by Ed Lacy
“Buck!” Nancy shouted, “You have only three minutes more of life! Start back to your schooner!”
“Now see here, you have no goddamn right to—” Buck began, then started toward Nancy. As I jumped at the big Swede, Eddie either hit him in the gut or kneed him—all I saw was the giant crumbling to the quay like air running out of a balloon.
Teng didn't move, but the blonde muscleman jumped up on the dock, started for Eddie, then stopped abruptly when Nancy fired a shot near his head. She said, “I have five more shells left in this clip. And you have less than two minutes left!”
Kid Marson had stopped so suddenly, as if he had walked into an invisible wall, that the islanders began to laugh and Cumber yelled, “It is decided! You,” he pointed to Teng, “go back to your boat at once. The rest will bring nuts and fruits here and I will get three canoes. Hurry!”
While Teng and Marson pulled Buck to his feet, Cumber cupped his hands and shouted out over the lagoon to the people waiting in canoes that food was being brought out to the schooner. Ruita told him to add that Buck was taking them to Papeete for medicines. We couldn't hear their response—they were on the lee side of the atoll—but I felt certain they wanted to land, more than anything else.
Marson helped Buck into their boat, Teng stood on the dock for a moment, as if hesitating. Nancy fired another shot —coral dust jumped at his feet. Teng leaped into the boat, yelled at Marson to take the oars.
I wondered if Nancy knew the bullet might have easily ricocheted and killed Teng... and I felt a little like a coward. I told myself I hadn't butted in because I didn't want to act the all-wise popaa telling the natives what to do. But at the same time I felt foolish. In actual size I was the biggest man on the atoll, except for Buck and Kid Marson. Yet it had been Eddie who had dumped Buck and a little old woman who threw a gun on them.
Empty canoes were brought to the beach, and the islanders got busy filling them with nuts and limes, papayas, even a jar of pickled sharks' livers. Nancy came over to me, the carbine cradled in her left arm. Ruita followed, eyeing the old woman with awe and admiration. Mrs. Adams said, “Ray, I want you to write down as much of this as you remember, now, in your shorthand, so we can give Papeete a full report if Buck makes any trouble.”
I dug in my pocket for my notebook and pencil, thinking —Big Ray, flattening them left and right with shorthand!
“He's smack in the wrong, won't open his yap,” Eddie said, taking the gun from Nancy's arm. “These carbines are good old rifles—nice and light. Where did you buy it?”
“In Samoa,” Nancy said, her leather face relaxing as she smiled. “Had some idea I might use it for shooting fish. I'm not as agile as I used to be.”
“Mama, if they... they hadn't agreed, would you have killed them?”
Nancy stared at Ruita for a second, squeezed her hand and said softly, “Yes.”
There was a long dull cough out in the lagoon, followed by a collective wail from the canoes. We spun around to see the Shanghai making for the channel under power, leaving canoes full of sick divers behind in the lagoon.
Chapter VII
There was a moment of shocked silence as everybody stared at the schooner making for the channel.
Eddie shouted, “Son of a bitch!” and fired a wild burst at the Shanghai.
Nancy moaned, “Now we're stuck with them!”
Cumber said, “Schooner captain pretty bad fellow.”
This understatement started me giggling and Ruita shook me, asked, “Ray, can you catch them in the Hooker?”
“We can sure try!” Eddie said, dropping the gun.
I grabbed him before he could take off, ripping his T-shirt. “The Shanghai is at least several knots faster, and by the time we get under way she'll be out of sight.”
“At least we can give it a try!” Eddie said.
“There's only one way of overtaking them Chief, empty your strongest canoe and bring it here. Eddie, get the reserve can of gasoline from the Hooker. Ruita, you find me a bowl or bottle of coconut oil—but fast!”
“What have you in mind?” Nancy asked as the others didn't move.
“You'll see. Come on, get moving!” The sudden burst of activity made me feel great, and a little like a horse's end— I wasn't used to giving orders. I ran through the village till I came to the hut with the outboard. The old man wasn't there. I managed to hoist the damn heavy thing on my shoulder and trot back to the dock.
Eddie was waiting with the gas beside a big twenty-foot sailing canoe, and he asked, “Will that work?”
“Only one way of finding out. Give me a hand.” We pushed the canoe out into knee-deep water and attached the outboard to one side of the stern. The canoe started to go under. Eddie grabbed the motor, screwed the clamps to one of the outrigger booms, close to the hull as possible. It balanced, but the outrigger went deep into the water. I looked around for a rope to lash the outboard to the boom, couldn't find one.
Ruita came splashing into the water holding a quart rum bottle full of coconut oil. I mixed this in the outboard tank with two gallons of gas and motioned for Eddie and Cumber to get into the canoe. I stepped in as Ruita and Titi held the sides and got us balanced properly. I motioned for them to push us out as the old guy who owned the motor demanded to go along. I shook my head, and Titi held him from jumping in and sinking us all. Of course the motor didn't start the first time I yanked the rope or on the second or third times. The Shanghai was already in the channel. I wasn't sure if I had the right mixture, or even if coconut oil would work.
