The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I sighed. "I know. Maybe we can stay on this island for a while."

  "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced about that, either.

  . . .

  We were back on the bed. My head was on his chest. Carter asked, "How many times were you in port in Australia?"

  "Six times, I think. Never in Sydney. Mostly in Brisbane. Once in Hobart, down in Tasmania."

  "Anywhere else?"

  "Sure. Wellington in New Zealand. Four times there. And at least three times, maybe four, to and from Pearl Harbor. And lots of other islands, all over the South Pacific, mostly." I took a deep breath. All the memories were coming up. I lifted my head and looked at Carter. "Any cigarettes?"

  He shook his head. After a moment, he asked, "You want me to go ask around for one?"

  I took a deep breath. "No, it'll pass."

  He ran his hand up and down my back for a long while.

  "When I was transferred out, the Solace was docked at a place called Ulithi. It was just an atoll in the Carolines. The Navy built a floating city there in the harbor. It was the damnedest thing you ever saw. There was a dry dock right in the water. There was even a supply ship that made its own ice cream."

  "Where are the Carolines?"

  "In the middle of goddam nowhere. Someone once said that it was the same distance to home as it was from home to London." I took a deep breath. I wanted a cigarette really bad right then. "The Carolines are north of New Guinea and due east of the Philippines so, compared to where we're headed, not really the middle of nowhere." I remembered something and laughed.

  "What?" asked Carter.

  "I was just thinking about how I got to New Guinea." I laughed again. I pulled myself up so I could kiss Carter full on the lips. Holding his head, I kissed him all over his face, including on his closed eyes. Once I was done, I sat up and looked out the window.

  "What was that for?"

  "Wanted to make sure you know how much I love you before I tell you the next part."

  He sat up with a grin. "What?"

  "The plane that took me from Ulithi to Milne Bay—"

  "Milne Bay?"

  "That's where the hospital was in New Guinea."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. So, the plane was a Navy PBY. You've seen them in the movies. They look like a smaller version of this thing. Anyway, the crew on that ship was crazy. They'd all been together for a few months which, for a crew like that, was pretty long. Or that was my impression." I started laughing again as I thought about what happened.

  Carter poked me in the ribs which made me jump and laugh even harder. "You keep interruptin' this story, son, and I'll give you somethin' to laugh about."

  I put out my hands. "Sorry." I took a deep breath and continued. "So, the flight was supposed to take eight hours, give or take. I think there was a squadron that was repositioning so we were flying in a kind of line formation. I was their only passenger so I got to sit in the jump-seat right behind the pilot. The navigator and the radio and radar operators were in a different compartment, I think. Anyway, the pilot, some kid from New Jersey, and his co-pilot, from Maine, were like two horny teenagers. They kept talking about girls they'd known. And ones they'd seen in the movies and in magazines. Who they wanted to fuck. How they were gonna do it. You know. Like at the firehouse."

  Carter laughed and rolled his eyes. "Over and over and over again."

  "Yeah. So, finally, the captain seems to realize that I'm not participating in their conversation and he elbows the co-pilot who says something about the tail gunner, only that's not the name he used." I thought about it and tried to remember. "Ventral gunner. Anyway, I guess because we were flying in a line, they didn't have the two gunners on either side of the plane. There was the one down in the nose and then the one in the back and that was it. So, the co-pilot turns in his seat and says, 'Go back and see if Utah needs anything.' I unfastened myself and walked to the rear—"

  "Did you know what they were up to?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. I thought maybe they needed me to bring something forward for them. I walked back, crawling over all the mail we were carrying, and finally got into the tail. It had its own bulkhead. So, I swing open the door and there's the gunner. He's got a magazine out, looking at the pictures, and is rubbing one out."

  He looked over at me and guffawed. "What?"

  I nodded. "He looks up at me and grins like he's showing me his prized pig or something. I stand there and watch for a moment before I close the door and go over and sit down on the mailbags."

  "How big was it?"

