Authors: Peter Glassman
Chapter 10
Sebastian Remo
“Time for the daily weigh-in Remo.” The F-2 corpsman wheeled Remo into the exam room and helped him to stand on the balance scale.
“I’m a little dizzy.” Remo held on to the corpsman.
“Let me have that hat. You get weighed in pajamas only.” The corpsman took the Aussie hat and moved the weights on the scale with one hand and lightly touched Remo with his other hand to help maintain Remo’s balance. “Ninety-eight pounds. There’s not much of you Remo. What was your usual weight?”
“160.” Remo breathed out the answer as he was slowly guided back into the wheel chair.
“You have a long way to go.” The corpsman handed him back the Aussie hat. “This is some hat. It looks a little weather beaten. I’ve never seen one with the skull-and-cross-bones before.”
Remo smiled. “It survived a few tours in Nam. It’s my lucky hat–my Happy Hat. I got it from a guy who never got a scratch after four tours.”
“Well it must be lucky–it and you survived. I see a note in your chart the hat received its mandatory fumigation. Which reminds me, tomorrow I get the culture results from your chest wound. If it’s free of virulent bacteria you get transferred to the F-1 ward. They’ll continue to fatten you up there to get you ready for closing your colostomy. If your cultures are negative for pathogens we can get you off isolation.” The corpsman helped Remo onto his bed.
“Good. I’m sure my visitors will be happy not to have to wear those gowns and masks.” Remo pulled up his covers as the corpsman added another blanket.
“Yeah. Today’s your first set of visitors. How many do you think you’ll have? I have to have enough masks and gowns for everyone.”
“I don’t know, maybe a few family and maybe one or two friends.” Remo was tired. It was two hours to visiting time. He needed a nap’s rejuvenation. His thoughts drifted off to another time.
‡
“Bad luck. Damn. How bad?” Crosley Bizetes tightened his grip on the phone. “The Philippines? Three surgeries already? Okay keep me posted.”
Bizetes hung up and dialed the phone again. “I just got word that Remo got hit in Nam and he’s pretty bad.” Bizetes listened and responded. “If he survives he’ll be coming to Queens Naval Hospital. How many do we have in that place?”
He frowned. “Is four enough?” Bizetes listened again. “The war’s basically over and the military hospitals will be full through the end of ’73 and early ‘74.”
Two more months went by and now Remo had arrived at Queens Naval Hospital. Remo had turned into a master logistics talent over in Nam. The plan was to nurture Remo’s position into a key player for the next year in the final movement of heroin from Southeast Asia to the New York operation. Bizetes put on his sport coat and went to his car. He’d go to the afternoon visiting hours and establish a routine. Remo’s family would be frequenting the evening visiting hour except for weekends. They were a working clan and couldn’t afford taking time off during the daylight hours.
‡
The Marine MP wrote down Bizetes number plate and entered his name at the main gate visitors’ log. Bizetes’ identification info would be again documented at the front office in the main hospital entrance. Bizetes was neat in appearance although his goateed face always wore a dark shadow even immediately after shaving. His voice was deep and his attitude authoritative. He rarely asked direct questions. The Chief Petty Officer of the Day looked up from the main check-in desk.
“Can I help you sir?”
Bizetes met the CPO’s eyes. “Army Corporal Sebastian Remo arrived yesterday and is in F-2. I need directions.”
“Yes sir. Here’s your visitor’s pass. Take a left at the main corridor and F-2 is at ground level on your right.”
Bizetes walked the curving floor purposefully–like he knew his way around–which he didn’t. The floors were mirror shiny, immaculate and with an odor of flowers combined with a sterile disinfectant. He shot a glance out of the windows to his left. A number of visitors were outside walking or sitting at the park-benched grounds with their war-wounded family member. The windows to his right showed clipped grass, soon-to-be flowering bushes, and the arcuate structure of G-1. Bizetes wondered at the blinking column of lights with numbers on them.
What did the numbers mean? Were they Navy code for something?
He’d ask someone–maybe.
He came to the entrance to two wards. F-1 was on his left and F-2 on his right as he was told at the main desk. He entered F-2 and the ambient odor immediately changed. The disinfectant component was stronger. A corpsman in a white uniform looked up from the Nursing Station.
“Can I help you sir?”
