Slivovica Mason

by Clifton L Bullock Jr.

  "I'll be damned if you talk to me like that. Who the hell do you think you are? You retard! This is MY lab in MY department. MINE!" Griffin said. He was caught and he knew it.

  "T-t-turn on the G-G-God Damn li-li-lights! Now! Or I will tell your supervisor of your wandering hands."

  Orinda turned on the lights and then turned on the charm as well. "Gentlemen, please, let’s all calm down. This is a very awkward moment for all of us. Please let’s allow cooler heads to prevail here and talk," she requested as she adjusted her top at the rim of her skirt.

  "I t-t-told you he was trying to h-h-hit on you yester-d-day didn’t I Orinda?! Didn’t I?! This proves my point!"

  "Oh, did I hurt your feelings, Mason? Do you have a special interest in Ms. Costa?" Detective Griffin asked, emphasizing the word special. The condescension in his tone left Mason infuriated. Before he knew what he was doing and before Detective Griffin could react, Mason had his forearm across Griffin’s throat and his closed fist in the middle of his stomach as he rammed him backward into the wall.

  "You are under arrest, you son of a bitch! How dare you put your hands on me? I’m a sworn officer of the law! Get off of me!"

  "If you put him under arrest, Detective, I will have to report how you put your erect penis on my backside. How about that? Is that what you want, Detective?" Orinda said. She was not going to sit there and let him fondle her in the dark without saying anything, but Mason reacted first. In fact, she wanted him to touch her. He was tempted by her femininity the day before and admittedly she was attracted to his charm, but that was before Mason revealed how he felt for her and she gave in to what she did. That was the point their bond was cemented and was bigger than any flirt that Griffin gave. She had the advantage. She knew he couldn’t resist her, so while Mason was finishing with his cigarette outside, she batted her eyes at him. It baited something bigger. Griffin took her mild flirtation and turned it into a full on sexual assault. The allegations alone would destroy his life, and they both knew it.

  "I knew you couldn’t resist these brown eyes, and now look at you. You want to be a bad ass? Take your hands off the holster and have a seat. We all need to talk and if you don’t want to talk, you better kill us both because if you allow us to leave this office, there will be a shit storm coming your way," Orinda threatened.

  Griffin completely forgot about the forearm on his neck because all he could think of was sexual assault by a sworn officer and his wife. How could he risk losing her after she endured the worst years of her life? The cancer went in remission, but the scars after the surgeries left clandestine marks on her psyche. If she knew he fondled a journalist, it would break her heart, but if they did an investigation, other women would come forward, and he would for certain lose his wife and his life.

  "Okay, okay. Let’s talk but first you get your fucking arm from my throat and have a seat. Calm the fuck down. If someone comes in here, it would be bad for everyone," Detective Griffin said as he grabbed Mason’s arm and pulled it away from his neck and then fixed his tie.

  Mason still had the rage of a rabid marine in his eyes and was reluctant to release him. He didn’t know of Orinda’s plan, and he was ready to protect her with his life. He was willing to attack an officer inside of a police station. She felt protected by him, and his rage was invisible to her.

  "What can I do to make this go away? I don’t need this shit today or ever," Griffin said walking forward as Mason stepped backward.

  "What can we do? How about we act like professionals here, and you can keep your dick off of my ass. Let’s start there because if I really wanted to fuck, I wouldn’t waste my time on an old married man with a little cock. Secondly, if you don’t want a team of news reporters and journalists from the New York Times down to the Washington Post in your face from the office to your home, you would be as helpful as you can.”

  "Do you think you scare me? Get the fuck out of here with that. Who do you honestly think will believe you? A second rate writer of a whore and a retarded war veteran who couldn’t cut it in the Marine Corps," Griffin said still defiant. Apparently, he had done some background checks because he knew about Orinda’s looser days, but he also knew about Mason.

  "What do you mean about-about n-n-n-not cutting it?" Mason asked.

