I think he's had more than a couple, Sessions decided.
"We're slumming," Sessions said.
"Actually, I was sort of looking for you," McCoy said.
"Oh, were you?" Lewis asked, somewhat coldly. "And are you going to tell me why, Mr. McCoy?"
The very careful pronunciation and exaggerated courtesy of the drunk, Sessions thought, the belligerent drunk. Christ, why did McCoy decide to come here?
"Well, you're both a swabbie and an expert on submarines," McCoy said. "I wanted to-"
He was interrupted by the barmaid.
"Gentlemen?"
"Have you got any scotch whiskey?"
"You just got here, right? Otherwise you wouldn't ask."
"Are you trying to tell me you don't have any scotch?"
"In our last shipment from Class VI, there were three bottles. First they take care of the big brass. Then they take care of the field-grade brass. Then they take care of the sergeants. The only people they take care of after us is the corporals and privates, and they aren't authorized any kind of hard whiskey. So what we have is rum, gin, and brandy."
"In that case, my friend and I will have a glass of ice water," McCoy said. "And while we're at it, give the sailor a glass of ice water, too."
The barmaid's shrug indicated that the strange behavior of Yanks no lon-ger came as a surprise to her. She produced three glasses with ice in them, and a stainless-steel pitcher of water.
"Thank you," McCoy said, and produced a quart bottle of Famous Grouse from a cloth bag. "Say when," he ordered, as he began to pour into the first of the glasses.
When he had finished, and water was added, he raised his glass.
"To the United States Navy Submarine Corps, or whatever they call it."
"I'll drink to that," Sessions said.
"Are you two trying to be cute?" Lewis asked.
"No. Not at all," McCoy said.
Lewis took a sip of his scotch.
"You stole this from General Pickering, right?" he asked.
"He gave it to me," McCoy said. "His words were I 'was free to help myself to whatever I thought I needed.' Which is more or less what I wanted to talk to you about."
"You found me," Lewis said, with enough of an unpleasant tone in his voice to get through to McCoy. McCoy looked at him curiously.
"Well, I figured you know how things are on submarines, and I know how chickenshit the Navy is about taking booze aboard-"
"You want to take some of that with you?" Lewis interrupted. "Is that what you're after?"
"I was thinking that if I'd been in the boondocks as long as Fertig and his people, a stiff shot of good whiskey would probably taste pretty good."
"I don't think anyone is going to question anything you want to take aboard the Sunfish, Mr. McCoy."
"Or the plane from here to Espiritu Santo?"
"Or the plane. You are wrapped, through me, in the protective mantle of CINCPAC himself."
"I was thinking about a case."
"You want to take a case of scotch whiskey with you?"
"Why not?"
"Indeed, why not? May I suggest that you wrap it up? So it won't be so obvious that you consider yourself above complying with regulations?"
Sessions looked at McCoy and saw there was no smile on his face, and that his eyes had turned into ice. And then McCoy relaxed, as if he had just realized that Lewis was drunk and should not be held responsible.
"That's already been done," McCoy said. "In some of Koffler's plastic."
"Then I see no problem at all," Lewis said.
"Thanks," McCoy said.
"Would you like to tell me what's bothering you, Lewis?" Sessions asked.
"It shows, does it?" Lewis replied. "That something is bothering me?"
"Has it to do with Macklin?"
"What do you think? I think it's despicable, what you did to him. I never thought I would see a Naval officer so humiliated."
"Am I missing something here?" McCoy asked.
"McCoy doesn't know," Sessions said.
"I don't know what?" McCoy asked.
"Then I hastily offer my most humble and sincere apologies, Mr. McCoy," Lewis said. "Until just now I thought it was your idea."
"What the hell are you talking about?" McCoy said, and the ice was back in his voice and eyes.
"It was General Pickering's idea," Sessions said. "McCoy didn't know anything about it."
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" McCoy said. "What didn't I know about, Ed?"
"Hart showed up here, Mr. McCoy-"
"Knock off that 'Mr. McCoy' shit," McCoy interrupted. "I don't think you're funny."
"Five minutes after Captain Macklin and I got here, Ken," Lewis said, "Lieutenant Hart showed up here. He told Captain Macklin he had orders to stay with him until we were picked up to go to the terminal tomorrow morning, and that Captain Macklin couldn't leave the BOQ, or use the telephone, with-out Colonel Stecker's express permission."
"Shit," McCoy said. "I was hoping the bastard would go over the hill."
"I think Pickering was one step ahead of you on that," Sessions said. "Right after the meeting broke up and Lewis and Macklin left-and you went to take a leak-Pickering told Moore to relieve Hart in the dungeon; then he told Stecker to call Hart and tell him to go to the BOQ, sit on Macklin, and see that he was at the terminal at 0900 tomorrow."
"You don't really think Bob Macklin would have purposely missed the plane, do you?" Lewis challenged Sessions.
McCoy drained his drink, and made another one.
"The bartender has just gone off duty," he said. "If you guys want any more, pour your own."
"Because he's Annapolis, you mean?" Sessions replied. "Yes, I do. That sleazy bastard is capable of anything. Including missing a shipment," Sessions said.
"I was sort of hoping he would," McCoy said matter-of-factly. "Christ knows, I don't want to take him with me. Actually I was counting on him figur-ing out some way to get out of going. I wrote my girl that I was taking good Marines with me."
Sessions chuckled.
"And once again the wise general officer outwits the junior officer," he said.
"I don't suppose it would do any good if I said I think you two are giving Macklin the short end of the stick?" Lewis asked.
"I trust him about half as far as I can throw him," McCoy said. "Picker-ing said he hopes I don't have to shoot him, but he didn't tell me I can't. Does that answer your question?"
I wonder, Sessions thought, if Lewis is capable, drunk or sober, of fully understanding that; that both Pickering and McCoy were seriously discussing the benefits and drawbacks of eliminating, by shooting, an obstacle to the mis-sion who happens to be named Macklin.
"Has it occurred to you, Ken, that there are people who aren't like you, people who are afraid?" Lewis said, his tone of voice now conciliatory and reasonable.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" McCoy said.
"I'm trying to suggest that Bob Macklin is afraid of what's liable to hap-pen on this mission. He's trying hard to get himself under control, and if he hasn't, that's not really his fault. Some people seem to be born with courage, but some people aren't."
"And you don't think I'm scared? Just between you and me, I'm scared shitless about this mission," McCoy said, and then, his voice turning incredu-lous, "Did you really think I think it's a lot of fun?"