Mickey's Wars

by Dave McDonald

  Now if you are still interested, yes, I’d love to be your docent. I pray you don’t expect me to be as knowledgeable or as entertaining as you were about the Biltmore. I know a lot about the history of Savannah, having grown up in the area, but not as much about Charleston. I will do my homework. I promise.

  And yes the Medal is heavy. I only wear it when I wear my dress blues. And I keep it with my other medals and merit awards in my footlocker with my dress uniform.

  Also meeting President Truman was a hoot. I would love to tell you all about it.

  And I am available most weekends. The timing is up to you, the Biltmore docent, who I just dropped a bomb on.

  Hopefully your friend,

  Mick

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  A Saturday morning

  Ten Days later

  Beaufort, South Carolina

  I drove to an address Kate had mailed me, the home of a girlfriend she was staying with in Beaufort.

  Kate, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail, stood on the front lawn of a small Tudor home. She wore blue peddle-pushers, a white blouse, and saddle shoes.

  She hopped in the air several times with her hands clasped together as I pulled up in my old Hudson. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

  Before I could get out to open the passenger door, she was in the car, a beaming smile followed by a wisp of vanilla.

  “You’re here,” she exclaimed. “I . . . I didn’t . . . you’re here.”

  “Hello to you too, Kate. And yes I’m a man of my-”she hugged me. Surprised, I didn’t know what to do. So I did nothing.

  “We O’Shaughnessys are huggers,” she said over my shoulder. And just as quickly as she had slid across the seat, she retreated. “Thanks for the letters. You write well. Ah, could you see me in my words?”

  I chuckled. “Yes, you write just like you talk; it was like you were there.”

  “Good. What’s on the agenda today, Mr. Docent?”

  I put the car in gear and pulled into the street. “Well, I thought we should see as many of the old homes in Savannah as possible before they start tearing them down.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, there are rumors that city council wants to renovate Savannah and that they plan to destroy some of the old squares. Many of them are unoccupied and in bad shape.”

  “Oh my God. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “’Fraid not.”

  “I hope they change their minds. History is a priceless tool for learning.”

  “History hasn’t taught man much about living peacefully. Three successive generations of Mackenzies have fought in wars.”

  “You sound like my dad.”

  I stopped at a light and faced her. “I thought we’d start with lunch at my favorite place, The Crystal Beer Parlor, and then take the walking tour of several of the old homes. And between here and lunch, I’ll give you Mick Mackenzie’s unabridged history of Savannah.”

  That got me another hug.

  Her warmth and tenderness made me yearn for days before Korea. I wanted to wrap my free arm around Kate and pull her against me. But my lingering love-hate thoughts of Sara got in the way.

  “I loved your Savannah history lesson during the ride here, particularly the part about Oglethorpe,” Kate said, glancing around at all the old pictures adorning the walls of the Crystal Beer Parlor. “No slaves, no liquor, no lawyers; and he allowed Jewish refugees into his settlement. The man was way ahead of his time. You’d make an excellent docent, Mick. And this restaurant, it’s as if you’ve lived here in Savannah.”

  “I did,” I said, with a sigh. “For a while . . . with Sara.”

  “Oh.” Kate lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Maybe we should’ve gone to Charleston.” Her green eyes searched mine for a reaction.

  “I’m okay.”

  “That’s not what your body language says.” Each of Kate’s words were encased in small gray clouds.

  I canted my head.

  “I’ve had better responses to my hugs from a tree. Whoops.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Dad says I need to be more careful about speaking my mind. Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound so mean. Does Sara still live here?”

  “No, she’s in Ohio. I, ah . . . Sara was my first love and . . .”

  Kate held up a stop-sign-hand. “I understand. We can talk about this another time.”

  I liked Kate, she was full of energy, fun, and smart. Why should I let Sara ruin one more minute of my life? “Stand up,” I said as I stood.

  Kate sat there giving me a questioning look.

  “Stand up.” I motioned.

  Kate stood.

  I stepped toward her. Wrapping my arms around her slender frame, I pulled her flush against me. She was almost as tall as me, and soft and warm. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to get lost in her vanilla scent.

  That day, after a good lunch, a great tour, and loads of laughs, when I pulled the old Hudson into the driveway of Kate’s friend’s; I kissed Kate O’Shaughnessy. And I planned to kiss her again; hopefully the following weekend.

  As I drove up to the Parris Island gate, my headlights slid across a red Packard convertible sitting by the base entrance. I found myself gripping the steering wheel so hard my hands ached. I had to think about breathing.

  I gasped a breath and checked the license; an Ohio plate.

  Red Packard convertible, Ohio plates, at my base; it had to be Sara.

  Part of me wanted to jump out of my car and run to Sara and kiss her passionately, knowing there had to be a reason for all of this insanity. Another side of me wanted to pull her out of the car and shake the truth out of her.

