Just as Jenny answered I watched a mother chasing a naked toddler toward my booth. She held a small swimsuit in her hand and screamed, “Betty, get back here and put something on!”
“Where are you, Pencils?” Jenny demanded without greeting.
“Hi! How’d you know it was me? I’m at Waikiki. Is Mister Holcomb there?”
“Yes, he is. Who is that woman you’re with?”
“No one. It’s just a mother trying to put clothes on her daughter. Let me talk to the Lieutenant.”
“Okay, Pencils,” she replied stiffly, “I’m not even going to ask why your date has her mother with her.”
“Wait a minute here!” But all I heard was the click as the phone transferred my call, then Mister Holcomb shouted, “Goddamn it Pencils, I want you back here in this office ASAP!”
“Aye, Sir. I’m on my way, but what’s going on?”
“What do you mean? You’re asking me what’s going on? The damn hospital called and said you are AWOL, and the HASP thinks you are on their wanted list for destroying property and escaping custody. If you don’t get your ass here this minute, I’ll hang you by your balls.”
“But, Sir, didn’t you tell me the Admiral would protect me?”
After a moment of silence, his voice softened with, “I haven’t taken any of this to Admiral Collins yet. I thought we could handle it within the department. You-You’re not thinking of going before the Admiral, are you?”
“If you can’t straighten things out with the hospital and the HASP, I have no other choice. But, before you do anything, read my reports. I’ll have them on your desk this afternoon.”
Chapter 12
Moving a straight back chair closer to her desk, I straddled it, resting my chin upon my folded arms as I leaned against the top rail. She continued typing, the soft skin of her eyelids hid the blue iris, as she worked from a script pad near the electric Underwood. I visualized her asleep in a Victorian feather bed. She continued to ignore my presence, so I finally asked, “Jenny, are you busy?”
The tapping stopped. Those blue eyes looked up. “What do you think?”
“Sorry to bother you, but while the Lieutenant reads my reports, I thought we could have a little chat.”
“Sorry, Pencils, but I have things to do. I’m securing at four. We can talk then.”
“That’s another hour, and I’m hoping to be out of here before then.”
Jenny lowered her voice and glanced at Mister Holcomb at the far desk. “I don’t think he will let you go anywhere until after working hours.”
Holcomb read my reports, frowning and evaluating something in them. That made me think she could be right. Like most officers, the man was a control freak. He wouldn’t like being told that in reality this was my office and he was here because I asked for his transfer.
Bringing my attention back to Jenny, I shrugged with “I’ve got things to do in town. I can’t wait until four.”
She smiled. “By the looks of things,” she motioned toward the report folders on the officer’s desk, “it looks like you’ve done quite a bit already. What’s on your agenda today?”
“I have to find Lihua. I’ll be checking Mia’s Coffee Shop. I accidentally got her into trouble with someone by the name of Wong, and I’m taking full responsibility in clearing up the mess I probably caused her. Before I go, I’ll be in the armory checking out a Colt automatic, a .45. Can you type up the necessary paper work?”
“I should have known you wanted something more than just a chit-chat. I’m sure Captain Baker would approve the requisition, but the request has to go through the chain of command. The Marine Provost Marshal has final approval. He normally doesn’t sign guns out to just anyone.”
“What if Admiral Collins signed the requisition?”
“As I recall, it doesn’t matter who signs it. Colonel Madison is really an asshole, a by-the-book asshole. Besides, it would take him weeks to investigate the reason why you need a gun.”
“Where’s the armory? Maybe I can bypass the Colonel.”
“I doubt it, but it’s in the basement of this building. Just take the elevator and make a right. You’ll see it.”
