Family Practice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.
CHAPTER 9
Mark took the car directly to the Thunderbird, parked in front of the office and walked in. The black guy behind the counter impassively said; “Yes?”
“Russ?”
“Yeah?”
“Sonny sent me.”
Russ looked warily at him for a few seconds, then said;
“Sonny who?”
“Sonny Middleton.”
“Where you know him from?”
“I was just with him. We’re pals since our school and basketball days.”
Russ still looked a bit curious, so Mark added; “Actually, I was just with him, Corinne and Dorette. I understand you know them pretty well, too.”
“You like the big ones, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Russ laughed; “Me, too.” He paused, then said; “So, what you want with me?”
Mark tried to be as brief as possible. “I’m a private eye and I’ve been trailing a couple who comes here regularly. My
client wants pictures of them ‘in the act,’ and I can’t get them.”
“Who are they, anyway?”
“The man is Callie Majors. He’s a big guy, about forty, blond crew cut. I really shouldn’t say the name of the girl, she’s fifteen.”
“I know who you mean. Who want the pictures?”
“Her mother.”
Russ thought a few seconds and said; “I might be able to help you out.” He put a “BE RIGHT BACK” sign on the desk, waved his finger and led Mark out the back door. They climbed the metal fire escape like stairs to the roof. Russ removed a manhole type circular covering and said; “This is for access to the heating ducts. It’s right over 111. If you shimmy about three feet you can get to the grating on the ceiling. Try it.”
Mark had to go head first into the dirty hole and made his way to the grating, looked down and saw the experienced older prostitute he remembered from the side street on her hands and knees, moaning low as she used both ends to service two young black dudes.
Mark must have lost track of time as he heard Russ say;
“Come on, man. I got to get back to the desk. You get a good view there, right?”
Mark said; “Yeah,” as he dawdled a few moments to watch more.
Russ again said; “Come on already.”
Mark backed out of the hole and joined Russ on the roof, saying; “That works great.”
Russ led him back down the metal stairs, retaking his position at the desk and said; “Look, give me your name and phone number. When that couple comes, I’ll put them in 111 and call you.”
Mark did that, giving him both his office and home numbers, reached for his wallet and said; “What can I give you?”
“That twenty looks nice.”
Mark gave it to him and started to leave when Russ said;
“Hey, are you that white guy Corinne and Dorette told me about, who likes to dine in the park?”
Mark shook his head and said; “Girls are getting to be worse than guys with the stories they make up.” They both smiled and he drove back to the apartment and Allison.
As he entered he saw that she was sitting on the couch looking at television, wearing one of his bathrobes; a light blue, which hung down to her bare feet, tied tightly in the center. She looked his way, smiled and said; “Did you get anything good?”
For a second her words made him think of the meaty sisters and he felt guilty, now looking at Allison’s sweetness. He quickly did his best to clear those thoughts from his mind and answered; “I think so.” He took many quick tiny steps playfully to her, sat down and kissed her cheek, adding; “Maybe I’m finally learning how to do my job right.”
She said; “I’m glad somebody is. Listen to this garbage, now, pointing at the PBS discussion show on television. The subject was “Zippo squads.” The moderator was a forty year old, intellectual sounding man, with very moderately long hair, a half inch below the collar of his suit, named Simon Grassley.
He introduced his uniformed military guest as Colonel Tyson Puck, who was about thirty, clean shaven, with one-eighth of an inch of black hair on his skull, visible only from the side not covered by his Green Beret cap.
Grassley said; “We’re here to discuss the reports recently unearthed about the so-called and self-appointed ‘Zippo squads’
running amok in South Viet Nam, supposedly our “friends.” For those not seeing a newspaper over the last week, this is the name proudly taken by the U.S. units who have admitted to be casually setting fire to villages. Perhaps, you’d like to shed some light...... Let me rephrase that. Perhaps you can discuss that topic, generally.”
Puck didn’t look Grassley’s way, but shuffled around in his fully exposed chair, appearing to be thirty percent larger than the moderator and his feet looked three times the size in his combat boots. He said; “The matter is still under investigation, so I’ll discuss what I can, as official spokesman,” showing only the slightest of smirks. “Our reports indicate that some of the Southern villages are supporters of and willing host to the enemy, the Viet Cong.”
Grassley paused, seemingly somewhat surprised at the response and then said; “Are you then confirming the reported stories of entire villages burned to the ground by U.S. forces?”
“I’m neither confirming nor denying. As I said, the matter is still under investigation.”
Slightly annoyed that his show might be an hour of “under investigation,” he took his own gambit and said; “Well, I guess you’re saying that to burn our friends from their homes, is a real possible tactic, within the philosophy of the military.”
