. There’s a lieutenant colonel who’s trying to use that Navy man’s death to make our lives hell.”

  The Cutthroat looked back down at his brew. “Yeah, I know.” He rubbed his right thigh. “Goddamn, my leg is hurting tonight. I better not climb any more mountains for a while.”

  I sat down on the left-hand stool. The fumes from the stuff bubbling in the coffeepot were intense.

  “What do you mean, you know?” I asked. “How could you know that?”

  The Cutthroat glanced up at me. “Because I wasn’t sure I trusted you guys. So I followed you. You didn’t drive fast. I was outside the back wall of the newspaper hut when you got your asses chewed. I couldn’t hear it all, but I got most of it. He’s got it in for both of you. And I recognized his voice.”

  Pop’s eyebrows rose. “That was quite stealthy of you.”

  The Cutthroat snorted. “I’ve snuck up on Japs in machine gun nests, and they knew I was coming. Buncha desk soldiers who don’t expect me ain’t a challenge.”

  “Nevertheless,” Pop said. “I respect a man who can shadow that well. Especially if I’m the one he’s shadowing.”

  The Cutthroat reached to a shelf behind him and brought down three tin cups. “You guys want coffee before you start bothering me with more questions?”

  “Is that what that is?” I asked.

  The Cutthroat gave me a look almost as dark as he’d given me in the ulax. “You need to work on your fucking manners.”

  Pop and I both accepted cups, and the Cutthroat poured thick, black liquid into both of them. It was something else that reminded me of what Pop had coughed up that morning.

  Then the Cutthroat poured a cup for himself and set the pot back down on the pocket stove. He took a swig and smiled.

  “That’s good,” he said. “This stuff will help you think better.”

  Pop took a swig as well, and I took a tentative sip of mine. It didn’t taste as bad as it smelled, so I drank a little more. There was a hint of rotted undergrowth. But at least it was hot.

  “Thank you,” Pop said. He took a long belt. “But now I’m going to bother you, as you suspected. How did you recognize the lieutenant colonel’s voice?”

  The Cutthroat blew into his cup, and
steam rose up around his face. “Because I’ve heard it before. On Attu, he was one of the shitheads who wouldn’t listen to our scouting reports. But he loved our colorful stories. Here on Adak, I’ve been bringing him and his officer pals booze and coffee while they play poker right here in this hut. And when they get good and drunk, they want me to tell more stories. Like I said, you people can’t get enough of that noble-savage crap.”

  “Do those poker pals include a Navy commander?” Pop asked.

  “I guess that’s what he is,” the Cutthroat said. “He and the lieutenant colonel set up yesterday’s boxing matches. They made a bet on the Army-Navy one.” He pointed at me. “The lieutenant colonel bet on this guy.”

  “I know,” Pop said. “For a lot of money, correct?”

  The Cutthroat scowled and took a long drink. “Maybe there were side bets for money. But the bet between the lieutenant colonel and the Navy officer was for something else. See, the Navy guy has friends and family in high places. Like fucking Congress. So if the Army boxer won, the commander promised to have these friends pull strings and help with a promotion.”

  “What if the Navy man won?” Pop asked.

  The Cutthroat grinned and shook his head. “Then the commander was going to have dinner with you, Corporal. That’s what the lieutenant colonel promised. You must be famous or rich or something. Gotta say, it seemed like a lopsided bet to me.”

  Pop drained his cup and set it on the floor. He seemed to wobble on his stool as he did.

  “Very lopsided indeed,” he said, “since I wouldn’t do a favor for the lieutenant colonel if my life depended on it.”

  I had been sipping the hot coffee and listening, but now I spoke up. “What about the eagle?”

  The Cutthroat fixed me with an even gaze. “I still don’t know about that. Not for sure. But nobody ever knows anything for sure. No matter who you ask, or what you find out, you’ll never know all of anything that’s already past.”

  The single lightbulb began to flicker. My stomach knot had relaxed, but now I found myself feeling lightheaded. I knew I should have had some chow.