“They speak any American?” The President, Gearheardt noted, was taking an increasing interest in the women.
“Not that we can tell,” Senator Mutt replied, becoming visibly more nervous at the President’s interest.
Senator Jeff lost the foot contest with the President. The curtain parted, revealing the two still giggling women, one behind the other and combing her hair. The President stuck his face six inches from the woman with the comb, causing her to pause in midstroke.
“YOU GIRLS DOIN’ OKAY?” he yelled. The women recoiled at the volume but their smiles stayed firmly locked in place. “WE’RE BOMBING THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR COUNTRY RIGHT NOW. YOU GIRLS SHOULD BE ABLE TO GO HOME AND VISIT YOUR FAMILIES BY CHRISTMAS TIME.” His watermelon face split in the middle and he licked his lips.
The girls’ perfect golden bodies stood out against the black curtain like the tiger painted on velvet he had hanging in his apartment in California. Gearheardt realized that one of the women was smiling at him and he smiled back broadly.
“You numba one G.I.,” she said. It embarrassed Gearheardt.
The President was backing off. He took Senator Jeff in a hammerlock and drew him close. “Benny,” he said to the struggling man, “you get them women to the Oval Office tomorrow at eleven. That dickhead from Italy is here trying to hardball me on that Navy base deal. I want them women in the office just flouncin’ around like they owned the place. That Eyetie won’t be able to think his way out of a wet bag. Heh, heh. And there might be a couple of tax breaks your piddly-ass state still ain’t got just layin’ around the old office too.” The President released him and the senator rubbed his neck. He looked angry and nervous at the same time.
“We don’t actually own these women, Mr. President.”
“Well who in the hell does?” The President looked at Gearheardt and shook his head in disgust at the misrepresentation he had caught the senator in.
“The Navy, Mr. President.” Senator Jeff inched away from the President.
“Our Navy?”
“Yes, sir. Technically the Chief Petty Officers’ Credit Union. At least that was the name on the contract.”
The President considered this for a moment. He tilted his head and looked at Gearheardt again, lifting his eyebrows and shrugging. He turned back to the senators, now standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the closed curtain. “Well, just get ‘em over there by eleven. I’m the damned commander in chief, for chrissakes. And tell ’em to wear some little tiny underwear. It is the gol-danged White House after all.”
The President glad-handed his way through the rest of the crowd and reached for the door, which promptly opened before he touched it.
When they were on the other side arid the door closed behind them, Gearheardt realized how noisy the room had been. They were alone in a long, dimly lit hallway and their footsteps echoed on the concrete walls and floor. The President was pensive, and Gearheardt began to feel the weight of the White House above them. At the end of the hall they stopped in front of a small elevator. The door slid open, and he followed the President into the chamber. The President sighed and pushed a button marked PRIVATE on the wall.
“You know why that door opened as soon as we got there, son?”
“Guess not, Larry Bob. Mr. President.”
“They know where I am all the time.”
“Yessir,” Gearheardt said, wondering who they were.
“Well, son, back to the real world. Oval Office okay with you? I got somethin’ to do ’fore I brief you.”
Gearheardt knew he didn’t have to answer, and they rose in silence from the bowels of the White House.
“How in hell you suppose them Navy chiefs do it? I’m the President of the United States, but if I want somethin’ real bad, I always end up talkin’ to a Navy chief.” He chuckled. “Pretty good-lookin’ women weren’t they, son?”
“Yessir.” He followed the President off the elevator and down a short hall into the Oval Office. Men sitting outside the door who Gearheardt assumed were Secret Service rose as they went in.
“Evening, Mr. President.”
“Evenin’, Billy.” He turned before he closed the door. “You boys didn’t see a couple a naked women run through here this afternoon by any chance, did you?”.
The men’s faces turned red. “Well, sir, they weren’t carrying any weapons, that’s for sure. And they were with Senator …”
“Not a problem, Billy. Just wonderin’. Next time, shoot that damned senator. He don’t have any business in here when I ain’t here.” The President closed the door. “That’ll give ’em something to think about. With any luck that prissy bastard will come back and the boys will shoot him,” he said to Gearheardt without any indication of humor.
