SILENT GUNS (6 page)

With a quickening surge of power, the
Harbor
Island
sailed out from under the old highway 99 bridge into
Lake Union. A hurrying police boat cut across its wake. A float
plane, its propeller revved up for take-off charged up the lake and
broke free of the surface, barely clearing the
Harbor Island
– passengers ducked as the plane lifted itself sluggishly. Seagulls
scattered as their resting place was skirted, a weed encrusted buoy
marking the eastern exit to Lake Union and the entrance to the
Montlake Cut, the final passageway into Lake Washington. Overhead,
vehicular traffic trundled across the I-5 Freeway bridge connecting
Portland to the south and Vancouver, B.C. to the north. Under its
dark shadow, abandoned docks and ram-shackled sheds hugged the
deserted water’s edge.

“
Over there,” Trent pointed. “It’s
abandoned, but the location is perfect.”

‘
Perfect for what?”

“
A base of operations for taking
over the
Missouri
,” Trent replied.

“
You’re out of your gourd,” Madden
scowled.

“
Think about it,
Peter.”

Madden eyed him distantly, “I don’t have to. It’s
crazy talk. The
Missouri
is at the Navy Yard. Oh! That
explains it! All we’ve done these past two weeks is ride
ferryboats, climb over old hulks and now this stupid tour boat.
Tony, you are losing it! The
Missouri
is a dead ship. And,
so is your Navy career. So, forget it.”

“
I need the 16-inch turret,” Trent
exclaimed, excitedly.

“
You really are crazy. Sail into a
Navy Yard and take-over a damn battleship?” Madden slapped his
head. “Even if you could get away with it, there are no shells or
power aboard. And the ship is mothballed, dead.”

“
We can do it; six of us.
Thirty-million from the city – that’s five million
each.”

Madden’s jaw dropped.

“
It’s my chance to clear
myself.”

“
You mean, get your revenge, don’t
you?”

“
The Navy has to react and we’ll
get rich, too.”

Madden groaned.

* * *

Trent picked up Newby at the Ferry Terminal and
drove to Patches, over on Alki Point.

“
Cheers,” Newby twirled his glass
as he lifted a bourbon and soda. I’m supposed to lay off this
stuff, doctor’s orders. Screw him! I’ll be out in three months and
I’ll damn well do as I please.” He downed the glass in one
gulp.

“
Any plans for retirement?” Trent
inquired.

“
Nope. None at all.”

“
Can I swear you to
secrecy?”

Trent’s question didn’t bring an answer as Newby
searched his face and said, “If it’s a military secret, maybe you
shouldn’t.”

“
It could involve you –
us.”

Newby tugged at his thick glasses, his jaw set tight
with curiosity, his eyes querulous. Curiosity won out. Trent
disclosed his scheme. Newby chewed his lips and made uncomfortable
faces as he listened. Behind those thick bottle glasses, lurked an
adventurer, a dreamer. Trent banked on Newby’s suppressed side, a
side that sought danger, the unpleasant. He yearned to be respected
and feared. In his tight little world, dreams were how he kept his
sanity.

“
Madden was right. He said you
never did anything without a purpose. That explains all that
wandering around the Navy Yard. But, would you really fire on the
city of Seattle?”

“
The threat should be
enough.”

“
Has Madden bought in?”

“
If you do, he will. Can you clear
us into the Yard and aboard the
Missouri
?”

“
Even if I could find a way, the
odds against us would be horrendous.”

“
It’s risky, but you would be in
the thick of things,” Trent counseled.

“
What about shells and
powder?”

“
They are on the ammo
barge.”

“
Only shells, no powder,” Newby
clarified. “You are going to start a war, you know,” Newby smiled
faintly, and then broke out into a disarming grin. “So, is this how
my career was meant to end? Navy life for me is over anyway, after
this caper, no regrets. Funny, I never had to think about tomorrow,
for twenty-three years someone always did it for me. Thinking for
myself scares the hell out of me.” Newby unconsciously rotated an
empty glass in his hand, then said,” I’ve never done anything like
this before.”

“
Neither have I.”

