THE HAPPY HAT (21 page)

Chapter 36

D-Day on G-1

It was yet another mild and sunny spring day. Frannie Zingo and his two mainstay hulk biodisposal movers were waved through the main gate by two Marine MPs. It was one-o’clock in the afternoon and the beginning of Friday visiting hours for most wards. The Marine Sergeant at the main gate guardhouse watched the enclosed van go by and picked up his walkie-talkie.

“Subjects and van are on route to G-1, over.”

Stokely responded, “Alert all other gates to blockade, over.”

A light blue Cadillac sedan and its sole driver occupant stopped at the main gate for ID check. “Crosley Bizetes. Visitor for patient Sebastian Remo on F-1.” Bizetes showed his driver’s license ID.

All F-1 patients were in their beds or in chairs beside their beds per usual after chow and pre-visiting hours protocol. Several male and female visitors were talking to random patients around the ward. Sebastian Remo waved lazily to Bizetes as he entered F-1 with his “Visitors” tag clipped to his sports jacket lapel.

“You look tired Remo.” Bizetes sat in the chair beside his bed.

“I’m still getting my pain meds. They gave me my pain shot at noon.” Remo gagged a little on the nasogastric tube going through his nose to his stomach. The bowel stops moving for up to three days following reconnection of the large intestine and taking down a skin-attached colostomy. The colon would fill up with swallowed air and gas and threaten to break the newly sewn ends of the repair unless it remained decompressed by the tube. It was uncomfortable and every time most patients swallowed or bent their heads they’d trigger the gag reflex as the tube touched the back of their throat just like Remo was doing now.

“When’s that tube coming out of your nose?” Bizetes felt uneasy looking at it.

“As soon as my belly starts to gurgle and I fart they’ll consider pulling it.” Remo gagged again.

“Not many visitors today but I guess it’s early in the day.” Bizetes looked around. Acky usually wandered onto F-1 when Bizetes was scheduled to be there. They would meet later with small talk in front of visitors and again in the hall or on the grounds when visiting hours were over. The exiting crowd would provide a natural cover.

Kaplan was at the Nurses Station on F-1 with one of Stokely’s FBI agents. “Yes, that’s him. He’s the one I saw with Remo last week.” Kaplan pointed to the name Crosley Bizetes on the visitor sign-in log. “If any other corpsman talks to that man today grab him. I’m going back to G-1.”

He used a hand-held walkie-talkie to connect with Stokely’s similar device. “This is Kaplan. I’m on my way back. I’ve ID’d Remo’s visitor contact, over-and-out.” Kaplan walked quickly out of F-1 and across the long corridor to the G-Wing. He went to his locker and took out his small gym bag containing his Colt .45 Automatic with a full clip of the low velocity cartridges. Kaplan looked at it and was reminded of the close call he had during his weekend with Skagan. He intercepted her when she was going to get his shaving gear from his suitcase.

“You can stay in bed. I’ll get up first.” He playfully pulled her back under the covers, gave her a soft caress and a lingering kiss. He got up for his things from his suitcase. He stuffed the .45 into the sleeve of the shirt he wore the night before into the dirty laundry bag. Kaplan hoped his honeymoon-like night and indeed, every night with Skagan for the rest of his life, would be like his past weekend with her. But right now he had to focus on the next sixty-minutes and the after-action activity with his FBI team.

Kaplan put his gym bag under the desk at the G-1 Nursing Station and went onto the ward. Boomer Stiles was in a wheelchair next to his bed. A few patients were visiting each other and two women plus four men in civilian clothes were casually talking to patients. One woman was an FBI Agent and the other from the DEA. Likewise there was an equal split with the men one being Adam Stokely. The three others had visitor tags but were not visitors. They were there in case the confrontation with Frannie Zingo needed any assistance. The orders at the main desk by the uniformed Chief Petty Officer of the Day, who was also an FBI agent, were to intercept any family members who did not get the notice that G-1 was closed to regular visitors this Friday afternoon. All others desiring G-1 visitation could pass since they would be cartel plants to standby Frannie Zingo and his goons for whatever problem should appear. The main gate MPs made copies of their driver’s license and called ahead to give Stokely a head count. Such individuals had never been to Queens Naval before and assumed this was routine procedure.