She coughed and smoked on the fourth attempt: I was scared I had flooded the carburetor. But on the next spin of the starter the motor came alive with a roar and the canoe jumped through the water like a speedboat. Eddie shouted, “Watch out for coral heads—hit anything at this speed and we'll be killed!”
The outboard steered easily: I twisted and turned through the canoes of the sick divers, almost laughing at the frightened look on Cumber's face as he crouched in the bow—which was now completely out of water. Our timing was swell—the Shanghai was just leaving the channel; there wouldn't have been room for our canoe and the schooner.
I gave her full gas, figured we were doing thirty miles or better as we sped through the channel. Hitting the open sea was like running into a soggy wall. The canoe shuddered as the bow sank, and I was sure we were going to take on water. But Tuamotu islanders know how to build boats; as I slowed the engine, the bow came up and soon we were skimming over the crest of the waves. Within seconds we were circling the Shanghai, the Chief shouting for Buck to stop. Not a soul even came to the rail to answer him.
I glanced at Eddie—we had to board the schooner! They were towing the long boat and as I circled again and came up behind that, Eddie shook his head. I pointed to the rope ladder hanging down the side of the schooner but Eddie shook his head again, shouted, “The lines hanging from the bowsprit!”
That called for tricky timing: one mistake and the Shanghai would cut us in two. But we had speed, could turn like a fish. Eddie stood up as I ran the canoe under the bowsprit; he grabbed a line with both hands, was jerked out of the canoe, one of his feet clouting me on the head. Eddie dangled in the air for a moment, then got his legs around the rope, pulled himself up onto the bowsprit.
My noggin was ringing as I started the canoe in a figure eight, motioned for Cumber to take over the outboard. He carefully crawled back to the center of the boat, reached for the steering handle of the motor as I shouted in French, “You stay in the canoe—stand by!”
Like all atoll men he was an expert sailor and as I cautiously stood up, balancing myself, he took me under the bowsprit. I managed to grab a line and was flung out into the air. I was sure my arms were coming out of their sockets and I'd land in the drink. I began pulling myself up, like an overstuffed stunt man, somehow got my arms and legs around the thick bowsprit I hung there for a moment, trying to clear my head. The Shanghai was dipping with the swell: a big wave licked my behind, had
the effect of a cold shower. I got right-side up, crawled along the bowsprit to the deck. Eddie had been waiting for me and now he started limping slowly toward the stern, with Teng and Kid Marson coming towards us. Buck appeared, a belaying pin in his right hand.
My head was still ringing and one clear thought came through: now that we were here, we didn't have a plan, hadn't even brought a carbine along! Kid Marson looked as if he could take the both of us without working up a sweat. Along with the dizziness in my head, I had a clammy feeling in my gut.
I started for the Kid, but Eddie pushed me to one side and walked directly at the big blonde, saying, “Come here, you amateur slob!”
Teng was coming at me. I had a quick picture of Eddie ducking under Marson's right, of Eddie's left hook hitting the larded stomach and sounding like a slap of a wet fish... Kid Marson doubled up.
Teng was about a hundred pounds less than me and I didn't expect much trouble from him. I started what I fondly hoped would be a sweeping kayo punch and Mr. Teng pushed my hand away, seemed to jump up on my chest and dig his speakers into my stomach. The next thing I knew I was sailing through the air. Teng's Judo would have worked perfectly except for one thing—I tried to grab at anything with my right hand and got hold of his shirt collar. As my two hundred thirty pounds flew through the air, Mr. Teng followed like a tail on a kite.
I hit the deck so hard the air crashed out of me. I lay on my back like a crumpled rug. The force of my landing made me let go of Teng, who kept sailing through the air. He landed flush against the cabin wall, slid to the deck— out cold.
I finally got things in focus. Eddie was dancing around Buck, not giving him a steady target for his belaying club. The rest of the crew, mostly Tahitians, were atop the cabin except for a man at the wheel, and they all seemed content to be spectators. Near the canoes stacked on the stern I saw several islanders on mats, their sick faces very red and puffed.
I staggered to my feet, spotted Marson up near the bow, still on the deck and groaning. I ran at Buck. He turned and took a vicious swing at my head with his club, but I was already diving for his legs, remembering what little I knew of sandlot football. We both landed heavily on the deck, Buck under me, and if he was a giant of a man he was also at least sixty years old; all the pep had been bounced out of him.
I got the belaying pin and stood up, my head pounding again. Eddie said, real disgust in his voice, “Jeez, Ray, what you do that for? I been longing to cool this big bastard.”
“Can you make the helmsman put about?” I asked, as we heard this shout and ran to the rail. About one hundred yards off the stern Cumber was standing up in the canoe, violently pointing into the water. The outboard was gone. The clamps had worked loose from the boom and the whole thing slipped off. I motioned for him to paddle back to the lagoon while Eddie went up to the wheel. Eddie had no trouble; the Shanghai turned in an amazing small circle, headed back toward the channel.
Teng had come to, but hadn't got to his feet; Buck was sitting up; and Marson was vomiting over the rail. I stood in front of Buck, told him, “You're going to pick up your divers in the lagoon, we'll supply you with fresh food, and then you're heading direct for Papeete.”
