THE HAPPY HAT (4 page)

Zettler remained silent and Kaplan turned to face Norman. “Sir, these Subic Bay X-rays are exactly like the ones from Vietnam.”

“So why the total body cast? He doesn't seem to be in any pain and I’ll be damned if I can find any overt fractures on any of these films.” Norman looked straight at the films again.

“Boomer still has the original cast applied right after his injury at the field hospital.” Kaplan folded his arms. “The flow of casualties is so high that Boomer kept moving in the stream of patients requiring minimum care within the transport system from Southeast Asia to the States. It was always assumed that Boomer had neck and spinal trauma which could erupt into a neurological crisis at any point in time with cast changes. His field Medical Officer noted fine concussion bone injuries after a mortar round hit the front of his big gun. Two of his artillery people were hit real bad.”

Norman looked at his watch again. “Okay. I don't have any more time for this. I'll write for a neurological consult and meet with the G-1 orthopod tomorrow morning. In the meantime Kaplan, you're still in charge of the mysterious SGT Boomer Stiles.” Norman looked at Zettler. “Come on Minnie, we have more air-evacs to attend to.”

Chapter 6

Sebastian Remo

Remo drifted off to sleep. He was lucky again. With the surgical masks, gowns and gloves his visitors would be anonymous. Out on the open ward during visiting hours the mass numbers of visitors would create a beehive of indistinguishable voices, humanoid shapes and uninterpretable prattle. A vision of his lucky Happy Hat appeared. It always gave him good luck over there–until this fourth tour of duty in Vietnam. He’d reserve judgment as to the true talisman properties of the hat until his recuperation was complete. But this whole Vietnam thing had sounded like an opportunity not to be missed. Everything that Bizetes had said–especially the money–had materialized. He closed his eyes and could see and hear Bizetes.

“I've been out of high school three years now and still making the same amount of money as when I started.” Remo was dressed in black jeans, black shirt and black socks and shoes. The attire was clean and he donned clean clothes every two days. Except for his thin mustache he was clean shaven, bathed daily, and kept his hair neatly groomed.

“Look Remo, I put you in a prime position. You move heroin, marijuana, and uppers. I kept you in New York City rather than Brooklyn or the Bronx.” Bizetes motioned for Remo to sit across from his desk. Remo kept pacing.

“Cros, I'm standing still in this job. I work long hours. I have no social life. I want to move up in the organization.”

“We've had this talk before Remo.” He again gestured Remo to sit down. Remo stopped pacing and stood facing Bizetes.

“There must be something I can do. I’m one of your best dealers and I’m only twenty-one.”

“If you sit down so I can look at you I can tell you about something that could be just what you want. I got it from the higher bosses.”

Remo sat down slowly.

“You're a trim guy. You’re strong, healthy and don't use the stuff you sell.” Bizetes paused. “You know where we get most of the stuff you deal on the streets?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Vietnam.”

“So?”

“So we need someone in Vietnam to channel tons of heroin into New York City.”

“You want me to go to Vietnam?” Remo's eyes bulged.

“We have the start of a network in Southeast Asia. We need an operational soldier to function as a link between our Vietnam supplier and our new import operation from the tactical zones.”

“What the fuck is a tactical zone?”

“You’ll get to know all about that after basic training?”

“Basic training? You want me to enlist?”

Bizetes smiled. “The choice is Army or Marines.”

‡

Army basic training was a breeze for Remo. Anyone who requested Vietnam for a tour of duty was given priority for training and expedited to Saigon, Danang or other stepping off point to the supporting front line zones. His New York City drug cartel management and political contacts placed Remo as a combat and medical supplies specialist. After six months in the Army, Sebastian Remo had grown impatient. He had the boring job of dispatching supplies to mobile logistic units backing up front line operations. Remo had not yet connected with any member of the Asian narcotics operation. And then one sweaty tropical day it happened.

“Are you PFC Remo?” A clean-shaven Marine gunnery sergeant appeared in the barely-airconditioned Quonset hut. He looked around the crowded building stockpiled with olive drab crates, bales and boxes.

“Yes Sarge.”

“No one else here?”

“Just me.”

“Good. Does the name Crosley Bizetes mean anything to you?”

