Trouble Triangle (Tyler's Trouble Trilogy)

by Casey, Travis

  "No, what?"

  He stopped flicking. "Pecker checker." He laughed and went back to the book. "Ah, immediate openings. What about a welder?"

  I leaned in. "Yeah, that sounds cool."

  "Good. After boot camp, you'll go to technical school in San Francisco. It's three months training and you'll learn loads." He counted on his fingers as he spoke. "Welding, pipefitting, sheet metal, carpentry, among other things. Plus, you'll have extensive training in firefighting and damage control."

  "What's it called?" I asked, getting excited about the career change from petty criminal to sailor.

  "You’ll be a Hull Maintenance Technician; HT. You'll be the jack of all trades on the ship and an expert in damage control."

  "Do HT's have a nickname?" I hoped it'd be something cool, like Smoker or Flames.

  He smiled. "Yup. Turd chasers."

  "Turd chaser?"

  "Yeah, in addition to everything else, you guys will be in charge of the ship's sewage system. And I'll tell ya what, you're gonna be spending a lot of time unclogging toilets and urinals. Sea water and piss goes together like molasses."

  I threw my shoulders back. "Oh, like a plumber."

  "Sure." He dipped his head and winked. "But you won't be getting paid any overtime."

  #

  Petty Officer Lawson worked hard over the next few weeks before my court appearance. I took loads of tests to make sure I was physically fit and of sound mind. Fooled them on the last one. Lawson found his magic pen. Four weeks after my arrest, I walked into the courtroom with Petty Officer Lawson to face judgment day. This time, my outlook was a little more optimistic.

  The gray-haired man behind the bench held my future in his hands. He looked powerful sitting behind the wall of mahogany with flags at either end of his judicial platform. I stood at the table in a suit, the one I used to wear to church. It had been over a year since I last wore it. I tried to look solemn and respectful, just as Petty Officer Lawson said I should.

  "Haven't I seen you in my courtroom before, Mr. Chambers?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," I replied.

  The judge shuffled through some papers. "Oh yes, here we have it. Three short months ago, on October 9th, 1981, you stood before me denying you were in possession of marijuana. But you were found guilty, and I gave you a taste of life behind bars. I had hoped that you'd see the error of your ways. It appears as though you haven't. How do you wish to plead to the current charges?"

  "Your Honor, if I may," came the anticipated interruption from the man standing beside me. The judge nodded his approval.

  "I'm Petty Officer Lawson, the Navy recruiter for Fort Wayne. If you would be kind enough to spare Mr. Chambers a custodial sentence, I have prepared all the paperwork and can have him enlisted in the Navy and in boot camp within ten days. He has agreed to a four-year enlistment."

  "Mr. Chambers, is it your desire and intention to enlist in the United States Navy?" the judge asked.

  Intention? Yes. Desire? No. "Yes, Your Honor."

  The judge looked at the man sitting at the table adjacent to us. "Does the prosecution have any objections?"

  The bald prosecutor in a blue pin-striped suit rose. "No, Your Honor."

  The judge returned his look to me. "That sounds like the wisest decision you've made in your young life. But let me tell you something, Mr. Chambers." The judge leaned forward from his high and mighty position. "If you don't get your backside in the Navy within the next two weeks, or if I ever see you in my courtroom again, in or out of the Navy, or if you get discharged from the Navy in less than four years for any reason other than honorably, I promise you that you will serve a minimum of one hundred and eighty days in the county jail. Maybe even prison. And if it wasn't for Petty Officer Lawson here today, you'd be on your way to jail at this very moment. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  Three 'Yes, Your Honors' and I managed to avert jail. I got a deal that what was in some ways like a plea bargain. Serving four years in Uncle Sam's sailing club looked a better option than serving six months with Tyrone.

  I smiled as Lawson and I left the courtroom, walking over the seal of the great state of Indiana etched in the marble floor. A warm feeling fell over me. I beat the rap. Dad would be proud.

  Chapter 3

  July 1982

  After graduating boot camp and technical school, I received orders to shore duty at the submarine repair base in Pearl Harbor. I liked the idea that I would only be fixing submarines and not serving on them. The idea of going to sea on boats that are supposed to sink just didn't sound sane.

