THE HAPPY HAT Read online

  “Criminology and pre-law. I got drafted before I got accepted to law school, ma'am.”

  “People get drafted into the Army Kaplan. You’re Navy.”

  “Before I ever opened my draft notice envelope, I ran to the Navy recruiter to see what kind of options I could get that would help pay for my law school education in the future. The Navy was hungry for hospital corpsmen, which took precedence over an Army infantryman.”

  “With a college degree you could be an officer at any branch of the service.” Sparrow raised her eyebrows. “What's the real story Kaplan?”

  “To get the real story ma'am, we have to talk in private. Do you dare cross the enlisted–officer barrier?”

  “This war is essentially over but it’ll take another year to get all the casualties back to stateside hospitals Kaplan. I'm a realist. With the war ending the Navy will look the other way from these ancient ridiculous social barriers.” She looked into his eyes. “Anyway I live off base–alone and away from prying eyes.” She broke eye contact and wrote something on a blank prescription form. “It's time to get back to work. Boomer isn't your only patient on this ward. You have eight more patients assigned to you if you’re going to work here. I suggest you get acquainted with them right away.” She pressed the folded paper into his hands and went back to the Nurses Station.

  ‡

  Kaplan watched Sparrow walk away. She was an attractive woman, about his age and for some reason she was strongly attracted to him. It was probably hormonal. He walked to the foot of Boomer’s bed and looked down at Sparrow's note. It was a phone number.

  “Hey Doc they serious about giving me a bath in this mummy cast?” Boomer's voice had a peculiar quality to it. The total body cast acted like the body of the guitar and gave a hollow resonance to his speech. When Boomer spoke, it sounded like he was talking from the inside of an empty trashcan.

  “Yeah, we'll figure it out. Actually, there are a couple of things we can do. First thing that comes to mind, if it's okay with the orthopod and the neurologist, is to drill a couple of holes at select places in your cast to let some air in. We can use those holes to blow in antiseptic powder followed by flushes of compressed air. I've seen it done at the facility we were in at Subic before we shipped out here.” Kaplan felt around Boomer’s plaster head. “The other thing we might do is widen your face window–expose your nose and eyes. Your cast seems strong enough.”

  “Well it doesn't sound too painful. Look, I'm starting to get a lot of room in this cast. I weighed almost 280 pounds before my injuries. I know I'm losing weight and I'm really concerned about muscle wasting. I used to be an athlete you know Doc.”

  “Football?”

  “Football, wrestling and track. I was hoping for a football scholarship when Uncle Sam decided I should go to Vietnam and get my ass blown up.” Boomer didn't sound angry, just frustrated and impatient.

  “You know Boomer we really don't know what your true physical status is. The X-rays, the lack of pain, your intact bladder and bowels and your stable vital signs don't befit someone who should be in a total body cast. And I understand you were blown fifty-feet in the air by an incoming mortar round or whatever the hell it was. Documentation of your case leaves a lot of questions unanswered.”

  “I appreciate your being with me right from the start in my medical situation Doc.”

  “Look Boomer as part of my job I have to ask you this. I won’t write anything in your chart. Were you into drugs like marijuana, narcotics or cocaine?”

  “Jeez Doc, never. Most I ever did was get drunk a couple of times with some of the other guys, you know, on leave and parties and shit like that.”

  “It's okay Boomer. Your drug screen test came out kosher. And don't call me Doc. That title is reserved for Dr. Norman and your other specialists who’ll begin to see you tomorrow. My name is Ike, remember?”

  Kaplan walked back to the chart rack to review the other patients recently assigned to him by Sparrow. He still wondered about the look from LT Zettler’s face. He would have to check on her as well as LT Sparrow. Kaplan looked forward to meeting Agent Adam Stokely. He felt relieved that there were already Agents in place at Queens Naval Hospital and he was part of the team even though they’d never met. Working alone in Vietnam and within the medical corps network for almost a year demanded a return to working with others he could trust.

