The Excluded Exile
A Nick Williams Mystery
Book 12
By Frank W. Butterfield
Nick Williams Mysteries
The Unexpected Heiress
The Amorous Attorney
The Sartorial Senator
The Laconic Lumberjack
The Perplexed Pumpkin
The Savage Son
The Mangled Mobster
The Iniquitous Investigator
The Voluptuous Vixen
The Timid Traitor
The Sodden Sailor
The Excluded Exile
Nick & Carter Stories
An Enchanted Beginning
Golden Gate Love Stories
The One He Waited For
Their Own Hidden Island
© 2017 by Frank W. Butterfield. All rights reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission of the copyright holder.
This book contains explicit language and suggestive situations.
This is a work of fiction that refers to historical figures, locales, and events, along with many completely fictional ones. The primary characters are utterly fictional and do not resemble anyone that I have ever met or known of.
Cover image of man smoking licensed under copyright from stokkete / 123RF Stock Photo
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
Historical Notes
More Information
Excluded
ik-ˈsklüd-ed
1. Expelled or barred especially from a place or position previously occupied
Exile
ˈeg-ˌzī(-ə)l, ˈek-ˌsī(-ə)l
1. a : the state or a period of forced absence from one's country or home
b : the state or a period of voluntary absence from one's country or home
2. a person who is in exile
Chapter 1
Australia Hotel
Castlereagh Street
Sydney, N.S.W., Australia
Monday, February 21, 1955
A quarter past 6 in the evening
"Welcome to The Australia, Mr. Williams." The tall blond man turned the registry book in my direction. I took the pen from the well, signed my name on the next line, and replaced the pen.
He nodded as he turned the book back towards himself. "Very good. We've put you and Mr. Jones in the Marlene Dietrich suite. We normally reserve it for her but it's the only one we have available at the moment. That will be rooms 707 and 708. The rest of your party is on the seventh floor, as well. The telegram we received from San Francisco regarding your stay mentioned that an incoming wire transfer is to be expected tomorrow, Tuesday. We've already responded and suggested funds be wired into Commonwealth Bank. You are expecting to stay with us for a week, departing on the morning of next Monday, the 27th, is that correct?"
I had no idea so I just nodded.
"Very good. Now, if I may collect the passports for each member of your party."
Carter Jones, my tall, muscular ex-fireman of a husband, was holding them in a small stack and handed them over.
The man, who'd introduced himself as Mr. Kincaid, quickly looked through them. They were all blue, being American, except for one. It was green and belonged to one John Michael Patrick Murphy. He was Irish.
"Mr. Murphy?" asked Mr. Kincaid.
Murphy stepped forward. "That's me."
"Where did you enter the country?"
"Darwin. Same as the others."
Mr. Kincaid nodded, smiled tightly, and said, "Thank you."
I was beginning to wonder why Murphy kept being singled out everywhere we went. Since we'd left Honolulu the week before, he'd been denied entry in Tokyo for having an arrest record when we'd stopped there for refueling. He was the only one the local official had asked any questions about. A similar thing had happened in Darwin. He was asked about employment and I'd assured the official that he worked for me, since he did. He reported to Captain Daniel O'Reilly, who piloted The Flirtatious Captain, the yacht that Carter and I owned and that was docked in San Francisco Bay. Besides being Captain O'Reilly's recently-reunited love, Murphy was also his First Mate.
Mr. Kincaid said, "Your passports will be available here at the front desk after 10 tomorrow morning." He looked over at the older man who'd taken charge of our luggage. "Robert will escort you to your rooms. I do hope you have a pleasant stay in Sydney."
. . .
The Australia was a beautiful hotel. The design dated back to the 30s. It was Art Deco inside and out, in mostly glass and steel with some marble and wood accents.
My mother had been enamored by Art Deco and had decorated the three bedrooms on the top floor of our house in that style back in '28. Each room was identical in furnishings but they were each a different color: sapphire, emerald, and rose. When Carter and I had first moved into the house in the summer of '54, we'd slept in the Emerald Room until my father and stepmother had moved out and into their own apartment nearby. We then moved down to their room, originally designed by my grandfather with a gigantic four-poster bed sitting across from a huge fireplace. Carter and I had tested the bed's sturdiness several times since then.
The Marlene Dietrich suite was a testament to the Art Deco style, much more modern and stark than my mother's taste had been. The furnishings were glass and stainless steel with black and white fabrics all on an intricately inlaid parquet floor.
The room was above the street that the hotel fronted. We were in the heart of Sydney. The sounds of the traffic below rose up through the open windows as Carter and I were unpacking and putting our clothes away.
The single bedroom of the suite had two double beds. The bathroom was off the bedroom and was enormous. The living room included two sofas facing each other and a small dining table that could seat six. There was a small door off the dining area that looked like it led to a service area.