  A Marine corporal came up to my car, and I showed him my ID. In that instant, all my jumbled emotions were pushed aside by the what seemed like long ago words of an unknown Marine at the Funchilin Pass, regarding the snowfall and his grandpap, “startin’ to stop”.

  “Sergeant Mackenzie, there is a young lady here who-”I drove past the gate and through the round-about taking the exit to the barracks.

  I didn’t look back.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  The area surrounding the non-commissioned officers’ barracks was ablaze with lights on this moonless night. I dashed from the parking lot into the first floor lobby of the barracks. The row of enclosed phone booths was empty; a Saturday night, no one was here.

  I fumbled in my shirt pocket as I entered a booth. I found Kate’s letter folded up which contained her girlfriend’s phone number in case I got lost on the way. I retrieved four or five dimes in my pocket, slid one in the phone’s coin slot, and dialed the number.

  A moment later, after I entered the additional dimes an operator stated were needed, I was connected.

  “Hello,” a female said.

  “Hello, is Kate O’Shaughnessy there please?”

  “Mick?” Kate asked.

  “Kate, can you see out a window to the front of the house?”

  “Yes. It’s dark out, but as you know there’s that darn street light close to the driveway.” She snickered.

  “Is there a car parked on the street nearby? A car that’s not normally there?”

  A pause.

  “No, I don’t see any cars parked on the street. Mick, what’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.”

  “When I got back to the base, Sara was waiting for me at the main gate.”

  “Oh.” Her tone was like someone had just told her she had polio.

  “Kate, it’s not what you’re thinking. I should’ve told you about Sara, but . . . but I wanted to isolate you from my whacky world. Sara’s dangerous, Kate. The more I learned about her the less I realized I knew about her. Both her and her husband’s families are big time Mafia.”

  Kate caught her breath. “Oh my God.”

  “They’re extremely ruthless and unpredictable,” I said bluntly. “After I saw her car at the gate, I was afraid she may have had me followed today. And . . . and she may
have someone watching you.”

  “Why on earth-”

  “Are you still leaving tomorrow to go home?”

  “Yes, early. Why?”

  “I know I must sound crazy and . . . and paranoid. But please be careful and make sure no one is following you. If someone is trailing you, memorize their plate number, and go to the nearest police station and report them. Cops will listen to a policewoman.”

  “Mick, I’ll be fine. I always have my friends with me, Smith and Wesson. And I know how to use them. Will you be okay?”

  “Not to worry. I’m surrounded by thousands of Marines. What time do you plan on being home tomorrow?

  “Around six p.m.”

  “I’ll give you a phone number where you can reach me. Please call as soon as you get home.”

  “Okay. And Mick, I had a great time today. And,” an awkward pause grew until I feared she had hung up, “and after that wonderful kiss you can’t scare me away.”

  I let out a breath that eased the tightening in my chest. “I hope not.”

  When I awoke Sunday morning in the base barracks, a note had been slid under my door.

  Dear Mick,

  I saw you drive by me at the gate last night. I understand; you must hate me. But I’m not the person you think I am. I’m still the woman you lived with in Savannah. The woman who loves you immeasurably.

  I’ve been forced to live a life of lies. I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. But I couldn’t be truthful with you. Hopefully you’ll give me a chance to explain.

  Like all foundations built on falsehoods, mine has collapsed. I’m in trouble; bad trouble.

  Please meet me in Asheville at the Forrest Manor Motel, as soon as you can. I can probably only stay there two days before . . . please.

  I’m scared.

  Sara

  I reread the letter three more times; chewing on her words, working to swallow them, and then trying to digest them.

  ‘The woman who loves you immeasurably’ ignited the tingling warmth throughout me that I’d longed for since enlisting. Despite everything that had transpired, I still loved Sara; I couldn’t change that. When I found out who Sara really was, I had decided I’d just have to live with those feelings while I worked to forget her; which I hadn’t done well. Maybe with time, I could suppress both my feelings along with my memory of her.

  But what if there were an explanation for her actions; a believable one?

  And if she had a plausible explanation, should I believe it? Could I trust her?

  My dad always said, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

  Was Sara trying to fool me again? She had done it before, more than once.

  But what if she really were in trouble, ‘bad trouble’?

  I had never seen Sara afraid of anything. That was one of the reasons I believed she was the Youngstown mob boss. But her ending words ‘I’m scared’ were so out of character that I was close to believing them.

  Asheville was around three hundred miles from Parris Island. If I decided to go, I’d have to take a couple of days off. But if Sara did explain her actions, and I could believe her, at least I’d have closure. But maybe much, much more if she were ‘the woman I lived with in Savannah’. I’d loved that Sara deeply. And I believed she’d loved me, in her own way. But with her history, could we ever have a future together?

  I read her letter again.

  With an unsure mind and legs, I headed for my Lieutenant’s office, hoping I could find him on a Sunday.

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Asheville, North Carolina

  It was dark when I stopped to call Kate at a gas station on the outskirts of Asheville.