* * *

Trent barely made it across the street from his
parked car before the deluge hit. The Friday after-hours crowd
jammed Haury’s lounge, blithely ignorant of the forces of nature
raging outside. Trent tingled with excitement. Madden and Newby
hadn’t said, ‘yes’, but they hadn’t said ‘no’. Trent turned his
back to the crowd and set his foot on the bar rail.

“
Been waiting long?” Madden tapped
his shoulder.

“
Maybe an hour, no
more,”

“
Horse-puckey. I saw you come in.
Come on, I got a booth in the back,” Madden said, motioning to a
small, bustling waiter with slicked down hair and a handlebar
moustache who trailed them. He snappily whipped out menus. “Thanks,
Sieg, just another round.” Madden stared at Trent and observed,
“You look like you could use another drink. What have you been up
to?”

“
Not much.” That knot was back in
his stomach again; his all-consuming need to settle the score
boiled up inside, the unquenchable fire “Yeah! I’ll bet. Have you
got the, eh!…you know, planned yet?

Trent swallowed hard as his gut did a flip-flop.

“
Newby called. He thought it was a
clever scheme, if nothing went wrong. God! The imponderables, Newby
said, the plan’s almost guaranteed to get fucked up.” Madden let
his words sink in. “Newby and I talked it over, you know, what we
had to lose.” Madden hesitated. “Count us in, but only can God help
us if we screw this up.”

Madden drew a list from his pocket. He pointed to
where he had checked two names. “These guys are off the
Chicago
.”

Trent recognized one. “Ben Harper. I know him. He
did a tour on the
Missouri
as a gunner’s mate, first class,
before he was busted.”

“
He could do anything with a big
gun, he just couldn’t handle being beached. The Navy caught him
helping himself to Uncle Sam’s property and selling the stuff. Got
five years in the slammer, but he lit out for Canada before they
could throw him in the brig.” Madden said.

“
Where’s he now?”

“
Last I heard; he’s still in
Canada. It’s been eight years now. A real boozer, but the best
big-gun man in the Navy.”

“
You make him sound like a hero.
Who’s this other guy?”

“
Hank Graves. Bosun’s mate. Twenty
years in. Lives in Sparks, Nevada where he works for the State
blasting out roads. He knows powder. Kinda lives in the past, but
he’s in great physical shape, big and strong as an ox. And he’s
dependable. He made the reunion,” Madden added.

“
Assuming they check out, that
leaves a spot for a Machinist Mate, someone to run the gear. I know
just the man, Maxie Hirsch. He lives in Reno. He works for Reno
Transit,” Trent added.

Trent fingered his glass and reflected on Madden and
Newby’s trust in him. He feared deceit and recklessness in what he
was contemplating. These men were his best friends. The burden
weighed heavily.

“
To the adventure.”

“
To the adventure.”

“
Skoal.”

* * *

Dried-out, wooden steps squeaked as Trent made his
way to the second floor landing of the St. Francis Hotel in
downtown Reno. A wizened, fragile man seated in the lobby looked
up, tracked him, then turned back to his newspaper. Trent located
Apartment #22 and put his ear to the door. He was not sure what to
expect. The address was old. Someone inside was moving about. He
knocked and stepped back. The doorknob turned, the door slowly
pulled until jarred by a safety chain. A petite woman peered out
through the narrow opening.

“
Yes. What do you
want?”

“
I’m looking for
Maxie.”

“
He’s not here.”

“
Expect him soon?”

“
You the police?”

“
No, just an old friend. We grew
up together. My name is Tony Trent. He might have mentioned me,”
Trent said.

“
Oh! The Christmas cards. I had to
be sure,” she said, brightly.

“
When do you expect him
home?”

“
Depends. When he’s broke, he
comes home.”

“
He’s working then?”

“
At the bus barn. The bus company
sends me his paycheck: otherwise, I wouldn’t see any money at all.”
Trent glanced over her head. The apartment was small, but neat and
clean. She was neatly dressed, but in out of date clothes and of
poor quality. The aroma of home cooking streamed into the
hallway.

“
Could I get a message to
Maxie?”

“
Suit yourself,” she replied,
tugging a shawl over her shoulder. Trent jotted down his hotel and
room number. She took the note, glanced at it and closed the door.
Trent turned, but was distracted by the click of a latch on a
neighboring door.

