by John Molloy
“No, lucky bugger, he’s gone with his father to one of their tea plantations for a break. He won’t be back until the day of sailing.”
“I’ll inform the steward not to include him for meals.”
“You do that steward,” the young apprentice chirruped in his west county accent, “but I’ll have his desserts if you don’t mind.”
Henry moved to the officers’ table and again encountered the quick wary glance from Sweeney.
“Coffee, he asked him.”
“Yes please.”
He noticed Sweeney was in his shore going clothes. He’s not wasting much time. I’d like to follow him and see just where a person like him would go - especially on his own, Henry mused.
After dinner Henry went on deck to read Vincent’s letter. It started on a cheerful note. He wished him well and gave him regards from Tom and Vincent’s wife sent her best. He informed him how they hadn’t turned up anything new at their end but they still kept an open mind on the case. He warned Henry to be patient and if possible not to move against the suspect when he was sure of who it was until the ship was in port and he could call on backup. He re-read both letters and tore them up and flushed them down the nearest lavatory.
When he returned to the cabin Conrad was there.
“I have been to pick up my sub (local spending money). You better go and get yours.”
“Ok.”
After collecting his sub he went out on deck with his Rupees and stood in the shade. It was very hot. Even in the semi-cool of the alleyway he was still sweating profusely. He saw Sweeney heading off ashore; he was the only one on the ship with no duty now. The radio operators had relatively little or nothing to do when the ship docked. That meant it would be impossible to keep comprehensive tabs on Sweeney. Henry would have to have as much time off as Sweeney if he wanted to follow him all the time.
It was seven o’clock that evening when he and Gary Conrad headed ashore. He had the small card the Indian man left with directions on it to The Blue Orchid.
“What do you suggest Henry, should we try this Blue Orchid joint?”
Henry’s thoughts were on his surroundings and the places on the dock to avoid on his way back later that night. He noticed as they left the big open shed where there were thousands of bales of jute stacked. The dirt roadway snaked away dotted with wooden and corrugated iron roofed shacks on both sides stretching almost half a mile. “Yes, we might as well have a look and see what the scene is.” He looked around and noticed there was no lighting of any kind - an ideal place for an attacker to work. He’d have to be very careful coming back, and every other night he’s ashore.
“Ah, good,” exclaimed Conrad, “transport at last.”
There were four rickshaw boys parked waiting for customers. They got into one and Conrad asked the boy to take them to The Blue Orchid.
“Yes Sahib, I know, very good place, nice girls, my sister she work there.”
“There now,” said Conrad turning to Henry and beaming with mirth, “we’re getting to know the family already. The mother’s probably organizing the quickies!”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. But I hope at the very least, they have cool beer.”
The traffic now was absolutely chaotic; the boy was weaving in and out of other rickshaws and old beaten up trucks beeping their horns, cows wandering through the streets, some lying on the roadway. There were people in colorful garments laden down with all manner of produce in bulging cloth bags, trudging along, dodging the traffic. The sun was setting in a fiery crimson on this bustling city, casting a warm pink glow with scarlet shafts of insect laden rays shooting through streets and over rooftops like some cosmic cabaret show.
The rickshaw came to a sudden stop. The Blue Orchid was painted in several shades of peeling paint on a fascia over a facade of distressed timber the windows dusty and shaded by faded blinds were like two large eyes and an open door, a boxer’s nose. Conrad paid the somewhat exhausted boy and turned to Henry. “Come on me hearty, this is it.”
The interior was in semi darkness, a few dim lights over the bar and tables with candles sitting in bowls of melted wax. The customers were scarce; a few seafarers sitting at tables conversing in a language that was not English. Henry thought they were Russian. Conrad broached the counter and came to a table with two pints of cold beer. “Well what do you think, worth the wait”?
Henry downed a good swallow. “Every bit as good as any pint I’ve ever drank.” They were on their second pint when the girls began to arrive. The Russian lads welcomed the young girls sitting them on their knees, throwing money to buy more drink and cavorting and fondling them shamelessly. More customers began to arrive. One party were definitely English and from the Blue Funnel ship docked not far from the Rangoon. Henry saw what he believed was the madam standing at a doorway talking to two young girls. She was directing them; one girl came to Henry’s table and asked if she could she sit down. Gary Conrad pulled out a chair and seated her. “What will you have to drink?”
She ignored his offer and introduced herself. “Me Harini.”
“I’m Gary and this is Henry.”
She gave a little nod, “please meet you English boys.”
Henry took out some rupees and handed them to her. ”Will you get us a round of drinks two pints and whatever you‘re drinking yourself.”
When she had gone to the counter Conrad watched her walking across the floor, he turned to Henry with a lecherous grin. “Well, do you fancy it? Because I have a hard on here just watching her.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m sure they’ll be more coming along, although she is a little beauty. You do your business with her.”
Conrad was fiddling in his pocket and took out a few packs of condoms and then put them back again. Licking his lips he said, “Just checking.”