  “Hello,” Kate answered.

  “Kate,” my voiced cracked. “I couldn’t get to the phone where I told you to call. Hope you haven’t tried to reach me on that number. Are you okay? Any problems?”

  “Well I did try that number several times. Thank God you called. I was thinking about calling the base and have someone check on you. You had me,” she sniffed, “I was worried.”

  “I’m fine. How was the trip home?”

  “My trip was a breeze. No one followed me.” She paused. “Your voice sounds a little on edge. Is there something wrong?”

  I had told her I would never lie to her. But if I told her the truth and where I was, she’d be here in minutes, gun in hand. And this wasn’t her problem. The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt because of my mistakes with Sara. My mind searched for the right words. “I’m just wound a little tight because of Sara.” I released a sigh. “Whatever kind of relationship we had was built on a mountain of lies. All of us, me and my family, and Sara and her family, would’ve been better off if Sara and I had never met.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  A question she had to ask, and one I wasn’t sure how to answer truthfully.

  “Well, for the sake of everyone involved, I need to find out the truth.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “I’m meeting her.”

  A long silent pause was followed by a terminating click.

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  The sun had gone down at least an hour or two by the time I pulled into the Forrest Manor Motel’s parking lot. There were only a few automobiles there, and one was Sara’s red Packard convertible parked in front of a room with its lights on. Seeing her car, knowing Sara was here, gave me a tinge of happiness along with a ton of anxiety. I turned off my headlights, cocked my Marine-issue Colt M1911 pistol, and slowly rolled my car next to hers.

  Blind trust was something I’d left at Parris Island.

  I scanned the area and saw no one or any movement in the dim light cast from the motel’s sign.

  I shut off the Hudson’s engine.

  As I got out of my car and eased the door closed, the lights in the room went out.

  I ducked behind the fender and waited, listening.

  After the longest minute of my life, hearing nothing but crickets and tree frogs, I stood up and approached the now darkened room’s door. The cocked pistol, clasped in both my hands, led my way. The sight centered on the door.

  I stood to one side of the door and knocked.

  Nothing.

  “Sara,” I said firm enough to be heard. “Sara, it’s me, Mick.”

  No response.

  I turned the knob, and the door opened.

  Not giving my fear a toehold, I shoved the door inward and hopped into the room to one side of the opening. I dropped into a squatted position.

  The room was dark except for the dim outline of the opened door on the carpet. I couldn’t detect any movement.

  “Close the door,” Sara’s monotone voice whispered near enough to touch.

  I stood, eased the gun’s hammer down, and complied.

  “Why did you turn off the lights?” I said, pocketing the pistol and waving my arms in front of me as I moved deeper into the lightless room.

  “Be still.” Her voice pancaked flat and lifeless in the blackness. “We have company.”

  Her words like Chinese bugles induced a similar bolt of fear. I fumbled the Colt out of my pocket.

  “I didn’t see anyone,” I said trial-and-error searching my way to one side of the window.

  “There are two of them, across the street in the woods.” Her tone was calm and soft as if she were addressing a child afraid of the dark. “They got here about ten minutes before you.”

  I pushed aside a tiny section of curtain and peeked out the edge of the window. All I could see was a wall of trees across the highway in the motel sign’s dull light.

  “One will come in the front as the other breaches the back,” she said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “There’s no time. They’re on the move. Take the front. I’ll cover the back.” Her soft footsteps faded away.

  I cocked my gun and moved away from the door.

  Within seconds glass broke in the bathroom, f
ollowed by two big caliber booms and two cracks of a smaller weapon.

  As I braced for a frontal assault, the front window blew inward spreading the closed curtains, showering the interior of the room with sparkling shards of glass. I dropped behind the bed and aimed at the opening. Then the door flew open causing me to swing my gun sights to the entryway.

  Two small caliber cracks sounded behind me, and a large shadow of a man at the window spun and fell through the gap where the glass had been.

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Murky light streamed through the opening of the shattered front window of the Forrest Manor Motel room. I rushed to the body of the man draped over the sill of the jagged hole he’d made when he broke the window. There wasn’t any pulse or identification, just blood and plenty of that.

  I turned on my way to the bathroom and brushed by Sara who was buttoning-on a blouse over what looked to be a slip.

  Flipping on the bathroom light, I found another body. I bent down to check the man.

  “Mick, what’re you doing?” Sara asked, her words coated with disapproval.

  I glanced at her in the streak of light from the partially opened door. She was stepping into a skirt, facing me. She hesitated and looked at me. Her eyes were cold, her perfect features mannequin-like and soul-less.

  “We have to go. The motel manager had to have called the police. In this one-horse town a report of gun shots will have all of the cops in the county here in minutes,” she said as she tucked the blouse into her skirt as if this were just the start of another day, no shaking or change in voice, just calm and in control. This woman had just killed two men, and there were no cracks in her armor.

  “What if one of-”