The Piranhas

by Harold Robbins

  “Angelo!” I yelled. “The capitano wants you to get back in the boat.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “He says it’s dangerous.”

  “Horseshit.” He laughed. “The water is as calm—” He turned in the water, searching for the girl. “You bitch! Stop trying to grab my balls!”

  “I’m not anywhere near you,” she called back to him from five yards away.

  “Christ!” Angelo yelled—then screamed in pain. “What the hell is going on?” He thrashed about in the water trying to swim back to the boat.

  “Piranhas!” the boatman shouted, picking up a boat hook and holding it out into the water.

  Alma began swimming back to us. “They’re after me!” she screamed. She grabbed the end of the boat hook, and the sailor pulled her toward us, then drew her onto the boat. Her legs were punctured with tiny bites from which the blood was already oozing.

  The sailor left her lying on the deck and tried to reach Angelo with the hook. I looked at him. Angelo was still thrashing and screaming but was moving more slowly toward us. I grabbed the boat hook from the sailor and took his arm so that I could lean farther toward Angelo. “Grab the hook, Angelo!” I yelled.

  Still screaming in pain, he reached and grabbed the hook. The sailor and I pulled him heavily toward the boat; then the sailor grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him onto the boat.

  I had seen terrible things in Nam but never anything like this. His right leg was eaten away almost to the naked bone, the flesh of his left leg hanging in tatters to the bones of his feet. Angelo was staring at me, his eyes clouded with pain and fear. He looked down at himself. He couldn’t form any words, only a moaning, screaming sound. His groin was a puddle of torn flesh and blood, his penis and testicles gone. He turned his head back up toward me and tried again to speak, but no words came from his mouth.

  “He will die,” the captain said without emotion. “I have seen this before It will take one hour, maybe two, but he will die.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  The captain shook his head. “Kill him,” he said impassively. “Or let him die by himself in agony.”

  I turned to Angelo. He spoke with his eyes. He knew what the captain had said. He managed a word. “Family.”

  I knew what he meant. I reached behind me to the bench and took the automatic in my hand. With the gun still behind me, I flipped the safety off with one hand. Then I kissed him on the forehead. “Family,” I said and covered his eyes with my hand. Then I pulled the trigger.

  Slowly I rose to my feet and looked down at him. Angelo was gone. And part of me was also gone. But another part of me was reborn. Family.

  “What shall we do with him?” the captain asked.

  For the first time I realized that the two other sailors were standing near us. “There is nothing we can do,” I said, gesturing toward the side of the boat.

  “The watch,” the captain said, pointing to the Rolex on Angelo’s hand.

  “Give it to me,” I said. I knew my uncle would want it. I turned to the girl lying on the deck, her eyes staring in fear. I heard the splash of Angelo’s body as it hit the water. I paused a moment and then spoke to her. “How do you feel?”

  She was frightened. “You’re not going to kill me?”

  Then I realized I was still holding the gun. I closed the safety and stuck it in my belt. “No,” I said. I turned to the captain. “What can we do for her?”

  The captain knelt beside her. “She has not too many bites. The piranhas were too busy with your cousin. We will wrap some wet coca leaves on her, it will stop the pain, and she will heal.”

  “Take her down to the cabin and take care of her. Then come back to me.”

  “Sí, señor,” the captain said.

  I watched as he lifted her in his arms and took her down to the cabin, one of the sailors following with a sheaf of coca leaves. I sat down again on the bench at the stern.

  A few moments later the captain came up. “My sailor is taking care of her. What can I do for you?”

  I looked up at him. “Do you have a bottle of whiskey?”

  “I have rum,” he said.

  “Bring it,” I said. “I need a drink.”

  3

  THERE WAS ONLY one large cabin below deck. A curtain was strung across the middle to separate my bunk from the larger bunk that Angelo and Alma had shared. Despite the half-bottle of rum I had swallowed, I was sober, not even the slightest buzz. The curtain was now pulled back, and I looked over toward Alma lying on the bed. She appeared to be sleeping, her eyes closed. A faint whisper of breath passed her lips.

  I crossed the cabin and stood next to her bed. I touched her forehead with my palm. She didn’t have any fever. Then her eyes opened.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Numb,” she said. “No feeling in my legs at all.”

  “It’s the coca leaves,” I said. “The captain told me. It’s natural cocaine, a real painkiller. He said you only have small nicks, you’ll be okay in a day or two.”

  “I feel heavy,” she said.

  “He gave you some coca-leaf tea,” I said. “It will let you rest.”

  She nodded. Then tears came to her eyes. “I feel sorry about your cousin.”

  I was silent.

  “I liked him,” she said. “He was crazy, but nice.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “I’ll go on, I guess,” I answered. “There is nothing else I can do.”

  She looked into my eyes. “You don’t cry.”

  “Crying won’t help. He is gone. It’s over.” I turned and walked back to my bunk. “Why don’t you try to sleep? You will feel better in the morning.”

  “I am afraid I will have bad dreams,” she said.

  “Don’t be frightened,” I said. “I will be right here.”

