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  1. mjcmmv

    Flashback Part 1

    Based on the episode, One Eyed Jack, here's a twist in the plot that just might have happened, FLASHBACK PART 1 Chapter 1: A Battlefield November 5, 1984 The horrors of war can change a man, make him old before his time. Martin studied his reflection in the hallway mirror and wondered why he’d never seen it before. Deep lines creased his forehead, and sunken cheeks made his face appear long and gaunt. His dark eyes blazed with anger; any hint of a smile hardened long ago. Smoothing back his thick hair, he noticed the icy strands of gray. When did this happen? The black suit and tie he'd chosen didn’t lighten the impression, but today he was taking on his new command and needed to look the part. The headache from the night before had worsened, and he knew that for now, green tea was all his stomach would tolerate. He measured the leaves into a mug and poured in the boiling water, letting them steep for a while. Already, morning sunlight had begun to streak the sky with soft shades of mauve and pink. Bringing the tea outside, Martin leaned against the deck railing and thought about the meeting he’d had with Chief Jorgenson just two weeks before. “We need you, Martin,” his superior said. “Lou Rodriguez was a good man, well-liked by his people. And he got results without riding the staff too hard. But now he’s gone, and these guys need reining in. That's why we called you. You're tough, and the way you handled those drug investigations during the war speaks for itself.” Jorgenson paused for a moment, then smiled. “Actually, it was Doug Hanson who tipped the scales in your favor. He kept insisting you were the man for the job.” Martin ignored the hallow endorsement. Lieutenant Hanson had never been a fan. Most likely, this was his attempt to get his second-in-command out of his hair. “Funny. I don’t remember filling out a transfer request for Vice.” “So, I pulled a few strings,” Jorgensen said with a shrug. “If you can’t see it as a promotion, then for God’s sake, take it as a compliment.” When Martin didn’t comment, the Chief frowned. “I thought you were a man who welcomed a challenge. Even without Hanson’s push, you’re the one I considered from the beginning.” The man's gaze wandered over to the office window. “This city’s in trouble. Drugs and prostitution are rampant. Organized crime has a solid foothold in the gambling arena. Then there’s that tourist shot last week, with an AK-forty-seven." He paused. "Miami’s at war, Martin. You take this position, you’ll be on the front lines. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Any other time, this tactic would have annoyed Martin, but considering the opportunity he'd been offered, he decided to let it go. “I accept,” he said finally. Jorgenson smiled. “Good. Then OCB will be expecting you to report in two weeks from today, November 5th. Is that enough time?” “Yes. My files are in order.” “I guess that’s it, then.” The Chief stood and held out his hand. “Thank you, Martin. I’m grateful. And let me wish you good luck.” “Thank you, sir,” he answered, allowing a thin smile to soften his expression. Secretly, Martin was pleased with the new assignment. His DEA connections from the old days would be invaluable in the department’s fight against drugs, and his familiarity with the trade routes and the methods of transport would give him a definite edge. The department’s choice had been a good one for him as well as for Miami, even though some might consider it a dead-end for a promising career. The wind chimes hanging by the sliding glass doors jangled with the morning breeze, and Martin checked his watch for the third time. Seven-fifteen ... time to go ... "And time for the war to begin,” was the whisper in his heart. Chapter 2: Backpedal “Zito! Come on, let’s go!” Stan Switek shouted. He sounded annoyed. Larry Zito dumped what was left of his cold coffee and followed along after his partner. They both barreled through the swinging doors, narrowly missing a dark-haired stranger passing through from the other side. “Excuse me,” the stranger began. “I would like to know where …” Stan paused and gave the man a quick once over. “Sorry, pal!” Then, he waved a hand dismissively and moved out into the hall. The rudeness didn’t seem to bother the stranger. He walked into the middle of the squad room and stood there, watching the chaos with interest. A secretary, loaded with an armful of files, dodged around detectives as she tried to answer the phone. A bald cop chewed on a cigar while a suspect sitting next to him banged a shackled wrist against a metal chair. Two undercover cops were discussing a date and backslapping one other, while another rowdy bunch charged out into the hall in a mad rush to get on with their shift. Martin Castillo had seen enough. He slipped his hands into his pockets and let out a shrill whistle. Everyone froze in their tracks. Some gawked; others cringed and put their hands over their ears. “I’m Lieutenant Castillo, your new boss,” he said in a calm voice. “Can someone tell me where my office is?” A shy woman with soft brown eyes stared at him in astonishment. “Ah… in the corner,” she told him and pointed the way. As he turned, he caught sight of a sandy-haired detective in a pink tee-shirt, strolling casually through the office. The young man seemed confused by the silence, but when he noticed Martin looking at him, he back-pedaled a little. Then, his blue-green eyes widened with curiosity. Sonny Crockett stood at his desk and glanced over at his partner, Ricardo Tubbs. They exchanged puzzled looks as two female detectives nearby began to size up the new boss. “Forty-two? Mean, huh?” Gina Calabrese asked her partner. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Trudy Joplin answered. They both watched Castillo close his office door. “That the new lieutenant?” Sonny asked Rico. “What’s he like?” “Charles Bronson, by way of Havana, would be my guess," Rico grumbled. He changed the subject. “So, how did things work out with the old girlfriend?” "She won't sign out a complaint against Rusack." “Can you blame her?” Rico rubbed the back of his neck, and Sonny cringed when he remembered how Rusack, a muscle-bound mob enforcer, had bounced them down a flight of stairs. A deep voice rumbled from the back of the room, and when Sonny glanced over his shoulder, he realized it was the new lieutenant. The man spoke again, and this time, something clicked in the young detective’s mind, something that made him restless and uneasy. … just a memory full of pain and better left forgotten ... He searched for an explanation, and for a minute, he thought he had the answer. But then, it slipped out of his grasp and was gone. The Lieutenant was closer now, and Sonny decided to introduce himself. “Lieutenant Castillo?” he called out, offering his hand. “Sonny Crockett.” “How’re you doing, Sonny?” Castillo returned the handshake. “Oh, by the way,” he added. “Did you file a report on this morning’s arrest?” Sonny blinked. “Well, no. Not yet.” The Lieutenant’s returning stare startled him, but he refused to look away. Without another word, the Lieutenant turned and continued out into the hall, leaving the room behind him with an unfamiliar chill. “Charming!” Sonny murmured. “Like I said,” Rico grumbled. “Charles Bronson, or, should I say, Attila the Hun!” Crockett was quiet as he shifted through the papers on his desk. “I know him from somewhere, Rico.” “Maybe he’s from a nightmare you had, once upon a time …” “Could be.” Sonny grinned. “Not a ‘Lou Rodriguez’ now, is he.” “You can say that again! Not even close!” Chapter 3: Background Crockett was annoyed he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with the new boss. He tapped a pencil on the edge of his desk, trying to figure out a way to make things right. “By-the-book, Sonny!” his old Lieutenant used to shout, “… or so help me, God! “ The memory made him smile. Lou Rodriguez had been one of the good ones. Hell, sometimes he’d been a pain in the ass, but it was clear to everyone the man cared about his officers. He worried about the dangers they faced undercover and recognized the prevalence of burnout in the department. Best of all, Rodriguez understood Sonny. He had an appreciation for his detective’s uncanny intuition and investigative skills. Sometimes, the man even looked the other way when department regulations threatened to slow things down. It was clear this new lieutenant would operate differently, and the thought of continuing his career under someone with an iron fist bothered Sonny more than he cared to admit. With a heavy sigh, he opened a notebook and began to jot down his thoughts, starting with the timeline of how his investigation had gone so far. Al Lombard, a major player in Miami’s underworld, had his finger in many pies, but gambling was the most lucrative. Unfortunately for law enforcement, he had big-name lawyers and friends in high places. Sonny had realized early on; the only way to take Lombard down was to arrest someone close to him and convince that person to testify. So, he and Rico spent two days in the Scarab spying on Mickey Owens, a small-time bookie doing business from a dive on one of the canals crisscrossing the area. They had come equipped with a telescopic lens, and the parabolic mike hooked up to recording equipment. A soft rain had started to fall, soaking into Crockett’s clothes and making him feel damp and uncomfortable “Boy, I hate gambling, stakeouts!" he grumbled. “They are the absolute lowest ebb!” "Hey, listen to you," RIco laughed. "White-bread kicking up the deck shoes, taking in the rain, getting paid genuine coin of the realm for it, and what do you do? Complain, complain, complain! “Who cares about busting some small-fry bookie who’s never going to roll over?” Rico was a newcomer to Miami, so Sonny went on to explain how the police commissioner was on a rampage, trying to convince the taxpayers he was close to catching the big-time mobster, Albert Lombard. “Lombard,” said Rico, stopping to think for a minute. “I remember hearing about him in New York. So, Mickey’s one of his bookies?” “Yup.” “When we dealt with Lombard up my way, nobody ever got close to him. And I mean nobody!" Rico turned his attention back to the camera and focused on the bookie's window, in case things started to get interesting. “Hmmm. Mickey’s got company. Check it out!” he murmured. Sonny peered into his binoculars, but when he focused on the scene across the water, he did a double-take. “My God, could it be?” He rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Damn! It is Barbara Carrow!” He felt his jaw tighten. “Hey, Tubbs. Turn up the volume a little.” There she was, the carefree girl he’d known from his high school days, hunched over and clutching the edge of Owen’s desk. From what he could tell, it sounded like she was pleading for more time. “The interest has already gone up like a sky-rocket!” she cried out. “You didn’t have to take my husband’s tools. We’ve got kids for God’s sake! He’s trying to support us!” The bookie was ignoring her, so she switched tactics. “You got to give me a chance! I can win it back! I know I can! I can feel it!” Someone else just entered the room, and Sonny caught sight of a dark figure looming over Barbara. Now there was fear on her face. "Just tellin' Mickey here, I'm doing my best.” "'Best' don't count. You got the bread or what?” “No, not yet!” A large man came into view and grabbed her by the arm. Sonny’s eyes widened with alarm. “Let’s hit it!” He revved up the Scarab’s engine, and they raced across the canal. With