As Jenny returned to her all-important paper work, I waited at my desk for the Lieutenant to finish. Leaning back in the chair, I thought about the gun. I had been a cop for only six months when I first shot someone. I remembered feeling isolated, indecisive, and totally fallible on patrol for several weeks after that. Although the robbery suspect didn’t die, I realized I had been responsible for his pain and suffering. When I fired the gun, I didn’t think of the man’s life. I simply did what I had been trained to do. My service revolver delivered two rounds into his stomach. More importantly I was haunted by the fact that as I did it, I screamed, “Take that, you son-of-a-bitch!” The physical act was training, but those words had come from my soul. It took me weeks to accept my chosen role in life and my attitude about my actions. My world did not have a place for low-life criminals.
The Admiral had only read one thing correctly in my personality. I was defending myself when I shot Chung and his goon. What he didn’t read was that I had gone one step beyond self-defense. Deep inside, my soul had again screamed “Take that, you son-of-a-bitch!”
I wondered if holding a gun again would give me an advantage over the Hawaiian goons on my tail. Or would it be a tool against myself, making that voice inside want to speak louder and more often? I squirmed at the thought. Wong might just read that true intention when I threatened him. He could easily decide to notify the local police to apprehend me for carrying a concealed firearm. Lihua’s bits of information and her fear told me the man was powerful enough to do just that. I wondered how far his influence ran beyond hookers and one strip joint. Gut instinct told me he was a player in a much bigger game. For that reason alone, the risk was worth it. I decided I would not waste more time in the office.
Ignoring the Lieutenant as he called for me, I hurried out the door and took the elevator. Having experienced military bureaucracies for ten years, I knew there had to be a way to get a gun without going through all that bullshit. The minute I stepped onto the basement’s gray concrete floor, I smelled gun powder and oil coming from the armory. Rounding the corner, I stepped through the opened double doors and waited at a long counter separating me from rows of racks loaded with rifles.
A Marine Sergeant confronted my avid stare. But, just as he opened his mouth, the phone rang. “Excuse me, Sir,” he said.
I realized I hadn’t changed out of my civilian clothes. This guy didn’t know me. I felt smug, until he asked, “Are you Pencils?”
“Yes.”
“You have a phone call.” He placed the phone on the counter and returned to his paperwork.
Expecting to hear Mister Holcomb’s shouts, I tentatively put the receiver to my ear. “Pencils here.”
Jenny whispered, “Mister Holcomb just called the Marine guard to prevent you from leaving the building. I didn’t tell him where you went.”
“Thanks, Jenny. You mind doing me another favor?”
“What’s up?”
I lowered my voice, “When someone calls and asks, could you inform this person that I’m Chief Gunner’s Mate Gary Pencils and I have orders to be assigned to the armory. Go along with me, please?”
“You’re not getting me into trouble are you?”
I glanced up. The Sergeant had wandered down a aisle of brand new M-1 rifles. “No”, I responded, “I’m taking full responsibility. He should call back in a few minutes. Just tell him what I said.”
Laying the receiver back on the counter, I called out, “Hey, Sergeant?”
A moment passed before he appeared. “Yeah, can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Chief Pencils. I’ve been assigned here at the armory. I’m sure you’ve seen my orders?”
“Sorry, Chief. I haven’t seen any orders. Do you have your copy?”
“No, not with me. I don’t have to report until tomorrow. I’m just
stopping by to see what the place looks like.”
“Wish I could show you around, but you know how it is. I just don’t let anyone wander through here. Have you got some identification?”
I shrugged and looked pathetic. “My ID is being re-issued. I partied in Honolulu and got rolled, my wallet stolen. Call DISC upstairs. They’re doing my ID and they can confirm who I am.”
“DISC? I never heard of it.”
“I didn’t either until I came here. Give them a call.”
“Why can’t you just come back tomorrow, Chief, when you have all your stuff?”
“I guess I could, but I’m the type who likes to see what I’m getting into. I’m here now. Shit, it will take less than a minute. Call them.”
The Sergeant checked his watch, as if closing time was near. Shaking his head, he dialed. He asked the operator for the DISC’s phone number. As he dialed the extension, I prayed Lieutenant Holcomb wouldn’t answer the phone, but remembered if an enlisted was in the office, he let them refer calls to him. Deference was one of the perks Holcomb enjoyed as an officer.
