But today, even before he got to San Diego, it started to miss. And when he tried to put the roof up at the Brig at the Recruit Depot-to keep the seats cool when he was inside getting good ol' Machine Gun McCoy, that sonofabitch, turned loose-there was a grinding noise, then a screech, and then smoke. And there was the goddamned roof, stuck half up and half down.
He couldn't drive it that way. So he borrowed tools and dug in the back, behind the backseat, to disconnect the roof from the pump. When he was finishing that, hydraulic fluid squirted all over his shirt and trousers. They were probably ruined.
Though Dillon did not remember Colonel Frazier as being nearly so accommodating when it had been Sergeant Dillon and Major Frazier in the 4th Marines, the Colonel had really come through. There were now, and for the duration of the war bond tour, two gunnery sergeants on temporary duty with the Los Angeles Detachment, Marine Corps Public Affairs Division; they had already done a fine job of providing Staff Sergeant McCoy with a few pointers about the kind of good behavior it was in his own best interests to display. Aside from a few minor scrapes on his face, where the force of the stream from the fire hose had skidded him across the cell floor, there wasn't a mark on him.
Frazier also arranged for a Marine Green 1941 Plymouth station wagon-normally assigned to Recruiting-to transport the two sergeants and the Hero of Bloody Ridge. That immediately proved useful. For McCoy crapped out in the back all the way to Los Angeles. But, as they followed him up the highway-with the goddamned Packard running on not more than five cylinders, backfiring like a water-cooled.50 caliber Browning, trailing a cloud of white smoke-it looked like the closing credits of Abbott and Costello Join the Marines.
And then he had to walk through the lobby of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, looking like he'd pissed his pants, to arrange for a small suite (instead of the single already reserved) for McCoy and his new buddies.
When he finally drove into his under-the-house, four-car garage, the only car there was the 1941 Ford Super Deluxe wood-sided station wagon he'd bought for Maria-Theresa and Alejandro to use. So as he went up the stairs, it was in the presumption that there wouldn't be anyone else in the house besides servants.
Except, of course, for the Easterbunny and the Nurse. Whatsername? Dawn.
Oh, Christ! I never called that idiot Stewart!
At the top of the stairs, when he stepped into the kitchen, he bellowed, "Alejandro!" And in a moment Alejandro appeared.
" Se¤or Jake?"
"If you can start the sonofabitch, start the Packard and have Maria-Theresa follow you in the Ford. Take it to the Packard place and tell them I want it fixed now."
" Senor Jake, is Saturday. Is half past six. They no open."
"Oh, shit. Do it anyway. Park the sonofabitch right in the middle of the lawn in front of the showroom, and leave the hood open."
" Se¤or Jake joke, yes?"
" Se¤or Jake joke no. Do it, Alejandro."
"Si, Se¤or."
Jake went into his bedroom, took his trousers off, sniffed them, saw how the stain had spread, uttered an obscenity, and threw them across the room.
Then he sat down on the bed, dialing the long-distance operator with one hand and unbuttoning his shirt with the other.
"Person to person, Brigadier General Stewart, Public Relations Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, Washington, D.C.," he said.
He had all his shirt buttons open before the Eighth and I operator answered. He was working on his tie when he became aware that he was not alone in his bedroom.
Veronica Wood was standing over him. One towel, wrapped around her head, covered all her hair. Another towel, wrapped around her torso, concealed her bosom and the juncture of her legs-or so she apparently believed.
"You could have said 'hello, baby' or something," she said.
"I didn't know you were here. I didn't see a car, and Alejandro didn't say anything."
"General Stewart's office, Sergeant Klauber speaking, Sir."
"Major Dillon, Sergeant, returning the General's call."
"One moment, Sir. I'll see if the General is free."
"It's Saturday. I let him go," Veronica said. "What's that smell?"
"Brake fluid, hydraulic fluid, I don't know what that stuff is. And how was your day?"
"What did you do, roll around in it? Don't ask about my day."
"OK, I won't."
"General Stewart."
"Major Dillon, Sir," Jake said.
"Major Dillon, Sir," Veronica parroted, then giggled, and saluted. This action caused the towel around her body to rise even higher, and then to slip loose. She adjusted the towel, an action that Jake found to be quite pleasurable.
"Dillon, I have been trying to get in touch with you all day."
"Sir, I was in San Diego. There was a problem there that had to be resolved."
"Sir, I was in San Diego," Veronica parroted.
"What sort of a problem?"
Oh, shit, I don't want to get into that.
"It's a solved problem, General. I spoke with General Underwood and Colonel Frazier. They not only gave me a couple of gunnery sergeants, but a station wagon as well, for as long as the tour lasts."
"Well, that was certainly nice of General Underwood," General Stewart said.
"I think the General has a good appreciation of the importance of the war bond tour," Jake said.
"I think the General has a good appreciation of the importance of the war bond tour," Veronica parroted, then sat down on the bed beside Major Dillon and inserted her tongue in his ear.
"The reason I've been trying so hard to get in touch with you, Dillon, is that I have some good news."
I've been called back to work for Pickering, I hope?
"Yes, Sir?"
Miss Veronica Wood groped Major Homer C. Dillon, USMCR. He pushed her hand away.
"I had a very good conversation with the Assistant Commandant about your man Easterbrook," General Stewart said.
"Sir, did you manage to get his records straightened out?"
"Yes, of course," General Stewart said, a hint of pique in his voice. "I told you I'd handle that."
"Yes, Sir," Major Dillon said.
"Yes, Sir," Miss Veronica Wood said. She stood up and walked in front, of Jake Dillon, removing the towel from her hair as she did. She swung her head back and forth, and her long blond hair swept this way and that. Sweetly.
"The Assistant Commandant was aware, of course, that Easter-brook's splendid work has come to the attention of the Secretary of the Navy," General Stewart said.
What the hell is he talking about? Oh, yeah! The Easterbunny's 16mm film and still pictures Ed Banning took to Washington with him. Knox probably said, "nice pictures, Banning." And Banning probably said, "they were taken by a young corporal, Sir, "passing the credit where it was due.
"Yes, Sir?"
"That letter reflected well on the shop, Dillon. It made us all look good."
What the fuck is this idiot talking about?
"Yes, Sir," Major Dillon said.
"And I told him that I had just arranged to have his lost-in-combat records reconstructed, which would reflect his promotion to staff sergeant early on in the Guadalcanal campaign."