Decker's Dilemma (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

1335, Saturday, February 8

Olivia spun in her heels and sashayed into the house. Mr. Fortuno cleared his throat, drawing the sailors' attention. “Welcome to my home, gentlemen. Would you like a drink? Perhaps a beer would be nice.” He peered over Decker's shoulder at a servant standing a few paces behind the two sailors. “Jimmy,
dalawa
Heinekens for our guests, please.”

Decker and Hack hadn't noticed Jimmy, who had obviously followed them through the house and out onto the deck. Jimmy bowed slightly. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Fortuno stretched his back in the chair and waved Decker and Hack forward. “Sit down please. Don't be shy. Any friends of Rusty are welcome here.”

Decker was relieved at how friendly Mr. Fortuno appeared to be. Expecting a rude, mob boss type, Mr. Fortuno seemed a pleasant old man, pleasant in the grandfatherly sort of way.

They spent the next few minutes answering Mr. Fortuno's questions: where they were stationed, how long they had been in the navy, where they were from in the States.

Mr. Fortuno gestured towards his house. “You met Olivia. She lived in California for several years. I wanted her to have a top notch education. She attended high school at Harvard-Westlake in Los Angeles and went to college at Stanford.”

“Impressive,” Decker said. “I'm not familiar with the high school, but, of course, I'm well aware of Stanford's reputation.”

Mr. Fortuno grabbed his bourbon glass and put his elbows on the table. “In truth, it disappointed me. I wanted her to go to what you Americans call the east coast for college. She was stuck on staying in California, though, and I couldn't change her mind. Her younger sister is at Stanford now. Two more years until she graduates. Olivia spent the last few months in Hawaii visiting friends and then arrived back home three months ago. I'm afraid they're both infatuated with life in the U.S. I doubt if Abbey will ever move back with me. Younger siblings are like that, I suppose.”

Jimmy returned with two Heinekens and frosty mugs for Decker and Hack. He refilled Mr. Fortuno's glass of bourbon and refreshed his ice.

“Are you fellows hungry?” Mr. Fortuno asked.

“No, sir,” Decker said, eliciting a look of disappointment from Hack.

To Jimmy, Mr. Fortuno said, “That will be all for now. If we need anything, I'll ring.”

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy said and retreated to the house, nodding at the two sailors as he departed.

The three men sat on the deck not speaking for the next few minutes. Decker and Hack gazed at the city of Olongapo and Subic Bay below from a vantage point they had not experienced before. The streets were clearly defined, weaving like a maze through the houses and buildings. The naval base's few buildings and large, green open spaces were in sharp contrast to the crowded city. The tops of cranes and ships at the piers were barely noticeable. The water of Subic Bay appeared various shades of blue and turquoise, and clearer and more pristine than it appeared up close. Grande Island, the small island at the mouth of the bay, appeared like a speck on the map spread out below them. Storm clouds gathered over the bay, creating a dark contrast with the water.

Mr. Fortuno broke the silence. “I moved here for the view about twenty years ago. We used to live northwest of the city in the country. The older I got, the more I wanted to find a place where I could relax and enjoy the scenery.”

Hack held his stare on the city below. “It's beautiful up here. I had no idea Olongapo was so big.”

Mr. Fortuno nodded. “Two hundred thousand people crammed into such a small area. That's why I like living in the hills. Gets me away from the crowds and noise of the city.”

Mr. Fortuno glanced over at Decker and Hack who still looked mesmerized by the view. “But you two didn't come visit me for the view. You are friends of Rusty. He was a good employee for me. Someone I could trust to do the job. He told me you wanted to ask me something.”

Hack looked at Decker, raising his eyebrows to urge Decker to do the talking.

Decker took a drink of beer and cleared his throat. “Did you hear about the sailor who died on the
USS
Harvey
a few weeks ago?”

“Yes, I saw that in the paper several days ago. As I understand it, the poor guy fell overboard. Must be terrible for his family. When you guys have kids, you will understand that.”

“Probably so,” Decker said. “But it shook us up pretty badly the way it was. I'd known him for about a year.”

