He took down the bottle of cheap rum kept for his brother’s visits and poured the sleeping powder into a small pan. He doused it with the rum and mixed it well, then put it on the burner until the liquid turned clear. He let it cool as he finished getting ready for work. His hands were unsteady, but he poured enough of his concoction back into the bottle to do the job.
At work, he investigated his brother’s favorite hiding place between the fence and vat he usually worked. As he expected, he found the same brand of rum. He switched the two bottles and went off to his office. He passed Guillermo several times during the day, but it wasn’t until early afternoon that he saw his brother lying on the catwalk, one arm flopped down toward the vat. His brother was in the same position the next time he sauntered by. Ramón mounted the catwalk and surveyed the building as he stood over his still brother. The Sunday shift was often lighter, so no other workers were near.
Forgive me, he thought.
He nudged his brother with his foot but got no response. He pushed harder, keeping an eye on the main door. His brother rolled over the edge and splashed face-up into the caustic solution.
“Help me,” Ramón said softly. He waited.
It took his brother a while to sink, the toes of his ordinary work boots the last of him to disappear.
“Help!” Ramón cried. He ran toward the rescue kit.
Lonnie Takes It to the Bridge 1
SAM DOG ASKED Lonnie Johnson did his mother ever complain about having to give birth to him with that goddamn toolbox welded to his hands. Lonnie didn’t mind the ribbing. He had learned a few things from his mama. One. A good servant and his tools of trade are admitted into realms both physical and emotional that the most privileged of guests can never enter. Two. Once you’re there, keep your eyes and ears open. Three. Don’t worry until you have something to worry about.
Lonnie had broken ranks with his dad and had joined the Navy. He liked the constant movement of a ship, he said. You didn’t have to qualify for anything above scraping paint to be able to travel. He had set about making himself a good servant as soon as he received his rating as an interior communications man on the USS Princeton. This job took him everywhere that there was a need for communications equipment, which was everywhere on the ship.
His rating was higher than those who did straight maintenance, but a good communications guy knew how to repair way more than just electronics. He worked out of the main machine shop. It was littered with metal flanges, tubs of solvents, pneumatic nail guns, and jury-rigged gadgets. Littered wasn’t exactly the right word. No place on an aircraft carrier should be littered. In heavy seas, you don’t want to be clocked upside the head by a hammer as it flew from starboard to port. Everything had its proper secured place, although a few of the guys got messy in the middle of a job. Not Lonnie. The same precision that itched until he selected the right word demanded that he work neatly and methodically, even when he had to forge ahead on the double. Chick, on the other hand, left the devastation of a typhoon at the end of every job, even the smallest one. He’d once been busted down a step at a surprise inspection because he owned up to having created what an officer called “a bloody hellhole of a booby trap.” After that, Lonnie pitched in to keep Chick out of trouble, but he didn’t mind. Chick could fix anything, even the unfixable. Sam Dog said it was as if each of his long fingers had its own brain and a set of eyes.
Lonnie knew he could make a decent living off of what he’d learned from Chick, and he figured he could own his own repair shop when he got out of the Navy. Customers would like his competence and cleanliness—he saw white tiles and gleaming tools in his future—and his mama and daddy had taught him good manners. He was already making extra dough off of the officers, who liked those qualities. Once they figured out that he didn’t leave clods of solder to harden on their papers or wood shavings scattered on the floor, they asked for him by name to do all kinds of repairs. Soon he graduated from minor screw tightenings and glue-and-clamp jobs on the control deck to major renos in the officers’ quarters and other areas usually off-limits to the enlisted men. While in restricted areas, as his mama had instructed, he kept his brown-mouse ears wide open.
Thus he was bent over double with both hands stuck in an access panel in the officers’ mess when he heard the dull clunk of trays on the table beside him. Two pairs of legs belonging to two ensigns appeared under the table. Lonnie started to rise to attention, but one of the ensigns glanced at him and said, “Carry on.” Lonnie bent down again.
“Christ, did you see the chopper’s gunner?” the same ensign said.
