Michael McGarrity: Tularosa

The private gave him directions to the sergeant's quarters at the opposite end of the compound. Kerney walked to the two-room suite in the barracks that Master Sergeant Roy Enloe occupied and knocked on the door. It was jerked open by a hairy, naked man who was toweling dry his hair. He seemed unconcerned about his appearance or the stranger at his door.

"My company clerk just called from the office to say you were coming over. I don't have much time," Enloe said, leaving the door open and walking to the middle of his small sitting room.

"What can I do for you?"

"What can you tell me about Sammy Yazzi?"

"He was a good soldier." Enloe picked up a fresh pair of boxer shorts from the arm of a chair, dropped the towel, and started dressing."He pulled his duty without complaint and never gave me any trouble. I've been over this ground before, Lieutenant, with our own people. Ask me a question I haven't heard."

"Do you know how I can get a hold of William McVay?" Kerney asked.

"Bull McVay?" Enloe smiled as he pulled on an undershirt.

"He's retired. Living up in a trailer park at Elephant Butte Lake. Why do you want to see Bull?"

"He was Sammy's baseball coach. Maybe he might know something about Sammy's disappearance." Enloe shook his head in disagreement.

"I doubt it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Bull likes to talk about three things. Baseball, religion, and the Army. He became a horn-again Christian about three years ago. You can't get him to stop talking about Jesus Christ, the New York Mets, and the air cavalry, especially if he has a few beers in him. That's all he cares about. I don't think he'd have a clue about why Yazzi went A.W.O.L.." Enloe stepped into a pair of stretch denim jeans and sat down to put on his shoes and socks.

"Why did McVay retire?" Kerney inquired. Enloe talked to the floor as he tied his shoelaces.

"Bull was planning on being a thirty-year man until his mother got sick. Alzheimer's disease. It was real tough on him to put in his retirement papers, but he felt obligated to look after her. He got her admitted to the state veterans' home up in Truth or Consequences. She served in

World War Two as a WAC ferry pilot, flying B-17 bombers."

"Have you seen him since he retired?"

"No." Enloe stood up and put on a clean shirt that had been draped over the back of the chair.

"But he should be easy to find. Truth or Consequences isn't that big of a town."

"Why do you call him Bull?" Enloe snorted as he buttoned his shirt.

"Wait till you meet him. He's a foot shorter than me and built like a tank."

"Is he married?"

"Divorced. That's one reason he's working. The ex-wife gets a third of his retirement pay."

"Do you know where he works?"

"I haven't a clue. Somebody at the NCO club might be able to tell you."

"Thanks for your time."

Enloe smiled. "No sweat." He walked out the door behind Kerney and hurried across the compound to the parking lot.

Kerney went to locate PFC Alonzo Tony, who was nowhere to be found. His roommate, a slightly overweight boy with bony hands and a pug nose, arrived just as Kerney was about to leave. The soldier told Kerney that Tony worked swing shift at the post communication center, where he served as a cryptographer, and didn't get off until midnight. Kerney asked where Sammy Yazzi bunked, and the boy took him to a two-man room down the hall. Exactly half the room was empty, except for a bunk. The other half contained a precisely made bed with military corners, a foot-locker, and personal gear. The name on the closet door read PFC Robert Jaeger.

"Where is Sammy's gear?" Kerney asked.

"At the quartermaster's," the soldier answered.

"They store your gear if you go A.W.O.L.." Kerney could hear the sounds of the troops returning from dinner. A radio was cranked up to a rap music station. Someone shouted to turn down the noise.

"What about his bunkmate?" Kerney asked.

"Bobby? He's on a pass."

"When is he due back?" The soldier shrugged and looked down the hallway, anxious to be done with Kerney.

"In a day or two, I guess. Anything else?"

"No. Thanks a lot."

The kid nodded and walked away. Kerney made a quick search of the room, checking the closets, the built-in dressers and desks. The room was completely bare of any trace of Sammy.

Outside, the evening air was cooling quickly and the compound was filled with young men, most of them in civilian clothes, eager for diversion. The Organ Mountains were tipped with a band of pink light as the final shadows of dusk came on.

The post library, within walking distance of the barracks, near the service club and the post movie theater, was not the most popular attraction on the post. Some housewives browsed through the new fiction display, and a few off-duty soldiers were in the reading room. Kerney found the young woman Sammy had briefly dated busily shelving books in the stacks. Carla Montoya was petite, bouncy, and talkative. Long, curly hair framed her rather ordinary features to advantage. She appeared to be in her early twenties. She answered Kerney's questions willingly, creating a sense of drama for herself in the process.

"I met him here at work," Carla said, responding to Kerney's overture. "He spent a lot of time at the library when he first came to the base. I thought he was kinda cute. Real quiet-like and serious. He didn't try to hustle me, but was real sincere-like. We dated five or six times. The movies, a couple of dances. Stuff like that."

"Who broke it off?" Carla shook her head, the curls swirling over her shoulder. She patted them down.

"Nobody. It didn't get that far. It was just dating, that's all. I like him and everything, but…" She shrugged.

"Did Sammy talk about himself? His problems?" Carla chewed on her lip.

"Not really. It wasn't like he was unhappy or anything like that. He talked a lot about how much he wanted to go to art school when he got out. Some place back east. I forget exactly where."

"Nothing else?"

"He talked about cars," Carla answered.

"He had an old Chevy sedan." She rolled her eyes in mock disgust and twirled her finger around a lock of hair.

"It was really a piece of junk. I mean, embarrassing." She strung the word out.

"He wanted to buy something better."

"Did he?"

Carla hesitated, her fingers toying with a strand of her hair.

"I'm not sure. I saw him cruising in Las Cruces once after we stopped dating. He was driving a different car. Somebody was with him, but I couldn't tell who it was. I don't think he even saw me. I kinda figured he'd bought himself something better."

"When was that?"

"About two months ago. Just before he went A.W.O.L.."

"What kind of car was Sammy driving?"

"I think it was a Toyota. Not new. Maybe a couple of years old. Sort of a sandy beige two-door. An economy model." Carla's tone of voice suggested that the car was not at all cool.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"Sure. Sammy's father. The Army investigator." She smiled brightly. "And now you. But I just remembered seeing him in a different car. I'd forgotten about that."

"Where did Sammy keep his car?" Kerney asked.

"I guess behind the barracks," Carla answered. "That's where the enlisted personnel have to park."

"Tell me about the Chevy," Kerney asked. Cars meant a great deal to Carla. She described the junky Chevy in detail.

Kerney left her to resume her book-stacking chores and walked back to the barracks. The parking lot was half empty. He looked for a beige Toyota and a beat-up Chevy. There was no Toyota that matched Carla's description, but there was a white Chevy sedan with a For Sale sign in the window parked at the back of the lot. He wiped away the film of dust from the window where the sign was taped. The sign had Sammy's name on it. He circled the vehicle. There was enough light from the streetlamps to see hand and fingerprint smudges in the dust on the door near the handle.