“Take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I have to check my desk to see if anybody declared war on us or anything. This Veetnam deal’s got everbody in an uproar. Geez, no one I know could even find the dang place ‘fore we went over there and started shootin’.” He sat down at his desk and began shuffling through papers.
The room was quiet except for his muttered “holy shit” and “stupid sonsabitches.” Once he held up a letter and said, “This crazy loon over in the House is worried about the students at some pissant college mobilizing against the war. Well, no shit, Red Ryder. Hell, I could get ten thousand college boys mobilized to see a fat woman eat a bale of hay if I had beer and coeds. I’ll mobilize their asses over to Veetnam they pull any of that shit while I’m President. Where do they get these damned ideas? They must have communists running out the ass on these campuses.”
Gearheardt was studying the glass top of the coffee table in front of where he sat. He thought he could make out a petite butt print. He wondered if the President could get those Vietnamese women over to the Oval Office that very night, but he decided he shouldn’t ask.
“You ever heard of Barbonella?” the President asked suddenly without looking up from his desk.
“Nosir.”
“Well, you’ll get your chance. Remember that name.”
“May I ask why, sir?”
“Sure.” The President signed a document with a flourish, dropped it in the out basket, and picked up another piece of paper. He studied it and squinted his eyes, unhappy at the contents of whatever it was. He wadded it into a ball, threw it on the floor, and reached for another.
After a while Gearheardt spoke. “Why, sir? This Barbonella, is that the operations code for—”
“Yeah, that’s the one. You’ll figure it out in due course, son. Just remember that even the President needs a little cover sometimes. Can’t do everthing out in the open.”
“I guess that pretty well explains it, Mr. President.”
The President looked up. “You sassing me, son?”
Gearheardt saw, from a horrible orange and white football-shaped clock behind the President, that it was almost 4:00 A.M. “Well, sir, if I can be frank—”
“Son, you can be Frick or Frack for all I care. Just let me finish this pile of bullcrap and I’ll be with you.” He scribbled again. “Seems like every swinging dick in America wants me to give ’em something. Shit, do I look like Santa Claus to you?”
Gearheardt slumped back in his chair. “Nosir.”
Finally the President rummaged around in his desk drawer until he pulled out a rubber stamp. He began stamping HELL NO on the papers as fast as he could pull them off the pile. When he was finished he pushed the stack aside, leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and pushed his bifocals up onto his forehead. He blew out his breath and looked at Gearheardt.
“Well, son, let’s get down to brass tacks.” He scratched his nose, and then clasped his hands across his paunch. “I want you to stop this Veetnam War deal.”
“I didn’t start it, sir.”
“Boy, you’re a wise-ass little rascal ain’t you?” The President dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward on his desk. “I mean I got a plan and you got a mission. I ain�
��t asking your permission, son. I’m telling you what you’re going to do when I tell you to do it.”
“Yessir.”
“I’m sending you to Hanoi to make a deal with old Ho Chin. How does that sound?”
“Idiocy, sir.” Then quickly, as he saw the famous squint, he added, “You have diplomats for that kind of thing don’t you, sir?”
“I ain’t ever seen a diplomat smart enough to pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel. Oh, there are some, but those sonsabitches try to think for themselves. Can’t count on ’em to just do what I tell ’em. That’s what I like about the Marine Corps.”
“Sir, didn’t you just get us into the war? May I ask, sir, why you are already planning on how to get us out?”
The President looked like he didn’t like the question. But he shoved his massive hands into his pants pockets and, after chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, replied, “Well, to tell the truth, son, I figured that the Harvard boys knew how to win a war. They backed down the Rooskies in Laos.” The President sighed. “Now I gotta get us out or there’ll be hell to pay. Supposed to be checks and balances in the government. I write the checks and the dipshits over on the hill do the balances. You following me?”
“No, sir.”
