The Daisy Ducks (3 page)

"It's a statue of a guy called Siva," said
Roantis absently. "It's a Hindu god, and this is his devil form.
I guess he comes in a lot of flavors, like Howard Johnson's ice
cream. Well, this variety is one of the nasty ones. All I care about
is this: the thing is mostly gold. The bank appraiser's estimate was
twelve karat. And see those doodads on his head and around his neck?
Rubies and sapphires. Not the best grade, or huge. But real."

I looked closely at the picture. Whoever had taken it
had placed an upright ruler next to the piece. It was thirteen inches
tall. The demon-god, who wore a bow and quiver on his back, held a
trident in his hands. Wrapped around his bejeweled neck was a
serpent. He was standing on one leg, as if dancing a jig. His foot
rested on the fallen body of an enemy, who was also a demon-man. It
did not look inviting or pleasant.

"Okay, you've got us going. What's it worth?"

"Guess."

"As one who works with gold, I know what the
piece could bring on the current market if it were pure gold, which
it isn't, and assuming the piece is solid."

"It's not," said Roantis. "If it was
solid it'd weigh a ton."

"And I'm no judge of gems. But they certainly
look impressive and well set. Hell, I don't know. Between eighty and
a hundred and twenty grand?"

"Close, Doc. Hey, you're good. The appraisal was
in sixty-nine, over ten years ago. And they wouldn't certify the
appraisal. The piece weighs almost four kilos."

"Let's see, that's uh —"

"Eight point eight pounds," said Roantis.

"Well?"

"The guy said a hundred grand easy. I figure it
could be worth double that," said Roantis, dragging on the cigar
and sucking the smoke deep. "But we couldn't unload it for
anywhere near that then. Now I think we can." `

"And you want me to help you find it?"

"Naw. I know where it is."

He reached inside his shirt and caught his stubby
finger on a fine silver chain. An instant later he was holding a
silver key in his hand. He took the chain from around his neck and
flipped the key and chain onto the table. It was a safe deposit box
key, deluxe model. It obviously went to a box that was not used for
the family burial policy. Long and heavy and made of expensive metal,
it had the figure of a Chinese dragon embossed on one side of the
crown. On the reverse side were the words BARCLAYS BANK, KOWLOON.
Then there was a number: 1001-A.

"The Siva idol is in this bank box in Kowloon,
across the harbor from Hong Kong, right where Ramon Vilarde and I put
it just about ten years ago."

"Well," said Mary, "you've got the
key. What's holding you back?"

"Look at the key closely, Mary. It says one
thousand and one—A. There is also key number one thousand and
one—B. A is no good without B. You need both keys to open the box.
Both keys at the same time, along with a third key belonging to the
bank. Guess who's got the other key?"

"This guy Vilarde."

"Yep." Roantis nodded. "So the two of
us must be together at the Kowloon bank to get the statue. That's the
way we set it up."

Roantis chuckled softly, ironically, to himself
dragging again on the cigar. He let the smoke creep downward out his
nostrils like an Chinese dragon.

"That was the only way to set it up. First of
all, it was loot. It is loot. We had to stash it fast in four days of
R and R." Mary leaned over to Roantis, shaking her head slowly.
She said it still wasn't clear. Why had they left it over there in
the bank box? Could he start from the beginning? just what I wanted
to hear; he had her going now. I volunteered to make coffee and rose
from the table. Roantis said he needed another tumbler of Scotch.
Sure he did. But I decided to get him a weak one anyway, since he was
getting me off the hook. I walked to the kitchen. The hallway shapes
and textures swept by me as if in a dream. The silence sang in my
head. I was still a little buzzed. Funny how sometimes you don't
notice until after the party. As I was putting the coffee on the
phone rang. It was quarter to two. Now who could have the bad manners
to call at this hour? I answered it.

"Doc? Brian here. Listen: I'm finally home now
and going to bed. I had a cruiser stop Newcombe even before he got to
the station. He got belligerent when questioned by the officer. So
they took him in and he failed the breath test. Now I made him a
little deal —"

"That you'd thought up beforehand?"