  I looked down at Carter's lap with a sad expression on my face. "Sorry, Chief. It was bigger. A lot bigger."

  He started laughing. "What'd you do?"

  Using the most plaintive voice I could come up with, I said, "I was torn. I didn't wanna go forward because I knew what kinda razzing I would get. And I really wanted to go back and help. It was just so damn big. I didn't know what to do." I shrugged. "So I just sat there on the U.S. Mail until we landed at Milne Bay."

  By that time, Carter was rolling around on the bed and laughing so hard I thought he was going to fall off.

  Chapter 16

  Hotel Garrick

  Pier Street

  Suva, British Crown Colony of Fiji

  Sunday, February 27, 1955

  Half past 9 in the evening

  The proprietor of the Hotel Garrick, one Vince Costello, was a large, florid man with wildly untamed blond hair, a gin-blossom nose, and a way of talking that was hard to ignore. Carter and I were standing at the bar of the hotel with Captain O'Reilly and Murphy. Henry and the crew were sacked out as they wanted to be up at dawn to prepare for the next day's flight. The two lovebirds, Tom and Bobby, had decided to go for a walk.

  All the windows of the bar were open, the fans were turning, and it was still hot as hell. We were just a degree or two south of the same latitude as Darwin and it was actually hotter than it had been there. There was no wind to speak of and the air was heavy and close.

  "So, you lads have just left Sydney, have you?" That was Mr. Costello. He'd offered us a bottle of whiskey on the house. I'd had one shot as had Carter. O'Reilly and Murphy were well into drinking the rest while also sharing it with the proprietor.

  Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I came here from Queensland, myself. Grew up in a great spot called Maryborough, about a hundred an' fifty miles north of Brisbane. Came over here after one of my brothers discovered gold. Helped him and then expanded my interests. That's how I bought this place from the Garricks. My older brother Pat is on the Executive Council and serves at Her Majesty's pleasure, don't you know?" He was standing at the bar with us and swayed a little as he looked up at the portrait of the new queen on the far wall.

  Murphy, who I'd discovered was a good Irishman and no fan of the English, murmured, "That so?" as he slammed back a shot and poured himself another. Looking at me, he asked, "How about you, Nick? Have another?"

  I shook my head. "I'm fine."

  "Ah, come on," said Costello. He stumbled over and put his arm around my shoulder. He was sweating and needed a good bath. "Have a toast to her majesty."

  Letting go of me, he grabbed the bottle from Murphy's hand, and filled up my glass. Doing the same to Carter's, he said, "Mustn't insult the crown." He stumbled back and said, "I'm Irish, myself." He looked over at me. "As are my brothers, don't you know?" He swayed. "But the Costellos have always been loyal." He hiccuped. "Pardon me." Pouring himself a shot and slamming the bottle on the bar, he raised his glass towards the portrait and said, "God save the Queen." He threw back his drink and looked around. Carter and I both drank but said nothing. Swaying forward, Costello looked at O'Reilly and Murphy and darkly asked, "What about you two?"

  O'Reilly said, "We'll pass, thank you, Mr. Costello."

  "Why?" asked the round man belligerently.

  "They're from Dublin," I replied.

  He stepped back, looking around confused for a moment, and then smile
d. "Well, that's fine, then. Can't have you toasting the queen, can we? You'd be bloody traitors, wouldn't you?"

  Murphy drank from his glass and replied, "Bloody hell we would."

  "Exactly," was Costello's reply. He poured himself another shot. He stopped and looked at me. "What about you?"

  "American," I replied.

  O'Reilly said, "He's lyin', Mr. Costello. His name is Williams." He hooked his thumb at Carter. "And the other one is Jones."

  "Bloody Welshmen?" asked Costello, indignantly. He looked around the mostly empty bar, swayed uncertainly, and burped. "Pardon me." He looked at me with unfocused eyes for a moment. "I ask you. Where are the real Englishmen?" He took the bottle and gulped it. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he said, "Bloody hell!"

  . . .

  I looked at my watch. In the dim light from the streetlamp on the corner, it said half past 2. I sat up in the bed.