  "Ah, are you worried that I know about your discharge? Trust me. I’m not going to work with any ‘journalist’ without doing some homework on them. I am a detective for Christ’s sake! I know about your discharge, and let’s just say, ‘It’s not honorable like you tell everyone.’”

  "It was a-a-a general discharge und-d-der honorable conditions," Mason interrupted worried that Griffin knew too much.

  "There is a huge difference, Marine, and trust I know the difference. I would suggest you and little Ms. Muchacha get the hell out of here. You can take your peek at the evidence and then get gone," Griffin said.

  "You think it’s that easy? Get ready for this," Orinda said. She and Mason had done a little research as well. They knew about certain things, too, but it’s amazing what a smile and a question can do for a young woman who needed to get information. Especially from those who review crime scene evidence without a hint of recognition from their superiors; sources who want to keep their names a secret.

  "Like I said, if you don’t want my friends from the Washington Post at your front door to interview Susan; then, you will do exactly like I said. Be professional. Work with us without attempting to get my Spanish fly trap. How about that? Don’t make me call your bluff because if we leave and you don’t help us, you will regret the day you worked this case. Now what’s your move because you can’t checkmate this queen."

  "You know about Susan and you still seduce a married man. What kind of a woman are you?"

  "You don’t know what it’s like to have me seduce you, Detective. I will be the first to admit when I have flirted with a man. The only thing I did was take your card. The only thing I did was laugh at your jokes that were clouded with lewd and inappropriate innuendos. All I did was wear fresh makeup and the same clothes I had on yesterday to the police department to view evidence. Is that all misleading or illegal? What about the comments you made yesterday when I first shook your hand? Those words could be misconstrued as flirtation, but what you did this morning will just fuel those words and make your life burn,” Orinda said.

  Her words changed Griffin’s demeanor and his position instantaneously. He knew she was right, but what was worse…he knew that he was wrong. He didn’t want to lose any more than he had, so he gave in.

  "All right, I’m sorry. Let just get this over with. Please. Thank you."

  "For the record, the next time you do investigations on someone’s past, make sure you don’t have secrets of your own that people who don’t like you aren’t afraid to tell. Even if it’s all just a rumor because most rumors are based off of some truths. From what my source told me and from your reaction, that tells me that there is a lot more to this than just me and this incident. You remember that," Orinda said as she smiled. The smile was to prove her viciousness in beauty and to thank Mason at the same time. Both men received what was intended from the gesture. She had won.

  "Like I said before, if you look at the words that are relatable to death, they are written crisper than every other word. It looks like the person who wrote the letter took as much special pleasure in writing about death as he took watching it. It gave him a weird, sadistic arousal of sorts," Griffin said going over the letter’s details.

  This time he didn’t mess with the lights as the picture showed with the same quality. They noticed what he was talking about but wondered if there were any of the same consistencies with the letter that Mason received at his home earlier.

  Orinda felt now that she had put Griffin in his place, she could confide in his professional position. She needed to show him the letter Mason received this morning and the envelope with the Office of Veteran Affairs seal and the handwritten destination address. She didn’t recall any o
f the similarities, but she wouldn’t know until she pulled them from her purse.

  "Had I been some young sailor, continent. Perforce three weeks and then well plied with wine. In due time you and her will dance the last dance Slivovica and I will watch and count the seconds before you have no time," she began to read aloud as she held the letter with her right hand and pushed the envelope with her left to the center of the table.

  "What is that, and where did you get it?" Griffin asked as he picked up the envelope and put it to the light to get a good look.

  "There are-are-are no common words in th-th-this one. But look at this. The word ‘sailor’ is written the same as the other words on Stockton’s letter," Mason said, and he was right. The penmanship was exceptional and looked more defined in comparison to everything else. That pattern was shared with the word ‘Slivovica’ in which Orinda already knew the meaning.

