I froze where I was - I knew that voice, that booming roar which had just queried from across the warehouse for his double-stuffed creme-filled cookies. I looked over to Chuck, and could see that he recognized it too.
Peters sprang to life. "Here sir! Private Patton remembered the milk too, sir!"
Six-foot-two of raging three star General bulled his way toward us, boots polished, helmet gleaming, medals blazing across his chest. There was no question in my mind, it was him - General Dwight Issac Samual Cumberline, the roughest, raunchiest, hell-firiest OREO eater this man's Army had ever known. And he was coming straight at us...
He stopped in front of me. "Don't I know you, boy?"
I grinned. "Dead pets division, General"
Recognition beamed across his brow - "The hamster specialist...Sgt. Guts!" He spotted Chuck. "And Lt. Andrews..or is it Col. Andrews now? Well, hot chocolate, I ain't seen these two since Saigon. Hey Eppy, c'mere and meet two guys that knew what war is REALLY all about..."
We suddenly noticed there was someone else with the General. He was short, thin, kind of pale looking, kind of plain, and was wearing a thousand dollar 3-piece suit. He haltingly held out his hand.
"Harold Epson, this here's Roger Guts, and over there is Father Chuck Andrews. Eppy, I ever tell ya' 'bout this hombre? He once fought off 27 VC single-handed, just to recapture a box of Hersey bars the Commies had stolen on a midnight raid from my footlocker."
I blushed. "Well, hell General, it was a matter of honor."
"That's my sargent. Eppy here's in the stock market and commodities. What are you up to this days, anyway?"
"Well, sir, I finally took my mother's advice, and became a detective..."
The General stopped grinning. Epson looked downright grave.
"A detective, eh? Well, nice goin', son. Oh, Peters? Keep my milk cold, willya? I gotta quick phone call to make..." The general rushed out of the room, with Epson staring after him. He turned to me.
"So, ah, a detective. That must be interesting work. Are you on a case?"
Something was going on. I decided to play it cool. "No, I'm just in town visiting my old friend Chuck. He's here to buy that old cannon over there for his garden, or somethin'..."
Epson relaxed a little. "Oh really? Say, that is a beaut. Well, shall we find a seat? Looks like the place is starting to fill up."
As we sat down, some guy stumbled in on crutches and planted himself on the seat in front of us. Peters spotted him, started, and rushed over.
"Angeles, are you alright? All I heard was that you were in an accident - we were all thinking the worst!"
"Oh, it's all so sordid, Peters. I was driving down Mission Street in the city, when I spotted this absolutely stunning blond at a bus stop, and slammed right into the back of a parked car..."
I nearly choked. Angeles really was in an accident - not a victim of attempted murder. But that meant he wasn't the inside man. And if not him, then who...?
Suddenly, sirens and whistles were shrieking outside. I could see MP's rushing back and forth across the door. Three of them ran inside, up to the podium. One of them grabbed the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I must request that nobody leave the building. This base is under a security alert. We'll try not to delay you any longer than necessary."
Chuck and I, along with Peters, rushed over to the MP. "What's this all about, Mister?", bellowed Andrews.
"It's Private Patton, sir. He's been murdered."
"Aw, nuts! We've blown it, Chuck. That MUST have been the inside man."
"Is that so? Perhaps you'd better explain that remarked, Guts. Just what do you know about all this?" It was the General, standing right behind me. He looked mad enough to bite through a brick.
I sighed. "Better sit down, General, this is going to take a while."
TO BE CONTINUED...