The one phone was on a small desk in the living room by the front door. I was walking over to call down about sending our dirty clothes out to be laundered when there was a sharp knock on the door to the suite. I strode over and opened it.
Standing there were two police officers. One was obviously of a higher rank than the other. He removed his hat, tucked it under his arm, and asked, "Mr. Nicholas Williams?"
I nodded.
"I am Superintendent Thomas Ramsey of the New South Wales police. This is Sergeant William Howard. May we come in?"
I stepped back. "Sure."
They walked in and looked around the living room. Superintendent Ramsey walked over to the bedroom door, poked his head in, and asked, "Mr. Jones?"
I heard Carter reply, "Yes?"
"Can you join us in here, please?"
"Sure."
Carter walked in and glanced over at me.
Superintendent Ramsey walked over by the window while Sergeant Howard posted himself near the door. The inspector sm
iled tightly. "Gentlemen, welcome to Sydney. I thought I'd pay what you might call a courtesy visit to make sure you and your party are aware of the laws in New South Wales in regards to unnatural acts."
Carter opened his mouth to say something. I shook my head slightly. He closed it again.
The inspector continued, "The state government has recently revised the criminal codes to extend the penalties for such crimes. Since you are foreigners, you would likely be expelled from Australia without a trial were you to be charged with such an offense."
As he'd been talking the inspector was looking over my shoulder at the far wall. He wasn't looking at me or Carter. And, based on his body language, it was plainly obvious that he'd been instructed to give us this little talking-to. And he wasn't enjoying doing so.
"Do either of you have any questions for me?"
I shook my head. "No, Superintendent. We're here for the surfing."
That seemed to take him by surprise. He asked, "Surfing?"
I nodded.
Carter said, "That's my hobby. I've been told to try Bondi Beach."
The sergeant spoke up. "Are you talking about what the lifeguards do with those planks?"
Carter nodded. "I guess so. Don't y'all surf around here?"
The sergeant replied, "I never heard that word. Not in that way. But the lifeguards, they have paddling contests." He looked at the superintendent. "Maybe that's what he means."
The superintendent shrugged. "I gave up lifeguarding in my 20s." He looked over at Carter. "But Bondi Beach is the place to go for the paddling contests."
He turned to me. His face had softened considerably. "I'm sure you understand I don't make it a habit to visit just anyone and give them advice on the law. You'd be smart to keep your head down and be on your best behavior. My instructions came by request from Mr. Menzies, the Prime Minister. And he was tipped off by the Foreign Office in London. They've got their eyes on you, Mr. Williams. Make no mistake about it."
. . .
We'd flown out of Hong Kong at 7:30 in the morning of the day before. We'd left because I'd been asked to do so by not only the governor, but also by the American consul.
We'd gone to Hong Kong in order to quietly cross the border into China and rescue one Dr. Mai O'Reilly and her son Jerry. Mai was the half-sister of Captain O'Reilly and had been trying to cross into Hong Kong for the previous few months. She'd been kept in a refugee camp near the town of Shumchun on the border. We'd managed to sneak in and pull her and Jerry out. But, in the process, two guards had been killed and a gas tank had exploded. It had caused a minor international incident.
Captain John Morris, our pilot, had been confident that The Flying Fireman, our recently acquired Lockheed Constellation, would make it from Hong Kong to Sydney in one hop, but the distance was right at the edge of the plane's flying range, so we'd stopped in Darwin at the top of Australia to refuel.
We'd spent the night at the Hotel Darwin, a quaint remnant from before the war whose damage from Japanese bombing had still not been repaired. Being that close to the equator, the place was humid and hot and, for the first time I could remember, I was thinking that air conditioning would be a good idea.
After breakfast, while everyone else left for the airport, Carter and I had taken a leisurely stroll to the local branch of the Commonwealth Bank so we could buy some Australian pounds. After walking the three short blocks, we were both covered in sweat. The bank building was brand new and, happily, nice and cold inside. Once that was taken care of, we'd headed back to the hotel, settled the bill, and then taken a cab to the airport.
Although we were only there for a few hours, Darwin had reminded me of Port Moresby in New Guinea where I'd been stationed at a temporary Navy hospital during the war.
The heat, the humidity, the look of the clouds in the sky... They brought back memories of those days towards the end of the war in '45 when I was just a lowly Navy corpsman and before I'd met Carter. They definitely weren't the good old days, but things had been much simpler then. That was before I owned a skyscraper and a small fleet of airplanes and was the most notorious homosexual since Oscar Wilde.
. . .
Once they were gone, Carter finished unpacking while I made arrangements for the laundry.
"How about a shower?" asked Carter.
I looked at my watch. It was half past 7. We were meeting for dinner at half past 8. "Sure," I said.
He walked over and began to slowly remove my clothes like he did when the mood struck him. Carter was a good six inches taller than me, had a muscular body, and was easily the most handsome man on five continents.
