Ken's War (18 page)

As Paderson outlined the tactics he’d deduced
the criminals were using, Bellamy bolted from his chair and
swaggered outside. Ken heard the unmistakable riff of a zipper
being yanked down. Bellamy
arched his back, bent
his knees and rocked on his toes to the beat of a secret
tune.

After pissing over the ledge, Bellamy sat on
a rock and removed his shoes and socks. Holding his socks at arm’s
length over the rice paddies below, he wrung sweat out of them. He
sniffed, draped his socks over a branch, jammed his bare feet into
his shoes, and returned to the hut.

“No more of this pussyfooting around
collecting evidence and creating paper trails,” Bellamy said.
“Everybody and their aunt knows it’s the Chink mafia. No
red-blooded American committed these crimes.”

“Hmm,” Kohanski hummed. “That theory warrants
checking into.”

Paderson asked, “How could Chinks, uh, how
could anyone infiltrate our system here and here and here and
here?” Paderson slapped the flow chart with his pointer. “How could
non-army personnel know how to alter the documents so skillfully
that we don’t notice the discrepancies until they were discovered
in the field?”

“You do have answers to your questions, don’t
you, Captain Paderson?” Topker asked.

Paderson drained his coke.

Ken winged a dirt clod at a tree. Dust
exploded and rattled on the leaves. Why didn’t his dad roundup
Chink gangsters like Bellamy said to and the whole rigmarole would
be over and done with? At this rate, Ken was going to be a
captain’s son for the rest of his life.

Bellamy spat on the floor. “Saw an oddball
thing, I did. Coulda sworn when I ate noodles in the village last
week, the Jap behind the counter was cooking soup in a big pot
exactly like the pot ol’ Spoon uses in the mess hall at Camp Zama.”
He propped his feet on Wizard’s desk and wagged his dirty shoe
soles at Paderson.

“If you want to accuse my operation of
irregularities,” Paderson said, “you can damn well check the
records yourself. Spot checks are part of your normal duties.”

“Tell it to the chaplain,” Bellamy said.

Paderson pressed his lips until they were
white. Bellamy tugged his earlobe. Ken tossed Bellamy’s sweaty
socks over the ledge.

“Bellamy, Kohanski, wait for me outside,”
Topker said. He sounded tired. “I want to have a word with Paderson
about another matter.”

“Bellamy’s off the beam on this one,”
Paderson said. “I purposely left sensitive information out of my
briefing in Bellamy and Kohanski’s presence because, frankly, I
think this scam goes deeper and wider than what we first suspected.
A few days before I arrive on site to audit documents and conduct
investigative interviews, the discrepancies for that particular
site clear up.”

The lieutenant colonel nodded sadly.
“Somebody involved with the investigation is leaking information.”
The wrinkles radiating from Topker’s eyes drooped. He held his
empty teacup in both hands and spoke, almost dreamily. “I accepted
a call from a receiving dock clerk who is aware of supplies being
stolen. He thought he had information that would help with our
investigation. At first he thought the discrepancy was a
run-of-the-mill miscount, so he didn’t think anything of it. Then
to cover his hide, he kept a record of the dates, quantities and
point of origin of the short stock. It appears Bellamy is right.
Your own house is not in order.”

“But that’s impossible!” Paderson said. His
arms and legs flailed as he dived for the phone, the files, his
pocket, the phone again, and then he settled back into his chair.
“Who would do it? Why? We don’t store goods of much value to the
black market. Private Abernathy and I are the only personnel who
process paperwork and stock here.”

Ken’s gut ached as though he’d been punched.
How could they have found out? He thought he’d covered his trail.
No question about it, he had to stop stealing stuff to make extra
cash. He was going to have to earn money for martial arts lessons
honestly, or give up on the dream of
chi gunging
some poor
sucker to kingdom come.

Would his dad ever get around to suspecting
he was the culprit who’d been spiriting U.S. Army supplies out of
the Quonset hut? Ken’s breath hitched in his throat when Wizard
walked up to him.

“Man,” Wizard said, “you look like a ghost
walked over your grave.” He stepped into the hut and saluted. “Is
the tea holding out?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Topker said. He turned to
Paderson. “I’m on your side on this one. The theft of medicines and
medical supplies is widespread, and bears the markings of an inside
job, but I can’t wait much longer. More lives will be lost. I’m
giving you two months to wrap this up, and I’m confident in the
meantime you’ll also rectify discrepancies originating from your
area of command.”

