Harry & the Bikini Bandits

by Basil Heatter

  “Who dat?”

  “Young Garble, of course.”

  “Ooo muscles. Luv-er-ly. Come on, Garble. I’ll go with you.”

  “One question,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Where did you shoot that barracuda?”

  “Right here.”

  She was already in mid-air when she answered. She entered the water like a knife blade, leaving a wake of silver bubbles. I followed. When I came up she was nowhere. Something clawed my back. I became as rigid as a post and went up tailwalking like a sailfish. She was right behind me, raking fingernails down my spine. Then she wrapped her legs around me and bit my ear. If she had not been supporting me I might have drowned.

  She blinked her wet eyelashes against my nose. “Kiss me, Garble.”

  To my surprise it was just like kissing a white girl. Lips very soft and salty and exciting. I was getting into the spirit of the thing. Tahiti after all. Carry on, Mr. Christian. I made a grab at her but she kicked spray into my face.

  “Have you forgotten we got to inspect this way-out hull, man?”

  I followed her down. There was nothing wrong with the hull that a brand-new boat couldn’t cure. I mean it had more craters than the surface of the moon. At various times in the past half century it had been banged, puttied, painted, gouged, red-leaded and caulked with something I could swear was chewing gum. But they were all old wounds. So the water had been coming through the busted exhaust. Just replace the exhaust. Fun-ee…

  I hung on to the bobstay. That crazy black girl came up and pressed herself against me. I could feel everything from her insteps to the top of her head. When I was nicely warmed she backed off and dug her toes inside the waistband of my shorts. To the casual observer it might have appeared that nothing much was going on. Our hands were in plain sight. But her toes were unbelievable.

  CHAPTER 9

  ALL SHE SAID WAS, “CIAO.”

  She swam off with her dead fish. It took me a while to climb back aboard. Dreamy.

  “Fix that exhaust,” said Harry.

  There was about eight feet of busted pipe running under the cockpit floor. But how to get at it? By removing most of the first layer of skin from my shoulders, I wriggled into a space about six inches square and whacked away at it with a ball peen hammer. The hammer broke. Harry produced a rusty hacksaw blade. No saw, just the blade. It was like trying to cut down an oak with a letter opener. I lost two fingernails and some blood but made progress. All the time remembering Miss McGee.

  You can’t win for losing, Coach Rasmussen used to say. And tonight was Christmas Eve in Peckinpaugh.

  Sweat ran into my eyes and I had not even room to raise my hand. What if after all this we cannot find any pipe to replace what I have already hacked out? But there were buildings on the island and where there were buildings there must be plumbing. Anyway there was no hurry. Hopefully it would take a long time to replace the pipe and I would spend a lot of that time with the adorable and uninhibited Miss McGee.

  Probably Harry was in a hurry. But he was not. That was, you know, like Harry’s Law. Don’t sweat it, man. The Lord will provide.

  Or somebody will. In this case, Burger off the Charisma. The yacht was too big to follow us through the reef and she had anchored outside while we had entered. But Burger was hot on our trail and arrived at thirty miles an hour in a Boston Whaler. With him Mrs. Burger and the yacht’s skipper. Waving like crazy as if we were long-lost children.

  I began to see what it was all about. The Burgers had all that money could buy. But fun. Harry had no money but lots of fun. For fun read sex. Sex is fun. Harry just naturally attracts sex. Flies to honey. Look at the way Miss McGee came swimming out to us. Harry was where it happened. He was like some kind of guru and the Burgers wanted instruction. But you couldn’t buy Harry. He was too cool for that. So now we were all milling around waiting for something to happen. Mrs. Burger wanted Harry. Hamilton Burger wanted Miss Wong. I wanted Miss McGee. The monkey wanted the cat. But who did Harry want?

  So Harry sat back under the shade of the awning. I sweated over the pipe. The Burgers bustled around looking for some way to help. When I explained about the new pressure hose we would need Burger promptly ordered his skipper back to the yacht to fetch some. The Whaler buzzed off.