"Yeah, well maybe. We drop him off at his house
and let him off the hook if he, forgets about what happened at your
place. Naturally he cooperated. But we entered the DUI anyway, which
is serious. I can hold that over him for a while if he gets
belligerent again. But the guy's definitely got personality problems.
I'm really glad the DUI will carry a jail sentence soon. I'm sick of
cleaning dead kids out of cars with a sponge."

"Thanks a million, Brian. I'm sure Roantis will
be grateful too."

"Oh yeah. About him. I checked on your friend
Liatis Roantis, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a Doberman
pinscher. Did you know he wears paper?"

"He what?"

"You know. He's got a sheet. A record. It's not
brief either. A whole string of assaults. Two deaths. You know this?"

"Oh sure. It's common knowledge around the
club."

"The club? What club is it, for Chrissakes, the
SS?"

"It's the BYMCU in town. He teaches martial arts
there. He's also a director."

"Well watch him—he smells like trouble to me.
If I were you, I'd drop him like a red rivet. I mean, look at
tonight. Consider it. Things like that happen too often here and the
selectmen are on top of me like roofing compound, you know?"

"I know."

"And I heard about the hanky-panky with Janice
DeGroot, too. It's the talk of the town, Doc. I heard she was draped
around you like the kudzu."

"That's not, uh, entirely true, Brian."

"Izzat so? That's what they all say. I bet
Mary's steamed. I don't blame her either. I bet you're in trouble."

I thanked him and took the coffee and booze back to
the porch. On the way, I said goodnight to Jack and Tony, who were
trundling upstairs. They wished me goodnight, but not with genuine
filial warmth. I didn't blame them. I wasn't happy with Dr. Charles
Adams this night. I knew I had asked for the trouble I was in. But
somehow I wasn't totally sorry. What was this strange restlessness in
me?

"You walked?" Mary was saying incredulously
as I came back into the porch.

"Uh-huh. Oh hiya Doc. You're just in time to
hear the story." And so, declining coffee and taking up his
tumblerful of malt whiskey, Liatis Roantis began his tale of war,
death, and the golden dancing demon.
 
 

2

"I GUESS I better give you a little background
first," Roantis said, "so you'll understand just why we
went into Cambodia in the first place. Cambodia was a neutral
country, and therefore safe from American and Vietnamese military
action. But see, the enemy used the place to stockpile their arms and
ammo that had been shipped down by the Ho Chi Minh Trail. So for
years we carried out secret cross-border raids in both Cambodia and
Laos. It was done under a secret group called the SOG, Special
Operations Group. And it used men from all branches: army, navy, and
air force, who worked together. The time I led the Daisy Ducks down
past Rang and the Fish Hook was my fourth trip through eastern
Cambodia."

"The what?" asked Mary. "The Daisy
Ducks? "

"Yeah. See, Mary, operations and teams have code
names and letter designations. Our designation was Delta-Delta,
double-D. So we called ourselves the Daisy Ducks. When we were
designated double-M, Mike-Mike, we called our team the Molly
Maguires."

"How come you named yourselves after females?"
I asked.

He thought for a minute and shrugged, saying he
supposed it was tradition. "Why do flyers name their planes girl
names?" he asked. "Here she is . . ."

He unfastened his shirtsleeve and drew it up. There
was nothing remarkable about the arm. It was not bulging with muscle,
although it was heavily lined with blood vessels. I had noticed
Roantis's tattoos before, but never paid much attention. The one he
pointed to now was remarkable, and still showed the brightly colored
ink. The other tattoos were faded purple lines, but this one was
clean and crisp and showed a lot of detail. Roantis said it was done
in Okinawa, and that Japanese tattoos were the best and most
intricate. Both Mary and I laughed when we saw it. There on Roantis's
arm, in full jump gear, was none other than Daisy Duck herself,
complete with paratrooper boots, huge eyes and beak, and the big red
bow she wore on her head. And she was wearing her red dress too.
Except the propwash and her falling had swooshed it up a bit,
revealing a pair of lacy panties. Only Daisy wasn't smiling; she was
irritated. She wore a snarl as she clutched her chute cords. Behind
her, three smaller chutes fell in the distance. On her webbing were
three frag grenades and a submachine gun.

