The Picture Ranch 54

‘Only one corpse here as far as I can see, Sergeant,’ Houlihan moved Fulbright’s arm with the toe of a highly polished shoe.

‘Yeah, well, good job the other death wasn’t quite so permanent. It was Mulvaney, the newspaper guy from over in LA.’

‘So I left a civic function for a toy sailor’s corpse?’Houlihan holstered his gun.

‘So I did you a favour, To- Colonel.’

‘Guess you did. Top will be fine. You’re a civilian now.’

‘You know anything about this guy?’ I pointed at the stiff.

‘I know he wouldn’t have lasted a minute in the Corps. He shouldn’t have been allowed near any school.’

‘How come he was?’ I held up the sticky green bottle to Houlihan. He shook his head.

‘Powerful friends, Fisher, powerful friends.’

‘Like who?’

‘Let’s just get him out of here.’

Since Miss G’s weapon of choice was a smallbore pistol, there wasn’t so much blood to contend with. In no time at all, we were on our way out of the building with the Admiral draped between us like a ko’d prizefighter on the way back to his corner. I wondered where all the cadets were. Maybe staying quiet in the dorm rooms was the way to survive a place like that. But where was whoever was supposed to be in charge? I couldn’t believe the Admiral would actually do anything that wasn’t for his own ends. Surely there was someone in authority around? I mentioned it to Houlihan.

‘Maybe you’re just lucky.’

Outside the Military Academy’s gates, I’d been expecting to find a government issue Marmon-Herrington half-ton truck, or a civilian flat bed. Anything but the ‘37 Ford Roadster Drophead in silver parked neatly by the sidewalk.

‘What? A guy can’t travel in style?’ Houlihan popped the trunk and we folded the toy sailor in.

I looked up and down the length of the street. There wasn’t another car in sight. Miss G and Mulvaney were in the wind.

‘Need a lift, Marine? I’ll drop you off after… Besides it’ll be quicker with two of us.’

I jumped in the passenger side and we tore away just as the fire alarms went off in the Military Academy behind us.

Houlihan drove the car well, but fast. I asked him where we were headed, he said ‘32nd Street’. I laughed,

‘Gonna make it the Navy’s problem?’

‘If we can. The Navy usually take notice of a Marine Shitbird, just as long as there’s no real Admirals around. We’ll get inside the perimeter and then I know a place we can dump him.’

‘Not the USMC base?’

‘Not in this life, Fisher. We’ll take him out past the Naval Training Station. We’ll leave him at Fisherman Point Stack.’

There were two bored sailors on the gate. A Petty Officer 3rd Class and a Seaman, about the only rank a PO3 could be in charge of. They smartened up a bit when they caught sight of Houlihan, but not enough, so he chewed them out so fiercely they forgot to ask about me, or even where we were headed. We passed the USMC base and drove on past the far end of the NTS. Houlihan kept going when the road ran out. Over mud and ruts.

‘Hey!’ I said ‘What about your fancy car?’

He laughed as we jounced over what might have been a small moose.

‘This? This ain’t my car. I boosted it over at the civic reception. It’s just amazing what people will let you do if you got a uniform and some balls. I might even take it back.’

A lone chimney stack was the only building for a mile around. I could see the lights of the sprawling 32nd Street Naval Station in the distance. We dumped the Admiral in the dirt at the foot of the stack. We got back in the roadster, Houlihan floored the gas and we lit out like we were heading for the territories.

The Colonel looked over at me and winked,

'I ain't had so much fun since before I got commissioned.'