Decker's Dilemma (13 page)

Rusty stood and gestured to Decker to follow him inside. “
Sige, pare
. I will talk to him and try to set up a meeting. Might be a few days, but I see what I can do. Now, let's go eat.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

1905, Sunday, January 26

Hack and Lee stood on the sidewalk at the west end of the parking lot, arms wrapped around each other, when a silver car pulled into the lot. “I think that's your ride,” he whispered, as two women in the front seat waved in their direction.

“Yep, there they are. And on time for once.” She put her hands on his chest. “I'll see you when I get back from Manila. It'll only be a week. Don't let Decker get you into trouble while I'm gone.”

“Don't worry about that. Not today anyway. He's got duty.”

She patted his backside. “Then don't get into trouble on your own.” She planted a long and lingering final kiss on his lips, grabbed her suitcase and climbed into the back seat. Lee waved good-bye through the back window, and Hack suddenly found himself in an unusual position. Alone.

Hack hung around base for most of Sunday afternoon, wandering out the gate close to sundown. A few minutes later he found himself standing on Magsaysay at the entrance of Cal Jam with an unwelcome companion at his side.

“Sunglasses?” a young boy pleaded, tugging at Hack's shirttail.

“No thanks,” replied Hack. “It's almost dark out.”

“Cheap,” the boy countered.

Hack shook his head.

“One hundred pesos.”

“No money,” said Hack.

“Eighty pesos,” the boy offered, knowing the sailor was fibbing.

Hack thought about ducking into the bar to rid himself of his new friend, but decided against it. Cal Jam was too big, too loud, and not the kind of place he wanted to visit alone. Instead, Hack walked to the next block, turned right, and found what he was looking for. The Sea Gull. Quiet, small, and just far enough off the main strip to give him the peace and quiet he was looking for.

Hack took two steps inside the bar and took off his new pair of sunglasses, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting. A dozen or so sailors, each one sporting an assortment of tattoos, lounged at cheap wooden tables. In a far corner, he spotted a few grey beards, retired sailors, who decided to retire in the islands. Hack smiled. Perfect. He didn't recognize a single soul.

Sitting alone at a table in the back of the room, Hack stared at his beer bottle, peeling the edges of the label and thinking about Lee in Manila. When he finally looked up, he surveyed the room and wondered how he had ended up in the Philippines. Just a few months ago it was boot camp in Orlando, his first trip ever out of his home state. Before that it was high school followed by a dreary succession of part-time jobs: farm hand, overnight clerk at the one and only hotel in town, and then a short order cook. He hated them all, but Halsey, Nebraska, didn't offer much.

One night in early July he had driven down to the Middle Loop River and planned his escape. The navy. A month earlier he had watched a movie at two in the morning,
The Gallant Hours
, and learned about the man, who he had assumed, was the town's namesake, Admiral “Bull” Halsey. In the moonlight, skipping stones along the bank of the river, he thought about the movie and decided to make his own adventures at sea. He drove to Kearney the next day and signed up. Only later, after receiving orders to boot camp, did Hack learn the truth from the local librarian: Halsey Yates, a 19th century railroad surveyor, not the admiral, was the town's namesake. Six months later he took a sip of beer and shrugged off his naiveté.
It's worked out fine
, he told himself.
I'm farther from home than I could ever imagine and I've met the kind of girl I didn't even know existed
. He set down his bottle and glanced around the Sea Gull, finding comfort in being anonymous and alone with his thoughts.

That's when he noticed them. They didn't fit in. Too neatly dressed. Clean and pressed T-shirts and jeans. Spotless tennis shoes. Two guys who had tried to dress down for the occasion but couldn't quite pull it off. Not the attire of someone who'd been walking around Olongapo all day. The younger of the two men stood out in Hack's mind. The blond hair. The surfer.

Alarmed, Hack got up to leave, but a voice distracted him. A young woman approached his table. “Company?” she asked.

Hack didn't want to be rude his first time in the Sea Gull. “Uh, I guess so. Sure.”

