"A goddamn recruiter lied to me," Hart blurted.
"No shit?" McCoy replied sarcastically. "I thought a cop would be smarter than that."
"This was a clever sonofabitch," Hart said, and a split second later remembered to append, "Sir."
"What did he tell you?" McCoy asked.
"That The Corps wanted guys who had been cops to be sort of cops for The Corps, Sir."
"And you believed him?"
"I believed the sonofabitch who told me I'd get a commission when I got through here," Moore said.
He's drunk, Hart realized.
"You have a commission." McCoy chuckled.
"Yeah, now."
"You're plastered," McCoy added, still chuckling, as if the realization pleased him. "You've been an officer forty-eight hours and already you're guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. Try not to fall out of bed."
"Fuck you, McCoy." McCoy shook his head and turned to Hart.
"You know what a full background investigation is?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I want straight answers now. Don't try to be clever. If we ran one on you, what would it turn up?" Hart considered the question. Before he had formed a reply, McCoy went on.
"You're German, right? You or anybody in your family ever been involved with the German-American Bund? Anything like that?"
"No, Sir."
"How about the Communist Party? You, or anybody close, family, friends, ever been involved with that? Maybe the Abraham Lincoln Brigade?"
"No, Sir."
"Now don't get hot under the collar, but you're not a secret faggot, are you?"
"Jesus Christ, McCoy!" Moore complained.
"Are you?"
"No, Sir."
"How do you feel about rich people?"
"Excuse me?"
"How do you feel about rich people. I mean, really rich people?"
"I never met any," Hart replied, hesitated, and added, "Sir."
"The Lieutenant is asking," Moore explained, carefully pronouncing each syllable, "if you would be comfortable working with someone who is enormously wealthy, or whether you would disgrace the crotch by pissing in the potted palms."
What the fuck is this all about?
McCoy laughed.
"He doesn't usually get this pissed on a couple of drinks. I'm beginning to be sorry I brought you down here with me."
"I'm not pissed," Moore said. "How could I possibly be pissed? I've only had two or three little nips."
"You answer the question," McCoy said. "How do you think... could he work with the General?"
"I think the General would like him," Moore said. "But then, I have been wrong before."
"Hart, what we're looking for is someone to be a bodyguard for a general. The General is not going to like the idea of having a bodyguard. Could you handle something like that?"
"I didn't know generals had bodyguards," Hart blurted.
"Most of them don't. This one needs one."
"I really don't know."
"Your other option is taking your piece on a ship and going to a line company in someplace like Guadalcanal," Moore said. "They shoot people on Guadalcanal. It smarts when they shoot you."
"You've gone too far," McCoy flared. "Shut your fucking mouth!"
"Aye, aye, Sir," Moore said and threw McCoy an insulting mockery of a salute.
"The other qualification is the ability to keep your mouth shut," McCoy said to Hart.
"I think I could do that," Hart said.
"Yeah, so do I," McCoy said. "OK. Decision made. If you don't get along with... the officer we're talking about, we'll find something else for you to do. But one last time, if a CBI turns up something you're concealing from me, I will personally guarantee that you'll spend the rest of the war in an infantry line company."
"No, Sir. I know there's nothing in my background that would keep me from getting a security clearance. That's what you're talking about, isn't it? A Secret Clearance?"
"No," McCoy said. "Not Secret. We start with Secret and go up from there. Go find the sergeant major, would you, and ask him to come in here?"
"Aye, aye, Sir." It took Hart several minutes to find Sergeant Major Osgood and Staff Sergeant Hungleberry. When they went back to the room, Lieutenant Moore was throwing up into a wastebasket.
"Jesus!" Sergeant Major Osgood said.
"I took him out of the Naval Hospital in Philadelphia, Teddy," McCoy explained. "That was dumb. He's not nearly as healthy as he thinks he is. He took some nasty mortar hits on the `Canal."