THE HAPPY HAT (12 page)

Kaplan stood up with her. “I used to do this at home. Can I help? I’d like to.”

She gave a soft, “Yes.”

‡

Halfway through the meal Skagan put down her fork. “I almost forgot. I do have wine if you want–the one you brought and two others. My mother used to serve wine with the pasta dishes.”

“I never developed a taste for wine or any other alcohol beverages. The meal is delicious. Did you make the manicotti from scratch? I usually get the frozen stuff and nowhere near as good.”

“Yes. Although I’m told you can buy the pasta dough in the Bronx at Ganucci’s Italian Grocery on Arthur Ave. If I ever get out there I’ll give it a try.”

Conversation was matched with elements from their mixed Italian upbringing. They shared funny situations and some difficult cultural stories.

“I can’t believe we have so much in common.” Skagan picked up the dishes.

Kaplan jumped up from his chair. “Let me help with the clean-up.”

“I was just going to throw them in the sink while we do desert. But if you want to help after desert and coffee I’m not going to beat you away with a baseball bat.”

Kaplan laughed. He still had his sport coat on and was starting to feel warm. “Let me hang my coat up in the hallway closet. You can get desert.”

The closet was what it was supposed to be–a closet.
Could it be that Philomena Skagan was totally not a part of the heroin plaster connection?
He began thinking more of Skagan as a woman of his age and like him someone who was selective about seeking companionship.

“Cannolis and coffee. This is a touch of heaven.” Kaplan was beaming. “I haven’t had such a fantastic homey meal in a long time.”

They scraped the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher after a light rinse. They went back to the sofa in the living room and sat close together.

“Now that we know each other a little more Ike I have to ask you a few things.” Skagan seemed more relaxed and more casual. “What are your plans for the future? What do you want after the Navy? You did say the Navy was just consuming your military obligation.”

“Okay. I plan to get into some aspect of the law–maybe law school or even law enforcement.” He threw this at her like a weapon. If she was the enemy he should get a defensive, or maybe an offensive, reaction.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say medical school. After all you’ve been working with acute and chronic patients for well over a year.” Skagan let her hand fall on top of his.

“My major in college was psychology and criminal behavior. I consider my medical training as an asset to further understanding people.”

She softened, “I’m so glad you don’t see your military service as a waste of your lifetime. So many soldiers and military draftees do.” She gave his hand a squeeze.

“And what about you? Do you plan to be an Admiral in the Nursing Corps?” Kaplan felt a slight relief. She may not be a part of the drug conspiracy or she may be an outstanding criminal with superior acting talent.

“I don’t think I’d ever make even Captain rank. I step on too many people’s toes. I think now that the war is over I’ll transition into civilian nursing. I was thinking of getting a Master’s degree in hospital administration and one day maybe becoming a hospital administrator. I seem to be good at working with people in difficult situations.”

“You mean like the plaster cast disposal mission?”

She laughed. “You make it sound like a ridiculous situation but you should have seen some of those terminal cases of meliodosis from pseudomonas infection after inhaling plaster dust. I was in charge of an entire ward of these poor guys. The ones who survived will be pulmonary cripples for life.”

“I didn’t mean to belittle the operation. I can see how attention to details is mandatory. When I first met those civilian plaster disposal street thugs I wondered if we weren’t setting up civilians for getting the disease. I mean who polices those guys? We don’t know what they do with the cast material.”
Let’s see how she handles that.

“I do wonder about that. I say prayers that those plaster contaminated bags get incinerated per our Navy protocol.” She looked at her watch. “My goodness it’s almost 12-o’clock.”

They stood up and were just inches apart. “Phil I really enjoyed myself and I’m glad my instincts to come here were correct. You’re a wonderful person and I wouldn’t want things to end here for us. What do we do at work?”

“At work it’s ma’am and not Phil.”

Kaplan smiled. “That’s not fair. You’ve been calling me Ike in the hospital for months now.”

Suddenly Kaplan felt like they were being watched. Someone else was here. He looked around.

“What’s the matter Ike?” Skagan followed his darting eyes.

Kaplan wanted his .45 in his hand. His instincts were not usually wrong. Then he felt it and saw the eyes at his knee. “Oh my God! What is that?”

Bork was rubbing his head against Kaplan’s legs.

Skagan laughed. “I thought he was in his crate. Well, this is amazing. Bork is usually wary of strangers and attacks them.”

“Bork? What is Bork?” Kaplan was still frozen in place.

“He’s my roommate. Bork is a Maine Coon cat. He hates strangers–usually. I take this as a good omen. He’s purring. Go ahead scratch his head.”

“He’s as big as the Australian Collie I had when I was a kid.” Kaplan bent his knees and slowly touched Bork’s furry head and let him smell his hand. Bork then climbed up Kaplan’s leg to his beltline purring like a cement mixer. Kaplan scratched Bork’s head and behind his ears. “Does he have any claws? He walked up my leg with his front paws and I didn’t feel anything.”

