Black Market (6 page)

Each one of the men sitting around the table threw in one of their red chips. The first hour of cards left everyone a winner,
except the old sergeant first class and the new battalion supply officer. Arnason had won two decent hands and was about a
thousand dollars ahead. He didn’t know exactly, because he thought counting his winnings before the game ended for the night
was bad luck.

“All right, cards!” The new captain was dealing. “I feel a little luck coming…” He was down almost two thousand dollars and
needed a win. The first cards turned faceup for the players brought a round of bets and counter bets, with five of the seven
players showing face cards. The captain had a deuce of hearts showing and stayed in the game. Arnason figured the man had
paired his deuces or he would have folded. The rest of the cards didn’t cause any excitement except for Shaw, who had a pair
of kings showing and a wide winning grin on his face.

“Who’s going to be dumb enough to bet into those guys?” Shaw threw three blue chips on the stack. “Three hundred … any takers?”
There was still one card left to be dealt out. Everyone folded except the new captain. Arnason could see a line of sweat pop
up on the young officer’s forehead.

“I’ll stay … but you’ll have to take a stateside check.”

“Sure, I trust you.” Shaw laughed around his cigar.

“Make it an even thousand…”

The tent became quiet. The captain’s highest card showing was a nine against Shaw’s pair of kings. Everyone in the room knew
the captain had paired his deuce on the first up card.

Shaw lowered his head and looked over at the battalion supply officer under his eyebrows to see if the man was serious. He
saw the panic written on the captain’s face as he tried to bluff. “… and I’ll raise you a thousand … Deal.”

The captain’s hand was shaking as he flipped the last card to Shaw, catching the edge of the card on one of the ones Shaw
had showing and flipping the down card over where everyone could see that it was a king. “You don’t have to keep that if you
don’t want it…”

“Sure!” Shaw laughed. “I think three kings showing is going to win the pot!”

The captain dealt himself a down card and then flipped it up. It was another deuce. “Let’s make this fair.” He had two deuces
showing and the best possible hand that he could have was three deuces.

Shaw started reaching for the pot to pull it over to his side of the table.

“Wait a minute … I bet a thousand.” The captain had lost all sense of reality.

“What! Are you crazy, Captain!” Shaw spit out the cigar. “I’ve got
three
kings showing!”

“Put up or shut up!” The captain snarled the words.

“Fine! And I’ll raise you
five thousand dollars
!” Shaw fumbled with the gray metal box next to his chair where he kept his MPC bundled up in thousand-dollar packages and
removed five of the packets that were held together with silver paper clips.

“Shaw”—Arnason leaned over and whispered in the supply sergeant’s ear—“don’t do it. Can’t you see he’s lost it!”

“You stay the fuck out of this, Arnason! You folded your cards, so keep your fucking mouth shut!” Shaw yelled.

“
Damn it, Shaw!
Look at the man!” Arnason pointed. “He’s
lost
it!” Arnason switched his attention to the officer. “Sir! He’s got you beat
showing
. You can’t possibly have more than three deuces!”

The young captain started writing out a five-thousand-dollar check.

“Sir! Do you have that kind of money in the bank!” Arnason tried reasoning with the officer.

“I just got a divorce from my wife before coming over here. We sold our house and my share is enough to cover this hand…”
The captain’s voice was automatic and dull toned.

Arnason returned his attention to Shaw. “Dammit, Shaw! Don’t do this! You’re going to ruin him and this is supposed to be
a friendly game!” Arnason looked at the other players, who turned their heads away from him. Shaw was right; if the captain
wanted to bet his losing hand and he could cover the bet, it was his business.

Arnason pushed his chair back with his legs and stood up. “Shaw … if you fuck over that
kid
… I’m going to get your ass!”

“Get the fuck out of here, Arnason, and make your threats to someone who’ll get scared!” Shaw watched the young captain drop
the check onto the pile of chips and then flip over his down card, which didn’t match anything. “Three kings … Beat ’em.”

The captain paused with his hand that held the down card shaking. Arnason stood in the entranceway and watched the pathetic
sight. The captain slowly turned his card over and looked up at Shaw.

