There Will Be Killing (10 page)

“Why are you interested in him? It's not illegal to be a jerk.”

“He's a person of interest. We'll leave it at that. Just see what you can find out about his relationship with Nikki, if he has any strange private behaviors or violent tendencies behind closed doors. That's the kind of information you can get on the Q.T. and I can't.”

When she hesitated he added, “By the way, it's Hertz's birthday and Sergeant Washington is in charge of the grill.”

“Is there anything you
don't
know?”

J.D. raised an eloquent brow.

The hell if she was telling him about her intimacies with Phillip. And the hell with Phillip if he thought she was sleeping with him anytime soon. It was the 60s and Kate got the whole liberation scene, but she had always felt liberated and wasn't going to be confined now by some free love movement that she considered a little stupid for its lack of foresight. Smart girls were selective. They realized they declared their own value. Two back wheels that had burned enough rubber to go bald did not command a fetching price, and while she truly loved the smell, the taste, the sweat generated by a robust romp, Katherine Lynn Morningside did not come cheap.

“Kaa,” J.D. suddenly said. “The python. That would be my favorite Kipling character.”

“Why am I not surprised you would best relate to a snake?”

The flash of J.D.'s smooth smile was followed by an unexpected burst of laughter. With his head tilted back, clearly exposing the scar that ran from just behind his ear to under his shirt collar it took an enormous amount of self-control not to investigate how far the scar ran.

She should run. Kate knew it with the instinctive certainty of a dog's ears quivering in response to a whistle too highly pitched for humans to hear. But she was even more certain of never forgiving herself for abandoning the human equivalent of a torqued and dangerous machine that she intended to ride like a bat out of hell with strobe lights flashing and sirens screaming full blast.

There were no Orange Julius's in Vietnam.

Just one of the things she could fall in love with here.

Off the coast of Nha Trang are several islands. But while Nha Trang itself is a city of culture and sophistication and commerce, the islands might as well be a thousand miles and a thousand years away….

Life passed in the same slow movement of seasons as it always had and always would, forever remaining exactly as it was before the Americans and before the French. The same fishing boats with their distinctive designs and colors, the same small village farms trading with the fishermen, they were all still here. As were the people, orienting their lives with the old calendar, the tides, the movement of fish, sun, and wind. They looked on the invading Americans as another odd and temporary form of bad weather. Something to endure until it passed.

All kinds of gear had been offloaded onto the beaches for an American style beach party, complete with a Frisbee chasing dog. Sergeant Washington was clearly in charge of the operation and if he had been Commanding General of the Army in the way he was getting this party set up, the war would have been over and won last year. As the top level professional grilling got going and the scent of BBQ sauce and sizzling steaks and big kettles of beans drifted down the beach, Izzy and Gregg wandered along the palm-rimmed sand with Margie and Nikki, K.O. trotting close with the Frisbee between her teeth. Ahead of them was a postcard scene of what old Vietnam must have been like before the wars.

“The war doesn't seem real here.” Izzy's gaze was dreamlike, taking in this small fishing village where time stood still with its thatched bamboo houses and prosperous, well fed looking families. Friendly smiles accompanied friendly waves to the four of them and they waved back.

“A world away,” Gregg agreed. “I'd say it's a perfect place for some music. Maybe play us a few tunes later, Izzy?”

“We'll see,” he hedged, despite having parked his guitar next to Gregg's surfboard at the spot they had claimed down the beach.

“Hey, I've heard you practicing. No need to hide that kind of talent around here. A few beers and one of Sarge's best steaks, and you'll be our entertainment for the night.”

“Gregg already sold us tickets.” Margie, quick to back Gregg up.

“That's right,” Nikki, right behind her, “so you can't get out of it now.”

“More than a buck and he scalped you.” Izzy grinned despite his claim as they stopped in the shade of some tall, graceful Ironwood pines looking out over the water.

They all stood quiet for a while in a companionable silence, until Margie dabbed at her eyes, any joking around having somehow segued to a somber moment.

“What's wrong, Margie?” Izzy asked.

Margie shook her head, the sun bouncing off the red hair she had piled on top like a luscious strawberry snow cone. Gregg knew it wasn't for him she was looking extra fine as she impatiently swiped at her eyes.

Izzy hesitantly put an arm around her shoulder, and that's all it took for her to let it all go.

“Izzy. . .Gregg. What are we doing? We must be sending out more and more crazy kids every week. They are like broken toys and we put a band-aid on them and send them right back out. What's going to happen to them when they get back, what about their families, what are they going to do with them?
What have we done to them? Shit. . .
sorry, sorry. . .I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose it like this. We're here for a picnic. Who's ready for a steak and another beer? K.O. you can have part of mine, girl.”

