Danny made a quick decision. “I don't want a seventy-thirty split. Or any split. I want a flat guarantee of twenty thousand."
The answer from Haas was just as quick. “Done,” he said with that smile.
There was a heavy silence in the room for a long moment, everyone's eyes darting from one to another. Finally, Carli rose, took a deep breath, and said, “Well, now that things are settled, I have to get back to the clinic.” She stepped over to Cargo and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Danny. This means a lot to me."
After she left, Haas said to Cargo, “I'll see you back at the hotel, my friend. I have a few things to go over with Angie."
Cargo rose. “Sure."
Cargo left the bar, but instead of going back to the hotel, he crossed the narrow street and stepped into a small open-air hut filled with stacks of stolen canned goods for sale. Since he had not eaten yet that day, he picked out a can of albacore and had the merchant open it for him. At the counter, he laced it with white mustard and took a plastic fork. Sitting down on an upturned wooden box, he ate while he watched the front door of Rose's Bar.
Haas and Angie came out a quarter-hour later. For a minute or so, they stood together in conversation, then parted, Haas going in one direction, toward the Rittz, Angie in the opposite direction, toward the clinic. Cargo waited until they were far enough apart, then left the rest of his albacore on the box and hurried after Angie.
"Hey,” he said, falling in beside her. “I was hoping to catch you alone. Are you in a hurry to get back?"
"What's on your mind, Danny?” she asked warily, even a little knowingly.
"I was wondering if maybe we could stop and have a cup of tea together."
Angie paused, studying him, and he knew she was weighing how critical he was to the hijack plan. “All right,” she said finally. “Let's."
There was a tea shop nearby that Angie knew of, so they went there and ordered a pot of green tea.
"Well, we are having tea together, Danny,” she said with an openness that he knew he should have expected. “What now?"
Danny shrugged. “I just hoped we could get to know each other, that's all."
"Are you sure you aren't just looking for a replacement for Carli?"
He felt himself blush. “I guess I might be,” he admitted. “But not exactly in the way you might be thinking.” He looked down at the green liquid circle in his cup. “Maybe I just need a friend."
"Why would you need a friend? You'll be gone from the Philippines in a few days."
"Maybe, maybe not. With part of my share of the money, I can probably bribe some official to cancel the visa. Then I could stay in Manila."
"Why would you want to stay in Manila?"
He wondered if she realized how difficult she was making it for him. “I don't really have a reason.” He met her direct look with one of his own. “Yet,” he added. Leaning forward on his elbows, he said, “Look, could we just lighten up this conversation a little?"
"All right.” Angie sighed quietly and sipped a little tea.
"Where are you from, Angie?” he asked, looking for neutral ground.
"Chicago. You?"
"Houston."
She grunted softly, but with a slight smile. “A cowboy?"
"Kind of. Oil-rig cowboy.” He liked the way her thin lips curved down at their corners even when she smiled. “How'd you end up in Manila?"
Now her smile morphed away. “Danny, let's not go there just yet."
"Go where?"
"The past."
He nodded understandingly. “Dark secrets?"
"A couple of secrets, yes. I don't know about dark."
"If I manage to stay in Manila, will you tell me about them?"
She gave him another of her long, contemplative stares before finally answering. “Yes, if you want me to.” She leaned forward a little. “I want you to know something, Danny. Your helping us with what we're doing means an awful lot, not just to Carli and me, but to everybody involved in Mary Magdalene Orphanage and the clinic. The Mother Superior, the nuns, the nurses, all the children, their mothers: There are many, many people who would thank you if they knew. But they don't, and never will. No one knows that anyone from the orphanage or the clinic is involved except the four of us, so you will never receive the gratitude you deserve—"
"Your gratitude is enough for me,” Cargo interrupted. He took one of her hands across the little round table where they sat. Angie's eyes misted a little.
"Thank you, Danny.” She withdrew her hand from his. “Now I really must go."