“Bork has everything but testicles. He likes you.” She reached for Kaplan’s hand. “And so do I.”

She walked him to the door with Bork at her heels. “I’ll get your jacket.”

Kaplan immediately moved ahead and retrieved his sport coat which he held with his left hand. He faced Skagan at the doorway. “There’s one thing we definably can’t do in the hospital Phil.”

“What?” She moved into his embrace.

They kissed as if it was a natural thing, something they had been used to. When they separated she rested her head against his shoulder. “We have to have a next time Ike.”

Bork looked on in approval.

‡

Kaplan entered his warm apartment and hung up his sport coat after removing the .45. His thoughts were back with Skagan. He looked down at the envelope addressed to Stokely with the words, “To be opened in the event of my death”. The .45 was next to it.

I want to tear it up but a part of me says to wait.

Chapter 19

Amstel Perkins

Perkins and Linsky were exhausted after recrystalizing the heroin from its former habitat in the smelly, bacteria-laden plaster shells.

“I’m beat.” Linsky was sweaty from the water evaporation process that left the pure white powder behind. “I’m going to the shower. You begin the plastic wrap and remember try to get the weight to exactly one kilogram. Never get under and a few milligrams over is okay.”

Amstel Perkins felt his adrenalin rise. His pulse increased and his fatigue disappeared. This was an opportunity. He began carefully scooping the powdered heroin onto the plastic wrap on the balance scale. From there it went onto the same plastic wrap device which sealed the kilo rendering the package waterproof at the same time. He was good at this phase of the process and rapidly sequestered a kilo of heroin in his laundry bag. A kilo of pure heroin would be assessed in terms of milligrams. Salable packages of heroin on the street were 5-and-10 mg at five and ten dollars per unit respectively. A kilo of pure heroin was 1000 grams which he could sell uncut for up to a hundred-thousand dollars. If he cut it himself and found some dealers he could make more than that. Dealers were cheap and could be recruited amongst the addict population.

Perkins had bagged over four kilo packages when Linsky emerged from the shower. “You can use the shower next if you want.” He looked at the packaged product. “Wow, looks like we got a few more kilos to bag. Your take should be about thirty grand after I unload this in PR.”

“Puerto Rico? I thought you had a Jamaican buyer.” Perkins pulled his surgical mask below his chin.

“I have to keep moving it around and especially keep it out of the US. We’re dead meat if anyone finds out what we’re doin’. I keep tellin’ you those nutcases in Brownsville are Brooklyn savages when it comes to gettin’ screwed. They show no mercy and if we get caught it’s an automatic death sentence to serve as an example to others.”

Perkins threw a glance to his laundry bag. “I’ll pass on the shower. I have to get to work in a few hours. I’m headin’ home and shower there.”

“Well keep scoping out the patients with the biggest casts.” Lansky began packaging the remaining powdered heroin. “Give me a week to get this out to my PR contact.”

“I can hide the cast if I see a good one. Dr. Norman has me out front on the air-evac lists. The guy’s grateful to have someone help him out. Norman has the JMOOD duty once a week now so I should have a cast in your weekly timeframe to develop that steady cash flow.” Perkins left the apartment.

The change from the hot, moist kitchen into a wall of cool night air gave him a chill. Thoughts of his new windfall kilo of heroin and his calculated value from it totally suppressed recall of the eviscerated woman and Linsky’s reinforcement of caution.

‡

580. 580. 580.

Norman saw his page flashing and pressed the ward phone to his ear. “Dr. Norman.”

“Yes. It’s LT Zettler looking for you. I’ll connect.” The operator had a motherly tone.

I’ll bet the operator listens in to our mushy stuff
. Norman waited for the connection.

“LT. Zettler.”

“Hey babe. What’s up?”

“I know you have trouble keeping track of time. Look at your watch. It’s after twelve. We both need to be fed.”

God. Thinking of motherly
. “Okay. I just have to finish one order sheet. I’ll meet you in the Officer’s Mess in five minutes.”

“Honestly Paul Norman, I’m keeping you alive until we march down the altar then you’re on your own.” She laughed.

“Once we’re married and out of the Navy we won’t be so overworked. Besides, I do answer to hunger. There’s always peanut butter and bread in the reefer on every ward.”

“You’re hopeless. See you in five minutes.” Zettler hung up.

Norman looked at his watch. The day’s air-evac was due in two hours. According to Perkins it was a big one–over thirty patients. He’d touch base with Perkins after chow with Minnie Zettler.

Norman and Zettler always sat at the same mess table when it was available–like now. It was a table for two and faced the pager lights above the Officer’s Mess Hall entryway.

Zettler waved Norman over to the table and he set his tray opposite hers. “What time’s the air-evac due in?”