Remo’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “It's about fuckin’ time. Am I going to get out of this box and start doing something?” Remo wiped his brow and the back of his sweating neck with an army issue hand towel.

“Not just yet. In two days you'll be receiving unpainted crates labeled ‘medical supplies’.” The Marine Sergeant handed Remo an envelope. “Stick the labels from this envelope on each of the four black plastic-wrapped bundles inside each crate. That's your job–shipping the Asian shit. The crates will be addressed to your attention only. Anyone gives you grief about it you’re to call me at this number.” The Marine Sergeant handed him a folded piece of paper.

“That's it? That's all I do? I'm still stuck in this piss-ass tin joint?”

“Cool it PFC Remo. You're in the Army and you doing things the military way. Any deviation, do anything suspicious and I'll send you to under fire front lines. Got it?”

Remo drank several gulps of water from his canteen. “Is this what I’m going to do my whole tour in Nam?”

“Contact your stateside man–Bizetes. Every time you do a job for us your bank account goes up.” The Marine Sergeant turned suddenly as two Army officers entered the Quonset hut. He faced Remo again. “Thank you for your help private.” The Marine walked briskly out of the supply building giving a salute to the two Army officers.

‡

“Your number’s flashing Kaplan.” The young ward nurse pointed to the vertical call lights blinking with the numbers 603.

“Sorry ma'am.” Kaplan smiled. “I'm used to a PA system or a pager.” He picked up the phone at the Nurses Station. It was an outside call. “Okay operator put the call through.”

“Isaac Kaplan?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Kaplan. This is Adam Stokely. You know who I am?”

“Yes sir.” Kaplan looked out at the nurse, corpsman and corpswave who had left the Nurses Station tending to patient chores in the ward. Since most of the patients were in some sort of confined plaster cast, there was always some sort of busy work well before lights out at night. “Sir, I just arrived with the target patient. I don't know whether this is a secure phone. Is there some better form of communication for this operation?”

“Yes there is. I'll be there at visiting hours looking for you and you can point out the assigned patient.”

“Roger that. I’m on ward G-1 and the patient's name is SGT William Stiles. He goes by the name of Boomer.”

“See you tonight.” Adam Stokely hung up. He looked at the current roster of Queens Naval Hospital orthopedic patients. The number would seem quite staggering if it wasn't a wartime military hospital. He called his DEA agent counterpart, Robert Dempsey. “Our man is in place and I'm going to meet with him tonight. I think we need at least two more of our people at Queens Naval Hospital.”

“We already have a nurse and a corpswave plus a physical therapist and an OR tech.”

“When were you going to tell me this?” Stokely jotted the new info on his note pad.

“Actually, I was about to call you about it right now. I think our distribution of hospital specialists is complete but we need someone else in place–just one more–to determine how the heroin is received and how it gets out of the hospital.”

“Let me explore this with our man Kaplan. He's assigned to our target patient and will follow the entire set up from arrival to Queens to the patient's initial and ongoing treatment there.”

“Put it on this Kaplan tonight. We want to move fast on this. Hanoi wants out of the fighting as much as Nixon does. And Adam thanks for the phone call.”

Stokely hung up and reviewed his orders from the FBI Agent-in-Charge. It was imperative that the method of heroin trafficking be discovered within the next few months.

‡

“Fifty-grand for a long leg cast. Fantastic. I get my usual ten percent right?” G-3 Corpsman Amstel Perkins was euphoric. He would net $5,000.

“Ten percent and it could be more or less depending on how thick the Nam plaster application and how big your dude is.”

Both Linsky and Perkins knew the risks were enormous. If the New York City drug cartel caught either one of them their lives would be terminated in the most prolonged painful way their tormentors could think of.

Chapter 7

SGT Boomer Stiles

Boomer scanned the orthopedic ward. His bed was right next to the Nurses Station and he had a good view of all the beds and patients across from him and all the ones on his side of the room.
I’ve been on G-1 only three hours and already several patients were demanding pain shots or their pain pills
. He wondered why his only discomforting experience was being confined in his total body cast. He really had no distinct pain to complain about and looked forward to the neurology consultation for an explanation. The pretty nurse who met him at the train station was talking to the G-1 nurse and looking at him.

