Tower Tales 2

Inspection

Answering the telephone, “Tower!”

“Lippy!”

“Yeah, Minnie?”

“I think the old man’s on his way to you!”

“When’d he leave?”

“Beats the shit out’a me. He had a call, and when I paged him he didn’t answer. Only thing I can figure is he’s pulling a surprise inspection on you.”

“Thanks, Minnie.” Slamming the phone down, “Shit!” A surprise visit! Pulling the radio plug, The bastard! Glancing towards the road, throwing the trapdoor back, wrapping the cord around the radio, he bound down the steep flight of steel steps. Could be just around the bend and I’d never see the fucker ’til he’s here. Kneeling on the landing, reaching beneath, taking precious seconds he set the radio between the two sets of upper and lower bolts that formed the unseen compartment, then rushed up the steps and through the hatch just as…

Amid a cloud of sand and dust, the Chevy skidded to a stop.

Hoping to catch him sleeping or with contraband, pushing the door open, Ewing stepped out just as….

“Hi, Captain!”

Scowling, “Fuck!” Ewing plodded through the sandy earth.

In the tower, grabbing a foul-weather flag, Mitchell dusted the radio-transmitter, telephone and desk. Folding the flag, he replaced it beneath the desk with the other signal flags. Glancing towards the ocean, timing it an hour earlier, he made the same sea swell entry he’d made the hour before.

Thunk. “Lipensky!” Ewing hit the underside of the hatch again. “You’re standing on the god-damned hatch!”

Taking a deep breath, “Sorry, Captain.” Moving off the hatch, grasping the inset brass ring, Mitchell pulled the trapdoor open to a huffing, Floyd Richard Ewing.

As Ewing stepped into the shack, Mitchell let the trapdoor slam shut.

“Thought I saw something out there and got so absorbed I forgot you were heading up.”

“Yeah, sure you did, Lipensky.”

Standing a moment, visually inspecting the shack, he then ran his finger over the transmitter, desk and telephone. Finding no dust, he said nothing. Looking at the day’s log entries, Ewing back-paged two or three days and, seeing nothing amiss, let the pages settle back to the present day.

Surprise inspections were made by Ewing only during daylight hours. First off, at night it was almost impossible to leave the building without the man on the switchboard seeing him and calling ahead. Secondly, no one in his right mind would drive the twisting, bumpy, four miles of Rockaway Beach Boulevard with the headlights turned off. And, if the headlights were turned on, and the watch spotted them, which, unless he was asleep, he most assuredly would, and would have enough time to run downstairs and hide whatever he had, that he shouldn’t have, beneath a rock and be back in the shack before he had the tower in sight. Besides, the thought of walking two hundred yards from the road to the tower in total or near-total darkness, then climbing the fifty-seven steep, steel stairs in the black of night was repugnant to Warrant Officer Floyd Richard Ewing.

Standing behind him, watching as Mitchell scanned the horizon with the binoculars, “Think you’re shittin’ me, Lipensky?”

Lowering the binoculars, looking at Ewing, “Excuse me, Sir?”

“Pretending to be some kind of a perfect Coast Guard Seaman, are you Lipensky?”

Not understanding what he was getting at, “Me, Sir? No, Sir,” he said. “Not at all, Sir.”

“You ain’t got anything hid up here, do you, Lipensky?”

“Of course not, Sir.”

“No one called and told you I was coming, did they, Lipensky?”

“No, Sir. Of course not, Sir.”

“Someday, Lipensky!”

“Why?”

Surprised at the unexpected question, “Why, what?”

The binoculars hanging by its strap, attempting to keep the anger from his voice, knowing full well why, “Why are you always on my back?” Mitchell asked, wanting to hear Ewing say it to his face. “I’ve never done anything wrong. Anything really wrong since I’ve been here. So why are you always on my back,” adding, “Sir?”

“Why, Lipensky? I’ll tell you why!”

He wanted to say: Because you’re a fucking Jew! Because you’re a fucking sheeny! Because you’re a fucking kike!

And… And because… Jesus Christ! Warrant Officer Floyd Richard Ewing thought, I want to suck your cock! That’s why I hate your fucking guts.

But instead, “Because you’re a fuck-up, Lipensky!” Afraid to say more, turning from him, reaching for the ring, pulling the hatch open, taking four steps downward, turning back, he looked at Mitchell.

Their eyes locking, the older man below and younger man above stared at each other until…

The knowledge of Ewing’s prejudice aside, unable to, remotely, comprehend the real reason for Ewing’s hatred of him—or love for him—having no idea why the older man’s dark look chilled him, frightened him, Mitchell’s eyes dropped first.

Still, staring at him… Looking away after another five long seconds, taking two steps down…

Hating this man more than he thought he was capable of hating anyone, as Ewing’s head cleared the hatch… As Ewing’s head barely cleared the hatch, purposely allowing the heavy wooden hatch to slam shut… Actually, putting his weight behind it, Mitchell slammed the hatch shut.

The loudly slamming hatch missing his head—barely—startled him, causing Ewing to almost lose his grip on the handrails.

His stomach quaking at what he’d almost done, what, actually, he had wanted to do, “Sorry, Captain,” Mitchell said through his teeth, “it slipped.”

Jesus, knowing, if I’d been one step higher… But also knowing there was no way he could prove that Mitchell had purposely slammed the hatch. “Yeah, Lipensky,” Ewing said sarcastically, “I’ll bet it did!”

Doing his best not to sound sarcastic, “Yes, Sir, Captain Ewing, Sir!”

Going on a hunch, Mitchell did not retrieve the radio, and sure enough, within a half-hour—still shaken by the near miss of his head by the slamming hatch, having stopped at Pete’s Tavern for two fast ones—the car came roaring around the bend and, its rear wheels locking, shimmied to a stop.

“Captain Ewing, Sir!” Calling through his cupped hands. “Hi!”

Warrant Officer Floyd Richard Ewing stood by the open door of the car looking at the figure on the catwalk of the tower, Fuckin’ kike! who in turn was looking at him through the binoculars. With a gesture of contempt, “Shit!” he said. Dropping back onto the seat, starting the engine, putting the car into gear he drove back to the station.

(A "Becoming" Excerpt)