“Tanaka says the big guy looks even worse. Like his skin’s gonna ooze right off.”
The big guy? He couldn’t be talking about the Swede. After all, there was a horde of huge Marines on board.
“Shit, man,” the first voice said. “It’s enough to keep you below decks when one of those things goes off.”
The sheathings on some of the wires were cracked. As Lonnie listened, he pulled them and wrapped them in electrical tape for now. He’d replace them later.
“Alpha crew wasn’t even supposed to be on yesterday. Whoever was should be down on their knees about now.”
Sounds like there had been a problem, Lonnie thought. The big Swede was part of Alpha crew, one of the groups of Marines that manned the assault helicopters assigned to the aircraft carrier. Most of the Marines were righteous or at least kept to themselves, but some acted as if the whole carrier and everybody on it existed solely for them. Called the ship a boat, for Christ’s sake. The Swede wasn’t like that. He was seasoned military, older than a lot of the other guys, and his dad was a bigwig back home. He was the only Marine that got an invite to the regular Thursday night poker game. It would be trouble if he was in trouble.
“ . . . some Japanese muckety-mucks and translators,” one of the ensigns said.
Shoot. Lonnie had been worrying about the big Swede instead of listening, and now he didn’t know what the Japanese had to do with anything.
“Japanese? You’d think they’d had enough of our A-bombs.”
“The old man wants to wait until after the first dogwatch to take them off. That big fellow don’t look so good, but Tanaka says he probably won’t make it anyway.”
Lonnie snipped and stripped a fresh end on a black wire and reattached it to a node. He’d have to find out if the big Swede was in trouble.
“Official word’s come down. They were on the island during the blow-up in July.”
“But anyone who knows anything about radiation would know that—”
“Yeah.”
Would know what? Lonnie felt the officers’ attention focus on him, so he pulled a yellow wire from the bundle and pretended to inspect its length. He’d already done so once, but the ensigns didn’t know that. He waited for their conversation to resume, but when it did, they compared notes about some fueling snafu.
Lonnie already knew a few things about the Swede. One. He didn’t want anyone to know his father was a general and subtly encouraged the guys to just call him the Swede or Hep, because Hepplewhite was way too long. If someone by chance asked if he was any relation, Lonnie could see him pick a dodge and use it. It worked on most people, but not on Lonnie, not with his big ears and his father stationed at the general’s base. He wondered if the ensigns really knew who they were talking about.
Two. The Swede would fall for a good bluff even with the highest stakes, like the silver pocket watch. Lonnie pulled it out and caressed the HRH etched in fancy script on its cover. He felt bad about it, but he had won it fair and square. What a bluff. High card a black eight, never revealed. He longed to tell Chick or Sam Dog when they asked, but he’d learned early that reputation grew more quickly through mystery than through the fleeting satisfactions of revealing a sucker bet.
Three. The initials on the watch belonged to the big Swede’s grandfather. When Lonnie first saw them, given the state the big guy was in at the time, he thought they might stand for
His Royal Hangover. He played around with words like that. His daddy said quit jawing and get the thing said. His mama smiled with those pretty dimples of hers and said don’t mind your father, you take after me. Two nights before, Chick asked about the Swede’s grandfather. He had come to America on a ship, leaving all of his known world behind, holding only one piece of it in etched silver. Lonnie used to think that white people who had left their own countries for the hope of a new one didn’t mind leaving their old lives behind. They had a choice, right?
Four. The big Swede wouldn’t just accept the watch back, but he’d be willing to play again for it. Lonnie had tried to give it back the night they heard about the grandfather, but no dice. That was okay, Lonnie knew how to lose discreetly. His daddy had taught him a thing or two about cards.
Lonnie’s mother was the one who taught him not to worry until he had something to worry about. Now he had something to worry about. Someone, that is. The big fellow may be about to buy the farm and here was Lonnie holding onto a piece of his history. He replaced the access panel and stood up to give the ensigns a salute. They didn’t even look up at him. He left the mess deck with an automatic turn toward the machine shop. Don’t listen to scuttlebutt, his daddy said. Listen for what’s true, his mama countered. Lonnie did an about face before reaching the ladder and headed to the sick bay instead.
