I threw back the flap on one of the holsters and yanked out a .45, the walnut stock heavy in my hand. I stuck the gun inside my shirt and into the band of my trousers, cold against my sweating stomach. I heard Ferguson ram the clip home into his own .45, and then he said, “Come on, Peters. I got to lock up.”
I followed him out, and even helped him dog the hatch. He snapped the lock, and I said, “Think I’ll turn in.”
Ferguson nodded sourly. “You can sleep in this heat, you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.”
I smiled and walked back aft toward the fantail. I wanted to sit down someplace and feel the gun in my hands. But it was so damned hot that every guy and his brother was abovedecks, either hanging around smoking or getting his mattress ready for the night. I went into the head, and the place was packed, as usual.
The gun was hot against my skin now, and I wanted to take it out and look at it, but I couldn’t do that because I didn’t want anyone to remember they’d seen me with a .45.
I kept hanging around, waiting for the crowd to thin, but the crowd didn’t thin. You couldn’t sleep in all that heat, and nobody felt like trying. Before I knew it, it was 2345, and Ferguson was coming around to wake me for the mid watch. Only I wasn’t sleeping, and he found me gassing near the aft five inch mount.
“You’re being paged, Peters,” he said.
“Okay,” I told him. I went forward, and then up the ladder to the passageway outside the radar shack. Centralla was sitting in front of the Sugar George, a writing pad open on his lap.
“Hi, boy,” I said. “You’re liberated.”
“Allah be praised,” he said, smiling a white smile in his dark face. He got to his feet and pointed to a speaker bolted into the overhead. “That’s the only speaker you got, boy,” he said. “Nothing on it all night. Just static.”
“You sure it’s plugged in?”
“I’m sure. You take down anything for Cavalcade. That’s ‘All ships.’ You also take down anything for Wonderland. That’s us.”
“No kidding,” I said.
“In case you didn’t know, Peters.”
“Well, thanks,” I said, smiling.
“You’ll probably get a weather report for Guantanamo Bay and vicinity pretty soon.” Centrella shrugged. “There’s some joe in the pot, and I think those radio guys got a pie from the cook. They wouldn’t give me none, and it’s probably all gone by now. But maybe you got influence.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Okay, you relieving me?”
“The watch is relieved,” I said. “Go hit the sack.”
Centrella nodded and head for the door. “Oh, yeah,” he said, turning, “the old man’s in his cabin. He wants anything important brought right to him.”
“What does he consider important?” I asked.
“How the hell do I know?”
“That’s a big help. Go to sleep, Centrella.”
“ ’Night,” he said, and then he stepped out into the passageway.
I was ready to close the door after him. I had the knob in my hand, when Parson stuck his wide palm against the metal.
“Hey, boy,” he said, “you ain’t going to close the door in this heat?”
“Hi, Parson,” I said dully. I’d wanted to close the door so I could get a better look at the gun.
“You got any hot joe, man?” he asked.
“I think there’s some,” I told him.
“Well, I got some pie. You like apple pie?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He shoved his way into the shack, and put the pie down on one of the plotting boards. Then he went to the electric grill, shook the joe pot, and said, “Hell, enough here for a regiment.”
He took two white cups from the cabinet under the grille, and poured the joe. Then he reached under for the container of evap, and the sugar bowl. The radio shack was right down the passageway, you see, and most of the radio guys knew just where we kept everything. We went in there for coffee, too, whenever none was brewing in the radar shack, so that made things sort of even. Only, I could have done without Parson’s company tonight.
“Come on, man,” he said, “dig in.”
I walked over to the plotting board and lifted a slice of pie, and Parson said, “How many sugars?”
“Two.”
He spooned the sugar into my coffee, stirred it for me, and handed me the steaming mug.
“This is great stuff on a hot night,” I told him.
“You should’ve asked for battleship duty,” Parson said. “They got ice cream parlors aboard them babies.”
“Yeah,” I said. The steam from the coffee rose up and touched my face, and I began to sweat more profusely. I put down the cup and reached for a handkerchief, and I was wiping my face when the old man popped in.
“Attention!” I shouted, and Parson leaped to his feet, almost knocking over his cup. The old man was in silk pajamas, and he stormed into the shack like something on a big black horse.
“At ease,” he shouted, and then he yelled, “What the hell is going on here, Peters?”
“We were just having a little coffee, sir. We...”
“What is this, the Automat? Where’d you get that pie?”
I looked to Parson, and Parson said, “One of the cooks, sir. He...”
“That’s against my orders, Parson,” the skipper bellowed. “I don’t like thieves aboard my...”
“Hell, sir, I didn’t steal...”
“And I don’t like profanity, either. Who’s on watch here?”
“I am, sir,” I said.
“Where are you supposed to be, Parson?”
“Next door, sir. In the radio...”
“Am I to understand that you’re supposed to be standing a radio watch at this time, Parson?”
“Yes, sir, but...”
“Then what the hell are you doing in here?” the old man roared.
“I thought I’d...”
“Get down to the OD, Parson. Tell him I’ve put you on report. This’ll mean a Captain’s Mast for you, sailor.”
“Sir,” I said, “he was only...”
“You shut up, Peters! I see you still haven’t got that haircut.”
“We were out with the drone, sir. I couldn’t...”
“Get it first thing tomorrow,” he said, ignoring the fact that we’d be out with the cruiser tomorrow. “And now you can dump that coffee pot over the side, and I want that sugar and milk returned to the mess hall.”
“I’m on watch, sir,” I said coldly.
“Do it when you’re relieved, Peters.” He stood glaring at me, and then asked, “Were there any important messages, or were you too busy dining?”
“None, sir,” I said.
“All right. I’m going out to the boat deck now to get those men below. I don’t like my ship looking like a garbage scow. Men aren’t supposed to sleep abovedecks.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“I’ll be there if anything comes for me. When I come back, you’ll hear me going up the ladder outside. I’ll be in my cabin then. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said tightly.
“All right.” He walked out, and Parson watched him go and then said, “Someday that man’s gonna get it, Dave. Someday.”
I didn’t say anything. I watched Parson go down to the OD, and I thought: Not someday. Now.
I heard the old man yelling out on the boat deck, and then I heard the grumbling as the guys out there stirred and began packing their mattresses and gear. I was sweating very heavily, and I didn’t think it was from the heat this time. I could feel the hard outline of the .45 against my belly, and I wanted to rip the gun out and just run out onto the boatdeck and pump the bastard full of holes, but that wasn’t the smart way.