by Buzz Harcus
Peter's death had become a blessing in disguise. The entire cabin was now his thanks to Captain Andress, who said he deserved it to himself. There was little chance of interruption at work, or play.
He checked the seabag next, testing the false bottom inner lining of sailcloth he had added. Underneath the flap were several pockets to stash money. Closed, the false bottom kept any money safe from prying eyes.
Satisfied that he was ready, Harry moved to the desk, reached into the top drawer and extracted his small penlight, then three different sized screwdrivers, including a Phillip's head, and a metal pry-bar, all of which the engine room had unknowingly donated. Picking up the jacket, he opened it exposing the armpits which he had fitted with pockets. He slipped the tools into their respective pockets, then stood up and pulled on the jacket. It felt comfortable. Good.
Knowing Joe, Harry figured he'd be true to his word about having his loot in large denomination bills, perhaps hundred or thousand dollar or more. By putting the bills in packets of approximately one inch thick, or slightly thicker, Harry surmised he could easily stash away well over a million dollars in the jacket pockets. If necessary, he could make the packets even two inches thick. The jacket pockets would be filled first, then the seabag. The jacket would take on its former full, bulky look and no one would be the wiser.
Once on the fourth floor of the old barracks building it wouldn't take long to locate the money; just follow Joe's instructions, pull out the packets, and in a matter of minutes he'd be back out on the street headed for the ship heavier, but richer.
He smiled. It all sounded so simple. If it could only come off that simple. But there was Stan. What kind of surprise did he have in mind, Harry wondered. Or, had he already beat him to the cache?
Mentally and physically, Harry knew he was ready. He had been lifting weights with other crewmembers down in the lounge area for the past several weeks. By the time they had reached Shanghai, he had tested himself countless times: hoisting the seabag with about 100 pounds inside, plus carrying another hundred pounds strapped around his waist. He had circled the deck dozens of times at odd hours, undetected, carrying his load the equivalent of five miles. At first he had felt the strain, but after repeated episodes, he found he could carry the extra load with little effort.
Opening the bottom drawer of the desk, he extracted three big stacks of writing paper all cut to the size of standard United States currency, all tied in neat packets about an inch thick. The packets were already dog-eared from the many times he had practiced filling the pockets over the past two weeks. He knew he could accomplish the whole task in a matter of minutes. All he had to do was concentrate, not be distracted by the darkness or the fear of being caught. Concentrate and work methodically, he told himself again and again as he practiced for his big moment.
Now it was practice time again. He shrugged his shoulders. The jacket fit well, loose, comfortable. The tools fit snuggly under the armpits, their presence not detectable to an outside observer. Glancing at his watch, he called out, "Time!" and quickly dropped to his knees, slipped off the jacket and lay it before him. Coolly, efficiently, he extracted the tools pretending to unscrew several screws, all the while holding the penlight in his mouth, the beam trained on his hands and tools. Then he ripped open the jacket pockets. Methodically, he grabbed each packet and firmly stuffed it into a pocket and slapped the Velcro tab shut. "26...27...28..." he silently counted.
The door suddenly opened.
Startled, Harry looked up from his kneeling position, the penlight falling from his gasping mouth. Osa stood in the doorway, a perplexed look on her face.
"Vot are you doing?" she asked looking from him to his jacket, then back.
"Come in and close the door," he snapped. "Quickly!"
She stepped inside, closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. She was stunning in a knee-length blue leather coat.
"Vat is dis?" she questioned.
Harry didn't reply for a moment, instead, continuing to look at the packet of paper still clutched in his hand.
"Harry!"
"Uh, I'm working on a special project," he said trying to be casual, yet cursing himself for not locking the door as he usually did. He hadn't expected her for at least another half hour, time enough to rehearse his routine and put everything away.
"Vat kind of project? It looks like you haf made pockets in your jacket. Vat are you stuffing in dem? money?" She stepped forward taking the packet from him. "It looks like a packet of money but it is just paper. Vhy?"
"That's all it is...just paper."
She shook her head. "I don't understand."