A roadblock of Marines loomed in the passageway outside of the clinic. Lonnie threaded past a few of them but a captain stopped him. “State your business,” he said. None of your business, Lonnie wanted to answer, but knew that wasn’t true, even if it was. His men were in there, in God knows what condition. Another Marine stationed beside the clinic’s hatch stared straight through Lonnie.
He figured complaining of anything short of a heart attack would get him no further, but luckily he still had his toolbox. He held it up. “Sir, I’ve been ordered down to make repairs.”
“To what?”
Medic Dakota Tanaka opened the hatch at that moment. He was a tall, spare bookworm who wore his belt cinched too high, but he knew his stuff and ranged outside of protocol to find treatments that actually worked. The crew swore by the hangover cures he customized for each sailor as he pocketed their fee. Lonnie had helped him sharpen his card-playing skills, and after winning a few large pots, Tanaka now considered him a buddy.
Lonnie counted on that when he jiggled his toolbox and pitched his head toward the clinic. “Phone still out?”
Tanaka caught the ball and ran with it. “About time. Been acting up all week. Come on.” He grabbed Lonnie’s elbow and propelled him into the clinic. “Sir,” he said to the captain. The officer waved him away and turned back to his conversation.
Inside, the desk topped by the phone and charts stood to the right and the sickbay bunks stretched down the narrow room beyond. Several of the lower bunks at the far end were occupied, but neither the patients nor the two medics that slumped in the aisle said a word. The ship’s engines thrummed underneath the quiet.
“What are you doing here?” Tanaka asked.
“Heard the big Swede might be sick.”
Tanaka glanced at the closed door of an exam room to their left. “He doesn’t look too good.” His voice barely carried as far as Lonnie’s ears as he glanced back at the hatch that separated them from the pod of Marines in the corridor. “None of his crew look good.”
“What happened?”
“Aborted missile test.”
Must of gone wrong, somehow. You don’t want to be around when an A-bomb missile goes wrong. Lonnie hadn’t heard anything before now but then again he didn’t pay much attention anymore. He had other things to do.
“That all of them?” He flicked his chin toward the bunks.
“The old man wants to low-key it. Sent the rest of them—the ones that could walk—down to auxiliary quarters for showers and ordered them lobster dinner. Fat lot of good that will do them the way the Geiger counters were jumping.”
“They taking them off today?”
Tanaka nodded.
It would be simple to leave the silver watch with Tanaka and skedaddle, but that would be taking advantage of a man when he’s down. That would be cheating. Lonnie had to look the big Swede in the face to let him know that Lonnie knew he wouldn’t just accept the watch back under normal circumstances.
“Can I see him?” Lonnie held up the watch. “Have to give this back to him.”
Tanaka crossed his arms and massaged his bicep where a tattoo of Japanese symbols spelled “Mother,” or so he claimed. “You’re on your own if one of them catches you.” He hooked a thumb back at the closed hatch behind them. Lonnie nodded. “Leave your stuff over there.” He pointed at the desk. Lonnie dropped his toolbox beside the phone and followed Tanaka into the exam room.
The big Swede dwarfed the skinny bed and his arms glowed red against the white sheet as he lay flat on his back. Pale skin in the shape of goggles ringed his eyes and continued up under his dark hair and over his ears. The bottom of his face and his forearms oozed.
The Swede wasn’t going to make it, maybe not even until the evening sunlight spread like liquid fire across the ocean.
“I thought all Swedes were blond,” Lonnie said.
The Swede grunted his usual laugh, only this time it had no force. “See brown hair in Maine.” His lips barely moved and the words were indistinct but Lonnie understood the shorthand: the Swede had family up in Maine. He took a couple of short, raspy breaths.
Lonnie had seen a man die before, but not like this.
That ensign was right. Anyone who knew anything about radiation sickness would know that the big Swede couldn’t possibly be suffering from exposure from a few months ago. He obviously was a victim of a recent, massive dose. Lonnie saw the lies and omissions lining up, even for a general’s son.