Stokely went over to Kaplan. “Ike, execute Code Red as soon as Frannie Zingo and his men fill their truck from the cast room loading dock.”

Kaplan nodded just as Dr. Paul Norman and Frannie Zingo walked into G-1 thirty-seconds apart. Zingo walked up to Norman.

“Hey Doc, it’s that time a-the-month again if ya know whad I mean.” Zingo zipped up his uniform coverall to the top in anticipation of getting at the plaster casts.

“Hello Mr. Zingo. Let’s get at it. Kaplan and I will check off each item as it goes into your truck.” Norman grabbed the invoice file and motioned Kaplan to go with him.

LT Sparrow finished doling out patient medications trying to get her job done before all the visitors arrived. Most of the drugs handed out had to be taken with some food in the stomach and there were only fifteen minutes between the end of noon chow time and the arrival of the first visitors. She looked around as the civilians arrived but didn’t give any consideration to the six civilian visitors whom she had never seen before. She was more interested in acknowledging that Zingo and his crew were there. Suddenly she froze at the site of an unexpected visitor. Sparrow turned away and kept to her final patients giving and charting their meds.

‡

Norman and Kaplan matched the codes for the segmented pieces of excised plaster with those going into the bins in Zingo’s truck. Finally they were done.

“Okay if I go out the loading dock this time Doc? It’s such a nice day.” Zingo smiled his partially edentulous smile.

“Navy regulations are Navy regulations Mr. Zingo. You have to sign in the front desk and sign out the front desk. Your truck will meet you at the main hospital entrance and you’ll get checked out at the main gate like always.” Norman returned the smile. He turned to Kaplan but Kaplan wasn’t there. The loading dock was closed, locked and secured.

‡

Kaplan went directly to the G-1 entrance and locked the fire doors and the entry doors to G-1. After he ascertained the doors could not be opened from either side he turned around and put his whistle up to his lips. His .45 Automatic was in his right hand. As he completed his turn he saw her and froze. The whistle dropped on its chain to dangle at his waist.

“Phil. What are you doing down here?”

Skagan stared at Kaplan. “Ike. I was looking for you.” She looked at his Colt Automatic.

Kaplan swept her behind him and blew the whistle. The six-agents moved toward their targeted visitors. Zingo made for the door. LT Dina Sparrow dropped her med clipboard and turned white as Zingo now ran from Kaplan’s pointed .45 and headed for the sunroom French doors.

Norman came running from the cast room at the sound of the whistle.

Kaplan quickly moved Skagan behind Norman. “Take care of her Doc. Both of you get back into the cast room.”

Norman took in the armed men and one woman and another armed man in some kind of physical contact with a suited visitor. A shot rang out. Sparrow fainted. Norman grabbed Skagan and they dashed into the cast room and closed the metal door.

“Incoming!” One of the patients shouted and every patient, including Boomer Stiles, dove under their beds. There was a clamor of crutches being tossed aside; abandoned wheelchairs moving unattended; and the grunts and words between scuffling Agents and cartel visitors.

Stokely blocked Zingo’s path. Both Stokely and Zingo were pointing weapons at each other.

“There’s no way out Zingo. You shoot a Federal Agent and you’re dead. Drop your revolver now.” Stokely maintained his steady two-hand hold on his automatic

“He said now Zingo.” Kaplan had the muzzle of his .45 against the back of Zingo’s head.

Zingo dropped his gun.

The female FBI agent had subdued her cartel man after his gun went off firing into the firewall ceiling and sending chips of plaster and concrete down like a micro hail storm. The two other pseudo-visitors raised their hands in the air as the Agents removed their weapons from inside their coats.

The FBI and DEA agents handcuffed all the cartel members. Stokely bent over Sparrow and took her pulse. He looked up at Kaplan. “I don’t know what I’m doing this for. You’re the medic. She has a pulse.”

