She sighed. “Look, I know I said earlier I’d be coming by for a visit, but I’m torn.”
“How?”
“Besides making sure the folks at the Chronicle get this story right and don’t print a headline upside down, there’s other stuff. Got a bunch of laundry to do, mail to check when I get back to Tyler, need to talk to the condo manager about a rattling pipe … I was thinking of visiting you tomorrow. Is that all right?”
Maybe it was because I was still short on sleep, or feeling strained because of the events of last night, but I paused.
Paula caught on my pause. “All right, sunshine, I’ll be around later tonight. As a surprise. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great,” I said. “Thanks.”
And with that, I hung up the phone, rolled over, and actually managed to get to sleep, realizing only some hours later that what I had just done—having Paula come over—was going to prove to be a horrible mistake.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I slept until midmorning, when it was my turn to make a phone call. I dialed Felix twice, at his home number and his cell phone. Each time he wasn’t there, and each time I said the same thing: “Felix, I have a present for you, from the home country. Call me when you can. It’ll be a hell of a story. And don’t pick on Rudy Gennaro anymore.”
Then I checked the output from my tubes—about the same, damn it once more—did some laundry, had a late breakfast or early lunch, dozed some more. Realizing I was expecting company in the afternoon, I did my best to straighten up the place before a much-needed early-afternoon nap.
At exactly three P.M., there was a knock on the door, and my little house suddenly seemed to be filled with people.
First in was Mia Harrison, followed by her loud and brash Aunt Gwen Aubrey, and then a very slim older man with light tan pants belted up just below his breastbone. He was introduced to me as Bobby Turcotte, and when we shook hands I immediately noticed the old, faded tattoos on his wrinkled forearms, one of a mermaid and the other with faded U.S.N. and an anchor. It made me wonder if he ever thought those bright and powerful tattoos would fade away, along with his strength and perhaps his memory. Even at his age his white hair was thick, combed back in a pompadour, and behind his wire-rimmed eyeglasses, his eyes were twinkling.
“My God, my word, I never, ever, thought I’d be back in here again. Wow! Who would have thought.”
My visitors situated themselves on the couch and a chair, and I moved a chair around so we could hear each other easily. I gave them all glasses of lemonade, with a shot of gin in Aunt Gwen’s glass. Mr. Turcotte (I couldn’t call a man of his age and experience Bobby) took a healthy sip and started talking. “So? Gwennie tells me you’re looking for info about this joint when it was a barracks back when we was doing medic training?”
“That’s right,” I said. “What was it like?”
He laughed, took another sip. “Don’t ask me what year it was … must have been the last year of the Korean War, ’cause I remember getting discharged soon after. For the second time, you know.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Turcotte’s voice laughed and quaked at the same time. “Oh, I was in the Pacific for the first go-around, you know? Was at Leyte Gulf, invasion of Okinawa. Medical orderly aboard one of the support ships. Jesus Freakin’ Christ, you wouldn’t believe what those poor Marines looked like, coming aboard, bandages and wraps, most of them dopey ’cause of the morphine they got, sweet Jesus. The burns, the shrapnel wounds, the missing arms and legs … Christ. I remember one corporal, we started undoing a big bloody bandage around his belly, and shit, his intestines just oozed out on the deck.”
Gwen patted him on his thin leg. “Now, now, Bobby, we appreciate your service and all, but how about telling us what it was like, being in this cottage back in the day, back when Elvis was just about ready to get famous?”
Mia looked like she was going to get sick, but Turcotte giggled and leaned into Gwen. “Hell, Gwen, I still appreciate all the good times you and I shared back in the day. Christ, you still look good. Me, I’m a thin and old wreck, but God, you sure kept yourself together.”
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t from clean living,” Gwen said, and the two of them laughed.
Turcotte looked around my home. “Jesus, this place, it looks a lot different, but a bit familiar, you know? I mean, that deck wasn’t there, but the view, that’s the same. And back then, this room seemed much bigger. We had a hi-fi system over there, lots of chairs and couches. No books, though. Upstairs were the bunks. And the cellar—oh yeah, the cellar …” Turcotte started laughing again.
“What about the cellar?” I asked.
He stopped and looked to Gwen, Mia, and me. “Oh, hell, enough time’s passed. It’s not like the Navy’s gonna worry about it, right, Gwen? And the girls, hell, they’re grown up, have kids. I hope they have fond memories. Lord knows, I still do.”
Gwen patted his leg again. “Bobby, come along now, get to the point. Mr. Cole lives here now, and he’s curious about what it was like back in the day.”
Turcotte smiled but he wasn’t laughing, and it was like a bit of coolness was running through his veins. He gave off a rattling sigh and settled back in the couch. “You folks, you still don’t know the whole story, you know? Nobody knows. The movies, the books, the documentaries, it’s like all you’ve got is a bunch of puzzle pieces on the floor, and you pick up a bunch and try to get the whole picture. You know? You might get the general view of what’s