“It's okay, Margie,” Gregg assured her. “You're just telling it like it is, saying everything we're all thinking every countdown day.”

“That's right,” Nikki agreed, even though she was there of her own volition.

K.O. whimpered and dropped the Frisbee at Margie's feet like an offering, which only made her choke on a sob.

Izzy patted Margie's shoulder, then dumbly, but sweetly, extended his beer.

“I wish I could say something to make you feel better, but I can't think of anything at all, not one thing to make me feel any better either, so here, Margie. You can have my beer.”

Margie blinked, stared at him blankly a few moments. Then, she laughed. Her eyes were still a little watery, but clear and a brighter shade of hazel as she warmed them on Izzy.

“Thanks, Dr. Moskowitz, now I feel better—or at least I will when I'm in that water. Come on, let's go!”

“Uh, well, I usually don't swim or. . .”

Margie took the beer Izzy still held out and promptly shook it, playfully sprayed him with the brew.

“Come on, Nikki, tag team! Izzy's gotta get clean!” Then each of them grabbed one of Izzy's hands and took off toward the little waves, only for Izzy to kick in some speed and pull them both along with him, the three of them laughing as they plunged into the shallow end, K.O. giving chase.

Gregg watched them go. He had never seen Margie come apart like that, but if anything her mini-meltdown was overdue. Gregg knew her job was hell. She had been there about nine months, a month longer than him, and many of the patients on the unit, the psych techs too, hell, just about all of them, ended up talking to her about their personal problems. But you just couldn't listen to everyone's shit all the time and not have it take a toll, especially if you were the only female nurse at a unit, getting hit on every day by whoever was new.

And, they were always new, just like it only happened once, because you were not the oldest child of a Marine Commandant and not know how to handle presumptuous assholes. Margie could hold her own with the fresh stuff; it was seeing the suffering that she had no control over that was grinding her down.

Just then she plowed a big gush of water at Izzy, who threw it right back. Hopefully, he didn't have the letters he was always carrying in his pocket; he'd be crying worse than Margie if the pages got wet. While Gregg figured Izzy for a straight arrow kind of guy who wouldn't mess around on his fiancé, a little outside interest was a good distraction—particularly with Monday's upcoming trip to the Highlands on the pretext of routine evals at the base in Ban Me Thuot.

The med dispensing business as usual was total bullshit of course, the real purpose being to check out the troops where the Ghost Soldier story got started—and had continued to spread faster than relay runners with jungle drums.

“Monsieur, have you any new leads in zee investigation?”

Startled, Gregg spun around and shoved J.D. away. Maybe it was because he didn't have time to mentally prepare, or maybe he'd just had enough, but the gloves came off and Mister Nice Guy finally clocked out.

“What, you think that's funny?”

J.D. shrugged and for a blink he seemed slightly off-balance. Like a new comic giving stand-up a try and getting booed off-stage.

Fuck him. Gregg put it in his face. “You broke the code, man.”

“Code?” J.D. stepped back, narrowed his eyes. “What code?”

“The one that says you don't mess with another guy's girl.”

“But Kate says she isn't your girl.”

“I don't give a damn what she says. You knew we were together when you showed up at the restaurant, and you still went after her.”

“Yes,” he readily admitted. “I did.”

Gregg grudgingly gave J.D. points for not pushing Kate in front of the train they both knew she was equally responsible for driving, but that didn't stop him.

“Since we're clearing the air, I don't even believe there's a real investigation, it's probably just some bullshit excuse for you do some kind of drug bust on these poor freaked out kids who are getting crazy ideas—like it's a crazy idea to be here! The only ‘evidence' is a bunch of gossip that feeds off fear like termites on wood, and that's all we are to the machine you work for. Termites getting dusted with Agent Orange. Admit it, Mikel. There is no psycho killer, there is just you and the government you work for fucking around with the rest of us who can't wait to get the hell out, right? Am I right?”

J.D. held up his hands, backed off. “Okay, okay, maybe there is no killer, no Boogeyman, and it's all just crap, a crazy made-up story. And you know what? I hope you're that much right. So let's just get up to the Highlands on Monday and check things out as planned, and if you're right, then I'll disappear from your radar. Okay? C'mon, let's be friends. Show me and Kate around the island.” J.D. glanced down the beach and waved. Apparently some kind of signal since Kate waved back and picked up her pace. “See? Here she comes.”

Gregg glared at J.D. “Let's be friends? You draft me into some kind of CIA spook show and then steal my girl, and now we are
friends?
Come on, you have got to be kidding.”

