“Pick,” Miss Ernestine Sage groaned, “you’re disgusting!”
McCoy laughed. “He’s a little drunk is all.”
” ‘A little drunk’ is the understatement of the week,” Ernie said.
“How are the girls going to know I’m a hero with this No Clap ribbon? How will I get laid?”
“Jesus, watch your mouth, Pick!” McCoy snapped.
“That’s never been a problem with you before,” Ernie said. “Why should it be now?”
He fastened his eyes on her. “You may have a point, Madam,” he said solemnly. He turned his eyes to McCoy. “How come you didn’t get a medal?”
“For what?”
“For paddling your little rubber boat ashore from the submarine. Now that took balls!”
“Shut up, Pick,” McCoy snapped.
“What are you talking about, Pick?” Ernie said seriously. “And you shut up, Ken!”
“That’s classified, damn it!” McCoy said.
“Why is it classified? It’s history. And, anyway, Ernie doesn’t look very Japanese to me.”
“What little rubber boat, Pick?” Ernie demanded.
“I’ll never forget it. There he was on a sunny South Pacific beach, surrounded by cannibals. He’d paddled there in his little rubber boat from a submarine.”
“Oh, damn it!” McCoy said, and walked across the room to the bar, passing en route Lieutenants Dunn and Easterbrook, who were sitting side by side on a couch, sound asleep.
“If he wasn’t so mad,” Ernie said, “I’d think you were trying to be funny.”
“As God is my witness, there he was, teaching the cannibals close-order drill.”
“What were you doing there, Pick?” Ernie asked suspiciously.
“He was the copilot of the plane that picked us up,” McCoy said from the bar. “Now can we change the subject?”
“Why didn’t you get a medal?” Ernie asked McCoy. “And why did I have to hear this from him?”
“You don’t get medals for doing what you’re supposed to do, all right?” McCoy said. “And everything he told you is supposed to be classified.”
“That’s what I thought when they gave me this thing,” Pick said. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing a lot of other people didn’t also do, and they didn’t get medals. Dick Stecker, for example.”
“Stecker will probably get one,” McCoy said. “He’s an ace too, isn’t he?”
“A mummy ace,” Pick said.
McCoy glared at him.
“Don’t give me the evil eye, Mister McCoy. You saw him. Wrapped up like Tutankhamen.”
There was a knock at the door. It was one of the assistant managers.
“I thought you would like to see this, Mr. Pickering,” he said, and handed him a thin stack of newspapers. “There’s several copies.”
“Thank you,” Pick said.
He accepted the stack of newspapers and handed one to McCoy and Ernie. It was The Washington Star, and there was a four-column picture of Bill Dunn as Secretary Knox was pinning his Navy Cross on him. A headline accompanied the picture: “GUADALCANAL DOUBLE ACE AWARDED NAVY CROSS.”
Pick took his copy and walked to the couch and draped it over Lieutenant Dunn’s head. By the time he reached the bar, Dunn was in the process of sweeping the newspaper away. Once he finished that, he rose to his feet wide awake and started toward Pickering.
“I have a great idea!” he said.
“Look what woke up! Read the newspaper.”
“You come home with me,” Dunn said.
“Read the goddamned newspaper.”
“What are you going to do, just stay here?”
“I thought that I’d hang around with the Killer,” Pick said. “Maybe pick up some girls or something.”
“Goddamn you!” McCoy said.
“What you’ve heard about Alabama isn’t true. We wear shoes and have indoor plumbing and everything,” Dunn said.
“I’m not going to be here,” McCoy said. “I’m on my way to Parris Island in the morning.”
“You don’t want to stay here alone, Pick,” Ernie said. “Come with me. Mother and Daddy would love to see you.”
“With all respect, I’ll pass on that,” Pick said. “Wouldn’t I be in the way, Bill?”
“Hell, no. Come on, Pick. I want you to.”
Pick shrugged. “OK. Thank you. Now go read the newspaper,” Pick said.
“Why?” Dunn asked. But he took the newspaper McCoy offered him.
Dunn looked at his photograph.
“Goddamn!”
“That will be printed all over the country,” Ernie said. “You’re famous, Bill.”