Chapter 8: Reality Unwinds

Harm and Mac’s temporary quarters
Sat., Oct. 3. 2009
1145 (local)

We’ve listened to the tape multiple times. Beyond all the Tower of Babble language going on, all you can hear is ‘coke’ ‘best price’ and ‘happy prophet’.

“Mac, is it possible that Dabee is saying something else. ‘Happy prophet’ seems a little strange to me.”

“Non-native speakers often come up with constructions that sound strange to us. But believe me, Harm, he was telling that bar manager he’d get a happy prophet.”

“Not to defend the Big Guy here, but he looked pretty straight to me. I mean, despite his size, he was wearing a cross -- not a big one, a small, meaningful one -- he was very well groomed. He didn’t try to intimidate our guys with his size. He seemed OK to me.”

“Yeah, OK if he makes a ‘happy prophet’ by getting the most valuable military assets hooked on coke.”

I rewind the tape and play it again. “Mac, are you sure he’s saying ‘prophet’ or ‘profit’?”

She blanches.

“There’s too much background noise. The words are too close in English. Abu’s accent.....No I can’t be sure.”

I put my arms around her. “You’ve done more for your country than most still-in-the-military would ever do. I love you. And tomorrow morning, I know just what we’re gonna do with those tapes.”

She looks at me questioningly.

“The Video Goddesses!” I know it’s been a while since I took them to dinner, but surely they’ll want to help out with this one.

In the meantime, I think we’re done for the night. I put the tapes into our safe, and slowly turn to Mac.

”Ginger, I think you know how I feel about you.”

“Professor, how could I not?” Thank god she made me the Professor, if it’d been any of the other men I think I’d’ve lost interest.
“And I’ll just bet you can teach me a thing or two.” She’s pulling me by my jacket and slinking the straps down her dress at the same time. I’m 14 years old and I’m gonna make it with ‘Ginger’.

“Yes, ma’am. I hope so, ma’am. I’ll certainly try, ma’am.”

“Well, lose the ‘ma’am’, drop the fake goatee, and get your clothes off as fast as you can.”

I can do that.


Harm and Mac’s temporary quarters
Sun., Oct. 4, 2009
0900 (local)

Usually it’s Mac who wakes up first, but this morning it’s me. Her ‘Ginger’ wig is askew, she’s sprawled out on her stomach, taking up way more than her share of our California-king size bed, and she looks like the most beautiful woman in the world.

She actually let me pretend she was Ginger and I was the professor. I think my ‘owe Mac’ point total has gone way over my limit. Better start paying it down.

Chocolate chip pancakes would be a good start.

I stealthily climb out of bed and creep into the kitchen. As quietly as possible I make her favorite breakfast treat. Then bring it into the bedroom with orange juice and coffee.

She rolls over when I sit down on the bed. Eyes peeping open she tugs at my boxer’s waistband. “What have you been up to?”

I present the bed tray with a flourish. She squeals. “And whipped cream too!”

Yes, my debt has substantially decreased.

And whipped cream can enhance the taste of many, nonfood items.

After a deliciously long breakfast followed by as long a shower we can get out of this water heater, we’re sitting on the couch with the tape recorder again. We’ve listened to it at least a dozen times and still can’t decide if it’s ‘prophet’ or ‘profit’. One means terrorists, the other means just your basic drug deal. Or maybe not.

“I hope they remember me, Mac. It was five years ago.”

“Bootleg sitcoms from the ‘60’s and one of the best Army pranks ever played on Navy? Not to mention your showing up to be their morning hot buns. Yeah, Harm, I think they’ll remember you.”

I call the last number I had for their secret lab.

“Hello.”

“I’m looking for Hope and Barbie.”

“May I tell them who’s calling?”

“Retired Captain, used to be Commander when they knew me, Harmon Rabb.”

I wait as the request goes up the chain of command.

“Hey.” Two voices at once. I got ‘em!

“You still tall and needing our help?”

They remember me! Wow. I’m so pleased. I fill them in on the situation.

“What a minute, what happened to that Bud guy? He ought to be able to do this for you.”

“He’s kinda busy being Force Judge Advocate Naval Forces Europe.”

