Trouble Triangle (Tyler's Trouble Trilogy) (2 page)

I rubbed the side of my face. "Cool. I'm not a kid anymore, you know. I can take care of myself."

She smirked. "Good. Because that's exactly what you're going to have to start doing. I hope the judge locks you up. That'd teach your dumb ass." She left the table, went to her bedroom and slammed the door.

Several nights later, my friend Kenny, whose couch I had been crashing on, rented the movie
Stripes
starring Bill Murray and Harold
Ramis
. It was about two guys who joined the Army to get out of trouble and dead end jobs. It got me thinking.

After careful consideration, I trudged through the snow in the bitter cold to see the recruiter. Ironically, the office building was across the street from the courthouse. I appreciated the warmth of the building. Once I entered, I shook myself off and roamed the hallway, passing by Army and Marine recruiting signs and opened the door that said 'Navy Recruitment Office'.

A prominent poster showed a ship bouncing on the waves with the caption,
'It's not just a job, it's an adventure'.
An American flag stood proudly in the corner of the room.

The man behind the desk stood up. He must have been three or four inches over six feet with curly, short brown hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. His aftershave offered a marked contrast to the
pissy
jail smell of a week ago that still linger
ed in my thoughts and nostrils.

"Hi, I'm
Petty Officer Lawson," he said.

I wiped my hands down my pants and we shook hands. "Hi, Tyler Chambers." I looked at the floor and shuffled my feet. "I'm
kinda
thinking about joining the Navy."

"Sit down, Tyler." He directed me to an empty chair in front of his desk. "So you think you're cut out for military life? Why the Navy?"

"Well, I don't really like crawling around in mud, or
shittin
' down dirt holes. And the Air Force just seems a bit sissy. Not in a bad way, but it doesn't have the reputation." I scooted my chair forward and rested my arms on his desk. "Is it true what they say about sailors and what they get up to?"

He leaned back and smiled. "I think I know what you mean. The reputation, right? Well, it's not unwarranted, but if you get on a sea-going vessel, you'll spend a lot of time bobbing around on the ocean."

"But we drink and fuck in port, right?"

He sat forward and shook his head. "I think you have your priorities a little mixed-up. You sure you're up to spending a few months at sea with a couple of hundred, or even thousands of other guys? No booze
or women for months at a time?"

I thought for a moment. "If it gets me out of this dump, yeah." I looked at him with sincerity. "And I
kinda
want to get in quick if I can."

He raised an eyebrow. "When's your court date?"

I sat up straight. "How'd you know?"

He smirked. "You're too keen. I've seen it all before. Kids who think they're some kind of badass. Young, dumb and full of cum." He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "You got busted and are scared
spitless
about going to jail. So you come running to Uncle Sam for help. You're not the first,
ya
know." He leaned in and rested his forearms on the desk. "You're not up for a felony, are
ya
?"

I flicked my hand. "
Naw
, just baby shit, really."

He bobbed his head from side to side like a Muhammad Ali taunt. "Baby shit being…
?"

I sighed. "Dine and dash, resisting, and the cops don't like my driving style. Criminal damage, maybe contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and I got busted for some pot once. I had to do four weekends in jail for that one. I got busted a couple of days ago for the fourth time."

He leaned away and held his hands up. "Whoa. I'm just a Navy recruiter. The man you need lives at the North Pole. Maybe you should just do your time and try to be a better citizen."

"Please, Mr. Lawson." I clasped my hands together in prayer fashion. "I'm really up against it here. My dad walked out last year, and my mom kicked me out of the house. I don't have anywhere to go. Not to mention some guy named Tyrone might want to make me his Sally in the big house.
Pleeeease
…."

He scratched the back of his head. "Well, you can't just waltz in here 'cause you're afraid Tyrone might plug
ya
one. First, you'll have to take an
ASVAB
test."

"That's okay. I don't have herpes or anything."

Lawson rolled his eyes. "No,
ASVAB
. Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test. It mostly checks your math and reading skills. We have standards,
ya
know. We don't take in stupid people, we send them to the Army." He laughed. "Minimum score for entry is one hundred. If you pass, I'll use my magic pen and get you in." He tapped his finger against his lips. "I'm a bit low on numbers this month, but you would take some seriously creative paperwork. Let's just hope you're not stupid. For your sake."

#

Ten days later, I went back to the recruiter's office to get the results from the
ASVAB
test. I didn't want to get my hopes too high that I scored well since I rarely applied my brain to the right channel. I preferred to talk shit, a trait I inherited from Dad. A nervous shudder shot through my body as I entered the recruiter's office.

Petty Officer Lawson sat at his desk drinking coffee when I walked in. He looked up. "Tyler, hello. I just went over your scores. Boy, this is tough."

I hung my head and waited for
him
to tell me I was useless.

"You do surprise me,
ya
know?" He took a sip of coffee. "Two hundred and twenty-seven. So, you're not stupid, but now I have to get you in. I do need to make my quota and a two twenty-seven would look impressive."

"You m
ean I passed?"

"Passed? Boy, you smoked it. I didn't think you'd do it." He stroked his moustache. "Smart-ass punk comes in here, talking a lot of crap, afraid of taking it up the
jacksy
in the big house. I
gotta
admit, I didn't expect much, but you did it." He shook his head grinning at me. "Now I have to do my bit." He smacked his hand on the desk and grabbed a pen. "Okay, let's make you a sailor."

I slid back into the chair and stared at him, not believing that something was actually going right in my shitty life.

"So
whatta
ya
wanna
be?" he asked.

"Don't know really? Maybe something in the medical field. Mom would have to be proud of me if I was a doctor or something."

He chuckled. "Well, I don't think we can make you a doctor, maybe a Hospital Corpsman. Let me check." Lawson flipped through a large loose leaf notebook. "Sorry, Tyler. There's no openings for Corpsman training for six months, and I have to be able to tell the judge I can get you in quick." He flipped through the book again. "Besides, you know what they call Corpsmen?" He kept flipping through the papers.

"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 fi
refighting 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.

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.