  ‡

  Perkins left Queens Naval Hospital without suspicion. Outwardly his egress was routine. He had his laundry bag containing the long leg cast. Most hospital corpsman carried their laundry to the enlisted barracks on the hospital compound where the Phillipino stewards would provide the laundry service. Perkins, however, like some other senior enlisted Navy personnel chose to live off the Navy property in subsidized local apartments. His apartment building was a high rise about five-miles from Queens Naval Hospital.

  Perkins stowed the plastic-cocooned cast sections in his bedroom clothes closet and locked the door. He dialed the phone on his bed end table and fell back on his inspection-ready made bed looking up at the ceiling while the connection rang.

  “Hello?” Linsky never identified himself when the phone rang in his apartment.

  “It’s Amstel. I’ll be doing my laundry tonight at 8 o’clock.” Perkins wanted the cast out of his possession and into processing as fast as possible.

  “Sounds good. Maybe we can do it together.” Linsky looked at his watch. He and Perkins would be at the same place in two hours.

  Perkins had his single load out of the washer and into the dryer when Linsky arrived. They said nothing to each other. Linsky put a few garments in a washer and pulled out a paperback book with dog-eared pages. There were seven others doing laundry–mostly women When his load was nearing its final minutes in the dryer, Linsky looked into the reflection on the dryer’s loading window and saw Perkins exchange laundry bags. No one else was looking at Perkins. They were identical Navy issue bags which could be purchased at any military surplus store or the Navy exchange itself which was what Perkins had done. Linsky’s laundry bag was now Perkin’s bag with the plaster cast.

  Chapter 8

  Zettler and Norman

  The officers’ mess was on the first floor of the main hospital building. It was separated from the enlisted men's mess by a hallway leading to the main auditorium and assembly hall.

  “Don’t you get sick of looking at your engagement ring?” Norman began his noon meal.

  “It’s not my engagement ring. It’s our engagement ring.” Zettler gave him a light kick under the table.

  “It’s just a ring and you’ve had it since Christmas Day.” Norman swallowed a sip of water.

  “This ring will last me a lifetime and a diamond ring on my left hand…” She held her hand up. “…means ‘hands-off’ to all other interested men Dr. Paul Norman.”

  He smiled. “I’m just teasing.”

  “And besides, I’d rather remember this ring from Christmas Day than almost getting killed by that homicidal corpsman.” She produced a slight shudder and began eating.

  “Yeah, I’ll never forget anything about that day. But I heard Nixon really wants all combatants out by March and maybe all casualties returned to the states before next Christmas.”

  “So what? We still have a little less than two more years in the Navy.”

  “Minnie, there are two possibilities open to General Medical Officers like me. I can get a Navy residency in anesthesiology or get an early out with the war over if the government empties out the military hospitals into the Veterans Administration system.”

  She stopped eating. “The VA system is full and will be for another year or two. That means the military hospitals will be backed-up. A Navy residency means staying in the Navy and paying them back a year-for-a-year. And what about your addiction specialty? The Navy doesn’t have one. No thanks. We talked about this. If you get an early out of the Navy you’re going to apply for a civilian residency–end of discussion.”

  “Oka
y. Okay. Let’s finish up lunch. I have a few ortho cases from the air-evac to admit to my ward.” Norman stared at the petite shapely nurse just seating at the table behind Zettler. Zettler caught his gaze and turned around.

  “Oh my God. Skagan. Is that why you changed the subject?”

  “Philomena Skagan.” His voice was a whisper. “What a raspy name for a nice looking woman. I wonder how she came to be in charge of the plaster cast disposals. And she’s so compulsive about it she scares half the nursing staff.” Norman averted his gaze to avoid any attention from LCDR Skagan who was sitting alone as usual.

  “She doesn’t scare me. She can have her smelly casts when they take them off. Honestly I never met such an attractive woman with a chip on her shoulder. No one likes her. You know what they say behind her back at the BOQ?” Zettler produced a grin.

  “I’ll tell you what the male section of the Bachelors Officers Quarters says. She needs a DPI.”

  “DPI? You and your military abbreviations. What does that one mean?”

