Black Market (16 page)

“I don’t give a fuck how nervous you and your buddies are! Dammit! Can’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you!” Shaw’s
face turned red except around his mouth when he clenched his teeth.

“You, my fat little friend, are stupid.” The yardmaster tapped the thumbnail of his left hand against his closed lips.

“Oh! What are you going to do? Take me for a speedboat ride like you did Masters?” Shaw huffed. “And you fucked that up!”

Simpson realized he was hearing something that was not meant for his ears. He glanced over at the yardmaster and knew his
life had just been put into jeopardy by Shaw’s comment.

“Who?” The yardmaster smiled. “I don’t know anyone by that name … do you, Shaw?”

“I can take
one
pallet!” Shaw tried compromising with the master black marketeer.

“We have over a million and a half dollars’ worth of frozen meat on that ship and we have to move it before someone realizes
that none of it is bad.” The yardmaster’s whole bearing became threatening. “We have too much at stake here for one
gutless
person to fuck it up.” He turned Shaw’s paperwork around so that he could fill in the blank issue columns and then he signed
the authorization block with a flair. “Go draw your meat!”

Shaw picked up his paperwork and looked down at the quantity. “I said one pallet, damn you, not four!”

The outside door leading to the stairs opened and Woods stepped into the air-conditioned office. “Wow! It’s nice in here!”

Shaw swallowed his next sentence. The distinguished-looking NCO smiled and held out his hand for Woods to shake. “Sergeant
LeMoine … Country LeMoine.”

Woods saw that the pepper-gray-headed NCO was wearing an immaculate set of stateside issue fatigues that tucked inside his
trousers. A crease split each of the pocket buttons and when he turned sideways, Woods could see that there were three very
sharp creases running down the back of his jacket. He wondered how the NCO could keep his uniform so neat in the heat coming
up off the sand. “David Woods. I stopped by to see if Sergeant Shaw had the paperwork ready so we can draw our supplies.”
Woods looked over at Shaw. “Kirkpatrick is next in line.”

“Yes, Shaw has the paperwork. I just signed it.” The yardmaster’s voice sounded like pebbles rattling in a tin can.

Woods did a double take and stared at the NCO. The voice was the one he had heard when Masters had been with him.

The sergeant yardmaster smiled and explained his voice to Woods. “Sorry about that. I had a cancer operation and sometimes
my voice gives out when I’m talking.”

“At least you survived the operation…” Woods thought that he had to say something.

“True, very true.” The yardmaster’s voice lowered and gave a hint of a rattle.

Woods thought that there was a great deal of similarity between the sergeant’s voice and the prairie rattlesnakes he used
to kill with his friends back in Nebraska.

“Start loading the truck.” Shaw wouldn’t look at Woods or at the yardmaster. He knew he was trapped.

“Nice meeting you, Sergeant LeMoine.” Woods turned to leave.

“Call me Country.”

Woods smiled and nodded his head.

Simpson waited until Woods had reached the bottom of the steps and then spoke for the first time. “Sergeant Shaw really has
a problem back in An Khe with our captain.” He slipped forward on the chair he was sitting on behind the yardmaster’s desk.
“We would be taking a really big risk … You understand,
Country
?”

The yardmaster glared at the young black soldier and his voice changed back to a gravel pitch. “I said that
he
could call me Country, not you.”

“That’s not very nice … Country. We’re partners and I can’t call you by your first name?”

“Where in the fuck do you get off that we’re partners?” The yardmaster took a threatening step toward Simpson and reached
back on his hip for the custom-made Arkansas toothpick he always carried.

“You’re right!
You
are too dangerous to be one of
my
partners.” Simpson pushed the chair back and raised the barrel of the silenced .22 caliber pistol he had been holding on
his lap. Shaw’s eyes enlarged when he realized what Simpson was going to do.

“You fucking punk!” The yardmaster started removing his fighting knife. The first bullet hit his neck just below his jaw.
He paused and took another step forward. Simpson took his time and aimed for the second round, and it entered the yardmaster’s
skull right above his nose and a little bit to the left. The NCO gave a surprised glance at Shaw as if to say that he couldn’t
believe what was happening and then collapsed on the tile floor of the tower.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” Shaw panicked.

Simpson slipped the long-barreled pistol back inside his waistband and adjusted his jacket. “He was too dangerous for us.”

“You fucking
murdered
him!”

“Shut up!
I
didn’t murder him … one of his
partners
got rid of him!” Simpson started going through the drawers of the desk and found what he was sure had to be there: a drawer
full of bundles of MPC. The black drug dealer had been around crime too long not to know that an operation as big as the yardmaster
had going for him had to have a large operating cash flow. He started stuffing as many of the bundles as he could into his
jacket pockets and then broke a couple of the bundles of ten-dollar notes and scattered the notes around the dead man’s body.
“See, my man! Robbery and murder … some people are just greedy!”

Simpson opened the door and looked back at the sergeant. “Are you coming or do you want to be here when his next customer
arrives?” Simpson took the steps two at a time down to the ground. Shaw was right behind him.

The body lay on the shiny tile floor with its mouth partially open. The blood coming from the hole in the man’s head dripped
down on the asphalt tile and formed a tiny stream that ran over to the half-inch hole that had been drilled in the floor to
drain the condenser water off the air conditioner in the wall above it. The yardmaster’s blood reached the hole and mixed
with the water. A pale red spot started developing on the damp sand below the tower, in the exact spot that Daryl Masters
had sat with Woods when they had first heard Shaw and the yardmaster talking about the black-market scheme.

Woods noticed that Shaw was constantly looking up at the yardmaster’s tower the whole time they loaded the truck with the
pallets of frozen meat. Kirkpatrick and Simpson pulled the heavy tarp over the cargo and tied it down.