Mr. Fortuno sat back in his chair and took a sip of bourbon. “I've been around a long time, gentlemen. I've seen and heard many things. Something tells me you have more to say about this young man's death.”

“Alright, I'll put our cards on the table,” said Decker. “I don't buy that it was an accident or suicide. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't just fall off the ship. And he wasn't suicidal.”

Mr. Fortuno sat his glass on the table and folded his arms. “Interesting news, but what's this got to do with me? I have no connections with the navy anymore and certainly no connections with their investigators.”

“Kippen's death hit close to home,” Decker said. “We both worked with him in the same department. What concerns us is, if it was murder, who did it and why? And it's because of the ‘why' that we're here.”

Mr. Fortuno peered over his reading glasses, looking impatient with the conversation. “Sorry, fellows. I still don't follow you. I told you, I have no dealings with the navy and I'm beginning to not like your insinuations.” For the first time Decker and Hack got a glimpse of another side of Mr. Fortuno. Nice, friendly exterior, but underneath, not far underneath, was the forceful personality of a mob moss.

Hack spoke up. “We're not saying you had anything to do with it. That's the furthest thing from our minds.”

“Glad to hear that,” said Mr. Fortuno. “Now get to your point. It's going to rain soon.”

Decker stood and leaned against the deck railing. “We think…I think…Kippen may have discovered something on the ship. Some missing parts, maybe thousands of dollars worth of material. I was talking with Rusty about it a few days ago and he told me of…well, he told me how sometimes navy supplies go missing and end up out in town.”

“On the black market you mean,” said Mr. Fortuno. “It's okay to say those words. Many people thought—probably still think—that I was involved in the black market during my career. But contrary to what people say, I ran a legitimate business. I had dealings with the navy—like everyone does who operates a business in Olongapo—but I never ran anything but a legal business.”

“We weren't suggesting anything otherwise, Mr. Fortuno,” Decker said. “Rusty never said you were in the black market” he added, lying to protect his friend. “But he said you might know the lay of the land. Who's operating the black market in town. We want to find Kippen's killer and we're also beginning to get worried about ourselves if the operation is continuing on the
Harvey
.”

“Rusty is correct,” said Mr. Fortuno. “I do know many people in town, but I'm retired now. I'm afraid I can't help you with this one, gentlemen. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment.”

Jimmy appeared again on the deck. Decker and Hack stood, thanked Mr. Fortuno for his time, and followed Jimmy indoors. Olivia greeted them once inside and told Jimmy she would show them out.

She moved between Decker and Hack and took each by the arm, leading them to the door. “How did the meeting go,” she asked.

“Went fine, thanks,” Hack said. “Your father is a nice man.”

“He is,” she said. “A lot of people say otherwise, but he's kind and gentle.” Before opening the door, she squeezed each of their arms. “Let me give you some advice. Don't come back. He doesn't like people bothering him, especially American sailors. I'm surprised he was willing to see you today. He must think a lot of this Rusty I heard him talk about.” She let go of their arms and opened the door.

Decker gave Olivia his best smile. “We would never think of bothering your father again. I hope we weren't a bother for you?”

Olivia's face softened. “You were no bother. Where are you guys stationed?”

“The
USS
Harvey
,” Hack replied.

Olivia lowered her head and giggled.

“Did I say something funny?” asked Hack, looking at Decker.

Olivia took hold of Hack's arm. “No, it's not you. I know someone on the
Harvey
. Ensign Malata.”

“I think you've got the wrong ship,” Decker said, confused. “I don't know any Ensign Malata.”

“That's not his real name,” Olivia said. “It's Ensign Limpert. Malata is Tagalog for ‘limp.' I know it's not a nice thing to do, but it's what Emily and I call him. Not to his face, of course. It's just sort of a joke between us.”

“How do you know him?” asked Decker. “And who's Emily?”

“She's been my best friend since grade school. Her dad used to work for my father years ago. We grew up together. She works at the supply depot on base now. I guess she met Malata there. I've met him a couple times when he'd be over at her house.”

Hack turned to Decker. “I guess he does get off base once in a while.”

“Emily says he visits now and then,” Olivia said. “He actually can be funny and a big flirt, even if his wife is along.”

“Are we talking about the same guy?” asked Decker.