guns drawn, they shoved their way through the office door, just as Barbara Carrow began to scream. “Freeze! Miami Vice!” they both shouted. The muscular man they’d seen through the telescopic lens, now looked as big as a house. And when he saw Sonny and Rico’s with guns pointed at him, he went berserk. A glass vase narrowly missed Sonny’s head; then, an office chair flew through the air and smashed against the wall. Sonny and Rico charged him together, but he threw them aside without even breaking a sweat. Now, Sonny reached for an arm, and Rico pounced on the wild man’s back, but he spun them around, and suddenly, the three of them exploded through a plate glass window. Tightly wound together in a ball, they rolled down a flight of stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom. “This guy’s a Neanderthal!” Sonny thought, trying hard to catch his breath. Customers in the downstairs café scattered as more chairs flew, and tables cracked under the weight of falling bodies. Finally, Sonny conked the lug over the head with an empty beer bottle, and the man crumpled to the floor. “Whew!” Rico gasped, not worrying about being rough as he cuffed him. “This sure beat the hell out of any ride on Coney Island!” “You ain’t lying’ there, pal!” Sonny leaned against a pillar, eyeing the furniture they’d just demolished when he saw Barbara Carrow, standing at the top of the stairs, looking away in embarrassment. Now he came to her and held out his hand. “It’s been a long time." Barbara started to cry. “Hey, hey, come on now.” He took her in his arms and held her close. "It’s over. You're okay.” he murmured. She looked at him. "No, Sonny. I'm not okay." “Well, you look pretty okay to me.” His eyes caressed over her soft curves, and she smiled. They walked together by the water and talked about old times. Then, Sonny began to probe. "Listen, I'm no psychiatrist, so let's skip the 'when did it start?’ part. How much are you into these people for?” “Eleven thousand dollars," Barbara answered with a sigh. Sonny whistled. “I paid seven of it, but they never heard of best efforts. Two days ago, they broke into my husband Jerry’s garage and took everything. It took him six years to build up that business! They wiped him out in one day!" “Who?” When she told him about Vincent DeMarco, Sonny frowned. “You know him?” she asked. “Yeah. I do. De Marco works for a mobster we've been investigating by the name of Al Lombard. And let me tell you, you don’t mess with Al Lombard’s money. If he's owed, he gets paid.” “Sonny, you’ve got to help me out!” she pleaded. "First, you're gonna help yourself. I want you to file a complaint of assault against this Rusack, and then we’ll go after Vincent DeMarco together.” “You saw what they did to me over money! How do you think they’ll take it if I try to put them behind bars?” “We’ll protect you!” “How? Are you going to move in with us? Twenty-four hours a day? Protective custody?" When Sonny’s eyes slid away, she gave him a rueful smile. “I didn’t think so. Look, I need just one favor from you, Sonny. Please. For old time’s sake. Go to DeMarco. Ask him to give us back Jerry’s equipment.” “It doesn’t work that way, honey.” “Please, Sonny. I’m at the end of my rope. You said it yourself about these people. They’re dangerous.” He remembered from the old days that look she used to give him. “Damn, she’s good,” he thought. “Okay,” he said, giving in and realizing too late he’d just broken one of his cardinal rules. ‘Never let it get personal! Cause when it gets personal, it gets messy. And when it gets messy, somebody's gonna get killed!’ Too late. He was in it up to his neck! Adding a few finishing touches to the arrest report, Sonny threw his pen on the desk and laced his fingers behind his head. He noticed Rico was hanging up the phone. “That was Trudy calling. His highness has requested our presence in the conference room at twelve.” Then, he gave his partner a wicked grin. “Better get that report in his box, buddy. Before he realizes it isn’t there.” Chapter 4: Migraine The headache was a bad one — a sudden aura, a blinding flash, then a persistent pounding in his skull. Martin clenched his teeth. Not now! Not today! He shielded his eyes from the florescent lights and eased his body onto the lumpy couch. So far, things had not gone well. First, there was the office mayhem he’d witnessed when he first arrived. Then, the staff's open hostility. Finally, Crockett’s missing report. Not the best way to begin After a half-hour, the pain had faded to a dull ache. He sat up slowly and spotted the box with his personal belongings waiting for him by the door. Now was a good time to get settled. Taking a penknife, he slit it open and began placing items into desk drawers, tossing anything that had outlived its usefulness. The desktop itself was uncluttered. That was the way he liked it. No photographs, mementos, not even a nameplate. The only thing visible was a carafe of water and an unopened bottle of aspirin. A soft knock interrupted his thoughts, and Detective Trudy Joplin peered in. “For you, Lieutenant," she said with her sweet voice. She handed him the mail along with several case reports. Crockett's was on the top. At last, the detective delivered. He opened the manila file and scanned the two pages. Instead of being typed, it was handwritten in a bold, confident scrawl. November 4, 1984 Metro Dade, OCB-Vice Case #1446: Rusack, Bruno Charges: Assaulting a Police Officer, Resisting Arrest Arresting Officer: Detective S. J. Crockett, Badge #2449 ‘Crockett’ The name struck a chord. He’d heard it somewhere, perhaps during a discussion he’d had with Chris Morgan, the Lieutenant who’d been filling in for Lou Rodriguez. Martin remembered Morgan was not particularly impressed. “Sonny Crockett…watch out for that one… he's a renegade, a cowboy!" But Castillo wasn’t swayed by that opinion. Breaking out of the mold wasn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes, a man with fresh ideas could be an asset, capable of breathing new life into a dead-end investigation. Point scored for the rebel! He heard another gentle knock, and Trudy poked her head in again. “Lieutenant, it's almost twelve. Everyone’s waiting. What would you like me to tell them?” “Don’t tell them anything. I’ll be there shortly.” “Yes, sir.” He glanced over at the personnel files he’d pulled earlier and decided to go through them later. The briefing was a critical event. Now, he’d have the chance to watch his officers interact while they brought him up to speed on their cases. He’d be able to determine their strengths and weaknesses, recognize the followers, and, if he was lucky, pick out the leader. Aligning himself with that one would be the key to gaining the staff’s confidence, and more importantly, a giant step toward winning their respect. Chapter 4: The Briefing Jorgenson had assured him the detectives in Vice were dedicated. Even without consistent authority over the last few months, the number of arrests and clearance rates were high. If these stats were accurate, the Chief was right when he'd said the “glue” holding this group together was strong. When he entered the conference room, the two female detectives looked up and smiled. At the end of the conference table, he recognized the two men he’d first encountered when he arrived. They were looking away, most likely embarrassed by the poor impression they knew they’d made earlier. Another detective who he’d seen sitting near Crockett in the squad room, seemed preoccupied with a book of mug shots. The photo ID attached to his suit jacket said 'Ricardo Tubbs'. Even Sonny Crockett avoided eye-contact by slowly crushing his cigarette in the ashtray near his hand. Castillo ignored the cold reception. “Let’s begin,” he said. Trudy Joplin and Gina Calabrese’s case was the opener. They were involved in taking down a kiddy porn ring selling sexually explicit videotapes with children in the starring roles. Their plan was a good one. Negotiate a deal with the main offender and tighten the noose when the money exchanged hands. Both women were confident they’d be making arrests within the week. A heavy-set Stan Swietek, and a thin-as-a-rail Larry Zito were the surveillance experts. Despite the fact they acted like two overgrown adolescents, they impressed him with their understanding of the latest technology. At the moment, they were helping Gina and Trudy obtain evidence for the porn case. Zito played back a recording they’d made of Gina and a Mr. Jordan, the porn king's second in command. “Put a mic in Gina’s hair, right here,” Stan boasted, pointing to a spot behind her ear. “Blended in real nice.” Zito gave Stan a thumbs up. “Yeah, that was a good one, Stan.” Stan gave Zito a wink, then grinned. Sonny Crockett and his partner, Rico Tubbs, were next to report. As soon as Sonny started talking about the case, the moodiness seemed to disappear. He told them all about the Rusack arrest and how he and Rico hoped it might be the first step toward tripping up the racketeer, Al Lombard. “Rusack’s an enforcer for Vincent DeMarco, Lombard's right-hand man. The woman Rusack attacked is up to her ears in debt and behind on her payments. Her name’s Barbara Carrow, and I've known her for a long time. Straight as an arrow and married with two kids, but she has a gambling addiction and needs help. I tried to get her to press charges against Rusack, but she’s afraid.” Castillo waited for Sonny to finish before asking him a question. “How close are you to this Barbara Carrow, Detective?” Sonny frowned. “We were in high school together. We also went out for a while. But that was a long time ago.” Castillo gave Sonny a look. “Don’t let the past blind your judgment, Detective. Keep it professional.” Sonny was quiet for a moment. “It won’t be a problem, Lieutenant. I’ll handle it.” With a nod, Castillo closed the file in front of him. “That will be all. Thank you, everyone.” One by one, they stood and slowly filed out of the room. “Phone for you, Sonny,” one of the secretaries called out. Sonny grabbed the receiver. “Yeah, this is Crockett.” After listening for a minute, he cursed under his breath. Pulling his jacket from the back of his chair, he headed for the swinging doors. “Hey, man. What about lunch?” Rico shouted after him. “Stick around! We’re gonna order Chinese!” “Not this time, Rico. I’m on my way to Al Lombard’s pool club. Today, I’m having lunch with that slimeball, DeMarco.” Castillo watched Crockett storm out of the office. “There’s a fire in him,” he noted, tucking the thought away for another time. Sitting at his desk, he thought over what he had observed during the briefing. So far, he liked what he saw. These were good people, undisciplined as hell, but innovative and full of heart. They worked together effectively as a team, they were loyal, and he appreciated the caring they showed for one other. Another observation brought a rare smile to his face. It was Crockett who held them all in the palm of his hand. Rude, stubborn, arrogant, unorthodox, but also intelligent, charismatic, and intuitive. A man who cared passionately about his work. The kind of leader he’d hoped to find. But taming Crockett’s impulsive nature was not going to be easy. And he’d watched dedicated cops like him crash and burn over time. Martin realized he’d have to find ways to nurture this detective’s idealism and still protect him from a system that could easily destroy him. It was the same during the war when the cream of the crop turned bitter from constant defeat and the presence of death all around them. He’d seen it happen, time and time again. He’d seen it happened to him.