He muttered something and I bent over to hear him and of course that. Was what he was waiting for. I saw his legs move and his feet caught me behind the knees. As I fell backwards I managed to smack him on the knee with the belaying pin and he screamed, dropped his legs as I came down on my can and landed so hard that I shook the fog out of my head.
Eddie ran over and pulled me to my feet. “Stay away from this bastard—he's mine. After what they did to us back in PellaPella... damn, what a beak for busting!”
“He's going to take his divers to Papeete.”
“Hell dump them on the first atoll he can land at!” Eddie went over and jerked Mr. Teng to his feet, almost dragged him into Buck's cabin. A moment later I heard Teng shouting he couldn't do something, then abrupt silence, and they both reappeared on deck. Teng's right eye was already closing and Eddie had a small strong box tucked under his right arm.
Eddie smiled down at Buck. “This I learned in a shoot-'em-up movie. The box will be returned to you in Papeete, if the port records show you entered within a week from today!”
Buck started for the box. Eddie held it in front of his face, said, “Go ahead, try to take it from me! I'm almost queer for that banana nose of yours!”
Buck dropped his hands. “This is piracy. I'll have you hung!”
Eddie pointed to the lock. “The money is safe. It's locked and you have the key.”
“And to make it all legal, we will let Cumber hold it,” I put in.
“Yeah, this is what they call security—you're putting it up. We ain't got a thing to do with it,” Eddie told him.
Buck cursed under his breath, and for some reason stared up at the sky. For a small second I almost felt sorry for the old bastard, being shown up in front of his crew, knowing how word of this would get around the waterfronts.
The man at the wheel took the schooner through the channel with expert ease and the canoe people cheered as they saw the ship. Without our telling them a word, the crew dropped anchor, cut the motor. A few minutes later Cumber scampered up the rope ladder.
I handed him the box, said, “Give Buck a receipt for this. Just write one box as bond that the Shanghai will be in Papeete within a week. Otherwise the box belongs to the people of Forliga.”
I'd been speaking mostly in English and Cumber said in Tahitian, “Good,” as though he had understood what I was saying. “Now I tell my people to fill the canoes with food for the divers.” He held the box in one hand and started to dive over the side as Buck roared. “Be careful with the box, you fool!”
“I put that in report to Governor, you call Chief of Forliga a fool!” Cumber snapped, then went down the ladder.
Buck groaned again and I told Eddie, “Let's get the divers back on here before one of them paddles ashore.”
Eddie ran to the bowsprit and shouted in Tahitian, “Come back to the ship. The people on Forliga are sending out enough fresh food for all. Captain Buck has agreed to take you to Papeete at once, where you will get the best medicines. To land on Forliga would only make everybody sick.” Eddie called to Cumber, paddling to shore, to hold up the strong box. “Captain Buck has put up much money to show he does not lie this time. The sooner you get your canoes on board, the faster you will be in Papeete, then in PellaPella.”
They didn't like the idea too much, the coconut palms of Forliga were so close, but they all returned to the Shanghai. Eddie and I stood on the stern, watched the divers and their families come up the ladder, as the crew hoisted the canoes to the deck. About half of them looked in a bad way, watery blisters on puffed faces, shaking with chills and fevers. Buck had disappeared into his cabin and Teng and Marson stood by sullenly. I expected Buck to come out with a pistol, but he didn't.
When three Forliga canoes full of nuts and what fruits and vegetables they had came alongside, Cumber shouted for the crew to lower baskets for the food; no islander was to go up on the deck—undoubtedly Nancy's advice.
It took about an hour to empty the canoes and when the last atoll canoe headed back for land, I said, “Let's get off here before Buck pots us with a gun.”
“He won't do a thing, long as we have that box.”
I started to call a canoe back but Eddie said, “Well swim. And don't worry about sharks—all this paddling about will have scared them off.”
We dived off and swam to the atoll as the Shanghai headed for the channel. Swimming, I could feel every movement of her diesels, like the damn ship was bearing down on us. As we waded ashore Nancy and Ruita came running down and kissed me. The rest of the islanders crowded around us as if we were heroes. And with or without all due modesty, I felt like one: it didn't feel bad at all.
By the middle of the afternoon a small feast was under way —after everybody had gathered at the church to pray and sing. At Nancy's
request I had written everything down in case we had to report to Papeete, and I was a little tired and sleepy. But I couldn't pass up the feast—of nuts, fish, and palm wine.
I sat besides Ruita and ate a little, felt exhausted. My head was starting to ring again. Somebody made a speech, I think it was the Deacon, in which he said it was truly a miracle no one on Forliga had been stricken by the bad germs.
He was wrong, One person turned real sick—me.
I had a chill late in the afternoon, a raging fever by night. Eddie and Nancy fed me lime juice and aspirins, refused to allow Ruita in the cabin.
By the middle of the night I had the shakes, was vomiting all over my bunk, as my head pounded into a delirious coma.
The last thing I remembered was Nancy holding a lamp over me, anxiously examining my face. A million miles away I heard her say, “Not the pox. From the sounds in his chest, pleurisy—and pneumonia.”
Chapter VIII