“Yes. I’m here to visit with Sebastian Remo?” Bizetes looked at the open ward. Some patients were still in bed, others were sitting in soft blue-and-white striped pajamas and a few wore a long similar striped bathrobe. Visitors were limited to two-at-a-time and less than half the patients seemed to have them.
“Corporal Remo is in isolation. The first room to your right looking out of the ward has the required protective garments for your visit sir.”
“Protective…what?” Bizetes looked at the closed door and the cloth basket, pile of folded gowns, box of latex gloves and box of blue surgical face masks.
“Remo has infected wounds and the items are necessary to protect him and you from each other’s germs. I’ll go with you and get you covered. You do it once and you get the routine forever.” The corpsman stood up and led him back to the F-2 entrance and the isolation room.
“Forever?” Bizetes walked behind the fast-paced white uniform.
“Not really forever, just for Remo being in isolation. I just meant getting familiar with the isolation technique sir.” The corpsman got him gowned, gloved and masked and banged on Remo’s door. “Remo, you got a visitor. And sir at the end of your visit you remove the booties first, the gown and gloves in one motion and the mask plus hat last. Everything goes in the cloth basket.”
Bizetes waited until the corpsman was at the Nurses Station and went into the room.
Remo was sitting at the side of his bed in his bath robe, terry cloth sippers and Aussie hat. The chest tube with no drainage was still connected to a bottle with no contents. Remo wore no mask. He smiled at Bizetes.
“Who are you?” Remo paused. “Wait a minute. The black curls on your hair and the big nose under your mask. Cros…it’s you…isn’t it?”
Bizetes moved close to Remo and reached out his gloved hand.
“We can’t shake hands, hug or kiss until my cultures come back negative from the lab. It’s good to see ya. You look like you’re ready to stick up a liquor store.” Remo laughed.
“How bad did you get it over there?” Bizetes sat in a chair opposite him.
Remo gave an account of what happened and ended with what he was told about his treatment plan. “Yeah, I got this shit bag on my stomach. Once I gain some weight and all my germs can be killed with the penicillin and shit they got here I get this colostomy thing closed. They tell me it’s major surgery but I should be ready for it once I get in better shape. I have to gain at least twenty pounds.”
“I got something for you in this envelope.” Bizetes had to gyrate a little to reach his back pants pocket with the isolation gear on.
Remo unfolded the small paper and looked up. “What are these four rows of numbers?”
“You’ve been away from New York over three years Remo. We put your money in four different banks. I didn’t put in any dollar signs just the period to show you how much you have.”
Remo whistled, “Whew, each bank has over a fifty-thousand G’s.”
“It’s your percentage for what you did over there.” Bizetes moved closer and lowered his voice. “Now just because you’re recovering here doesn’t mean you stop workin’.”
“What? Lookit me for Chris’ sakes. What can I do?”
“As a patient you can move around this place. Queens Naval Hospital is the biggest military hospital on the Atlantic coast. There’s over 2000 patients here. I want our guys in here to come and see you. They’ll give you some numbers. As you get better I want you to mingle with them. We always have one or two of our guys as patients here too. As they heal they move out and we arrange for another one to come in with an air-evac. Now that you’re here you’ll replace an outgoing patient of ours. We smuggle a lot of heroin into this place from Nam, Japan and the Philippines. In fact most of the stuff we’re getting you initiated in Nam by switching our cases of plaster with the normal plaster ones.”
“I just ran a logistics outfit. I switched those boxes of plaster cloth rolls like I was told and sent them everywhere–to fixed field hospitals all the way down to aid stations in the bush.”
“Right. And every piece of plaster put on in Nam and coming back to the states has our shit in it. Some of the patients have a temporary stop in the Philippines and Japan. Your job now is to help keep track of it getting out of here. You’ll be contacted by our people soon. When do you think you’ll be getting’ outta this leprosy room?”
Remo smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty scary huh. People are afraid of things they can’t see even if my germs have already been killed by the penicillin shit.” He dropped his smile. “The infectious disease doc–the bug doctor–told me I get outta this room tomorrow if the tests are okay. First thing is this tube in the skin of my chest. They’ll take it out tomorrow and put me out on the floor with the other dudes if my wound doesn’t leak anything.” Remo sat back. “So I guess in two days I’ll be out of solitary confinement.”
“Okay. I plan to come almost every day. There’ll be someone who’ll give you the names of our people so you remember. It won’t be written down. I’ll bring in a diary. It’s a book for your use like a ledger for what you have to do for us here.” Bizetes pointed at Remo with his right latex index finger. “What’s with the fucking cowboy hat with the death-head on it?”
