Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair
“Seems the lads on the Shanghai owe her money. When she asked for it they tossed her over.”
“Guess we must have run up a bill with her, too. Maybe we can help her collect and square our accounts?”
Eddie flexed his powerful muscles. “Two minds with a single thought. But she says 'her man' will handle it. He's Henri Dubon.”
“Who's that?”
“You've seen him around, tall and soft, sharp-faced, always wearing a dirty linen suit and a tie. Pimp and tourist shill.”
“Oh—him.” I'd certainly seen him about—he was all over Papeete. I'd heard he had come to Papeete before the war as a minor government clerk, fresh from Paris. Then during World War II he had spent several years with the American troops in the Pacific—in what capacity nobody ever knew or could imagine—but he had returned to Papeete in 'forty-nine firmly imbued with the spirit of the fast buck.
The sun was making me sleepy and I kicked off my sneak-ears and half-watched a tubby old schooner heading for the pass. Eddie asked, “Pass the Post Office and see the sailing schedules? We might outsail one of these old loads, reach some copra first.”
“I will—later. I've had a hard night.”
Eddie nodded along the deck where Heru was sleeping peacefully beside the phonograph, the shirt tails way above her delightful middle. I gazed at her and thought how little this girl and I had in common. Now, with Ruita it would be different—only maybe too different. With Heru, if I ever pulled up and left, the tears would be short and then— aita peapea, and settling down with the next man. And who was to say which attitude was the more intelligent?
I was too sleepy to argue, even with myself. The next thing I knew Eddie was shaking me awake. I yawned and asked what was up. Eddie nodded toward the quay and said, “Watch this.”
Monsieur Henri Dubon was marching toward our boat. He walked with short, nervous, maybe authoritative, steps. His white-grey shirt was stained with sweat, as was his tight linen suit and straw hat Heru was watching him with little interest and I wondered how Dubon knew where she was. Dubon carried a battered briefcase under his arm and when I asked Eddie, “What's he got in the bag?” Eddie said, “Probably his underwear—looks like a briefcase hustler.”
We had a plank running from the stern of the Hooker to the quay—there's not much of a rise or fall in the tide at Papeete. Dubon marched up the plank and told me in English with a heavy French accent, which was probably his tourist special tone: “I am Mr. Henri Dubon and I have business with my girl.” He pointed a dirty fingernail toward Heru.
“Business is business,” I said with a mock bow.
“You are American?” Dubon asked, the accent dropping from his plain hard English.
He knew I was an American; it was part of the petty gossip blanket covering the Papeete waterfront. I said I was an American and introduced myself and Eddie. Henri shook hands with me, nodded at Eddie, then barked in Tahitian at Heru, “Where is the money?”
She explained about not getting it and Henri shouted, “You can not fool me with such childish lies!” and started for Heru. Eddie tripped him without seeming to move his bare feet. Dubon sprawled on our deck, dropping his briefcase which would have skidded over the side if I hadn't grabbed it. Eddie said, “Aboard this ship no one hits a lady without permission from the captain—that's me. And Heru tells the truth. She swam over here after they threw her off the Shanghai. She had no money on her. She had nothing on.
Henri stared up at Eddie's tough face, asked with almost servile respect in his voice, “You speak okay English. Hawaiian?”
It was comical the way Dubon kept up this polite game. Everybody in town also knew Eddie was Hawaiian. Eddie nodded and from the way he looked at the Frenchman it was obvious he didn't like him.
Henri got to his feet, brushed his suit, fixed his straw hat on his head once more. I handed him his briefcase. He asked Heru, “How much do the lying swine owe you?”
She shrugged. “I cannot remember.”
Henri swore in French, turned and informed me in English, “These natives have the business sense of children.” Then he told Heru in Tahitian, “You were there all day. I will demand a thousand francs and settle for not a franc less than eight hundred. Wait here. And get dressed—an English yacht is expected this afternoon.” Henri opened his briefcase and pulled out a new red and white pareu cloth, which he tossed at Heru. Then he took out a pocketknife, half opened the blade, and put it back in his pocket.
