THE HAPPY HAT by Peter Glassman Read Free Book Online

You’re strong, healthy and don't use the stuff you sell.” Bizetes paused. “You know where we get most of the stuff you deal on the streets?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Vietnam.”
    “So?”
    “So we need someone in Vietnam to channel tons of heroin into New York City.”
    “You want me to go to Vietnam?” Remo's eyes bulged.
    “We have the start of a network in Southeast Asia. We need an operational soldier to function as a link between our Vietnam supplier and our new import operation from the tactical zones.”
    “What the fuck is a tactical zone?”
    “You’ll get to know all about that after basic training?”
    “Basic training? You want me to enlist?”
    Bizetes smiled. “The choice is Army or Marines.”
    ‡
    Army basic training was a breeze for Remo. Anyone who requested Vietnam for a tour of duty was given priority for training and expedited to Saigon, Danang or other stepping off point to the supporting front line zones. His New York City drug cartel management and political contacts placed Remo as a combat and medical supplies specialist. After six months in the Army, Sebastian Remo had grown impatient. He had the boring job of dispatching supplies to mobile logistic units backing up front line operations. Remo had not yet connected with any member of the Asian narcotics operation. And then one sweaty tropical day it happened.
    “Are you PFC Remo?” A clean-shaven Marine gunnery sergeant appeared in the barely-airconditioned Quonset hut. He looked around the crowded building stockpiled with olive drab crates, bales and boxes.
    “Yes Sarge.”
    “No one else here?”
    “Just me.”
    “Good. Does the name Crosley Bizetes mean anything to you?”
    Remo’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “It's about fuckin’ time. Am I going to get out of this box and start doing something?” Remo wiped his brow and the back of his sweating neck with an army issue hand towel.
    “Not just yet. In two days you'll be receiving unpainted crates labeled ‘medical supplies’.” The Marine Sergeant handed Remo an envelope. “Stick the labels from this envelope on each of the four black plastic-wrapped bundles inside each crate. That's your job–shipping the Asian shit. The crates will be addressed to your attention only. Anyone gives you grief about it you’re to call me at this number.” The Marine Sergeant handed him a folded piece of paper.
    “That's it? That's all I do? I'm still stuck in this piss-ass tin joint?”
    “Cool it PFC Remo. You're in the Army and you doing things the military way. Any deviation, do anything suspicious and I'll send you to under fire front lines. Got it?”
    Remo drank several gulps of water from his canteen. “Is this what I’m going to do my whole tour in Nam?”
    “Contact your stateside man–Bizetes. Every time you do a job for us your bank account goes up.” The Marine Sergeant turned suddenly as two Army officers entered the Quonset hut. He faced Remo again. “Thank you for your help private.” The Marine walked briskly out of the supply building giving a salute to the two Army officers.
    ‡
    “Your number’s flashing Kaplan.” The young ward nurse pointed to the vertical call lights blinking with the numbers 603.
    “Sorry ma'am.” Kaplan smiled. “I'm used to a PA system or a pager.” He picked up the phone at the Nurses Station. It was an outside call. “Okay operator put the call through.”
    “Isaac Kaplan?”
    “Yes, who is this?”
    “Kaplan. This is Adam Stokely. You know who I am?”
    “Yes sir.” Kaplan looked out at the nurse, corpsman and corpswave who had left the Nurses Station tending to patient chores in the ward. Since most of the patients were in some sort of confined plaster cast, there was always some sort of busy work well before lights out at night. “Sir, I just arrived with the target patient. I don't know whether this is a secure phone. Is there some better form of communication for this