“
Do you really want to find
him?”

“
You already know
that.”

“
Try the King’s Men Casino and
don’t tell that bitch. She nags the poor guy to death. He just
needs a little love and understanding.”

“
I’ll bet you’re ready to give it
to him.”

“
Shove it, Buster,” she slammed
the door.

The San Francisco Giants game was finishing up on
the TV behind the bar. The bartender, slowly wiping a glass, kept
his eyes glued to the screen. Trent threw his leg over a barstool.
He didn’t care about ninth inning rallies and got the bartender’s
attention with a rap of his knuckles. He ordered a Budweiser Lite.
The King’s Men Casino sat alone on the outskirts of the downtown.
The area had been abandoned as the hot money, seeking richer
rewards shifted across-town.

“
I’m looking for a
friend.”

“
Lots of people are looking for a
friend,” the bartender replied curtly as he drew on a cigarette and
set it down.

“
Maxie Hirsch.”

“
You a cop?” Trent felt
flattered.

“
Friend. We served in the Navy
together. I’m passing through and wanted to look him up, share old
times.” The bartender cracked a thin smile while admiring his
brightly polished glass. Trent pushed a ten-dollar bill under his
drink.

“
Try the crap table in the far
corner under the archway.”

Maxie stood braced at the far end of the table. A
once long, thin youthful face was drawn and haggard, eyes darted
nervously. Long, unkempt thin hair exaggerated his long piercing
nose. His skin, the texture of tooled leather, was pale,
greenish-white, pasty of color. Trent ventured Maxie was a sick
man. Maxie was from New York and Trent decided New Yorkers didn’t
age well in Nevada.

As the table cooled, players drifted away, most
likely with empty pockets. Trent stood off Maxie’s shoulder; Maxie
paid him no heed. The dice stayed cold. Bets were light: Maxie’s
were small and infrequent. Three players drifted over from a
neighboring table, grumbling about bad shooting. The stickman
shoved the dice to Trent. He held the dice for thirty-two rolls.
The color of chips quickly changed from white to red to green;
silver coin disappeared. Big money moved onto the hardways. Trent
felt alive: he loved the game. Trent almost forgot about Maxie and
then, as sure as water runs over Niagara Falls, he rolled a seven
and out. The party was over.

Congratulations,” the pit boss offered. “Thirty-two
rolls. That’s high for the day.”

The stickman passed the dice to Maxie who carefully
selected two and rolled. One die skipped and careened off the table
and out of play. The stickman pushed out a new selection. Maxie
fidgeted, reaching into his vest pocket, he drew out a
hundred-dollar black chip and placed it on the eleven. Haltingly,
he chose two new dies. Drawing his hand back, he switched dice.
Trent froze, not believing his eyes. A stickman, boxman and two
dealers were watching play covered by overhead security eyes. Trent
barely caught the switch – God, Maxie is committing suicide for
fifteen hundred bucks. He shuddered. The meaning in Maxie’s wife’s’
remark, “whichever one will let him in,” hammered home.

Maxie rolled an eleven: two more rolls, two more
elevens. He picked up his winnings and let the black chip ride. The
arithmetic was too much for Trent’s head at fifteen to one. The pit
boss hovered over the table after hearing the boxman call for the
dice. A cocktail waitress shouldered in with drinks, her slender
arm moving over the table layout. Maxie pulled back to clear her
movements. Trent read desperation in his eyes. Deliberately
brushing the waitress with his elbow, he caused the drink to spill
to the layout. Maxie snapped back – it was an instant, but enough
to switch back.

“
The dice, please,” the boxman
demanded, his hand extended. The stickman swept them up with his
ash stick. The boxman smiled as he fingered and hefted each side,
his face twisting in disbelief. The pit boss took his turn hefting
the offending dice. After an awkward silence, he glanced scathingly
at Maxie and ordered a new set in play. On his next roll, Maxie
sevened, cashed his winnings, paused uncertainly and then headed
out the casino. Trent found neither elation nor pride in what had
happened. Maxie’s wild, desperate eyes froze in his
mind.