Pirate Vishnu (A Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery)

by Pandian, Gigi

  San Francisco was a new city. Before 1850, it had fewer than 1,000 residents. He heard the region used to be part of Mexico, but he didn’t see much evidence of that from the men he worked with on the docks.

  It was easy for him to find work at the Potrero Hill Shipyard. They were eager to employ skilled laborers who knew their way around the underlying structure of boats -- unlike the sailors who could fasten a knot and sail a ship but knew not how the vessel was put together, or the unskilled laborers who could lift heavy equipment but not do much else.

  It was weeks before he realized they were paying him far less than the men with European origins he worked next to each day.

  When he realized the injustice, Anand’s jaw clenched and the muscles in his arms prepared for battle. He nearly started a bloody fight that day -- but stopped himself. He knew he was a boat builder, not a warrior. And this non-warrior Paravar was earning far more money than anywhere else he’d ever worked. It was more than enough to send some home to his family, stay in a warm boarding house, and save for his next adventure. Instead of fighting and being dismissed, he decided to let go of his anger by exploring an area of town he’d recently learned of: The Barbary Coast.

  As night fell, he followed the muffled sounds of music and laughter. He didn’t mind that there were few street signs in the city. Men newly arrived from Europe shook their heads in confusion, but like the Kingdoms of Travancore and Kochi, San Francisco was an organic city that made sense without explanation.

  He followed the sounds onto a street lit with electric lights. An open door beckoned.

  “You don’t want to go in there, my friend,” said a voice from the shadows.

  The voice startled Anand. From the hidden shadows of an alley, a young Chinese man stepped forward. Unlike the other Chinese men Anand had seen, this one wore his hair short. He also spoke flawless, unaccented English.

  “Why is that, my friend?” Anand asked.

  The young Chinese man took a long drag on a short cigarette before throwing the last of it onto the street.

  “If you’re looking for a drink after a hard day’s work, you’ll be safer a block over.”

  “Why are you here, then?” Anand asked the stranger.

  “I’m not going inside.”

  Anand turned up his collar as a cold wind picked up. He’d been hoping California would be warmer, but at least it didn’t snow.

  “You like freezing on the street?” Anand asked. “I’ve heard of some of the strange desires of the people in this part of town. You are a masochist, perhaps?”

  The Oriental man laughed. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll show you a better place. Looks like rain. That’s no good for talking to tourists when they exit the saloon.”

  Anand reached for his pocket, making sure this man hadn’t picked it. The man laughed again.

  “I’m not a pickpocket. I offer them--” He paused, and his voice changed when he spoke again. “I give good Chinatown tour. Secret streets, sir...Opium dens, sir.”

  Anand knew many Chinese traders in Kochi, and he recognized the accent. “Your Chinese accent is a little overdone,” he commented.

  “You think so?” The man was back to his American accent. “The tourists don’t notice. My Western clothing puts them at ease enough that they’ll listen. But without the Chinese accent, they don’t think I’ll know the best places to get opium, or to get the thrill of seeing a real opium den. Where are you from, my friend?”

  “Not from anywhere that I need a tour of Chinatown.”

  The man tipped his head before leading them across the street. They cut behind a nightclub, the sound of a woman’s beautiful voice singing a forlorn song escaping through the door.

  “Welcome to the Barbary Coast,” the Oriental man said as they walked past. “I won’t even charge you for saving you from being run out of that place. I’m Li.” He pronounced it like the western name Lee. He extended his hand. “Li Fong.”

  “Anand.”

  “Only one name?”

  Anand had met enough foreigners to know that much of the world had family names that came from their father. Anand’s caste name of Paravar served that purpose for identification once he left home, along with using his father’s name Selvam as a middle name. But he had never understood the need for more than one name.

  “Don’t worry,” Li said, misinterpreting Anand’s hesitation. “We’re going somewhere the police won’t raid.”

  The rain broke as they walked through a low door and under a grimy wooden sign proclaiming the establishment to be The Siren’s Anchor.

  “This used to be a ship,” Li explained as they walked past a giant mast.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to build it as a building?”

  Li laughed. “Where we stand today, fifty years ago was the ocean.”

  “I am not as gullible as the tourists.”

  “Faye,” Li called out to the woman standing behind the bar. “Tell my new friend here how The Siren’s Anchor came into existence. This is Faye’s place,” he added to Anand.

  Faye was not an easy woman to characterize. Her features resembled the darker skinned women in Arabia, though her skin was fairer. Her hair was dark red with a texture he’d seen on Nubian women. She wore less clothing than a respectable woman, yet she had an air of integrity about her.

  “He knows the rules of the place?” Faye asked Li.

  “Good liquor, no trouble,” Li said.

  “Any man –- or woman –- of any color is welcome,” Faye added. “But no prostitution allowed, and no shanghaiing.”

  “None intended,” Anand said. He had heard about shanghaiing, when sailors were physically knocked out or given a knock-out drug in their drink, then carried off to a ship in need of a crew. He had thought it was a thing of the distant past –- not going on in the new century.