  2. mjcmmv

    Flashback Part 3-Conclusion

    Part 3-Conclusion Chapter 10: One-Eyed Jack November 5, 1984 Ricardo Tubbs burst into the office. "They’ve arrested him!" he shouted. "The IAD bastards arrested Sonny!" “What?” several voices called out in unison. Stan whistled. “What happened?” Castillo's door opened, and he stepped out. “My office, Detective.” Rico followed after him with fire in his eyes. “Report.” “It was a set-up, Lieutenant. Vincent DeMarco and Al Lombard set Sonny up!” “From the beginning!” Rico took a deep breath. “Okay. Sonny went to meet with DeMarco. Said he was going to make the slimeball give the stolen tools and equipment back to Barbara Carrow. Well, it backfired! DeMarco handed Sonny an envelope with money for the tools. IAD was watching and insisted Sonny had accepted a bribe.” Castillo didn’t say anything, but he was beginning to get the picture. "Yeah, I know. It looks bad! But you don’t know Sonny the way I do. The guy can’t be bought! I’m telling you he was set up.” “Where is Crockett now?” “They’re booking him.” Castillo picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Lieutenant Castillo. Vice. You’ve got one of my detectives down there. Yes. Crockett. I’m sending one of my people to collect him. I’ll take the responsibility. Yes. Thank you.” The Vice detectives assembled around Crockett’s desk when they heard he was in trouble. They watched as Rico returned from booking a short time later with Crockett himself in tow. Sonny looked angry, but still managed to give a nod as he followed Rico into Castillo’s office. Desperate to find out what was going on, they gathered inside the doorway and listened to IAD Officer Charles Schroeder try and convince Castillo of Sonny’s guilt. “Detective Crockett is a One-Eyed Jack! We only see the side he wants us to see. I feel there's enough evidence here to prosecute. He has to appear for a hearing in two days." Castillo glanced over the paperwork Schroeder gave him earlier. “Why all the ‘John Doe’s in the subpoena?” “We prepared it in advance. We’ve known for six months there’s been somebody on DeMarco’s payroll. In exchange for immunity from prosecution on a racketeering charge, he named Crockett.” Rico stared at the man in disbelief. “Schroeder! You’re not going to go on the word of some known sleezorama who’d plea-bargain his grandmother?” “Enough!” Castillo snapped. “Barbara Carrow refused to sign a complaint against one of DeMarco’s enforcers after a meeting with Detective Crockett.” Sonny’s head swiveled. “What?” "Less than three hours later, Detective Crockett was observed receiving eight thousand dollars from a known racketeer.” Rico rushed to Sonny’s defense. “Lieutenant, James Sonny Crockett is the last cop in Dade County that’s dirty!” “You’ve been down here a month, right?” Schroeder asked. “Right!” “That hardly qualifies you to be an expert on Detective Crockett.” "Hey, listen, scrod face…" “Wait a minute!” Crockett, shouted, circling Castillo’s desk and standing in front of Schroeder. "Listen, Lombard's an artist. He has DeMarco set me up. He gets to keep his organization's image heavy on the street, gets me off his case, and you're dumb enough to buy the set-up of me, give him immunity and blow the entire case we’ve been building against DeMarco!” “That’s the lamest excuse I ever heard!” Schroeder scoffed. Sonny looked away from him in disgust, then focused on Castillo. “Okay, I can get Barbara Carrow up here in twenty minutes, and we'll straighten this whole thing out.” “No, you’re not!” Castillo warned. “Lieutenant, it stinks!” Rico shouted. Furious, Crockett stared back at the Lieutenant. The look in his eyes was determined, defiant, fearless … A sudden flash of memory burst like artillery fire around Martin Castillo, and he flinched. He could almost hear the whoosh of helicopter blades as a sensation of heat and heavy humidity washed over him, leaving him confused and slightly off balance. When he stared back at Sonny, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who the hell are you?” “Listen,” Sonny was saying. “If you think for one minute, I’m gonna sit behind a desk while this is happening to me, you’re dreaming!” He turned on his heel and in a whirl of outrage, he was gone. No one said a word as they watched him leave. Gina followed after him, while others, disturbed by Sonny’s fall from grace, wandered back to their desks, trying their best to believe it was all just a terrible mistake. Trudy returned to Castillo’s office after the others had drifted away, and she stood in the doorway, chewing the inside of her lip, trying desperately to think of something to say. It surprised her to realize the Lieutenant wasn’t aware she was there. Totally preoccupied, Martin scanned the papers in front of him while scribbling in the margins of Schroeder’s scathing report. He wrote with broad strokes, clutching the black pen tightly in his hand. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes flashed as he explored one set of papers, then the other. Clearly, the man was upset. “So… he has a heart after all!” she thought. She let out a long sigh and left, comforted by Castillo’s concern and relieved things no longer looked so bleak now that Crockett had a powerful ally in his corner. But Martin Castillo was far from being in control. At that moment, he felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut. His head was still spinning, and it was taking a while for his breathing to return to normal. He threw the pen down and slumped forward, trying to ease the tension from his neck and shoulders. He wasn’t sure what had just taken place between him and Crockett, but he refused to let himself be influenced by the unfamiliar emotions. If it turned out Sonny was dirty, Martin would cooperate with the investigation and make sure the detective was punished. But if Schroeder had based his findings on faulty logic, which Martin strongly suspected he had, then Martin would do all he could to clear Crockett’s name. After reviewing the paperwork thoroughly, he gathered his notes, a copy of the subpoena, and the report of Crockett’s arrest, and locked them away in a desk drawer. Then, he put his head in his hands and thought back to the moment when the sight of Crockett’s anger unnerved him. What triggered his reaction? Was it because his faith in the man had been shaken? Or was it caused by his disappointment, made worse by the look of anguish on Sonny’s face? The answer would come to him eventually. But for now, it was time to give it a rest. His body was tired, his mind on fire. But instead of spending his usual few hours on the office couch, he’d go home, to the peace and tranquility of his secluded house by the sea. Chapter 11: Good Timing Sonny stopped for a red light and heard the Ferrari’s engine purr. “So, what did you expect?” he muttered. “You risk your life every day, work so hard, your marriage falls apart! And what ends up happening? You get yourself investigated by a bunch of idiots whose job depends on finding dirty cops!” The light turned green, and he pushed the accelerator to the floor, making the rubber wheels squeal as the car flew through the intersection like a rocket. Lost in thought, he reached the marina parking lot and pulled into his usual spot. All he wanted at the moment was a hot shower and a drink before he hit the sack. He took one more drag on his cigarette and flicked it in the water. "Damn that bastard, DeMarco!" Boats blazed with light; laughter from his partying neighbors floated on the air. “Another night with a pillow over my head,” he grumbled when he heard the deafening racket. Then he noticed a glow coming from the St. Vitus. What the hell? He hurried along the dock, trying to be quiet so he wouldn’t alert the intruder. Then, he heard the clatter of dishes. He crept onto the deck just as Gina appeared with a bottle of champagne and two glasses in her hand. "Hi, there!" she said in a cheerful voice. She handed over the bottle and a corkscrew. "Here, open this for me, will ya?” He glanced down at the label on the bottle. “Ah, great. So, what’s the occasion?” Gina struck a match and lit the hurricane lamp she’d set up on a small snack table. “Oh, I thought you might be in the mood for a little company tonight.” He walked over to her, his eyes sparkling with affection, and gathered her up into his arms. “Good timing,” he said, smiling down at her. When he kissed her, he lingered for just a moment, enjoying the smooth softness of her lips. He felt her trembling and pulled away to look at her. "Forget the champagne," she whispered, her hands clinging to his jacket. He felt her warm breath on his cheek. “I’m with you, darlin’,” he chuckled and leaned down to kiss her again. She stood at the foot of the bed, undressing slowly, allowing him to watch her in the moonlight. She pulled her shirt over her head. Then her skirt drifted to the floor, and she stepped out of it, her dreamy eyes watching for his reaction. … dreamy eyes … eyes, a man could get lost in He breathed out slowly. Her white skin seemed to glow, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. He moved closer and ran his hands over her shoulders and down her back. Then, he reached behind and eased the panties over her hips. Gina played with the button on his linen pants, and after a few good tugs, pulled it open. Then, her fingers began working on the zipper. “I need you, you know,” he said, his voice catching a little. She smiled and reached up with a finger to trace his lips. “That’s why I’m here.” Something stirred inside when she said that, and he pulled her against him. The kiss was gentle at first, but then it deepened, becoming hungry, more demanding. His hand cupped the back of her head, and his fingers tangled in her hair. Breaking away, he picked her up in his arms and put her down on his bed. He could almost feel her eyes explore his body as he peeled off his shirt. He finished the job she’d started with the zipper, and stepping out of his pants, he kicked them to the side. “Come on, Sonny,” she whispered. Surprised by her impatience, he smiled and lay down beside her. "Come here," he murmured and pulled her close. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and as he nibbled down her neck, he heard her moan his name. That was all it took to send him over the edge, and to a place far away, where nothing mattered more to him than being in her arms Gina’s head was resting lightly on his chest as the boat rocked gently with the tide. When she sighed and shifted to her side, Sonny held her spoon-like until she drifted off to sleep. He dozed for a while but woke up an hour later, feeling restless and worried. Disentangling himself, he eased out of the bed so as not to wake her. Then he pulled on a pair of shorts and padded barefoot up the steps and out onto the deck. Now, he’d take the time to sort things out. The IAD investigation was still on his mind, but right now, he was more concerned about Barbara Carrow. After Schroeder’s little display at OCB, he and Rico had visited the Carrow house, and her husband, Jerry, said he didn’t know where she was. “Got a phone call from a girlfriend and off she went. Said she’d be right back.” When Sonny checked in with Jerry a few hours later, the guy was frantic. “Take it easy, Jerry. She’s probably caught up in some gabbing session with her friend or something.” “Yeah, maybe.” “If you need me ... if you need anything ... call me. Okay?" “Okay, thanks. And Sonny?” “Yeah?” “You’re gonna take care of things, right?” “I’ll do everything I can, Jerry. Do like I tell you and take it easy. And make sure you call me the minute she gets in.” Now a channel marker clanged mournfully in the distance, and Sonny checked his watch. It was three a.m., and Jerry still hadn't called. Rico had put out an APB earlier, but no one reported seeing her. He could feel in his gut something was wrong. Barbara was out there somewhere, in trouble and alone. Maybe doing it his way and pushing DeMarco hard had been a mistake. The sting of guilt made him even more uneasy. He fingered the keys to his