Decker's Dilemma Read Online Free PDF

the muddy brown water. “Let’s keep going.”
    The sailors continued their walk along Magsaysay Avenue, the main strip, with the smell of the bars, of food cooking in the streets, of fumes from the hordes of trikes and jeepneys mixing with the hot, humid air that drifted in from the sea. A sprinkling of restaurants, barbershops, pawn dealers, and massage parlors nestled among the multitude of nightclubs that lined the street. Vivid neon signs lit the sidewalk, drawing attention away from scruffy, indiscreet exteriors that belied the sumptuousness of the clubs’ interiors. Music blared from each open door, creating a symphony of rock, hip-hop, and country as one walked down the street.
    Up to this point, Decker had not told anyone, except the navy investigator, about his conversation with Kippen the night he went overboard. Decker looked at Hack as they walked along the bustle of Magsaysay and figured it was time.
    He had to tell someone.
    Hack listened to the story without saying a word. When they approached the entrance to Cal Jam, he turned to Decker and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s tell Mo and Vega.”
    The sailors climbed the three-step staircase. A rush of cool air hit their faces as a young Filipino opened the door, escorting them into the interior. Half full, but it was early. The two-story club featured a stage along the west wall, with floor-to-ceiling speakers towering along either side of the platform. A dance floor next to the stage was nearly empty as groups of two, three, and four sailors sat at round tables and flirted with bar girls, company-owned prostitutes who floated between tables endlessly searching for their one true love for the evening. A bevy of waitresses scurried across the scene, distinguished from the bar girls by their modest wardrobe of black shirts and sensible skirts.
    Big Mo sat at a corner table nursing a San Miguel. Six-foot-five inches and north of 250 pounds, he’d been coming to Cal Jam for the past three years. He liked the music, the atmosphere, and the bar girls. Depending on his mood, that order of preference often changed. Despite the heat and humidity of the evening, he sported a faded red-and-white, checkered long-sleeve shirt over a black t-shirt. His brown cargo pants groaned at the seams. An old, discolored Atlanta Braves ball cap, turned backwards, sat atop his crew-cut black hair. Black, size 17 navy boondockers completed the ensemble.
    Vega Magpantay sat opposite Mo, her back to the entrance. Her long black hair tied in a French-braid ponytail. A rooky police officer in Olongapo, she was one of only two women on the force. Tonight, she had on her favorite off-duty attire: a light-green cotton tank top, denim shorts, and white tennis shoes. Her silver diamond-shaped earrings sparkled when the lights from the dance floor hit them just right.
    Raised in the U.S. with her American mother, Vega had moved to the Philippines at age twelve to live with her father. She spoke fluent English, Tagalog, and Ilocano, the predominant language of northern Luzon, her dad’s home province. She had met Decker one night when she came to a nightclub in town with a group of police officers to make an arrest. Lovers briefly, they now were just friends, with their romance confined to occasional nights when loneliness and a desire for intimacy overpowered her wish to keep things platonic.
    Mo saw them first and leaned in close to Vega. “Here come the tools. Hack and Decker.” They both giggled loudly.
    â€œGreetings everyone,” Decker said. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”
    Mo winked at Vega. “Nothing. You’re late.”
    â€œSorry about that. Got held up with work. The supply business never stops, unlike the machinery on board the ship.”
    â€œThen let’s trade jobs,” Mo said.
    â€œNot a chance,” said Decker. “I value my nice, clean workspace too much.”
    Decker ordered a beer for himself