Chapter 3

Planning has never been my strong suit; there are always little details that I somehow seem to forget. It’s why I want to give myself as much time as I can, just in case I remember something I need at the very last minute. Right now, all I can think of is two powders and the latest of film recorders. After all, I’ll want the latest and greatest technology to preserve my ultimate victory. The powders themselves are much easier. Those I already have; now, I just need to mix them together in the right proportion. The first mixture is a derivation of what Jarrett took earlier, I need him to be open to my suggestion but at the same time highly energized, almost ravenous, instead of lethargic. This part is tricky and I mix the ingredients that go into Jarrett’s powder carefully all while praying that I’m combining them in the right proportion.

After all, I’m not a pharmacist by trade and I find the thought that God may be willing to help me as funny as anything I’ve heard. Then again, the Old Testament s full of all kinds of nasty acts so, you never know, maybe He is actually rooting for me to succeed. Jarrett’s powder is done and I find that Mom’s powder is easier to create; it’s just a mix of a mental stimulant and a physical paralytic, something that will keep the elegant Mrs. Kressel wide awake for hours yet almost completely unable to move much less get up and run away. With these out of the way, my task becomes much more complex, I need to find and purchase the latest in both video capture and film photography which, in the early months of 1942, wasn’t nearly as prolific as it is today. I flip the Yellow Pages open to cameras and look for the biggest ad; once again I’ve come away lucky, the shop isn’t far from the base. I jump in my car and I’m driving too fast, I’m preoccupied with what I’m forgetting. After all, there has to be something; I can’t be so simple as just two different drugs, two cameras and a single telephone call, can it? The traffic is light which isn’t so surprising, Oahu then isn’t like Oahu today and, soon, I’m parking next to the sidewalk directly in front of the camera shop, all while knowing that I won’t be able to settle down until after the deed is done. Yet, I somehow force myself to relax in the camera store, I don’t need the store clerk remembering me as a nut.

So I smile and walk to the counter and the salesman’s face lights up when I tell him I want the best in both video and still photography cameras. I walk out of there with a brand new Williamson G45 for still photography and, for film, a 16mm Swiss-made Bolex H16. My wallet is now over $100 dollars lighter but I don’t mind because I’m actually quite wealthy. I’ve watched every penny since I first started working and my only vice has been the breaking of women and, now, all that extra cash is starting to pay off. As the clerk is packaging up my purchases, I remember trying to look out the front store window without it being too clear just what I am doing. After all, I don’t want any passersby noticing me, a black man, loading expensive camera equipment into my nice car. It’s just the sort of thing that, in 1940s Oahu, wouldn’t just stick in someone’s mind but also might get people to talk. In the end, it’s impossible to get a clear view of the sidewalk on either side of the store without drawing suspicion to myself and I have to be content with what I’ve always done before, acting like what I’m doing is the most natural thing in the world and then just hoping it’s enough to not draw

undue attention. Luckily, my parking spot is right in front of the store so the two cameras are out the front door and in the trunk of my car in under two minutes. Then, I’m on my way back to the base, ready to pick up my powders and then go break Mrs. Kressel. I’m back way before I need to be and it’s agony having to wait. While I want to be clear headed when I go there, I’m so

excited that the adrenaline coursing through my veins has me bouncing off the walls like a pinball. To counteract this, I resign myself to doing calisthenics until I drop; I do push-ups, sit-ups, deep knee bends, jumping jacks and pull ups until I’m almost too weak to stand. Now I’m needing another shower so I swallow down a quick large gulp of whiskey to help take the remaining edge off; and then go take the hottest shower I can without burning my skin. I finish it off with 3 minutes of the faucet turned all the way to cold, this both wakes me up and clears my head as well as anything will. I still feel incredibly wired but at least now I think I can coherently function. One more gulp of whiskey and then I brush my teeth and rinse with mouthwash, it won’t do to show on Mrs. Kressel’s front door step stinking of alcohol. Now I’m just about all the way better and I calmly redress in a full uniform, pat my pocket multiple times to make sure I still have my powders with me and then head out the door, my stomach quivering from both the alcohol and nervous about what I’m going to try and pull off. The Kressel’s is such a short distance away that it’s almost ridiculous to drive there but I can’t be seen walking down the street, my two cameras in tow, so it’s off in the car I go. I’m pulling up in front of her house just a few minutes later and I have to dig my nails into my palms just to try and calm my nerves. Moving the cameras from my trunk to the door is, once again, unnerving but there’s no way around it. Somehow, I’m sure Debbie’s neighborhood is filled with a bunch of loser busy bodies who, every time they hear a car door slam out in the street, rush to their windows and peek out, as if they’re just dying to know what sort of sordid affair in which the people next door are about to engage. However, maybe, I think, I can turn this fact to my advantage. Maybe the threat of gossipy neighbors is a fear I can use against Debbie in the future; something that will be useful when I’m trying to force her to do all the things she finds most horrific. I file that thought away for later because she’s then answering the door and giving me a baleful glare; poor, stupid, gorgeous Debbie is either unwilling or unable to hide her contempt for me. It must be hard for her, I remember thinking back then, because despite my best efforts, I’m sure her subconscious mind can sense just what a perverted monster I am at my core. Still, I try to be nice and I ignore her baleful stare. Instead, I provide her with my most inviting smile, as if we are old friends and she is my favorite person in the world. She’s now dressed in a cranberry ankle length skirt and white peasant {c} blouse top, and although I can’t see them, I’m still sure that beneath those sensible black shoes, and rising up and over the swell of her pragmatic white panties, Mrs. Kressel is still wearing the same sheer nude pantyhose that drove me mad earlier today.