“Yes, this is the armory. I have someone here who says he’s a Chief Pencils and he’s being transferred here. I don’t know, he could be a Chief Gunner’s Mate. He’s got civilian clothes on. Okay, thank you, miss. That’s all I need to know.”
I followed him through the aisles of rifles, listening in a professional manner as he explained the command’s regulations and polices. Finally he showed me the Colt .45’s, informing me that no enlisted are allowed to have one. The pistols are officer’s issue only. He turned his back to me to point out something else. I slipped a pistol under my shirt and into my waist band. We walked by several ammunition cans. I spotted an open one with loaded magazine clips for the .45. Several of those went into my pockets. I started to say, I had seen enough when I noticed a box of hand grenades. I dropped three of those down the front of my pants. They felt cold in my jockey shorts, but I decided they didn’t look too noticeable, unless I shifted them. I knew the Marine wouldn’t comment if he looked down.
Returning to my office, I paused at Jenny’s desk. Cocking one hip, I allowed the grenades to shift. Looking up from her work, her gaze stopped right where I intended.
“Where’s the Lieutenant?” I asked.
“Ah, what?” She blushed and looked up to my face. “Oh, he’s getting a cup of coffee. He’ll be right back. Did you, ah, get excited by all the fire power in the armory?”
Pretending to be puzzled, I responded, “No, why?”
“Nothing.” She practically buried herself in her desk as I moved on.
The contraband quickly disappeared in my desk. Jenny did not turn my way once, but just as I closed the drawer, Mister Holcomb stepped in and slammed the door.
He allowed the rattling glass to silence before he demanded, “Pencils, where in hell have you been?”
“I had to use the head, Sir.”
“Bullshit! The next time you decide to go someplace, tell me. Now let’s not waste any more time. I need to go over those reports with you.”
“Why? Everything’s there.”
“You did a goddamn good job of typing them, but I have a few questions on your actions and the way you handled the situations.”
“Sir, it’s almost four. Can’t we go over them tomorrow?”
“No, Pencils, we goddamn will not. I have to submit these to the admiral and I want to be sure your details are accurate. For example, are you sure one of the suspects had a gun?”
I sighed heavily. “Yes. As stated on page three, I saw it tucked down his pants.”
“But were you threatened by it?”
“Sir, if you had two giant goons deliberately standing in your way, what would you think?”
“It’s not what I think, Pencils. Goddamn it, it’s my responsibility to see that your reports are authentic and not prejudicial to the murders aboard the STEVENS.”
“Well, dammit, Sir,” I tried not to mimic but couldn’t help myself. “I would not lie. I recommend that you submit my memorandum exactly the way I wrote it.”
The Lieutenant sat in his chair, rubbing his lower jaw. His shoulders slumped. He looked into my eyes with, “What in hell happened to us? We’ve always had a better working relationship than this. After Admiral Collins assigned me, I thought we would work together to get this STEVENS mess solved. But, since I walked in this office, I haven’t seen you, except for a few minutes at a time. What’s going on?”
His little game of friendliness got no where. “Sir, if you would check, you’ll find I was responsible for having you transferred here.” I sat up and leaned forward on my desk, hands clasped. “I can just as easily have you a set of orders to a weather station in Iceland. If you don’t believe it, try me.” I hoped he took my bluff.
He calmly sipped coffee from his mug, then folded his arms and asked, “Why, Pencils? If this is true, why do you want me here, supposedly running this sham office? Obviously, it’s not to help you investigate the two murders on the STEVENS.”
I had him. He was almost begging for reassurance. “Sir, I do need your help, but not at this moment. I have to get all the basic investigation out of the way, gather the data, track all the leads. When the time comes that I have all the information collected, intelligent decisions and logical conclusions will have to be made. That is when I will need your background and insights. Those reports will be much more important to Admiral Collins than these incidental ones along the way.”