The girl sat down, smiling warmly. “What your name?”

“Hack. What's your name?”

“Lucy. Buy me drink?”

Hack ordered her a cocktail and paid the 120 pesos for what he knew was mostly soda with very little, if any, alcohol content. She had long brown hair down to her waist. Her beige top revealed nothing on underneath. Her red skirt, showing a great deal of thigh, made Hack slightly uncomfortable when she scooted her chair close to him.

Across the room, the two men, deep in conversation, seemed oblivious to Hack and anyone else in the bar. Hack peeked over Lucy's shoulder and studied them. He dubbed the surfer dude Biff. The other man, somewhat older, maybe in his early 40s, Hack thought he'd seen before. It took him a couple minutes and then it struck him. David Letterman. The same hair style, glasses, and facial expression.

“Where you stationed?” asked Lucy.

“The
Harvey
.”

“My boyfriend is on
USS
Midway
.”

Hack looked puzzled. He knew her job description at the Sea Gull. “Boyfriend?”

She dug a picture out her pocketbook. A portrait of a small boy, around two years old, wearing a blue jumpsuit. His hair, dark brown, contrasting with his blue eyes.

“Cute kid,” Hack said, honestly. “Are you going to get married?”

“I tell him I want to. I write him often. He never write me.”

Hack didn't know how to respond. He had seen several Filipino-American kids running around Olongapo. Most, he knew, were the results of one night stands during port visits. The fathers, only in town for three or four days, were long gone and either unaware of their kids or, like Lucy's paramour, knew the truth and chose to ignore it.

“Maybe you'll hear from him soon,” Hack said, trying to sound reassuring. He glanced once more towards the two men and this time caught Biff looking at him. Hack quickly turned towards Lucy. “I'd better go.”

He downed the remainder of his beer and said good-bye to his female companion, obviously heartbroken over his swift departure. He left a twenty peso tip on the table, handed Lucy another twenty peso bill, and walked out of the bar.

Hack breathed in the humid night air. He waved away two trike drivers who were eager to give him a ride. It was only a block to Magsaysay and four more blocks to the main gate. Nice night to walk. And to think. He was sure the two men were the same guys who had followed him on base a few days earlier. Curious, and, by now, more than a little paranoid, Hack strolled half a block south and stopped at a
sari sari
store.

“Hi sailor,” said a high school-aged girl. “What you want?”

Hack scrutinized the items for sale. “Gum, please. Peppermint.”

“How many sticks?”

“The whole pack.”

As the girl reached for the merchandise, Hack stole a quick glance towards the Sea Gull. Biff and Dave were standing near the entrance talking to each other.
Probably stalling
, he guessed. Hack paid for the gum and continued to walk towards Magsaysay.

This time, though, he picked up his pace.

Hack made a right turn on Gordon Avenue and started to jog. A half block later the sights and sounds of the crowd on Magsaysay came into range. He hit the strip at a steady clip, veering away from the direction of the base. He slowed to a brisk walk and hailed the next jeepney coming down the street. The driver slowed the vehicle, Hack jumped in the back and found an opening next to an elderly Filipino. His heart racing, he peered out the back over the head of a young mother. Biff and Dave were nowhere in sight.

“I have to tell Decker,” he said out loud, drawing looks from everyone on board. He did a quick scan of his fellow passengers: two elderly Filipinos, one young woman and her three kids, and two drunk sailors, one passed out and the other nearly so. A familiar face sat across from him.

“Wilson. I'm surprised, um, it's nice to see you,” Ensign Limpert said. “Are you, well, you seem to be in a hurry.”

Hack's eyes widened in shock. “I'm surprised to see you, too, sir. Do you live out here?”

Limpert shook his head. “No, I'm just, well, I come out here once in a while. I have a, um, it's a guy I know. Where are you going?”

Hack said the first thing that came to his mind. “I'm visiting my girlfriend.” He looked out the jeepney and had no idea where he was. “In fact, I need to get out at the next block.”

“I thought she, um, doesn't she live on Jones close to base?” Limpert said.