  Harry remained as indifferent as the Aga Khan, and Miss Wong lay silent on the foredeck in her orange nylon. Hamilton Burger stared at her in amazement.

  I’d had it. I mean I was stinking with sweat and sick of it. I wriggled up out of my hole and jumped over the side. Was that barracuda’s brother down there? To hell with him.

  The water was cool and unbelievably clear. White sand and coral and waving fronds. Striped fish with pink eyes.

  Crayfish scuttling backwards into their holes. The water was what it was all about.

  I swam across the channel and beached myself near the plane. There was a man who might have been the airport manager stretched out on a bench beneath the straw roof. “Excuse me,” I said, “I’m looking for a girl.”

  “Ain’t we all, man?”

  “Well this one is special. Miss McGee.”

  “What’s she look like?”

  When I described her he shook his head.

  “She does a lot of skin diving,” I said.

  “She can’t be no Bahamian. Bahamian gals won’t step in the water. Could she be from the States?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know her real well, don’t you? Could that be the senator’s girl friend?”

  “Senator who?”

  “We only got one senator around here. Sounds like her.”

  “Well if it is, where would I find her?”

  “The senator might not like you messing around with his chick. On the other hand it’s no skin off my ass. That house over there.”

  A modern house for this part of the world. Built of concrete block and painted an awful lime green. With a lime green bicycle beside the door and over the handlebars her black rubber flippers. What was the senator like? Would he punch me in the nose if I came calling on his Miss McGee?

  I snuck around to the back, hoping she might be outside somewhere. But she wasn’t. Instead a man was cutting up a turtle, a great green sea turtle as big as a Volkswagen. Lying on its back with tears running down its cheeks. Always thought man was the only creature that wept. But pigs scream. The head fell off into the sand and the flippers continued to paw the air. Murder.

  Just then she came out of the house and said, “What are you hanging around here for? What’s on your mind, Garble?”

  “Why I just happened to be passing.”

  “Pass, friend.”

  “I was wondering if you might like to go swimming.”

  “Don’t get any freaky ideas, boy.”

  “I just meant…”

  She smirked. “I know what you meant.”

  I looked at the turtle’s head lying in the sand and rubbed my neck. Could almost feel the knife. Off came a flipper.

  “Listen, are you planning to eat that turtle?”

  She nodded. “Very good for the libido. Turtle soup twice a day. Dynamite.”

  “Oh?”

  “Goodbye,” she said.

  “Goodbye.”

  She called after me, “I might bring you a bowl of turtle soup one of these days.”

  The road was six feet wide and unpaved and bore a sign reading, QUEEN’S HIGHWAY. A Jeep came along. Back of the Jeep loaded with whiskey bottles and beer cans. Never saw such a place for booze. Principal industry. Must sell it to each other. Everybody smashed.

  Walked out of town to a little rise overlooking the sea. A white church, and palms bent by the wind. Fleecy clouds and the great purple living mirror of the sea. Like a Winslow Homer painting. Cool breeze on my body and dried salt on my skin. Sun biting the back of my neck. Triangular wedge of sail on the horizon. Stopped feeling sorry for myself. Good to be alive. Turtle soup my ass.

  I let out a whoop, and ran down the path
into the water and stayed under until the bubbles overhead were exploding like galaxies.

  CHAPTER 10

  HARRY GOT PRETTY SORE ABOUT HIS CUT-UP briefcase. Sorer about that than about my kissing Miss Wong. Didn’t even pay any attention to my kissing Miss Wong. But about the briefcase. Tried to tell him that when he had ordered me to man the pump and save the ship I had to use some ingenuity. Would he rather have lost his boat? Couldn’t understand why he was so upset. I mean there he was with all that contempt for attaché cases and suits and socks and neckties and TV sets.