“S’why I’m President and you’re a Marine, son. You see, I start the war, the hawks go apeshit, the left pisses their pants, and I sail on to the second term.”
“Because—”
“I step in and work it all out.”
“Yes, sir. Why me, sir?”
“Because you’re the only CIA pizza man Marine that I could think of.” He smiled.
“I’m not him, sir.”
“Not who, you little prick?” The President was angry.
“Not Gearheardt, Mr. President. I’m Narsworthy. Gearheardt is my code-person.”
“What in the goddam blue billy is a code-person?” the President demanded, leaning even farther forward toward Gearheardt.
“When it’s too dangerous to be yourself, sir, we use code-persons. That was my code-person. He’s not me.”
The President leaned back in his chair and replaced his feet on his desk.
“I hate you goddamed spooks. Got a smart answer for everthing, don’t you? Now let me tell you how the cow ate the cabbage. You are going to get briefed, right here and now, and then you’re going to be waitin’ for me to send you a message to do what I tell you to do. Is that about how you see it, pizza man?”
“I’ll check with Gearheardt, sir, but I’m sure he’ll agree.” Gearheardt knew when he was licked.
“You got a backup? Someone you can trust?” the President said, almost avuncular now that he had made his point. “I mean someone besides this code-person.”
“Jack Armstrong, Mr. President. He’s my best friend in the squadron. Of course that’s not his name.”
“Of course it isn’t. I wasn’t born yesterday, son. He speak any Vietnamese?”
“Fluently.”
“You understand if you screw this up and somehow live, you’ll be eatin’ donkey dick and white bread in Leavenworth till Sunday after the Second Coming.”
“Jack will do a fine job, Mr. President. Could I ask when he’ll, I mean we’ll be making this trip to Hanoi, sir?”
“Got to kill about a hundred thousand more troops, Narsworthy. Didn’t think I knew your real name, did you?” A quick smile. “That ought to do it.”
“Ours or theirs, sir?” Gearheardt asked.
“Boy, you are one wise-ass son-of-a-bitch, I’ll give you that. Theirs, of course. Got to soften ‘em up a bit more. Besides that hardass Ho Chi, I hear they got this Gee-ap fellow that would rather fight round-eyes than pull his pecker. Thinks he’s this great strategist ’cause he chased out a few Frogs and Wogs. Hell, if this was a talleywacker measurin’ contest, we’d be wolfin’ cheeseburgers in downtown Hanoi before Thanksgiving. But these pesky devils are kind of like the little brother of a gal I dated back home. I used to stop by her house to pick her up for some sparkin’.”
The President looked at the ceiling and then closed his eyes. “She was a fine lookin’ girl, but that dang little brother of hers drove me off. When I was waitin’ in the parlor for her to finish getting ready, that little cuss would lay into my knees and crotch with a fare thee well. I’d have to stand there grinnin’ like a coon with her momma and daddy beamin’ at me while my gonads were rang like a dinner bell. Now, understand, I could have knocked the snot out of this runt with my pecker tied behind my back. But how would that have looked to momma? And Daddy always seemed to have a twelve-gauge within arm’s reach, and I suspected he knew I was plucking the petals off his little flower. Wasn’t nothin’ I could do but sneak in a rabbit punch or two when I could distract momma and daddy. But this was one determined little rascal. Don’t know why he took such a dislike for me. I finally decided I had to retreat or just up and kill the little bastard and run the risk of daddy trying to dehide me. So, I told Lulu that I had business over in Little Rock that was going to take all my time and just got out while I had some gonads left.”
The President sat in silence, looking at Gearheardt. “You get the point, son?”
“If I say no, will I have to listen to the story again, Mr. President?”
The President rose from his desk and came over to Gearheardt. He looked down at him. “You’re the son I always wanted, Gearheardt,” he said.
“Narsworthy, sir.”
