Woods nodded and kept smiling his best grin.
The clerk removed the stock card from the office files and located the row and bin number for the starlight scopes, then waved for Woods to follow him through the office to the exit. The clerk walked fast, taking short steps, and wiggled his rear end for Woods’s pleasure.
“Here … is the row…” The clerk looked down the dimly lit aisle and led the way back to the bin. “There they are!” He was proud of himself. He hadn’t been back in the bins on official business for a long time and was worried about locating the scopes.
“Let me count them.” Woods started shifting the cardboard boxes on the shelf and ignored the clerk’s hand on his rear end. “Forty-five.”
“You have to be mistaken … the computer and the microfiche show fifty on hand.”
“Let me count them again.” Woods started his recount and this time he brushed the man’s hand away.
“Don’t be shy. No one comes back here very much … it’s very private.”
“Forty-five! There are five missing.”
“Screw the starlight scopes! Don’t you want to mess around a little?” The clerk pouted.
Woods had the information he needed. “Not today … maybe some other time when I’m not so busy. Thanks for your help.”
“Not even a quick blow-job?” The clerk tried reaching for Woods’s crotch.
“Naw … but it was nice of you to ask.” Woods winked at the homosexual. “You’ve been a big help and I appreciate it.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“You’re awful cute.”
“Thanks, but my partner’s waiting for me outside.”
“All right … but if you change your mind…”
“If I change my mind, you’ll be the first guy I call!” Woods had to swallow the laugh building up in his throat. He did appreciate what the man had done for him, and he didn’t want to screw up his connection with the depot by insulting him.
“That’s great!” The clerk started his short-step walk back to the front of the warehouse. “You don’t know what you’ve missed! I’m very good!”
“I believe you … it’s just that I’m not in the mood right now.” Woods waved good-bye to the clerk and left the building. He was beaming from ear to ear. The starlight scopes had come from the Qui Nhon Depot.
Sergeant Woods jogged over to the truck. Kirkpatrick had moved it forward and he was three vehicles away from checking in to the compound and drawing their supplies.
“You made it back just in time!” Kirkpatrick looked up from his seat on the floorboards of the truck.
“Where’s Shaw?”
Kirkpatrick pointed using his cigarette. “He’s still over at the tower.”
“I’m going to go get him. We need some paperwork to draw supplies.”
“Sure…” Kirkpatrick leaned back against the fender and smoked his cigarette.
The bright sunlight filled the tower. The yardmaster had three large window air conditioners installed in the lower part of the walls at floor level. The ten-foot-square office was very comfortable and offered a raised view of the whole Qui Nhon Depot and a spectacular view of the sea.
Shaw pointed at the very distinguished-looking NCO. “You have to understand that I can’t take any extra meat this trip and probably for at least a month, until things cool off for me!”
The tall sergeant lit an imported Cuban cigar and smiled. He pointed out at a ship anchored in the bay and tapped the glass with the wet end of his cigar, leaving small spots on the glass. “That’s the San Francisco Gull, a refrigeration ship.” He turned around and looked over at Simpson with a hint of his true character gleaming through his eyes. “The captain of that ship is very nervous and wants to unload his cargo of meat that is unfit for human consumption. My friend, the quartermaster veterinarian, is very nervous and wants that ship unloaded because he’s the one who declared the meat unfit for human consumption. I am very nervous because I signed the paperwork that has confirmed all of the meat has been thrown overboard and is destroyed.”
“I don’t give a fuck how nervous you and your buddies are! Dammit! Can’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you!” Shaw’s face turned red except around his mouth when he clenched his teeth.
“You, my fat little friend, are stupid.” The yardmaster tapped the thumbnail of his left hand against his closed lips.
“Oh! What are you going to do? Take me for a speedboat ride like you did Masters?” Shaw huffed. “And you fucked that up!”
Simpson realized he was hearing something that was not meant for his ears. He glanced over at the yardmaster and knew his life had just been put into jeopardy by Shaw’s comment.