"You will," he replied. Picking up the jacket, he said, "One day these pockets will hold real money, lots of money." As he spoke, he stripped the dog-eared packets from their respective pockets. Whether he had intended to have an accomplice, or not, he suddenly realized he was about to have one.
Since beginning his odyssey, he had wanted to confide in someone. Perhaps Peter, Sigmund, even Captain Andress, but certainly not her. He had wanted someone in a position of power, someone who could ensure his getting ashore in Tsingtao, could help him return, could even help in the event of trouble with the authorities. He recalled the night he almost confided in Peter, but held off, finally deciding it was best to pull off the caper himself. Yet, a back-up person could be a big help. Maybe, just maybe, fate had brought them together; Osa might be the most logical one after all.
"Osa, can you keep a secret?" he asked, now standing erect before her, his eyes sincere, staring directly into hers. "I mean a really big secret, one that might mean the difference between life and death?"
She caught her breath. "I-I don't know. I-I tink so. Yes, for you, I tink so. Vat is vrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. To make a long story short, a friend of mine stashed a lot of money away in a special spot in Tsingtao many years ago. He's been unable to retrieve it himself and, so, he asked me to get if for him. I said I would, and here I am. It's that simple."
"Vat is so dangerous about dat?" she asked, puzzled. "It sounds simple, as you said." She watched him extract the last packet of paper from the jacket.
"The whole thing sounds simple on the surface, except the guy who asked me to get the money was murdered."
A momentary gasp escaped her lips.
"The murderer is still at large and he knows I'm headed for Tsingtao to get the money." As he spoke, Harry folded the jacket, grabbed up the seabag, and placed them both back in the locker.
He sat down at the desk, reached out and picked up the several packets of fake money and dropped them back into the bottom drawer. "I know who the murderer is, but I don't know where he is. I do know he will kill for the money."
Osa stood silently as the impact of what he was saying sunk in. Her eyes never wavered as she watched Harry's every move, hung on his every word as he continued speaking.
"The two guys who kidnapped us in Shanghai, even the guy who shot at me, are probably members of the gang this guy commands," he said, with one more check to make sure everything was safely stored away. "If so, it might be more difficult to get the money. The advantage I have is that I know exactly where the money is. Hopefully, he doesn't know."
"Oh, Harry," Osa wailed, suddenly rushing into his arms. "I don't vant anyting to happen to you!" She buried her head against his chest clutching tightly to him.
"Hey, hey, nothing's going to happen to me." He wrapped his arms around her, tilted her head back and tenderly kissed her. "Nothing's going to happen to old Harry Martin if he has anything to say about it."
Grabbing a tissue from a box on his desk, he dabbed at a tear starting to trickle down her cheek.
"I vant to help you," she sniffled, looking straight into his eyes. "Please tell me vat I can do to help. I even go vis you into Tsingtao. Anyting, please -"
"Just knowing you know and care is all the help I need," he replied softly, assuringly.
"No. I am serious. I vill go into Tsingta
o vis you. I can be of great help —"
"No! Out of the question." He held her face in his hands. "It might be dangerous." His lips brushed softly against hers. "All I ask is that if I don't come back, you'll contact my kids and tell them I was killed in an accident at sea."
"No. Dat is ridiculous. I don't do dat for you!" She pushed herself away, standing, glaring at him. "I vill go vis you und make sure you don't get killed." Her jawline was firmly set, eyes defiant. "I vill help you!"
"I won't let you. I mean it," he snapped rising, advancing toward her. "Harry!" she exclaimed starting to back away, coming to an abrupt halt when she bumped against his bunk.
"I mean it, Osa. You're not going!"
A curious look came over her face at that moment. She sniffed, then sniffed again, deeply this time. "Vat do I smell?" she asked. She sniffed again. "It smells like perfume." She moved closer to the head of his bunk. "It comes from dere," she said, pointing toward his pillow. Reaching up, she slipped her hand under his pillow.
"Vat is dis?" she demanded pulling the thin, pink satin bikini panties out and holding them before him. "You haf anudder voman?"