car, fighting the impulse to search for her himself. But he realized he had no idea where to start. Better to wait for Jerry’s phone call. Or the dreaded results from the APB. Chapter 12: The Canal November 6, 1984 The yellow crime tape fluttered in the gentle breeze. Now Sonny understood why Jerry never called. He watched them zipper the body bag over Barbara Carrow’s face, and his heart cracked in two. After they wheeled her away on a rickety gurney, he stayed by the edge of the canal, gazing out at the muddy water. "Hey, man, I'm sorry," Rico said, coming up behind him. “How the hell could it have ended here?” Sonny’s unspoken worries from the night before had come back to haunt him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t help but imagine her last moments. Was she frightened? Did she suffer? Did she cry or beg for her life? Did she pray? He shuddered. “Who did this?” Jerry Carrow asked. “Where are they?” “Now you listen to me!” Crockett growled as he hurried over to the grieving man’s side. “The kids have already lost one parent. They don’t need to lose the other. Let us handle it!” “How? Like you handled this?” Crockett flinched. Shocked by Jerry’s anger, he watched the man leave with his head down and his hands stuffed into his pockets. Castillo had already arrived; Sonny noticed him standing in the clearing and handing a clipboard to one of the coroner’s technicians. The sight of him made Sonny wince. “Damn! Just what I need! Mr. Cheerful.” “Five shots in the back of the head with a twenty-two,” Castillo said as he came up beside him. Sonny crossed his arms and leaned against one of the patrol cars. “Outfit trademark. Lombard.” “Anybody can buy a twenty-two.” Rico’s eyes narrowed as he came up to Castillo. “Hey, whose side are you on?” he demanded. The Lieutenant head turned slowly, and his stare fixed on Rico. “Don’t ever come up to my face like this again, Detective.” Too steamed to recognize he was in serious trouble, Rico squared his shoulders, preparing to give Castillo an angry reply. Sonny knew he had to step in. “Come on,” he muttered, pushing his partner away from the Lieutenant before things got any worse. Rico began to protest, but Crockett pushed him along. “What’s the matter with you, idiot! He was about to send you into orbit!” “Who cares.” "I care. I don't want you going down because of me. Let's get some coffee, and we’ll figure this out together.” Chapter 12: Poker Face No one in the OCB office seemed to care IAD officer Schroeder was studying a ream of paperwork he’d lifted from Sonny Crockett’s desk. No one, except Miami Vice officer, Larry Zito. “So, Lieutenant, sticky fingers here just gets to molest our files, or what?” The office doors swung open, and Sonny strode in, dark sunglasses hiding his tired, bloodshot eyes. “Find anything interesting, Schroeder?” “Leave him alone," Castillo called out. “The man’s doing his job.” “Terrific!” Sonny grumbled. Schroeder grinned. “If you don’t own a coat and tie, Crockett, better buy one. Standard dress for a Board of Rights preliminary hearing, and ya got one of those tomorrow." Now Sonny’s forehead creased with concern. Gina had just gotten off the phone and came over to sit on the edge of Sonny’s desk. “Forensics thinks the Carrow woman was in the water 10 hours, which makes her time of death around 8:30 pm,” she told him. The absence of bruising, hematomas, and low hormone levels indicates there was no struggle. At least she didn't know it was coming, Sonny." Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any less guilty. “The lights just went out, huh?” “Trudy traced her movements to about six when she gassed up on Miami Avenue.” “No prints?” "Nope. Not much of anything else to tie this to DeMarco. I wish I could tell you more, Sonny.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “How’s this going?” she asked, nodding her head toward Schroeder. He shook his head and gave her a rueful smile. “I don’t know, Gina. They really dropped me in the trick bag this time." He buried his head in his hands. By eight that evening, the office was quiet. Castillo was still working at his desk when there was a knock on his door. It was Ricardo Tubbs. “Lieutenant, sorry to disturb you. Can I talk to you a minute?” Marty nodded him in, and Rico stood in front of his Lieutenant’s desk, looking a little sheepish. “First of all, I want you to understand I was sticking up for my partner this morning. But Crockett told me I was out of line, so I guess I’d better apologize.” Castillo was too tired to argue. “Accepted. Have a seat.” Still uncomfortable, Rico avoided the chair next to the desk and eased onto the couch a few feet away. “Okay, we got that out of the way, so I’ll get right to the point. My partner’s in trouble. And I have a plan to clear his name.” Encouraged by Castillo’s silence, he went on. “Lombard and DeMarco think they hold the winning hand with this set up against Crockett, so I thought I’d set up a little sting of my own. I got myself into a poker game Switek told me they have going at the Trident every night at two am. Poker's something I can handle, Lieutenant. I grew up on the streets of New York, so I know how to hustle, and I know how to play cards. “So, I visited the Trident last night, and I did pretty damn good! But best of all, I managed to get DeMarco's attention. I got him to believe I was a dude from up north, facing charges for racketeering and some other nasty crimes. He liked what he heard and suggested there might be a place for me in the Lombard organization. Next thing I know, I'm having lunch on Lombard’s yacht, swapping jokes with the main man and impressing him with my Italian accent.” Castillo liked the way Rico had worked this out and found his initial impression of the cocky detective changing for the better. Still, he didn’t want to take a chance this could blow up in Rico’s face. “You’re not home free yet. Lombard’s going to do some checking.” “Sonny and I discussed this. A contact he has vouched for me and my references passed with flying colors. Now I have a foot in the door. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a chink in Lombard’s armor.” “Take the preliminary steps and keep me informed,” Castillo stood. “Yeah,” Rico answered, not sure whether he’d gotten his superior’s blessing or not. He headed for the door. “And Detective?” “Yes, sir?” “No cowboy stuff.” Rico tried not to laugh. “Our reputations precede us, I see,” he said with a wide grin. “Make sure your reputation doesn’t bury you, Detective.” “Will do.” The planning session was over. Chapter 13: Kaleidoscope After Rico left, Castillo collected reports from a secretary's going-out tray, and as he passed Crockett’s desk, he saw something that made him stop. It was a professional photograph of a blonde woman and a young boy in a gold frame. The boy bore a strong resemblance to Crockett, most likely his son. The blonde woman held the child close, her arm encircling the boy protectively. “The mother,” Martin thought. Then he frowned. Something about her face startled him. It took him only a minute to figure out why. His eyes widened with recognition. Picture in hand, he hurried back into his office and fanned out the files he’d pulled earlier in front of him. Bennett, Richard Calabrese, Gina Crockett, J It was the last one he wanted. He opened Crockett’s file and saw his name printed on the top of the official form. James ‘Sonny’ Crockett… He hesitated. James? He remembered Rico mentioning his partner’s full name earlier in the day, but it hadn’t made an impression on him until now. He peered at the small photograph of Sonny clipped to his file and thought back to a night in Viet Nam when he and Jack Gretsky went to a military hospital looking for an injured soldier they'd rescued on the highway to Pleiku. The words he spoke to the nurse on duty that night played back in his head: “His name’s Jim. Sandy blonde hair. Approximately five foot nine. He was airlifted here two days ago, with burns on his face and a wounded leg. Don’t tell me he’s not here!" Castillo blinked. Crockett's hair was sandy blonde, and his height was a shade under five-ten. Castillo began to rub his forehead, trying to put it all together. Now, he reviewed the rest of Sonny’s file. Military Service Summary 1969: Marines Corps, Military Police, Da Nang. Note: Rescued two fellow Marines from enemy fire. Awarded the Silver Star. 1971: Re-enlisted. Assigned to the Marine Security Guard, stationed in Da Nang, Viet Nam. Note: Wounded in action. Awarded the Purple Heart. 1975, April: Marine Security Guard, stationed in Saigon. Assisted in evacuation of embassy personnel. 1975, September: Honorably discharged. It was all lining up. His eyes scanned down to the next line. Marital Status 1975: Married Wife’s maiden name: Lambert, Caroline Another small photo was clipped to Crockett’s file. This time, another familiar face jumped out at him. … a girl with a million-dollar smile … “I’ll be damned!” he whispered. The last piece of the puzzle-Caroline Lambert. It was a name he'd never forgotten, scribbled on the back of a photograph the injured soldier had entrusted to him eleven long years ago. The name Martin committed to memory just in case he’d have to find a young girl back in the States and tell her James wasn’t coming home. Stunned, Castillo reread Sonny’s record, refusing to accept such an incredible coincidence. But there it was, in black and white. James “Sonny” Crockett Now, there was no doubt in his mind. Sonny was the soldier he and Jack had rescued that blistering hot day in 1971. “So, now what?” he wondered. Should he introduce himself to Crockett? Remind him of their history together and watch the dawning recognition come into his eyes? It was tempting, but Castillo had good reason to hold back. Some veterans he’d met, couldn’t stop talking about their experiences in Nam. Others found it too painful to relive. Maybe Crockett was a man who preferred to leave the war in the past. He closed his eyes. There was another reason to keep this discovery to himself; Sonny might think Martin expected his gratitude for saving his life. It was Crockett's unconditional loyalty Martin wanted, not his thanks. The man's respect for him should be based on the here and now, not half-forgotten memories from long ago. Maybe someday they’d sit together and talk about the past, perhaps even heal a little in the process. But for now, Martin decided it was best to keep silent and let the passage of time be his guide. Chapter 14: The Setup November 7, 1984 Crockett arrived at the office the next morning, grumpier than usual. The blue tee-shirt he’d pulled over his head was rumpled, a noticeable coffee stain on the front. His cover sometimes called for an unshaven look, but this morning, his stubble was scruffier than usual. It had been several nights since Sonny had gotten a decent night's sleep, and this morning it was beginning to show. Even the strong black coffee he’d brewed aboard the Vitus had done little to help re-energize him. Lighting up a cigarette for the fifth time that morning, he coughed hard when the tobacco fumes hit the back of his throat. Castillo’s office door opened. “Crockett. We need to talk.” “Now what?” Crockett groaned. He followed Castillo into his office. “Have a seat,” Castillo said. Crockett found a place on the couch and waited for the ax to fall. “I know. I missed Schroeder’s inquisition. That’s what this is about.” “That’s not why I asked you in.” “Well, I don’t have any case reports outstanding,” Crockett said with a laugh. “Hell, I don’t have any cases at all!” “Tubbs spoke to me last night.” “He did?” “The plan he devised makes sense.” “Okay. I mean, good. I’m glad.” “I always believed there were weaknesses in Schroeder’s powers of deduction.” Sonny could barely contain himself. "You think so, Lieutenant?" “We need DeMarco’s statement to clear you, though,” Castillo continued. “If Lombard believes his right-hand man’s been skimming from the profits, DeMarco’s in big trouble. He’ll be begging for protective custody.” "If there's a way to do it, Rico