“OK. Send us the tapes. Make digital back-ups to keep safe, but send us the originals. We’ll see what we can do with ‘em,” Hope or Barbie says. Never could tell them apart on the phone. I think they like it that way.

“But let me get this straight, you’re retired and you’re *still* getting the weird cases?”

Hummm, hadn’t quite thought about it that way.


Harm’s office
Tuesday, Oct. 6, 2009
1300 (local)

The phone rings. I was wondering if it would ever do that.

“You are kidding with this, right? You think you can stroll back into our labs with your crazy ‘evidence’ after five years and waste our time?”

Whoops. Guess those tapes weren’t that incriminating.

“Goddesses?” said with all the supplication I can muster.
“Do you know how to play golf? These guys do. They shot just two over par on The Links at Pebble Beach. And that was with one of ‘em getting a double bogie. At which point you two ran either ‘cause you couldn’t stand the competition (Rabb, your short game needs work) or you didn’t know what a ‘double bogie’ is. Now, you wanna tell us which it is?”

Not really.

“Then there’s that whole Tower of Babble scene. Did it ever occur to you that these guys might be legitimate businessmen trying to get the Coca-cola syrup business from these large places where people drink a lot of Coke? Drink, not snort or shoot.”

Oops.

“They’re trying to undercut the competition to get a foothold. Did you even consider looking in the phone book or checking directory assistance for a new Coke distributor?”

I know I’m the picture of hang dog.

“Oh goddesses, I’m so sorry to waste your time. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Oh no, please, not *that*!

“Next time you’re in DC, it’s dinner and two bottles of Crystal.”



Chapter 9: No Spade Left Unturned


Harm’s office
Wed., Oct. 7, 2009
0900 (local)

What if I can’t make a go of this? What if I’m just a washed up pilot/lawyer? What if I have to work with people who wear blue jeans and flip-flops to court?

Well, there’s always golf, I could take up kayaking, more hiking trails around to keep me busy for a while. Then there’s the house. I could certainly spend some time doing some improvements around there. Maybe I could volunteer at Point Lobos, or the Aquarium.”

Phone rings. “Is this Sam Spade?”

“What? No!” God, am I having that dream again?
“This isn’t the lawyer/detective/pilot with the beautiful partner who knows how to get out of harm’s way?”

“Who is this?”

“Provost Franklin.”

I sit a little straighter.

“We have a, uhmm, unusual situation that I think fits your unique talents like a glove.”

Shit, when AJ called it a ‘situation’ it usually meant political bull. Add ‘unusual’ and you have a very large warning for copious quantities of virulent weirdness. But once you factor in “unique talents’ you just know there’s gonna be danger involved...and maybe a chance to fly a bird or two.

“When can we meet?” Not that I’m jumping into this without looking or anything.

“When’s Archer done for the day?”

Archer? Archer was Spade’s partner who died in the first act.

“Your partner, Spade.”

“It’s Harm.”

“OK, Harm. When’s Mac done for the day?”

“I’ll text her now to meet us where?”

“Lover’s Point, 1730.”

After a briefing Franklin goes away and I suggest dinner at Pasta Mia, perhaps the best Northern Italian restaurant in Pacific Grove. “You know I know you’re trying to bribe me into this,” she says.

“No I’m not, Mac, you’re already in.”

She takes my hand as we head up Pacific Avenue toward Lighthouse Avenue and the restaurant. “You know, I really can see you as sort of a Humphrey Bogart type.”

I lean down to whisper in her ear. “And I’m not about to leave a Spade unturned.”




finis, hope you enjoyed.

A/N: I had the fortune to spend 2-3 weeks each August from 1991 to 1999 vacationing on the Pennisula. Everything in this story about the area is true, as best as my memory recalls and I can verify as current on the Internet. Wish I’d gone with my original impulse in 1991 -- buy a place in Pacfic Grove. But my ex wouldn’t go for it. Take it from me folks, do what you want to do, ‘cause nothing else sticks around, especially men.

As far as Harm and Mac being able to get out of the service in a few months (check the date stamps on the story), I checked with Janlaw about this. Although it can take up to a year for someone with 20 to get out, it can also only take a matter of weeks. I went for a shorter time frame, since Harm was at his wit’s end. Thanks Janlaw for the advice.