“She moved,” Hack said, startled not only that he knew who Hack was dating, but also that he knew where she lived. Luckily, Lee had taught him how to ride a jeepney. He handed ten centimos to the passenger next to him who passed it to the driver. He rapped the roof of the jeepney two times, said “
para
,” and climbed out the back when the vehicle came to a stop.

“See you later,” Hack said, exiting onto the street. To his surprise, Limpert climbed out of the jeepney right behind him.

“This is my, um, I need to get out here, too. Good night, Wilson.”

“Good night, sir,” Hack replied as he watched Limpert toddle down the sidewalk.

Hack was lost. He was several blocks from base, away from all things American. He saw a Jollibee fast food restaurant across the street and decided to get something to eat. Fifteen minutes later, he caught a trike back to a few blocks from Magsaysay. He spotted a hotel with a vacancy light and decided to spend the night. He bought two San Miguels from a
sari sari
store across the street and booked a room on the third floor. It was plainly furnished, but clean, and had a decent sized bathroom and fresh sheets on the bed. He opened a beer and pulled a chair in front of the window. For the next half hour he watched the traffic and the people moving in both directions along the street below. He finished his first beer, burped, and sat it on the window ledge.
Things are getting crazier
, he thought to himself.
And more dangerous
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

1955, Monday, January 27

Hack stood on the corner of Fendler and 3rd and looked up at the sign. The Bumper Bar. He didn't know why Decker chose this place, but he shrugged his shoulders and headed inside. A young Filipina met him at the door, taking hold of his right arm and guiding him inside the club. She wore a black sleeveless dress falling mid-thigh and her hair was tied in a knot on top of her head with a red chopstick holding it in place. The hostess greeted him with a smile. “Good evening, sir. You like table?”

Hack looked over the crowded room. “I'm waiting for a friend. He should be here by now.”

“How he look?” the girl asked.

Hack saw the crowd of sailors in the bar and didn't know how to distinguish Decker. “I'll take a table if one's available,” he said. “I'll look around for him.”

The girl took hold of Hack's hand and led him to a table in the middle of the room. “I get you beer,” she said, turning to speak to a waitress.

Hack sat sipping his beer for the next few minutes, adjusting to the crowd and noise. A DJ in the far corner interrupted his thoughts, announcing that it was time to start the karaoke. Hack turned to look, but couldn't see where the voice was coming from. He settled back into his chair and began to curse Decker for being late until, a moment later, he heard a familiar voice booming through the speakers. Decker on stage, microphone in hand, belting the Manfred Mann tune, “Do Wah Diddy.” Jeez, the guy was nuts.

Hack shook his head and watched in amazement as half the bar joined in, singing the chorus with beers hoisted in the air. Decker leaned back and belted the next line, and again the barroom patrons finished the stanza.

Hack hid his face in his hands and waited for the song to finish. A loud cheer erupted when Decker walked from the stage, sailors high-fiving him as he moved through the crowd towards his friend's table. He grabbed Hack by the shoulders, still excited from the experience. “Why didn't you tell me you were here? You could've joined me.”

“No way I'd ever do that. And I didn't know you were here until I heard you singing.”

“I didn't want to sing, either,” Decker said. “But my fans insisted.

“I'm sure they had to twist your arm,” said Hack.

“Only slightly,” Decker smiled. “I do it as my tribute to Roberto del Rosario.”

“Who's he?”

“A Filipino who has a claim to inventing karaoke. The man responsible for bringing bad singing voices out of the showers and into public places.”

“How do you know these things?”

“By reading books. You should try one sometime.”

Hack rolled his eyes. “How long have you been here? I didn't see you in the berthing before I left the ship. I thought you were going to stand me up.”

“Would I ever do that?”

“Yes.”

“Not tonight,” said Decker, looking at his watch. “I've been here for a half hour. And I'm ready for you to buy the first round.”

“I'm not buying!” Hack said. “I've already had the first round while I was waiting on you.”

