Brewer pled out guilty to the charges. He was a regular fucking Prince Valiant in a couple of respects though. The Feds agreed to drop all charges against his wife and leave her with custody of their kids if he'd take the full fall. And fall long and hard he goddamn did. Twenty to thirty in Leavenworth. Chief Mason still had a bug up his ass and made us all attend the sentencing for some reason know only to himself. Probably some scared straight bullshit. The sentencing didn't take but twenty minutes but you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Brewer barely made eye contact with us, he merely glanced our way as he shuffled off in full restraints - cuffs, leg irons, the whole bit - you would have thought he was Charlie Manson. I'm not gonna lie to you and say I was sad to see him go. I had been terrified the whole time thinking that he was going to try to make some deal concerning the departed NIS agent Charles - turn the whole thing around so that it was me or Malcolm that smoked him and not him - and how he bought the farm but it didn't happen.
The Chief leaned over to me, the son of a
bitch reeked of gin even at this hour of the morning,
and nodded to a side of the gallery with his chin.
"Isn't that the bitch that came down to the boathouse
with NIS when they interviewed everybody about
that agent getting shot? I thought that cunt was
enlisted. I wonder what the hell that was all about?"
I tried to look over without turning my head
and hoping not to see what I knew I was going to.
"Oh, sweet mother of fucking mercy," I
groaned to myself.
There sat sweet Reggie. The former love of
my life. The woman I thought and would have
killed for. All decked out in her full dress uniform.
Wearing the bars of a lieutenant junior grade Naval
officer.
"The bitch must have been undercover the
whole time she's been stationed here," the Chief
kept on babbling, "what a lowdown sneaky fucking
whore. But I tell you what there old son, I fuck her
till the cows came home if I got the chance. Oh, yes
indeedy. I'd eat the peanuts out of her shit. Hump
her till her nose bled. How about you?"
He viciously slammed his elbow into my
ribs and chortled sadistically - his one lung
sounding like an out of tune accordion - I didn't feel
a thing.
UNDERWAY IS THE ONLY WAY
"You'll like the seagoing life. I always did.
You don't have to take as much shit as you do on
shore duty. Shore duty is for fucking pussies! The
worse day at sea is a hundred fucking times better
than the best day ashore. That's what I always
fucking say." Chief Mason raised his ass off his
barstool and let loose with a thundering fart and a
loud belch at the same time. He was shitfaced drunk
and surprisingly in a very good mood. I was
pounding them back myself but had fortified myself
earlier with two jolting lines of crystal meth and the
alcohol wasn't even close to cutting through that
yet. My orders were in. I was going to Long
Beach to catch out on some Navy garbage scow
called the Dixie that was in the yards there for a
major overhaul. The remaining crew from the
boathouse were giving me my final send off at some
dive in Pearl City. Behind the bar there was a
gigantic cage full of squirrel monkeys who
seemingly non-stop ran around shrieking, gobbling
peanuts, throwing feces, and jacking off.
"You don't want to blow me cause you're a
motherfucking racist bitch! You know that? You
fucking slut! Racist cracker twat! Why don't you
just call me a nigger and get it over with!" We
turned around from the bar to watch Brooks as he
chased off some brunette bimbo with huge jugs that
had been stupid enough to sit down with him.
So far he had driven away three woman and the majority
of the men with his ranting.
"Petty Officer Brooks! At fucking ease! Is
that anyway to treat a lady?" Mason chastised him.
"Bitches! Goddamn fucking bitches!" he
cried out as he slid down into his booth, his head in
his hands. "Bitch was probably a guy with a tit job
anyway." Brooks sobbed into his hands.
Mason turned back to me excitedly. "That
reminds me of a helluva story..."
I was stationed on this cruiser out of Boston
and when we were in port we used to go to the
combat zone to go to the strip shows, get drunk, and
maybe pick up a hooker. One Friday night we took
a new guy fresh out of boot camp along. I think he
was from Iowa or somewhere but all I remember
was his name. Billy. Well, charming Billy got all
loaded on draft beer and struck up a conversation with a transvestite.