“Why would I want to go to Maine? Snow never melts there.” Lonnie leaned closer to the bed and caught the sharp stench of open wounds. He flared his nostrils but didn’t withdraw. “Except maybe to beat you ass again to get this back.” He extracted the watch from his pocket and rubbed his thumb over the HRH. He dangled it from the chain so the Swede could see it and just held it there while he decided where to put it. The bed was in the middle of the room, and the cupboards far enough away that someone would forget it was there, but laying anything on raw skin was unthinkable. Finally Lonnie spied a duffle bag at the foot of the bed and dropped the watch into it. “But don’t think I won’t hunt you down to get it back, Harold R. Hepplewhite the third.”
Hep grunted in reply.
Tanaka bent over to brush fallen hair off the pillow and then looked up at Lonnie. “You ever go topside for the tests?”
“Used to. Not lately, though.”
“Good. Don’t.”
“Geiger counters up there say—”
“There are ways of reading Geiger counters.” Tanaka tipped his head toward the big fellow in the bed. “Then there are ways. Got it?”
“Aye, aye.”
Tanaka pointed to his watch and drew a wind-it-up swirl in the air.
“Take it easy, huh?” Lonnie said. He wanted to touch Hep but didn’t dare, not even on the pale skin of his shoulder. He turned to go but remembered the ensign’s voice peddling the official story. That wasn’t right, but even a general couldn’t do anything about it if he didn’t know the real deal. Lonnie swung back around and leaned in close. “What the hell happened, man?”
Hep’s eyes fluttered open. “Had to get the nose,” he said with an exhale.
In the slackness of Hep’s face, Lonnie saw the edge of life where earthly duties, promises, secrets, no longer mattered. His gut clenched, and he waited until he could trust his voice to sound normal.
“So?”
Hep’s eyes slid shut again. “Cap said . . . down the hole.”
Lonnie looked up at Tanaka.
“Yesterday’s missile,” the medic said while staring at the exam room door. They could hear voices from the other side. He
wound his finger again and spoke quickly. “Going off course. Blown up. These gophers pick up the nose containing the guidance system. Guess it wasn’t coming in right. Someone had to go down and bring it in.”
“Wouldn’t it be hot?”
Tanaka stepped over to the door and opened it a sliver and then eased it shut again. He leaned a moment with his forehead resting on the door. “Yeah, real hot.” He straightened up and turned. “Like my butt’s gonna be if they catch you in here.”
“His CO had no business telling him to go down into the hole.” Lonnie gripped the railing of the bed and looked down. “Your CO had no business.”
The hump of Hep’s leg slid to the side under the covers. He lifted his chin, and in a stronger voice said, “Orders.”
“You know what they’re saying? That you all were on the island back in July. Man, that’s not right.”
“What does it matter? July or now. Accidents happen. Orders are orders.” Tanaka waved come on let’s go.
“Accident’s one thing. But to deliberately send these guys. . .” to their deaths, Lonnie finished with a look. “Somebody’s gotta know. That’s not right.”
“Come on.” Tanaka moved closer and tugged on Lonnie’s sleeve. “Besides, what can we do? Those papers we signed. Who could we tell?”
“His father, for one. He’s base commander where my dad’s stationed.”
Hep rustled. “Orders,” he repeated.
Lonnie reached out to touch his shoulder but stopped short. “What would your dad do about an officer who is obviously making dumbass decisions about his men? Huh? But nobody’s gonna do anything if nobody knows. You want that?”
Hep exhaled and seemed to settle further into the hard exam bed. He rolled his head a few degrees from side to side. No, his lips said.
“What can you do?” Tanaka asked. “They read everything that goes off this crate.”
Hep’s body held the stillness of sleep.
Lonnie scanned the room as if all the tools he needed to make things right could be found in the narrow cupboards. The sweep stopped on the red lettering over a waste bin. “What if they couldn’t read it?” He raised his face toward heaven. “Don’t you write Japanese?”
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