"You sort of expect to see Pancho Villa come riding down the street," Jake said. Po City never failed to disturb him deeply. He went on, "It would be a great place for a TV evangelist; `read your Bible, folks, or you'll end up here.' A credit could run at the end of the program: `Filmed on location in hell."'
"If they ever give the world an enema, this is where. they'll stick the tube," Box observed. "Come on, let's go in here. I know some of the girls." He dived into a dark doorway under a broken neon sign that proclaimed, "Amer can C ub."
One of the girls greeted the Boxman with glee. "Ah, Box, you're back," she squealed and threw her arms around his neck.
"This here is Suzy. She's my bonita sefiorita. Come on, honey, let's find a table for me and my friends." "You want some girls, too?" she asked. "No," said Jake and Ferdinand in unison.
"Of course, a lady for everybody, Suzy baby," shouted the Boxman.
They were soon seated around a large table, five men and five women. Suzy, the one the others obviously looked up to, didn't look eighteen. A waitress placed a bottle of San Miguel beer in front of each man and glasses of brown liquid in front of the girls.
"What your name?" asked the small brown girl on Jake's right.
"Jake," he said, looking straight ahead.
"Hake?"
"No. Jake. With a J.
"Oh ... Hake. I'm Teresa. You like me, Hake?"
He looked down at her. "You're very pretty."
She nuzzled up to him, rubbing her breast against his arm. "I like you, too, Hake."
The other tables were filled up with American men and Filipino girls. All the bartenders were Filipino men, and the only other Filipino male in the house wore a .45 automatic on his right hip and cradled a short-barreled pump shotgun in his arm. He leaned against the bar near the rear of the room, watching the door. God only knew what disaster he was there to prevent, Jake thought. If he started blasting away with that shotgun, he'd take down half the people in the bar. Jake watched the man, who had a wisp of a mustache and seemed about seventeen, and tried to recall if he had ever heard of a shootout in one of these dives. If you were a Hey-Joe watch thief with a hot sister and survived long enough, this was the job you could aspire to.
Teresa tried valiantly to turn him on. "What do you do on your ship, Hake?" She wrapped her hands around Jake's and smiled. With her head tilted up, she looked genuinely curious.
"I shovel coal for the furnaces."
"Oh," she gushed, "such a hot job. But if you American, you must be rich. Why would rich man shovel coal?"
"How old are you, Teresa?"
"I eighteen." She glanced at Suzy, who was busy laughing at the Boxman's jokes. Jake decided she was fourteen or fifteen. He gulped his San Miguel and let the strangeness of the place flow over him. Teresa, apparently decided that the conversation was too much work and she began giggling and whispering with the girl beside her.
About the time they had finished their third beer, Boxman got the urge to move on. "Hey Jake, let's buy our gals out of here. I know a little place called Pauline's that's worth the trip."
Grafton was not enthusiastic. "What could possibly be over there that isn't over here?" Jake had seen all he cared to of the local nightlife and was ready to settle in and get seriously soused.
"Come on, Jake. Trust me. This place'll knock your socks off."
The pilot shrugged. Ferdinand Magellan seized the opportunity to bow out and Big Augie and Razor followed his lead. Boxman gave up trying to persuade them. "Let's go, Jake," he said and got to his feet.
American currency slipped to the club's proprietor convinced him he could spare his B-girls far several hours. Soon Jake, Box, Suzy, and Teresa were bumping along in the back of a jeepney.
Pauline's Place looked like every other dive in Po City, except that in front of the joint was a pond that contained a half dozen or so small alligators, or perhaps crocodiles. On the sidewalk vendors sold chicks and ducklings to drunk Americans to feed to the reptiles in the pond.
As Box and Jake and the two women approached the club, they saw a young American in blue jeans and a tank top, with an earring dangling from one ear, lean over the waist-high rail with a duckling in his hand. "Here, boys. Come and get it." He tossed the small bird into the pond. The duckling fluttered its wings, quacked several times, and paddled through the scum toward the edge. From beneath the water came a slimy snout. Two small white feathers remained floating on the water when the turbulence subsided.