will find it," Sonny said with confidence. “Don’t underestimate an allegiance.” Sonny snickered. “Lombard’s got a special relationship with his money. He’d cut off his grandmother’s hand if he caught it in the till!” The office door burst open, and Schroeder poked his head in, pointing an accusatory finger toward Sonny. “Your no-show at the prelims was good, Crockett. Where’s the Clarence Darrow defense? You’re finished! Why don’t you hang it up and become a security guard?" “Schroeder!” The IAD officer’s head snapped up. “Yes, Lieutenant?” "Who do you think you are, to walk into my office and mouth off to one of my detectives? I went over Crockett's file, and given his arrest record, commendations, and the interest he shows during an investigation; I'd say either you've been had, or you're a complete idiot for believing the charges against him." If Sonny laughed at Schroeder’s startled expression, it would have ruined the moment. Instead, he held it in and looked down at the floor. "Plenty of dirty cops have squeaky clean histories. It don't mean anything," Schroeder's eyes slipped away from Castillo’s steady glare. “One thing it does mean is that he doesn’t have to walk around here being harassed by you.” Castillo was angry. "If you're finished with the files, get out!" Schroeder made a hasty retreat. There were few events in Crockett's life as satisfying as this one. He looked over at Castillo and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened. The lieutenant cleared his throat as if he was about to speak. His probing stare made Sonny uncomfortable. Then, the sound of Tubbs whistling broke the spell. With a happy grin on his face, Sonny’s partner leaned into Castillo’s office to tell them he’d met with Lombard after the cockfight the night before and had managed to muddy DeMarco’s standing with his boss. "Good," Sonny smirked. "We’ll be hearing from Mr. DeMarco soon." Trudy was at the door. “You already have,” she told them. “DeMarco’s on the line,” Vincent De Marco was frantic. "What are you trying to do to me? I got people watching my house and watching my car. I've got a family! Lombard's not returning my calls." “It’s called payback, De Marco,” Rico chuckled. “It’s called murder. Mine. Payback for what? I don’t even know you. What do you want, money?” "Yeah, well, here’s the thing, Vincent. You're gonna have to do me a little favor." They knew they’d have their work cut out for them. Convincing Lombard DeMarco was skimming had been easy. But persuading DeMarco to cooperate with the law was going to take some expert handling. “Careful how you play this,” Castillo warned them. “You’ll be back to square one if he gets cold feet.” “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. DeMarco knows he’s history on the street. He’ll cooperate.” “Make sure your method of interrogation doesn’t feed a lawyer an excuse to get a judge to dismiss the charges.” “No way that’s happening. Thanks to Vincent DeMarco, a mother with two kids is dead.” "Look at the bigger picture, Crockett. DeMarco is small-fry. Lombard's the one who ordered the hit." “Oh, I know, Lieutenant. Protective custody and promised immunity for DeMarco will come with a high price this time. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s gonna have to help us get Lombard.” “We still have an invitation for lunch with Lombard this afternoon,” Rico reminded them. “Zito and Switek will wire DeMarco." DeMarco was willing to sign the statement retracting his allegations against Detective James 'Sonny' Crockett, but his enthusiasm about having lunch with Lombard with a wire under his shirt was not as forthcoming. “Forget it! I’m not signing nothin’!” Crockett's eyes gleamed with malice. "On what we know now, a court order will rescind the immunity from prosecution Schroeder got for you on racketeering charges. And I'm not even going to bore you with the peripheral stuff, pal. Extortion, assault, R.I.C.O. Statutes. Vinnie, honey. You're facing five years federal prison time minimum.” "Dealer's choice, Vinnie!" Rico jeered. "Jail, or lunch." DeMarco took a pen from Zito and signed on the dotted line. “You’ll need these,” Castillo said to Crockett in the privacy of his office. Some of the ice had disappeared from the edge of his voice. He picked up a large yellow envelope and spilled the contents out on his desk. Crockett's eyes lit up when he spotted his badge, and then, his gun. “Make sure the report on the Lombard arrest is on my desk tomorrow morning, Detective.” "Yeah, okay, Lieutenant. Bright and early." “Good.” Sonny hesitated. “Lieutenant. I want you to know I appreciated what you said about me to Schroeder." "I only told the truth." "Yeah, but all you had to go on was my file, and you still gave me the benefit of the doubt. That meant a lot to me.” “I’m aware you’re a good cop. And your service deserves our support.” Sonny studied Castillo as they shook hands. “Not sure what makes you say that Lieutenant, but I’m grateful.” Castillo saw that Crockett was touched, maybe even a bit shaken. “Maybe now!” he thought. He held his breath and waited. But the young detective just closed his eyes and turned his head away. Martin understood. Maybe Sonny sensed the man standing in front of him had somehow influenced his life, but right now, he wasn’t willing to dig any deeper to find out when or how. Rico leaned into the room. “We’re ready. Let’s go.” Sonny’s eyes shot open as if he’d just woken up from a dream. Smiling warmly, he gave his boss a two-fingered salute. “Later, Lieutenant,” he said. Rico grinned and then, the two men were gone. Chapter 15: Sanity Maintenance Unlike DeMarco's takedown, the Lombard sting was a total disaster. No sooner had Rico and DeMarco boarded Lombard's yacht, the mobster announced they were going to cast off. They hadn’t counted on that and were unprepared. Rico wouldn’t have back up, and he was about to be dragged out to the open sea. As soon as the yacht’s engines began to sputter, DeMarco panicked, lying to Lombard by telling him he skimmed the payment money to pay off the man who killed Barbara Carrow. But when he saw Lombard’s eyes narrow, he caved, pulling off his shirt to show Lombard the wire the cops “made” him wear, hoping he’d win back his boss’ trust. Sonny could hear things going from bad to worse and shouted for the squad to move in before it turned into a bloodbath. “All units, Code Red! Move in! Code Red!” Firing up the Scarab's engines, he raced toward Lombard’s yacht just as it began to float away from the dock. “Come on… come on…” Sonny shouted above the roar of the powerful engine. He trained his binoculars on the boat in the distance, and what he saw made him curse under his breath. “What the hell is Jerry doing there?” Barbara Carrow's husband was creeping forward, inching his way along the deck. And Crockett was sure there was a revolver in the troubled man's hand. “No,” he groaned. “No, Jerry, no!” The Scarab cut through the waves, racing at heart-stopping speed. But when they heard the single shot, Sonny knew they were too late. His only hope was his partner was still in one piece. He could deal with anything but the thought of Rico dying because he hadn’t worked out all the possible kinks in their plan. Crockett stepped onto the yacht and held his breath, expecting the worst. He kicked open the door leading to the inside of the vessel and stared into the gloom. Rico and Lombard stood there with their hands in the air. DeMarco was dead, shot through the heart. “Why?” Sonny groaned as he gently removed the gun from Jerry’s hand. “I had to, Sonny. I just had to.” Crockett put his hand on Jerry's shoulder. He saw the suffering on the man's face and knew the man he killed had shattered his world. It didn't matter what punishment he was going to face, because nothing the law could do would make him regret what he’d done. Sonny handcuffed Jerry’s hands behind him, the same way Rico had just handcuffed Lombard a few minutes before. Jerry was miserable, but Lombard seemed unconcerned, telling them how he’d be out in time for the round of golf he’d scheduled for the next morning. Castillo wasn’t optimistic any charges would stick. “Lombard’s too slippery,” he warned. “He knows how to play the system.” And just as he predicted, Lombard’s lawyer arrived a short time later, ready to spring him before they even got a chance to take his mug shot. Jerry Carrow’s fate was a different matter. "So, what do you think they'll do to him?" Rico asked Sonny as they sat on the St. Vitus that night. "It's hard to tell: no priors, family hardship, diminished capacity. He might get a hard sentence. It’ll be up to the judge.” “I’ll bet Lombard’s back out there on his yacht, sailing out into the blue.” Shaking his head, Sonny swung open the hatch door and disappeared down the stairs leading to the galley. "I know. It stinks!” he shouted. “Ya got that right.” After a few seconds, Sonny returned with two fishing poles and handed one to Rico. “What’s this?” Rico asked. “This is what is commonly known as a fishing pole. People fish with it.” "Ten o'clock at night, and you want to go fishing?" "It's called 'sanity maintenance,' Tubbs. You should try it sometime.” Rico shook his head and sighed. "Would ya cast off the bowline?" Sonny shouted over his shoulder. "The bowline?" “Oh, I forgot!” Sonny chuckled. You’re from New York! Uh, that's the front of the boat.” “Oh. So, we’re gonna sail this thing in the dark?” “Sure we are, Rico. There are lights on this baby and everything.” Rico caught the sarcasm. “Okay, okay. So, I’m a city boy. Just give me a sailing manual or something. I’ll be navigating this bucket in no time.” As he leaned over to loosen the ropes, Rico lost his balance and almost tumbled into the bay. Sonny doubled over with laughter. “Keep it up, Crockett.” After finally maneuvering out of the slip, Sonny steered the boat out onto the bay, anchoring where the Miami lights were nothing more than a glitter in the distance. Rico tossed him another beer. “So, partner. Tell me what you think of our new leader, Martin Castillo?" he asked. Sonny sat on a deck chair and pulled the tab on the can. “He’s intense, that’s for sure. But maybe he’s just what the squad needs.” “You’re kidding, right?” “No.” Sonny reached for his pole and with an expert flick of his wrist, let the fishing line float on the breeze until it landed with a soft splash in the water. “There’s something about him, Rico. Something different.” “Yeah, I’ll say.” Sonny pulled the line in and cast it out again. “I don’t know. He may seem hard-nosed about some things, but he's disciplined, honest, and I trust him." “Sorry. For me, the jury’s still out. Ask me in a couple of weeks, and maybe by then, I'll see the light.” “If he doesn’t fire your ass first!” "I wouldn't talk. Castillo's first impression of you wasn’t exactly stellar!” "Maybe not. But at least now the man knows I don’t roll over and play dead when the going gets tough.” He took a sip of his beer. “So, Rico, ole buddy.” He was eyeing the pole, hanging limply in his partner's hand, "Ya gonna put that hook of yours in the water sometime tonight? Or maybe you're one of those folks from up north who think the fish are gonna jump into the boat all by themselves?” “Let’s see how cocky you are when you come around to my neck of the woods. Try and navigate the NYC subway system, and we'll see how street smart you are!" “Never gonna happen, Rico. There’s no way I’m ever setting foot in ‘gridlock’ city.” He saw Rico smirk. Sonny loved teasing his partner. The guy took it well and almost seemed to enjoy the gentle ribbing. He never thought he’d get close to someone again after Eddie, and yet, here they were, like two brothers, bickering good-naturedly together. Sonny pulled out another beer from the cooler and threw it to Rico. “Here ya go, New York! Now, let’s see if you can catch us some dinner.” Then slapping Rico on the back, he grabbed another can and cracked it open for himself. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed my adaptation of the story and most of all, the little plot diversion!