“Who?” The yardmaster smiled. “I don’t know anyone by that name … do you, Shaw?”
“I can take one pallet!” Shaw tried compromising with the master black marketeer.
“We have over a million and a half dollars’ worth of frozen meat on that ship and we have to move it before someone realizes that none of it is bad.” The yardmaster’s whole bearing became threatening. “We have too much at stake here for one gutless person to fuck it up.” He turned Shaw’s paperwork around so that he could fill in the blank issue columns and then he signed the authorization block with a flair. “Go draw your meat!”
Shaw picked up his paperwork and looked down at the quantity. “I said one pallet, damn you, not four!”
The outside door leading to the stairs opened and Woods stepped into the air-conditioned office. “Wow! It’s nice in here!”
Shaw swallowed his next sentence. The distinguished-looking NCO smiled and held out his hand for Woods to shake. “Sergeant LeMoine … Country LeMoine.”
Woods saw that the pepper-gray-headed NCO was wearing an immaculate set of stateside issue fatigues that tucked inside his trousers. A crease split each of the pocket buttons and when he turned sideways, Woods could see that there were three very sharp creases running down the back of his jacket. He wondered how the NCO could keep his uniform so neat in the heat coming up off the sand. “David Woods. I stopped by to see if Sergeant Shaw had the paperwork ready so we can draw our supplies.” Woods looked over at Shaw. “Kirkpatrick is next in line.”
“Yes, Shaw has the paperwork. I just signed it.” The yardmaster’s voice sounded like pebbles rattling in a tin can.
Woods did a double take and stared at the NCO. The voice was the one he had heard when Masters had been with him.
The sergeant yardmaster smiled and explained his voice to Woods. “Sorry about that. I had a cancer operation and sometimes my voice gives out when I’m talking.”
“At least you survived the operation…” Woods thought that he had to say something.
“True, very true.” The yardmaster’s voice lowered and gave a hint of a rattle.
Woods thought that there was a great deal of similarity between the sergeant’s voice and the prairie rattlesnakes he used to kill with his friends back in Nebraska.
“Start loading the truck.” Shaw wouldn’t look at Woods or at the yardmaster. He knew he was trapped.
“Nice meeting you, Sergeant LeMoine.” Woods turned to leave.
“Call me Country.”
Woods smiled and nodded his head.
Simpson waited until Woods had reached the bottom of the steps and then spoke for the first time. “Sergeant Shaw really has a problem back in An Khe with our captain.” He slipped forward on the chair he was sitting on behind the yardmaster’s desk. “We would be taking a really big risk … You understand, Country?”
The yardmaster glared at the young black soldier and his voice changed back to a gravel pitch. “I said that he could call me Country, not you.”
“That’s not very nice … Country. We’re partners and I can’t call you by your first name?”
“Where in the fuck do you get off that we’re partners?” The yardmaster took a threatening step toward Simpson and reached back on his hip for the custom-made Arka
nsas toothpick he always carried.
“You’re right! You are too dangerous to be one of my partners.” Simpson pushed the chair back and raised the barrel of the silenced .22 caliber pistol he had been holding on his lap. Shaw’s eyes enlarged when he realized what Simpson was going to do.
“You fucking punk!” The yardmaster started removing his fighting knife. The first bullet hit his neck just below his jaw. He paused and took another step forward. Simpson took his time and aimed for the second round, and it entered the yardmaster’s skull right above his nose and a little bit to the left. The NCO gave a surprised glance at Shaw as if to say that he couldn’t believe what was happening and then collapsed on the tile floor of the tower.
“What in the fuck are you doing?” Shaw panicked.
Simpson slipped the long-barreled pistol back inside his waistband and adjusted his jacket. “He was too dangerous for us.”
“You fucking murdered him!”