  I walked into the airport where a Hawaiian girl draped a lei around my neck. Wearing my dress-white uniform, I pushed my way through the sea of tourists in Aloha shirts with cameras dangled around their necks. I made it to the luggage carousel, pulled my large green seabag off the line and slung it on my back.

  The duty driver, a sailor from the base, greeted me at the airport. We stepped outside into the baking heat where a distinctive sweet smoky smell wafted through the air. The driver told me to get used to it as that was the burning sugar cane from surrounding fields. We hopped into a gray van and made the journey to the port of world-wide infamy.

  The mountains along the horizon reached for the sky, a symbol of the American perception of paradise. Yes, I had arrived. Honolulu offered new excitement. A far cry from trying to outrun the Fort Wayne police department. The prospect of beautiful weather, girls and exotic surroundings excited me.

  A lump in my throat nearly choked me as we drove onto the base. The Arizona Memorial lay in the distance. It served as a reminder that I was there on serious and potentially deadly business. A great sense of pride and sadness swept over me.

  I checked into the barracks and saw Mark Richards' name on the roster. Mark was my friend from technical 'A' school. We had spent three months together in San Francisco and we got on well. I saw my name on the list alongside his for room 321.

  I walked up the outside but undercover concrete staircase to the top floor of the three-story tan and brown building. A large open-air lanai served as the walkway to the dorm rooms. I entered the room and found Mark sitting on one of the beds with his back toward me. Inside were two metal frame beds, a couple of brown wardrobes with matching chests of drawers, and a table with two chairs.

  "Geez," I sighed, "this is supposed to be a high-class place, but they just let any old riff-raff in here, don't they?"

  Mark turned around. "Tyler! How ya doing, buddy?" He came over and we hugged. His square jaw and dark brown eyes blessed him with movie star good looks.

  "How long have you been here?" I asked.

  He ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair. "A couple of days. Got assigned to the flex-hose shop. Great shop, easy work."

  "Flex-hose shop? What's that? We didn't learn about that in 'A' school."

  "They use flexible hoses around machinery that moves a lot." He interlocked his fingers and moved them in a wave-like motion. "The hoses flex and take the stress that would crack regular pipes at the weld. Anyway, have you seen the hot babe in admin? Man, oh, man. I'd buy her a bike if she promised I could lick the seat after a ride."

  "That good, huh?"

  "Tyler, this chick is so hot she makes hell look cold. Brown hair, puppy dog eyes, tight ass, flawless face, and tits just the right size." He cupped his hand to about the size of a softball.

  "Good inventory. No, I haven't met her. I'm going to check in to the division in a minute, though. I'll look her over. Maybe I'll even ask her out if she's as good as you say."

  "Yeah, right." He slapped my shoulder. "She's a third class petty officer, Fireman Chambers. She's like a glamour model in uniform. Sorry, pal, you don't stand a chance."

  "Wanna bet?"

  "She outranks you. You can't ask her out."

  "Phbbt." I put my hand on his shoulder. "A third class? That's like a glorified Fireman. That's only one measly rank above me. Besides, she's still enlisted
. It's not like she's a commissioned officer or anything, and I paid careful attention to the rules on fraternization in boot camp."

  He rubbed his jaw. "I missed that class. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was in bed all day."

  "Well, as long as she's not in my direct chain of command, she's fair game. Frowned upon, but not illegal. And you said she's admin, so she's like a secretary."

  "Okay, fifty bucks says you won't get a date with her. I'll even give you a month."

  "Done, but if she's a dog, the bet's off." We shook hands. I cleaned myself up before heading over to the admin section of the division to check in.

  #

  I climbed up the outdoor metal staircase and pushed open the door which identified the space as the 'R-1 Division office'. Numerous photographs of submarines dotted the walls and the customary flag fluttered from the breeze of the open window. A door labeled 'Lieutenant Johnson' remained closed next to the lone desk in the room. A vision of outstanding natural beauty sat behind an immaculately tidy desk, typing. She looked the perfect specimen of female anatomy. If only I was a cop and could shout the term, 'Spread 'em'. She would give the phrase a whole new meaning and vision.