  3. mjcmmv

    Flashback-Part 2

    PART 2 Chapter 5: Blowin’ in the Wind December 1971 Vietnam It was not a time Martin thought about often. 1971 was the year he’d become part of a force working behind the scenes, routing out an enemy trying to destroy Americans with mind games, drugs, and espionage. For him, the CIA was a perfect fit. For the first few months, he’d been investigating accusations the CIA was complicit in drug trafficking, but so far, there was no evidence CIA officers were involved. In the meantime, he focused on stopping the drug smuggling at its source. His search for routes led him to Saigon. While introducing himself to local authorities, he met another CIA agent by the name of Jack Gretsky. Since his arrival, Jack had been committed to exposing corrupt Viet Nam officials willing to sell out the Americans for a price. That included allowing heroin to flow in unimpeded from Laos, and eventually, to the American troops. Once Jack and Martin realized they shared a common goal, they decided to work together. Over the past few weeks, they were on the trail of two drug traffickers who'd been smuggling heroin out of Thailand since the late sixties. One of them was an American by the name of Ike Atkinson and he had just been spotted on the road to Pleiku. Jack and Martin gathered their gear and set off, determined to finally catch up with him. Pleiku It promised to be hot that morning; the few trees left by the side of the road did little to block the sun’s fire. The highway itself was pock-marked with craters from exploded mortar shells and planted booby traps, a constant reminder the enemy could be anywhere. All was quiet except for the buzz of insects, but Martin was sure the bastards were out there somewhere, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike. Jack looked over his shoulder when he heard the first crack of an automatic weapon. They ducked and rolled into a ditch, just as more gunfire exploded in the distance. "It's not aimed at us," Jack said in a low voice when no one appeared. Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the earth, followed by the frantic shouts of wounded men, crying out in pain. “Someone’s in trouble out there,” Jack said. “We need to check it out.” He didn’t wait for Jack to agree. “Right,” Jack muttered. They followed the ditch, staying low as they ran, then slipped behind some thick brush to watch what was happening in a small clearing. Three American soldiers lay sprawled on their backs. Two of them were motionless, while another was writhing back and forth, in terrible pain. Two NVA soldiers were standing above them, shouting excitedly in Vietnamese. Martin was familiar with the dialect and understood the two were praising each other for their marksmanship. A soldier of rank stepped into view, and the first two snapped to attention. Their superior began nudging the bodies with the toe of his boot, and when he came to the groaning American, he spat out words of anger. One of the soldiers stepped forward and put a bullet in the head of the dying man. Martin cursed under his breath. “Let’s go,” Jack whispered. “It’s over. There’s nothing we can do for them now.” “No. Not yet.” Martin pulled his knife from its sheath. “They’re going to strip the bodies. I can’t let that happen.” As they moved away from the clearing, they almost ran into another cluster of enemy soldiers hunkered down a few yards away. Martin held his breath, ready to defend himself, but the three soldiers were oblivious, smoking cigarettes and blowing smoke into the sky. Now the two men moved with agility and speed, working together as a team. Clamping his hand over the first man’s mouth, Martin thrust his blade into the soldier’s lower back, and the body went limp. The other two were not as easy. One spotted Jack creeping up behind him, but Martin attacked by grabbing the man in a chokehold, and twisting his head until his neck snapped. Martin glanced over at Jack and saw the last NVA soldier in a heap at his partner's feet. They both stood still and listened. A short distance away, the NVA soldiers they had first come across, were busy removing valuables and mementos from the dead GI's. “God damn it,” Jack growled, moving closer to the clearing. Martin put out his arm to stop him. “Not yet,” he whispered. This time, the element of surprise would not be on their side. It was painful to watch the enemy spit on the American uniform or give a vicious kick to one of the dead. But there was nothing they could do to stop it. Retreat seemed almost inevitable when suddenly, they heard the familiar whoop of helicopter blades beating through the air from above. The NVA soldiers glanced up, then melted into the trees. A green Huey with US markings came into view. Gunfire erupted once again, and for one terrible moment, Martin realized the NVA could bring the aircraft down. "This time, we can do more than just sit here and watch." Jack gave him a nod. They were positioned behind the clearing and could see the NVA soldiers trying to blend in with the greenery. One of them turned his head and caught sight of Jack, but before he could reach for his sidearm, Martin struck him with the butt of his pistol. The other two froze when they saw Jack and Martin's guns pointed at them. Jack spit out orders in Vietnamese. “Get up, you bastards! I want to see your faces, see the look in your eyes when you realize I’m gonna kill you!” “It’s over,” Martin called over. “They’ve surrendered, Jack. We won.” “Won? See those guys lying there with their bodies blown apart? That’s called losing, Martin! Losing, big time!” Jack pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the temple of one of the captured soldiers, but Martin pulled it away just as Jack squeezed the trigger, letting the ammo burst harmlessly toward the sky. “What the hell…” Jack sputtered, as Marty twisted the pistol out of his hand. “Do something useful and help me tie them up!” Martin growled. Men from the copter began to emerge from the trees, stopping in their tracks when they saw the dead Americans on the ground. Then they became aware of Marty and Jack, with three bound NVA soldiers sitting at their feet. “Take your prisoners into custody,” Martin ordered, his voice calm and controlled. Chapter 6: Baptism of Fire Jack and Martin held back their emotions as they walked side by side with the young helicopter pilot, Jordan Michaels. He asked them if they wanted to hitch a ride. “No, thanks” Martin said. “We’re on our way to Pleiku.” He leaned against the trunk of a tree and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Distracted, he lit one and inhaled, staring over at the dead GI’s. “What were their orders? Who was their commanding officer?” he asked. “There was no commanding officer. It was a convoy carrying sensitive information to Pleiku. Two Marine Security Guards were escorting the courier. A few officers joined them along the way. Martin frowned. “Just two Marine Guards for such an important mission?” Michaels looked back at him. “I can’t answer for that decision, sir.” “How large was the group.” “I was told ten altogether. We found a few bodies scattered along the road. Including these three, that makes eight so far.” Jack stared. “You mean there could be two more still out there? What the hell are we waiting for?” Michaels shook his head with regret. “Don’t kid yourself. No one survived.” “Jack and I will take a look around and make sure.” “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t wait. I need to evacuate some soldiers stranded a few miles from here. If I don’t take off now, I’ll have another massacre on my hands. But I have the coordinates. I’ll radio for another rescue team, and they can retrieve the last two bodies.” Michaels stood at attention and saluted. “Good luck with your mission, sir!” Then he took his place behind the chopper controls, and the aircraft rose into the air until it became nothing more than a black dot disappearing into the clouds. Castillo still had Jack’s pistol in his waistband and wondered if the time was right to give it back. “Here,” he said, holding the weapon out in front of him. “I'm sorry I had to get rough, but you didn’t give me much choice." There was still a hint of anger on Jack’s face, but then, his eyes softened. “Yeah. Okay, forget it.” He took the pistol and stuffed it in his shoulder holster. “You were right. As usual.” They continued for a short distance when Jack pulled on Martin’s sleeve. “Hey, I think I just heard someone yelling,” Martin listened too, but all he heard was the wind rustling the leaves. Jack was insistent. “I’m telling you I heard a voice. Someone was calling for help.” Then, they both heard it; a cough and then a groan. “Careful. It could be a trap,” Martin warned. But Jack was already running toward the sound. He didn’t have to go far. Castillo caught up to him in time to see Jack on one knee beside the body of a fallen soldier. “How is he?” “He’s dead, Martin.” The guy’s mouth was open, and he was staring at the sky. Both of his legs were blown off below the knees. Disgusted, Jack turned his head away. “A booby-trap!” “This guy's been dead for a while,” Martin said. “We heard someone else moaning a minute ago.” They beat through the brush with their hands and came across another soldier on his knees, making an effort to crawl and failing at it miserably. They watched him fall over and then lay still. Jack got to him first. “Hey, buddy!” He placed his fingers on the young man’s neck. “He’s got a pulse, but it’s weak.” Singed hair spiked around the crown of the kid’s head. He had swelling around his eyes, and his face was red and pulled tight like he'd been out in the sun too long. Marty winced when he caught sight of the jagged cut on the soldier’s leg. He knew from experience the chances for infection were high. “Soldier, can you hear me?” He reached into the boy’s shirt and pulled out his dog tags, glancing at them for a second. “Well, Jim. It looks like we have a problem. How the hell are we going to get you to a hospital with the chopper gone and no radio contact?” There was the possibility the enemy could be nearby, looking for their missing soldiers. Their only choice was to make a run for it. The kid wasn’t heavy, but Martin still struggled to keep his balance on the uneven surface. After a few miles, he stopped. “We have to take a breather.” They lowered him to the ground and retrieving bandages and ointments from their backpacks, did what they could to treat the damage. “Let me up!” he cried out suddenly, pushing Jack away. “Easy, fella.” “Hey, find my buddy! He’s hurt!” The soldier touched the bandages on his face. “What is this? I… I can’t see!” “You were in an explosion.” “Hank! Where’s Hank?” Jack glanced over at Martin. “He’s dead,” Martin said. A sob escaped from deep inside the young soldier’s chest. “No!” "We'd better keep moving." Jack stood. “Come on. It’s my turn to carry him.” The march lasted late into the night. Exhausted, they decided to camp and chose a spot by a river, hidden from the main trail by overgrown foliage and hanging vines. Martin unscrewed his canteen and put it up to the