  "What?" asked Carter.

  "This is miserable."

  He sighed. "It sure the hell is."

  "Wanna go for a walk?"

  "Yeah."

  A few minutes later, we were down on Thomson Street, the main road that passed by one side of the hotel. We walked along that street and meandered around the central part of the town. Eventually, we ended up down by the dock where the plane was tied up for the night. There was no one around. The only sounds were of the water lapping against the dock itself and the different vessels rubbing against the rubber bumpers that protected them from damaging their hulls or the dock itself. We stood there for a long time and watched the airplane as it gently rocked back and forth.

  I said, "I never thought I would fly in one of those."

  "Did you ever see them flying in and out of Treasure Island?"

  "Sure. Did you go to the World's Fair?"

  Carter nodded. "Henry and I went a couple of times after we moved there. We even went on a Friday night and saw all the lights. That was something. What about you?"

  I laughed. "We sneaked in on opening day."

  "Who's we?"

  "Those kids I ran around with. Including Ricky."

  Carter sighed. "I'd almost forgotten about him."

  "Yeah."

  After a moment, Carter asked, "You ever go to the Gayway?"

  "And see Sally Rand's Nude Ranch? You bet. But that was with Mike."

  "Did he like it?"

  "Oh, sure. He pulled a detail out there for a month or so, if I remember. Said it was boring. Not too much crime, other than petty theft. Lots of that."

  "Including by you, no doubt."

  I nodded. "Nothing much. Little trinkets. I bet they're up in the attic at home in some box somewhere."

  "You didn't take them with you when you moved in with Mike?"

  "All I took with me were the clothes on my back, Chief." My father had kicked me out of the house in the summer of '39. Mike had let me move in with him and that's when we'd become lovers.

  "Your father has come a long way."

  "Thanks to you."

  We stood there for a long moment.

  "Did you see that?" asked Carter.

  "What?"

  He pointed out over the water. "Lightning."

  As I watched, there were several bolts that flashed through the distant clouds. We stood there for another long moment as more lit up the night sky.

  "Maybe it'll rain here," he said.

  "I hope the hell it does." I pulled at my wet shirt. I was sweating just standing still.

  "You ready to head back?"

  "Sure."

  As we made our way back to the hotel, a group of what looked like local men passed us, all talking in some language I didn't understand. Based on how they were dressed and what they were carrying, they were likely fishermen. One of them stopped and said something to us.

  I replied, "Sorry, I only speak English."

  He smiled at me and asked, "American?"

  I nodded.

  "What are you doing walking around at this time of the morning?" His accent was perfectly British. His Polynesian features reminded me of Tony.

  "Too hot to sleep," replied Carter.

  All the men laughed.

  "Are you fishermen?" I asked.

  The one who'd stopped us nodded and said, "Yes."

  Carter asked, "Do you think it's going to rain soon?"

  The man looked up in the sky and took a deep breath. "In an hour or so. Maybe. This time of year, the rain can come on quicker than you think it will."

  . . .

  We were almost back to the hotel when the sky opened up and the rain came down in a heavy curtain all at once. We made a dash to the front porch of the hotel and stopped there to watch it pour. After a moment, the wind started to blow. Although it wasn't cool, it was cooler and the wind felt good. As we watched, the streetlamp on the corner flickered for a moment and then all the lights everywhere went dark.

  Standing there, watching the rain, Carter put his hand around my neck and pulled me close to kiss me deeply. We heard a sudden bang of a door closing and we both jumped back from each other, startled. After a moment, I began to laugh as Carter took me by the arm and we walked into the lobby of the hotel and up the stairs to our room on the second floor.

  . . .

  The next morning, I awoke to the sound of someone banging on the hotel door. The rain had stopped at some point after dawn and the air was a little cooler, but not much.

  I looked at my watch. It was a quarter until 9. I jumped up and looked for my trousers as I said, "Carter! Get up!"

  He replied with a groan. "What?"

  "We're late."

