Continuing from where I left off...
Lucky and Robert, though they worked in other parts of the building, knew Van Bebber and definitely knew his reputation. They didn't want to leave me or Robert at his mercy. As it turned out, Lucky had already submitted a request to get off base housing. Now with the pressure on, Lucky went out and found an apartment in Kaneohe City near the University and about two miles short of Waikiki. He asked us to move in with him. I told him I couldn't afford rent and he said that was okay, as long as I paid a third of the other bills - which turned out to be only the phone bill and cable.
I thought this was a great deal. Though officially I couldn't move out because I wasn't a petty officer, I was allowed to sleep wherever the hell I wanted. Therefore, I kept my barracks room, but moved to Kaneohe City.
The apartment was beautiful with a gorgeous view of the city looking out towards Diamond Head. But right off the bat, the problems started. It seems the landlord knew nothing about me being there and didn't like the idea of three people being in a two person apartment. I was given the hideaway bed, but I had to make myself scarce during the day (which was not a problem, because I worked nights and slept all day). I was also 17 miles from FICPAC and the bus ride took more than an hour (no direct route). Occasionally I got a ride, but most of the time I had to take the bus. Worst of all, I quickly discovered that in order to do laundry, I had to use the laundry at the base because I couldn't be seen during the day at the apartment building. This, as it turned out, was only the tip of the iceberg.
In general, we had a great time together. We got along really well and Lucky and Robert were the coolest roommates you could imagine. But then, one night, Lucky confessed to us his "back story". It seems that his Uncle was the Don of the Twin Cities (Minneapolis/St. Paul) and that he was very eager to have his nephew join the family business. Lucky wanted nothing to do with the mafia and so, had joined the Navy to escape their long reach. But, apparently, they had not taken kindly to his attempts to thwart his will and had killed his ex-girlfriend and daughter in retaliation. Now the FBI was keeping an eye on him because they were worried that his Uncle was going to make a move against Lucky.
Remember the part where I said, I kid you not. Well, I kid you not. This was the story he told Robert and I. He said that we were being followed and watched, that our phones were tapped, and that they'd probably planted bugs in the apartment. To be honest, it was kind of like living with someone who insisted the apartment was haunted. I never actually saw any FBI or Mob people - was never threatened or questioned. But there were some very mysterious things going on in that apartment which I can't deny. I remember going to see Lethal Weapon 2 and afterwards we were walking back to Robert's car, joking and laughing about the movie, until we arrived at the car and Lucky said, "You remember that part where they placed a bomb underneath the car... that's just the sort of thing my Uncle would do." We all stopped and looked at the car, and very slowly checked it for bombs before we climbed inside. This was the sort of life I lived in Kaneohe City.
Van Bebber pissed off Robert somehow (I don't remember the actual incident) and the next thing I know we went book shopping and bought a copy of the Poor Man's James Bond that explained, amongst other things, how to cause tire punctures that looked like accidents, and how to create potassium cyanide. Robert never really took well to stress, but I actually had to talk him out of buying the ingredients for the cyanide.
Near the end of my apartment sojourn, I was about to head home one day when Lucky found me and said that I couldn't go home because the landlord was having the apartment fumigated during the day. He did offer to take me with him to his Department's picnic which was on the other side of the island. I went with him, took an air matress and slept out on the beach during the picnic. So, I can honestly say that I slept on a beach in Hawaii.
On my birthday, my department boss decided to be nice and sent me home early. Unfortunately, I missed the last bus home for the night and so had to walk from FICPAC to Kaneohe City - 17 miles - in the middle of the night. It was actually a great way to see the city, and not at all scary. I arrived home at sunrise and managed to gain a couple extra hours of sleep, but boy was I sore the next day.
Finally, though, my apartment adventure had to end. The combination of Lucky's Mafia connection, Robert's increasing stress levels, and my lack of ability to get my laundry done on a regular basis, made the thought of living with Van Bebber less insane than before. I informed my roommates that I was moving back to the barracks and then just packed my things and returned to my room.
My timing was impeccable. Since Robert had been allowed to move out, there had been a vacancy in the room since we'd all moved out. It had only been filled a few days before by a former helicopter repair man from Texas. He was a good old boy and he hated Van Bebber as much in a few days as I'd hated him for more than a year. We got along great.
Eventually Van Bebber was promoted to Second Class Petty Officer and moved out (Thank God!) I'd only had to live with him about three months. Our new roommate, Todd, was a know it all, but a good kid. We all got along just fine. As for the rest of the group, Debbie tried to learn how to scuba dive and got the bends. She was in the hospital for months and when she came out, decided to become a stand up comedienne. I'm not sure what happened to Lucky exactly, but I know he eventually got out of the Navy about a year before I did. Robert, unfortunately, lasted until the Gulf War and then he just snapped. All that stress put him in the psyche ward and he was quietly discharged back to civilian life.
I survived the rest of my time in Hawaii, served with distinction to the end of Desert Storm, and then retired from active duty. The rest of my time in Hawaii was actually pretty bland in comparison to the few months I spent in Kaneohe City. Though the events of this story were absolutely crazy, they never jelled in my head as a book idea, because, quite frankly, who would believe them? Even after having lived through them, I look back on this period and wonder if it really happened the way I remember it... or if I imagined the whole thing. But even my imagination is not that good, thus proving that truth is often much stranger than fiction.
3 comments:
The funniest part to all this is the idea of a mob Don in the Twin Cities. I can understand Chicago, NY, Miami, Jersey, Philly, and even SF...but Minnesota??? The state that brought us Mondale, Prince, and Jesse Ventura???
So...no horse heads in the bed? You guys never had to go find a stash of cash in a toilet tank? No one named Vinny, Guido, Tony, Carmine came by?
Of course, that was my thought at first as well. But it makes a certain amount of sense because surely the Mob has families all over controlling every bit of the action they can. His story of family life, too, seemed very realistic. I remember now that he mentioned that his grandmother was the one who protected him from his Uncle. And that his girlfriend's murder was being blamed on something else, but Lucky knew better. It was more than 15 years ago, and I haven't really thought about it that much. It was just so bizarre. But too consistent to be a pulling of the leg or an ongoing joke. No, whether it was true or not, Lucky believed it.
I don't doubt that it was likely true. It's just further proof that truth really is stranger than fiction.
That his name was Lucky and he was connected to the mob? How more stereotypical could it be? It's really very amusing.
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