‘Say the word,’ Snyder demanded.
‘Maybe he doesn’t know the word, Snyder,’ Cody’s voice said. Hatcher was staring straight ahead; and Snyder moved out of the way and suddenly Cody was staring at him.
‘Maybe he never got that far in school,’ Cody said. ‘Is that right, maggot?’ Snyder snapped.
‘Well, maggot, is that right?’ Cody repeated.
‘Yes, sir,’ Hatcher said.
Snyder leaned over to Cody and said softly, ‘He’s mine, Cody. He’ll be Boston dog meat by Christmas.’ He chuckled and moved on.
‘You almost lost it there, maggot,’ Cody said sharply. ‘I was watching you. Now, you listen up. Everybody figured you’d be history by now, but you fooled us all. So don’t lose it now. Snyder’s trying to provoke you, and if he does, you’re gone. You took it this long, just keep taking it. Couple more months and you’re a second-year man and nobody can mess with you anymore.’
‘What’s he got against me, sir?’
‘He’s an elitist. He doesn’t think you fit the profile.’
‘Do you, sir?’
‘It doesn’t make any damn difference what anybody thinks, it’s what you think. And we never had this talk,’ Cody snapped and walked away.
‘You and Murph Cody were pretty close for a time, weren’t you?’
Hatcher was drawn back to the present by Sloan’s question. He stared at him for several seconds and then said, ‘Yes . . . we were at Annapolis together. I didn’t see much of him after we graduated. He went in the air service and I went into intelligence. Why? Why the interest in Cody?’
‘You know how it is. The general never has gotten over his death. I guess he just wants to put it all in perspective.’
Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. Sloan was lying to him and he knew it. But it wasn’t Sloan’s tone of voice or expression that gave him away.
‘Don’t bullshit me, Harry. You didn’t track me down and then come all the way here to chat about Murph Cody. You think I got stupid since I saw you last?’
Sloan held up his hands in a gesture of apology. The smile got broader when he was in trouble. ‘Hey. Please. Stick with me for a couple of minutes more, okay?’
Hatcher relaxed. He was curious and had nothing to lose by going along with the game, whatever the game was.
‘Well, that’s a long time ago,’ Hatcher went on. ‘Annapolis was — 1963 to ‘67. I was in his wedding. That was...’
“Sixty-nine,’ Sloan said. He pointed to the records. ‘It’s in the file.’
‘Then I didn’t see him again after I joined the brigade.’
‘Why?’
Hatcher paused for a moment. ‘We had a falling-out,’ he said. ‘Anyway, Cody was tough at first. Big on hazing. It was — like paying dues to him. Cody was very big on paying dues. Maybe it had something to do with being Buffalo Bill’s son.’
‘How so?’ Sloan pressed on.
‘Well, you know, Polo had to measure up. As I remember, the general wouldn’t put up with any slack in the line.’
‘He played polo?’
‘Did I call him Polo?’ Hatcher replied, surprised. ‘Jesus. I didn’t even think about it just came out. Polo’s a nickname, short for Polaroid. Cody had a photographic memory, could remember anything — faces, names, math formulas, you name it. Everybody from the old gang at the academy called him that.’
He paused again as new images came back. ‘Look, he was a good guy, very loyal, liked to raise a little hell —’
Hatcher looked back down at the family Christmas photograph. Somehow the man in the Christmas picture seemed smaller and sadder than the Cody he remembered. And then Hatcher remembered the Christmas holidays that first year.
‘— and loved the ladies.’
Christmas, 1963. There was a light snow, just enough to call it a White Christmas and make being away from the Cirillos for the first time a painful experience. Hatcher was huddled against the wind, walking across the yard with his head down. Broke and with n place to go, he was spending the Christmas holidays at the academy along with perhaps a dozen other midshipmen. As he was crossing the chilly yard he heard yelling and what sounded like furniture being overturned.
My God, Hatcher thought, two of the guys are going at it. He ran into the sophomore dorm and up to the second floor. The furor was coming from Cody’s room.
The room was a shambles. Books, papers and clothes were strewn all over the floor. Cody was in a rage, stumbling around the room, yelling obscenities, tears in his eyes. He picked up his desk chair and, turning to the window, swung it back with both hands. Hatcher leaped into the room and grabbed the chair. Cody turned on him, his face red with drunken fury. ‘Wha’ the hell’re you doin’, maggot!’
‘Shit, sir, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. The OD’s bound to hear you.’
‘Up the OD’s dick, maggot.’