  "Someone answer me. Where did you get that? What are you reading?" Griffin said. He had no idea what was going on or what he was looking at.

  "This is the real reason why I called this morning. The envelope and letter both came to Mason’s home. We think he is next on the list of Marines. We are trying to find the similarities in the letters. Also we want to see if we can search a database of potential suspects. We know from the letters’ hidden messages that this person knows Mason." Orinda said as she looked into Mason’s eyes. She tried to find a hint of how he felt. He never expressed fear, only guilt of what happened. He felt the need to tell her the truth instead of showing concern for his end.

  "Oh my God, you’re right. Look at the way the word ‘sailor’ is compared to the others. This word Sli-sli-, that ‘S’ word in comparison looked perfect as well. It’s like the only common denominator is the way certain words are written, but there has to be more to their meaning,” Griffin said followed by a puzzled look. “Wait! You were a Marine, right? Why is ‘sailor’ the word that pulls this to you if you weren’t a sailor?”

  Though Detective Griffin did some research on Mason and Orinda, he didn’t research much United States Naval History, so Mason felt inclined to give him a lesson. "Ev-ev-everyone knows the Ma-Ma-Marine Corps does not have its own separate department even though there is a Commandant of the Marine Corps," Mason began to explain.

  Orinda looked on in amazement at how he took the reins and dove right in. He was a great storyteller if you could get over the random exaggeration of his eyes because words struggled to leave his tongue. Griffin looked on in discomfort but listened intensely as well.

  "The Marine C-C-Corps is and will always be a-a-a part of the United States Navy. Their history is there. The thinking ab-ab-ab-ability is there. I think that may be one of our clues!" Mason said excitedly.

  "What do you think is one of your clues, Mason?! Finish your story, honey," Orinda begged. She was on the edge of her seat. When Mason had a moment of clarity, it left her wanting more.

  "The M-Ma-Ma-Marine C-C-Corps history is there in Navy history. Before there was a Marine Corps to define their ranks of Private to Gunnery Sargent to Sargent Major. They were ranked amongst sailors. Have you ever taken a l-l-look at the rank of a Marine? There c-c-c-connection to naval history is present in the middle of their ranking insignia. The c-c-c-crossed rifles. Have you ever noticed them? The crossed rifles at one time made up the insignia for the rate of rifleman. They were still sailors who tended the-the-the ship’s needs d-d-doing everything from sw-sw-swabbing down the decks to hull maintenance, but they had a duty of their rate to pick up the rifle during c-c-combat. I believe that’s our clue. The word ‘sailor’ means the person who killed or knows about who killed Stockton was either in the Navy as they said ‘sailor’ or was in the Marine Corps that wore the insignia of the crossed rifles as their rate from the Navy.

  The silence in the room was loud. Mason's hand began to tremble at the reality of him being a target; it made him anxious. He reached into his coat pocket for an Ativan and with instinct rattled his cigarette box. Detective Griffin looked at him, and his heart changed. It seemed he regretted his approach from before because now he knew Mason was a victim, but he felt worse because Mason was going to be the victim of someone who knew him. He was still confused about what this had to do with Mason. It was assumed the killer was in the Navy or the Marine Corps which was all possible but why would Mason think he was the next target? Since Griffin felt bad, he would ask differently.

  "Help me understand this, Mason. Why is it that you two feel you’re next? I don’t see the connection. Did I miss something?" Detective Griffin asked. He didn’t mind if he sounded confused because he was.

  "Well, I won’t give you the entire back story but while I was in the Corps and I served over in Kosovo with Stockton, he and the rest of my detail called me Slivovica; the message literally calls me out by name.” As he read the letter aloud again, he then turned to Orinda. How did they miss that part?

  "In due time, you and her will dance the last dance Slivovica and I will watch and count the seconds before you have no time."

  "Orinda...!" Mason said.