"Duck soup!" shouted the sailor. "How about that? Just slurp and smack and it's all over. Gimme another one of them ducks. No, let's try a chicken this time. We know they like ducks. Let's see if they go for chicken A la feathers." He and his buddies laughed uproariously. "We'll perform a scientific experiment. I wonder if it's the wings flopping that attracts them crocs."
"Let's go in before I puke," Grafton said.
They found a table in a corner. Even before, a waitress came up, two hostesses approached and looked daggers at Suzy and Teresa, both of whom glared back. The Boxman laughed and motioned to the new hostesses to join them. The women refused his invitation, though, as a group of marines arrived.
Suzy and Teresa ordered the usual brown fluid, while Box ordered a San Miguel and Jake bourbon. The pilot swigged down a mouthful and promptly choked.
"Box, I'm ready to go back across the bridge. I've definitely had all the fun I can stand tonight." He poured his drink on the floor.
Just then the earring man and his friends trooped in and arranged themselves at the bar. They shouted for beer and were soon surrounded by ladies of the house.
Earring was having a great time. He giggled and drank and slid his hand inside the pants of the girl beside him. She whispered to him and stared at the mirror behind the bar. Earring dug his hand deeper and said something to the man beside him. The two howled with laughter. The girl's face was expressionless.
Jake looked at the Boxman. "Am I the only sane man here, or the only crazy one?"
"He's an asshole all right. It must be something in the water." Box shrugged. "Maybe it's the beer." He picked up his bottle and eyed it. "I don't feel an attad coming on yet, but I probably just haven't ha( enough.''
"Why's he wearing that earring?"
"It's the fucking rage back in the States. Shows he' tuned in and turned on. Bet he doesn't wear tha damned junk on the ship.
"Stick with me, Box." The pilot stood up.
"We go again?" Teresa asked. Apparently she aru Suzy were their permanent friends, at least for the evening.
"What're you going to do?" Box wanted to know. "You with me or not?"
Box drained his San Nfiguel and stood up. "Lead on Cool Hand." He tossed a handful of pesos on the table
Jake strolled over to the bar, patted Earring on th( back, and flashed his friendliest smile. "Shipmate bring your girl and come on outside. We're going tck feed the 'gators." Earring looked blank. The pilo addressed the crowd. "Hey, everybody, let's go outside and feed the alligators."
Box chimed in on cue. "Bring the girls and come or outside." Ten or twelve men started for the door Grafton steered Earring along and stayed with him. "Do those alligators like chickens and ducks?"
"You bet, man. One gobble. And a hell of a lot of squawking."
Outside Earring bought a chick and tossed it into tht pond. It disappeared in an explosion of water any feathers. Earring cheered wildly. He reached into hiE wallet, extracted some pesos, and bought two more birds.
As the sailor stepped up to the rail again, Jake nodded to Box, who assumed a position on the othe-v side of Earring. "Give us room," Jake commanded.
The boy leaned over the rail to toss in a bird. Simultaneously Jake and Box reached down and each grabbed an ankle. They lifted smartly and Earring went over the rail headfirst. He screamed, a high-pitched wail that cut out abruptly when his head hit water.
Jake kept a firm grip on Earring's right ankle, but the Boxman let go and threw up his hands with a whoop. The shock of a
bsorbing the man's weight jerked Jake forward into the rail and his hands slipped. He barely managed to hang on. He tried to shout but for a moment was not able to find his voice. Then it came out. "You dumb shit! Get him out of there."
The Boxman's jaw tightened. Galvanized, he reached over the rail and got a double handful of trousers. Both men strained, but the weight was too much.
Jake Grafton saw Ferdinand Magellan in the crowd, gawking with his mouth open. "Help us, for God's sake!" The three of them managed to pull Earring's head out of the water. Other men grabbed hold.
They hauled him up, choking and sobbing and trying to scream, and flopped him out in the dirt. Bits of slime clung to his hair and paper-white face. He sobbed and looked about wildly. Grafton was shaking and leaned on the rail for support.
