Murder in the Navy

Eleven

Chuck Masters tried to make his head comfortable against the coarsely padded back of the seat.

In all his experience with trains, he had never achieved that simple goal of making himself comfortable, and this experience, he silently reflected, was no different from any of the others. The people who designed trains, he was sure, were the same people who designed such things as electric chairs and subterranean torture chambers. If you put your head this way, he thought, it’s no good. And if you put your head the other way, it’s still no good. What I really need is a Pullman. But he’d been in Pullmans, too, and he’d never been able to sleep, and oh, hell, he should have joined the Air Force.

He achieved some measure of comfort, finally, by sort of twisting his head a little to starboard and tilting it back slightly just a smidgin, just about maybe three degrees. He didn’t dare move his head because he’d been striving for this position ever since the train had begun its laborious journey, and he was certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Outside the window, he could see the countryside falling away, the bland Southern sky imperceptibly changing to the harsher, bleaker Northern sky. He began counting telephone poles. The poles were regularly spaced, set into the ground at slightly different depths, so that the wires plunged and rose, plunged and rose again.

Jesus, I’m getting seasick.

He turned his attention from the telephone poles and the scenery beyond the window, and he concentrated on the window directly before him, in which the aisle and the seats opposite were reflected. A girl was sitting in one of the seats. She was a redhead, and she was wearing a tight green woolen suit and a short topper, and her legs were crossed, and there was a gold ankle bracelet around one ankle. The crossed legs exposed a goodly amount of white, fleshy thigh, and the girl seemed cognizant of this fact, proud of it, for that matter, and for a moment Masters wanted to turn his head from the reflection and enjoy the splendor of the real image. He balanced the desirability of viewing an expanse of thigh against the desirability of keeping the comfortable position he had finally found. And into his reasoning came the coldly logical fact that he was on a Navy mission, and even if the young lady proved to be as interesting as her interesting thigh promised, she’d probably get off the train in Washington, and he’d go on to Atlantic City, and where would that leave him? Of course, there was a portion of night travel ahead, and heaven only knew what could happen on a dimly lighted train speeding through the night with a redhead who looked the way this one did, and who went around flashing comfortably padded white-winking thighs all over the place.

The debate assumed major proportions in his mind. He was an officer of the United States Navy, he reminded himself, and his conduct should become an officer of the United States Navy, but the thigh persistently winked at him in the reflection. The girl had put down her magazine now, and he caught a glimpse of the title. One of the romance magazines, and that too weighed heavily in the young lady’s favor. She sucked in a deep breath that threatened the strength of her upper garments, and Masters was almost ready to rise and make the young lady’s acquaintance when he thought of Jean Dvorak. At the same time, one of the radarmen walked down the aisle and plopped into the vacant seat beside Masters, so that he never really knew whether it was the radarman or Jean Dvorak who prevented him from getting to meet and perhaps know the redhead with the extroverted thigh.

“Hello, Mr. Masters,” the radarman said.

“Hello,” Masters answered. He did not turn his head. If a redhead could not budge him from the dubious comfort he had at last achieved, a radarman certainly wasn’t going to turn the trick.

“Mind if I sit here?” the radarman asked.

“Go right ahead,” Masters said.

The radarman, who was already sitting anyway, made himself comfortable. “Ah, this is nice,” he murmured.

Masters wondered about his sanity, until he realized the radarman was sitting directly opposite the redhead, without the slightly smudged hindrance of a reflection in the window.

“Ain’t it, sir?” the radarman said.

“The ride, or the scenery?” Masters asked.

“Oh, both, sir. Both.”

Masters grunted, not moving his head.

“Very nice,” the radarman said, apparently very comfortable in the seat now, apparently planning to spend the night there, or perhaps the rest of the month, or even the rest of his life. “When you think we’ll be there, sir?”

“Early in the morning,” Masters said.

“Think we’ll get liberty?”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t see your face,” Masters said, “and I don’t want to turn.”

The radarman looked at him curiously, wondering if the Lieutenant were sick or something.

“Who are you?” Masters asked.

“Me?” the radarman asked back.

“Yes.”

“Oh. I’m Caldroni. Hey, don’t you know me? Sir?”

