McCoy handed him the leather folder again. The SP examined it carefully, looked hard at McCoy, then handed it back.
«You don't see very many of those, sir,» he said.
«I suppose not,» McCoy replied.
I
never thought about that. I wonder how many Special Agents
—real
Special Agents
—
of the Office of Naval Intelligence there are, running around
?
«How can I help you. Captain?»
«You're interfering with my business with that officer. Can I ask you to just walk away, or are we going to have to get your duty officer over here? Having to do that would annoy me.»
«No, sir. Those credentials are enough for me.»
«Thank you,» McCoy said.
«Captain, it may not be my place…«
«What's on your mind, Boats?»
«Off the record, sir?»
McCoy nodded.
«That lieutenant… Sir, he's an ace from Guadalcanal. And he's a really nice guy. Let me put it this way. Half the time I see him out of uniform, I don't. You know what 1 mean?»
McCoy nodded.
«But the white hats and the enlisted Marines see him running around out of uniform, and they think they can get it away with it too. And when I have to write them up, their asses are really in a crack.»
«I take your point, Boats,» McCoy said.
«I don't know what your business is with him, sir, and I'm not asking. But I really hope he's not in bad trouble.»
«Nothing he can't fix by trying to straighten up and fly right,» McCoy said.
«Yes, sir,» the SP said. «Thank you, sir.»
«Thank you, Boats,» McCoy said.
The SP motioned to the other one, pointing to the door to the street, and walked away. McCoy returned to Ernie and Pick.
«Come on,» he said.
«What did you show that SP?» Pick asked.
«Let's get out of the damned lobby,» McCoy repeated. It was not a suggestion.
«You fixed that somehow, didn't you?» Pick said, as he stood up and walked toward the elevator. «How?»
«Didn't you see him wave his magic wand at the SP?» Ernie said. «Absolutely no compartments on a train without a priority? He waves his magic wand, people appear and hand him a priority. The Shore Patrol is about to haul you away, he waves his magic wand. The Shore Patrol goes away.»
Pick looked confused.
«However you did that, thanks, Killer,» Pick said.
«Jesus Christ!» McCoy said. «I should have let him write you up!»
«That would have really got my ass in a crack with Billy,» Pick said.
«Yeah, he told me. Actually, he's pretty disgusted with you. You never learn.»
When the elevator stopped, Pick led them down the corridor to the door of the Jefferson Davis suite.
«Is it safe for a nice girl like me to go in there?» Ernie asked.
«My quarters are popularly known as either the Monk's Cell or Celibate City, if that's what you mean.»
Ernie snorted. McCoy, shaking his head, chuckled.
«If you hold me in such contempt, why did you try to talk me into marrying your girlfriend if you got yourself blown away?» Pick askqd.
«He probably thought I could reform you,» Ernie said. She looked around the sitting room. «Surprise, surprise, no naked ladies.»
«They're probably hiding in a closet,» McCoy said.
«I was about to offer you champagne, but if the two of you…«
«I'll pass on the champagne.»
«I won't,» Ernie said.
«I also just happen to have in my cell, through the door over there, a full case of Famous Grouse, recently flown in in my Corsair from San Francisco, California, in anticipation of the honor of your visit.»
He led the way to the sitting room of his half of the suite.
«You didn't know we were coming,» Ernie said.
«Both Mother and my father—separately—suggested it was a real possibility,» Pick said. «I really hope it wasn't so that we could have a man-to-man, or girl-to-man, chat. I get enough of those from Billy.»
«You said something about champagne?» Ernie said.
«You take care of the glasses,» Pick said, pointing to a bar in the corner of the room, «and I will extricate the bubbly from the refrigerator.»
McCoy went to the bar, found the still-sealed case of scotch behind it, and started to open it.
«Wouldn't you really rather have champagne?» Ernie asked.
«No,» McCoy said simply, and removed a bottle of Famous Grouse from the case.
Pick returned with a bottle of Mumm's champagne and started unwrapping the wire cork-guard.
«Mumm's, huh?» Ernie said.
«Actually, I prefer Moet and Chandon,» he said. «But it's hard to come by. There's a war on, you may have heard. You found the Grouse. I see, Ken.»
«You keep fucking up, Pick,» McCoy said, «they're going to send you back to VMF-229.»
«There's a lady present, Captain,» Pick said. «Please remember that you, too, are supposed to be a Marine officer and gentleman.»
«What does that mean?» Ernie asked. «Pick was in VMF-229.»
«It's now where they send Marine pilots—fuckup Marine pilots—nobody else wants,» Pick explained. «Pilots that nobody else in the Corps but Charley Galloway can handle.» He paused. «Would you believe I applied for transfer to VMF-229? Billy turned it down.»
«Billy needs you to train his pilots,» McCoy said. «
Your
pilots. You're the squadron exec, for Christ's sake!»
«An amazing thing happens when they pin captain's bars on some people, Ernie,» Pick said. «They start to think of themselves as generals-in-training.» He turned to McCoy. «Just for the record,
Captain
, I have never failed to be at the proper place at the appointed time. I
am
training my pilots.»
«Billy said that, too,» McCoy said. «But you won't be around to do that for your squadron if your MAG commander gets tired of hearing officially about your social life—and I mean the speeding tickets and the drunk driving, not only this out-of-uniform crap—and gets tired of Billy covering for you.»
«I told you, I applied for transfer to VMF-229. And Billy turned me down.»
«And now you're trying to force them to send you anyway, right?» McCoy asked. «Why? Because that's easier than going to Pensacola and finding out once and for all?»
«What the hell are you talking about? Finding out what once and for all?»
«You know what I'm talking about.
Who
I'm talking about.»
Pick looked accusingly at Ernie.
«He already knew about her,» she said. «But we compared notes, okay?»
«Et tu, Brutus?» Pick asked sarcastically.
«If you want to get pissed at somebody, get pissed at Dick Stecker,» McCoy said. «He said when he asked—«
«Where did you see Dick?» Pickering interrupted.
Lieutenant Richard Stecker, USMC, the son of Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker, had gone through flight school at Pensacola with Pickering. He had been severely injured landing his shot-up Wildcat on Guadalcanal's Henderson Field.