The Boxman bent over and looked Earring in the eye. "How'd you like it, asshole?"
The boy now looked pathetic to Jake, who turned away into the crowd. The pilot saw a haymaker coming just in time to duck, and the blow glanced off his ear. He swung back with all he had and felt teeth give as the guy went down.
Whistles sounded.
"Shore patrol!"
Jake ran. He bumped into several people but he made it through the scattering crowd and raced down the sidewalk. A block later, he was finding his running rhythm when he saw Suzy gesticulating at him. "Up here."
He blasted through the doorway and up a narrow flight of stairs. Suzy and the Boxman were right behind him. On a second-floor landing, lit only by a naked light bulb, Suzy unlocked a door and the three of them. tumbled into a dark room. The light coming in from the street was sufficient to reveal the jumbled outlines ooir furniture, apparently stuffed in wall to wall.
Breathing hard, they crowded against the window and stared down the street toward Pauline's. 'The sidewalk and street were empty except for Earring lying, in the dirt and the white-uniformed shore patrolmen. Ducklings and baby chicks wandered about, unsure what to do with their freedom after the hasty departure of their captors. Two shore patrolmen lifted Earring too his feet and escorted him away.
"I'll bet that teaches the sonuvabitch a lesson," the Boxman swore.
"We shouldn't have done it." The excitement and adrenaline were wearing off.
"Serves him right."
"He shit in his pants. I noticed it when we pulled him up. We scared him that bad."
"Maybe he'll tell them we saved his ass after he fell in."
"Maybe the sun won't rise tomorrow."
Suzy was grinning from ear to ear. "You teach him big lesson. Not swim alone."
They roared. "That guy should thank us. We gave him the thrill of his life," Box said, laughing.
"I'll bet all he could think of was those greedy A' 'gators," Jake gasped.
The mirth finally subsided. Grafton's ear throbbed. "Why'd you let go of his leg?"
"Hell, I dunno." The Boxman scratched his head. ”I guess I just sort of forgot about the alligators. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Just exactly why did we throw him in, anyway?"
"Because he's an asshole."
Suzy hugged Boxman and gave him a dazzling grin. "You wouldn't throw me in?"
"Oh no! Just sailors."
"You like me?"
Box put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. "I think I like you with a little more salt." She laughed again and placed his left hand on her modest breast. "Yum yum," the bombardier told her.
Jake felt his way back through the dark room to the door. When he opened it the light from the single bulb on the stair landing fell on an old lady sitting in an armchair in the corner. She had silver hair and a wrinkled face and was very small. He could hear Suzy giggling. The old lady gave him a toothless grin. He closed the door softly as he went out. Down on the street the shore patrol was still standing outside Pauline's, so he waited until their backs were turned, then stepped out on the sidewalk and walked away in the opposite direction.
TEN
The sunbeam crept across the bed and woke Jake Grafton. He turned his head to escape it, but the beam continued its march and burned the sleep from him. Somewhere outside a bird was squawking.
Uncomfortable, he sat up against the headboard. His tongue was like a dust rag. The left side of his head was sore, probably from that punch he had almost stopped with his nose. I'll never smoke another cigarette if I live to be a hundred, he swore to himself, or take another drink. The pain seemed to lessen if he remained absolutely motionless with his eyes closed. He had begun to doze again when the door to the room opened.
"How's the hangover?" asked Sammy. He pulled some aspirin from his toilet kit and placed them in Jake's hand. "Take these. They'll help some."
Jake pried open one eye, regarded the white tablets, and weighed their possible benefits against the effort required to transport himself to the water faucet in the bathroom. Finally he heaved himself up, made the trip, and returned to the bed. Lundeen had flopped down on his bed in the shade.
"What time is it?" Jake asked.
"Time for you and me to go to Hong Kong." Jake glared at his friend.
"That's right. You heard me. Hong Kong. You and me. I've already been down to the ship and seen the Old Man and filled out our leave forms." Lundeen bounded off the bed and flourished two pieces of paper. "We're off to Hong Kong for four days."