  She looked up as I stood in front of her desk. Her brunette hair was feathered in the front and tied up at the back. Brown irises filled most of her eyes, not leaving much white around the sides. She had a small nose that sent out the 'cute' message, high cheekbones and perfect 'kiss me' lips.

  "Fireman Chambers, reporting for duty." I handed her my paperwork.

  She took my orders and flipped through the papers. I admired her stunning good-looks as she searched through the folder. "Everything appears to be in order," she said. "I'll just see which shop you'll be going to."

  "Any chance of going to the welding shop?" I asked.

  She rustled through her papers. I eyed her name tag above her left breast. 'Knight'. My tongue inadvertently moved across my lips.

  "Like, there's no opening there. I'll assign you to the flex-hose shop."

  "Thank you, Petty Officer Knight. Any chance of you showing me where it is?" I gave her my best smile.

  "No chance. Escorting service is not in my job description." She handed me a base map.

  "Too bad," I mumbled. "That's cool. But what about the bar on base? That's important, right?"

  She glared at me.

  I clasped my hands behind my back. "I thought maybe I could take you for a drink for being so helpful. Not to mention that I need to know where it is for future reference."

  She scooted her chair back and stood up from her desk, staring at me. She was only about three inches shorter than my six foot height. She pointed to the third class insignia on her arm. "E-4," she said. She pointed to my blank sleeve. "E-3."

  She looked down at my paperwork. Pointing back to herself, "Like, twenty-one." Pointing at me, "nineteen," she said. "Kind of a gap on two counts. I might be a little out of your league, don't ya think? Like, way out.”

  Okay. So she likes herself. She's still hot and if I can get Mark to pay me fifty bucks to have sex with her, well, that kind of makes me a gigolo. The challenge has been set and I was up for it. A little stroking of her enormous ego and she'd be eating out of my hand. I cleared my throat. "I happen to appreciate older, more sophisticated, higher ranking women. Not to mention gorgeous. You don't happen to have a bike by any chance, do you?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do. Why?"

  I had a job to keep myself calm at that revelation. "It's just that I used to repair bikes before I joined, in one of my dad's shops. If you ever have any trouble with it, let me know." I checked out her shapely legs below her skirt. "You wanna make sure you get those long legs fully extended. Could give you back problems if you ride it wrong. Might need to have the seat adjusted to make sure you get it right. I'll be happy to have a lic—, uh, look if you like."

  "In your dreams, Chambers. Now go to your shop." She shooed me away with the back of her hand.

  I left her office slightly dejected, but determined to get a date with her. Not just to win the bet, but also because she was a fine example of a reason to lust. And she had an attitude. The chases were much more fun when a chick had a bit of spunk. I followed the base map she had given me and located the flex-hose shop.

  After I checked in to the shop, Mark came into the shop supervisor's office and offered to show me to my work station. He wore coveralls that looked cleaned and pressed, but were covered with black powder. The powder also dusted his face and blond hair. He looked like some dirty homeless kid.

  He led me toward the back of the shop. "What did you think of her?" he asked as we passed bulky machines.

  I gave a thumbs-up gesture. "Yeah, she was practically begging me for it, but I got a month. I'm going to string her along for a while. You know, play hard to get. Make her beg for it. Just make sure you have fifty bucks put away for me."

  #

  A few days later, I stepped outside the shop door for a smoke break around ten o'clock. A blonde-haired girl from the building next door came out and lit a cigarette. She looked to be about five and a half foot tall and had a petite build. When she glanced at me, I smiled. She smiled back.

  She walked over and looked at me with her striking blue eyes. "You're new here, aren't you?" She was well tanned and her complexion had light acne scarring. Her bright smile and confident manner gave me the impression that she was a fun chick. I guessed she was mid-twenties and she had a mole just above her lip at the right corner of her mouth.

  "Yeah, checked in a few days ago." I offered my hand. "Tyler Chambers."

