Decker's Dilemma (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

1710, Wednesday, January 22

Intuition? A hunch? Hack didn't know what to call it, but the feeling of being watched had nagged at him for a block. As he passed through the shipyard onto Dewey Avenue, he glanced behind him towards the Spanish Gate.

A swift scan.

Three sailors exiting the cafeteria, crossing the sidewalk. A woman approaching, head down. Two men behind the woman. One with distinctive blond hair. The other middle aged, short hair, wire-rim glasses. Brief eye contact with the blonde-haired man. The kind where you catch someone staring and they look away quickly.

Hack suddenly felt alone. He had avoided Decker most of the day, still angry about his time in sick bay.
Three blocks to the main gate.
Hack picked up his pace and crossed the street at an angle. A peek over his left shoulder. No sign of the two men. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Must be nerves. Decker's fault for getting me mixed up in this investigation.

One more block to the gate. Hack made it in record time.

An unfortunate Filipino searching for his ID card held up the line. Hack took the opportunity to survey the crowd behind him. Dozens of Filipinos heading home. Several sailors on liberty. One American stood out in the crowd. His blond hair noticeable. To his right stood a middle-aged man.

Hack anxiously fished his ID from his wallet and the marine waived him through the checkpoint. He hustled across the Shit River Bridge, arriving in front of Cal Jam at 1725. One more look down the street towards base. No sign of the two men. Hack shrugged, walked through the door, and flopped in a booth near the window.

Decker pushed a beer across the table without lifting his eyes from his Book of Dates.

Hack stared at the bottle in front of him. “How did you know I'd be here? I thought about not coming.”

“I'm actually surprised to see you. You didn't talk to me all day.”

“Can you blame me? I spent most of the evening sick in bed.”

“I thought you were faking it.”

“I was until the corpsman gave me some medicine. Then I got sick.” He shuddered. “Vomited half the night.”

“It was perfect cover,” Decker laughed. “Limpert forgot all about being paged. I think he was genuinely worried about you.”

“I'm glad someone was,” said Hack, taking a sip of beer. “Hey, it's still ice cold.”

“Of course it is.”

“I thought you said you weren't expecting me to show up?”

“I wasn't,” Decker said, gesturing out the window with his right hand. “I saw you walking up the sidewalk.”

“Next time I'll be more evasive.”

“Then you won't have a cold beer waiting for you.”

“Good point,” Hack sighed. He waited for Decker to finish writing another sentence. “I saw two guys following me.”

Decker set his pencil down and reached for his beer. “It was your imagination. No one was following you.”

“It sure seemed like it. I saw them walking behind me when I left the shipyard. I saw them again when I was leaving the base. Did you see anybody behind me on Magsaysay?”

Decker shook his head. “Nope. It was just you and half the Filipinos in Olongapo.”

Hack leaned back in his chair. “I'm sure I was being followed.”

“Probably a couple sailors,” Decker said. “A lot of people get off work this time of day.”

“I don't think they were sailors. Too civilian looking.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They looked out of place. Even in civilian clothes, you can spot a sailor a mile away. One was young enough to be in the military, but his hair was too long.”

“You noticed his hair? That's a bit troubling.”

“It was blonde like it had been bleached. Reminded me of a surfer.”

“And how many surfers do you know?”

“None,” Hack admitted. “But I've seen them in movies. The other guy was older, but I didn't get a good look at him.”

“Could've been an old master chief,” Decker said. “Hell, some of these lifers have been in over thirty years.”

Hack peered out the window, scanning both directions along Magsaysay Drive. Several people ambled along the sidewalk in both directions, but none were the two men he had seen walking behind him earlier. “Maybe you're right. It gave me a funny feeling, though.”

Decker waved his hand. “Forget about them. We have more important issues at hand.” He pulled a stack of folded papers from his back pocket. “Let's take a look at the requisition lists. I was able to print two recent ones.”

They each took a printout and spent the next few minutes scrutinizing the data. Decker gave up first, tossing aside the papers he was reading. “This doesn't do us much good. It's the same as before. A record of what's been ordered.”

“Maybe we're missing something,” Hack argued.

“I don't see anything,” said Decker. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you check the inventory on board ship against these printouts.”

“Why am I the one to check the inventory?”

“Chief doesn't watch you like he does me,” Decker said. “You're the new guy. He assumes you don't know anything yet. All you have to do is check the big ticket items. Anything over one thousand dollars.”

