THE HAPPY HAT

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THE HAPPY HAT Page 13

by Peter Glassman


  Bork looked on in approval.

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  Kaplan entered his warm apartment and hung up his sport coat after removing the .45. His thoughts were back with Skagan. He looked down at the envelope addressed to Stokely with the words, “To be opened in the event of my death”. The .45 was next to it.

  I want to tear it up but a part of me says to wait.

  Chapter 19

  Amstel Perkins

  Perkins and Linsky were exhausted after recrystalizing the heroin from its former habitat in the smelly, bacteria-laden plaster shells.

  “I’m beat.” Linsky was sweaty from the water evaporation process that left the pure white powder behind. “I’m going to the shower. You begin the plastic wrap and remember try to get the weight to exactly one kilogram. Never get under and a few milligrams over is okay.”

  Amstel Perkins felt his adrenalin rise. His pulse increased and his fatigue disappeared. This was an opportunity. He began carefully scooping the powdered heroin onto the plastic wrap on the balance scale. From there it went onto the same plastic wrap device which sealed the kilo rendering the package waterproof at the same time. He was good at this phase of the process and rapidly sequestered a kilo of heroin in his laundry bag. A kilo of pure heroin would be assessed in terms of milligrams. Salable packages of heroin on the street were 5-and-10 mg at five and ten dollars per unit respectively. A kilo of pure heroin was 1000 grams which he could sell uncut for up to a hundred-thousand dollars. If he cut it himself and found some dealers he could make more than that. Dealers were cheap and could be recruited amongst the addict population.

  Perkins had bagged over four kilo packages when Linsky emerged from the shower. “You can use the shower next if you want.” He looked at the packaged product. “Wow, looks like we got a few more kilos to bag. Your take should be about thirty grand after I unload this in PR.”

  “Puerto Rico? I thought you had a Jamaican buyer.” Perkins pulled his surgical mask below his chin.

  “I have to keep moving it around and especially keep it out of the US. We’re dead meat if anyone finds out what we’re doin’. I keep tellin’ you those nutcases in Brownsville are Brooklyn savages when it comes to gettin’ screwed. They show no mercy and if we get caught it’s an automatic death sentence to serve as an example to others.”

  Perkins threw a glance to his laundry bag. “I’ll pass on the shower. I have to get to work in a few hours. I’m headin’ home and shower there.”

  “Well keep scoping out the patients with the biggest casts.” Lansky began packaging the remaining powdered heroin. “Give me a week to get this out to my PR contact.”

  “I can hide the cast if I see a good one. Dr. Norman has me out front on the air-evac lists. The guy’s grateful to have someone help him out. Norman has the JMOOD duty once a week now so I should have a cast in your weekly timeframe to develop that steady cash flow.” Perkins left the apartment.

  The change from the hot, moist kitchen into a wall of cool night air gave him a chill. Thoughts of his new windfall kilo of heroin and his calculated value from it totally suppressed recall of the eviscerated woman and Linsky’s reinforcement of caution.

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  580. 580. 580.

  Norman saw his page flashing and pressed the ward phone to his ear. “Dr. Norman.”

  “Yes. It’s LT Zettler looking for you. I’ll connect.” The operator had a motherly tone.

  I’ll bet the operator listens in to our mushy stuff. Norman waited for the connection.

  “LT. Zettler.”

  “Hey babe. What’s up?”

  “I know you have trouble keeping track of time. Look at your watch. It’s after twelve. We both need to be fed.”

  God. Thinking of motherly. “Okay. I just have to finish one order sheet. I’ll meet you in the Officer’s Mess in five minutes.”

  “Honestly Paul Norman, I’m keeping you alive until we march down the altar then you’re on your own.” She laughed.

  “Once we’re married and out of the Navy we won’t be so overworked. Besides, I do answer to hunger. There’s always peanut butter and bread in the reefer on every ward.”

  “You’re hopeless. See you in five minutes.” Zettler hung up.

  Norman looked at his watch. The day’s air-evac was due in two hours. According to Perkins it was a big one–over thirty patients. He’d touch base with Perkins after chow with Minnie Zettler.

