Helmut Goes Abroad

by Matt Sheehan

  “I’m really gonna miss that guy. He was a lot of fun. Willie really liked him too.”

  “He’s an arrogant jackass. I can’t believe people’s lives are entrusted to him.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but he was goading me with the Willie crack.

  Shamus just waved at me dismissively and drained his cup. “You never gave him a chance.” He did his half smile. “What do you think about me as a medical assistant?”

  “A job helping people. I couldn’t think of a worse job for you if I tried. Oh, speaking of jobs you shouldn’t be doing, Ramón’s gonna put you to work pretty soon. You ready?”

  He gave a loud sigh. “Ya know, I was before we left, but I’ve started to think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  Of course he came to his senses now that it was too late, but I didn’t lay into him. There was no use in it, and besides he was looking paler than normal. I tried the soft touch. “Buddy, it will be all right. It’ll just be a matter of pointing Ramón and his team in the right direction. Just do that and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

  He went for a refill, but without the coffee. “But what if I can’t find him?”

  That’s exactly what I was hoping for, but I didn’t say it. “Then we got a free cruise and I learned knife fighting. Sha, you should see what I can do with a blade now. I don’t know when I will ever use it, but it’s pretty sweet.”

  Just then Ramón joined us for his lunch, having eaten breakfast before sunrise.

  “Good day, fellas. I’m glad you’re here. We need to go over our itinerary before we reach port.” He pointed at our empty plates. “Eat up. The food we’ll have after today won’t hold a candle to the grub here.”

  The arm twisting worked, and after loading up some fresh plates, we sat down and listened as Ramón filled us in. Instead of spending a day or two on the pristine white-sand beaches of Capri, we were to meet some of Ramón’s associates in a safe house located in a small fishing town up the coast. A horrible plan if I’ve ever heard one, but not the least bit unexpected.

  Following brunch, or whatever it was, we went back to our individual luxury suites one last time to pack up our gear and get ready to disembark. After everything was packed up, including all the alcohol in the minibar, I strolled out to the promenade and stood with most of the other passengers as we pulled into port.

  I couldn’t believe how beautiful Capri was. Kilometers of white-sand beaches and clear blue water with a sprinkling of eclectic beachfront hotels. The thought of solving cases in button-down short-sleeved shirts, cotton slacks and sandals definitely crossed my mind. I looked through the crowd at all the smiling tourists, waiting patiently for their chance to drink tropical booze and get sunburns on that strip of beach. Then I saw Ramón, and I came back to reality.

  I eased my way through the crowd and to his side, and there we stood until the ship docked and most of the passengers had disembarked. Just when I was starting to think I was going to have to go and find Shamus, he came strolling out with his travel bags and his faithful mutt. He seemed to be having trouble with his bags, and when I went to help him, I noticed they were very heavy and made a bunch of clinking noises.

  He smiled and said, “Rick helped me load up on a few essentials for our trip.”

  “I emptied my minibar for you too. I figured the Alliance would be happy to cover it for us.”

  I looked at Ramón, and he just made a noncommittal shrug. I took that as an affirmative. If we were going to die a horrible death in a foreign land, at least Shamus, and probably Willie, would be good and drunk.

  We disembarked with our contraband, and as we walked down the pier and got closer to the beach I must have been daydreaming, `cause I didn’t notice that Shamus had wandered off until I heard him calling my name. I turned to see him twenty yards away at the rail separating the working dock from the beach beyond. He was gesturing wildly down at the red tent set up in the flat above the high-water line. It was one of those enormous tents that regardless of where on Earth you are signifies one thing: a circus.

  Ramón and I wandered over to him and were battered with a barrage of breathless statements. “Helmut, it’s the circus. And did you see them? Elephants. The big African ones with the floppy ears. We can stay right? I’ve never been to a circus.”

  In addition to the big top, there was an entire carnival set up along the beach, complete with rides, midway games and booths selling fried things on a stick.

  I looked to Ramón, expecting him to quickly shoot the idea down, but he appeared to be in thought. He was stroking his chin and surveying the scene. Finally he said, “You know Shamus, I’ve never been to a circus either.”

  I just threw up my hands. I’ve come to expect procrastination from Shamus, but I was surprised that Ramón was playing along. So I asked him about it.

  “Helmut, the bones will keep one more day.” He lowered his voice. “Besides, what will Shamus do if we say no?”

  “Pout, probably.” He had a point. Shamus is a pain to work with at the best of times. If he’s holding a grudge, he’s impossible.

  He continued. “And from a more selfish standpoint, I wouldn’t mind watching the trapeze show. There’s quite a bit of crossover between their training and ours.”

  The thought of time alone with a trained gymnast didn’t sound like a bad idea either. So I decided to make the best of a bad situation and try to at least make that daydream a reality.

  Chapter Twelve

  All the hotels were full, but Ramón got us a room anyway. We ended up in the penthouse suite of the Sterling Hotel. I’m not sure if Ramón used threats or bribes, and I really didn’t care. The second we stowed our stuff, and Shamus had explored the suite’s full bar, we made our way downstairs and over to the big top.