“Three deuces…”

“Sorry about that shit, Captain … you lose.” Shaw used his forearm to pull the large stack of chips over to his side of the
table. He folded the checks and slipped them into his jacket pocket.

“
Three
deuces…”

“Yeah, that was a good hand, but not good enough.”

The captain stared across the table. Arnason walked back into the tent and grabbed him by the arm. “Come on sir, I’ll walk
you back to Battalion.” The officer obeyed meekly. Arnason looked at Shaw and his eyes hardened. “I’m going to keep my word,
Shaw. You’ve gone too fucking far this time!”

“Get the fuck out of here Arnason … and don’t come back here anymore!” Shaw flicked his wrist at the recon sergeant to dismiss
him.

It was dark outside and Arnason paused so that his eyes could adjust to the dim light. A half-moon that gave a little light
was breaking through the clouds.

“First the divorce … I lost my kids … now all of my money…” The captain started sobbing. “… fuck I don’t want to live anymore.”

Arnason sensed that there was more going on inside that tent than just poker. The captain was falling apart over his divorce
and then rapid assignment to Vietnam. It was too much for the young officer to take. “I’ve been there before myself sir. You’re
talking to the choir.”

“Are you divorced?” The officer looked up and Arnason could see the wet film covering his eyes in the moonlight.

“And I love my kids.”

“I had two little girls…”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four … We got married in college but my wife couldn’t handle my being in ROTC, with all of the protesting going on.”

Arnason shook his head. He could imagine the pressure the young captain had been under.

“When I got my orders for Vietnam, she wanted me to run to Canada with her and the kids…” The officer sobbed, “I just couldn’t
do that …
I couldn’t betray my country
!”

Arnason started walking, guiding the captain by his elbow toward the battalion area. “I give you my vote … you did the
right
thing.”

“Sarge.”

“Yes sir?”

“Sergeant … I still love her…”

Arnason felt the man’s pain. He had been through a very tough divorce himself right before he had shipped out for Vietnam,
almost four years earlier. He hadn’t been back to the States since. “Come on sir, get some sleep and maybe we can work something
out with Shaw in the morning.”

Arnason failed to see the dark shadow watching them from the side of the Recon Company’s orderly room. Captain Youngbloode
had heard everything.

Woods had saved Spencer Barnett’s letter until last and used his bayonet to open the top of the envelope. A color Polaroid
snapshot of Barnett dressed in well-worn Wrangler jeans and boots fell out of the end of the folded pages. Woods picked it
up off the floor and held the photo up to his face to blow the sand particles off it. He held the snapshot of his best war
buddy under the light of the Coleman lantern and stared. Barnett was wearing a Levi’s jacket without a shirt. Woods could
see that Barnett’s chest had filled out again and smiled to himself. Spence always acted like a little bantam rooster. He
had gained back all the weight he had lost while he had been a prisoner of war, and a smile framed the Hollywood set of teeth
the oral surgeons had built for him.

Woods smiled and adjusted the picture under the flickering light. The prisoner snatch operation they had pulled off had become
a classic mission and had made the recon team a legend. Woods laid the photograph next to his leg on the bunk and bent the
pages of Barnett’s letter open so that he could read in the dim light the perfectly blocked words.

Yo! David!

Life here at Walter Reed is real good! I’m sending you a picture of me at one of the nurse’s family’s horse farm. She brings
me out here quite often for
therapy
! I like her kind of therapy a hell of a lot better than the therapy they gave me when I was in a juvenile home. Her therapy
at least makes sense. We even go horseback riding…

Woods chuckled under his breath. He was remembering the first time he and Barnett had gone to a Vietnamese steam bath. It
had been a disaster for Barnett, and now the guy is having field trips with his nurses! Woods smiled even more; maybe Spencer
will be able to pull it all together.

I love it here in Virginia. The doctors let me go out of the hospital just about every night and on the weekends. Washington
D.C. is exciting, but I like the farm country of Virginia the best. You know I’ve got that farm shit in my blood. I think
I told you that I lived on a farm with foster parents, didn’t I. Well, it doesn’t matter, I haven’t left shit back there in
South Carolina.