  "Okay, let’s relax. I’m a police officer, and I will make sure nothing happens to either of you. Let me go makes some calls. I need you guys to settle here for a few minutes. I need to get a copy of the envelope and the letter that was delivered to your address. Give me an estimated time it was delivered as well. I need to check with the Postal Service to see who delivers on your street and what time. I need to check some other things before you go back home. In fact, I need to make sure the Philly PD can put some unmarks on your street," Griffin said. He looked down at his watch. It was past 11. Orinda and Mason were late and they had to go. Now.

  "Detective Griffin, we have to get to meeting with Mr. Chandler. Can you take care of all this without us? He is going to be pissed because we were supposed see him this morning around 1030," Orinda said as she collected her things and tried to collect herself as well. The overlooked clue that she was also a target still shook her, and she needed to breathe fresh air.

  Who was this person that they knew she was with Mason? They had only been working together on this for a few days. This meant they were being watched. Someone was closer than they were supposed to be but hidden, and that made them much more dangerous. She wasn’t sure if this occurred to Mason or not, but they would talk about it on the way back to the city. First they needed to get out of there because until this was solved, they could trust no one, not even Detective Griffin.

  The revelation of it all brought a new light to the situation, but the feeling of someone being close made her uncomfortable. Even the data entry personnel —who left the room before the physical altercation and then came back —heard the story. He probably shouldn’t have heard. Why hadn’t he caught Orinda’s eye? He came back in after taking Mason’s letter to make a high definition digital replica for analyzing. They needed to process the document through a special software used to index keywords in order to search databases. He knew more than most. This was the breaking story most journalists live for.

  This was the making of a story the country and the world would read about once it was all over. This was bigger than just one dead Marine. The time was now to get to the bottom of this because if not, it could mean another dead Marine, one who was a great storyteller, the only Marine who could tell the existing truth. The greatest nation the world has known had committed as many sins as any empire in history. They would rather hide in the silence of death instead of living the life of words written.

  The Persians, the Romans, and the Germans were capable of a lot more, but once the truth was on the cusp of being revealed, they bit the head off of its own in order to keep silence.

  Once Detective Griffin gave them specific instructions to follow to ensure they were safe, he allowed them to take the letter and envelope. He also reassured them he would not let anything happen to them and let them on their way. Thoughts of the letter were in the back of both their minds along with the uncertainty of what was next
but also more than that. It was an unerringly crucial matter of life and death and of limited time. They didn’t know if the assassin was tailing them and watching their every move.

  Someone felt the need to end Mason’s life in order to make sure deep secrets of American war crimes remained silent and never revealed to the world. The only thing they could do in addition to protecting themselves while trying to understand what was going on was to make a list of all the marines from Mason’s detail that had died to see who was left and warn them. They also needed to get into the office and be ripped apart by Vernon Chandler.

  Unfortunately, the list of Marines would have to wait because they arrived at the Daily office more than an hour and a half late. Mr. Chandler would kill them before the murderous nautical poet would ever get the chance.

  Chapter 13

  "Where the hell have you been?! Do you make your own hours now?! Do you call your own shots around here?! I should make you both clean out your desks right now! Have a seat!" Mr. Chandler yelled once they walked into his office.

  His face was red, and he was sweating. It didn’t look like he wanted to hear any updated news about the case. He simply wanted to ream them and then dismiss them. As they took a seat in his office, all of Chandler’s military accolades stared back in their faces taunting them. Sure, they were from a different branch of service, but the insanity spreads, and it has no one specific branch that it affects.

  Once Chandler lapped the room multiple times on an unintelligible tirade about the importance of following orders and being on time, he finally stopped while behind them. He stopped where neither could see him.

  Orinda noticed how Mason began to fidget with a pen he had in his hand. She wanted to put her hand on his to soothe him, but this was not the time or the place. Their professional lives were in as much in jeopardy as their actual lives, and both were being threatened by someone who served their country.