“Shut up! I didn’t murder him … one of his partners got rid of him!” Simpson started going through the drawers of the desk and found what he was sure had to be there: a drawer full of bundles of MPC. The black drug dealer had been around crime too long not to know that an operation as big as the yardmaster had going for him had to have a large operating cash flow. He started stuffing as many of the bundles as he could into his jacket pockets and then broke a couple of the bundles of ten-dollar notes and scattered the notes around the dead man’s body. “See, my man! Robbery and murder … some people are just greedy!”
Simpson opened the door and looked back at the sergeant. “Are you coming or do you want to be here when his next customer arrives?” Simpson took the steps two at a time down to the ground. Shaw was right behind him.
The body lay on the shiny tile floor with its mouth partially open. The blood coming from the hole in the man’s head dripped down on the asphalt tile and formed a tiny stream that ran over to the half-inch hole that had been drilled in the floor to drain the condenser water off the air conditioner in the wall above it. The yardmaster’s blood reached the hole and mixed with the water. A pale red spot started developing on the damp sand below the tower, in the exact spot that Daryl Masters had sat with Woods when they had first heard Shaw and the yardmaster talking about the black-market scheme.
CHAPTER FIVE
RECONDO Justice
Woods noticed that Shaw was constantly looking up at the yardmaster’s tower the whole time they loaded the truck with the pallets of frozen meat. Kirkpatrick and Simpson pulled the heavy tarp over the cargo and tied it down.
“Hurry up! I don’t want to get caught on the highway when it gets dark, and we have one more stop to make!” Shaw glanced over at Simpson.
“Where?” Woods stacked his gear to the left side of the cab, away from the diesel smokestack.
“Simpson has to make a stop in An Khe.” Shaw glared at the cocky black soldier. “He won’t take long.”
“We’ve got plenty of time, old Sarge … relax!” Simpson almost laughed when he saw the uncontrolled nervousness on the NCO’s face. “You’ve got to learn to work under pressure. Now, when I was back in Detroit and worked for the Young Boys Incorporated—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Shaw was on the very edge of breaking. “I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit about that fucking gang of yours!” Shaw fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes and glanced back over his shoulder at the tower in the distance.
Woods noticed two things: Simpson’s look of contempt for the supply sergeant, and Shaw’s obsession with the yardmaster’s tower. Something had gone on up there that had amused Simpson and upset Shaw.
The three-quarter-ton truck had been shoved to one side of the highway by an M-48A5 main battle tank. There were three more of the large armored vehicles spaced about seventy-five meters apart on the east side of the village, and an infantry company was sweeping the Vietnamese compound from the west. Sporadic rifle shots could be heard coming from inside the village, and an occasional scream could be heard over the sound of the truck’s engine.
A small group of Vietnamese women and children were squatting next to the road with two American soldiers guarding them. Woods could see that the men wore shoulder patches that identified them as troopers from the First Cavalry Division, his unit. The sweep of the village had caused the traffic on the road to bottle up at the bridge west of Khu Pho, and the circling gunships had the livestock in the village spooked and running across the road.
“Fucking Vietnamese! You’d think they could control their fucking animals!” Shaw leaned out of his window and tried shooing out of the way a large water buffalo that had taken up a position in the middle of the road.
Woods looked out over the cab of the truck and saw one of the American guards butt-stroke a small Vietnamese boy who had been squatting next to his mother and sister. The idling truck engine didn’t block out the yelling soldier or his buddy.
“Kill that little motherfucking commie!”
The mother started begging for them to stop hitting her child and then she tried throwing her body between the boy and the men beating him. The little girl cowered and cried.
Woods jumped over the side of the truck with his CAR-15 held out in his hand. He landed on the balls of his feet and reached the group of Vietnamese in a half-dozen steps. “STOP THAT SHIT! NOW!”
One of the guards glanced over at Woods and grinned. “Fuck you! I take orders only from my NCOs and officers. You’d better get your fucking ass away from here or I might decide on beating your ass!”
Woods could see the murder lust in the man’s eyes; they weren’t focusing. It was obvious the men had been doing dope. “I said you had better stop it…” Woods realized he was an NCO and used his rank. “That’s an order.”
