Free Jungle Rules by Charles W. Henderson Page A

he’s slouching even when he stands straight. Just having him seated at the defense table was bad enough. He would have been a disaster on the witness stand. He looked and sounded like some two-bit hood from a B-class gangster movie.”
    “Sounds more like that character Gomez, from The Addams Family cartoons, you know the one that Charles Addams draws in The New Yorker magazine. Not so much like the Gomez Addams that John Astin plays on the television series, but the cartoon guy,” O’Connor said, leaning on his side and training his eyes at Kirkwood on the bunk next to him.
    “That or Peter Lorre, you know from the 1942 movie Casablanca , with Claude Rains, Ingrid Bergman, and Humphrey Bogart,” Kirkwood said, looking back at O’Connor.
    “Yeah, Rick’s Café Américain, the usual suspects, and play it again, Sam,” O’Connor said, focused on his pal and completely ignoring Carter, who now stopped pacing and stood with his arms folded, glaring impatiently at the two fellow captains.
    “But Peter Lorre didn’t have a mustache,” O’Connor continued, not giving Carter a glance. “He had the creepy eyes, but clean above the lip. Granted that Lorre would have made a better-looking Gomez, though, than John Astin. You know, more like the Addams cartoon guy, but he’s not the comedian that Astin is, so I guess it’s a wash. John Astin’s eyes and smile, though, as Gomez, kill me. The way Astin went after Carolyn Jones all the time, you know, Morticia Addams, kissing her up the arm, that’s classic stuff.”
    “Well, think of a skinny Peter Lorre, quite a bit taller, with a very narrow Gomez Addams mustache and slicked-back, ink-black hair, and you have Raymond Zelinski,” Carter said, once again steering the attention of his two colleagues back to the discussion of his case.
    “Little Richard has a mustache like that!” Kirkwood said, smiling at O’Connor and then at Carter. “Just hit me. You sure this character isn’t a little light in the loafers?”
    “No. ‘This character,’ as you call him,” Carter said, now getting frustrated with the trivial interruptions, “got railroaded today, purely on those odd looks.”
    “How so?” O’Connor said, returning his focus to Carter. “I know that prejudice played a part, but come on. Even the most bonehead Marine grunts would need more than looks to convict.”
    “Oh, there was quite a bit more, thanks to Heyster,” Carter said, again pacing as he spoke. “If I wasn’t up against a wall with Zelinski’s looks and demeanor, leave it to Charlie the shyster to put the whipped cream and cherry on top.”
    “This has got to be good, the way you’ve bled me on this,” O’Connor said, lying back on his bunk.
    “Well, Zelinski has his odd looks, and as such has absolutely no friends,” Carter said, now stopped between O’Connor’s and Kirkwood’s racks, his hands resting on his hips. “I can sympathize with him, because I have endured similar prejudices. At any rate, Zelinski is walking guard duty at Da Nang Air Base, and the corporal of the guard checks his post, gives him a shot of coffee from his thermos, and shoots the breeze with Zelinski while he drinks it. Just before he leaves he asks Raymond if he smoked pot. Zelinski tells him that he has never tried it, so the corporal offers him a single marijuana cigarette. Wanting to be cooperative, cool, and one of the guys, the dumb lance corporal accepts the joint.”
    “Guilty as charged,” Kirkwood said, looking up at Carter. “Possession, whether you like it or not.”
    “Not so fast,” Carter said. “The corporal of the guard had no more than driven from the scene, and Zelinski still had the joint in his hand when the military police swooped down on him from nowhere with three jeeps, and Zelinski’s gunny in tow.”
    “I smell a rat,” O’Connor said, sitting up. “Zelinski’s gunny does not like our boy Raymond, does he.”
    “Precisely,” Carter said. “When they took