“It's
my
first round,” Decker argued. “And it goes by seniority. Rule of the seas.”

“Whatever,” Hack said, ordering two more San Miguels from a waitress. “So what's so urgent? All day, I could tell you were dying to talk.” He looked around the bar. “And why this place?”

“The Bumper Bar is legendary,” Decker said. “This is where I first met Vega. She came in with some cops to arrest a drunk who'd been beating up a girl down the street. Her colleagues didn't let her handle any of the arrest, so I got to chat with her for a couple minutes. Long story short, the bad guy got a one-way ticket to the brig, and I got a date out of it.”

“It doesn't look legendary to me,” said Hack, scrutinizing the surroundings.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Decker replied. “And you are correct, I do have something to talk about, but didn't want to get into at work. Not sure who's listening or watching.”

Hack perked up. “What is it? I've got something I'm anxious to tell you, too.”

“I had a very interesting conversation with Rusty Friday night,” Decker said, ignoring Hack's comment.

“How's he doing?”

“Almost back to normal. The bullet just grazed his thigh. I guess that's why there was a lot of blood. All it took was a few stitches.”

“Ah, that's where you were,” Hack said. “I woke up Saturday and you weren't in your rack. I figured you were either hooked up with Vega or making a big mistake with some girl in town.”

“Thank you for the confidence in my judgment,” said Decker. “But, sad to say, I was doing neither. I had dinner and a few beers with Rusty and ended up on his couch for the night.”

“So you wanted to tell me you slept at Rusty's?”

“Yes, I mean, no. He also told me a few things over beers. The shooting, as you can imagine, freaked me out, and I needed to know if Rusty had any thoughts about it.”

“And did he?”

“Indirectly. I told him about what's been going on with the missing inventory. He'd heard about Kippen falling overboard, but hadn't heard anything other than it was an accident. I told him our thoughts.”

“You sure you can trust him?” asked Hack.

“Absolutely. He's trustworthy.”

“I'm sure he is. I'm just leery of the bamboo telegraph that I'm beginning to learn about. Word travels fast around here.”

“I agree with being cautious,” said Decker. “But Rusty's safe to confide in.”

“So what did he say?”

“He thinks the shooting was directed at me rather than someone from his past.”

Hack's eyes widened in surprise. “Rusty has a past that could make someone want to shoot him?”

“Apparently mild-mannered Rusty used to be in the black market game. He was a low-level guy, just a truck driver hired by someone named Mr. Fortuno, who, I gather from Rusty, was sort of the godfather of the Olongapo black market.”

“When was this?”

“Several years ago. He needed the money and Fortuno paid him well. He kept Rusty around because he was loyal and hard working.”

“Sounds like Rusty from what little I know of him.”

“It does, and he apparently had a good deal going as a driver. But all that changed after he met Weny. She made him quit and Rusty didn't say it, but he sounded like he was glad to get out before he got in too deep.”

“Did they let him go that easily?” asked Hack.

“Yeah, seems so. Must have thought he didn't know enough to be a threat.”

“Okay, so Rusty worked for this guy. You could've told me that on the ship, so I know there's more to all this. I'm afraid to ask, but I will anyway. What are you planning?”

Decker leaned into the table. “I want to go see Mr. Fortuno and find out what he knows.”

“Damn,” Hack mumbled. “I knew you were going to say that. You sure it's a good idea? It sounds to me like this Fortuno character's in the same category as Mrs. Doerr: stay away because no good can come of it.”

“Perhaps, but Rusty told me that Mr. Fortuno's no longer in the business. He got out recently after a falling out with one of Marcos' cronies.”

“I still don't think it's a good idea. Besides, what reason would he have to talk to you? He has no idea who you are or what your agenda is. Talking to American sailors about his black market business—whether he's still in it or not—is probably not high on his priority list.”

“That's what Rusty said,” Decker said.

“Good. I'd listen to Rusty. Sounds like he's got a good head on his shoulders. Besides, how could you get in to see him?”

“Rusty said he'll take me there.”