Underneath was a furled ribbon with the following
inscription: Long Range Patrol Daisy Ducks—Long Binh, Vietnam—1969.
And above the entire scene, the crescent AIRBORNE flash. But what
caught our eyes was Daisy's quote, underneath the
ribbon. She was saying:

"M1ND IF WE DROP IN?"

Mary said she thought the tattoo was cute. Roantis
stared at her and shook his head slightly.

"Yeah, but thing is, Mary, I don't think you'd
wanta meet our Daisy. She was a nasty broad." He paused briefly
in reflection, staring at the cards on the table. A hint of regret
invaded the eyes. "She was pretty mean was ol' Daisy. Killed a
lot of people . . ."

"So what was the mission of the Daisy Ducks in
Cambodia?" I asked, not wanting him to stop. I didn't want
Roantis morose and introspective. I wanted him talking. He swigged
his drink, popped a Camel, and continued.

"Our mission was to sneak up on their supply
dumps and blow them up, killing as many enemy as we could. We did it,
too. You bet."

"How many men were there with the Daisy Ducks?"
I asked.

"Eight."

"Eight? You really mean only eight?"

"Only eight. And it was enough. Between us we
destroyed thousands of tons of materiel and killed maybe a thousand
people."

"C'mon Roantis, that's a lot of enemy."

"We were good, Doc. We were very good. But we
had a system that made it almost easy as long as we stayed invisible.
But the bad part of it was—the bad part of it is—that we killed
everybody. I said we killed a thousand people, not enemy. I'm sure a
lot of them were civilians. Some of them must've been kids, too."

He took a long pull from the tumbler and I realized
that he was—finally—drunk. His eyes were glazed and he appeared
to wither and shrink before my eyes. He worked his jaws; I could see
the muscles on the side of his face bunch and jump as he ground his
teeth. He wiped his forehead and wearily ran his fingers through his
stringy gray hair. He looked old and tired. He looked like Bogart in
the drunk scene of Casablanca. Mary, realizing his pain, suggested he
stop and that I drive him home. Roantis lived in Jamaica Plain. I
told her I was in no shape to drive anywhere, especially all the way
to Jamaica Plain and back. She was about to summon the boys, or wake
them, when he shooed her off.

"I'm okay, Mary. Stop it. I jus' get a li'l
depressed when I think of it sometimes. I'll finish this drink and
then get some coffee. Now I need a cigarette too. Or else I need —"

He got up and walked from the porch.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Be right back, folks. Don't go away . . ."

We heard him on the stairway, and Mary yelled to him
that there was a bathroom on the first floor. He seemed not to hear
her.

"Is he going to be sick?"

"Not likely."

During his absence Mary clasped and unclasped her
hands and glared icily at me.

"Sorry," I said.

"Am I that unattractive?"

"Course not. You're gorgeous. And it was stupid
and immature of us. It was the booze making us act out vague,
middle-aged fantasies. Do you think if Janice and I really wanted to
fool around we'd do it here, during a party? C'mon. And as stupid as
it was, I don't think you should make more of it than it deserves.
I'll tell you what it is, Mary: I'm bored. And when that happens I do
dumb things. And I've been restless lately. I'm not in the mood to be
a suburban physician right now. I want to do something a little
riskier. Or maybe just different. Now, you see—What's that I
smell?"

Roantis had reappeared in the doorway, a glowing
joint clenched between his lips.

"Now where the hell did you get that? "
asked Mary. "Jack just rolled it for me. Nice kid."

I went to the bottom of the stairway and yelled
upward at the darkness, like Ahab.

"I thought I told you guys not to smoke that
stuff anymore! I thought we agreed —"