by Clive Hindle
"I don't think so," Jack said.
"You here on business?" the driver asked.
"Actually, I'm looking for a friend."
"You looking for a friend in this city? Like looking for a fish in the sea."
Jack smiled. The stories of the friendliness of the Philippines people were legendary and the driver, whose name was Romy, proudly added that everyone in the Philippines now enjoyed free speech and a free press. He had been one of several hundred political prisoners freed by Cory Aquino after her election. He was talking about the 1986 elections and the downfall of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos, whose rod-of-iron-rule over this country had been accompanied by evidence of some of the worst corruption in the history of the world and had seen many dissenters thrown under lock and key without trial. The crack beat any Jack could remember in a taxi ride. Hong Kong taxi drivers are monosyllabic and Geordies want you to know your life history. There’s a happy medium somewhere and he’d just found it in Manila. Eventually, the vehicle pulled up at the Hyatt Regency from which the views across Manila Bay took the breath away. An American aircraft carrier was lying at anchor, the sun going down behind it. The air was so hot and thick you could cut it like a loaf. Jack gave Romy a handsome tip and the driver promised to return the next day to show him the sights.
"I haven't got that much time for sights," Jack said, "I must try and find my friend, but it would be helpful for me to have some transport. Perhaps I could hire you for the day tomorrow? I imagine your local knowledge will save me from a lot of mistakes."
A few minutes after checking in Jack was on the telephone to the American Hotel, asking to speak to Mr Montrose. The receptionist checked the book. It took her a few minutes to come back. "There's no one of that name here, sir.”
"Are you sure?" Jack replied. "Can you tell me if he’s checked out?"
She went away and checked again. "There was someone of that name staying here, sir," she said, "but in fact he went last week."
"Do you know where? Did he leave a forwarding address?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I can‘t give you that information."
No, of course she couldn’t. Jack rang off and telephoned Graham Witherspoon. He asked if Gerry had returned to Hong Kong and the Assistant-Commissioner said he’d check it out. About half an hour later he telephoned back. No way was Gerry back in Hong Kong. Jack fell asleep. In a troubled dream two Chinese men dressed in Chairman Mao suits attacked him with choppers. After a terrible struggle he beat them off and collapsed over a rainwater puddle in the gutter. His face was reflected in the water and in the jugular side was a gaping wound. But he was still alive. The dream faded and he fell into a deep sleep.
Romy was as good as his word. He was waiting outside the next morning. It turned out his name was short for Romeo. He had a dark sunburnt face, almost Negrito in appearance, but he was taller than the average among those people indigenous to the Philippines. They started off on a tour of the city. Jack didn’t tell Romy the reason he was looking for Gerry nor that he wasn’t alone in the search but he gave his taxi driver enough to whet his appetite, plus the promise of a fat reward if, with his help, he found his old friend. Jack only realised the hopelessness of the task when he saw the throngs of foreigners walking the streets. “I wish they told me if he’d left an address at the American,” he said.
“Is that where he was? They wouldn’t help?” Romy pooh-poohed that one straightaway and they headed over there. Romy disappeared into the building and when he returned he said, “We’re in luck, he’s still in the Philippines. He was talking about travelling south but he had some people here to look up first. Seems a friendly enough sort but….”
“But?”
“I don’t figure how a nice guy like you knows the type who’d stay at a place like that,” he replied, not looking back but pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.
“Oh, I can slum it with the best of them,” Jack replied and they both laughed. He sobered swiftly, though, when he thought of Amie’s dead body. No matter how much he might want to hide away, he had no choice; he had to get the job done.
Romy reasoned that an Australian tourist was more likely to be found in the tourist areas during the daytime than anywhere else. Jack wasn't convinced but he had no better plan so they started off at the walled city, Intramuros, which was laid out in an uneven pentagon, its towering walls breached by seven gates. In the old days of Manila only the Spanish were allowed to live inside the city. It had been protected by a moat over which the drawbridges were raised at night. It was all but destroyed during World War II but was now undergoing restoration. Calm and quiet inside, it compared favourably with the hustle of downtown Manila.
Next they drove to Fort Santiago overlooking the mouth of the Pasig River. Its notorious dungeons, the scene of many tortures, lay below the high tidal mark. They went on foot down the Plaza Roma towards Manila Cathedral. The statue of the Virgin Mary, cast in bronze, stood at the high altar. Breathtaking in its execution, the cycle of stained glass windows depicted the Virgin's life in brilliant tropical colours. But there was no Gerry and somehow Jack didn‘t think they‘d find him in these places. They toured Rizal Park and drove into the Ermita tourist district then across the river to Chinatown and the gigantic slums of Tondo, a vast shanty-town where people lived in shacks of corrugated iron or burnt out Jeepneys. Even a place as desolate as this had its pecking order. The better off lived on houses built of stilts above the knee-deep mud. “You wouldn’t find him here,” Romy laughed.