  I heard O'Reilly call out from the hallway. "Nick! Wake up!"

  I pulled on my shirt and opened the door. "We're awake."

  O'Reilly laughed and said, "Henry's downstairs. He's ready to go whenever you two get your lazy selves up and out."

  I nodded. "Tell him we'll be down in ten."

  He put his hand on my cheek affectionately. "I will."

  . . .

  Once we were up in the air, Carter and I walked back to our bedroom and collapsed on the bed. We made out for a while until I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, Carter was gone. I sat up and could feel that sense of disorientation that always happened when I'd slept too late but not enough. It hadn't happened since I'd worked as an orderly at the City Hospital and been on long shifts.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to decide whether to get up or not. Right then, the door opened and in walked Carter with a tray. He put it down on the table and began to pour coffee out of a pot. He added a teaspoon of sugar in the first cup, swirled it around, and then handed it to me. I blew on the black liquid and waited for it to cool off.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "You're welcome." He winked at me as he blew on his own cup.

  I looked at my watch. It was only half past 10. We'd been asleep for just over an hour.

  "Try this." Carter took a small, shell-shaped Madeleine cookie from a little plate on the tray. He popped the treat into my waiting mouth.

  I bit down on it. It was soft, chewy, and had a wonderful lemon flavor. "Like Mrs. Strakova's," I said, swallowing the rest. "Only better."

  Carter put his hand on my mouth. "Never say that again to a living soul."

  I nodded as we both laughed.

  . . .

  We all had lunch together, including Henry. Alexander served us a cold cream soup with a chilled tossed salad. I was beginning to wonder how he was doing all that fancy cooking with such a small galley. I amused myself by wondering if there might be a team of cooks hidden somewhere on the plane that were helping out.

  Carter looked at Murphy and asked, "How is it that neither of you are hungover this morning?"

  Murphy looked up from his bowl of soup with an innocent expression on his face. "I can't imagine what you might mean by that, Mr. Jones."

  Tom turned to Carter. "What happened?"

  I replied first. "What happened was that those two dra
nk an entire bottle of whiskey right in front of us and are all nice and chipper today and I wanna know how."

  O'Reilly smiled. "Luck o' the Irish."

  Everyone laughed as I shook my head.

  Bobby asked, "Did the rain wake anyone up?"

  Carter replied, "We got caught in it. We couldn't sleep so we went for a walk and ended up down by the harbor. Just about the time we got back to the hotel, it started raining to beat the band."

  "To beat the band?" asked Tom with a frown.

  "Really hard," replied Carter.

  I laughed, suddenly aware that Carter and I were the only Americans in the group. Before Murphy came back into his life, I would have considered O'Reilly an American but his Irish was back and there seemed to be no turning back on that score as the previous night's incident at the bar had demonstrated.

  "What?" asked Carter.

  "I was remembering how Mr. Costello wanted us to toast the queen last night."

  Murphy muttered something. O'Reilly said, "Hush."

  Tom looked around the table. "And did you?"

  I laughed again. "Carter and I did, just to be polite. But Mr. Murphy and Captain O'Reilly refused to."

  Tom's eyes widened. "Why?"

  Carter replied, "They're Irish."

  Tom looked confused. "Why does that matter?"

  Murphy sat up in his chair, turned to look at Tom, and began to explain at length why it mattered.

  . . .

  We were all sitting in the main cabin when Henry came down from the cockpit. "We're about fifteen minutes from landing. I wanted to let you know so you can have a look at the island from the air. I'll circle twice before setting her down."

  "Thanks, Henry," said Carter as he walked back up to the cockpit.

  As I looked out the window, I noticed that the water seemed to be greener than it had been before. I turned to O'Reilly and mentioned that.

  He looked out the window. "Aye, must be rather shallow around here. The greener the water, the more shallow it is, as a rule."

  Carter said, "It's almost emerald."

  Bobby, who was perched on a sofa next to Tom, leaning against him and peering out the window behind him, said, "It's beautiful. I think I can see fish in the water."