  "Debbie Meyers. Aloha." Her soft palm touched mine. "Once you get to know which bars are sailor friendly, you'll have a great time here. Not all the locals are pleased to see us white people, or haoles, as they call us."

  "Are you offering to—"

  "Fireman Chambers." Petty Officer Knight appeared and interrupted us. She walked up with some papers. "You need to sign this. It's a form to let payroll know you're here so you can get paid." She handed me a form. Debbie glared at her. Knight looked the other way. I signed it and handed it back to her. She grabbed it and walked down the street.

  As much as I wanted to chat to Debbie, I couldn't let an opportunity like this to ask Knight out slip through my fingers. "Excuse me a minute, Debbie." I patted the side of her shoulder and headed off after Petty Officer Knight.

  I followed Knight down the street, calling out after her. She stopped and turned, waiting for me to catch up. She placed a hand on her hip and tapped her foot on the pavement impatiently.

  As soon as we stood face to face, I felt a sense of nervousness pulse through my body. That wasn't like me, but her self-confidence and attitude of superiority was somewhat intimidating. I shifted my gaze from her beautiful brown eyes to the ground, then back again.

  I shoved my hands in my back pockets. "Umm…Petty Officer Knight, I was just wondering, if you're not busy Friday night, would you like to go out with me? Maybe catch a movie or go see The Action Men. They're a band playing down at Bullwinkle's Bar in town. The drummer's a good friend of mine." If she wanted to meet the drummer I'd have to say he was off sick because I didn't have a clue who he was.

  "Chambers, I thought I made it clear. I'm a Petty Officer, not a babysitter." She spun on her toe and walked off.

  Ouch. For crying out loud. She was only two years older than me. Who the hell did she think she was? I walked back to Debbie with 'babysitter' echoing in my head. A simple 'no' would have been enough.

  Debbie took a drag off her cigarette as I walked toward her. Her eyes glued to Knight's back as she continued to walk down the street. She tilted her head upward and blew out smoke. "Bitch."

  "You know her?"

  "Yeah, Holly Knight. Bitch extraordinaire. She thinks she's God's gift to the human race. Give a girl a pretty face and a nice body and she thinks the world should stand in admiration of her. Stay well away from her. She's trouble."

  #

  After tha
t first morning, Debbie and I made a point of meeting up for our smoke breaks. We always had a good laugh, and since Holly kept turning me down, I tried to charm Debbie out of her undergarments. She slapped me the first few times, but after that it was usually down to her rolling her eyes, which led me to believe that it wasn't completely a lost cause pursuing her; just a minor setback.

  We both left work one afternoon around four o'clock and I escorted her to her barracks in the warm sun shower. The light drizzle was refreshing and relieved some of the humidity.

  "Ya know, sometimes this Navy thing really sucks." She pulled out a cigarette and lit up as we walked.

  "How's that?" I asked.

  "I got tickets to the Pat Benatar concert coming up. My supervisor changed my duty day and now I have to work that night." She took a big inhale of smoke. "I begged him to wait until after the concert. You know what he said?" She stopped and faced me.

  I shrugged.

  She wrinkled her nose. "Tough shit." She resumed walking.

  "I'll take 'em off your hands if you want. Not quite the Rolling Stones, but Benatar's all right."

  "I should charge a premium. She's been sold out for months, ya know?" She flicked her cigarette to the ground and squished it with her foot.

  "How 'bout I buy you a drink. Premium payment kinda thing."

  "How about you buy me drinks all night?" She stopped and looked at me. "Only at Dolphin's. It'll be much cheaper if we stay at the bar on base."

  "Deal." We shook hands.

  After we both went back to our rooms and showered, I stopped by her room and escorted her to Dolphin's. We walked into the bar and crossed the deserted dance floor as Our Lips Are Sealed by the Go-Go's played on the jukebox. Tables were lined around the edge of the dance area. Four pool tables sat off to the left, halfway into the club, with the bar off to the right. We stopped and got a beer and a Black Russian, and headed to the quieter section in the back. Laughter created a relaxed, happy atmosphere as cigarette smoked swirled in the air hanging over the fake tiffany lights.