  “We’re standing on the old coastline,” Faye said. “Several hundred ships were abandoned right here in the late 1840s when everyone had gold fever.”

  Faye paused to pour two drinks for two men who raised their empty glasses, tucking their coins into a hidden spot behind the bar.

  “They abandoned their ships to head for the gold fields. When the city filled in the cove in the ’50s, the ships were used as part of the land fill. This was one of the bigger ships. Parts of it stayed above ground.”

  “You are far too young for this to have been your ship,” Anand said with a grin.

  “You brought me a charmer, Li,” Faye said.

  “I’m Anand.”

  “Anand,” Faye repeated, hesitating over the pronunciation.

  “The emphasis is on the first syllable,” Anand said. “You can remember it because it starts strong, like me.”

  “Faye’s father built this place,” Li said.

  “Negroes weren’t permitted to be gold prospectors,” Faye said. “Worked out better that way. Most of those men didn’t find any gold and died of starvation or disease. Supplies were low, so men who started businesses during that time could charge any price they wanted. My father built this place, and opened its doors to any man. Now it’s mine, so any woman is welcome here, too.”

  Anand looked around the dark, well-kept saloon. A dozen men gathered around the bar and a few wooden tables, but there wasn’t a woman in sight. If he hadn’t known it was originally a ship, he would have assumed it was a regular building constructed to make sailors feel at home. A mirror behind the bar was made from portholes. A large anchor hung on the opposite wall, flanked by a fishing spear and a wooden ship’s wheel.

  “Now,” Faye said, “what’s your poison?”

  Chapter 13

  “Pirate Vishnu,” I said, slapping down a printout of the page of the newspaper archive in front of Tamarind.

  “Huh?” Tamarind stared into the distan
ce beyond the glass front doors, distracted.

  “You okay?” I asked, following her gaze. “You look distracted. You still hoping to catch a glimpse of Naveen?”

  “There’s some kid in a dark hoodie who’s been lurking outside the doors since I’ve been back at my desk. He hasn’t come inside, but that’s a long time to be waiting for a study buddy. I thought I knew all the troublemakers, but he must be here just for summer session.”

  “I don’t see him.”

  “You got off track?” Tamarind said, turning her attention back to me. “I know pirates are way cool, but you’re usually more focused—”

  “This,” I said, pointing at the sketch, “is Uncle Anand.”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “This explains how he got his hands on the treasure,” I said. “He was a pirate who stole it.”

  “Wow,” Tamarind said. “Oh. My. Wow. Just wow.”

  “A ship that originated in India came to San Francisco, where their treasure was stolen by Pirate Vishnu, AKA Uncle Anand.”

  “The treasure originated in India,” Tamarind repeated. “What do you think it was?”

  “I’m trying to think what it could be that fits with that timing.” I shook my head. “The ruling governance had changed from the British East India Company to the British Raj by then. There was a lot of wealth, but I don’t know about anything that was being given to America. We weren’t big players yet. Indian kings were giving gifts to Europeans, not Americans. And since the papers didn’t report further details, I’m not sure how to narrow it down.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Tamarind said. “I know how big a country India is to research.”

  “It was both British trading wealth and also rich princely states that had treasures. That’s why Anand was involved in the nationalist movement—sticking up for the little guy rather than colonizers or local royalty. My mom told me that he knew the men who created the symbolic Heart of India statue before it was swept out to sea during a bad monsoon season. India is a country full of treasures like that. You must have read about the treasure hoard discovered in the Sri Padmanabhaswamy temple in Trivandrum not too long ago. There’s no shortage of possible treasures.”

  “I’m trying to think about how we can narrow it down,” Tamarind said.

  “I should have made him tell me what the treasure was before I would help him.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Tamarind said. “Besides, I’m the one who’s good at convincing people to tell things they don’t want to tell.” Her nose ring sparkled in the light as she smiled mischievously. “But hang on. This article doesn’t say anything about a treasure. In fact, it says his crew attacked this ship and scared the crap out of them, but then they didn’t steal anything.”

  “There were four more references to Pirate Vishnu in the paper,” I said. “Three were just regurgitations of other articles and didn’t say anything new. But one mentioned another ship that was attacked. During this attack, Pirate Vishnu and his crew took the ship.”

  Tamarind took the article printout from my hand, her bright red lips hanging open. “A crew member of the ship that was attacked reported a Negro man with a Chinese crew,” she summarized, “but I’m guessing that’s our guy.”

  “I doubt the sailor had seen many dark-skinned people from the south of India. And it’s only a week later than the first article. The same reporter identified them as the same crew on the same ship.”

  “No deaths,” Tamarind read. “They organized, attacked, and stole the entire ship, but they didn’t kill anyone, or even maim anyone. It looks like that was much to the reporter’s disappointment. His story is on the front page but below the fold.” Tamarind frowned as she finished the article. “Even though they took the ship, there’s still nothing reported about what the ship was carrying besides average trading supplies.”