  “You don’t know? You never hear of it before? DPI–deep protein injection.”

  Zettler laughed. “You mean she needs to get laid. Well you stay away.” She smiled and brought up her hand with the engagement ring again.

  “I bet she shows up at rounds tomorrow to harass my ward staff about cast changes on the new air-evacs. She already shot us a barb about Boomer–the total body cast patient.” Norman finished his meal and motioned Zettler to leave the mess hall since they were done.

  ‡

  Kaplan always took the late lunch hour. He wanted the privacy at the chart rack with LT Sparrow and his other corpsman away at the mess hall. He methodically checked the progress notes of all patients with recent cast changes upon arrival to G-1. All the entries were written by LCDR Skagan in both the nursing pages and the administration notes. She also co-signed acknowledgement of the ward nursing notes and the corpsman’s entries.

  I would think the cast changes would just rate a simple single sentence notation. Why the hell is so much documentation being made? It’s just drawing attention to the whole process. It has to be more than just adhering to the infectious disease mandate to incinerate the damn things. Kaplan looked for a pattern or routine to the organization for plaster cast management and could only come up with one conclusion. LCDR Philomena Skagan was Queens Naval Hospital’s pivotal officer for total cast disposal responsibility at this command. However, he still had to observe some of the other corpsmen from other wards. The other wards were collectively supervised by Skagan regarding the plaster cast removal and final disposition. It still came down to this one nurse–Skagan.

  ‡

  Kaplan stayed around for visiting hours late in the afternoon. Spring would be upon the Long Island section of New York and the cherry blossoms were just starting out as tight green buds. The cherry trees on the hospital grounds were a gift from Japan in gratitude for post-war reconstruction. Most ambulatory patients would be allowed outside the grounds immediately adjacent to their wards. There were park benches near the fragrant trees. Every visitor had to have a “Visitor’s Pass” sticker visible to all staff members and security personnel would walk throughout the hospital during visiting hours to check on every non-uniformed person.

  Security was especially strict at the main gate where there was still a constant presence of anti-war activists. For the most part these vocal and often placard-carrying men and women numbered around 20-50 depending on the weather and time of day. Instead of “Stop the war” the placards now read “Bring Back the Exiled Draftees”. It was ridiculous. The war was over. Kaplan noted the protesters were always casually dressed, some to the point of resembling homeless derelicts. There was a dress code for visitors. No shorts, bare feet, dirty shoes or sneakers nor anyone having a cold or open sores were allowed past the front screening desk. Infectious disease awareness was practiced with iron hand enforcement at all military hospitals

  There were two visitors per person limitations posted at each ward. The ward corpsman would have excess visitors wait outside the ward entrance until the previous two visitors left. Kaplan walked around the ward listening to the family chatter and warm exchanges of affection, hope and encouragement. He walked back to Boomer’s bed.

  “Where’s your family from Boomer?” Kaplan tightened the footplate of Boomer’s bed to allow the mattress to take on a wedge shape elevating the head to give Boomer a comfortable view of the attendees.

  “Suffern, New York. It’s not really that far away from Queens Naval.” Boomer’s eyes moved right-to-left taking in the limited panorama his facial plaster window allowed.

  “Are you open to Red Cross personnel visiting; in case your family isn’t up to taking the trip on a regular basis?” Kaplan asked.

  “I don’t mind the Red Cross. They’re not patronizing. I was grateful to them in the Philippines. Can you move my mobile tray toward my head so I can sip water from the straw Ike?”

  Kaplan smiled and complied. His peripheral vision caught a tall gray-suited man at the ward entrance looking around the interior. “Excuse me Boomer I have to check out a few things.”

  He walked to face the gray suit. The man didn’t have a visible “Visitor” pass tag. “Are you looking for a particular patient sir?” Kaplan was a few inches taller than the six-footer.

  The man stared at Kaplan and looked at Kaplan’s black-and-white ID tag above his right shirt pocket. “Your name plate says Kaplan. Would that be Isaac Kaplan?”

  “Senior Hospital Corpsman Ike Kaplan, how can I help you?” Kaplan shook the offered hand.