I was lean and fit enough with a good right punch that could take a big man down and had. Carter said I had the best chin dimple he'd ever seen. He was just being nice.
The last few days had been action-packed and I was looking forward to a long stretch of doing not much. We both worked too hard. Or that's what my stepmother, Lettie, had mentioned a couple of times in the last few months. I'd begun to agree with her.
Once Carter had removed most everything and was down to my garters, I said, "We should send everyone else home."
Looking up, he asked, "Why?"
"They have their jobs to do."
He stood and held out his arms so I could remove his cufflinks. He was wearing the plain gold ones. He said, "They all work for you."
"Except for Tony." That was Tony Kalama. We'd met him in Honolulu a couple of weeks earlier. He'd helped us with things in Hong Kong. We'd had a conversation about him working for us while we'd been in Darwin. He was still thinking about it. And I needed to check in with the President of my company, Consolidated Security, one Mike Robertson. He was my best friend, my first love, and had once been a police lieutenant for the San Francisco Police Department. After he'd been fired for knowing me in May of '53, we'd started up our own company and business was booming.
As I was removing Carter's socks, I said, "I need to send Mike a telegram."
"Why not just call him?"
I laughed. "You have any idea what time it is there?"
Carter looked at his watch. "It's twenty before 8 here, so that means it's..." He looked up in the air for a long moment. "It's just twenty before 2 in the morning there."
I shook my head. "I don't wanna wake them up. Greg wouldn't like it."—He was Mike's squeeze—"I'll send him a telegram at the office."
Carter nodded and pushed me towards the bathroom with a grin on his face. We were a little late getting to dinner, but not by much.
. . .
"I'd like to leave on Friday." That was Captain Morris. We were finished with dinner and sitting around the table with coffee and whiskey.
I nodded. "That's fine."
He leaned in. "Newland, Manny, and I will be going to the airport tomorrow to check over the bird." Manny was Captain Manuel Obregon, co-pilot on The Flying Fireman. Kevin Newland was the flight engineer. He was young and a little wet behind the ears. I looked over at him. He was slowly stirring his spoon around in his coffee cup and appeared to be distracted.
I looked at Christine, our stewardess and wife of Captain Morris. "What about you?"
She smiled and said, "I plan on spending the day at the beach to work on my tan. I'm not letting a minute of this glorious sunshine go to waste."
Carter said, "You should come with us. We're going to Bondi Beach in the morning."
I tilted my head. "We are?"
He smiled at me with his sweet Georgia smile. "You bet."
I turned to Christine. "I'm gonna be a surf widow. We can work on our tans together."
She laughed as Carter said, "Maybe, maybe not."
I added, "We had a visit from the police a couple of hours ago."
Captain O'Reilly looked up. "Police?"
I nodded. "Seems like the Prime Minister wanted to remind us of the laws about unnatural acts."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two things happen at once. Captain Obregon stirred in his chair uncomfortably
. Newland suddenly came to life and looked at me. The former I understood. Obregon was an older red-blooded Argentinian who was about to get married for the second or third time. But Newland was a puzzle. He was frank about being in the life, but seemed to be a little naive. He was only 25 and recently discharged from the Air Force.
The waiter came by and offered more coffee. Once that was settled, I continued. "The sergeant said he'd never heard of 'surfing' before."
Carter added, "We'll go down there and find out." He looked at Christine. "Meet us for breakfast? I'm going to rent a car."
Murphy piped up. "Maybe Danny and meself should go with you. You not being familiar with driving on the correct side of the road, and all."
Captain O'Reilly elbowed his lover in the ribs. "I have other plans for you, boyo. We'll not be goin' to no beach, neither of us."
Murphy held up his hands. "Fine, then. Himself has spoken."
We all laughed at that.
. . .
After dinner, we all walked into the lobby. As everyone made their ways back upstairs, I pulled Tony aside. "Have you thought any more about working for us?"
He grinned. "I won't say no." His face turned serious. "But I can't leave Oahu. Not to live, anyway. That's my home."
I nodded. "I'm sending a telegram to Mike before we head up. I'll talk to him in a few hours. How about going to the beach with us?"
He grinned again. "Sure thing." With that, he put his hand on my arm affectionately and said, "Good night, Nick."
I smiled. "Good night."
He turned and made his way to the elevator.
As I watched him for a moment, Carter walked up. "What'd he say?"
I turned and looked up at my husband. "He doesn't wanna leave Oahu."
Carter nodded. "I can't blame him."
"Me, neither."
. . .
Carter and I were flying over the ocean in a small seaplane. He was holding my hand as we looked out at the expanse of water in all directions. I wondered if the pilot was really a woman pretending to be a man because he had long red hair that was flying around in the cabin since the windows were open. I was just about to ask, when the phone on the co-pilot seat started ringing. He picked up the receiver and wordlessly handed it to me as it continued to ring.
The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12) Page 1
