Flying to Pieces

by Dean Ing

  Instead of hurling himself on the great oaf like a pomeranian on a bear, Lovett took a long steadying breath and made his face pleasant. "We thought His Grossness might be playing a joke. Ask him again if he has any idea where Chip is."

  Benteen's question elicited another look between Pelele and Merizo, who had so far said not a syllable. Then, "Maybe so chief hide boy belong Lubbet, no make fun," Merizo said in his sepulchral basso.

  "You get that? If they were hiding Chip it wouldn't be any joke," said Benteen. "That's about the best you can do in pidgin to get around answering a question."

  "Let's cut the bullshit," Lovett said, his face growing darker. "Are they holding him captive?"

  Benteen straightened her shoulders and asked.

  Jean-Claude looked at Merizo, who took his time answering. Benteen nodded; turned to Lovett. "They have no free men as captives during this celebration. It would not be the same for criminals."

  While Lovett considered this, searching the little minister's face, Merizo began talking again, Benteen nodding occasionally, her expression hardening. Jean-Claude put in his two coconuts' worth at the end of this spiel.

  "Ooh, boy," Benteen said. "Merizo says they'd be happy to help search for Chip, but they'd want a favor in return, and Jean-Claude likes it but you aren't going to. Or maybe you will."

  "Not if you don't effing tell me, for God's sake," Lovett gritted.

  "Set fire to the north village using our plane," said Benteen, unwilling but'determined to do her job. , Lovett stared in amazement, even though similar ideas had passed through his own rinind. "What plane? our Grununan isn't a god damned bomber. What for? Ask them that."

  Both Jean-Claude and his minister answered Benteen together, Merizo's voice cutting through the big man's. North villagers were nogoods, criminals, and evidently that was that. The aero canoe float along Water, Lovett realized, had to be the Grumman. Benteen explained the main idea: drop bundles of fireworks on the little settlement and Jean-Claude's picked men would take care of the survivors.

  "Yeah, take care of them like Serbs and Moslems take care of each other," Lovett said. "Ask if they've thought about losing some of those picked Men to traps."

  As Benteen translated this, Merizo spoke quickly to Jeanclaude, then replied to the woman. With no show of excitement she said, "First he tried to slide one past me; told the Michelin Man our little hiend has been telling things and that they should bury him a piece at a time when they catch him. Then he told me they know there are traps, but as long as the celebration lasts, a few casualties won't stop them because they'll have the airplane as an ally."

  "He means as long as they're still tanked on booze," Lovett said. "And it'd probably work. Look, now that they put it on the table, it looks like the inside of a drunk-tank bucket. Tell them some aerocanoes-shit, now they've got me doing it!-some planes can drop fire, and some can't.

  The Grumman isn't rigged for it and'i've never flown one. Tell them thanks for nothing, we'll just have to look for Chip on our own."

  Jean-Claude began to chuckle before Benteen had finished, the huge belly pulsing with obscene mirth. His reply was offhand, dismissive.

  "He says the Grumman is under guard anyway because he considers it not covered by agreement. It floated into the lagoon, so it's his. Well, don't look at me, sweetie, I'm just the anchorwoman for these little bulletins. Said it might be returned to us if we found a way to use it against the north village. In fact, he said it so casually I think it's probably his crucial ploy."

  Lovett fought to keep his patience because he could see that both Pelele and Merizo were getting a big kick out of the way their scam was unfolding. "We'll pass their kind offer on @ to Reventio. Let's get the hell out of this place, Mel, before I say something I regret."

  He half-turned, waiting for her to translate. Mefizo waited until she had finished, then put a smarmy little smile on and said a few short sentences. As he fell silent, Jean-Claude belched, took a pull on his bottle, and added, "All same big tits." Benteen's eyes flashed angrily.

  "The son of a whore," she said, "just told us they might, just might, find Chip if we brought Keikano to them. He didn't say what for. He didn't have to.

  Lovett put up one hand as she started to back away. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but 1, think, Mr. Cholesterol said you'd do as well as Keikano."

  "Do I dignify that with an answer?" Beneath her, natural complexion and her tan, Melanie Benteen was blushing.

