SCREAMING BATFISH BLUES #22

SCREAMING BATFISH BLUES #22

BATFISH

CINCPACFLT

“OH FUCK,” Zak screamed, making me almost jump through the windshield. I turned and saw the blue flashing gum ball on the dashboard of the unmarked car behind us.

This was our first meeting with Leon.

We had just pulled on to the base after making a dope run and the fucker had been waiting for us to drive back on to his turf. In the back seat was two pounds of Kona Gold in a shoe box. Way too much dope to try to eat to avoid a bust. You could try I suppose, but man, would you get high.

“Easy now, Zak, it’s probably nothing.” I was eyeballing Zak’s right hand reaching for his .38 Colt Detective Special that he kept under the front seat.

The little bastard was out of his car and screaming like a banshee.

“Put up your hands where I can see them you cock suckers.” He had a really shrill, irritating voice. Obviously, he had watched a lot of cop movies.

He then walked up to the car and told us to put our hands on the dashboard and don’t move. Opening the back door of our car he reached in and picked up the shoe box.

“Holy shit” he gasped looking in the box. Sneering at us as he looked up, he said “I know you pussies won’t mind if I take this. Do you? Cat got your tongue? Big bad SEALS. Bunch a pussies you ask me. Now you two punks drive back to your barracks and wait for me. I’ll be by in an hour or so. We need to talk.”

He showed up in three hours with a buddy in tow. A balding, anorexic looking shit, who it turns out, was the handler of the base drug sniffing dog, who was named Spider. The handlers name was Garret and we would find out later that he dated Pok's sister Lee. That’s how he and Leon got in cahoots together.

Between the two, they either skimmed half of the drugs they turned up or outright took them all. Who was going to complain? The sailors that they were busting? The only problem they had was getting the product back on to the street for resale. They were both well known narcs. Who in their right mind would buy dope from them? And neither of these two fucking idiots were what you would consider street smart. That’s where we came in.

Leon would keep the PCP smoking secret service agent incident hush hush, for as long as he could, if we sold their confiscated dope for them. All proceeds of the sales would go to them. Our own business was officially shut down and if we talked we could expect a court martial and a lengthy stay in Fort Leavenworth. There was seemingly no way out.

“Let’s kill them. Both of the cocksuckers.” Zak hissed, after the “cocksuckers” had left the barracks.

“Are you fucking nuts?” I said (panicking). “If we kill two NIS agents, every fucking government agency will be here on the next flight. Plus, the secret service in Seattle will put two and two together and figure out that we rubbed out the agent that they called. No way, man. No fucking way. We’re just going to have to roll with it and think of another way out of this elephant shitpile of a mess.”

We rolled with it for two almost three months but it was the absolute shits. Jerry and Garret were indiscriminate on the kind of dope they picked up, and a good share of the time the quality was beyond garbage. Our normal customers business dropped off to zero when the quality went down. I had told Rick and Matt that Pearl Harbor was hot and

that we wouldn’t need any product for a spell. Since they both lived way off base they didn’t seem to suspect anything.

The weekly payments that we made to Leon and Garret involved a complicated scenario of putting the cash inside of an envelope, which was then placed inside of a plastic bag, which was then placed in a jar, and then

buried according to the weekly map we received in the mail from the two fucking boneheads. I’m sure that one of them had read about it in some espionage novel.

If things couldn’t possibly get any worse, we then we got word that Captain Clint had passed on to that big shipyard in the sky.

His birthday had rolled around and Yolanda had surprised him with a threesome, the third party being the young wife of a naval officer who was at sea. She liked it both ways and the Captain had gotten so worked up that he had shorted out all his wiring and stroked out. Zak had left for the mainland on emergency leave.

I felt worse when the Captain passed on than I did when my own brother had expired in the shower at the reformatory. Although I think that Clint went out having a lot more fun than my brother did. But, who knows?

Some of those magazines I inherited from my brother were borderline, if you know what I mean.

I was working on the midnight shift while Zak was back in San Diego and my mood could be best described as “surly”. Leon and Garret had visited me before work and had woken me up from a deep coma like sleep. I had consumed the better half of a twelve pack of beer and several joints to put me in that state. They had used their master key to enter the room and had woken me up by letting Spider jump up on my bunk and hump my head. Both of them thought it was hilarious.

