Knowing A Hawk From A Handsaw

Chapter 1

I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is
southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Hamlet, Act II, Scene ii

“Hannibal, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Face sat in the back seat of the van, buttoning up a red flannel shirt he had found in a Goodwill bin. “I mean, visiting hours? Look, even if Lynch doesn’t actually have MPs waiting at the hospital for us to show up, he’s at least told the hospital staff to keep an eye out for us.”

“I agree with Face,” B.A. said from behind wheel. “This is crazy. Maybe we shoulda got you checked into the looney bin too.”

Hannibal held out his hand in Face’s direction, in which Face automatically placed a cigar. “Are you suggesting we leave our man behind?” His voice took on a dangerous edge.

Face looked suitably offended. “Of course not, Hannibal,” he said, matching his tone to his expression. “We’re just saying that marching in the front door and seeing Murdock during regularly scheduled visiting hours seems a bit foolhardy...couldn’t we...I don’t know, find his room and climb in through the window or something?”

“Face, if military history has taught us anything, it’s that the direct frontal assault is always the best approach. Consider, for example, Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg. Brilliant strategist, Pickett...” Hannibal grinned and chomped at his cigar. “Do you have the box of stuff we got together for Murdock?”

Face narrowed his eyes as something occurred to him. “Hannibal, Pickett’s men were slaughtered at Gettysburg...and they lost the battle. Even I know that.”

“Don’t change the subject, Lieutenant. Do you have the box?”

“What? Yeah, it’s right here,” Face said.

“Here, I have one last thing,” Hannibal said, handing Face a small hardback book from his jacket pocket. It was a fancy, expensive-looking edition with leather binding and gold-trimmed pages.

Face opened the cover to look at the title page. He frowned. “Do you really think this--”

B.A.’s voice cut off his protest. “We’re here, Hannibal.”

---

Face entered the VA through the hospital’s main entrance. Seeing the nurse’s station, he adjusted his baseball cap and strode on over.

“Howdy, missy,” he said to the young nurse sitting at the desk. He hoped his accent was convincing; he tried to imitate Murdock’s soft Texas drawl. “I’m here to see my brother; he’s in your--” Here he glanced around the lobby furtively and lowered his voice to a loud stage whisper “--psychiatric ward.” He flashed a smile, praying his brand-new dental caps would prove to be worth the investment.

The young blonde smiled sympathetically and picked up the phone on the desk. “Charlie, a fella’s here to go upstairs,” she said into it. “Charlie will be here in a second to take you on up,” she told Face.

“What did I do to merit special escort?” Face asked, grinning.

“It’s a locked ward, sir, you can only get in or out if you have a special key for the elevator.”

“Oh.” A burly orderly, presumably Charlie, approached the desk. “You going upstairs?” he asked Face. Face nodded.

“This way,” Charlie instructed, allowing Face to precede him down a hallway to their left.

Face surveyed the hospital hallway with quick glances that did not betray the great amount of detail he was absorbing; he noted the locations of exits, windows, and fire alarms as Charlie led him to the elevators. Hannibal had never explicitly mentioned the possibility that they would break Murdock out of the VA, but Face knew that in essence, this was a recon mission. He was here to collect information: information about the hospital, and about Murdock’s condition.

They got into an elevator, and Face watched with interest as Charlie took a key from his ring and turned it in a keyhole that was in place of one of the regular elevator buttons. The elevator jerked and started to move.

“So,” Face addressed the orderly, “what should I expect up there? Are the patients messed up real bad? Are they violent?”

Charlie grunted. “Some are,” he said. “But there’s nothing to worry about...most of those that are violent are violent only towards themselves. We had a suicide last week...man managed to get the bars off a window and jump out. Real shame.”

Face glanced as the floor numbers above the elevator door lit up in turn...7...8...9... “Well, I reckon you’d have less of a problem with that if you moved the ward off of the top floor,” he guffawed.

The orderly just looked at him, and Face noticed with some surprise the sadness in the man’s eyes. The “12” light dinged and the elevator doors opened. “Here we are, sir. Have a nice visit.”