“Our ‘friends’ don’t harbor enemies.”
“And if they do, the price is destruction, that judgment being made on the field?”
Puck seemed a bit uncomfortable, as he knew that this would be the inevitable conclusion and said; “I’m really not sure if I should be prematurely saying this, but in the interest of the public’s right to know, I can say that this approach is
consistent with our game plan. Keep in mind that the villagers know the possible price when they allow enemy combatants to have refuge.” He didn’t realize what he had said, but Grassley jumped on one point and said; “How do the villagers know the price, unless they are aware of it being extracted on many occasions?”
Allison said; “Got ’em.”
Mark replied; “Shhh. I want to hear how he wiggles out of this one.”
Puck feigned a quizzical look, smiled at Grassley and said;
“I don't get your point. Can you rephrase the question?”
Grassley pondered a few seconds and opted for simplicity, saying; “How do the villagers know that they will be burned out?”
“I don't know.”
“You said that they did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Grassley asked for a transcript and when provided, he said;
“I’ll take your exact quote. ‘The villagers know the possible price when they allow enemy combatants to have refuge.’”
“I spoke too quickly. I ought to have said that they SHOULD know. And I’m not going to discuss this further as I’ve already overstepped my bounds.”
“Okay, let me go in another direction. It seems very likely to me that it’s distinctly possible that the villagers are forced to give the Viet Cong shelter under threat of death.
So, they’re dead either way and the U.S. forces are just doing the same thing as the people we call rebels and enemies. Aren’t we supposed to be better than that; we’re the good guys?
Puck did slow burn and replied; “That’s speculation on your part. Have you been there?”
“No.”
“Well, I have and I can tell you there are things that go on that you don’t understand and that which is considered confidential. Why weren’t you drafted?”
“I’m too old.”
“You could have volunteered.”
“Now, that’s speculation on your part.”
Puck stared at his knee high boots.
Grassley, now irked, said; “Are you aware that a recent government report estimates that 50 percent of the money spent on the war effort goes directly into the black market?”
Puck continued to survey his feet and slowly said; “No, I’m not aware of that and that’s not what we’re supposed to be discussing.”
“Are you aware that the military supplied daily death count now adds up to three times the entire population of Viet Nam?
If they’re going to lie, aren’t they bright enough to make up a good one?”
Puck remained controlled and said; “Now you’re just shooting in the dark. Get back to what we’re supposed to be talking about.”
“Okay, tell us what you came to say about the ‘Zippo squads’ and please say something other than it’s under investigation and that you don't know.”
“We’re very concerned with those reports, intend to find out the facts and take appropriate action.”
“Have any new orders been given to field commanders yet?”
“Field commanders get new orders daily.”
“Concerning the burn and kill policy.”
“I’ve already said that it is being investigated. At this point we don't know the truth.”
Grassley said; “That’s obvious.” After a pause he added;
“What do you say to the reports that the villagers have been tortured and raped before burned?”
Puck got up from his seat and said; “This is getting ridiculous and I’m leaving.” As he walked off, he added; “It sounds like you’re pro-VC. You should be more careful about what you say. Somebody might think that it’s treason.”
Grassley, flustered, called out; “When will the investigation be complete?”
Puck said; “I don't know,” without turning his head.
Grassley remained in his seat, looking down at his papers, a few moments, then saying; “Well, there you have it. ‘I don't know and attempting to find out might be treasonous.’ How the hell are we going to fill up the rest of the program?” He tapped his pencil a few times and then looked offstage and said;
“Hey, anybody back there got Jimi Hendrix doing ‘ The Star Spangled Banner?’”
Some rumblings were heard; Grassley looked in that direction, waved one hand, nodded “yes” a few times and Jimi’s guitar wailed.
The duo sat motionless, blankly staring at the television.
As cynical as some, including them, had become about the United States war effort (actually a “police action” never approved by Congress) they didn’t expect to be hearing anything like this.
This was just over the top too much. What could possibly be worse? After torturing them, eating live babies as their parents were forced to watch?
In an attempt to change the dismal subject, Mark squeezed Allison’s leg and said; “Song’s the best part of the show. Do you remember that this was a great one to get stoned to?”
“Yeah, you got any?”
“No, dammit.”
In a silly voice she said; “Mark what are you good for?” as she untied the bathrobe and showed him her soft, curly blond hair.
After she groaned and pulled him by the hair, he remained there and gave her light kisses every few seconds. He waited contentedly and patiently until he sensed that she had reached a calm state, then got up, repositioned her on the couch and said;
“I love you, Allison.”
She wickedly replied; “Prove it to me one more time.”