“It’s an Aussie Digger Hat–from Australia. The Aussie Army guys wear them. I got it from one of our guys who’s from Australia three years ago. He said it would bring me luck because it brought him luck.”
Bizetes laughed. “Luck? You got yourself a new asshole and got blown to shit over there.”
“It was supposed to keep me alive and it did. It’s my Happy Hat. I’ll where it to the gates of hell.”
‡
“How am I going to divert a few more of those Nam casts with that LCDR Skagan perched everywhere like a vulture?” Perkins called from his apartment. He had received $5,000 from Linsky two weeks ago and Linsky was encouraging.
“The rest of your money is on the way but if you can keep scrounging for more casts we could generate a steady cash flow.”
“The Navy nurse in charge is meticulous. The only way I could get around her is to get the air-evac list before she sees it. I need to fabricate the dates and places for some of the cast applications so we have the same situation as the long leg cast patient from last time.” Perkins didn’t know how Linsky could help but he felt he had to air his thoughts.
“Who’s the first person who gets the air-evac list?” Linsky asked.
“Whoever’s in the operations office when the list comes into Queens Naval Hospital. It’s supposed to be the JMOOD.” Perkins explained what a JMOOD was.
“Is there a set time when the list comes in? If you could be the first to get it ahead of the Queens Naval people you could fudge the information.”
“I’ll have to find that out about that and get back to you.” A nugget of a plan was forming and Perkins was willing to take a few risks.
Chapter 11
LCDR Philomena Skagan
Skagan called the Nurses Station on G-3. The corpsman answered. “G-3 Hospital Corpsman Perkins speaking.”
“Perkins this is LCDR Skagan. Today’s Friday. I want the week’s cast removal summation and I want to inspect the disposal containers. I’ll be down there in fifteen-minutes.”
“Yes ma’am.” Perkins stood up with an adrenalin pulse.
“And Perkins I’ll be making quick rounds with you to check and inspect the new casts on the patients who molted their Nam plaster last week.” Skagan slammed down the phone. Occasionally an original Nam cast patient slipped through the system. If she didn’t make rounds to focus on it herself the corpsman might remove the cast and get the ward GMO to put a new one on. The old one would not be disposed of per the proper protocol. She looked at herself in the mirror.
Skagan loved the Navy. She loved the crisp nurse’s officer uniform. She loved cleanliness and she hated filth. Nothing was filthier than the smelly stained plaster casts the air-evac ortho patients arrived with at Queens Naval Hospital.
She also disliked her first name and most men. “Philomena” was her mother’s idea. It was her grandmother’s first name as her mother frequently reminded her.
“Phil dear, your name guarantees us a big bite of grandma’s estate and money when she dies. Her will specifies your inheritance is contingent with passing on her memory with your name.” Mrs. Skagan had a perpetual smile with pinpoint cheek dimples aimed at her then pre-teen daughter.
“Phil is a boy’s name and Philomena sounds so priggish. The girls at school make fun of it all the time. Only my best friend calls me Phil. Some of the boys call me ‘Mena’.”
“Just ignore them my dear. When grandma dies you’ll be well off and they won’t. It’s money and property that count in this life.” She smoothed Skagan’s shiny light brown hair.
High school was a little different. She had blossomed into an attractive teenager with an ample bosom and cute figure. According to her girl friends it was “tits and ass” that mattered and if you had a good set on your chest and a cute bottom with a pretty face the boys would overlook her five-foot shortness. And it was true. As a teenager everyone called her Phil and not Mena. She decided that the boys who were worth anything were those who looked at her face and made eye contact and not tit contact when they first greeted her. She became infatuated with one boy in particular.
“Phil will you go to the Junior Prom with me?” Claude Remick was a track star. He had dated Skagan several times and they had frequent study dates. After Prom night they now almost always held hands and a parting kiss was a routine.
Mrs. Skagan scrutinized her dating and didn’t approve of a steady boyfriend. “You remember what your father said. Watch out for those boys. They just want your body. He should know he’s been in the Navy all his life.”
Captain Morton Skagan was the commanding officer of a nuclear submarine. His presence at home was mostly in the form of quotations from Mrs. Skagan. Captain Skagan was away on patrols for up to four months at a time. He would then be home for a month while the boomer sub was having a refit and readied for the next patrol. During that month he would fill Skagan’s mind with the glory of being in the Navy.