  Norman and Zettler always sat at the same mess table when it was available–like now. It was a table for two and faced the pager lights above the Officer’s Mess Hall entryway.

  Zettler waved Norman over to the table and he set his tray opposite hers. “What time’s the air-evac due in?”

  “I have two more hours. According to Perkins there’s over thirty patients and at least eight for orthopedics. I have five empty beds on my ward but I’ll only take on one patient. The other G wards have more space and as JMOOD I don’t want to be up all night admitting my own ortho patients.”

  “Amstel Perkins always seems to get air-evac duty when you’re JMOOD.” She smiled as Norman attacked his oversized meatloaf, potato and gravy portions.

  “I lucked out with that guy. He gets the air-evac list for me so I can make rounds on my own ward and still cover the ER as JMOOD.”

  “You seem to have good luck with corpsmen. Kaplan practically runs G-1 for you.”

  “Kaplan is amazing. I never met a corpsman so intelligent and his leadership powers are outstanding. He even gets along with ball-buster Skagan.” Norman burped with her name.

  “You think she has her eyes on Kaplan? I mean she selected your ward for centralizing those Nam plaster casts for disposal.”

  “Skagan is 100% Navy rule book. I don’t think she’d mess around with an enlisted man. As for selecting G-1–it’s the only orthopedic ward with a loading dock as part of the cast room.”

  “Kaplan’s her age. Didn’t you tell me he was a college grad and going to graduate school after the Navy? I mean he has possibilities. I’m surprised Dina Sparrow hasn’t jumped his bones by now. I noticed one morning when I went by G-1 She practically salivates when she sees him on rounds.”

  “Kaplan’s a lot like Skagan. He obeys rules. He won’t mess with an officer.”

  “The guy’s handsome, well-built, and pleasant to talk to–I bet his hormones are raging like any normal male amidst available women.” She blotted her red lips with a napkin as she finished desert.

  Norman finished gobbling his lunch and burped again. “Like mine?”

  “Wipe that smile off your face. I bet if you didn’t have me you’d have a few other nurse Lieutenants to roll with.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Sex is more than anatomy. You make love to the person who inhabits the body. I mean look at Philomena Skagan. She’s gorgeous but no one is beating down her bedroom door. She’s a bitch on wheels.” Norman looked at the paging lights blinking. “There goes my page number. Let me get the mess hall phone.”

  Norman came back within a few minutes. “Speak of the devil. That was Skagan. She wants the tally of ortho patients with casts applied in Vietnam before they’re assigned to the G-wards.”

  “She’s OCD all the way.” Zettler stood up and walked with Norman from the mess hall after placing their trays on the moving kitchen tread ramp.

  “Obsessive compulsive maybe but not obsessive compulsive disorder. I’ll meet you tonight for dinner back here.” He reached over and grabbed her waist for a quick peck on the cheek. He watched her beautiful figure move away as he approached the ER.

  ‡

  Norman had to switch back to his JMOOD status from romantic flashbacks. He ran right into Perkins at the main ER desk. “So what’s the tally?”

  “Sir, we have thirty-nine air-evacs on the way. No one for the train station and no helo-pad criticals.” Perkins looked up from his clipboard. “There are eleven orthopedic patients–eight with casts.”

  Norman remembered Skagan’s page. “How many with Viet
nam plaster? LCDR Skagan has already asked me for a heads-up count.”

  “Seven from Nam and one with plaster from Japan.” Perkins looked back at his forged list. He clearly marked a Nam patient with double thigh-to-ankle casts as not having plaster from Vietnam. “The marine from Japan has had his cast on for over a month.”

  “How full is your ward–G-3?” Norman was already making ward assignments based on the diagnosis assigned to each air-evac.

  “G-3 can take two more sir.”

  Perkins called the ambulance dispatch desk after Norman went to tend to the ER patients. “This is Hospital Corpsman Perkins. What’s the ETA for the air-evac?”

  Perkins, three other corpsman and four nurses along with several interns and residents received the thirty-nine-man air-evac. He found the marine from Japan. His squad was ambushed with a Claymore mine. He was one of five survivors. The Claymore shrapnel caught him below the knees. His left tibia required a plate and several screws for a well aligned linear fracture repair. His right leg’s fibula was broken in two places but had only required K-wires for reduction and fixation along with the above the knee-to-ankle cast. He was lucky. Perkins went to Norman.