The first thing Face noticed when he stepped off the elevator was the smell. He couldn’t quite place it, but he thought there were the odors of latex, urine, and antiseptic all mixed in. It was nauseating, and for a second Face thought he would vomit. Get a grip, Lieutenant, he berated himself. You’ve got a mission to carry out.

He walked over to yet another nurse’s station; this one stood beside a steel cage-like door that blocked off a corridor of doors with wire-grilled windows. He placed the box he was carrying on the counter. “Howdy,” he said to nurse at the desk, touching the brim of his cap. “I’m here to see my brother. H. M. Murdock.”

The nurse shuffled through some papers in front of her and frowned. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry. “Mr. Murdock isn’t allowed any visitors.”

“But it’s visiting hours,” Face protested, pointing to clock that hung above the nurse’s station.

“Yes, but Mr. Murdock isn’t currently allowed visitors at any time of day,” the nurse replied.

“Why in the hell not?” Face sputtered. His indignation went nicely with the role he was playing, but Face was truly upset. He hoped that Murdock’s involvement with the Hanoi bank job didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Murdock wasn’t allowed visitors.

“It’s standard procedure with new patients,” the nurse explained calmly. “They can’t have visitors until the doctor feels they’ve made sufficient progress.”

“Oh. Could I talk with Mur—my brother’s doctor?”

“I’m afraid he’s not here right now. I’m sorry.”

“Surely some sort of exception can be made, Nurse--” Face glanced at her nametag—“Nurse Dreis. I came all the way from Houston.” Face flashed a smile like he had done with the nurse in the lobby and leaned in on the counter, closer to her face.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse repeated.

Face opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a loud clanging noise from his right that made him jump. A disheveled man in a bathrobe had a hold of the metal cage and was shaking it violently. “You’re one of them!” he said in a low voice to Face. “A spy for the gooks, I can see it in your eyes, it’s always in the eyes.” The man began to throw himself against the metal partition, again and again. “Get...out! Get...out!” he shouted, his voice becoming a hysterical sob.

By this time two orderlies arrived behind the man, and, placing the struggling man’s arms in a basket hold, dragged him away. The man continued to scream at Face. “Traitor!” he spat. “Dirty traitor!”

Face just watched, mouth hanging slightly open. He heard the nurse clear her throat beside him.

“Oh, uh...well, could I at least leave these things my family and I have put together for him?” he asked.

“I’ll have to go through it,” she answered.

“Sure, sure, go ahead,” Face said. As he opened up the box he noticed his hands were trembling.

Nurse Dreis began to take out the objects from the box and inspect them, one by one. She flipped through the comic books Face had packed, and checked the pockets of Murdock’s leather jacket that the team had saved for him. She frowned slightly when she came to several bottles of milk, but just checked to see that they tightly sealed.

Face smiled to himself as he remembered catching B.A. sneak the bottles of milk into the box when he thought no one was looking; he had previously refused to give anything to “that crazy fool.” When he noticed Face watching him, he had stuttered a bit awkwardly, “I jus’ want him to keep his strength up in case we gotta break him out. They prob’ly only serve powdered milk at the V.A.”

Face’s reminiscing was cut off by a flapping noise. He turned to see the nurse holding the book Hannibal had given him upside down by the covers, shaking it out. “Hey,” he said, “You’ll break the spine. That book ain’t cheap.”

“I have to check to make sure nothing is hidden in it,” the nurse replied. “Once someone smuggled razor blades inside a book’s binding.”

“Razor--” Face started, and then understood the nurse’s implication. “Just what kind of person do you think I am?” he hissed fiercely, balling his hands into fists. “Do you think I’d--” He stopped abruptly as he saw the nurse’s eyes widen. Face realized that in his anger he had broken character, shedding his accent and practiced mannerisms. Damn damn damn.

I’d better wrap this up and get out of here. “Well, thank you, Nurse,” he said, resuming his Texas drawl. “I reckon I’ll skidaddle.” She looked at him doubtfully and came around the desk to open the elevator door with her key.

As Face stepped onto the elevator, the sound of an anguished wail drifted down from somewhere inside the ward. Murdock? Face thought, snapping his head to look down the corridor. There was no one in sight.

The elevator dinged softly. 10...9...8... No, Face told himself. That wasn’t Murdock. It couldn’t have been.