He marched off our ship and down the quay to the Shanghai.
Heru giggled and Eddie relit his cigar, said, “Lot of hot air.”
“Looks like he might be handy with that cheese sticker.”
“Sure. In a dark alley he'd be a wiz at giving it to you in the back.”
The Shanghai had what might be called a regular gangplank and Henri marched up that, was met by Teng, the super cargo. We could see much waving of hands as they talked. I saw Buck, the big Swede, come out of his cabin to see what the fuss was about. A moment later Henri was flying over the rail, frantically clutching at the air as he hit the water backside first. There was some laughter from the deck of the Shanghai although Dubon wasn't much of a swimmer.
Heru dived in and helped him to our boat. When we got him on deck I noticed his left eye was starting to swell. He was cursing in hysterical French as he went through his pockets and held up a ruined fountain pen and some wet papers. Finally, shaking his fist at the Shanghai, Henri screamed what to his mind was the lowest of all insults: “Your mother was the world's cheapest whore!”
Heru helped him off with his wet clothes and he stood shivering in white drawers, looking ridiculously pale from the neck down. She stripped and squeezed the water out of her hair, then went down to the cabin and came back with a towel to dry herself and Henri. The sun finished the job and Henri took a mirror and a comb out of his wet suit, started to comb his thin sandy hair. When he saw the swollen eye was turning a red-purple he started to scream and cry. “I will be the laughing stock of Papeete!” he moaned. “I cannot show my face for days and I have much business to do.”
Eddie found a fish he had stored in the shade of the cabin, dipped it in the water, then tore it in half, told Dubon, “Hold the insides to your eye and keep it wet. The black eye will hardly be noticeable in a couple of hours.” Eddie was sort of rocking on the balls of his feet and I knew he was getting ready to fight. He put on his sneakers as he told Henri, “You stay here. Ill collect the thousand francs owed Heru.”
“A million thanks, my friend!” Dubon said, looking like a surrealist picture with the raw fish on his eye. “I will gladly pay you a commission for—”
“Shove the commission. Heru has already paid us that. Anybody pays a commission it will be the whoever hired Heru.”
“That yellow bastard, Teng, the—”
“Cut the 'yellow' slop,” Eddie growled. He motioned to Heru and me. “Come on.”
We walked slowly toward the big schooner, the supercargo and several sailors watching us. As we came up the gangplank the supercargo said, “I am Mr. Tom Teng, supercargo of the Shanghai.”
“I am Captain Eddie Romanos of the Hooker,” Eddie told him very politely. “This young lady is a very special friend of mine and she claims you owe her two thousand francs. I am here to collect—without too much talk.”
Mr. Teng was wearing shoes, clean white duck pants and a new yellow T-shirt. He was tall for a Chinaman, and wiry. He carefully ran his eyes over Eddie's face and muscles, said in French, “I see you are a fighter. I warn you, I am a Judo man.”
“Good for you,” Eddie answered in English. “Two thousand francs.”
I was watching the two sailors, both short and stocky, figuring I could bring them down with a tackle, when Teng turned his back on Eddie and said to me in Tahitian, “I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. This—”
“Talk to me, I'm handling this!” Eddie cut in.
The Swede appeared in the doorway of his cabin, his big body more than filling the door. He looked like a scrapper but at the moment there was an amused look on his pointed puss, as though he was at a ringside seat.
Teng said to Eddie, “In any event there has been a mistake made. The young lady was well paid in wine and food for—her services. Also, the price agreed upon was one thousand francs and...”
“My services call for another thousand,” Eddie said.
“... and this pretty creature has a tank for a stomach. She consumed well over the price agreed upon in spirits and food, especially in food. Therefore, as I explained to her pimp before throwing him off my ship—”
“Told you I came for the money, without too much talk,” Eddie said and drew back his right fist. Teng moved like a cat as he lunged for Eddie's right hand, only Eddie jerked it back and swiftly crossed a sizzling left to Teng's chin. Eddie could hook—the punch sent Mr. Teng several feet in the air and he was out cold before his body crashed on the deck.