  “Dr. Norman I struck up a conversation with the marine from Japan–the one not on LCDR Skagan’s list. If you could, sir, could you admit him to my ward? He’ll need a cast change this week and I’d like to continue getting to know the guy. He seems to need someone to talk to.”

  “Why? He’ll meet a bunch of patients just like him on any G-ward?”

  “His family lives far away and he won’t have many visitors. I looked at his X-rays and his injuries aren’t severe. I’d like to maintain some continuity of care.”

  Norman was a sucker for adding a humane touch for the unfortunates of this war. Most air-evacs were just grateful to be out of harm’s way and a touch of reassurance from another person was always a morale booster. “Okay Perkins. I switched a G-5 admission for this guy. You got him.”

  “Thank you sir.” Perkins looked at the marine lying on a gurney. Both casts extended from five-inches above the knee to, and including, the feet. Perkins was looking at the plaster but he was seeing dollar signs.

  Chapter 20

  Sebastian Remo

  “It’s getting harder to delay my colostomy closure. Once it gets closed I’ll be out of the service and moved to the VA hospital in less than two months.” Remo adjusted his Aussie hat.

  Crosley Bizetes looked at him. “It’s okay. We got you that job on the patient mail delivery to get you to keep tabs on our orthopedic people. Now that all the removed Vietnam casts are all deposited in G-1 your job and our tracking is easier.”

  “I only have a few people to keep tabs on. None of them know I’m a spy. They think I’m just a gopher to get information to the outside.”

  “Just keep getting a copy of the tally for the plaster removals. I want to make sure we get all the Vietnam returnee casts.” Bizetes scanned the papers Remo had given him. “What about this sample analysis they do? What’s that all about?”

  “That tight-ass nurse Skagan. She makes them take small pieces of cast and sends them to the lab.” Remo felt a gurgling at his colostomy bag.

  “What’s she looking for?”

  “Some kind of Vietnam germ. It’s just a little piece and they do a culture for germs. It’s why they take off the casts in the first place remember?” Remo’s brow became furrowed.

  “What’s the matter?” Bizetes looked at Remo’s serious expression. “Are you okay? Should I call the corpsman?”

  “No. I just was thinkin’ about how I follow those guys who move the discarded casts around.” Remo pointed to the cast tally sheets in Bizetes’ hands. “I go to all the wards with the mail but I don’t get to the ER. There’s no mail delivery there.”

  “So what?”

  “So one of our guys–this Perkins corpsman. He gets the list first when the air-evacs come. He gets it in the ER. It’s where the air-evacs come in. You said I should track the Nam patients’ casts as much as I can and see if I can get all paper documentation.”

  “But your mail job doesn’t give you access to the first air evac influx list?” Bizetes folded his arms and his knees on the generic ward room armless chair.

  “Just not the ER. You know that I know who our people are in here right? Well only one knows about our connection–Acky Spinelli.” Remo sipped some water and held onto his colostomy bag through his uniform blouse. “The other day I was deliverin’ mail on G-3 and dropped a batch in Perkin’s desk right next to a list of new air-evacs. He almost jumped out of his skin and the list fell to the floor. I picked it up for him and looked at it as I gave it to him.” He looked around the ward. “He was workin’ over the new list. I think he was changin’ somethin’.”

  “What could he change that would interest us?”

  “I don’t know. I mean he was really concentratin’ on where the people were comin’ from. I mean, from Nam, the Philippines or Japan. He grabbed the list from me like I was tryin’ to steal it. I mean it was a list of patients. It’s no goddamn secret. It ain’t worth nothin’.” Remo searched Bizetes eyes for an answer.

  “What did he say after he got the list back?” Bizetes seemed casual.

  “Nothin’ much but he put the list in a drawer so I couldn’t see it anymore and told me ‘Thanks for the mail’. So I left.”