“Hello Mrs. Kressel, so nice to see you again.”

To me, my voice sounds too loud and too sing-songy and I worry that she notices and already knows something is up. If she does notice though, her face doesn’t show any indication of it but her expression is anything but happy. I know she doesn’t like the fact that I’m at her house or that other people may find out that her son is suffering with psychological issues. Other than the

people that already know of course but, as far as I am aware, so far, that is just me and her, her son and, I suppose, her husband.

“Hello Doctor Crusher,” says Debbie without sounding the least bit surprised or relieved, “to what do my son and I owe this honor?”

She steps aside and holds the door open for me and I enter her home. It’s certainly not the only thing of hers that I’m dying to enter, and now it becomes much clearer to her that I’m carrying, in each hand, one of my the two camera cases I’ve brought with me.

“What are those” Debbie immediately asks, her voice sounding accusatory and suspicious.

“These are my cameras Mrs. Kressel-”

The happiness is gone from my voice and I’m trying to sound as serious and as authoritative as I can. This has just got to work, if it doesn’t, I’m just going to ache over the missed opportunity for the rest of my miserable life.

“-I brought them so that I can show you the film recordings I made of your son during our therapy session today. Once you’ve watched the videos-”

“I didn’t say you could make any films of my son,” Debbie now says interrupting me. Any pretense of manners or happiness is now gone from her voice. In its place is anger and, as I was hoping, an obvious note of palpable fear.

“What gives you the right-”

It’s now my turn to interrupt her and I can feel my anger rising. God she’s such a pain in the ass that it’s getting harder and harder to put off making her my slave.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t make any recordings of your son either and honestly if you didn’t want me to you should have said so. Now do you want my help or not because if you don’t I can recommend someone off base for you but the Navy won’t pay for it and, in addition to your husband questioning you as to why he’s paying for medical care when the Navy gives it to him for free, I’m sure it’s quickly going to become known by everyone here on the base that your son has serious mental health issues. Is that what you want Mrs. Kressel? To hear those whispers behind you in the supermarket checkout line? All those other ladies telling each other that you’re the mom with the crazy son? I’m sure you know how cruel women can be sometimes. Finally, is that what you want for your husband? For him to be the laughingstock of the entire Naval base? For everyone to know that he’s the one with the crazy son? And that his wife couldn’t keep it private? And that on top of all that, that he has to pay for it? Is that what you want Mrs. Kressel? For your entire family to be the laughingstock of all of Pearl Harbor?”

She looks at me with her jaw clenched and her lips starting to tremble. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve gone too far. That any moment she’s going to order me out of her house and, who knows, maybe try to file a complaint against me with the Pearl Harbor Base Commander. I’ve got to salvage this situation and, luckily, with a background in human psychology I know just how to do it.

“Or,” I now say much more calmly, trying my hardest to have a soothing and hypnotic voice. This demeanor will later come to be known as good cop in the whole good cop, bad cop routine.

“As it’s been such a long trying day, you can go make us both a cup of tea and we can sit and sip it and try to relax and, as pleasantly as possible, discuss just what exactly is troubling your son and how we’re going to help him get better. Doesn’t that sound like the better of the two options?”

These two choices are miles apart in terms of unpleasantness and I’m betting I know which one my fair sweet Debbie will pick even before she does. She continues to waver for another moment, standing in front of me and not saying anything. Up until this point she had continued to hold my gaze but, as her eyes became moist and her clenched jaw started to tremble, those beautiful green eyes dropped to the floor signaling what I hoped would be her first of many surrenders.