What had brought them on this unexpected (and uninvited) visit was that Leon was buddy buddy with some ancient Admiral stationed at CINCPACFLT and the old bastard was having problems securing companionship. His female driver had recently rotated back to the states and she was his former source. In other words, they wanted me to find the old geezer a whore.

“What do I look like? I asked. “A pimp.”

“I know for a fact, asshole, that there’s a WAVE stationed here that’s been selling her bush. And I hear she’s hot. I need you to set it up.”

He replied. “There’s good coin involved. Just not for you.”

Fucking comedian. “I forgot. Since you seem to be only interested in women who have both tits and a dick, you wouldn’t know where to start looking. Would you?”

That struck a nerve. “Listen fucker. You two haven’t been getting shit done lately on the dope sales, so I have to find other ways to generate income. So shut your fucking mouth and just get me the whore. It’s for this Saturday night. His old lady is going over to the big island for some church

benefit.”

So you can understand that I wasn’t in the greatest of moods at work that night. About two in the morning I had to go on the security walk through the headquarters building. This involves walking through the building offices and checking for fire hazards, unlocked file cabinets and safes, and general security violations. Great opportunity to rifle through people’s desks and look for dirt on them.

I had stopped out on the top floor prior to burn a joint and was feeling really groggy. Like I said earlier, the dope that came through Leon was not the top of the line shit that we usually smoked. Which the result of,

was a high that was usually a low grade buzz, that made you more tired than anything. So I decided to skip most of the walk through and catch a quick cat nap in the big Admiral’s office.

As I leaned back in his hand tooled leather recliner for a quick snooze, I noticed that his wall safe was open and the door ajar. Huh! Obviously the rules don’t apply to the old bastard.

Before I locked it up I decided to walk into the safe and take a look around. Not much of interest in there until I saw an old cardboard file box on the bottom of a stack, at the back of the safe. On the side of the box were the letters M-P and then the name “Morrison, J.” Having always been a fan of The Doors and knowing of Jim Morrison’s family connections to the Navy, I was interested if there could actually be information on him in the box, so I pulled it out of the pile and took it out to the desk and began to go through it. Inside was a huge manila folder on both Jim Morrison and Elvis Presley.

From what these documents said, both of them were under extensive government surveillance right up until the times of their deaths.

In fact, according to these reports, Morrison had been tailed in France the very day of this death. There was also a report on NIS being involved on setting up a tail on Elvis when he was scheduled to come to Oahu on one of his many visits, but it was canceled when he couldn’t make it due to a family illness. A copy of Elvis’s five page letter to Nixon was in there. The prick wanted to be a government narcotics agent while he was doing more drugs than The Rolling Stones. He volunteered his services.

What a fucking gold mine! The King and the Lizard King being checked out by the Feds and Elvis wanted to be junior G-Man narc.

There were also two smaller files on the bottom of the box. The first one described a locally based commander had been having a fling with one of the enlisted dental technicians and NIS had stumbled on to the affair.

The couple would go out at lunch and drive up into this little woods and fuck like monkeys in the back of the commander’s pick up. It’s pretty warm around lunch time in Hawaii, so they’d leave the back of the camper shell open for air. This gave the agent who was following them a perfect party view for his long range lens.

Their folder was full of shots of the couple going at it (I’ve never seen hotter photos in a skin rag) and included the police report detailing the reaction of the technicians husband when he got copies of the photos in the mail anonymously. He had taken a shotgun and shot the inside of their house up. A SWAT team had to be called. They were now divorced (and discharged) and she had moved to Los Angeles to explore opportunities in the entertainment field.

The husband had moved to Hawaii state prison where he explored opportunities in getting sodomized by Samoans. I remembered both her and her husband; they had bought a lot of weed from me before their life had gone to total hell.

The second file was about the sailor who had beaten an ensign to death. Looked like he had been doing a little dealing himself prior to his arrest.

It took me almost an hour to photo copy the Morrison and Presley file. Get it in back into the safe and lock it up. I didn’t bother to copy the skin flick file; I just stole it out right. The pot dealer’s remained in the box. He was out of circulation for good.

It took me so long that Tom had gotten nervous and was about to send a Marine sentry to look for me. I put the files in my lunch cooler next to my tuna sandwich and walked out through the front gate with it after the change of shift.