  Since Ramón was still doling out Alliance money, he sprang for the high-end seats. As a result we got actual chairs of our own at ground level, rather than having to cram in with the unwashed public in the bleacher seating. Not that the smell could have been much worse anyway. Apparently they can train the animals to dance and jump through hoops, but not to hold it till the end of the show.

  Shamus seemed to enjoy himself, and surprisingly so did Ramón. They both cheered for the animal trainers and gymnasts, laughed at the antics of the clowns and kept the food vendors busy with cotton candy and corn dog orders. I’m all for fried food, but I draw the line at carnie fare. I stuck with roasted nuts and iced tea.

  Willie came along as well and had his own seat. The ticket booth operator didn’t mind, so long as we bought the dog a ticket. Willie ate his corn dog with ketchup.

  I have to admit the gymnasts were fantastic. Now I can do a flip off a diving board and usually not land on my back, but I certainly couldn’t do it off a trapeze and then catch someone else’s arms as they swung past. I’m not even sure how you learn to do something like that without breaking your neck. Or why it would ever seem like a good idea to try. But I guess some people would say the same thing about administering beat downs to strangers in the street.

  After the show, I jumped the rail separating the talent from us paying stiffs and made my way over to the base of the ladder where the acrobats were making their way down from the high wire. I have found when I am trespassing that if I act like I belong, people usually assume that I do. Actual security is a different matter, but I didn’t see any around.

  I let them mill around a moment or two just to see how they sorted up. Many times troupes like this are family affairs, and I didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot by hitting on someone’s wife. It became quickly apparent by their conversations and body language which ones were matched up and which weren’t. I’ll give you a hint. The single ones still had that twinkle of hope in their eyes, the others just sad resignation.

  A group of three cute young things saw me approach and began
to whisper and fiddle with their hair. Fish on. Pickup line twenty-one, perfect for groups in casual situations, worked to perfection, and they promised to meet up with us later that evening at Antonio’s. I chose Antonio’s by the music I’d heard emanating from it on the walk in. Luckily the girls spoke Gaelic. My Mycenaean is passable, but since I live on the West Coast, I’ve never bothered to translate my pickup lines.

  After settling the evening plans, it was off to the midway. Shamus had it in his head that we were going to win one of those giant stuffed animals that hangs at the top of the prize walls at the game booths and bring it home for Phoebe. By we, he mostly meant me. I tried to explain that the games were rigged and that no one wins the top-shelf prizes, but he wasn’t having it.

  We settled on the milk-jug game, because they had the only giant stuffed tiger that we came across in the whole carnival, and Shamus decided Phoebe had to have it. All I had to do was knock over a stack of metal milk jugs. How hard could it be? It turns out pretty hard.

  First of all, the jugs must’ve been half-filled with concrete, as hard as they were to knock over. Plus, it’s not just a matter of knocking them over, but off the pedestal as well. I did win a small teddy bear, which Shamus gave to Willie. The dog ripped the thing to shreds while we discussed the situation. After a few hits from his flask, Sha felt like he could do better than I could, and I told him to go ahead. We were well past the point where we could have simply bought the prize at a store, but Ramón appeared to be enjoying himself and seemed pretty free with the Alliance’s money, so what the hell.

  Since Sha was a new customer, the carnie went through the instructions once again.

  “All right, sir, step right up to the line. Now you have one throw to knock all the jugs off the carton, if you want the tiger. If you knock them all over, but one or more remains on the carton, you can choose a prize from the lower shelf.” He pointed to the row that had contained the sad little bear that was now part of Willie’s digestive tract.

  Shamus had to make a show of stretching a bit, then did a few fake throws to warm up his arm. Finally ready, he reared back and threw a ball that was right on target, but barely had enough velocity to wobble the jugs.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Better luck next time. Or better yet, you may find the ring toss more to your liking.” He pointed across the aisle to a booth where children were trying to throw small rings around pop bottles. I started to smell ozone.

  I expected that I was going to have to step in to keep Shamus from electrocuting the carnie, and I was weighing the pluses and minuses of doing so. I really hate rigged games, unless I’m the one doing the rigging, but I also didn’t want to end up toiling away in a foreign prison. I was relieved of the burden of having to decide when Sha asked Ramón to pay the man again.

  Shamus went through the same stretches and warm-up, but this time I noted that the gentle breeze that we had been enjoying was starting to pick up considerably. By the time he was ready to throw, it was blowing pretty hard. The little booth was starting to creak, and the prizes were shifting on the shelves. Then he wound up and threw.

  Once again the ball was right on target, but this time it had a gale-force wind backing it up. Not only were the jugs knocked over, but so was the carton, the carnie and most of the lesser prizes. The tiger was held on the shelf by twine, so while the carnie was picking himself up and surveying the damage, Sha climbed up on the counter and helped himself to the tiger.

  The carnie started sputtering, “Sir, you can’t take that. It’s my only one.”

  Shamus was busy untying the string, so I told the guy, “Well, I guess you better restock the shelves then.”

  “But it’s impossible to win. No one ever has.”

  He was flustered, and he didn’t care that he was letting me behind the curtain.