He stared at me, obviously weighing whatever he had been told in the briefing with Captain Baker against what I had just laid out. I leaned back into my chair. Despite the regulations about not having feet on the desk, I placed them there anyway, deliberately crossing my ankles.
Without flinching, he resumed his officer tone, “Pencils, can you let me know your work schedule for tomorrow?”
“It depends what I find out tonight.”
“Okay,” he continued, “what do you mean, tonight? You’ve had a busy couple of days. Why don’t you just go to the barracks, relax and then maybe have a few drinks at the NCO club . . .” His voice turned hard, “ like every other goddamn sailor?”
Realizing I didn’t have him in my pocket and had only pissed him off, I swung my feet off the desk and stood. “No Sir. I’ll be leaving in about five minutes.”
* * *
After showering and changing into clean clothes at the barracks, I drove the Kaiser onto the highway and headed toward Pearl City then turned on Nimitz into Honolulu. I had decided not to meet Wong at the NCO club. If something went wrong, I didn’t want Base Security involved. A business meeting later that night at Lo’s was a better alternative.
Pulling away from the stop sign to make a left onto Highway 99, I glimpsed a brown Ford Falcon in my rear view mirror. It tailgated and then bumped the Kaiser’s bumper. I did a double take on the mirror’s reflection of the two goons smiling. How did they know where I worked? I reached to the floorboard and brought the gun to the seat beside me.
Accelerating, I took the curves on squealing tires. The little Ford didn’t maneuver as well and had to slow down. The road straightened out as it cut through a long sugar cane field. At sixty-five miles an hour, the goons again touched the Kaiser’s bumper. Since the Roadster needed engine work, I couldn’t get more speed and I sure as hell didn’t want to blow the pistons. I pressed down on the brakes and turned the wheel sharply to the left.
Fifteen foot cane stalks spun by three times before the car stopped, facing the wrong direction in the opposite lane. Black circle markings painted the highway for fifty yards. The Falcon had buried its nose in a dry drainage ditch near a water pump shack. The rear tires, both flat, held onto the top of the embankment.
Cautiously, I drove towards the Falcon. Stopping a few yards away, I stepped onto the shoulder and looked down. The Falcon’s passenger door pressed against a water pipe and the driver’s side had sunk below mud. Neither Hawaiian could get out.
Return
ing to my car, I reached under the seat and located the cigar box containing the hand grenades. I shrugged. The only way I could manage to get them out of their car was to blow them out.
Standing as close as I could to the Ford without slipping into the ditch, I called out, “Everyone okay?”
Shadows of both men moved inside the car. The driver’s head and his gun peeked out the opened window at the same time. As he took aim, I pulled the pin. The car slid further down jarring him backwards, away from the window.
From the angle I faced the car, I knew it would be difficult to throw at the opening. I had been a pitcher in high school and threw a few balls in a Navy league. Remembering my strike average had always been good, confidence surged through me. As I backed away to take my stance, the front of the tilted Ford slipped again, finally settling against the water pipe at the bottom of the ditch. I fired an over hand fast ball from my finger tips. I dropped and rolled away, as shots harmlessly burst bits of pavement around me. Plunging into the opposite ditch, I took cover under the thirty inch water pipe there. The explosion told me I had pitched a strike. It would have sounded differently if the grenade had dropped outside the car.
I waited until the pinging noise against the pipe stopped. After scrambling up the ditch bank, I ran to the Kaiser. Damn! As I swept Falcon debris from the hood, I found four bullet holes in the hood. When the engine turned over, I almost cheered. I popped the clutch and headed to Honolulu.
After parking the Roadster in front of Mia’s, I found the front door locked, as well as the alley entrance. Returning to my car, I glanced at the coffee shop. The Chinese waiter stood behind the “Closed” sign in the window. I stepped back to the door and called, “Can you opened up? I want to talk to you.”
Wave of Death Page 14