“Yes, Caldroni. I know you very well.”

“For a minute there—”

“Where are the other men?”

“Oh, all in this car.”

“Good.”

“Yes, sir.” Caldroni was silent for a long while. “Sir?” he whispered at length.

“Mmm?”

“She’s something, ain’t she, sir?” he whispered.

“The redhead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, she’s something.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but is there anything outside that window that is important to our mission, sir? What I mean to say, sir, is that if you are concerned with duty, I can understand your interest. But if you are not, sir, then may I suggest—”

“I am concerned with comfort, Caldroni,” Masters said. “To be sure, sir. Aren’t we all?” His voice dropped to a whisper again. “This one is built for comfort, sir.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Yes, sir.” Caldroni glanced at the redhead again. “Sir, have you ever been to Atlantic City?”

“No,” Masters said.

“A very nice place, I understand. One of the fellows lives in Jersey. He says Atlantic City is real gone.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yes, sir. You think there won’t be no liberty at all, sir? None at all?”

‘“We’ll see,” Masters said. He paused. “Did the others send you, Caldroni?”

“The others? What others, sir?”

“The men in the radar gang.”

“Oh, no, sir. Send me where, sir?”

“Send you here. To find out if there’d be liberty in Atlantic City or not.”

“Oh, no, sir. Nosir, sir. Why, whatever put that idea into your head, Mr. Masters?”

“Just an idle thought, Caldroni. Well there may be liberty, we’ll see.”

“That’s very good, sir.”

“And now I suppose you’ll be leaving my company?”

“Well, sir, if you don’t mind — that is, I rather like this seat, you know?” Caldroni looked at the redhead again and wet his lips.

“I see,” Masters paused. “Liberty is a funny word, isn’t it? It implies imprisonment.”

“Sir?”

Masters shrugged. “Another idle thought,” he said. “Forget it.” He paused again. “What do you do on liberty, Caldroni?”

“Prowl,” Caldroni said, smiling.

“Do all the men prowl?”

“Most of ’em, I guess. Unless they’re dead. Or married.”

Daniels, Masters thought. Perry Daniels. Married.

“Not many married men in our crew, are there Caldroni?”

“No, not many,” Caldroni agreed. “A few, though.”

“Do you know Perry Daniels?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Well?”

“Very well, sir. I had a personal interest in Daniels at one time. A sort of a professional interest, so to speak. What about him, sir?”

“Is he married?”

“Daniels?” Caldroni chuckled. “Hell, no, sir, you’ll pardon me.”

Masters turned his head, forsaking the comfort he’d attained. “How do you know, Caldroni?”

“Well, it’s just a fact, that’s all. Daniels ain’t married. I mean, you’ll forgive me, sir, I think he’s a regular ladies’ man, you know what I mean?”

“No. What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, when you get aboard a ship, you don’t know nobody from a hole in the wall, you know what I mean? A hole in the bulkhead, of course.” Caldroni seemed embarrassed by his nonnautical slip.

“Yes, go on.”

“So you start putting out feelers, you know? First you find out which of the officers is O.K., and which of them stinks. Present company excluded, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“A chicken officer can make things tough for you, Mr. Masters, and I ain’t casting no aspersions, but the Sykes sure got its quota of chicken officers. Present company excluded, naturally.”

“Naturally. Go on.”

“So you learn which officers you can live with, and which officers you wished was dead, and you avoid the ones you can’t get along with. You see them strolling down the deck, you cut into a passageway, you follow? In a ship’s politics, you got to know which politicians can do the most for you. It’s like making a choice — you belong to either the Republican Club or the Democratic Club. O.K., so it’s the officers first, because they’re most important in making your life comfortable. Then you start looking around and figuring which of the enlisted men you want to buddy with.”

“I see.”

“We’re lucky ’cause the radar gang is a nice bunch of guys. But like I said, that’s lucky. They could’ve been a bunch of lemons, and then I’d have been up the creek without a paddle. I didn’t take no chances, anyway. When I come aboard, I started making my own private inquiries.”

“What’s all this got to do with Perry Daniels?”