"Gimmee those," Harry said, flushed at what she had found, grabbing for the panties. Osa deftly jerked them away from his grasping hand. "So, Harry has anudder voman, huh," she teased, flaunting the panties before him. "Und she has expensive taste in perfume, too," she added sniffing as she passed the wispy garment under her nose. "My, my." She enjoyed seeing him squirm, beet red now, trying to grab the panties away. "Und who do dese panties belong to?"
With a sigh of exasperation, he backed away, surrendering the panties to her clutch. "Uh...well...they belong to a girl back in Saginaw. Somehow they got mixed in with my laundry, honest...."
"Oh?" Her eyebrows shot up and she gave him an impish grin. "You do your laundry togedder?"
"No, not really, well on occasion, it depended -" Geez, no matter what he said it sounded stupid. They had met at the laundromat by accident that one day, only a day or so before Joe Gionetti's call. They had laughed about their chance meeting, did their laundry together, threw it all in one large dryer, separated their clothing, or at least he thought they had, and then gone out for dinner. So, he ended up with her panties.
"So you brought her panties along to remind you of her?"
"No. Not exactly -"
"Most men prefer a picture of der voman to look at," she added with a slight touch of sarcasm, "not her undervare."
"Well...uh...I didn't do it deliberately, and I didn't know where to put them, so I just shoved them under my pillow for the time being —"
"Hah!"
He felt suddenly very uncomfortable at having to explain himself while she stood there with that supercilious grin, holding the wispy garment before him. "Besides, she never gave me a picture of herself...one that was halfway decent."
"Veil, I don't like it, not at all."
Osa moved past him to the desk where she dropped the panties in the wastebasket. Returning to the side of the bunk, she repeated her statement, "Not at all," as she started untying the belt to her leather coat.
"Harry," she said softly, facing him squarely, setting her legs slightly apart. With a devilish smile, she whipped the coat open, threw it back, and then let it slide down her arms to the deck.
Harry's eyes flew wide. If ever a man's fantasy of having a centerfold appear before him could come true, it had just happened.
There she stood all curvy, saucy, delectable, wearing the new silk nightie she had bought in Shanghai. It was a soft white and so shear it was almost transparent. Wispy little French-cut panties did little more than cover the darkness of her pubic mound, although it was quite visible to the eye of the beholder, who let out a long, low whistle. Her deeply tanned body contrasted sharply against the milky whiteness of her full breasts and white band around her hips.
"I give you someting better to keep," she said reaching under the hem of her nightie. Her thumbs caught inside the elastic band of her panties and she whisked them down over her hips, down her long slim legs and deftly stepped out of them. Raising them to her face, she pressed her lips tightly against the material leaving a full, red lip print on the material. She held them up before him. "Dere! Now you vill sleep better knowing I am close at hand." With that, she thrust the panties under his pillow. Turning back to him, she gave him a seductive smile, pursed her lips and blew him a kiss.
His gaze swept her full, lush body, breasts straining against the thin, diaphanous material, nipples taut. The slight ruffle of the hem of her nightie barely covered her hips, just enough to entice.
"C'mere," he commanded and she came to him, melting in his powerful arms.
"Take me, Harry," she whispered.
He locked the door and carried her to the bunk.
Chapter 54
TRUE CONFESSIONS
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Harry called out from where he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror. For some odd reason, she had become somewhat uncommunicative after they made love, had stayed back on Peter s old bunk avoiding any eye contact with him, or talking. It was obvious that something was bothering her, but what? "Hey! I'm talking at you!"
She averted her eyes, seemingly more intent on picking a piece of lint off the hem of her nightie. With a shrug, she leaned back against a pillow, crossed her legs and looked up at him.
"C'mon. Something's bothering you. Did I say something wrong...do something wrong?" He looked at her, his comb poised to run through his hair. "What is it?"
It was unusual for her to lay there so long in the near buff, the nightie hardly hiding her womanly charms. Whatever it was, he knew she'd let him know soon. One thing he had learned about Osa; she spoke her mind, at times being brutally frank.