Outside the tea shop, as he watched her walk away, the morning sun making her short, tangled hair shine like copper, Cargo's expression became perplexed, because he could not resolve in his mind exactly what there was about Angie O'Brien that had reached out to him so quickly and grasped something inside him so completely. But with his perplexity, there was also a very warm feeling, a flicker of something that made him make up his mind at that moment that he was somehow going to remain in Manila.
* * * *
Two days later, Danny Cargo's whole world blew up in his face. Nothing went wrong with the job itself; the hijacking of the truck and its aftermath, right up to the time he and Freddy Haas returned to Freddy's warehouse in Tondo, went off like clockwork.
They had watched the shipment of pharmaceuticals being off-loaded from the freighter Vancouver onto the DuPree truck parked on Pier 19. When the transfer was nearly complete, they had a waiting taxi take them to a corner a few blocks from where the hijacking was to take place. Some thirty minutes later, at the intersection of Kasibu and Matalon streets, they successfully commandeered the DuPree truck with no resistance at all from Heng, the Chinese driver, who was clearly indifferent to what happened to the truck and its load as long as he himself was not hurt.
The trip from the hijack point to the rented unit at the E-Z Storage facility was made without incident, and once there Haas bound the driver's wrists and ankles with nylon cord under several layers of three-inch adhesive tape from the clinic. He also used that tape to securely gag the man.
"You no leave me here to die, you no do that—please!” Heng begged just before he was gagged.
"Don't worry,” Haas assured him with one of his artificial smiles. “We are thieves, not murderers. You will be released in three or four hours."
After locking Heng in the rented storage unit, Cargo and Haas drove to the small warehouse that Haas owned in Tondo, where they spent the next two hours sorting through the cartons of pharmaceuticals and setting aside the folic-acid boxes. The cartons were all stenciled in black letters with the name of their contents. In all, there ended up being thirty-two cartons of folic acid, each carton, according to the shipping invoice Haas had taken from the driver, containing two dozen bottles of the drug; seven hundred sixty-eight bottles, two hundred fifty tablets per bottle.
"Nearly two hundred thousand doses,” Haas figured with his calculator-like mind. “That should make Carli and Angie very happy.” He slapped Cargo on the back in another of his hollow gestures of camaraderie. “Come on, my friend, let's get the rest to my buyer and get our money."
They drove to another warehouse, in the Pulian district, this one bustling with activity, with a loading dock long enough to accommodate ten trucks at a time. Painted above the dock was: FONG LEE FONG—RESHIPMENT CO. LTD.
As soon as Danny had backed the truck into an empty space, four husky dock workers hauled a huge canvas tarpaulin onto its top and unrolled it down each side to conceal the DuPree Pharmaceuticals name and logo. At the same time, six others began unloading the truck at the rear.
"You can wait in the truck,” Haas told Danny. “Since you are not in for a percentage, you don't need to be a party to the financial transaction. I'll be back in a while with your twenty thousand."
Danny did not like that arrangement, but he knew Haas was right; by his own choice, Danny was not a partner in the job, only a paid employee. Exiting the truck, Haas join
ed an Asian man of unclear origin holding a clipboard and checking off each carton as it was moved into the warehouse. When the truck was empty, Haas handed the man the packet with the shipment invoice and insurance documents taken from the hijacked driver. Together they went inside the warehouse.
Half an hour later, Haas returned to the loading dock carrying two canvas duffel bags, and gestured for Danny to join him. Danny got out and hopped up onto the dock. Haas handed him one of the two bags.
"Four hundred and fifty thousand pesos, my friend. A trifle more than the twenty thousand U. S. you have coming, but I can't be bothered counting small bills. Shall we go?"
An air-conditioned taxi was waiting on the street to take them to the Tondo district. Neither spoke on the way there, for fear the driver understood English. At the edge of the Tondo district, the two men dismissed the taxi, slung on their duffel bags, and walked the mile or so to the warehouse Haas owned, where they had left the cartons of folic acid.
"How much did you get for the load?” Danny could not help asking on the way. Haas laughed gleefully.
"Ah, don't you wish you knew! Having second thoughts about taking a flat guarantee, Danny?"
"No, just curious."