  “I don’t see what raised your feathers about Perkins. He’s been with us for over a year ever since he came back from Vietnam.” Bizetes looked at his watch. Visiting hours would be over in twenty minutes.

  “I really think Perkins was tryin’ to hide somethin’ but I don’t know what. What do ya think I should do?”

  “We haven’t had any problems so far but like a said a few months ago the bosses want us to be vigilant even with our people. There have been skimming incidents at other military hospitals. The casts here have been tallying with the Vietnam discarded casts from our copy of the final lists and the civilian pick-up guys.” Bizetes started to get up but sat down again. “You know what? You should tell this to Acky. Get his take on this. If it’s nothing to him then don’t worry about it.”

  “Yean, that sounds good. I’ll ask Acky.” Remo looked at some of the other patients with their visitors. “You know if I get my colostomy closed I could eat some real goomba food. What’s the deal if I get my surgery?”

  “We can arrange for another patient to come from Nam–one of us like you. It’s part of our network. He doesn’t have to be as damaged as you. You had a bad break.” Bizetes reached over and squeezed Remo’s right shoulder. “You done good by us. Go ahead and get your colostomy closed. You said you won’t be transferred out to the VA and out of the service for about a month after surgery. That’s plenty of time for us to get your replacement.” He stood up and gave Remo a hug and a whisper. “You have a great bank account and a good job waiting for you when you get out.”

  Remo watched Bizetes leave. Yeah, it’s about time I became human again. Remo felt his colostomy growl. Yeah, I can’t even begin to live until I get rid of this shit bag. He took off his Happy Hat and placed it on the bed table. He suddenly felt fatigued and moved onto his bed and adjusted the head-end to an almost sitting position. His eyelids closed looking at his Happy Hat. I should talk to Acky Spinelli about Perkins before I go under the knife.

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  In the middle of Remo’s first Nam tour he began to feel vulnerable. He was mobilizing to be closer to the combat zone for proper placement of the heroin impregnated plaster wraps. Remo had worked with an Australian supply sergeant who made his name and identity know to him on one boring day while he was sitting at the medical and clothing supply depot desk.

  “Hey chap you’re Sebastian Remo,” Dorin McBain slapped his hand on the counter to get Remo’s attention.

  “What? Oh, yes Sergeant.” Remo looked at the man in khaki uniform and shorts. “I don’t have any authorization for your English group.”

  “English! C�
��mon I’m no bloody Englishman. Just look at my hat.” McBain pointed to his Digger hat.

  To Remo it looked like a cowboy hat with the left side folded up with some kind of military insignia or decorative unit crest on the front brim. “How’d you know my first name? My uniform shirt only has my last name.”

  “Aye well I’ll tell ya my lad and throw out another name. Does the name Crosley Bizetes mean anything to ya atall, atall?” The ruddy muscular McBain grinned and looked around to reassure their privacy.

  “You’re my contact?”

  “Dorin McBain. I’ve just got back from one of your yank field hospitals. This is my third and final tour in this hellish land. I’m to brief you on what your to be doing with our goods while you’re out there dodging bullets and running for cover from incoming mortar rounds.”

  “My God. Is it that bad out there? I mean am I gonna be that close to front line action.” Remo’s eyes were wide with concern.

  “It can be but not usually. The medical supply is a few miles behind ordnance supply. But the black-pajama VC do get testy from time-to-time.” McBain licked his lower moustache with his tongue and then wiped the area with the back of his hand.

  “You been out there for three tours? Did you ever get hit? I mean did you ever get wounded, shot, stabbed or whatever happens out there?”

  “No and I’m gonna tell you my secret lad.” McBain tapped his Digger hat with his left index finger. “This hat. Whenever and wherever I wear my Australian Digger good fortune and good health go with it. I actually have three of them.”

  “Your hat brings you luck?” Remo had seen many combat line returnees refuse to give up helmets with shrapnel dents because of some imagined good fortune and amulet quality imparted by a tactical confrontation. “How can a hat like that offer any protection?”

  “I nay have the answer for that other than the observation, the feeling, and the experience. I’ve been so close to getting my booty shot off but it never happened. I see you wear a crucifix. And why my lad do you adorn such an object as that I ask?”

 

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