“He's a mystery right now but we’ll figure it out–probably tomorrow.” Nurse LT Dina Sparrow looked from Boomer to Zettler.

Zettler put Boomer’s chart down. “Let's go break the ice and put him at ease. Dr. Norman heard from X-ray and apparently there’s nothing critical going on underneath his plaster.”

The two nurses took a position on either side of Boomer’s bed. Seeing two key medical personnel looking down at him made Boomer nervous. His eyes jerked from one to the other.

“I knew there was something wrong with me. Tell me what it is?”

Both nurses smiled and Zettler spoke first. “I think we're going to have to revise your cast. We have to figure out a way for you to get exercise. Otherwise you’re going to form blood clots which could be really serious. Everything's okay right now.”

Sparrow folded her arms underneath her pointed breasts and bent down for a closer look at the window in his plaster helmet and then pulled the sheet back to look at the similar window around his crotch. She pulled the sheet back up and smiled. “I have to figure out how to give you a bath under all this plaster.”

Kaplan appeared on the ward and immediately went over to Boomer's bed. “Anything wrong here?”

“Oh I forgot, Corpsman Kaplan, for some reason, has orders to document Boomer’s continuum of care–as far as Boomer's hospital course goes.” Zettler looked in Sparrow’s direction.

“Oh well, there's always something new with managing these patients coming back from Nam. I'm used to it.” Sparrow gave Kaplan a smile with her arms still folded beneath her bosom and she swayed a little from one leg-to-the other.

Kaplan returned the smile without taking his eyes from Sparrow's chest. “I overheard something about Boomer's cast. He's due to have a cast change as soon as possible–after the neurologist and the orthopod give us clearance.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sparrow went back to the Nurses Station with Zettler just as the phone rang. Sparrow handed the receiver to Zettler.

“How about dinner before we get the rest of the air-evacs settled in for the night?”

Zettler hung the phone up. “That was Dr. Norman. It's time for chow. He sounded both eager and tired.”

“I don't see how you two find time for romance with all the work we have.”

Zettler smiled a lecherous smile. “Well, we do.” Zettler left the ward looking over her shoulder back at Kaplan. Kaplan had been staring at her and their eyes locked.

LT Dina Sparrow nudged Kaplan's left shoulder. “Two things Kaplan. First, Minnie Zettler is spoken for and is engaged to LT Norman. And second, she's an officer and you’re enlisted.” Her gaze softened as Kaplan turned toward her. “Kaplan you’re older than the average corpsman that comes back from Vietnam. You seem more educated and more sophisticated. How old are you may I ask?”

“Ma'am, I don't have any designs on LT Zettler. How long has she been here at Queens Naval?”

“Going on three years–ever since she graduated nursing school. C’mon Kaplan you didn't answer my question.”

“Ma'am, Lieutenant Sparrow, I just turned twenty-six.” Kaplan saw her staring at his college ring. He reached out for her hand and looked at her ring. “I don't believe it. We're both Boston University class of ‘67.”

“I have a Bachelor’s in nursing. Your ring says CLA. What was your liberal arts major?”

“Criminology and pre-law. I got drafted before I got accepted to law school, ma'am.”

“People get drafted into the Army Kaplan. You’re Navy.”

“Before I ever opened my draft notice envelope, I ran to the Navy recruiter to see what kind of options I could get that would help pay for my law school education in the future. The Navy was hungry for hospital corpsmen, which took precedence over an Army infantryman.”

“With a college degree you could be an officer at any branch of the service.” Sparrow raised her eyebrows. “What's the real story Kaplan?”

“To get the real story ma'am, we have to talk in private. Do you dare cross the enlisted–officer barrier?”

“This war is essentially over but it’ll take another year to get all the casualties back to stateside hospitals Kaplan. I'm a realist. With the war ending the Navy will look the other way from these ancient ridiculous social barriers.” She looked into his eyes. “Anyway I live off base–alone and away from prying eyes.” She broke eye contact and wrote something on a blank prescription form. “It's time to get back to work. Boomer isn't your only patient on this ward. You have eight more patients assigned to you if you’re going to work here. I suggest you get acquainted with them right away.” She pressed the folded paper into his hands and went back to the Nurses Station.