They toured the coffee shops in Santos and Malate without success. "Aren't there any Australian bars?" Jack asked. Romy looked surprised, as if he should have thought of it, and he nodded. They did a tour of the Swag Man Bar, the Emu Club, the Boomerang Club, the Kangaroo and the Great Escape. "I'm beginning to think this is a wild goose chase," Jack said. At nightfall they started at the fast food centre on del Pilar and toured the pubs and girlie bars in Ermita. “Jesus!” Jack said, “Let me out of here!” as Romy led him through the doors of the Hobbit House, a freak show with its dwarf waiters and waitresses. Finally, at the New Aussie Bar, they had a result, although at first it didn’t seem propitious. Jack showed Gerry’s photograph to the Australian proprietor and he shook his head.
"You've never seen him?" Jack asked.
"What's his name, mate?" he replied.
"Gerry Montrose," Jack said.
"Gerry Montrose!" he exclaimed. "My God, he's a beat up looking bugger now, who'd he pay to touch that up?”
"Well," Jack said doubtfully, "it was taken some years ago, and life’s maybe been a bit tough on him since."
"A bit tough! He’s had more than a hard paper round," the proprietor retorted, "but sure, yeah, Gerry was here a few days ago. Tell you where you'll find him mate. Down on Roxas Boulevard, he's a regular down there."
"Anywhere in particular you think I should try?"
"Search me mate," the proprietor replied, "can't afford the cover charge myself." He broke off to introduce himself to a group of newcomers: Germans with Filipina women. Both the men and the women were covered in garlands of flowers.
"Marriage safari," Romy whispered with a certain reverence mingled with contempt. They got in the car and drove down Roxas Boulevard, past the joggers and people just watching the sun go down over Manila Bay. Huge cargo ships were laid up offshore with the nuclear aircraft carrier and its support vessels. The mountains of the Bataan Peninsula were bathed in the red-gold rays of the dying sun. They called at the lined up nightclubs, showing Gerry's photograph to the doormen. No one recognised it. Some had heard of him. He was notorious in the clubs. The breakthrough came when a doorman told them to go in his club, a group of Australians got in there whom he'd point out later. A chap called Gerry Montrose was one of that group. The floor show inside was different from Hong Kong. The hostesses perched like exotic birds in gilded cages suspended above the ceiling. If you called for one to visit your table, she'd be deposited hydraulically in your lap. A group of boister
ous Australians came in and the well-greased palm of the doorman signalled just as he’d promised. Jack sauntered over to the safari suit-clad group. They all looked a little out of date. He introduced himself. "Struth," one of them said, "it's a Pom!" He looked at Jack as if he was an endangered species.
"Any of you guys know Gerry Montrose?" Jack asked.
"Know him?" one of them replied, "He was here a couple of days ago. You're a bit late mate, he's buggered off has old Gerry. Manila's got too hot for him! What does he owe you? Join the back of the queue!" They burst into raucous laughter. They were a robust crew, the sort Gerry would hang about with when he was on the hoy.
"You don't know where he's gone?" Jack asked his informant. “I'm an old friend of his," he added, "we go back a lot of years from early days in Hong Kong."
"Oh yeah?" and he looked Jack up and down, "Gerry never mentioned any Pom mates.” They laughed again, "but I suppose you’re kosher then. He was last seen heading down for Mindanao."
Jack’s heart sank. That gelled with Romy’s information from The American. No sooner did he get a sighting than Gerry disappeared back into the bush. He gritted his teeth and asked, "He took the plane?"
"If you want to find Gerry, don't take the plane," the Aussie said, "he hates flying!" His mates all laughed again.
“I’d have thought it a necessary evil here?”
“Maybe, maybe, but not if he has a choice. Stand on me, mate.”
That remark struck Jack as odd. Gerry was one of the world’s great travellers. He’d never been bothered by aeroplanes. Having said that, Jack hadn’t seen him for years. Who knows what had happened to him in the meantime? "Just not the way I remember him," he replied.
"You weren’t on the last Air Siam flight into Bangkok, mate," the man replied, "he's never been the same since. Ran out of fuel in mid air, facking wooden bench seats, no straps, he spent the rest of the flight on the crapper!" They were all creased by now. "If you want to catch up with Gerry," the man continued, "take the boat. He could get off anywhere on the way, if the fancy takes him."
"Or a sheila," the other Australian said.
“That’s what I mean, the fancy!” the first man nodded, “count on it, he’ll have stopped off a dozen times on the way, let the dog take a leak.” They all fell about again.
CHAPTER 2
Romy offered to drive Jack down to the ferry and they left the nightclub. At least Jack had a lead now, although his friend seemed to number among his companions just about every low life in the world. One explanation for his elusiveness might be he didn’t want Jack to find him. If that was the case, Plum was right, he could kiss his money goodbye. Forget about the blood and the stone, it’s even harder to get cash out of a broke Aussie. Jack was beginning to believe the propaganda. Gerry was off the wall.
When they got downtown it turned out the boat didn’t sail until midnight so they drove into Ermita where Romy left the car and they toured the bars. Jack handed him his reward. “We didn’t find your friend,” the Filipino protested.