"Can't you see I'm dying of an alcohol overdose? I'm half-dead now. You can't be serious. Why do you want to go to Hong Kong, anyway? I don't have the money to go flying all over the Orient. Nor do I have the desire. Let me die quietly, okay?"
"Goddamn you, Grafton," Lundeen shouted. "Get your butt out of that bed and let's go to Hong Kong."
"Okay, okay. Don't yell, my head's about to split." Jake exhaled slowly. "You sure you really want to go?”
"Yeah, I really want to go, you old maid. Now let's get the show on the road."
Jake stood up. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut.”
"You can eat on the plane."
"You're brimming with sympathy today. You can eat on the damn plane. I'm eating at the club in twenty minutes."
Fifteen minutes later they were on their way to the club carrying all their flight gear-to be sent to the ship-and their overnight bags. Halfway there Jake dropped his bags on the sidewalk and puked in the grass.
"You're not going to put food in that stomach, are you?"
"Soup. Got to get something in or I'll be sick all day."
"Next time don't drink so much."
"You oughtta be a priest."
"They don't get enough ass," Lundeen replied and marched off down the sidewalk.
Once inside the cool darkness of the club, Jake began to feel better. The waitress came for their order, and Lundeen ordered first. "Eggs Benedict, side order of ham, and a half bottle of champagne."
Jake's stomach fluttered. He put on his sunglasses and ordered tomato soup, milk, and plain toast. After the waitress left, he rested his chin on his hands and stared out the window at the harbor. He tried to recall the events of the previous evening but it was all a jumble.
Sammy remarked, "I heard all about your little adventure in Po City last night. You might be interested in knowing that that's one reason you and I are blowing this dump for a few days. Sooner or later someone's going to shoot off his mouth. It won't hurt an iota to let that storm blow over while you're in Hong Kong. When the ship pulls out of port and they need guys to fill the flight schedule, the powers that be will view that little episode in a more forgiving light."
Grafton shrugged. "How're we getting there?"
"All arranged. Met a guy last night who's stationed here and belongs to the flying club. About noon he's flying a Cessna over to Manila where we'll catch a plane. That's how I knew we could pull this off. He'll take us if we pay for the plane."
"And how much is that?"
"Ten bucks each."
"What're we waiting for?"
Once they had cleared customs in Hong Kong at Kai Tak Airport and exchanged
some money, Lundeen and Grafton hailed a taxi and set off for the Peninsula Hotel, a huge old luxury hotel on the Kowloon water
front overlooking the harbor. Hong Kong Island was visible across the water, about a mile away. "Why do you want to stay here?" Jake asked.
"Robert L. Scott strafed this hotel in a P-40 during World War 11. The Japs were using it as quarters for their high command."
"Who's Robert L. Scott?"
"The guy who wrote God Is My Co-pilot.
"And I thought you just liked the view."
Lundeen had insisted on a room facing the water. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and there were two large Victorian beds. The enormous, ornate furniture matched the scale of the room. Once the bellhop had been tipped and left, Jake opened the window. A sea breeze filled the room.
"Do me a favor, Sam."
"Maybe."
"Don't mention bombing or the squadron or the war for the next four days. It's shit. It's all shit and I've had a fucking bellyful."
"That'll be easy," Sammy said. It was not long before they went down to the lobby and headed for the bar.
The next morning Jake stood beside his bed, feeling slightly woozy. He looked at his trembling hands. The screams that had awakened him were still in his ears He shuffled over to the upholstered chair next to the window and slumped down in the soft cushions.
Pieces of his dream receded beyond the reach of his consciousness as if sinking to the depths of the sea. He did recall that he had been alone in an Intruder and had dived at a target that glittered in the night-a target so significant that by bombing it, he, Jake Grafton, could end the war. What was the target? How could he pull off the attack without a bombardier? He remembered that after pickling his bombs he had felt no Gs tugging at him as he tried to pull up. Instead the Intruder vibrated, then shook wildly, and began to disintegrate amidst a howling wind that was suddenly overridden by the piercing cries of hundreds in mortal agony.
Flight of the Intruder Page 14