Hack sat back and shook his head. “No way.”

Decker didn't persist. He grabbed the lists from Hack. “Let's see. This was submitted on January 2. What day of the week was that?”

Hack thought for a moment. “It was a Thursday.”

“I'm not even going to ask how you remember that.” Decker looked at the other list. “These orders were placed yesterday, January 21.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Nothing,” Decker said, handing the papers to Hack. “Keep these in a safe place until you're ready to do the inventory.”

“Why do you want me to hold on to them?”

“Because you have the other documents. We need to keep all of them in one place.”

“Why can't you keep them? I'll give you what I have and then you'll have everything.”

“That'd be too complicated.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” said Decker. “You've got the other papers in a safe place, right?”

“I think so.”

“There's your reason. I don't know any safe places to hide things.”

Hack grew weary of the argument and folded the papers into his back pocket. “I still think we ought to concentrate on the names. Especially Allen Sumner.”

Decker shook his head. “I'm beginning to think we need to work the problem from the other end.”

“What other end?”

“Who's buying this stuff after it finds its way off base.”

“Maybe the people Chief had on his list? Which brings us back to the names.”

“That's a dead end for now,” Decker said. “We need to find someone with an insider's knowledge of the local black market scene. We find out who's buying, we find out who's supplying.”

“What about Vega? She'll know.”

“I haven't talked with her in several days. In fact, I have no idea when I'm going to see her again.”

Hack shrugged. “I don't know anybody else in town besides Lee's maid. And Rusty, your trike guy. And I don't really know either one of them too well.”

Decker suddenly sat up. “Hack, my boy, you're brilliant.”

“What did I say?”

“Rusty. He could be our ticket into the local underworld.”

“How's he doing anyway?” asked Hack.

Decker sat back and rested his hands on top of his head. “I ran into his wife a couple days ago. She said he's doing fine. About ready to start driving again.”

“That's good. But how is he going to help? Vega said it's probably someone at the supply depot.”

“I'm not worried about the depot at the moment. Rusty's hinted at a previous job. He hasn't talked much about it, but I think I'll pay him a visit while he's still recuperating.”

“What other job?”

Decker leaned forward. “I don't know exactly, but it's time I find out a little more about it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

1745, Friday, January 24

Decker crossed the quarterdeck at 1730, passed through the main gate a few minutes later, and stood at the end of the Shit River Bridge. He looked down Magsaysay Drive and smiled at the sight of the long line of neon signs that lined the street.
Not tonight
, he said to himself, resisting the pull of the bright lights. He turned right on 1st Street and walked past the beckoning bargirls standing at the entrances of the smaller clubs that sprinkled the landscape a block or two either side of the main strip. He weaved his way through the mass of kids, street vendors, and trikes and jeepneys sharing the narrow roadways. A left on 6th Street and a right one block later on Kessing put him in sight of his destination.

Decker found Rusty sitting on his front porch, his leg propped on a milk crate. The damaged trike leaned against his cinder block house, a painful reminder of the shooting and subsequent wreck. A red sports car blocked a narrow concrete driveway.

“Hello,
pare
,” Rusty shouted, excited to see Decker. “Long time, no look.”

“Rusty, you are truly a man of leisure” replied Decker. “Is that your Camaro?”

“
Hindi, pare
. It is friend's car. He let me borrow it this morning. Went for long drive. Weny told me get out of house.”

Decker laughed. “How's the leg?”

Rusty tapped his knee with his hand. “Doing okay. Only eighteen stitches. The bullet barely got me. Want to see?”

Decker held up his hands. “No thanks, my friend. I'll take your word for it. How long until you're driving the trike again?”

“The doctor said I work next week.” Rusty swatted a fly buzzing near his face. “No ships visiting so business would have been slow anyway.”

Decker looked at the bike and back at Rusty. “How about dinner? I've avoided navy chow all day and I'm beginning to regret it. I'll run out and pick up something for you and Rowena and the kids. You have rice, right?”

“Of course we have rice,
pare
. Always got to have rice.”

“Okay then,” said Decker. “Give me five minutes and I'll be back with dinner.”

Decker flagged down a trike and was at a nearby market in two minutes He bought several pieces of freshly cut chicken, a bag of santol fruit, and a handful of calabasas, one of his favorite vegetables. He caught a trike back to Rusty's house and walked across the street to the local
sari sari
store and bought eight San Miguels and four sticks of Marlboro cigarettes. Though he didn't smoke, he knew Rusty would appreciate it.