“Fuck…”
Woods raised the barrel of his CAR-15 until it was pointed inches above the soldier’s head and pulled the trigger. A long burst ripped through the air. He lowered the weapon until it pointed at the soldier’s gut. “On your fucking faces! NOW!”
The soldier watching dropped down on his stomach in the red dust and his buddy followed, slowly. “We’re Americans! You’re fucking crazy, Sergeant!”
“Sergeant David Woods, First Brigade Recon Company. I’m taking your prisoners with me back to An Khe, and if I hear of any more of this shit you’re pulling, I’ll press charges!”
“You can’t take my prisoners!” The soldier started getting up.
“I’ll blow your smelly ass away if you so much as move another inch!” Woods’s voice underlined his statement, and the soldier lay back down in the red dust.
“You’re fucking crazy, man…”
Woods went over and stuck the barrel of his CAR-15 against the back of the soldier’s neck who had first started beating the small boy.
“Hey, man! That fucking barrel is hot!”
Woods pushed harder against his neck and patted the side pockets of the soldier’s jungle fatigues. He could see the bulge of the pipe and removed it and the bag of marijuana. He looked over at the other soldier. “If you have any of this shit, you’d better get rid of it … now!”
The soldier leaned over on his side and removed a small plastic vial that had been attached to his jungle fatigue jacket by a small chain that held the cap on the bottle. He threw the vial down at Woods’s feet.
Woods stood and pointed at the nine women and children the two soldiers were guarding. “Di.” He kept his voice soft and pointed at the truck. They understood what he was trying to tell them and scrambled on board the pallets of frozen meat. Woods slung his CAR-15 over his shoulder and picked up the small child in his arms. The mother kept patting his shoulder and saying the same phrase over and over again. Woods started walking to the rear of the vehicle when he saw Kirkpatrick point his M-16 at something over his head.
“That would be the dumbest thing you ever tried and it would be the cause of your fucking death!” Kirkpatrick snapped.
The soldier who had the
pipe had tried picking up his M-16. Woods handed the boy up to the mother and helped her make him comfortable on the cool tarp.
Shaw spoke for the first time. “What in the fuck are you going to do with these people?”
“Take them into An Khe.”
“Woods! They could be VC!”
“Little ones, maybe…” Woods looked at the two women and seven children. “Kirkpatrick and I will guard them.”
“You are fucking crazy, Woods!” Shaw motioned for Simpson to drive on.
Kirkpatrick watched the two soldiers lying in the dust until they were out of sight and then sat down in the corner of the truck.
“Thanks, Kirk!” Woods nodded at his teammate and then finished putting the dressing on the boy’s forehead. Kirkpatrick nodded and slipped back into his own private thoughts. He felt good about what Woods had done and very guilty over selling drugs to the troops back at An Khe. He had just received a lesson on the results of his profiteering. He glanced up and saw Simpson looking at him through the rearview mirror.
The rest of the trip back to An Khe was filled with Huey slicks and gunships flying back and forth over the road. The road-mining incident had caused an overreaction from the battalion commander who was responsible for the highway’s security. He had received an ass-chewing from the division commander during the morning staff call and had passed it down to his company commanders. Shit flows downhill, but in war when it reaches the bottom there is a way for the private infantrymen to get rid of their frustrations.
Shaw had Simpson stop the truck as soon as they had passed the outposts of An Khe. “Have the Vietnamese get out here.”
Woods looked around for a medical facility for the boy and saw none. “Let’s drop them off near a doctor’s office or someplace where the kid can be treated.”
“I said here!” Shaw opened the door and stood on the running board. “DI! DI DI MAU!” He waved his arm for the Vietnamese to unload.
Woods and Kirkpatrick jumped off the truck and helped the women and children down to the road. They would be safe at least in an ARVN-guarded community. Woods reached into his pocket, and removed a couple hundred-piaster notes, and handed them to the boy’s mother. He knew the woman hadn’t been given any time to gather her things before she had been taken to the road, and she would need money for food until she could return to her village.
Black Market Page 12