  She nodded faintly and closed her eyes. In a moment I again heard the faint whisper of her breath as she slept. I pulled out the attaché case Angelo had placed under my bunk. It was locked. I found the key in a pair of pants he had thrown over a chair.

  The attaché case was filled with bank-sealed packages of one-hundred-dollar bills. Quickly I checked it. One hundred thousand dollars. On the open top cover was a typewritten note:

  Pucallpa to Iquitos—Boat 10m

  Iquitos to Medellín—DC 3 20m

  Medellín to Panama—DC 320m

  Panama to Miami—Cessna 35m

  I stared at the money. Angelo had it all laid out. He was not as crazy as he pretended. I took out a package of ten thousand dollars and closed the attaché case. I put the case under my bunk and opened Angelo’s valise leaning against the wall. Under his clothing was another automatic and ten clips of cartridges. I pushed the gun and clips under my bunk next to the attaché case, then closed the valise and placed it back against the wall.

  I stretched out on my bunk and put my hands behind my head on the pillow. I stared up at the ceiling—then it hit me. Angelo was gone. And whether I liked it or not, I had to go through with his plan. And even worse than that, at the end of it all, I had to tell his father of his death. And all I could give him of his son was a gold Rolex watch. It would not be easy. Angelo was the apple of his father’s eye. I dozed.

  I opened my eyes when I heard soft steps running on the deck over my head, and the soft whispering voices of two men. Quietly I slipped out of my bunk and onto the deck, the gun in my hand. The captain and another man were talking quietly at the stern of the boat. I watched them silently. The stranger gestured with his hand, and two more men came aboard behind him and bent down to the hold, picking up two bales, and started to take them off the boat.

  I turned off the safety of the automatic and stepped around the cabin entrance toward them. “What’s happening?” I asked.

  The strangers stopped talking and stared at me. I spoke to the captain. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “The se
ñor says that the deal is off. He hasn’t gotten the money to be paid by your cousin.” The captain was very nervous.

  “Tell him that I already know the money has been paid. If not, the coca would never have been placed aboard,” I said.

  The captain spoke quickly. The man replied in Spanish, then the captain turned back to me. “Only part of the money. There was still one thousand dollars to be paid when all the coca has been delivered.”

  “Tell him that he will get the money as promised when he has delivered the rest of the coca.”

  The stranger understood me. He spoke quickly to the captain and the captain translated. “He says that he is a simple farmer and he has worked hard for his crops, and he does not want his labor to be stolen from him.”

  I looked at the captain. “How much is he paying you for this bullshit?”

  “Nada, señor. Nothing,” the captain said nervously. “On my family’s honor I tell you the truth.”

  I stared at him for a moment, then at the stranger. “Tell the son of a bitch to get off this boat or I will kill him. He can come back tomorrow with the rest of the coca, and we will pay whatever else he is due.”

  The captain spoke quickly. The stranger looked at me, then nodded. He spoke to the captain and nodded again. “He will be back in the morning,” the captain said.

  I gestured with the gun. “Off.”

  The stranger and his two men scrambled from the boat. I watched them disappear into the trees around the lagoon. I turned to the captain. “How did he learn that my cousin had died?”

  “They are watching. They are always watching us,” he said.

  “Why did you allow him to come aboard to take back the coca?”

  “He is Indian. Mestizo. Very dangerous. He would have killed me if I didn’t let him on the boat,” he said.

  “I see,” I said, thinking for a moment. “Then he will come back tomorrow and kill us.”

  The captain was silent.

  “But not if we are not here tomorrow,” I said.

  The captain looked at me. “They are in the trees hiding and watching,” he said. “They will hear the engines if we try to leave.”

  “Then we don’t start the engines. We use boat hooks. Here the river is not deep, and we can push us far enough so that the river current can take us downstream until it is safe to start the engines.”

  The captain stared at me with new respect. “You know about such things?”

  “In Vietnam. Many times.” I lied; I had only heard about it. I had never really believed it until now.

  “Sí, señor,” he said. “When shall we start?”

  “Give them about an hour to fall asleep,” I said. “Then we go.”

  “And if they come after us?”

  “You have guns?” I asked.

  “Two pistols, two rifles,” he answered.

  “Then we kill them,” I said. “Bring the guns up to the deck and have your men get ready to cast off.”

  He nodded and climbed into the hatchway that opened to his quarters. I went back to the cabin, got the other gun, and stuck it into my belt beside the one I already had. Quickly I stuffed several cartridge clips into my pockets.

  Alma’s voice sounded across the cabin. “What is happening?”

  “We’re taking off,” I said.

  She sat up on the bunk. “But we were supposed to get ten more bales of coca leaves in the morning.”

  “We’re not waiting for it,” I said. “The farmer was already aboard and wanted to take the bales back. He said that Angelo hadn’t paid him.”

  “It’s not true,” she said. “I saw him give him the money in front of the captain.”

  “The captain saw it?”

  She nodded. “He arranged it. He spoke to the farmer in the native Indian tongue.

  My hunch was right. The captain had already made his deal. “How long will it take us to get downriver to Iquitos?”

  “Five, six days,” she said. “It’s down on the Uyacali river where it joins the Amazon.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Will there be trouble?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  She looked up at me. “Maybe I can help. I can use a gun.” She got out of bed.