  The gray suit smiled and produced his identification, “Adam Stokely, Special Agent.” Stokely didn’t add the “FBI” designator. “Can we speak somewhere private?”

  “How about the cast room–the door to your left.” Kaplan motioned with his right hand.

  ‡

  They sat on shiny metal stools facing each other. Kaplan waited for Stokely to open the dialogue.

  “You were briefed on the mission before you were shipped to Nam. Were you told the reason for our focus on orthopedic patients?”

  “First they’re the most numerous of Vietnam casualties even before the dead. And second the heroin shipment increases are directly related to the number of ortho cases arriving in the air-evacs.” Kaplan got up and made sure no one was behind the closed door and walked back to his stool.

  “I’m here to give you the real reason. We traced the Asian source of heroin to a Chinese gypsum supplier. Gypsum is calcium sulfate which is the main component of plaster of Paris.” Stokely leaned his left arm on the black-padded casting table which could accommodate a 6-foot-6 supine soldier-patient.

  Kaplan’s jaw dropped. “You mean the gypsum contains the heroin and gets incorporated into medical plaster fabric?”

  “We think so.” Stokely lowered his voice. “We began our focused surveillance three months ago with medics and corpsmen as Agents like you. There are people like you in every Army, Air Force and Navy hospital throughout the country.”

  Kaplan rubbed his chin with its emerging afternoon stubble. “So my stick to glue with Boomer–he’s my total body cast patient–was to really see if he had any special contacts.”

  “And to keep an eye on that cast of his. The first cast change in the US is the primary transfer of the heroin from the military to the dealers for its extraction. The plaster has to get processed to remove the heroin–that’s step one. Step two is cutting the heroin from 100% pure to lower concentrations.” Stokely looked at his watch. “What time do visiting hours end?”

  “Afternoon visiting hours are over at 1700. There’s a one hour visiting time from 1900 to 2000.” Kaplan stood up as Stokely rose from his stool.

  “Agent Kaplan–Ike–you have to be vigilant. There has to be contacts here at Queens Naval Hospital. The chain requires some infrastructure. It may not be extensive–just a few key people. I’m talking not only about visitors but staff personnel at any level are neede
d to get those imported plaster casts from the patients to outside the main gate.”

  “I’m only one person Agent Stokely.”

  “We can use first names in private. Ike we have Agents posing as visitors and we have a few patients on your side that will identify themselves when the time is right.” Stokely bent his head closer to Kaplan and whispered. “We have to assume the drug cartels have patients on board here as well.”

  “You think there are more than the orthopedic wards involved?”

  “There has to be to administrate this set-up. The amount of heroin coming in via patients is huge. I’ll be stopping in from time-to-time. Here’s my number to call in an emergency. Some of our good guys are also DEA. I want a detailed report on your observations every Friday and sooner as you see activity escalate. There must be a pattern to getting the plaster out of the hospital and it has to be simple to work so long without drawing any attention.”

  They shook hands and Kaplan walked Stokely to the ward entrance and walked back to Boomer’s bed. He looked again at the visitors. Some had to be from the drug cartel. But who? They all looked like innocent civilian family.

  ‡

  Abe Linsky had set up a section of his small kitchen as his heroin plaster extraction site. The process first included cutting up sections of the plaster cast into small squares. These would subsequently be placed into a large Waring blender. This had to be done under a ventilated hood to suck off all powdered material. Inhalation of enough heroin-plaster dust could be lethal. Linsky, like any other cartel employee was subject to spontaneous urine checks for opiates which meant he also had to wear a plastic coverall and a surgical mask.

  Linsky began with using an organic solvent to wipe the cast clean of ink from autographs and well-wishers. Next he scrubbed away to get the dirt off and bacteria killed with a Lysol solution. After a final soap scrub he finished cutting up the cast with a power saw by midnight. He usually turned the TV or radio up slightly to stifle the noisy saw but not loud enough to voice complaint from any neighbor. He placed the small plaster pieces in an industrial size black plastic trash bag.