Harini came back with the drinks. She was no more than sixteen years old. Her dark shoulder length hair framed a beautiful innocent face, her eyes were dark liquid like a dying fawn, her every movement graceful. She spoke reasonably clear Pidgin English and when she leaned over to say something her large earrings and necklace made a soft tinkling sound like the whisper of a wind chime. After a short while they began to ignore Henry and he was left alone to his thoughts. He scrutinized the customers and couldn’t see anyone who might resemble a threat. He was nearing the end of his third pint and thought it could be a long night and he would need to have all his faculties intact if he was confronted - he was taking Vera’s warning seriously. Gary Conrad finished his drink and stood up to leave with Harini.
She leaned over and held Henry by the hand. “You come me too. I show you nice young girl.”
He followed them through a door leading along a dimly lit, narrow passageway. Harini showed Henry into a room where six women were sitting around on low sofa type lounge chairs and some on cushions on the floor. Two of them stood up to pull Henry into their harem. Conrad had gone into another room with Harini. The women were dressed in cheap gaudy saris and brass bangles, their lips and gums stained bloody crimson from chewing betel nuts. They smelled of spices and patchouli oil. He turned to leave when the matronly one he noticed in the bar earlier came and took his arm.
“You Henry?”
“Yes I’m he.”
“Your friend he say me to look after you, come this way.”
She escorted him farther down the hallway and they entered a room tastefully decorated and smelling of incense.
“You like to use telephone your friend says.”
“Yes please, I would very much like to use a phone,” he said, wondering what she meant by ‘your friend’. Then he remembered the big grinning Indian man with the turban on the ship and the number he had given him.
She opened a desk and took out an ancient looking telephone - one that you had to crank the handle for the operator.
“You use. I come back again, nice surprise for you.”
Henry was put through to the number he had memorized. It was answered by
someone with a distinctive old Etonian accent who he discovered, was his contact, Wolff. He was instructed to go to the Taj Mahal Hotel in the Chowpatty area of the city.
Henry had arranged to have his half day off the next day so he decided to meet there at three that afternoon. Then his contact hung up.
He sat admiring the décor of the room and enjoying the sweet smell of perfume and incense from the lighted candles dotted around. There were erotic pictures like ones he had seen in the Kama Sutra.
The matron appeared at the door with a beautiful young girl, whom she ushered in before her. “Here is Nilima, especially for you, new country girl. She want to make you so happy. Everything she will do for you.”
Henry was astonished at the youth and beauty of the shy young girl. She was dressed in a flowing dress of green and aqua marine chiffon, and like a water nymph it was softly shimmering on her perfect body. She stood her eyes the color of obsidian, beautifully proud, masking her tremulous timidity.
He followed the matron outside into the hallway. “Thank you for the use of the phone, and how did you know my name?”
“My friend, he go your ship and ask you come here. He detective. Very good man. He maybe come here tonight. I tell him you phone and enjoy pretty young girl Nilima.” She pushed him back into the room. ”You go now. Not keep sweet soft bamba waiting,” she chuckled to herself as she walked away.
Nilima was standing waiting for him and when he closed the door she came and pushed a bolt across to lock it. “People maybe come look us.” She smiled and leaning into Henry she stood on her toes and kissed him full on the lips. Her breath smelled of scented orchid, she pushed her firm nubile body against him and he became immediately aroused. She opened the buttons of his shirt and kissed his nipples. “You so strong, make plenty love me.” She dropped the chiffon to the floor and stood naked before him; her skin was translucent amber with perfect rounded breasts and pert nipples. Henry undressed and was unashamedly aroused. He could contain himself no longer and he carried her to the bed and laid her gently across the cool linen. Her appetite amazed him and her inexperience was amply compensated for by her enthusiasm. Her orgasms were loud convulsive and breathless. He lay exhausted after how long, he couldn’t remember and she held him against her. Eventually he stirred his body and kissed her softly on her forehead.
“I will have to go now.”
“So soon Henry,” she whispered.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“You come tomorrow Henry?”
“Yes Nilima, I will come see you again?”
He left a wad of rupees which seemed to embarrass her.
Gary Conrad was in the bar and Harini was entertaining a young man at another table. Henry brought two pints to the table. Gary looked up surprised.
“What took you so long? How many times did you ride her?”
“As many time as was required,” came Henry’s evasive reply.
Henry turned to look at Harini.
“I see your girl has a new client.”
“Yeah, one of the crew from that Russian ship.”
“I reckon they could be rough lads too.”
“You can say that again. I saw some Russians in action in a beer joint in Hong Kong and they literally wrecked the place. These people are not to be messed with. I hear they can be fairly handy with the knife too.”
“Here’s some of our crew now.”
Gary Conrad turned round to see four of the deck hands come into the bar. Henry thought this might be a good time to cut loose from Conrad. He’d had five pints so had to be careful going back alone. He noticed Tukola wasn’t among the new arrivals. He decided to go back on board and see who was ashore and maybe he might get a chance to search Tukola’s or Oswyn’s cabin if they were ashore.
Henry slipped unnoticed by his shipmates out into the night. He walked along the dimly lit road. Trying to throw off the attention of pimps and prostitutes, he noticed a man walk out of a bar across the road from him. It was Tukola and he was alone. Henry watched him walk on and throw off the attentions of a prostitute before he disappeared down a side street. That’s good, he thought, I might get to search his cabin if his roommate is also ashore, but then again, the cabin would surely be locked.