Abernathy blanched.

Paderson waved off Abernathy’s questioning
looks. “A task requires the time allotted to complete it,” Paderson
told the lieutenant colonel. “Both cases can be wrapped up in half
the time. If you want resolution in two months, I can prolong the
investigation over two months. If I were, for some reason, to be
assigned stateside in one month, I can expedite and conclude the
investigations with positive results within a month.”

Topker sized up Paderson. “All right,
Captain. You hit the one-month deadline and I’ll personally walk
your RFT403 through.”

“We’ll nail their balls to the wall,
sir.”

Topker stepped outside to join Bellamy and
Kohanski, waiting in the jeep.

“What discrepancies?” Wizard burst out.

“Who filched my fuckin’ socks!” That’s what
Bellamy wanted to know.

The jeep tore down the lane, gears shifting
emphatically.

Chapter
Fourteen

~ Lies ~

“Attack me,” Sikung commanded. This morning,
as always, his stance was alert yet at ease, but the relaxed
posture didn’t fool Ken. Underneath the master’s calm exterior lay
muscles coiled like snakes.

Ken crossed his arms protectively in front of
his chest, and stepped back from the master’s reach. “You’re just
going to flip me on my butt.”

“Yes. I’m going to flip you on your buttocks.
Pay attention this time to how I use your momentum to propel you in
the direction that you’ve decided to fall.”

“If I had a gun this
chi gung
wouldn’t
count for shit.” He regretted mouthing off as the words escaped his
lips.

“Get a gun.”

“Nuh uh.”

“You are afraid.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then what is the root of your
reluctance?”

A pheasant’s cry grated the air. Ken glanced
in the direction the sound came from. As he turned to look again at
Sikung Wu, he was certain the man’s bulbous eyes would be glued on
him. They were. The gaze was flinty and knowing.

“You cannot learn to flip an assailant by
wishing so, my foolhardy student.” Foolhardy student was as close
to an endearment as Ken could ever hope to earn from the master.
The pheasant cried again. “The way to study is to do,” Sikung
said.

“OK. Do it.”

Sikung explained the mechanics of the flip,
and then grasped Ken’s forearm in his pliers-like fingers slowly so
Ken could register what was happening as the energies of their
bodies blended.

He landed with a thud. He popped back up.

“Do it again, Sikung. I think I know how you
can flip me so easy.”

Sikung Wu threw him many more times. Ken’s
pants got muddy. His knees and elbows were scraped raw, and
embedded with mud and pebbles. His spine hurt from landing on it.
He was debating whether or not to beg for a timeout, when Sikung
invited Ken to try to throw him.

“Nuh uh.” Between gasps, Ken said, “You’ll
pull some trick you haven’t taught me. I’ll get creamed.”

“Are you pissed off? Is that the jargon?
Pissed off?”

“Yeah. Pissed off.”

“You don’t want the first time you attempt to
throw an opponent to be during actual battle. You must
practice.”

“No trick. Promise?”

“What have I done that you cannot trust
me?”

“Are your fingers crossed? “

Sikung glowered.

Ken said, “Come at me. But slow!” He grabbed
the master’s forearm and managed to draw Sikung into him, trying to
blend their energies. Ken stumbled to the ground and looked up at
the imperturbable face hovering over him. “I know. I know. I
should’ve pulled you past me. Not into me. Past me.”

The master offered no comment.

Ken tried again.

“Please, take your foot off my throat.” Ken
tried again and again, but failed to flip Sikung.

“You’re not playing fair.” Ken’s heart
pounded. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

Sikung’s laughter silenced small creatures
that had been rustling in the trees. He hadn’t broken a sweat. His
breathing was imperceptible. “You are in too great a hurry. At any
rate, this concludes your lessons.”

“Oh, come on! I almost flipped you! If I pay
you more money, you have to give me more lessons.”

“Is that how it works, eh?” Sikung’s smile
didn’t invite an answer. “You are a viper too impatient to wait for
a propitious time. You’ll bite your own tail. “The master closed
his eyes and after a while said, “Go to your father. He needs
you.”