“Damn,” Hack mumbled again. “Does he still stay in contact with him?”

“Off and on. He said he ran into Mr. Fortuno a few years ago and the old man remembered him and asked to come back to work for him. Rusty said he runs into him now and then.”

“Is Rusty going along?” asked Hack.

“No. He's going to take me there, but I promised him I'd keep him far away from it. If his wife found out he was doing this, it'd be bad news for everyone involved.”

Hack chuckled. “So you're just going to show up on this guy's doorstep?”

“Yes, but it won't be unannounced. Rusty's going to set up the meeting. We'll just be looking for background information on the black market business so I can try to piece together what's going on.”

“I still don't think you'll get anywhere,” Hack said. He raised his bottle to take a drink, then stopped. “Wait, I thought you said Rusty wasn't going along?”

“He's not,” Decker replied.

“Is Vega going with you?”

“Nope. I still haven't spoken to her since the shooting. I need someone who doesn't appear confrontational.”

Hack sat back in his chair and waved his arms in front of him. “Oh no you don't.”

“It'd only be a quick visit to see what we can learn. It'll look better if two of us go and we can—”

“It was a bad idea we got involved in this in the first place,” Hack interjected. “And now it's a terrible idea. It's one thing to poke around Supply Support. That's where we work. We know that stuff. But going to see someone like Fortuno is out of our league. We don't speak the language, we don't know the culture. Besides, we've got nothin' to go on. Just some supply department documents from the
Harvey
that may or may not mean anything. You're the one involved in this, but I'm not part of it.”

“Hey, you're in this whether you like or not.”

“Because of you!” Hack replied.

“Point taken, but think of Kippen. And, besides, Rusty assured me Mr. Fortuno is no longer in the business. He'll have no reason to fear us.”

Hack laughed. “I doubt if he would fear us even if he was still in the business.”

“Maybe not, but I've got to find some answers. A shipmate might have died because of this, and then I was chased and shot at. I don't know what's going on, but I can't go on like this. I'm scared every time I walk around at night on the ship. I'm scared every time I leave base and walk around town. I have to do something, but I don't know what else to do. At least if I go see Mr. Fortuno, I'll be doing something.”

Hack glanced at Decker who looked more than mildly distraught. Against his better judgment, he gave in. “Alright, I'll go if Rusty sets it up and thinks it's safe. But you do the talking. I'll just sit there. And don't give him our names.” He took a swig of beer and slowly set the bottle on the table. “Just tell me when.”

“Agreed,” said Decker, raising his beer bottle in salute. “Now, you had something to tell me. What happened in your world that's got you so agitated?”

“I'm not agitated.”

“You've been fidgeting the entire time I've been sitting here. And quite contentious. It's not like you. Let's have it.”

Hack leaned in so the people at the next table couldn't hear. “Alright, Sunday night when you had duty I went out for a beer.”

“And that scared you?”

“No, jackass. It's who I met while having a beer. I went to the Sea Gull. You know the place?”

Decker thought for a moment. “Rings a bell, but I can't place it. Is it on Gordon?”

“I don't know what street it's on. It's a block east of Magsaysay. But that's not important. It's just a dive with engine room types hanging around.”

“Mo's kind of place.”

“That's exactly what I thought.”

“Anyway, I was there by myself drinking a beer.”

“Any girls with you?”

“Yeah, one sat with me.”

“What was her name?”

“I can't remember. Linda. No, it was Lucy.”

“You sure it was Lucy?”

“Yeah, why? You know her?”

“No. Just wanted to set the scene in my mind. What'd she look like?”

“I don't know. Long dark hair. Brown complexion. Brown eyes.”

“Very funny,” Decker said. “I mean general superficial features the average sailor would notice.”

“I didn't pay attention,” Hack lied.

“Okay, continue,” Decker urged. “You were sitting at a table with Lucy who may or may not have had a nice body.”

“I was sitting there minding my own business and in walked two guys.”

“A priest and a rabbi?” Decker smiled.

“What?”

“Never mind,” said Decker. “Please continue.”