He hailed a rickshaw and told the miserable, undernourished boy to take him to the dock. The traffic was still busy and the nearer they got to the docks the less street lighting there was. The rickshaw stopped about half a mile from the ship and no persuading would get the boy to go any further. He paid the fare and stood on the dusty road, it was very quiet along the waterfront and he began to feel vulnerable; so he took a small knife from his pocket and held it in his hand. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was all he had.
His eyes were accustomed to the dark and he could see the ships masts outlined against the night sky over the dock warehouse. He was approaching the warehouse when he thought he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped and listened, the warehouse was dark and full of bales of jute piled thirty feet high, with passageways through them. This was the cargo they were going to load for some Japanese port. He walked on slowly keeping close to the stacked bales, it was very dark now. He heard a rustling above him and then a bale of jute came crashing down missing him by a few feet. He leant back against the wall of jute and saw a figure come out of the blackness. The figure stopped by the fallen bale to check if he’d hit his target. Henry pounced, his fist striking bone just under the ear. The man cried out as he fell then an accomplice above jumped down landing on the bale. Henry could see the accomplice’s blade flash as he lunged forward; Henry side-stepped and put out his leg catching the attacker below the knees, then lashed out with the small knife and felt contact as the man fell.
Before he could follow up, a blinding flash of light lit up the scene and he saw the two scruffily dressed Indian assailants scramble to their feet and run for their lives. The light went out and he could hear the running footsteps disappearing into the dark. He wondered who had saved him by turning on the warehouse lights, then moved back into the shadow of the jute when he heard footsteps approaching. The figure was unmistakable, even in the dim light - it was the big Indian man.
“Henry, are you ok?”
“Yes, thanks to you Tutul, turning on those lights saved my life. How come you were here?.”
“I was tailing the native fellow Tukola, when I saw you leaving The Blue Orchid on your own. If you had stayed with the other crewmen I think you’re would-be assassins would not have dared to attack two or three of you. And by the way, my real name is not Tutul, that’s just an alias I sometimes use. My name is Fokir.”
“I see, but how did you know there might be an attempt on my life?”
“I didn’t really know; I was just being extra cautious. We’ve been briefed about the whole story and as only one party knows you are on board and a danger to their son, there was a slight chance they might try something like this. It was only a hunch by the way, and I’m glad I acted on it.”
“And so am I, but it’s a pity you didn’t catch my attackers - you might have gotten some information on who they were working for.”
“No, even if I did they would know nothing. They are working for a third party - half pay now and half when you are dead. They may not ever see the person who gave them the first half of the money and the second half would be left somewhere convenient for them to pick up.”
“Well Fokir, can I call you that?”
“But yes of course, that’s my name.”
“You speak perfect English now. On board ship you only spoke broken English.”
“I had to put on that charade. It was part of my cover. Actually, I was educated in England and trained by your police force at Scotland Yard. I spent twelve years of my life in England and loved every day of it. There are still times when I miss dear old England with her rain, gloomy skies and winter fog. I will return there again someday.”
“When you do you will have to look me up and come and be my guest.”
“Thank you for your kind invitation, I will certainly visit you. Did you call the number I gave you and make arrangements to meet your contact?”
“Yes, I’m meeting him tomorrow at the Taj Mahal Hotel at three o’clock.”
“Good, will you be going ashore alone? If so, I can meet you outside the dock area and take you there?”
“That would be a great help, I will leave the ship at two o’clock.”
“Good, until tomorrow then.”
Gary Conrad was suffering from a severe morning after, hangover and like many sailors after a heavy night ashore, said very little about the previous night.
After spending most of the morning writing letters, at five minutes to two, Henry left the ship, walked a safe distance and waited for his lift to arrive.
A minute or so later a small yellow car drove up and stopped.
. “Jump in,” said Fokir.
They drove on through the throngs of chaotic traffic and eventually arrived at the Taj Mahal.
“I will leave you here now and tonight I’ll go to The Blue Orchid at ten o’clock. I will meet you in the back room.”
“Thank you again Fokir, see you tonight.”
Henry had fifteen minutes to spare before his meeting, so he decided he would take a short stroll. The hotel was situated in Chowpatty where little lanes wander off the main road into the historic quarter of the city. After walking about twenty yards, he noticed a man with a panama hat resting on his knee, sitting reading a newspaper, his white linen suit was immaculate in true British colonial style. Henry walked towards him without looking directly; he knew his contact would have a good description of him. When he was about six feet away, the man dropped the paper, put on his panama and stood up.
”I say sir, do I know you from somewhere?”
“Possibly, my name’s Henry.”
“That’s it, Henry. And would you know the name of a wild canine?”
“Surely a Wollf.”
“The bar is this way Henry.”
Wollf led the way into the interior of the hotel and a beautiful decorated bar with a view onto the sea. It was remarkably cool and pleasant with a scattering of titled and highly ranked, retired British army officers conversing in stilted woody tones befitting of their former profession.