“Hurry up! I don’t want to get caught on the highway when it gets dark, and we have one more stop to make!” Shaw glanced over
at Simpson.

“Where?” Woods stacked his gear to the left side of the cab, away from the diesel smokestack.

“Simpson has to make a stop in An Khe.” Shaw glared at the cocky black soldier. “He won’t take
long
.”

“We’ve got plenty of time, old Sarge … relax!” Simpson almost laughed when he saw the uncontrolled nervousness on the NCO’s
face. “You’ve got to learn to work under pressure. Now, when I was back in Detroit and worked for the Young Boys Incorporated—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shaw was on the very edge of breaking. “I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit about that fucking
gang of yours!” Shaw fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes and glanced back over his shoulder at the tower in the distance.

Woods noticed two things: Simpson’s look of contempt for the supply sergeant, and Shaw’s obsession with the yardmaster’s tower.
Something had gone on up there that had amused Simpson and upset Shaw.

The three-quarter-ton truck had been shoved to one side of the highway by an M-48A5 main battle tank. There were three more
of the large armored vehicles spaced about seventy-five meters apart on the east side of the village, and an infantry company
was sweeping the Vietnamese compound from the west. Sporadic rifle shots could be heard coming from inside the village, and
an occasional scream could be heard over the sound of the truck’s engine.

A small group of Vietnamese women and children were squatting next to the road with two American soldiers guarding them. Woods
could see that the men wore shoulder patches that identified them as troopers from the First Cavalry Division, his unit. The
sweep of the village had caused the traffic on the road to bottle up at the bridge west of Khu Pho, and the circling gunships
had the livestock in the village spooked and running across the road.

“Fucking Vietnamese! You’d think they could control their fucking animals!” Shaw leaned out of his window and tried shooing
out of the way a large water buffalo that had taken up a position in the middle of the road.

Woods looked out over the cab of the truck and saw one of the American guards butt-stroke a small Vietnamese boy who had been
squatting next to his mother and sister. The idling truck engine didn’t block out the yelling soldier or his buddy.

“Kill that little motherfucking commie!”

The mother started begging for them to stop hitting her child and then she tried throwing her body between the boy and the
men beating him. The little girl cowered and cried.

Woods jumped over the side of the truck with his CAR-15 held out in his hand. He landed on the balls of his feet and reached
the group of Vietnamese in a half-dozen steps. “STOP THAT SHIT! NOW!”

One of the guards glanced over at Woods and grinned. “Fuck you! I take orders only from my NCOs and officers. You’d better
get your fucking ass away from here or I might decide on beating your ass!”

Woods could see the murder lust in the man’s eyes; they weren’t focusing. It was obvious the men had been doing dope. “I said
you had better stop it…” Woods realized he was an NCO and used his rank. “That’s an
order
.”

“Fuck…”

Woods raised the barrel of his CAR-15 until it was pointed inches above the soldier’s head and pulled the trigger. A long
burst ripped through the air. He lowered the weapon until it pointed at the soldier’s gut. “On your fucking faces! NOW!”

The soldier watching dropped down on his stomach in the red dust and his buddy followed, slowly. “We’re
Americans
! You’re fucking crazy, Sergeant!”

“Sergeant David Woods, First Brigade Recon Company. I’m taking your
prisoners
with me back to An Khe, and if I hear of any more of this shit you’re pulling, I’ll press charges!”

“You can’t take my prisoners!” The soldier started getting up.

“I’ll blow your smelly ass away if you so much as move another inch!” Woods’s voice underlined his statement, and the soldier
lay back down in the red dust.

“You’re fucking crazy, man…”

Woods went over and stuck the barrel of his CAR-15 against the back of the soldier’s neck who had first started beating the
small boy.

“Hey, man! That fucking barrel is hot!”

Woods pushed harder against his neck and patted the side pockets of the soldier’s jungle fatigues. He could see the bulge
of the pipe and removed it and the bag of marijuana. He looked over at the other soldier. “If you have any of this shit, you’d
better get rid of it … now!”

The soldier leaned over on his side and removed a small plastic vial that had been attached to his jungle fatigue jacket by
a small chain that held the cap on the bottle. He threw the vial down at Woods’s feet.

Woods stood and pointed at the nine women and children the two soldiers were guarding. “
Di
.” He kept his voice soft and pointed at the truck. They understood what he was trying to tell them and scrambled on board
the pallets of frozen meat. Woods slung his CAR-15 over his shoulder and picked up the small child in his arms. The mother
kept patting his shoulder and saying the same phrase over and over again. Woods started walking to the rear of the vehicle
when he saw Kirkpatrick point his M-16 at something over his head.

“That would be the
dumbest
thing you ever tried and it would be the cause of
your
fucking death!” Kirkpatrick snapped.

The soldier who had the pipe had tried picking up his M-16. Woods handed the boy up to the mother and helped her make him
comfortable on the cool tarp.

Shaw spoke for the first time. “What in the fuck are you going to do with these people?”

“Take them into An Khe.”

“Woods! They could be VC!”

“Little ones, maybe…” Woods looked at the two women and seven children. “Kirkpatrick and I will guard them.”

“You are fucking crazy, Woods!” Shaw motioned for Simpson to drive on.

Kirkpatrick watched the two soldiers lying in the dust until they were out of sight and then sat down in the corner of the
truck.

“Thanks, Kirk!” Woods nodded at his teammate and then finished putting the dressing on the boy’s forehead. Kirkpatrick nodded
and slipped back into his own private thoughts. He felt good about what Woods had done and very guilty over selling drugs
to the troops back at An Khe. He had just received a lesson on the results of his profiteering. He glanced up and saw Simpson
looking at him through the rearview mirror.