“But she says she isn't your girl,” J.D. reiterated, making him either the most obtuse guy Gregg had ever met or maybe he just thought being a CIA agent exempted him from the same rules regular guys like Gregg Kelly abided by. “Kate wants us to be friends. I'm trying.”

“Kate knows I would give her both kidneys and my liver if she needed them, but you and me, friends?” Gregg snorted at the very idea. “My generosity does not extend that far. And by the way, if you really care about Kate, you will get off her radar, too.”

Moving past Kate as she arrived, Gregg ordered himself to get some distance and his cool while he was at it—only to kick the sand, hard, when J.D. called after him, “But all I said was the Dodgers suck!”

Gregg was considerably calmer after tipping a beer with some pals and toasting a few times to Hertz turning twenty-one. Blowing off some of the accumulated steam felt good but it disturbed him to have so completely gotten in J.D.'s face. That wasn't like him at all. Never in Gregg's life had he spurned an offer of friendship. Not to mention it wasn't real bright to all but insist on a duel at dawn when you didn't even know how to load a gun and the guy you slapped with a gauntlet owned the whole damn Winchester factory.

A flash of J.D. whipping Terry's pistol from his holster and taking Derek down in the split second before Derek could do the same to the rest of them had Gregg taking another long draw off his beer.
Damn.
Why did he always have to think of that when he'd rather hang onto his perfectly justified rage at all the messed up shit J.D. had unpacked along with his gear upon moving into the villa where he rarely stayed? Not that Gregg gave a crap as long as it wasn't with Kate. The whole getting off his radar thing was the surest sign Gregg had that this trip to the jungle Highlands promised the kind of outcome that would ensure J.D. stuck around.

A hypersonic blast of sound with the opening chords of “Crystal Blue Persuasion”
shook the towering Ironwood pines above Gregg's head where a metallic purple and black attack helicopter hovered, then rocketed out to sea, turned, and lowered to just above the water.

The shore party went wild as the chopper slowly approached the beach, and then the crowd really went crazy as a case of Jack Daniels was thrown into the water, followed closely by what had to be over 200 pounds of rippling muscle in green shorts and a Green Bay Packers football jersey. He lifted the case and plowed into shore to a round of applause and whistles and shouted greetings as the chopper circled, then blasted away.

Gregg ran out with the cheering crowd and Nikki caught up with him, asking, “Who is that? He sure knows how to make an entrance.”

“Richard Galt. Come on, I'll introduce you.” Not only was Rick the coolest Special Ops Gregg had ever met, Peck wouldn't even think about messing with someone that could snap him like a twig with two fingers. He was definitely getting Nikki introduced.

Rick handed over the case to lots of eager hands and then promptly slapped Gregg on the arm, which almost knocked Gregg over.

“Hey, Rick, glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invite, Doc. I got your message up in the Highlands and hitched a ride and here I am. And wow what a party. . .and
wow
who is this?”

“This is Nikki.” Gregg discreetly rubbed his arm as he got Nikki signed up for some health insurance. “Nikki is the Red Cross and everything you miss about America. And Nikki, this is Captain Richard Galt, Special Ops, Lord of the Jungle.”

“Just Rick, ma'am.” Rick doffed his cap, revealing thick cropped black hair, cheekbones any American Indian would be proud of, and good looks straight out of Hollywood central casting set on top of a USC tailback's body. Anybody would think he was a body double for Burt Lancaster in
Apache
. “And I have to say that I'd be crazy to miss America when I'm looking at Miss America right here.”

“Well, aren't you the charmer?” Nikki flirted back.

“I am trying, ma'am, I am trying.”

And it was apparently working since Nikki suggested, “How about you join me and Gregg and some of our friends under the shade over there?”

“Yeah, Rick, after we grab a beer and a steak, and before you start talking about how easy we've got it and how tough you guys are that don't.”

“Don't you know it,” Rick ribbed him back, throwing his arm around Gregg's shoulder. “But I am not insulting my hosts, you can bet on that—and look who's here! Margie, how you doing girl? Still making sure this war is safe and sane?” Grinning broadly, Rick let go of Gregg to give Margie a little hug as she eagerly greeted him, then Rick took notice of Izzy, beside her. “And this must be the famous new guy.”

“I, well. . .how did you know?”

“Your press secretary told me.”

“I knew I should have changed my name before word got out I was here.”

That got a good laugh, especially from Margie.

“Okay, Rowan and Martin,” she said, promptly pointing them in the direction of Buckley's grill. “The good stuff's this way.”

And that's where Rick hailed the King for a Day. Snagging a bottle from the case he had brought, Rick held it out to Hertz like a precious offering.