  Lovett shook his head. "But we may be getting close to the real, no-shit nub of it, Mel. Ask them who would be captives, if not free men?"

  Benteen asked as bidden, and got her answer from Merizo. "He says, people who violate great taboos. People like Kei kano."

  "And what cosmic injustice has that poor little sprite done, beside trying to help everybody? Put it any way you like, Mel."

  On hearing the question, Jean-Claude gave a pervert's laugh, held the bottle between his knees, made a tight circle of thumb and forefinger, and thrust his other forefinger into the circle several times. "Disfella make pushpush datfella," said Merizo primly, as if the gesture wasn't clear enough by itself.

  "Oh, Jesus Christ," Lovett groaned. "I got it, don't rub it in. And who did Keikano do this with and when?"

  Merizo evidently didn't need a translation. "Sonson Lub bet."

  "Does this mean Chip isn't a free man?" Benteen asked, her voice icy.

  "Maybe so, maybe no." said Merizo. Jean-Claude said nothing, his little eyes glittering between half-closed lids.

  Lovett himself said, "Sonson Lovett no good?"

  A gain: "Maybe so, maybe no." Merizo smiled at Jeanclaude, secure in his power base.

  "Goddamn this cat and mouse game! What happens to Chip if he's a no good?"

  According to Merizo, said Benteen, Chip would be released-after the raid on the north village. Otherwise he would be punished as a criminal.

  "I'm wondering why we don't just ventilate this pig-fucker right now,"

  Lovett said softly.

  "Look at those gomers with clubs 0 around us. That's why," said Benteen, her voice catching a quaver.

  Lovett folded his arms. "If they have Chip, let me see him right now."

  Benteen translated; Merizo looked sly and replied. As Benteen massaged it for Lovett, he saw that she was beginning to lose her composure. "He says if they have him, you'll see him after their war. Personally, I'm sure they do, Wade. And he demands that you make your decision now."

  Screw it, I'll say anything I have to, Lovett decided. "Tell them okay."

  Her mouth dropped. "What?"

  "Okay, yes, we'll do it!"

  Momentarily she forgot the audience. "I won't help," she hissed furiously. "These shitheads will lie and cheat, can't you see that?"

  "I'm fighting fire with fire," Lovett told her grimly, hoping she would understand.

  Jean-Claude Pelele seemed almost jolly to see the two arguing, and chose this moment to say, "Big tits all same sonson Lubbet."

  Lovett turned sharply to face the big man. "You're asking me to trade her for my grandson?"

  Melanie Benteen waited no longer, drawing her little automatic and waving it toward the nearest targets, which happened to be two guards.

  "You'd do anything for Chip-but I won't," she said to Lovett, mouth trembling. "Back out, Wade. I'll come behind you.'.' Lovett had a firm policy of obeying whoever happened to be waving a loaded pistol, and he moved quickly while the guards were still looking blearily for their own orders. Then Mel Benteen, her little weapon at the end of a fully outstretched arm, began to sidle toward the hall only a few steps behind Lovett. Jean-Claude's eyes darted here and there as if searching for a crevice large enough for him to squeeze into.

  Then Merizo barked an order. Some of those tanked-up guards looked at one another and made no move. But one began to stalk Benteen instantly, and two others followed suit.

  "Shoot the nearest gomer, then the big guy", Lovett said quickly. "Do it, Mel. Now!"

&
nbsp; That was probably the best advice he would ever give. But though the pistol wavered with her intent, poor Melanie Benteen had just discovered something about herself. "I can't, Wade," she said in a strangled moan.

  "I thought I could, but-" -

  "Hand me the pistol," he demanded.

  Benteen spun on her heel but, as she tried to pass her. weapon to Lovett, she was jerked backward by her free arm. The pistol clattered to the floor as she was gathered up in a bear hug, Merizo's orders booming like gunfire in the room.

  Wade Lovett's decision came unbidden; without a weapon, with the gomers rushing forward while Benteen fought and scratched, he was about to be borne to the floor by sheer weight of numbers to become a captive, perhaps with a club against his skull He'd be of no use then, just another spent pawn. He ducked under a clumsily swung club and raced into the corridor, already damning himself for cowardice, expecting to see beefy enemies fill that corridor at any second.