Heru said, “Oh!” and both sailors stared at Eddie with big eyes. One of them—a Malayan I think—went for a knife in his waist cloth and before I could move, Eddie's left flicked out and sent the man stumbling backwards, holding his stomach, as Eddie growled in Tahitian, “Don't be a fool!”
Eddie knelt next to the still body of Mr. Teng, removed a thick wallet and a roll of bills, counted out two thousand francs. The second sailor moved and I stepped toward him— I was about twice his size and scared him badly. At this point Buck roared in Tahitian, “Leave him alone!”
The big Swede came over to us and I wondered if he was talking to me but he told the sailor to beat it, and I was relieved—Buck was several inches above my six-foot-three. Eddie pocketed the two thousand francs, gently kicked the rest of the money at Teng's face. Eddie straightened up and didn't even come to Buck's shoulders. Eddie said softly, “Don't come too close. I don't like to be crowded.”
The Swede held his big hands—and they were big—loosely at his sides and stared down at Eddie with hard eyes. Then he laughed, covering us all with a mild spray, and touched Teng with one of his shiny shoes. Buck said in French, “You are robbing us but I think it is worth it. All the time he reads books on this Judo and in the first real scrap—is he dead?”
With perfect timing Teng rolled over and sat up, worked his chin. Then he got the roll of bills in focus, pounced on them, quickly stuffed the money and the wallet into a pocket I was surprised he didn't count the francs.
Buck said to me, “Your boy has a magnificent punch.”
“I'm not his boy!” Eddie snapped in English. “I'm Captain Romanos of the Hooker, also co-owner of the boat!”
Buck held up a great hand, said in broken English, “Sorry, I no speak much Eng-lash.”
Eddie said to me, out of the side of his big mouth, “What a bird-beak he has for a puss! Made for a belt on the nose, wreck his whole damn silly face!”
Buck flushed as he told us in French, “That I understand!” Then he said to me, over Eddie's head, “Some of the worst features of our European civilization have clung to these people.”
“What European civilization?” I asked to annoy him. “Europe has no civilization, it's dead, starving.”
“Sir, I am talking of Western civilization, the Occidental—” Buck began, his voice thundering.
“Then you mean American civilization. You Europeans passed out of the world picture with the last war. Just one big hungry colony now, not worth as much as these islands,” I added, baiting him.
Buck's streamlined face turned a lobster red as he screamed at my face in French, “You have the arrogance of a German! I've heard of you and your—your rowboat! And I am thankful not many of you childish Americans go in for trading. Life would be unbearable! You Americans think because you have the bomb you can act like an idiot with a gun! Bah!” The force went out of his voice abruptly and he said in a normal tone, “We have enough of insults. Be so good as to join me in my cabin for a drink—all of you.”
Buck spun about and walked to his cabin without waiting to see if we were following. He turned at the doorway and called out to his supercargo, “Mr. Teng! We sail within a few hours. I trust you have checked the cargo, balanced the ship. If not, get busy!”
Eddie muttered, “Captain-of-the-ship-act!” and winked at me. I said, “Hell, why turn down a drink.” As we started for the cabin Heru grabbed Eddie's left hand and looked at it with wonder as she said, “Like a great club!”
Eddie rubbed his knuckles under her chin. “That's it, babes. I couldn't do much else in the ring but I could flatten 'em—if I caught 'em.” He said this in English and Heru giggled as though she knew what he was saying.
Buck's cabin was large and very neat, all the wood a deep red-brown and highly polished. Even the brass lamps were spotless and his bunk had white sheets, a real pillow. Buck put out four glasses and a bottle of Australian whiskey which has the thick smoky taste of Irish whiskey, poured big shots for us. As he handed Heru her glass he told her, “Your shoes are under the basin. Please take them. Well, let us toast Captain Romanos who has proved the old-fashioned ways are still the best.”
Buck took a ten franc coin from his pocket and neatly bent it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He tossed the bent coin to Eddie. “I am sixty years old and have engaged in brawls in every port of the world. Remember that, Captain Romanos, should you ever consider hitting my nose. Now if you will excuse me, we are sailing soon.”