soldier’s lips. “Here, drink." Then, he put a capsule into his mouth. “Antibiotics," he explained. "I have morphine, too, if you want. Are you in pain?" “Not enough for that crap!” "Okay. Tell me if you change your mind. Now get some rest, and we'll leave in a few hours." The soldier sipped more water and pushed the canteen away. Again, his hand strayed to his face, and he winced. “My buddy, Hank. Please don’t leave him out there.” “There are only two of us. But I promise; when we get to the base in Pleiku, we’ll give them the coordinates. They won’t leave him behind.” “Man, I can’t believe he’s dead. He just found out he has a son.” His voice trailed away. “You can rest easy,” Jack told him. “It was over pretty quick; he never felt a thing.” The kid was quiet. “Were you part of the security escort?” Martin asked. “Yeah. Hank and I were with the Marine Security Guards stationed in Da Nang. A courier was delivering sensitive information to the base in Pleiku. We volunteered to go along.” Marty leaned against a tree and shut his eyes. “We made some stops. Picked up a few officers who were going in our direction-which was a good thing. The more, the merrier, I guess. Nothing much happened at first. Some snipers along the way, but Hank took care of them. He was the sharpshooter, so it was target practice for him. I’m okay with a rifle, but I’m more comfortable with a pistol.” The soldier’s laugh was soft. “Back at Da Nang, the officer in charge used to tell me I had, ah … I had a good eye.” Martin tried to keep the soldier's mind off his injury. “How come just two of you? Who made that decision?” “Over the last few months, a lot of Marines were transferred out and reassigned. Between the embassy in Saigon and the one in Da Nang, the Guard was spread pretty thin. The officer in charge insisted he could only spare two of us.” “Not the best decision, considering the cargo,” Jack muttered. “The Detachment Commander’s back was up against a wall. Cutting the Guard to the bone wasn’t his idea.” “So, go on. What happened then?” “We were attacked at sunrise this morning. There was heavy fire and nowhere to take cover, just trenches along the side of the road. One by one, they picked us off. The courier with the information was the first one hit. He took it in the head, so there wasn’t anything we could do for him. I took the packet with the information. It's in my jacket.” “Good work. You used your head.” "Naw … any of the guys would have done the same. Just not sure how I'm gonna deliver it, though.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. “Anyway, we managed to fight them off. There were five of us left. Hank and I went ahead to scout a little, you know, check the perimeter close to the road. I was in front; he was a few yards back. There was a noise, I suppose it must’ve been a detonator, so I turned my head and watched him step toward me. Then, a blinding white fire came all around him, and a swoosh of wind lifted him into the air.” He started to breathe rapidly. "I felt the heat from the blast; then, everything went black." Martin offered him more water. The young man took some and lay back again. "Thanks. I owe you guys plenty. And I know I'm holding you back." “You don’t owe us a thing.” “Listen. There's something I need to ask. Something important to me.” “Okay.” “I’ve got a girl… waiting for me back home. We, ah, we were going to get married. She’ll be worried when she doesn’t hear from me. So, if I don’t get back, would you tell her that you were with me at the end?” “Hey, show a little faith in us. We’ll get you back.” He tried to smile. “I know. Just in case.” “Yeah, okay. Just in case.” Martin bit his lip. “What town are you from?” “Miami. Best town in the whole US of A. Hope I get to see it again someday.” Martin and Jack exchanged looks. “I come from Miami, too," Martin told him. “It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but when my family left Cuba, it became my American hometown.” “Oh, yeah? No kidding! What part?" “Little Havana.” “So, you know what I’m talking’ about.” "Yeah, I guess I do," Castillo said. "Tell me about your girl." “Her picture’s in my inside pocket; her name and address are on the back. And she’s the second one listed as my 'next of kin,' after my brother." Castillo took the small photo out and stared at a pretty blonde, posing on a football field in a cheerleader outfit. She had a million-dollar smile. “She’s pretty.” The injured soldier’s head listed to the side. “I was home for a while after my first tour. But I decided to re-enlist.” He chuckled. “She wasn’t too happy about it, but she never made me choose. Told me she knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I won the war single-handedly.” Martin smiled. He knew the feeling. “Tell her I loved her, okay. And tell her I said I’m sorry.” “Sure. If it comes to that, I will. Now, it’s late. Stop your jabbering, and let’s get some sleep.” “Yeah. Thanks. That eases my mind. She'll have questions, and she deserves answers from someone who was here and can explain it to her.” His voice had gotten softer, and as Martin watched, the young man’s body relaxed, and within seconds, he was out. “Come here!” Jack whispered, signaling for Martin to join him a short distance away. “Listen to me,” he began. “We’re sitting ducks carrying him around like this. We’ve got to get moving.” “No sense is stumbling around in the dark. We can march at first light." “Martin. Let’s face facts. He's not going to make it. And either are we, at this pace.” “I don’t care about facts. We leave at sunup.” “Okay, I’m not happy with the way this is turning out either, but it’s crazy to think we’ll get help for him in time. Besides, the longer we wander around out here, the easier it’ll be for the NVA to track us. Then, all three of us will be dead.” “We’re getting him back.” “Martin, you know I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. But this time, buddy, I hope you know what you’re doing.” Chapter 7: The Bandana Martin had finally fallen asleep when he heard the frantic cries. He shot up and saw the young soldier thrashing. “Wait! Over here, guys!” he was shouting. "Hank, Lou… get down, now! Charlie coming! Watch out, damn it! Get down!" Jack clamped a hand over the kid’s mouth. “We’ll have the whole North Vietnamese Army around our necks if he keeps that up!” He skimmed the back of his hand along the soldier’s forehead. “He’s pretty hot.” “It’s gotta be the leg,” Martin said. “It was bound to happen.” “Yeah.” They settled him back down and took turns keeping vigil. “I’m telling you, he’s not gonna make it,” Jack muttered. "Like hell, he won't!" “Marty, we did our best.” “We gave him our word.” Martin stared over at Jack. “Look, we’ll catch up to Atkinson eventually. In the meantime, we’re going to get this soldier to a chopper or a hospital.” "I can't believe you're sticking to this half-assed idea!” Jack moved away to a nearby tree. Soaking his bandana with water from his canteen, Martin pressed it against the soldier’s forehead and neck. “Thanks,” he heard the soldier say. “You’re awake.” “Yeah. I heard your buddy. He’s not happy.” Martin glanced over at Jack. “He’ll get over it.” "Maybe, But he's right. I’m holding you back. And I’ve put your lives in danger.” “You heard?” “Sometimes I was out, but I heard you guys talk about my leg and the fever and all. Without medical attention, I’ll be dead in a day, maybe two at the most.” Castillo didn’t say anything. It was hard to argue with the truth. “Listen, sir …” “The name’s Martin.” “Okay. Martin. I want you to hear me out. You can leave me. It’s okay. Just deliver the packet to the base at Pleiku. At least then, Hank and I didn’t die for nothing.” “We’re not leaving you.” “You have no choice.” "Keep concentrating on getting back to that girl of yours, cause when you get home, I plan on toasting you both at that wedding.” After a few miles, Martin began to struggle again under the weight of the soldier’s body. Whenever he heard the boy groan, he slowed down a little, and the delays were infuriating Jack. “Now what?” he growled, looking over his shoulder after Castillo had stopped for the third time in an hour. “Water break.” He had just lowered the soldier to the ground when the sound of rifle fire shattered the silence. A sniper’s bullet whistled past his ear. Another one followed, and Jack shouted out in pain. Martin watched him drop to the ground and cradle his arm. Jack pointed. "In the trees, there." Martin lined up his rifle and fired off two rounds. Tree branches cracked, and a body landed with a thud on the soft earth. He rushed to his friend’s side. “It’s just a scratch,” Jack insisted. “But now they know we’re here. There’ll be others.” “Then go on ahead, Jack. I’ll stay here with him. You can send help.” “No way! We’re not splitting up!” “You’re both going.” The two men looked down at the injured soldier. He had pushed the bandage away and was aiming a pistol in their direction. “You heard me. You’re both going." He chuckled when he saw the shock on their faces. “Guess my sight’s back. Remember, I’m pretty good with a pistol.” “Forget it!” Castillo spat out. The gun bucked, and the bullet smacked into a tree branch close to Castillo’s ear. They knew the kid was bluffing, but he’d made his point. He was giving his permission to leave him behind. In war, men are often forced to make terrible, God-like decisions, and Martin realized this was going to be one of those times. “We’ll send a chopper back for you,” he said. The soldier grinned. “Yeah. Right. So, got any candy, sir?” “Something better,” Jack answered. He handed him a metal flask. “This should help keep the bad dreams away.” “Thanks.” Martin knelt beside him. “Give me the packet, Jim. And the name of your contact.” The kid smiled. “Thank you, sir. That’s another one I owe you.” Together, Jack and Martin dragged the soldier toward a grove of trees and pulled fallen branches over him. Jack handed him a pistol and his rifle. Martin filled the soldier’s canteen with water then showed him the container of antibiotics and a pre-filled syringe of morphine. “Think you can see well enough to use this?” “No narcotics. I need to stay alert." “Okay, soldier. Hunker down then, and we’ll see you in a few hours.” “I won’t hold you to it. Just deliver the packet. And don't forget about my girl." Martin nodded. “We need to mark the spot somehow," Jack was saying. Martin took the red bandana from around his neck and shimmied up a tree, tying it to one of the low-hanging branches. The soldier took a mouthful of bourbon. “Ahh! Much better!” he sighed. He held up the flask. “Give the brass my best!” “We will.” “And… and be careful.” His voice was softer now, more tremulous. “You too, soldier.” Jack was tugging him toward the path, but Martin yanked his arm away. He was furious. “You’re not gonna pin this disaster on me, Martin! Believe it or not, I’m not wild about leaving him behind either.” “After we’ve delivered this information to the base, I’m helping the rescue team find him!” “And I’ll be there, too. That’s a promise I need to make.” An hour passed since they’d left the Marine, and the