  But the gomers were all crowded into that room, hopeless' amateurs at real showdowns, grunting as they followed on big unsteady flat feet.

  Lovett amazed himself by managing a sprint through the lobby, overturning rattan chairs in his wake, taking all the veranda steps in one leap. He took three steps toward the beach before deciding he'd make better time on the perimeter road, veered in a new direction as he heard urgent shouts behind him.

  Seconds later he heard the cough and clatter of a Cushman scooter around the first bend of the road. Dusk had come like a drawn curtain and, expecting Reventlo, he was shocked to hear a different voice. "Where's Benteen?" It was Vic Myles who stood astride the polka-dotted scooter that had injured Merizo and, ever since, tended to veer off on its own like a spooked horse.

  "Gomers got her," Lovett husked, swinging onto the scooter. "Some of the big bastards are lumbering along back there behind me."

  "Any firearms?"

  "They have Mel's."

  "If I bagged a couple they could make her pay. Hang on," said Myles, and put the Cushman in motion..

  They took one spill and remounted. The second time, they darted cursing into the undergrowth. Now Myles simply abandoned his mount, a chugging, wheezing decoy ten yards off the road in gathering darkness. "Fuck this, we'll double-time it," Myles snarled. "Let 'em beat up on the damn velocipede."

  They were more than halfway to the airstrip by now, Myles pounding along in the lead, the little burp gun bouncing on its shoulder sling. Their stamina leaked away as they trotted up the final slope, Lovett calling the only code word he could think of: "Mayday, mayday!"

  Coop hailed them from his sentry position in the wingless Tojo, joining them as they stood, lungs heaving, in the cave with Reventlo. The Brit asked several times before Lovett caught his breath enough to say,

  "Major fuckup. Gomers grabbed Benteen ... Shortly after dark, Myles noticed movement in the brush near the airstrip. When his hail was not answered he took careful aim and sent three rounds into the foliage. The range was extreme for his weapon and it seemed unlikely that he had hit anyone, but with that short burst he made a point: close surveillance against these crazy old men would not be a safe employment.

  Despite anything his friends could say, Wade Lovett took the setback as a personal failure. "I should've known," he said, pounding a fist on his knee for emphasis. "If I'd carried that grease gun, I'd be the President of Fundabora right now."

  "If it's any help, Wade, I wouldn't have loaned you my heavy hitter,"

  Myles admitted. "Not many guys will actually squeeze off a clip and waste a dozen people. And in a closed space, ricochets would be like teeing off a golf ball in a tile bathroom."

  This was the blunt truth, and one he hadn't considered. Still it was no comfort to Lovett. "Poor Mel was so sure she could squeeze off a round at a black hat, and when push came to shove she got buck fever. Could happen to anybody. And I should've known," he moaned again.

  "Why Wouldn't she convince you? She'd convinced herself," Reventlo replied, keeping watch at the cave entrance. "What the Boffins call paper empiricism. We ask what a chap would do, if, and he tells us, and hey presto, we jot it down as gospel, when actually he hasn't the foggiest idea."

  At least, said Coop, now they had less reason to suspect Keikano. The one thing they did know was that, with the kidnapping of an American woman, Fundabora had become a fit target for a squad of U.S. Marines.

  "Not until we can get the word out," Myles said. "That means a lucky radio transmission to some passing commercial airliner."

  "And how many contrails have we seen," Reventlo asked. "This isn't on any direct route I know. Lads, it's time for us to sneak aboard the Grumman. We can raise Guam with that set, or fly to Yap and make our case in person."

  "And leave two of us and the haul of a lifetime to be bunged up by club-wielding gomers? Go ahead," Myles growled. "You guys boogie out of here if you want to and I'll stay here and take 'em out one by one."

  Lovett studied the' bearded Texan in the lambent glow of a lamp wick.

  Victor Myles had always been a man you could depend on to look out exclusively for Victor Myles, while tooting his own horn harder than Maynard Ferguson. But recently he had begun to show signs of-of-well, call it decency. Nobody had forced him to move that doddering old Cushman into position as a backup. That had bordered almost on the verge of courage. Now he seemed willing to stake his life on his ability to hold off Pelele's gomers alone if necessary. Or so he said. Paper empiricism, thought Lovett. Maybe that was one scenario they should avoid.