  Back to Miss Wong. The way it happened was a real surprise. After my disappointing visit to Miss McGee, I swam around for a while. Did the backstroke and the Australian crawl until I was alongside the boat. I was tired and hanging on to the bobstay waiting for the barracudas to lop off a couple of toes. Suddenly something went right over my head and made a terrific splash about two feet away. Thought it must be Moby Dick or King Kong. Scared me halfway up the bobstay. Hung there shaking until I saw it was Miss Wong.

  She had made a running dive over my head without knowing I was there. When she surfaced she was outlined in a silver flame. And naked. Or practically so. Still wearing her little bikini pants but nothing else. Most beautiful thing I ever saw. Her eyes widened a little but otherwise she never lost her cool.

  “I didn’t know you were down there, Clay.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, you know…”

  She smiled. Made no attempt to cover herself. God how beautiful.

  “Where’s Harry?” I said.

  “Sleeping.”

  My teeth had begun to chatter. Hot behind the ears but shaking.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  I was but what business was it of hers? Shook harder than ever.

  She turned toward me like about one millimeter and the tip of her breast touched me somewhere around the armpit. I turned to stone as if I had been put through an instantaneous dry freeze. If I had let go of the chain I would have gone straight to the bottom. That Chinese Mona Lisa smile could mean anything or nothing.

  Head under water, long black hair floating, lips against my chest. Mouthing my nipple. Hand drifting between my legs. Comes up mouth salty and lips against mine. Bliss. Harry leaning down off the bowsprit, snarling, “Who was the lardass who chewed up that briefcase?”

  Snapped my head away as if I had been electrocuted. She remained cool and sleepy and didn’t even glance up. They are a great people and someday will rule the world.

  “Listen, Harry, it was an emergency. The boat was sinking and the pump was no good. I had to fix it with whatever I could find.” My voice squeaked. Didn’t he care that I was kissing his girl?

  “Bullshit. What about the papers?”

  “What papers?”

  “In the case, dummy.”

  Diagrams of some sort. Hadn’t bothered to look at them.

  “I left everything just as it was, Harry.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Listen, the water was over the floorboards. Do you think I was interested in reading your papers at a time like that?”

  He gave me a hard look and was satisfied that I was telling the truth. His head disappeared. Miss Wong was about fifty yards off and swimming easily. Like she had never seen either of us before.

  Harry reappeared. “How about finishing up that exhaust line so we can get off this goddamned reef?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Back into the bilge and started fitting the new steam hose supplied by Charisma. Tightened clamps slowly so as to keep whole mickey-mouse business from collapsing. Very excited about Miss Wong. And Miss McGee. Cannot decide which one I like better. Have to be careful about Harry, though, or he will throw me off the boat. Still he saw us plain as day and never said a word about anything but his lousy briefcase.

  Tightened the last clamp with sweat dripping off my brow. Wriggled back out and turned on the engine. A bang and a puff but the contraption holds. And a lot quieter. Steam hose acts like a muffler. Why didn’t we all die from carbon monoxide through that leaky pipe? Harry’s Luck. Murphy’s Law.

  Fetched up the anchor. Put-putted for the shore. Tied up at the dock and took on gas. The gas was in rusty old drums, and I wondered how much water was in with it. Asked Harry if he had a strainer but he said no. Remembered Miss Wong’s nylon bikini. I asked her if she had a spare pair of panties we could use. She looked thoughtful and began to tug at the ones she was wearing. Felt the blood rush into my face. She smiled and came up with a filmy bit that I draped around the hose. Got nervous just handling it.

  Can see the roof of the senator’s house. Keep looking that way hoping to see her. No sign of her. But then a tall well-dressed man who must be the senator. Moustache and shiny black hair. Looks Latin. Climbing down out of the plane that has just come in from Miami. Sky-blue sport shirt and yellow pants. Wide-brimmed straw hat. Walks into the house as if he owned it. Matter of fact he does. Even from a distance I hate him.