“Him too,” the President said in the same tone. Then he sighed, walked over to the window behind his desk and stood with his giant hands clasped behind him looking out at the early light. “We got this little riled up sonovabitch doin’ a Fred Astaire tapdance on our gonads and those old women on the Hill are afraid that Momma Russia or Daddy China is watching to see we don’t hurt him all that much. ’Course Ho Chi ain’t too worried about losin’ half the damn population.” He shook his head. “War of attrition, my ass. I must have been drunk to head us down this road. Goddam Kennedys. Always thought they knew what they were doing.”
The room was silent, and the window in front of the President grew slowly lighter.
“How exactly do I accomplish this mission, sir?” Gearheardt asked.
The President returned to Gearheardt’s, side and dropped wearily into the wingback chair adjacent to him. “When I give you the word, you’re going to go to Hanoi, sit down with Ho Chi and make a deal with him. I told you that. You’ll get the particulars in the secret code package. Then you just—”
“Will this come in the mail, sir? I just want to make sure I don’t throw it away with the junk.”
“You ain’t takin’ this too serious, are you, boy? You’re thinkin’ that you got me by the oysters since you’re a CIA pizza man and a Marine and you’re sittin’ here in the Oval Office with the President and I’m askin’ you to do some secret stuff. Is that about it?”
“Roughly, sir.”
“You’re forgettin’ that if I yell about one word, that man dozing right outside that door will run in here and blow your head off. One word. That worry you at all?”
“Well, sir, with all due respect, I’ve got two things that worry me. One is the chance that I’ll end up being dragged around Hanoi on a long rope after the dinks get through breaking a few rifles over my head. And the other, sir, is that I joined the Marine Corps to kill people, not to be a political lackey. With all due respect, sir.”
The President’s face reddened. “You insubordinate little jackass. Forget what I said about that son deal. I got a damn daughter braver than you and a whole lot more patriotic.”
“Shoot me and send her, Mr. President.”
“I would, but I’d have hell to pay with her mother. Large woman. Secret Service won’t let her in here, or she’d be runnin’ the damn place.” His anger faded, and he looked at the floor while he chewed on his bottom lip. He took off his bifocals and twirled them around by the earpiece.
“Okay, I know you ain’t scared of d
oin’ me this favor or of goin’ to Veetnam, so what is it you want?”
Gearheardt tried to straighten the trouser seam of the pants he had been in for over twenty-four hours. He pulled his tunic down and rubbed his sleeve across his gold wings.
“I want a case of Lone Star, both of those Vietnamese women, a piece of the Chief Petty Officers’ Credit Union, and I want to be a captain.” He looked squarely at the President. “And I want Jack to be a captain too.”
The President didn’t hesitate. “Done, done, done, and as soon as I can get hold of some administrative dipshit over at the Pentagon, done.” He smiled and pulled himself out of his chair with an effort. The look on his face told Gearheardt that he had sold out too cheaply. He walked Gearheardt to the door, putting an arm around his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you just ask me nicely, son? Shit, I can get all that stuff with one call to the Chief Petty Officers’ Club.”
“I wanted you to respect me, Mr. President,” Gearheardt said.
They were at the door and the President turned him until they were face to face. The President had a hand on each of Gearheardt’s shoulders. “You’ll do fine, my boy. Just wait until the Barbonella package shows up. Kill whoever gives it to you. Then after you complete the mission, I want you and Jack to meet me in Olongopo in the Philippines. Any questions?”
“Why don’t I just go straight to Hanoi, sir? What if I get killed before you send the word to start the mission?”
“You worried about getting killed, son?”
“Not really. But it just seems that with all this planning and—?”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take, son. If I went around trying to make sure soldiers didn’t get killed just so they wouldn’t screw up a plan of mine—well, I wouldn’t be much of a president would I?”
The President leaned away and squeezed his hand on Gearheardt’s shoulder, causing him intense pain.
“Don’t worry your little jar head, son. You just do what I tell you. I’ll be back here with that slick-haired car salesman working out the details. We’ll bomb till the yellowbacks start sharpening their chopsticks, then we get the word to you.” The President seemed to relax as he said it.
Nam-A-Rama Page 7