  “I have an idea about that,” I said. “What if he stole something that was already stolen?”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “That would explain why it wasn’t reported,” I said. The facts were falling into place. I’d need more evidence to be sure, but I felt like I was finally onto something.

  “You are the man, Jaya.”

  “Look at the facts here,” I said. “On their first try, they attacked the wrong ship. That’s why they didn’t care at all about that ship and abandoned it.”

  “They were after something specific,” Tamarind said.

  “But what was it they stole?”

  Tamarind grinned at me. “I have something to inspire you.” She snuck behind her desk and reappeared a few seconds later. She handed me a sticker of a pirate flag—the skull and crossbones.

  “I got this to put on my phone,” she said. “But I think it’s more appropriate for you to have today.”

  My stomach rumbled as I put the sticker in my back pocket.

  “I need a snack break,” I said.

  “Not without me. You can’t drop a pirate bombshell and not think it through without me. Let me get Sarah to cover for me.”

  I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder while Tamarind went to talk to one of her colleagues. She came back a minute later with a sour expression on her face.

  “I can’t take another break yet,” Tamarind said. “Sometimes I don’t know how I ended up working for the Man.” She scrunched up her face in silent protest.

  “Back soon,” I promised.

  Walking out of the library, I headed down the few steps in the direction of my favorite campus coffee house. As I walked I noticed someone walking alongside me. A man with a black hooded sweatshirt took slow strides a few feet away. His hood was pulled over his head in spite of the warm day. His gait wavered, like he was nervous or high.

  I hurried my pace, and the man fell back. I was just being paranoid because of everything that was going on. Even though it was summer, there were still people around campus. And this was San Francisco. Some of them were bound to be strange.

  I relaxed. It was the wrong thing to do. As soon as I turned to look the other way, the man knocked into me. He slammed into my shoulder, knocking me to the ground.

  “Hey!” I yelled, pain shooting up through my elbow and tail bone.

  The man held out his arm. It wasn’t an attempt to help me up. I felt a sharp tug across my body. He was after my bag.

  I had my bag slung across my body, so although the sharp tug caught me off guard, my attacker didn’t manage to pull the bag away.

  Ready for his second attempt, I bent my knees from my prostrate position, planting my feet flat on the ground, and took firm hold of the strap of my bag. As he gave a second tug, my body lifted up along with the bag slung over my body. I pushed with my leg as he pulled, and we stood directly in front of each other. That’s when I saw his face. Or rather, the lack thereof. A stocking was pulled over his head, obscuring his appearance.

  Like most people, this man stood quite a bit taller than me. Between the pantyhose distorting his features and the bulky sweatshirt covering much of his body, that’s about all I could tell.

  Before I could cry out again, he gave another sharp yank to the strap of my bag, higher this time. It pulled across my back, yanking me sideways and knocking the breath out of me. The strap caught under my arm. He didn’t loosen his grip.

  None of the few people walking by on the far side of the quad seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to us. I was on my own. I spun on my heel to face away from the attempted thief. I lowered my center of gravity and heaved.

  It’s easier to throw someone over you than you’d imagine. As a small person, it’s one of the most important things I’ve learned. The man tumbled over me with ease, landing on his back. He was even lighter than I’d imagined. My assailant groaned as he hit the concrete.

  I didn’t think, but acted on
instinct from years of training. When you attend a self-defense or martial arts class where they send one big guy after another at you, you learn to react. But what they don’t teach you is to think about your possessions along with your physical self. The man had kept hold of my bag as he twisted over me. As I flipped him over me, my bag went with him.

  As soon as I realized what I’d done, I lunged forward. The man rolled away with my bag.

  My right palm skidded across the concrete in my desperate forward grasp, leaving skin behind. I landed on my elbow. The mugger didn’t look back. As pain throbbed in my hand and elbow, he jumped up and sprinted away.

  All I could do was watch as he disappeared around the side of the building—and along with him, my laptop and Anand’s map.

  Chapter 14

  I paced the hallway of the police station, silently cursing my lack of forethought. I knew that Steven had been killed over that treasure, and I had the map he believed led to the treasure. I’d had a false sense of security because I was at my university, a place I felt safe.

  Though Steven’s death happening right after he came to see me could have been a coincidence, another, completely separate act of violence related to this treasure couldn’t be. I found it hard to believe the mugger had been after the academic research notes I’d pieced together for the paper I was working on—even though I have to say my theory about the organization of economic, political, and military factions was rather brilliant. And I never buy the latest phone or computer gadgets, yet the mugger had been hanging around the library waiting for me specifically. The only thing that made sense was that he was after the treasure map. What would he have done if I hadn’t stupidly lost hold of the bag? I didn’t want to think about it.

  Even though the mugging had to be about the map, the attacker had gotten something far more important to my normal life: my laptop. I’m good at backing up my files, but I’d been distracted from the moment Steven came to see me. Besides hitting “save” regularly, I couldn’t remember if I’d backed up any of that full day’s work on my cloud server. As soon as I was done at the police station, I could use my office desktop computer to check for my latest backup. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best.