  CHAPTER 11

  I NIPPED DOWN BELOW AS SOON AS HARRY and Miss Wong had gone ashore. No briefcase. But it had to be somewhere. I mean he might have taped it under the floorboards or something but since our bilges were always full of water, that wouldn’t have been practical. Under the mattress. They always hide things under the mattress. So had he. With adhesive tape over the hole. But in addition it was booby-trapped. Saw it just in time, a little piece of pink thread in the zipper. You could not move that zipper without breaking the thread. Tricky.

  Someone on deck. Shoved the whole business back under the mattress. Ambled out yawning and rubbing my eyes. Mrs. Burger.

  “Why hello, Clay.”

  “Hi.”

  “Just passing by.”

  Like I happened to be just browsing under Harry’s mattress.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Shopping, I guess. Anyway they’ve gone ashore. Want some coffee?”

  “Why I’d love some, Clay.”

  She was embarrassed but trying to put a good face on it. We both knew she had come looking for Harry but neither of us was supposed to acknowledge it. I reckoned Harry’s coffee would switch her mind to other things. His coffee is very distinctive. He makes it about once a week in an old tin percolator. He lets the whole mess stand, and then every day or so throws in more coffee. After a few months you have Harry’s coffee.

  She was game but all the same went a little pale when she tasted it.

  “Tell me about yourself, Clay.”

  I could have been a wiseass with an opening like that but declined.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you go to school? How long have you and your uncle been sailing together?”

  She couldn’t have cared less but she was nervous, poor thing. Just wanted to rap.

  “I guess you could say I’m a dropout.” I really was although I had never thought about it quite that way. “And I’ve only been sailing with Harry since the day you met him in Miami.”

  She blushed. I hadn’t meant to make a pointed reference to that particular occasion, but that was the way she took it.

  “Well,” she said searching for neutral ground, “what do you plan to do with your life?”

  What a way to put it. The thing is it isn’t like five pounds of cement that you do something with. There it is and you just kind of live it. It’s more what it does with you. What she meant of course was did I want to be a doctor or lawyer or right guard for the Green Bay Packers?

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  When they put it that way they mean to ask it anyway.

  “Sure.”

  “How old are you?”

  It never fails. The old age syndrome.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Oh I would have thought you were easily twenty. You’re very
big for seventeen.”

  A regular Cardiff Giant.

  “So you have no plans for the moment beyond just sailing around?”

  I shook my head.

  “Doesn’t your uncle ever do anything else?”

  It had taken her quite a while to get to it.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  I liked her and felt sorry for her. It was a bad scene. Even with every hair in place and the pink dress and the pearls, she was out of her element and knew it. She was great for the Charisma but all wrong for the Jezebel. But now she wasn’t right for the Charisma either. Harry had knocked her out of orbit and left her nowhere. She was flying blind without instruments. She wanted Harry to tell her which way to steer, but if I knew him that was the least of his concerns.

  When she had gone off with Harry in Miami, I had figured her for a real swinger who could take it or leave it. But now that I had a closer look at her slender fingers and really beautiful legs and the little tight lines around her eyes and the nervous way she kept watching the dock, I had a different impression. She wasn’t so much of a swinger after all. With all her money she was still scared and kind of tired, and I guess that what had happened in Miami was not just wanting to ball Harry but really some kind of basic dissatisfaction with herself and her life.

  The shadows were growing longer. The fishing boats were coming back in from the day’s run, some of them flying flags to indicate the sailfish they had snagged. The ferry that went back and forth to South Bimini was loading up and discharging passengers, and you could hear them singing out to each other like birds. Over in one of the bars a jukebox was making sad music about a sailor who had left his island girl.

  We sat in silence for quite a while and at last she stood up and said, “It seems to be getting late. I suppose I had better be going. Your uncle didn’t say what time he was coming back?”

  I shrugged. “Even if he did it wouldn’t make any difference. None of us has a watch. We just sort of do what we like whenever we like.”

  “Isn’t that lovely.”

  She meant it. I guessed everybody on the Charisma knew what time it was all the time.