Destination: Splash Island
I looked at the photograph.
I recognized the man immediately. I hadn't seen him since VE Day when we got our orders to ship out. He was brave SOB. He had once thrown himself on a grenade to save a platoon. Unfortunately it wasn't one of our platoons. I said he was brave. I didn't say he was too bright. And he was lucky too. The grenade was dud.
His name was Tex, and he came from Louisiana. We called him Tex because we already had a guy in the squad named Louise, which was confusing enough for a bunch of backwoods nineteen-year old kids from the middle of BF Nowhere America thrown into the middle of an old man's game up to our olive drabs in shell-shocked insanity in crazy far away places with exotic sounding names like "England".
Yeah, it was Tex alright. The years had been kind.
The stink from the street was rising up the four stories and into my window. I could tell my visitor was getting edgy. "Do you mind if I close your window?"
"Leave it open. The sound of the scum below drowns out the voice in my head demanding another drink. Just one drink. But one's too many and a million's not enough. When you wake up in a Greyhound station somewhere between where you last remember being and wherever the feverish ranting lizard part of your brain wanted to take you then you'll welcome whatever stench and racket you can get in your life. It's the filth that keeps me clean, and you better pray to God that you never find out yourself what I mean by that. You so much touch that window and I'll plug you so full of lead you'll be able to crap your own pencils."
"Mind if I smoke then?"
"What do I look like, an oncologist? Knock yourself out kid."
I didn't recognize the dame, but I could tell she had great gams, which I believe are legs, and I could tell she had Tex wrapped around her little finger just like that French girl twenty miles south or Normandy and a million lifetimes away. It's all fun and games until you find a Luger and a shortwave radio in the underwear drawer. Yeah, Tex hadn't changed at all. He had always been a sucker for a broad in a pretty hat.
She was no good. I could see her plan - a whirlwind romance, a quicky marriage, her name on the will, then it's "Bon Voyage Tex" and nothing but rich widowhood forever off into the horizon. I knew that if I didn't take this case Tex would end up as nothing more than a splashing sound someone playing shuffleboard on the deck of a cruiseship may think he might have heard in the middle of the night somewhere between Frisco and Pearl.
Me and Tex, we promised we'd keep in touch, but we never did. Well it looks like we were back in touch now. And Tex needed my help. I just hoped I wasn't too late.
I picked up the phone."Trixie, call my travel agent and pack your bag. It looks like you and me are going on a boat ride."
I recognized the man immediately. I hadn't seen him since VE Day when we got our orders to ship out. He was brave SOB. He had once thrown himself on a grenade to save a platoon. Unfortunately it wasn't one of our platoons. I said he was brave. I didn't say he was too bright. And he was lucky too. The grenade was dud.
His name was Tex, and he came from Louisiana. We called him Tex because we already had a guy in the squad named Louise, which was confusing enough for a bunch of backwoods nineteen-year old kids from the middle of BF Nowhere America thrown into the middle of an old man's game up to our olive drabs in shell-shocked insanity in crazy far away places with exotic sounding names like "England".
Yeah, it was Tex alright. The years had been kind.
The stink from the street was rising up the four stories and into my window. I could tell my visitor was getting edgy. "Do you mind if I close your window?"
"Leave it open. The sound of the scum below drowns out the voice in my head demanding another drink. Just one drink. But one's too many and a million's not enough. When you wake up in a Greyhound station somewhere between where you last remember being and wherever the feverish ranting lizard part of your brain wanted to take you then you'll welcome whatever stench and racket you can get in your life. It's the filth that keeps me clean, and you better pray to God that you never find out yourself what I mean by that. You so much touch that window and I'll plug you so full of lead you'll be able to crap your own pencils."
"Mind if I smoke then?"
"What do I look like, an oncologist? Knock yourself out kid."
I didn't recognize the dame, but I could tell she had great gams, which I believe are legs, and I could tell she had Tex wrapped around her little finger just like that French girl twenty miles south or Normandy and a million lifetimes away. It's all fun and games until you find a Luger and a shortwave radio in the underwear drawer. Yeah, Tex hadn't changed at all. He had always been a sucker for a broad in a pretty hat.
She was no good. I could see her plan - a whirlwind romance, a quicky marriage, her name on the will, then it's "Bon Voyage Tex" and nothing but rich widowhood forever off into the horizon. I knew that if I didn't take this case Tex would end up as nothing more than a splashing sound someone playing shuffleboard on the deck of a cruiseship may think he might have heard in the middle of the night somewhere between Frisco and Pearl.
Me and Tex, we promised we'd keep in touch, but we never did. Well it looks like we were back in touch now. And Tex needed my help. I just hoped I wasn't too late.
I picked up the phone."Trixie, call my travel agent and pack your bag. It looks like you and me are going on a boat ride."
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