“Near as dammit, fair’s fair.” Romy wasn’t arguing. His wife was expecting a child and a windfall went a long way in Manila. They returned to the New Aussie Club where Jack bought the proprietor a beer by way of thank you.
“Enjoy yourself, mate,” the barman said. He pointed around. There was a dozen or so good-looking girls on the dance floor.
"You sure you don't want girl?" Romy asked, "Pretty cheap cheap here, you got the time!”
Jack smiled. You get older and, if not wiser, maybe less foolish. Then a woman started to stride across the floor towards them. She had long blond hair and a radiant smile. He was on his guard but she was doing her best to be charming. She stopped short of him and held out her hands. “Can we just start again? Not from the beginning maybe but at least from the last couple of days?” Romy’s eyes popped out of his head. Jack looked at the tall, thin man following her. “My, you’re very hard to keep up with?”
“Why are you trying?”
“Maybe I was sorry about what happened the other night? We got off on the wrong foot and all that?”
“Really? Is that what this is about?”
“Well, no, not entirely. If you must know, I figured I had some leave coming and if you’re going to catch up with that ass’ole I’d like to be there when you do.” He took the explanation on board – but how had she known he was in the Philippines? Before he could analyse it further he remembered his manners and introduced her to Romy. “Hi, Romy,” Diana said, totally relaxed. She had a good way with people who might think themselves below her station. She’d been brought up among sheep rustlers and she possessed no airs and graces.
“Hi, please to meet you,” he stammered back, totally bowled over by her sheer drop-dead beauty. It was as if a film star had been introduced into their midst. “Mr. Jack, you want me leave now?” Jack cuffed his head and bought him another drink. He could sink them in best Western style. Romy drew himself up to his full height, a paid up member of the symposium.
Then the other man came up behind Diana and said, “Who’s the facking Pom?”
“Oh yes,” Diana said, her face speaking with more volume than her voice, “this is Goff, Goff meet Jack.”
To show it was all to be taken in jest, the Aussie added, “G’ day, mate.” He held out his hand and they shook.
“The night ferry will soon be leaving for Cebu,” Romy reminded him and Jack grimaced because he hadn‘t wanted Diana to know that but, of course, how would Romy know?
“Cebu. Now that’s a dead and alive hole,” Diana chipped in, throwing back her hair with an equine flick of the head.
“It’s a long journey too. Takes all night and half of tomorrow.”
Diana had a bottle of beer to her mouth. She paused and looked at Jack with a slight sideways glance of the eyes. “We’ll have to find something to amuse ourselves then, won’t we?”
“Hey!” Goff cut in, “I know a man in Cebu. Might be up for a deal.” He winked at her. “Get ourselves a cabin?”
“He’s a diamond trader,” she whispered in Jack’s ear, “met him on the plane.”
“You always had impeccable taste in men.”
Those sapphire eyes turned arctic, “Jealous are we?”
He wanted to tell her no, it was someone else he was thinking about, but did she really care that Amie was dead? And anyway it wasn’t right. He was jealous but he wasn’t going to admit it and if she could throw herself at a bloke like that he didn’t want to know her. Even though he’d thought of her more than once since the lost opportunity, once or twice guiltily, when he was with Amie, he made up his mind to get rid of her as soon as possible.
A little later Romy took them all to the wharf. Jack had tried to dispose of the other two by suggesting they might need to get their things but Diana tapped her small case. It was all in there and Goff always travelled light apparently. Diamond trader, Jack thought, diamond bloody smuggler more like. At least he had a first class cabin to himself but even that was scuppered when the purser, assuming no doubt they were a menage-a-trois, said the other two could share it as the first class cabins slept four. Diana looked delighted and he just groaned inwardly.
After an emotional farewell with Romy and many promises to return to see him at some indeterminate date in the future, the sort of promise made with all good intentions but little reflection, a seaman led them across the deck, where scores of people were putting up makeshift cots. "How many people can you cram on this boat?" Jack asked. Maybe the sailor didn't understand, or he was ignoring the question, but he didn't respond. He led them down to the cabin where he deposited his bag on the top bunk.
“I like the top bunk,” Diana said and put her bag there too. Goff put his on the other top one too and Jack groaned again. The Aussie winked at him though and it took him a few moments to realise from the furtive whispers that he was trying to tell him he expected to be sharing the other top bunk so it might be best to sleep under his, if he wanted a
quiet night. It was an hour before the boat sailed and Diana added, “The air-conditioning’s not up to much, is it?” Jack sat on the bottom bunk and watched wryly as Goff, standing behind her, made a gesture of goosing her rear, grinning at Jack behind her back, his tongue out in a mixture of the comic and the lascivious.
“Fancy a stroll round the deck,” Jack asked, “watch the shoreline slip away?”
“Hmmm!” she replied, “you are so romantic, Jack.”
Goff added, “You seen one sea view, you seen ‘em all. Be my guest, folks.” Jack opened the door to let her into the corridor and, as he followed, the Aussie added quietly to Jack, “Eat your heart out, Pom. You take her for a turn round the deck and later I’ll show you how you really exercise a filly.”