  Reventlo jumped like a cat when his handheld unit beeped. He knew who'd taken that fourth radio. "Melanie? Come in, luv."

  "Don't give me love, give me respect," was the soft reply in a near whisper. "I've spent the last hour keeping my virtue, but not my pistol."

  "Are you all right? Did you get away?"

  "Not even faintly funny, Cris. I'm ' in a storeroom with some lovely bruises and a ton of toilet paper they don't seem to know what to do '

  with. They didn't rough me up too much; I think Jean-Claude wants me-oh, hell, you know; functioning. His little bimbettes won't talk to me; afraid to, I think. Fundabora Fats put a round from my pistol into the ceiling trying to figure out the safety. Sorry to tell you he didn't kill anybody."

  Lovett crowded near the mouthpiece. "Any sign of Chip?"

  A sigh. "Sorry, no. But I can't get near the harem rooms; they may have him there. I'll try to get a dialogue going with someone and let you know."

  "If we knew where everyone was, I could start blowing it down by sections," Myles said.

  "Well, you don't," she said.

  "Wish I knew what to tell you," Myles went on. "You can usually make a weapon from something, Benteen. For close work, you know? When Jean-Claude decides he wants to play."

  "He already decided that. Guys, it turns out that I seem to lack the killer instinct, so don't count on me for it. I'm better at bullshitting. I convinced Merizo that you'll need me to modify the Grumman to drop things, and if Jean-Claude took my honor, you guys will be in no mood to help fly against the north village. Oh, those two had a hell of an argument about it. They think I'm lying but they don't know for certain. They still have this fixed idea that you can be coerced into their little war."

  Coop leaned close to the radio. "Benteen, have you checked out every window, every wall? You can start a hole through some walls with a hairpin."

  "I've tried. The window is too high to reach and the walls are concrete block, and it's dark in here. You try climbing UP in the dark on a bench made of gooshy toilet paper rolls and see how much good it does you." A long pause. "So tell me something good."

  "We're thinking of an assault," said Reventio, shrugging at the others because he could think of nothing better to boost her spirits. "Are you alone there?"

  "I can hear a couple of those bozos grumbling in the next room.

  Jean-Claude and Merizo were talking about another appearance in the village, but for all I know maybe they're corralling a bun
ch of drunks to make an assault on you. Is it near dawn yet?"

  "Oh God, Melanie," Reventlo said, near to weeping. "It's hardly ten o'clock."

  "Time flies when you're having fun," she said, with a pathetic catch in her voice.

  Myles put out a hand for silence. "Heads up. Somebody's out there," he whispered, and began to edge outside the cave with his submachine gun.

  Lovett cocked the big colt. At least they could make surveillance very, very costly.

  For a moment there was no sound from the jungle. Then a soft hissing whistle that nibbled at Lovett's memory. "Over there," Myles whispered, aiming his weapon. "I'll send a few-"

  "Wait," Lovett muttered, and heard the whistle again. Now he recalled a stealthy signal he'd heard while Chip was on sentry duty. He called with soft urgency: "Keikano? Who goes there?" It sounded idiotic.

  It also brought results. "Sirs? My honored grandfather is here." And with collective sighs, the men put away their weapons as Keikano slid noiselessly from the underbrush only yards away with his skinny patriarch. It should not have surprised Lovett to see that Ohtsu carried a twin to the rifle he'd given up.

  "Our old duffer doesn't know you, lads, so let us make haste slowly,"

  the Brit murmured.

  "That's a limey for you. He wants delayed gratification," Myles remarked to Coop, "and he wants it right now."

  But at Reventio's look of reproach, Myles stood glitter eyed and unbending in the distant lamplight. Coop Gunther made no great show of welcome either, having served on a spirited welcoming committee in the Aleutians once upon a time. Reventlo and Lovett exchanged bows with the old fellow. The handshakes that Reventlo urged in the Western tradition were tentative but, within a few minutes, much of that cautious reserve began to melt away on all sides. It was Keikano who did most of the translating as the men explained how their predicament had worsened during the past'few hours. Reventlo then said, in Japanese, that they needed to discover exactly where young Chip was being held before they could take action.