Kaplan checked Sparrow’s eyes and felt a good pulse in her neck. “She’s okay. Cuff her too.” Kaplan went toward the cast room. “I have two others in there.” He motioned to the cast room with his .45.

Norman and Skagan moved backwards as the cast room door opened and a male and female federal agent entered. “Keep your hands in the air.”

Kaplan appeared. “Cuff these two with their hands in front not in back.” Kaplan looked past Norman at Skagan. “Sorry Phil. It’s FBI protocol. You and Dr. Norman have to be contained until we sort the action out.”

The female agent looked at Kaplan, “Agent Kaplan where do you want these two?”

“Keep them separate from the cartel perps. They have to go to security for interrogation. I’ll vouch for them. Once their statements are validated turn them over to me in the Queens Naval security office.”

Kaplan’s walkie-talkie squawked. “We’re getting resistance from the biodisposal van. Shots fired, over.” It was DEA Agent Robert Dempsey’s.

“Give them a tear gas projectile through the windshield if you have to.” Kaplan pressed the walkie-talkie to his face and tried not to look at Skagan. “Ricocheted bullets could cause collateral damage.”

“Automatic weapons are being used. Look out at your end, over and out.” The noise of gunfire was in the background.

“Our elements are contained.” Kaplan could feel Skagan’s stare.

‡

The driver and passenger sensed trouble as they drove to the hospital main entrance to retrieve Frannie Zingo.

“Something’s wrong.” The van passenger pointed ahead to the hospital main entrance. “There’s a shitload of MPs and police uniforms blocking the front of the main hospital building. Head for the service gate.”

The driver did a U-turn that almost tipped the van over and headed for the south service gate. He reached under the seat and pulled out a MAC-10 machine pistol and placed it on his lap. “Buckle-up and get out your piece. I’m not stopping at the gate. We’re crashing through.” He put the gas pedal to the floor and the van accelerated to 65-miles-per-hour.

‡

Dempsey listened to his hand radio as the overhead DEA helicopter team member gave his report. “Agent Dempsey the van is heading for the south gate as you anticipated. They’re at speed. They’re not going to stop, over.”

“Roger Chopper-One. We are ready to engage, over and out.” Dempsey got out of his car and gave the message to the DEA, FBI, State and local Police with his bull horn. “The van is going to crash the gate. Open fire on sight and hit the tires first.”

‡

“Holy shit. There’s more of those fuckers here than at the main hospital entrance. We have to scatter them. Start shooting.” The driver rolled down his window and began firing the MAC-10 with his left hand as the passenger did the same on the other side. Showers of 9mm bullets sprayed the waiting barricade and the fire was returned en masse.

The van began getting hit with machine-gun, rifle and magnum pistol loads. Bullet impact noises on the van ranged the noise scale. The sound from the firing weapons merged to create a steady thunderous roar. The front of the van suddenly lowered as the front tires went flat and the windshield was covered with steam as the radiator disintegrated under the focused firepower.

Dempsey could no longer communicate over the roar of the discharging firearms.

“Cease Fire. Cease Fire. Cease Fire.” Dempsey issued his command when the white steam on the van’s windshield turned to a panorama of scarlet as SWAT high power bullets hit the driver and passenger. None of Dempsey’s men responded. The smoke from the continued barrage turned the air to a blue haze.

The momentum from the van’s speed turned it on its side without any further direction from its dead operator and it skidded to a smoking halt just a hundred yards in front of the amassed armed cadre. There was no more action coming from the smoking van which now provided a hissing noise as all gunfire ceased.

Dempsey raised his bullhorn, “Get the fire truck on the van right away. The contents need to be saved for evidence.”

‡

Acky Spinelli went over to Remo’s bed where Bizetes was still engaged in conversation. He saw them turn to his advance. “Good afternoon. It looks like we don’t have our usual Friday compliment of visitors.”

The sound of the F-1 doors closing and the whistle from a suited civilian brought Bizetes standing and reaching for his 9mm Beretta. Bizetes looked around the ward and saw three other supposed visitors coming toward Remo’s bed. “What the fuck’s going on Spinelli?”