Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 08 - In Dangers Path

«Then you must get lonely in there, all alone by yourself.»

«Actually, I don't live in the BOQ.»

«You're married?»

The pressure of her abdomen against his disappeared.

«No. I live in the Peabody in Memphis,» he said. «And I'm not married.»

The pressure of her abdomen against his reappeared.

If she keeps that up, I'm going to get a hard-on.

She did, and he did.

The pressure of her abdomen against his remained constant.

Elizabeth-Sue volunteered further information about herself: for example, that her husband, Quincy, Junior, as he was known, was considerably older than she was, was deeply involved with administering War Bond sales in Tennessee, and had to be out of town a good deal. He was, in fact, out of town for the next week.

At that point, Elizabeth-Sue discreetly inquired if living in the Peabody was comfortable, and did he share his accommodations with anyone?

He lied to her in that instance, not to deceive her, but because it was easier to say he was all alone than to explain that he and Captain William Charles Dunn, USMCR, of the Point Clear, Alabama, Dunns, shared the Jefferson Davis Suite in the Peabody—actually two three-room suites sharing a common sitting room. It was understood between the two men that neither entered the quarters of the other without first telephoning to make sure a visit would not interrupt anything, or embarrass the participants.

«Perhaps we could have a drink sometime,» Pick said.

«Memphis is a small town, really,» Elizabeth-Sue said. «Everyone knows everyone. If anyone saw us together, there would be talk.»

«Well, maybe if we just happened to bump into each other somewhere, say the bar at the Peabody, we could go somewhere where no one would see us.»

«You really are a wicked man, aren't you?» Elizabeth-Sue said, clearly aware that the somewhere where no one would see them was his room.

Lieutenant Pickering pulled his Cadillac convertible up to the front door of the Peabody Hotel. After checking up and down the street to make sure no Shore Patrolmen or Military Policemen were in sight, got out quickly and tossed the keys to the bellman on duty. «I won't be needing it tonight, I hope,» he said to the bellman. He entered the building and headed for the bank of elevators. Then stopped in disbelief.

Sitting on a leather couch facing the passage between the elevators and the shallow pool in the center of the lobby was a fellow Marine officer and a lady, both of whom he was acquainted with. The Marine officer was in impeccable uniform.

He slid onto the couch beside the Marine officer.

«What the hell are you doing here?» Lieutenant Pickering asked.

«If she's not pulling my chain,» Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, announced, «I am about to see a flock of ducks march off the elevator, pass right by here, and then paddle around that pool.» He described the path with a pointed finger.

«Truth is stranger than fiction,» Pick said. «The duck march is one of Memphis's best-known cultural attractions.» He consulted his pilot's chronograph and added: «And if they're on time, and they usually are, that will take place in ninety seconds.»

The two men looked at each for a moment.

«God, I'm glad to see you.» Pick said.

«Me, too, buddy,» Ken McCoy replied.

«Who's the broad?» Pick asked.

«Screw you, Pick,» Miss Ernestine Sage said.

«When did you get here? How did you get here?» Pick asked.

«Nine o'clock this morning,» McCoy said. «We came on the train. I wanted to drive, but Ernie said she was afraid of the weather.»

This was not quite the truth. She had actually said that she would like to get a compartment on the train. She had always had a fantasy about making love in a bunk on a train, with the rails making that clickety-click sound beneath them.

Booking a compartment on the

Cotton Blossom

hadn't been easy, but Captain McCoy had been highly motivated. In the event, in his view, the trip had been worth all the effort.

«Why didn't you come out to the air station? Or at least call? What did you do all day?»

Miss Sage looked at Captain McCoy as if she feared he would tell Lieutenant Pickering how they had spent most of the day.

«We walked down to the river and watched it roll by,» McCoy said. «I called out there, and Billy Dunn said you were really tied up and could we wait until you got off duty? If he told you we were here, he would probably have to court-martial you, because you could be counted upon to desert your post.»

«He really takes being a captain a little too seriously,» Pick said.

«According to him, you don't take being a lieutenant seriously enough,» McCoy said, and then he said, «Well, I will be damned!»

A line of ducks, a dozen of them, shepherded by a bellman, emerged from an elevator and marched quacking through the lobby into the shallow pool.

«Aren't they

adorable?»

Miss Sage inquired.

«Lieutenant, may I please see your ID card?» a boatswain's mate second class, USN, with an SP brassard on his sleeve inquired.

«Oh, Jesus, Boats!» Lieutenant Pickering said. «Not again? What were you doing, waiting for me?»

«We just happened to see you get out of your car, sir,» the SP said. «Can I have your ID card, please?»

McCoy saw there were two SPs. The second, a seaman first class, was standing a few feet away, his hands folded behind his back.

«Can I see you a minute, Boats?» McCoy said, standing up.

«Sir. this is no concern of yours,» the SP said.

«That wasn't a suggestion, Boats,» McCoy said, and held up a leather folder before the SP's face, just long enough for him to take a quick look at it.

«Aye. aye, sir,» the Shore Patrolman said.

He followed McCoy across the lobby, where McCoy stopped behind a massive pole.

«Sir. could I see your credentials again, please?» the SP said.

McCoy handed him the leather folder again. The SP examined it carefully, looked hard at McCoy, then handed it back.

«You don't see very many of those, sir,» he said.

«I suppose not,» McCoy replied.

I

never thought about that. I wonder how many Special Agents

—real

Special Agents

—

of the Office of Naval Intelligence there are, running around

?

«How can I help you. Captain?»

«You're interfering with my business with that officer. Can I ask you to just walk away, or are we going to have to get your duty officer over here? Having to do that would annoy me.»

«No, sir. Those credentials are enough for me.»

«Thank you,» McCoy said.

«Captain, it may not be my place…«

«What's on your mind, Boats?»

«Off the record, sir?»

McCoy nodded.

«That lieutenant… Sir, he's an ace from Guadalcanal. And he's a really nice guy. Let me put it this way. Half the time I see him out of uniform, I don't. You know what 1 mean?»

McCoy nodded.

«But the white hats and the enlisted Marines see him running around out of uniform, and they think they can get it away with it too. And when I have to write them up, their asses are really in a crack.»

«I take your point, Boats,» McCoy said.

«I don't know what your business is with him, sir, and I'm not asking. But I really hope he's not in bad trouble.»

«Nothing he can't fix by trying to straighten up and fly right,» McCoy said.

«Yes, sir,» the SP said. «Thank you, sir.»

«Thank you, Boats,» McCoy said.

The SP motioned to the other one, pointing to the door to the street, and walked away. McCoy returned to Ernie and Pick.

«Come on,» he said.

«What did you show that SP?» Pick asked.

«Let's get out of the damned lobby,» McCoy repeated. It was not a suggestion.