“Phil I know it’s tough being an only child and I want you to be strong. There’s plenty of space in the Navy for women and as an officer you can go far.” The Captain always brought gifts from his ports of call and gave her fatherly advice on matters of dating. “You have to sort out your feelings for boys. As a teenager your hormones may tell you a nice guy is a sports hero or he’s someone the other girls want and that makes him terrific. Don’t be swayed by that. Assess the boy’s personality, his sincerity and his ability to consider others. Most teenage males and males any age are all about themselves. Look at the ones who consider themselves last as the good ones.”
And Claude Remick seemed like one of the good ones. He smiled at her and looked at her face more than he looked at her boobs. He hadn’t been fresh although her girlfriends said that it was abnormal for a guy not to want to “feel you up”.
“There’s a great college flick up at the drive-in this weekend. How about taking it in Phil?” The sincere acne-free face maintained eye contact.
“Okay.” She scanned his athletic body up-and-down again. “But let’s just tell my mom we’re going to a movie. Don’t mention the drive-in.”
Remick parked his father’s Oldsmobile 4-door sedan at a back row of the drive-in. Families with kids chose the areas close to the screen or close to the food concession building with its bathrooms. Remick wanted privacy. He had Skagan attach the movie speaker to her window and roll it up. The weather was cool at night and keeping the windows closed was okay with just a crack open for each one to avoid any suspicious fogging from heavy breathing.
“This is much better than the regular theatre.” Remick pushed the bench-like front seat all the way back and moved close to Skagan. He put his arm around her and looked in her eyes.
“We shouldn’t get too familiar Claude. I mean there are still people all around.”
“C’mon Phil. Look outside. No one’s paying attention to us. Most of the cars around here are couples like us. You can’t see any heads.” He kissed her and lingered a fraction of a space from her lips. “See. Isn’t that nice?”
It was nice and she put her hand on the back of Claude’s head for another longer kiss. Something was happening. She felt a warmth in her lower tummy she had never felt before. It was her father, not her mother, who gave her explicit detail of sexual anatomy, getting pregnant and how to prevent it. He taught her about why she had periods not just that she had them and his knowledge of venereal disease made her wonder if she should ever have a sexual experience in her lifetime. She heard her father’s words and could see him with closed eyes as Claude’s left hand rested on her right breast.
“Phil most boys carry a condom in case of a romantic encounter. It’s normal behavior.” Captain Skagan touched her shoulder. “I want you to have these. A life can be ruined with an unwanted pregnancy along with an unsuitable life-long mate.” He gave her a three-pack of plastic-packaged condoms.
Claude moved from her lips to her neck and Skagan couldn’t suppress a moan. The warmth in her tummy was now lower and her pelvis was on fire. Claude’s left hand moved under her blouse to her back and he unhooked her bra.
“Oh Claude we shouldn’t. I’ve never done this.”
“Neither have I Phil. I never found anyone I wanted to make this commitment with.”
The words seemed so right, so proper. Claude moved her hand to his groin. She could feel his penis growing. Her heart began beating faster and her breathing was deepening. Claude was lightly touching her nipples. She was tingling all over.
Oh my God. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.
The sounds of the movie starting came from the small audio box. Claude turned the volume up to cover their murmurs and moans. He reached between her legs under her panties. She could tell she was wet down there.
“Do you want me to stop Phil?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She let him remove her panties and he removed his trousers. She was amazed at the size his penis had become. She reached for it. The tip was moist. “Claude we have to use protection. Please don’t hurt me. I’ve never done it before. I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll be okay. I’ll pull out before anything happens. I didn’t bring anything with me.”
“Claude how could you be so shortsighted. Wait. I have something in my bag.” She reached for the plastic container her father had given her over three months ago.
“Wow. These are the good ones. They’re lubricated.”
They both laughed. She laughed because it seemed funny her father had such foresight and she wanted to say, “They’re a gift from my dad.”
There was only a slight pinch as her virginity left her and they both held on to each other like their lives depended on it. She tried to contain her moaning and sudden shriek as she peaked but it came out anyway. Claude let out an explosive grunt at the same time his penis erupted with a volcano of pulsatile ejaculation. She sent him to the concession stand for napkins and towels from the restroom.
“I’m bleeding a little but I think it’s normal for the first time.” It was another memory from her father’s talk.