"Well, don't be. What's the old American saying? Curiosity killed the cat?” The German's voice lost its jovial tone. “You don't want to be the cat that was too curious, do you, Danny?"
Remembering the automatic that Haas carried in his belt, and deciding that those last words were clearly a warning, Danny replied, “No, Freddy, I don't."
At his warehouse, Haas said, “Danny, open a carton and pull out a bottle of that stuff, will you?” It was half request, half order.
Danny examined one of the cartons. It was securely sealed with filament tape. “I don't have anything to cut this tape,” he said.
"You know, Danny,” Haas smirked, “if you're going to be a successful criminal, you must learn to carry the tools of your trade. Here—” he tossed Danny a six-inch Italian switchblade stiletto. While Danny began carefully slicing the fibers of the tape, Haas studied him thoughtfully. After seeming to ponder something, he said, “You're not a bad fellow, Danny. How would you like to work for me on a permanent basis?"
"As what, a bellman at the Rittz?"
Haas laughed. “Come now, I'm sure Carli or Angie must have at least suggested to you that my little hovel of a hotel is merely a legitimate front for my more, shall we say, covert business."
"Which is?” Danny asked.
"Sex, dear boy. To be exact, sex slavery. Naturally, no one at the orphanage or the clinic is aware of this.” He chuckled. “If they were, they wouldn't spit on me, much less do business with me. You see, I deal in young girls—very young girls: eleven and twelve are the favorite ages. I snatch them off the streets of Tondo and other stinking slum areas, and hold them captive in this very warehouse. After I collect half a dozen or so, I sell them to the captain of one of the foreign ships docked here—much as you previously did with your black-market fossil stone. Except that my product doesn't go to Honolulu to be used in furniture making; my product goes to places like Syria, Turkey, Pakistan, Algeria, to be used for—well, other purposes. How would you like to join me in that venture?"
"No, thanks,” Cargo replied coldly. “That's not in my line."
"You'd make good money,” Haas encouraged. “Right now, I can only manage, working alone, one sale of six units a month. But with the right assistant, I could probably triple that."
"I said no,” Cargo repeated. “Forget it.” He finished slicing the tape and put the stiletto aside. “When are we going to call DuPree to tell them where to find their driver?"
"We aren't,” Haas replied matter-of-factly. “Don't ask foolish questions. Did you really think we were? The man has seen us, he can identify us.” Haas chuckled again. “Besides, one Chink more or less won't matter to anyone."
"If we leave him there, he'll suffocate from the heat."
"Probably,” Haas agreed absently. Coming over to the now open carton, he removed a bottle of folic-acid pills and hefted it in one of his hamlike hands as if it were a trophy of some sort. “I'm going to show this,” he said, a leer spreading over his face, “to sweet young Carli, and before agreeing to deliver the rest of the shipment extract from her a, ah, shall we say, little extra charge for my services. She's such a dedicated young woman, so devoted to those freakish children, I'm sure in order to get the rest of these, she'll do anything I ask of her—"
As Haas turned away, Danny picked up the stiletto and buried its thin silver blade all the way into the side of the German's neck.
Gasping, throat throbbing in a panic reflex, esophagus shriveling inside him, blood spurting around the pearl handle of the knife sticking out of his neck, Haas reached for the pistol in his belt.
Danny Cargo was a split second faster and got to the gun first.
* * * *
While Manfred Haas was thrashing and kicking on the floor, gurgling like a stuck hog, desperately trying not to die, Danny retrieved the DuPree truck driver's cell phone, scrolled the call menu, and telephoned the pharmaceutical company's number. To the woman who answered, he gave the name of E-Z Storage and the street he remembered it being on, so that their driver could be rescued.
Then Danny transferred the money from his duffel bag into the larger one that Haas had carried, and tossed the extracted bottle of folic acid pills in with it. As soon as the German stopped writhing, Danny stripped him of his clothes, identification, and keys, pulled the knife from his neck, wiped up the blood, and rolled the cell phone and everything else except the warehouse keys into a bundle. Taking that, he dragged Haas out a back door, eased his body into a six-footdeep open sewage trench, waited until it sank, then tossed the bundle in after it and watched as the putrid brown sewage stream floated it slowly away.