  I gave her one of Angelo’s guns. “You keep it,” I said. “I don’t expect any trouble tonight, but if there is any, I’ll holler.”

  She kept looking at me. “But you are worried about something?”

  “Not about the mestizos, it’s the captain, I don’t trust him. He was ready to let the others take off the bales without even letting me know.” I suddenly remembered. “Didn’t we meet the captain in the market in Tingo Maria?”

  “That’s right,” she answered. “Tingo Maria is the main source of coca and marijuana. It was the captain who made the deal with the mestizo to bring the coca over the mountain road to Pucallpa. The same road we came down on.”

  “It was also the captain who had us move the boat downstream about ten kilometers from the Pucallpa docks.” It began to fall into place. “It was safer, he had said, we would not be found by the police.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it but the mestizo came right to us. The captain had it all arranged before we left Tingo Maria.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You stay down here. I feel we’ll have no trouble here. If he makes a move, it will be when we are further downstream when he thinks that I believe we are safe.”

  “You’ll have to watch him,” she said.

  “I will.” I reached across her bunk to the shelf where Angelo had left his small bag. I opened it and took out a vial of coke. Quickly I had a snort. I felt my head open and my eyes widen. “I’ll be awake now.”

  “You’ll be stoned,” she said.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said and went up on deck.

  The captain and his two sailors were waiting for me. He gestured, and I saw the guns lying on the shelf in front of the wheelhouse. I nodded. “Now pick up the gangplank,” I said. “But carefully. No sound.”

  The captain motioned to the sailors. Quickly and quietly they pulled the gangplank aboard. Then the sailors picked up the boat hooks and began to pole us out of the small lagoon into the main current of the river while the captain held the wheel. I could feel the boat move with the current. It seemed strong, and we moved quickly downstream.

  The captain turned to me. “Start the engine now?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. “Another fifteen minutes.”

  “The water is strong,” he said. “I don’t know if I can keep it straight.”

  “Have your men use the boat hooks on the stern. They’ll hold us straight long enough.” I looked back to the lagoon. There was no motion on the bank. “Keep going,” I said.

  The captain held up a hand, and one of the sailors took the wheel. The captain walked around and went down into the hatch to the engine room. Fifteen minutes later I heard the engine roar, and the boat began to move faster in the water. I looked at the sailor at the wheel. He turned to look back at me. Mistake. When you have a wheel in your hand, whether you’re driving a car or a boat, you always keep your eyes on the road.

  I spun sideways, turning back. The captain was out of the hatchway, a rifle pointed toward me in his hands. I could almost see the surprise on his face as the automatic spit angrily at him. Then slowly his arms stretched out and he tumbled from the stern of the boat into the water.

  I pointed the gun at the sailors and gestured toward the wheel. Alma had come from the cabin, the gun in her hands. “What happened?” she called.

  “We lost the captain,” I said.

  She stared at me.

  “Ask the sailor if he can get the boat down to Iquitos,” I told her. “Tell him if he does, he gets a thousand dollars; if he doesn’t he goes swimming with the captain.”

  Quickly she spoke to the sailor. The second sailor came to the wheelhouse and spoke to her. She turned to me. “They are captains in their own righ
t, he says. And if they do what we say, the two should get money.”

  “They can divide the money,” I said. “I will also give them the boat for themselves.”

  She spoke again. They looked at each other, then nodded. They spoke to her and she translated again.

  “They want to know if you would give them the papers for the boat?”

  “They will have them,” I said.

  She spoke to them again, then turned back to me after listening another moment for their answer. “They want you to know that they are not bandidos like the captain, they are honest men and all they want to do is their job.”

  “Fine,” I said and shook their hands. “It’s a deal.”

  They grinned at me. “Deal,” they said.

  4

  I STARED DOWN at my plate. Rice and beans covered with a sickly brown tomato sauce and lots of oil. I’d had it. Day and night. It had been four nights since we left Pucallpa. Rice and beans. Rice and greasy yellow fish. Rice and canned meat that produced maggots the moment the can was opened. My stomach was either exploding with gas or threatened with nausea that never quite came.

  I looked at Alma. “How can you handle it?”

  “Drink more beer,” she said simply. “We have no choice.”

  I opened a bottle of beer and gulped half of it down. “Are there restaurants in Iquitos?”

  “Iquitos is a big city,” she said. “Relax, we’ll be there tomorrow.”

  I pointed at my plate. “Throw this shit overboard.”

  “You’ll eat it,” she said firmly. “You’re not eating enough as it is. You look like you’ve lost ten pounds.”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “You’ll need your strength,” she said. “Nobody knows what you’ll have to face tomorrow. We’ve been lucky so far, but you’re like a babe in the woods. You don’t even know what we’ll be facing up there. Angelo never told you anything.”

  I took a large spoonful of rice and swallowed it. I followed it with a mouthful of beer. Even though it was warm, it killed the taste of grease in my mouth. I looked over at her. “Did he ever tell you anything about Iquitos?”

  “Only that he was meeting a red-bearded man who would be waiting on the docks when we came in.”