“Short and skinny with clothes that hang off him like their two sizes too big? Malaki wife about five times his size?”

“Yep, that's him,” said Decker.

“I don't think he has many navy friends,” Olivia added. “Emily's nice to invite him over.” She nervously glanced behind her. “Now you really must go.”

Decker extended his hand. “By the way, I'm Decker. Elliott Decker.”

“And I'm late for an appointment,” she said, shutting the door.

Decker and Hack stood on the porch for a few minutes contemplating their recent conversation with Mr. Fortuno. Decker raised his arms above his head. “I'm in love!”

“I love you, too,” said Hack.

“I wasn't talking about you, jackass.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

Decker pointed his eyes towards the Fortuno house. “Did you see that ass in those shorts?”

“I happened to notice.”

“And those legs?”

“I noticed that as well.”

“I'm in love.”

“You said that already.”

Decker shot Hack a giddy smile. “Did I?” He surveyed the threatening skies as thunder boomed
overhead
. “Unfortunately, besides the fact that Mr. Fortuno has at least one very attractive daughter and that she knows Ensign Limpert, we didn't learn anything.”

“Maybe not,” said Hack. “But at least we tried.”

“I thought he'd at least give us something to go on,” said Decker. “But I agree with the lovely Olivia. I'm surprised he even saw us at all.”

“Do you believe him when he said he's no longer in the black market?” asked Hack.

“I have my doubts,” Decker said, waving his hand at the house. “Rusty said this is his retirement home. I was expecting a small place with a white picket fence.”

They stepped off the porch headed for their rendezvous with Baby at the corner café. They felt the rain as soon as they hit the street. Big drops at first, with a cool breeze and a crackle of lightening.

“Great,” Decker said, looking up at the sky the precise moment the big drops turned into a downpour. “Let's run for it!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

1352, Saturday, February 8

Soaked and out of breath, Decker and Hack spotted Baby in a back booth, his back to the door. Decker put his index finger to his lips to quiet Hack while they tiptoed towards their new friend without being noticed. As they approached within a couple feet, Hack slid in the opposite bench seat and Decker jumped into the seat next to Baby, putting an arm around his shoulder.

“People of the Philippines. We have returned,” Decker announced.

A wide smile formed on Baby's face. “I am so glad to see you guys. There are stories of people going in that house and not coming back out again. I was afraid for you two. I did not want to tell Rusty I lost you.”

“That would've been very careless of you,” Decker said. “Now, let's get something to eat.” He flagged down a harried waitress and ordered three helpings of pancit, an ample serving of rice, and three cokes. “We can ride out the bad weather in here.”

“Good plan,” Hack said. “For once I'm glad it's raining. I'm starving.”

Decker and Hack recounted their conversation with Mr. Fortuno and answered Baby's questions about the layout of the house and who they met inside. Fifteen minutes later the waitress brought their order. They ate their meal at a leisurely pace, enjoying the cuisine and the company of Baby. Thirty minutes later the waitress handed Decker the bill.

“
Salamat po
,” Decker said, glancing at the ticket to ensure it was the correct amount. He quickly scanned the food and drink items listed on the receipt and started to set it aside, but something caught his eye. A note was attached to the receipt by a paperclip. Someone had scribbled two handwritten sentences across the bottom of the note. He turned to look at the door, and then at the waitress. “Who gave you this note?”

“Some man,” said the waitress. “He came in and handed it to me. Gave me one hundred pesos to deliver it.”

“
Salamat
,” Decker said, handing the small piece of paper to Baby. “Hey, can you read this?”

“
O o,
it says pancit and rice. Three orders. You can't read that? Where are your glasses?”

“I don't need glasses,” Decker said. “I was talking about the note.”

Baby studied the writing for a few seconds. “Sorry
, pare
. I cannot read it. It is probably nothing.”

Decker handed the note to Hack who held it at various distances from his face. “I think it's a message, but I have no idea what it says.”

“Must be from Mr. Fortuno,” Decker whispered, lowering his voice to remind Hack they needed to be discreet.

Hack nodded and silently mouthed, “We'll talk later at Cal Jam.”