“I have two more hours. According to Perkins there’s over thirty patients and at least eight for orthopedics. I have five empty beds on my ward but I’ll only take on one patient. The other G wards have more space and as JMOOD I don’t want to be up all night admitting my own ortho patients.”

“Amstel Perkins always seems to get air-evac duty when you’re JMOOD.” She smiled as Norman attacked his oversized meatloaf, potato and gravy portions.

“I lucked out with that guy. He gets the air-evac list for me so I can make rounds on my own ward and still cover the ER as JMOOD.”

“You seem to have good luck with corpsmen. Kaplan practically runs G-1 for you.”

“Kaplan is amazing. I never met a corpsman so intelligent and his leadership powers are outstanding. He even gets along with ball-buster Skagan.” Norman burped with her name.

“You think she has her eyes on Kaplan? I mean she selected your ward for centralizing those Nam plaster casts for disposal.”

“Skagan is 100% Navy rule book. I don’t think she’d mess around with an enlisted man. As for selecting G-1–it’s the only orthopedic ward with a loading dock as part of the cast room.”

“Kaplan’s her age. Didn’t you tell me he was a college grad and going to graduate school after the Navy? I mean he has possibilities. I’m surprised Dina Sparrow hasn’t jumped his bones by now. I noticed one morning when I went by G-1 She practically salivates when she sees him on rounds.”

“Kaplan’s a lot like Skagan. He obeys rules. He won’t mess with an officer.”

“The guy’s handsome, well-built, and pleasant to talk to–I bet his hormones are raging like any normal male amidst available women.” She blotted her red lips with a napkin as she finished desert.

Norman finished gobbling his lunch and burped again. “Like mine?”

“Wipe that smile off your face. I bet if you didn’t have me you’d have a few other nurse Lieutenants to roll with.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sex is more than anatomy. You make love to the person who inhabits the body. I mean look at Philomena Skagan. She’s gorgeous but no one is beating down her bedroom door. She’s a bitch on wheels.” Norman looked at the paging lights blinking. “There goes my page number. Let me get the mess hall phone.”

Norman came back within a few minutes. “Speak of the devil. That was Skagan. She wants the tally of ortho patients with casts applied in Vietnam before they’re assigned to the G-wards.”

“She’s OCD all the way.” Zettler stood up and walked with Norman from the mess hall after placing their trays on the moving kitchen tread ramp.

“Obsessive compulsive maybe but not obsessive compulsive disorder. I’ll meet you tonight for dinner back here.” He reached over and grabbed her waist for a quick peck on the cheek. He watched her beautiful figure move away as he approached the ER.

‡

Norman had to switch back to his JMOOD status from romantic flashbacks. He ran right into Perkins at the main ER desk. “So what’s the tally?”

“Sir, we have thirty-nine air-evacs on the way. No one for the train station and no helo-pad criticals.” Perkins looked up from his clipboard. “There are eleven orthopedic patients–eight with casts.”

Norman remembered Skagan’s page. “How many with Vietnam plaster? LCDR Skagan has already asked me for a heads-up count.”

“Seven from Nam and one with plaster from Japan.” Perkins looked back at his forged list. He clearly marked a Nam patient with double thigh-to-ankle casts as not having plaster from Vietnam. “The marine from Japan has had his cast on for over a month.”

“How full is your ward–G-3?” Norman was already making ward assignments based on the diagnosis assigned to each air-evac.

“G-3 can take two more sir.”

Perkins called the ambulance dispatch desk after Norman went to tend to the ER patients. “This is Hospital Corpsman Perkins. What’s the ETA for the air-evac?”

Perkins, three other corpsman and four nurses along with several interns and residents received the thirty-nine-man air-evac. He found the marine from Japan. His squad was ambushed with a Claymore mine. He was one of five survivors. The Claymore shrapnel caught him below the knees. His left tibia required a plate and several screws for a well aligned linear fracture repair. His right leg’s fibula was broken in two places but had only required K-wires for reduction and fixation along with the above the knee-to-ankle cast. He was lucky. Perkins went to Norman.

“Dr. Norman I struck up a conversation with the marine from Japan–the one not on LCDR Skagan’s list. If you could, sir, could you admit him to my ward? He’ll need a cast change this week and I’d like to continue getting to know the guy. He seems to need someone to talk to.”

“Why? He’ll meet a bunch of patients just like him on any G-ward?”

“His family lives far away and he won’t have many visitors. I looked at his X-rays and his injuries aren’t severe. I’d like to maintain some continuity of care.”

Norman was a sucker for adding a humane touch for the unfortunates of this war. Most air-evacs were just grateful to be out of harm’s way and a touch of reassurance from another person was always a morale booster. “Okay Perkins. I switched a G-5 admission for this guy. You got him.”

“Thank you sir.” Perkins looked at the marine lying on a gurney. Both casts extended from five-inches above the knee to, and including, the feet. Perkins was looking at the plaster but he was seeing dollar signs.