Hey, how’s Sergeant Arnason doing? Is he still in Vietnam? Now there is one hard core motherfucker! Tell him I said hi.

Have you heard what happened to James? Check it out for me, will you? I’d like to know where he’s at…

David felt a cold shiver slip down his back. Specialist Mohammed James had been one of their recon team members and had gone
through the Special Forces RECONDO School in Nha Trang the same time Barnett and Woods had, and they had graduated together.
James had been a prisoner in the same POW camp as Spencer and had turned coat and worked for the North Vietnamese. James was
being held in a maximum security federal prison awaiting a court-martial. Woods knew a little about what had gone on between
James and Barnett and had heard about the photograph of James beating Spencer. He hadn’t seen the picture, but the commander
at the Special Forces camp at A Shau had, and he had told Arnason about it. Woods frowned. The last thing he would do would
be to tell Spencer about James; he knew his friend was obsessed with killing him.

… I owe James something and I’d like to pay him back…

Woods noticed that when Spencer wrote the word
James
his normally perfect printing became scribbles.

Enough about him! So how are you doing in the war zone? When are they going to wise up and make you a sergeant? They’re talking
about promoting me, but I think between you and I, they only want to do that because they’re embarrassed that I’m a corporal
and a “hero” of the Vietnam War. Can you believe that shit! They keep coming in here and telling me that I’m some kind of
hero. I don’t think a day goes by where someone from the Pentagon doesn’t stop by my room and ask me questions about being
a POW. What in the fuck do they think it was like, a fucking girl scout camp? I’m getting pissed off, but I wish they would
leave me alone. I could use seeing your ugly face. Man I need a friend…

Woods reread the sentence. He could sense that Barnett was not as happy as he was making himself out to be. Everyone knew
that it would be a long time before Barnett would be released from the Army hospital. Just from the long talks he had with
Barnett during base camp guard duty, he knew that Barnett had real problems as a kid growing up. He had been severely abused
by his stepfather and had gone through hell in a South Carolina juvenile home before he joined the Army. When you added the
prisoner-of-war period to all of that, you had one very confused young man. Woods turned the page and adjusted his seat so
that he could get more light from the lantern.

… I don’t want to sound queer, but you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I just want you to know that Dave.

I wrote Master Sergeant McDonald a letter at the RECONDO School and he wrote me a long letter back. He might be coming to
Washington D.C. in the near future on some business and he promised to look me up. I hope he makes it. I liked him a lot.

Don’t forget to tell Sergeant Arnason that I said hi and that he should keep his powder dry.

RECONDO!

Spence

P.S. WBS!

Woods refolded the letter along its original creases and slipped it into the steel ammo box he used to protect all of his
letters from home. He looked up, saw Warner staring at him, and smiled.

“Something wrong, Sarge?” Warner turned over on his side and propped his head up using his folded arm.

“Naw … I got a letter from an old teammate who’s back in a stateside hospital.”

“Is he doing all right?” Warner’s voice reflected his concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, but thanks anyway, Warner.” Woods left the bunker and stepped out into the dark shadows. He found himself a sandbag seat
in the dark and leaned back against the cool sandbag wall of the bunker. He removed his package of Kools and lit up. The sandbag
seat had been built there for just that purpose. Arnason didn’t allow smoking inside the bunker, and at night you couldn’t
smoke on top of the fighting structure because the glow from the cigarette could be seen for miles. He held the first lungful
of smoke for what seemed like an hour and then released it.

The shadow left the line of hooches and cut across the open area toward the bunker. Woods saw the outline of the man carrying
a weapon coming toward him. He could tell almost instantly that the shadow was Arnason returning from his poker game, by the
way the shadow moved. The flares that were being fired out in the no-man’s zone had placed Woods in a dark shadow at the back
side of the bunker. He cupped the end of his cigarette and waited until Arnason drew closer. He was going to surprise him.

A second before Woods was going to speak, Arnason stopped walking and looked directly at where he was sitting in the black
shadow. “You’re up late, Woods.”