‡

Kaplan watched Sparrow walk away. She was an attractive woman, about his age and for some reason she was strongly attracted to him. It was probably hormonal. He walked to the foot of Boomer’s bed and looked down at Sparrow's note. It was a phone number.

“Hey Doc they serious about giving me a bath in this mummy cast?” Boomer's voice had a peculiar quality to it. The total body cast acted like the body of the guitar and gave a hollow resonance to his speech. When Boomer spoke, it sounded like he was talking from the inside of an empty trashcan.

“Yeah, we'll figure it out. Actually, there are a couple of things we can do. First thing that comes to mind, if it's okay with the orthopod and the neurologist, is to drill a couple of holes at select places in your cast to let some air in. We can use those holes to blow in antiseptic powder followed by flushes of compressed air. I've seen it done at the facility we were in at Subic before we shipped out here.” Kaplan felt around Boomer’s plaster head. “The other thing we might do is widen your face window–expose your nose and eyes. Your cast seems strong enough.”

“Well it doesn't sound too painful. Look, I'm starting to get a lot of room in this cast. I weighed almost 280 pounds before my injuries. I know I'm losing weight and I'm really concerned about muscle wasting. I used to be an athlete you know Doc.”

“Football?”

“Football, wrestling and track. I was hoping for a football scholarship when Uncle Sam decided I should go to Vietnam and get my ass blown up.” Boomer didn't sound angry, just frustrated and impatient.

“You know Boomer we really don't know what your true physical status is. The X-rays, the lack of pain, your intact bladder and bowels and your stable vital signs don't befit someone who should be in a total body cast. And I understand you were blown fifty-feet in the air by an incoming mortar round or whatever the hell it was. Documentation of your case leaves a lot of questions unanswered.”

“I appreciate your being with me right from the start in my medical situation Doc.”

“Look Boomer as part of my job I have to ask you this. I won’t write anything in your chart. Were you into drugs like marijuana, narcotics or cocaine?”

“Jeez Doc, never. Most I ever did was get drunk a couple of times with some of the other guys, you know, on leave and parties and shit like that.”

“It's okay Boomer. Your drug screen test came out kosher. And don't call me Doc. That title is reserved for Dr. Norman and your other specialists who’ll begin to see you tomorrow. My name is Ike, remember?”

Kaplan walked back to the chart rack to review the other patients recently assigned to him by Sparrow. He still wondered about the look from LT Zettler’s face. He would have to check on her as well as LT Sparrow. Kaplan looked forward to meeting Agent Adam Stokely. He felt relieved that there were already Agents in place at Queens Naval Hospital and he was part of the team even though they’d never met. Working alone in Vietnam and within the medical corps network for almost a year demanded a return to working with others he could trust.

‡

Perkins left Queens Naval Hospital without suspicion. Outwardly his egress was routine. He had his laundry bag containing the long leg cast. Most hospital corpsman carried their laundry to the enlisted barracks on the hospital compound where the Phillipino stewards would provide the laundry service. Perkins, however, like some other senior enlisted Navy personnel chose to live off the Navy property in subsidized local apartments. His apartment building was a high rise about five-miles from Queens Naval Hospital.

Perkins stowed the plastic-cocooned cast sections in his bedroom clothes closet and locked the door. He dialed the phone on his bed end table and fell back on his inspection-ready made bed looking up at the ceiling while the connection rang.

“Hello?” Linsky never identified himself when the phone rang in his apartment.

“It’s Amstel. I’ll be doing my laundry tonight at 8 o’clock.” Perkins wanted the cast out of his possession and into processing as fast as possible.

“Sounds good. Maybe we can do it together.” Linsky looked at his watch. He and Perkins would be at the same place in two hours.

Perkins had his single load out of the washer and into the dryer when Linsky arrived. They said nothing to each other. Linsky put a few garments in a washer and pulled out a paperback book with dog-eared pages. There were seven others doing laundry–mostly women When his load was nearing its final minutes in the dryer, Linsky looked into the reflection on the dryer’s loading window and saw Perkins exchange laundry bags. No one else was looking at Perkins. They were identical Navy issue bags which could be purchased at any military surplus store or the Navy exchange itself which was what Perkins had done. Linsky’s laundry bag was now Perkin’s bag with the plaster cast.