Ken raced home and cracked two eggs into the
frying pan before his dad rolled off his futon.

Ken mentally replayed his lesson in the
bamboo grove. OK, so he didn’t throw Sikung, but he’s not a normal
person, Ken thought. Just let some doofuss attack me and I’ll flip
‘im on his can. No doubt about it.

“What are you smiling about?” His dad’s
intrusion into the fantasy shocked like ice water.

“Can I get an allowance?”

His father’s expression tightened. “What do
you need? I’ll buy it for you at the PX next time I’m in
Nagasaki.”

“When are you going to Nagasaki?” He hoped
his dad would say what he wanted to hear, because that would make
it simpler for him to make his rendezvous tonight.

“I’m leaving at oh-nine-hundred and I’ll
return in forty-eight hours.”

“You and Bellamy? For two whole days?”

“No. This is a job I need to accomplish
alone.” He clipped off the words as if they were sour, yet his eyes
held a smile within. “Don’t worry,” Paderson said. He blinked and
found his normal facial aspect as he drained his coffee. He set the
mug with a loud clang on the table. “Abernathy will be here.”

“I know.” He’d learned a long time ago, when
you lie, weave in as many strands of the truth as possible.
Truth-lies were easier to remember and not as bad of a sin as
lie-lies, so he added a small lie: “Wizard is taking me to a
teahouse tonight.”

“Fraternizing with Abernathy is not a good
idea.”

“You don’t want me playing baseball with
Japanese kids and now I can’t even go with Wizard. You’re—”

“Stop before you get your stones caught in a
wringer. You’ll understand later.”

“Later will be too late.”

“Later is sooner than you think, soldier,
sooner than everybody thinks.” Captain Paderson walked over to Ken
as he was washing the frying pan. Next Paderson did something he’d
never done before. He tousled Ken’s ponytail. Then he picked up his
duffel bag, and walked out the door as if he touched his son that
way every morning before setting off to work.

Ken adjusted his ponytail and watched his dad
hustle down the dirt path to the warehouse.

“Shit!” Running water overflowed the sink and
splashed onto the floor.

Wizard swiveled around in his chair and
patted his lap. Neko sprang up and curled up on his thighs, her
tail whipping out cat-code for irritation.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” the private
first class said wearily, his eyelids lowered, expression
hangdog.

The jig was up. Wizard must have discovered
the paperwork Ken had fudged to cover up the loss of staplers,
shingles, cook pots, snails in oil...Ken hooked his thumbs in his
belt loops and readied himself for the lecture he deserved.

“I don’t know what you’re cooking up,” Wizard
said, “and it’s none of my business, but don’t use me as your
alibi, because I’ll not cover for you.” The cat walked down
Wizard’s legs like a ramp, gave Ken a clear view of her rear, and
eased herself under a shelf. Ken couldn’t think of anything to say.
“You’ve abused our relationship.” Wizard went on, “Not to mention
that you lied to your father. If you wanted to visit the teahouse,
you could have asked me to take you.”

“It’s all crap, anyhow,” Ken blurted out an
instant too soon. His wild-haired friend wasn’t talking about
stolen asphalt shingles and cook pots at all.

Wizard murmured in Japanese and leveled his
eyes, wide as searchlights, on Ken.

Ken tried to match Wizard’s gaze with equal
directness and duration. He was intent on not seeming cowed or
cocky. He said, “I thought you would understand... I’m meeting
Yasuko at the teahouse—Yasuko likes me. Her parents like me. They
took me to the movies. They didn’t treat me like a
gaijin
.”

“They were very polite, I’m sure. The
Japanese excel at creating a harmonious atmosphere while concealing
their true feelings. They would never, in any way that a Westerner
would comprehend, communicate overtly that they do not want your
puppy love with Yasuko to bloom. The acceptance you perceived is a
fact, not the truth.”

Ken hated that he didn’t know how to convince
Wizard he was wrong on this one.

“It’s not interracial friendships I’m calling
you on, man. You lied to your father and dragged me into it by
saying I was taking you to the teahouse.”

“Dad doesn’t like the Japanese. I had to have
a cover story,” Ken said.

“I understand why you lied, but I don’t
condone it, and I won’t cover for you. Lying’s not what I’m
about.”