  “Got it,” Shamus said as he freed the tiger from the string.

  The carnie looked at Sha sullenly as he climbed down from the counter, tiger in hand.

  As we walked away, I told the gentleman to have a nice day, but what he said in return was rude and unprintable. Some people.

  With the taste of victory fresh in his mouth, Shamus wanted to try his hand at some of the other booths—at least until we let him know we weren’t going to be pack mules for his ill-gotten winnings. That put a quick end to it. Besides, it was starting to get dark, and I had already put in a full day of things I didn’t want to do. I was in the mood for dinner and companionship.

  Antonio’s was a short walk from the midway, and we were greeted by the smells of charred beast and an interesting fusion of jump blues and a horn section. Something Sha and I could both agree on. The hostess wasn’t half-bad either, but I was on a special mission. Acrobats or bust. While Sha and Ramón pored over the menu, I went looking for my girls. I found them at the bar, surrounded by a sea of hopeful men.

  When I signaled them, they parted that sea and came back with me to the booth. There were some hard looks from the now less-hopeful men, so I flashed them my hundred-watt smile and gave a wink. I’m not sure that it helped.

  The one thing I hadn’t realized about gymnasts is they’re fairly small in stature. These girls couldn’t have been much taller than one and a half meters barefoot. They told us they had been in training since childhood, so I assume it’s all the repetitive loading on young joints. And only one was really up to my nine-and-a-half-to-ten range, but they were in a special category, so I didn’t dwell on it. Erin, with her shapely legs and long blond hair, would have qualified on her own merits. The two Saras weren’t slouches by any means, and for all I knew, they were fabulous cooks.

  The evening progressed nicely. We—and by we I mean the Alliance’s deep pockets—bought the girls dinner and drinks. The evening conversation was brisk and engaging. Even Shamus participated, which is saying something, and the girls thought Willie was great. I tried not to hold that against them. So when the evening progressed to closing time and the subject of a nightcap was broached, the girls were more than happy to accompany us back to the penthouse suite.

  Problems started when we left the bar and found our way barred by a group of young and angry-looking local men. Apparently they were the same ones whom I had snatched my acrobats away from, and they seemed to be holding a grudge. Now I have to admit, I had to reconstruct this encounter with Sha’s help, because it took place in Mycenaean and my grasp of that language is tenuous at best. For all I know, Shamus was pleading for his life, but I’ll go with what he told me. Most of the men had their shirts off and looked like they exercised regularly. The one who seemed to fancy himself as the leader addressed Shamus, likely because he, of the three of us, looked the least intimidating.

  “Where do you think you’re going with our girls, bro?”

  Shamus looked back at the girls and pointed for effect. His sarcasm is much better when he’s a little sloshed, and he was more than a little sloshed. “Those girls?” He turned back and looked at the angry mob with a puzzled look. “They never mentioned you, and we’ve been talking with them for hours. They were actually going back to our suite with us. We were going to give them more alcohol and see if they would have a naked pillow fight.”

  Some of the girls giggled a bit. The guys looked confused. They had numbers on us, eight to three, and were expecting an easy beat down. Instead, Ramón and I were smiling, and the smallest one among us was openly mocking them.

  Shamus continued, “It was really nice meeting you guys, but we’ve got to get some sleep at some point tonight, and we’re going to be entertaining these girls for quite a while before that happens.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think it might be best if you guys just go home and sleep this off.”

  Their spokesman answered, “I could care less what you think...”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Shamus asked, “How much less could you care?”

  The toug
h guy was a bit taken aback. “What?”

  “You said you could care less. I was just wondering how much less. A little? A lot?”

  Shamus’s little grammar joke went over their heads, but the conversation was making the group agitated. I found it funny that he was essentially using my material. He only knew how to say it correctly because it’s a pet peeve of mine, and I’ve corrected him so many times over the years. Who knew he listened? The girls were trying to diffuse the situation, erroneously fearing for our lives, but the die was cast. We were going to throw down, the only question was when.

  The amount of cursing and posturing being generated was steadily increasing, which was fine because Ramón and I were getting bored. I was letting Shamus build the tension to a crescendo with his bit about how difficult it is insulting stupid people because they don’t get the joke when the first punch was thrown.

  It was a haymaker meant for Shamus, and it probably would have laid him out cold if I hadn’t stepped in front of it at the last second. After the week of training with Ramón, I was moving lightning fast. I blocked the punch and delivered a nice little elbow to the guy’s temple that made his knees crumple like paper. His buddy next to him got a liver kick and a knee to the head. I felt like a lion fighting baby sheep that were standing in tar.

  That done, I squared up and quickly scanned for my next victim. What I saw was Ramón grinning and a pile of groaning bodies on the ground around him.

  “They weren’t grounded.” Humor from Ramón. Shamus took the opportunity to complain about my saving his face.

  “You know, I had the situation handled before you stepped in. I was just about to pull in some hurricane-force wind to clear them out of our path.” There hadn’t even been a hint of wind. “Anyway, I’m glad I let you two handle it. Ramón was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You did a good job with your two guys too, Helmut.”