The kids came running out as soon as they heard Decker return. He set down the packages and scooped up one in each arm. The boy, Emil, especially liked Decker and pleaded with him to grab his arms and spin him around. Decker let go of Elenita and took hold of Emil's arms and spun him around eight times several feet off the ground. Decker set him on his feet and they all laughed as the little boy stumbled along the sidewalk dizzy and giggling. Elenita, just beginning to learn English in school, always enjoyed Decker's visits, finding it the perfect time to practice speaking with an American.

She tugged at Decker's shirt tail as he watched Emil finally regain his balance “Hello. How are you?”

Decker knelt down to her level. “Hello, I am doing fine. Thank you for asking.” With that, Elenita lost her nerve and, with her younger brother hot on her heels, ran inside the house to find her mother who had scooped up the sacks of food and was preparing the dinner.

Decker pulled up a folding chair, opened two beers, and sat next to Rusty on the porch. The street was quiet except for the sound of kids playing in the distance and the periodic interruption of a trike or jeepney zooming by. As dinnertime approached, street vendors appeared, slowly walking the neighborhood selling maize and balut, reminding Decker of stadium vendors back home, yelling the name of their products.

The two friends sat quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. Rusty finally broke the silence. “Thank you for dinner. It is nice of you.”

Decker picked up a toy at his feet and set it aside. “Glad to do it. We haven't talked since the shooting and it's been forever since I've seen the kids. I think Emil has grown two inches since I last saw him.”

“They are growing. We are so thankful that Emil can see with both eyes. I wish I could be home more often, but work keep me busy. No time for rest until I got shot. But something is on your mind. I can tell. I have a good, how you say it, feeling about things like that.”

Decker laughed and took a drink of beer. “You're right, my friend. I'm in a bit of a quandary.”

“What is her name?”

“I do have a bit of a delicate situation on that front, but that's not what I'm thinking about at the moment. Did you hear about the sailor who died on the
Harvey
a few weeks ago?”

“
O o,
” Rusty nodded. “I saw it in the paper. Did you know him?”

“I did. In fact, Petty Officer Kippen worked in my department. He was a decent guy.”

“Sorry about that,
pare
. Fell overboard, right?”

“That's the official navy version,” Decker said. “An investigator flew out to the ship after it happened. He nosed around, talked to several people. Came to the conclusion that it was either an accident or a suicide over his ex-girlfriend.”

Rusty eyed Decker. “You agree with that? Something in the way you say it. I think you have doubts.”

“You can read my mind,” Decker smiled. “I do have doubts. And part of my doubt comes from a conversation I had with Kippen the night he died. He told me about an inventory problem with the ship's repair parts.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Missing parts.”

Rusty studied Decker's face. “I did not know your friend, but I am sure sailors misplace things all the time.”

“That was more or less my first reaction. ‘So what?' I told him. ‘It's probably just a computer problem.' But he didn't think so, and now I'm beginning to believe he was on to something. Hack and I snooped around the ship some and then came the shooting. Unless that trike driver was after you for some reason, it makes me think we've stumbled into something serious.”

Rusty took a swig of beer, picked up a Marlboro and lit the cigarette, slowly blowing smoke out of his mouth.

“Hey, that was supposed to be a joke,” Decker said, studying Rusty's face. “Now it's my turn to ask. Is there something on your mind?”

Rusty didn't look up. “Could be the black market,
pare
.”

Decker cocked his head. “You think so? Vega said the same thing. She told us the local cops are investigating a growing black market operation in town.”

“Do not trust the cops,” Rusty scoffed. “Vega is an honest girl and means well, but she is new on the force. I bet anything that Inspector Navarro and his cronies are paid to look the other way where the black market is concerned.”

Decker let that sink in while he finished his beer. “How big is the black market around here?”

Rusty shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure anymore. Used to be everywhere. American cigarettes, shampoo, and candy bars. You name it, you could buy it in town. Still can if you know where to look.”

“How does that stuff make its way off base? The Marine guards search everybody and everything that leaves the base. They search me half the time and, I must say, I'm an honest looking guy.”

Rusty smiled. “It is not easy to move parts off base, but it can be done. I can prove it. Visit Filipino stores in town and you will see navy stuff. I cannot afford it, but I know where I could get it if I wanted to.”

Decker reached for two more bottles of beer and opened one for Rusty. “I had no idea. I guess I've never paid attention to stuff like that.”