The rain continued for another thirty minutes when a break in the weather gave them the opportunity to head back to base.

The trip downhill back to the heart of Olongapo took half the time it had taken to reach Mr. Fortuno's house. Baby dropped them at the corner of Gordon and Magsaysay and the two sailors walked into Cal Jam still pondering their trip to Mr. Fortuno's house. They sat at their usual table by the window, studying the handwritten note lying on the table in front of them.

“I still can't read it,” said Hack.

“Me either,” said Decker. He took out his pencil and pointed to the first sentence. “It looks like a name here, but I can't make out the other words.”

“I think it's a name, too,” Hack agreed. “Three words. The first letters are capitalized. But a name of what?”

“Could be a person.”

“Or a town,” Decker countered.

“But more likely a person.”

“Or a town.”

Decker turned the note towards Hack. “What about the second sentence? A word then a colon followed by two more words. And the last two words are underlined.”

Hack picked up the note and held it at different angles. “Whoever wrote this has terrible handwriting.”

“I assume it's Mr. Fortuno,” said Decker.

“It could be from his daughter?” Hack offered.

Decker shook his head. “I doubt it.”

“Why not?”

“Because beautiful women have exquisite handwriting. Always perfectly legible.”

Hack looked dubious. “Is that right?”

“It's a fact of nature. I read about a research study once. They proved it scientifically.”

Hack rolled his eyes. “I'm sure there's one beautiful woman out there who has sloppy handwriting.”

“It's possible, but it would be an evolutionary anomaly.”

“A what?”

“Never mind,” Decker said. “I'm certain this is from her father. Olivia would've told us something at the door. All she did was warn you not to come back. Advice, I might add, that you should follow.”

“Warned me? What about you? She was talking to both of us.”

“She was clearly talking to you. She said not to come back to see her father, and she was looking at you when she said it. If I go back there, it won't be to see the old man. It'll be other business.”

Hack ignored Decker's rambling. “Maybe the note's from Jimmy, Fortuno's butler guy. Did you see him at the café?”

“I didn't see anyone I recognized. But I was sitting with Baby with my back to the door. You see anyone?”

“I wasn't paying attention,” Hack said. “The place was too crowded. Someone easily could've walked in, passed the note to the waitress, and left before anyone noticed.”

They sat staring at the note for five minutes, neither one saying a word as they studied the piece of paper from every angle trying in vain to decipher the handwriting.

“I think I've got it,” Hack said. “The first word is ‘the.' I'm pretty sure of that.”

“Me too,” said Decker. “But that doesn't help.”

“Okay, how about this?” Hack offered. “The beginning is Angular August Kayaking. Warming: his december.”

Decker gave Hack a doubtful look. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Maybe it's code.”

“Maybe it's not even close to what it says. I think you're way off.”

Hack slid the note back to Decker. “I don't see you coming up with anything better.”

“Yeah? Well, I think I've got it. It says ‘The bussing is Angiology Again Kampuchea. Warring: it's dampening.'”

“That's the best you've got?” Hack laughed.

“I think it's close. Maybe a word or two off.”

“A word or two? That makes less sense than my translation. Maybe it's written in Tagalog. That's why we can't read it.”

“A good point,” Decker said, glancing behind him. “Here comes Pong. Let's see if he can read it.”

Pong approached the table and spread several peso notes in front of the sailors. “Gentlemen, the newest additions to my collection,” he said, proudly.

“Pesos?” Decker said. “If I knew you were collecting those, I have a few I could've sold you. I'd even do it at the rate of eighteen pesos to a dollar.”

Pong laughed and pointed to the bills. “No way,
pare
. Everyone knows the rate is twenty and half pesos. But these are no ordinary pesos. Look closely.”

Decker and Hack leaned in to study the bills. There were several denominations ranging from a fifty centavos note to a one hundred peso bill. Printed across the top of each one was the wording “The Japanese Government.”

“Occupation currency?” Decker asked.

“O o
,” said Pong. “The Japanese started printing the money in 1942. I have a few already in my collection, but this is the first time I have been able to buy notes in such good shape.”

“Very interesting,” Decker said. “And I've got a note to show you, too.” He handed Pong the piece of paper. “Take a look at this. We can't make it out.”