With a listless sigh, she eased to the edge of the bunk, leaned forward and stood up. There was a forlorn look on her face. Another long sigh followed. "Harry, I am vorried, really vorried."
"About what?
"Vell, I haf dis vunderful feeling ven I am vis you...can't seem to keep my hands off you. I vant you all der time. I -" She hesitated groping for the right words to say, the right phrase. "I -"
"C'mon. What is it?" he demanded. "You can speak frankly to me. I feel we know each other well enough now that we can speak openly, even about sex."
"Vell, ven I vas married, I never tought of sex, Rudy und I had dis understanding, sex vas not dat important, at least dat's vat I tought. But since Shanghai, you and I, all I do is tink about sex und vays to enjoy it. I vant to be vis you all der time, to possess you, to have you possess me, all kinds of crazy tings, like in der movies ve saw -" Then, in an almost inaudible whisper, she added, "I tink I am turning into a, how do you say it? A nim-pho -- nim- pho-may-nee-ack?"
Harry almost burst out laughing, but the serious look on her face stopped him. It was obvious that she was concerned. "The term is nymphomaniac, honey," he said spelling it out. "But I don't think you're one."
"I'm serious," she said, the forlorn look still haunting her beautiful face. "I tink I am vun of dose vomen. Ever since Shanghai, I tink I am over-sexed -"
"Aw, honey." He moved quickly to her side taking her gently into his arms. "You're not a nymphomaniac. You're a beautiful woman who has come alive. You've found out there's really more to life...how good sex can be when shared by two people who really care for each other." He kissed her lightly on her forehead, each cheek, then her soft lips. "And I'm the lucky guy," he whispered. "If you really want to know the truth of the matter, I'm always thinking of you, too. You're on my mind more than I care to admit. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you. You're really special to me -"
"Oh, Harry!" she squealed, hugging him tightly to her. "Do you really like me dat much? I-I tink, maybe you don't like me anymore because I am so forvard, like a —" Her eyes averted his, her voice a husky whisper. " - like a whore."
Harry squeezed her to his chest. His hands roamed up and down the smoothness of her back c
oming to rest on her resilient buttocks. "Every beautiful woman should have just a touch of whore in her," he whispered. "It's what makes a guy keep coming back."
"You don't tink I am a bad voman?"
"Hell no. I think you're a very nice girl, my girl," he whispered, continuing to massage her backside. "Sometimes I feel like a schoolboy chasing after his first girl. I want you to be my girl. I want to be with you, to do things for you, to do things with you, to share with you. I enjoy being with you."
Eyes brimming with tears, Osa pulled Harry's head close, kissing him longingly, deeply. "You make me happy," she sighed. "I never tought I could be so happy like I am now. I feel loved, fulfilled. Sometimes ven I tink of vat I haf done, vat ve haf done, I say to myself dat I should be ashamed, and yet, I don't. It is hard to explain. I really enjoy it, making love vis you —"
"Don't try to explain it. I know what you mean." He kissed her mashing her lips with his, exploring her mouth with his scalding tongue, feeling her eager response. Never had he thought he could feel this way about a woman again, not after Sandy. Yet, just holding Osa in his arms, knowing deep inside what he had just told her about wanting to be with her, to share with her, was from his heart.
"Harry," she whispered breaking free of his kiss, "I been tinking of us -"
"Uh huh -"
"I tink I vill go vis you into Tsingtao."
There! Dammit! She had done it to him again: another 180 from nymphomaniac to going ashore in Tsingtao. "No," he replied sternly. "Absolutely out of the question. I told you it might be dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Hah!" She pushed free of him. "Ve vill see about dat!" She picked up her coat from where it lay piled on the floor, slipped it on, then stepped into her shoes, all the while ignoring his stern tirade as to why she should not go into town. With flashing hands, she tied the knot about her coat, then raised her right hand before him, stopping him in mid-sentence, her eyes glowing with deadly determination. "I haf made up my mind. I vill go vis you. I can help!"