“Well, sir, you got to choose who you want on liberty, you follow? You don’t want a slob, and you don’t want a guy’s too eager, and at the same time you don’t want some jerk doesn’t know how to part his hair right, you see? If you’re going to prowl, you got to choose a good prowling mate. Now, Singer is just about the best prowling mate a buddy could have. Now, he really knows how to approach a girl. You can put Singer ashore in any town in the world, and I can guarantee—”

“But what about Daniels?”

“Daniels? He’s got a rep. He makes out. So naturally, I wanted to latch onto him. But he operates solo.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“By circulating, how you think? You drop a query here and a query there, you know how it works. You see the way the guy dresses, whether he’s got tailor-mades or the reg blues, whether he makes the most of his uniform in a good sailor town, or whether he wears civvies, things like that. I got to admit Daniels threw me at first. That crew cut, you know? I figured him for a boot. But he’s a smart cookie. That haircut gives him a nice boyish look, makes the broads want to clutch him to their bosoms, you’ll pardon me. He arouses — what would you call it — sympathy, I guess.”

“And he’s not married? You’re sure of that?”

“If he is, sir, he’s sure kept it a big secret.”

“Yes, he certainly has.”

“Now, maybe you’re confusing his liberty maneuvers with marriage, sir.”

“How do you mean, Caldroni?”

“Well, like I told you, this Daniels is good. He’s nothing like Singer, you understand, because Singer never misses, never, sir, and that’s the God’s truth. But Daniels ain’t bad, so maybe you’re confusing... Well, sir, it’s almost like being married, when you get right down to it, I guess.”

“What is, Caldroni?”

“You keep this under your hat, sir?”

“Certainty.”

“Daniels, he don’t confine his activities to the Norfolk theatre of operations, sir.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No, sir.”

“Newport News?”

“Oh, without saying, sir. But Daniels got more far-reaching operations in hand, sir.”

“How far-reaching?”

“Pretty far-reaching, sir. Leastwise, that’s what Schaefer, Lord rest his soul, told me.”

Masters sat rigidly at attention now. “Schaefer told you something about Perry Daniels?”

“Oh, yes, sir. ’Course, Schaefer turned out to be a killer and all, so maybe his word ain’t so good, Lord rest his soul. But he told me this long before he bumped off that nurse, so maybe it’s the truth. In fact, sir, I know part of it’s the truth, ’cause I done some checking on my own.” Caldroni paused. “Like I said, this is when I first come aboard, when I was still casting around for a prowlmate. Now, I got Singer, so I—”

“Never mind Singer, damnit! What’d Schaefer tell you? What’d you find out about Daniels?”

Caldroni’s eyes opened wide. “Well, sir, I got to talkin’ to Schaefer coupla times when I first come aboard. It don’t hurt to know somebody in the Ship’s Office. Never know when you’re going to need a new I.D. card or a liberty—”

“What’d Schaefer tell you?”

“He was the one first tipped me off Daniels was a big man with the broads.”

“What’d he say?”

“Said Daniels had a big network of steady shack-ups all over the country. Now, I don’t know about all over the country, but I know Daniels was operating outside Norfolk. I checked.”

“How?”

“Well, I figured this Daniels was a man to know, you know? So I begun watching the way he operated. Not in Norfolk, that boy. Oh, no. I followed him all the way to the train station once, just trying to find out where this boy had his deal. Asked the ticket guy after Daniels bought his ticket, Mr. Masters.”

“Where did he go?”

“Shrewd cookie, this boy. This was when I was interested in becoming partners, so to speak. When I found out he was a lone wolf, well, hell, there wasn’t no sense studyin’ his operation no more. That’s about when I run across Singer, right in the radar gang, right in my own backyard.”

“Where was Daniels going? The time you followed him to the railroad station?”

“Oh. Wilmington, sir.”

“Wilmington,” Masters repeated.

“Yeah, he’s got a nice little shack-up there, I’ll bet,” Caldroni said.

“Had,” Masters said, and Caldroni eyed him quizzically.

A tall radarman with his white cap tilted back on his head sauntered down the aisle and sat in the seat next to the redhead.

“My name’s Fred Singer,” he said, smiling. “What’s yours?”