Thank God for Dad. Mom is so prudish
.
‡
Skagan waited until her next period before she felt completely at ease with what had transpired. She found both her father and her mother were right about teen romances. It’s hard to fight Mother Nature’s urges but one could be prepared. Claude stopped dating her. At first she was upset. She liked Claude and their sexual encounter had been totally consensual but basically he dumped her after getting into her pants.
She vowed to always be prepared should another situation present itself. She also bought a new pack of superior lubricated condoms every six months discarding the unused ones. Her friends in nursing school convinced her there was a shelf life to even unopened condoms.
She loved her father for being a practical dad. They had talked often of her having the Navy finance her nursing school and becoming a Navy nurse for the payback time as well as considering a Navy career like he did. The only thing that bothered her about a Navy commitment was a feeling she had.
Did dad stay in the Navy so he could avoid mom?
‡
The Navy had been good to her and for her. She never found a man she would consider for a lifetime mate but she did have occasional romantic encounters.
I am human after all
. What was she looking for in a man? Was it someone like her father? She decided to leave it up to God. Love would come when God intended it to happen.
And I will let it happen
. In the meantime the Navy provided a good life and safe haven for her. She liked being in charge and welcomed the assignment for managing the cast material disposal as well as cast changes from the Vietnam wounded warriors. It added more purpose to her life as a Navy nurse and owner of her giant male cat named Bork.
Bork was a Maine Coon Cat she had found as a two-month-old kitten at the humane society when she was first assigned to Queens Naval Hospital over two years ago. Skagan had gone there after she found evidence of a mouse in her condo unit. The condo owner’s association was aghast.
“We don’t have a mouse problem just like we don’t have a roach problem. Have you seen any mice?” The obese retired realtor scratched at his left armpit.
“No but I’m familiar with their droppings and what a mouse nest looks like.” Skagan was repulsed by his odor and appearance. “We need rodent pest control in my condo.”
“Set a trap and bring me the mouse corpse and we’ll convene the association to take further action.” He burped after the response.
Skagan was not one to wait. She was a “take immediate action person”. Captain Skagan had always advised at times of commitment to action and “Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead.” The only two kinds of pets allowed in the condo without condo association permission were birds and cats. She went to the humane society.
“We only have kittens for adoption Ms Skagan.” The light-blue uniformed worker had a soft voice.
“I want a guaranteed mouser.”
The humane society young woman showed her the available kittens. “They all have had their shots, been de-fleaed and have been neutered. All cats are mousers, Ms Skagan. Why don’t you handle a few and make a choice.”
Skagan had picked up and petted each one looking into their eyes and scratching their heads. One long-haired cat and much larger than the other two-month-old kittens held onto her hand and put his mouth on her fingers without biting or breaking skin.
“I like this one. He’s assertive. I like assertive.” She looked at the card giving a name, breed and birth date. “Bork? What kind of a name is Bork? And what does MCC stand for?”
“Bork is the name given to him by our superintendent. She said it was the name of her favorite professional wrestler. MCC is for the breed. Bork is a Maine Coon Cat. They grow to a larger size than a tabby cat.”
Each year Skagan sent out a Christmas card with a picture of her and Bork on it. They were fast friends and the apartment was de-moused while Bork was maturing as a feisty kitten. Bork was now twenty-five pounds and his shaggy dark brown fur added to his gigantic appearance. The litter box was in the laundry room and his food plates were in the pantry. Bork slept in a crate with the door slightly ajar in case a nocturnal rodent appeared. There hadn’t been any mice or other critters for two years now. However, Bork was aggressive to any unknown visitor such as a plumber or maintenance person. At such times Bork would be relegated to his crate. Once she had forgotten and the television installer man had gone screaming out of her condo with the huge growling Bork in hot pursuit.
‡
Abe Linsky had the final cash from the last long leg cast heroin deal and would send Amstel Perkins the remainder of his share. He had a secret bank account for his cartel-skimming operation and likewise Perkins used a bank which the Navy was not privy to. In both cases the money was illegal and under the table becoming tax free and non-traceable. Linsky did have his nominal salary from the cartel with social security and federal tax withholding to give an outward appearance of having a real job and not raise any suspicions with the government. The cartel declared him a “chemist” without the need for further disclosure. The large sums of extra non-declared cash stimulated a desire for more.
I have to push a little harder to get Perkins to divert more Nam casts to me.