“Why you care? You can buy those things anytime. For Filipinos, they are luxury items.”

“Well, I don't know if that explains the missing items,” Decker reasoned. “Cigarettes and soap are quite different from circuit cards and ball valves. I doubt if there's a market for those kinds of things in town.”

“Not in this town,
pare
. Other places. I know a man who tell you stories. His name is Mr. Fortuno. He used to be big in the black market. He retired a year ago after Marcos' power started to fade. I worked for Fortuno when I was younger. Nice guy, but not someone to take lightly. He was one of the Rolex 12.”

“The what?”

“The Rolex 12. A special advisory group under Marcos in the early '70s. The president gave them a Rolex watch. They gave their support to Marcos' martial law policies and took control of everything. The military. National police. Businesses. Casinos. Even political opponents. Rumor has it that they ordered the murder of Benigno Aquino. Not a pleasant group to be associated with.”

“What's happened to them?”

“A few of them are still with Marcos. General Ver and Danding Cojuangco are close advisors, at least for now. I heard that Juan Enrile and Fidel Ramos will join Cory Aquino. I have no idea about the others.”

“What about Mr. Fortuno?”

“He had disagreement with Ver four or five years ago. When you do that, you are on the outside. Ver has all the power of the group. There was even a rumor the Rolex 12 had a contract out for Fortuno. Many people are surprised he survived this long.”

“Sounds like a charming fellow,” said Decker.

Rusty's face brightened. “He is. Gave me my first job. I drove a truck for him. Did not know what I was carrying, of course, but he paid me good and I needed the job. Only found out later he was in black market business. He would take things from the navy base, Clark Air Base, too, and ship them to Manila. From there I have no idea where they ended up. All I know, he was a rich man. Still is.”

“You're lucky you survived that,” Decker said.

“I
am
lucky. I met Weny while I was driving for Mr. Fortuno. She made me quit. Never liked him. Said she could tell he was no good the first time she met him. I did not have another job, but I did not want to lose her.”

Decker ran his finger around the top of the bottle. “I understand that,” he whispered.

“I felt so lucky to meet her. I said ‘God will take care of me and Weny.' So I left Mr. Fortuno. Been driving a trike ever since. It was a blessing. I do not have much, but I have a nice family and I feel lucky about that.”

Decker sat up in his chair. “You got quiet when I joked about the guy shooting at you. Do you think someone from your past is after you?”

Rusty shook his head. “I doubt it. I left on friendly terms. I do not think about those days very often, but you reminded me of it.”

Decker stood and paced along the porch. “Then I was the target.”

“Afraid so.”

“But who was behind it?” asked Decker, rhetorically. “I don't know many people in town, and, come on, who would want to harm me?”

Rusty exhaled and blew a series of smoke rings. “Always remember this. Many people live in Olongapo, but it is a small town.”

“What do you mean?”

“People talk. And more people listen. If you have money, you can find out about anyone.”

Decker stopped his pacing and returned to his chair. “You ever stay in touch with this guy, Mr. Fortuno.”

Rusty nodded. “I saw him a few years ago. Remembered my name. Asked me to come back to work for him. He says I was always trustworthy. Probably meant that I did not talk a lot. Some guys talked too much. Would get drunk and brag to their friends. Then one day they would disappear. Some were fired. Some had accidents. Never seen again. Scared me, but I needed money and Mr. Fortuno was nice to me.”

Decker leaned back and propped his legs on the free edge of Rusty's milk crate. “Doesn't the military do anything about it? Seems it would be easy to stop, even for the navy.”

“They try, but there are many people going on and off base. And trucks from the supply depot have official papers.”

“Maybe I can talk to this Mr. Fortuno,” Decker said. “He may be able to fill in some details about what's going on.”

“You cannot just go and knock on his door,” Rusty said, speaking quietly. “He would never see an American who showed up at his house. He is careful. You could be somebody working undercover.”

“How do I get to him then?”

Rusty turned and looked through the screen door. Satisfied that Weny was still in the kitchen, he took a drink of beer and glanced at Decker. “I can go with you. Don't tell Weny. She kill me if she knew I was going to see him.”

“I don't want to get you in trouble. Just take me there or tell me where I can find him. I'll bring Hack along. I'm sure he'll be eager to go. If Fortuno throws us out or refuses to see us, so be it. At least we've tried. A shipmate died and I've been shot at. I have to find out what's going on. No one else seems to want to pursue it.”