afternoon sun showed no mercy as they marched single file on the road to Pleiku. Martin felt the sweat on his neck, but when he reached for his bandana, he remembered where he’d left it. Damn! All they’d have to find him were simple coordinates and a red piece of cloth. God help us … and God help him! He tried not to think of the kid sitting there, waiting in fear. It would be a terrible way to die, alone, and helpless. If the NVA didn’t find him, the animals and insects certainly would. Then, the end would be slow and painful. Martin almost hoped the enemy did find the kid soon and end his misery with a bullet. “He’s got the booze, Martin,” Jack reminded him. “And the pistol.” “Yeah. The pistol.” It was true. Putting the gun to his head and pulling the trigger was always an option. Martin quickened his steps. Chapter 8: Promises to Keep They reached Camp Holloway early that evening. A tired GI approached them at the gate and gave them a halfhearted salute. “We’re not officers, soldier. But we have some important information to deliver. We’re looking for a Marine stationed here. His name is Daniel Allred.” The GI seemed puzzled at first, and then his eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean the decoder guy.” “Yes, I guess you could call him that.” “Okay. Come with me, sir.” The three trudged along, passing barracks and several dusty concrete buildings until they finally came to a shack-like structure set back from the main path. “Right this way.” the GI said as he ushered them through the screen door. “Who the hell are you?” Danny Allred asked them with a frown. “We came across the remains of a convoy on the highway to Pleiku. We understand the courier had information for you.” “I’ve been waiting for that. My God! What happened?” “They were ambushed.” "Ambushed?” Allred sat down hard. “How bad? “One survivor, but he’s hurt." A shadow passed over Allred's face. "My buddy was on that convoy." His voice was soft and full of pain. "Fucking war," he muttered. “The injured Marine gave us the courier’s packet.” Martin handed it over to him. With trembling fingers, Allred ripped it open, and after glancing over a few pages, shot out of his seat. “This is it!” he shouted. The chair he’d been sitting in fell back against the wall. "This is gold, gentlemen! Pure gold!” He picked up the phone and began to twirl the dial. "Yes, sir. It just arrived. I have it on my desk right now. Yes, sir." He looked up at Jack. “Your names?” he asked. “Jack Gretsky and Martin Castillo.” “Are you Marines? Cavalry?” “We’re not military. Martin here is working with the South Vietnam police. I'm a consultant." Jack gave as little information about them as he could. He didn't mention the CIA. Allred’s eyebrows arched. “I see,” he said. “Ah sir,” he continued into the phone. “Two Americans advisors rescued the packet and brought it here. Yeah, I know. Yeah, I’ll tell them.” Martin put his hand on Allred’s sleeve. “Tell him he needs to organize a rescue mission for that injured Marine we left behind. He won’t last too much longer.” Again, Allred’s eyebrows went up. “You heard what he said, sir?” he shouted. “Yeah. I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir.” He hung up the phone. “He’s on his way over.” Then, he sat down hard. “So, a wounded Marine, huh. Got a name?” “I wrote his dog tag info on the back of the packet envelope. You can see for yourself." Allred turned the envelope over and focused on Castillo’s notes. Then, he closed his eyes and smiled. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. After a minute, he jumped up and whipped his chair around in front of Martin, motioning for him to sit. Then he pulled out a folding chair from a closet behind him for Jack. “Make yourselves comfortable. How about a drink?” He opened a drawer and dragged out a bottle of whiskey and some paper cups. “Let me pour you guys a stiff one. When the base commander gets here, we’ll pour him one too, and he can give you guys the toast you deserve! Maybe even give you a goddamn medal!” Allred sloshed a generous amount of alcohol into two paper cups and pushed them toward Marty and Jack. “Here’s a starter before he gets here! Consider this one a big 'thank you' from me!” He raised his cup in salute. “Unbelievable! You both just saved America’s ass! At least for now…” Martin shook his head. “We were just a small part of it. The guy we left back on the road was the real hero. He’s the one who deserves the medal.” "I'll bet he does!” He raised the cup again. “So, here’s to Jim.” Marty raised his cup in a return salute, then tipped his head back, letting the warm liquid trickle down his throat and sooth away the dry lump that had been choking him for hours. Commander Wilkins insisted on waiting until first light before sending a chopper into the air. Somehow, Jack and Martin convinced him they were qualified to assist with the rescue, and preoccupied with other matters, Wilkins grunted his approval. They didn’t have any real confidence they’d find the injured soldier with the overcast sky, but at least two men on the ground were better than a single pilot searching from the air. The big glass bird whistled in the wind, silver blades slicing through thick gray clouds. All of a sudden, it started to rain. “There,” Jack pointed to the ground below. The pilot inspected the terrain. “Okay. I see a spot. Keep in mind this is a hot area, sir. You’ll have to move fast.” Castillo checked his watch. “How much time can you give us?” “It depends on whether we get any visitors or not, but no more than an hour.” He handed Martin a flashlight. “Once you find the guy, bring him to the edge of the clearing. Flick it on and off twice. I’ll be hovering up there.” He pointed skyward. The two of them jumped from the open doorway of the aircraft, thudding onto the dirt road and breaking into a hard run. After rolling into a trench by the highway, they stopped for a moment to listen. It was deathly quiet. Jack pulled on Marty’s sleeve to get his attention, and together, they ran parallel to the highway. Neither of them said a word, but they each had the same worrisome thought. Finding the tree with the red bandana wasn’t going to be easy. “I hear the river,” Jack whispered. Again, both men stopped and held their breath, hoping for a moan or a whimper; but there was nothing. “We’re close. I can feel it,” Martin said. Another ten minutes went by when suddenly, they heard an automatic weapon chattering in the distance. “Which direction?” Jack sputtered. “How close?” “Close enough.” Someone coughed. “Hey, soldier!” Martin called out in a soft voice. “Jim?” There was another cough, and then a groan. Jack was on all fours, sniffing the wind like a tracking hound. Martin played the flashlight beam on the tree branches above his head and, a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. There was the bandana, wet and dripping, but still tied to the low hanging branch. The young soldier was on his back, the bandage gone from his head. There was no response when Jack called his name. Martin put his fingertips on the side of the soldier’s neck. “He has a pulse. And he’s breathing.” “Looks like he had company …” Martin saw the dead NVA soldier before Jack finished his sentence. “This one’s gone,” he said. The bullet-hole in the center of the man’s forehead left little room for doubt. “He wasn’t kidding! He’s a damn good shot!” “Bought yourself some time, didn’t you, buddy?” Martin chuckled. He slung the kid over his shoulder just as a burst of machine-gun fire exploded a short distance behind them. Without another word, they ran. Chapter 9: I Owe Ya One Jack and Martin looked in on the Marine later that morning, but the kid was still out of it. The doctor assured them his condition was most likely due to exhaustion and dehydration. While they waited, they continued with their search for the missing smuggler. They wandered around the base, asking guards about non-military visitors over the last few weeks but they came up empty-handed. After scouting around the nearby villages for the next two days, they finally gave up and returned to the base. The first thing they did was check in on Jim. It was late when they got to the ward, and the night shift had just arrived. Nobody at the desk seemed to know where the soldier was. "He was airlifted here on Friday!" Martin insisted. "He has blonde hair… about five nine. His face had some burns, and he had a leg wound. Don't tell me he's not here! There's no way you discharged him already!" “Calm down, sir! Guys come in and out of here every day. You’ll have to give me more information than that!” The nurse’s distracted attitude infuriated him. “I remember him,” another nurse chimed in. “That kid was a real hell-raiser. He badgered the staff until Doctor Benson gave in and sent him on his way. We weren’t exactly sorry to see him go.” “But his eyes! And the leg…” “His eyes healed up fine,” a deep voice answered from somewhere behind them. Martin turned and recognized Dr. Gerald Benson, one of the docs made famous for his tirades and no-nonsense attitude with the troops. The older man stood there, studying them with curiosity. “You’re the advisers I heard about who went back to get him, aren’t you?” “Yeah.” "Well, his leg wasn't that badly infected, you'll be happy to know, and that's amazing considering the time he was out there with that wound. If you boys hadn't bandaged him up and given him the antibiotics when you did, he’d probably be facing an amputation somewhere down the line.” He looked them up and down, then smiled as if satisfied with what he saw. “You know, he never stopped talking about you two. Told me he was going to find you after the war. Find you and shake both your hands. Oh, and he mentioned something about a wedding you promised to attend?” “He owes us each a glass of champagne.” Benson laughed. “Is he being shipped back to the States?” Jack asked. “Hell, no! He was fit and willing to return to active duty. Wouldn’t hear of being sent back home. And I agreed. His wounds were superficial for the most part, and like I said, he healed fast.” Benson shook his head and chuckled. “The guy gets blown up, loses all his buddies, almost dies, and then, insists he wants to return to duty. Incredible. He hopped on board a transport to Da Nang this morning." Jack looked like he was in shock. “I never thought he’d make it, much less return to his post in three days!” “Tough as they come, that boy was. I was impressed.” He grinned. “And let me say, it’s been an honor to meet you two, as well. The kid told me you were on a mission. I hope you find what you’re looking for, whatever it is.” Dr. Benson gave them both a casual salute. Then, he picked up a chart from the revolving rack and headed back toward the ward to check in on his wounded men.
  4. What is known on this blazer? Anybody know where (and if) I can get one these days? Might have to get one tailor made or something... It's sort of thin like a shirt, but stitched like a blazer. Though searching the internet I found something called "Summer blazers" on an online clothing store. Similar, but overall still looks thicker than this is.