"So long, Freddy,” he said to himself.
* * * *
It was late afternoon as Danny, the duffel bag slung on one shoulder, hiked deeper into the Tondo district to the Mary Magdalene Orphanage clinic. Inside, he found the same young woman in white novitiate habit that he had spoken to the day he was released.
"Hello,” she smiled up at him. “I remember you. Looking for Nurse Gomez again?"
"Actually, no,” Danny smiled back. “I'm looking for Angie O'Brien this time."
The young novitiate frowned. “I'm sorry, who did you say?"
"Angie O'Brien. She works in the pharmacy—"
"Oh, you mean Sister Angela. Just a moment, please—"
Sister Angela? The words stung him, sharply.
Danny was only remotely aware of the young woman speaking into the telephone on her reception desk. His brain was in a sudden turmoil, his thoughts a bedlam of disorder. For a brief, insane moment, he felt as if he were the only person on the face of the earth, all alone, with no idea what to do next.
Then he heard her voice.
"Hello, Danny."
She stood in a white summer nun's habit, a white cowl covering her clipped red hair, those usually piercing dark eyes of hers seeming somehow softer, but not even the hint of a smile on her thin lips.
"Shall we talk outside?” she said, taking his arm.
One side of the clinic wing was in shade, and they stood there to talk.
"So this is the secret you said you had.” Danny's voice was strained.
"One of them, yes."
"Is there another?"
"Yes. The other is Carli."
As she spoke Carli's name, the young Filipina nurse came outside and joined them. Nurse and nun stood side by side, each reaching for the other's hand. Seeing that, Danny felt inert, as if some kind of narcosis had overcome him. Suddenly he was very tired, experiencing a fatigue that overcame the nervous tension of the long day of robbery and murder, and now the astonishment of this crushing moment.
"We didn't want to hurt you, Danny,” Sister Angela said quietly.
"No,” Danny muttered, “I don't believe you did."
"We had to think of the children first—"
"I know. I—understand.” He looked at Carli. “I asked before if you were happy. You said you were."
"I am, Danny.” She squeezed Sister Angela's hand. “I'm very happy."
"Okay, then.” Danny unzipped the duffel bag and handed Carli the bottle of folic acid. “The rest is in Freddy's warehouse. Thirty-two cartons.” He handed the keys to Sister Angela, their hands brushing briefly. “You know where the warehouse is?"
"Yes. Is Freddy there?"
"No."
"Where is he?"
"Gone,” Danny said.
At the way he said it, the two women exchanged glances and asked nothing further.
Zipping the duffel back up, Danny slung it once more, threw the two women a sad wink, and silently walked away. Behind him, he heard their farewells.
"Take care, Danny,” said Carli.
"God bless, Danny,” Sister Angela added.
On his way out of Tondo, Danny had to walk past Smoky Mountain. As in the early morning, waiting for the night collection trucks, now in the early evening the people who scavenged the unspeakable filth were waiting once again, this time for the day collection trucks. Bent, toothless old people mingled with skinny, ragged children, twitching drug addicts with hungry young mothers and their babies, stray dogs with greasy rats.
Shouldering his way through the restless, anxious press of bodies, Danny's eyes scanned faces that reminded him of a documentary film he had once viewed about the Nazi concentration camps of World War II, and how the survivors of those camps had looked. But the people he saw here, he knew, were not prisoners of an inhumane society, but rather of a modern government that chose to ignore them to death. Through poverty and indifferent neglect, their problem was left to solve itself by attrition. Danny thought of the penal camp at Palayan. Even the lowliest convict there was better off than those who fed off Smoky Mountain.
When he was almost past the huge dump, Danny abruptly turned back. Stepping across an open sewage trench, he began to wade up and through the swamp of rotting garbage, the stench assaulting his nostrils, meth haze burning his eyes, shoes slogging as the mire became deeper. Breath laboring, nausea building, he finally trudged his way to the top. Below and all around him, the waiting people were chattering and pointing at him.
EQMM, December 2008 Page 5