Pong studied the writing for a few minutes, then: “It's easy. It says: ‘The bellman is August Agent Keypunch. Waving: has depression.'”

“Thanks, Pong,” Decker said, exchanging an exasperated look with Hack. “I thought it might be written in Tagalog. Apparently it's not.”

“If it is Tagalog, I do not know those words,” Pong said, gathering his peso notes. “Sorry I could not be of more help.”

“No problem. We'll keep looking at it.”

“Can I try,” a woman's voice said. Standing behind Decker, he hadn't realized one of Pong's assistants had followed him to the table.

“Sure, go ahead,” Decker said. “We're getting nowhere with it.”

The girl studied the note with enthusiasm and a smile came across her face. “Okay. I know what it says. My father used to write like this. I was always good at reading his handwriting. It says: ‘The busboy is Angelica Against Kangaroo. Warplane: has dungeon.'”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Decker, taking the note from the woman. “That is very helpful.”

“
Walang anuman
,” she said, turning to walk away, looking satisfied that she had broken the code.

“We're wasting our time,” said Decker. “Let's go see Rusty. We need to let him know we're back in town. I'm sure he's worried about us and maybe he can make sense out of this.”

Ten minutes later, the two sailors were sitting on Rusty's porch. Rusty studied the note for only a few seconds.

“I was worried about this,” Rusty said, laying the note on a coffee table in front of him.

“What are you talking about?” Decker asked. “You have any idea what it says? We've been looking at it for an hour and haven't been able to come up with anything.”

“I know what it says,” Rusty said. “This is interesting.”

“What is?” asked Decker, still trying to decipher the handwriting.

“Angelito Agana,” said Rusty.

Decker and Hack exchanged glances. “A.A.,” they said in unison.

“Chief Fray had those initials written on a piece of paper,” Decker explained. “Who is he?”

“Angelito Agana used to work for Mr. Fortuno. I knew him. It has been a long time since I have talked to him. My friend Ducky knows him better. Wish he was here to tell you about Agana. Ducky is in Manila now. He works security for Marcos.”

“Agana doesn't work for Fortuno anymore?” Decker asked.

“No, he had disagreement with Mr. Fortuno several years ago. Fortuno accused Agana of stealing money. There is bad blood between them.”

“What's Agana do now?” Decker asked.

“I have asked around about him. I learned he started his own business when Mr. Fortuno kicked him out.”

“Black market?”

“
O o
. And gambling. Agana got friendly with Marcos. The president let him run the casinos on Luzon.”

“The president has that power?”

“The government owns the casinos,
pare
. Marcos established the Philippine Amusements and Gaming Corporation in 1977. It is controlled in the Office of the President. Still that way. Ducky told me that Agana once did a favor for the Rolex 12. He got the casinos as part of the deal. Plus Agana's father knew Marcos during WWII. They were part of Ang Mahárlika. Now Agana calls his business by that name.”

“The what?” asked Decker.

“Noble warrior,” smiled Hack.

Decker and Rusty stared at Hack.

“Lee said the word once,” Hack said. “She told me what it meant.”

Rusy nodded. “He is right. The Mahárlika. The Noble Warriors. Marcos' guerilla unit. Or that is the story Marcos likes to tell. He claimed it was the best fighting force. Beat the Japanese every time. Marcos says he was the most decorated soldier in the war. But American's never believed it. Said they never heard of the unit. They said it was a black market operation selling stuff to Japanese.”

“Why the nickname for his business?” asked Decker.

Rusty shrugged. “Do not know. Maybe he is trying to impress Marcos. Or to scare people. Make himself sound tough.”

“How big is he?” Decker asked.

“Agana? He is real big. The main player in town. He is so powerful that he has broken ties with Marcos.”

“It's hard to keep track of who's on whose side,” Decker said. “So Agana controls all of the black market in Olongapo now?”

“Most of it. Gambling operation, too. There are a few small time operators, but my friends say they are too small for Agana to worry about.”

“What kind of things does he deal in?” asked Hack.

“Big stuff. Cigarettes and soap no good anymore. Too many trade agreements between countries have opened up the market. It is different now.”