The Frenchman’s store was shut in the morning — the entire village came to a stop, everybody watching the movie-making, whether they were extras in the scene or not. I managed to get Clichy aside before they broke for lunch. Eddie and I had decided it would be a smart move to let him know the pearl might solve the Papeete murder, bring favorable attention to him in Paris — always the dream of the forgotten, island civil servant.
Before I could even hint at it, Monsieur Clichy told me, “This motion picture is a great thing for Roogona. Not merely the material gifts to the islanders, but Monsieur McCarthy assures me when the film is shown in Paris, news stories and photos of the island will appear in the papers. It will acquaint the Home Office with Roogona … perhaps a Legion of Honor ribbon for my humble self. Ay, it is indeed something one could never plan for. Now, what supplies do you wish to purchase, Monsieur Judson?”
“Pearls.”
His gaunt face, skin tight as old parchment and yellower than his shirt, the drooping eyes — all turned into an almost comical mask of astonishment. “I have no pearls, monsieur.”
“In case you ever hear of any large gems, the rare rainbows, the silver-blue pearls, let me know. I am ready to pay a good price — cash, plus a generous commission.”
“But … I may not hear of such a pearl in years. This is not …”
“There’s no rush. Who knows, you may hear of a gem within the next second, too. That is how it goes with pearls.” It occurred to me I’d never seen Clichy swimming, taking the nightly bath.
Tugging at his dirty beard, he nodded. “I have heard you raise pearls on Numega.”
“We experimented with them, my wife and I.”
“Ah yes, your wife. Word of the Papeete killing has spread, of course. Bad business. Myself, I do not believe an islander would kill, murder is one of our few civilized vices these people haven’t adopted. Well, should I ever hear of such pearls, I will get word to you on Numega, or to Papeete.”
“Thank you. Oh, one thing more — this is between us only. If it should be known I carry much cash — with so many popaas on Roogona now, they might be tempted to rob me. You understand, Monsieur Clichy?”
“Indeed, Monsieur Judson, you are most wise. I shall keep it a business secret.” We shook hands and I walked over to the mess tent.
The rest of the act was almost too easy: islanders love to talk and Eddie was already off and running about a “fellow in Samoa” who had found a large pearl while diving for shell, kept it in his belt all the time. His wife urged him to sell it but he was waiting until he went to Australia, to receive a higher price. He had died of a “sour stomach,” and the pearl had died too, turning a sickly grey.
Chief Bonten said this was truly so … people who ate too much out of cans, not the fresh fruits and fish which had kept their ancestors strong — such people had poor blood, and should not be allowed in the same hut with pearls.
I kept watching Molly Watson, the others, at the “executive” table, wondering how much they understood of the island dialect. Molly nibbled her food slowly, showing no reaction: Matt was eating a huge coconut salad, talking to McCarthy — both pointing to some cost sheets. Walt was listening to them, while Rosa Marino was whispering to the head cameraman.
Like a good straight man, Eddie asked me loudly — in English — “Ray, you know about pearls, isn’t it true they are living gems?”
“Yes. For example, it is not good for pearls to be exposed to the strong sun too long, nor kept entirely in the darkness of a box. It destroys their lustre, which is what makes pearls valuable. Like human skin, pearls must also be cleaned — and with the most delicate of soaps. Anybody with too much acid or sugar in their blood wearing a string of pearls around their neck, or carrying them in their pocket for days, would cause the pearls to turn dull, lose most of their value.” As I talked I glanced at the “executive” table: everybody there acted as if they couldn’t care less.
We kept it going for four days — each night I told Ruita how the islanders had enlarged on yarns they had once heard. An old man allegedly remembered his grandmother telling him of a whaler who had been her lover — stolen a large pearl from her, she having no idea in the old days of its real value. “This evil man had too much blood in him, suffered a stroke on the long voyage home. He died two days after reaching the famous city of Boston. His wife found the pearl in his clothes, rushed out to sell it…. The pearl had been worth many hundreds of ‘bird money’ — the big silver dollars used in the old days. Now, having lost its color from the bad blood of the man, it was so worthless, his angry wife threw it into his grave with him.”
McCarthy asked about ‘bird money,’ and I repeated the whole tale in English — while explaining that the old Mexican silver dollars used in trade then, had a big eagle on them. Nobody showed any reaction, except mild interest — Molly’s pale face looking bored. Matt went off on a yarn of a South African who swallowed an uncut diamond, to smuggle it out of the mine, and died in torture when the rock became stuck in his gut.
By the third day, after thoroughly searching all the yacht cabins again, I felt we were wasting time. Eddie and I talked over the idea of the HOOKER ‘slipping anchor’ during the morning, bumping the schooner and giving me a chance to remove the negative cans, force a showdown. Nor had I forgotten my other ‘plan’ — to settle on some deserted island. Ruita was dead set against both ideas, thought them childish, and said so.
Depressed, I was back to the feeling of living in a jerky nightmare … seeing Matt swagger around in 200-year-old clothes — actually looking the part of an 18th century adventurer … gave me an unreal feeling. Plus, I was moving about in an exhausted daze; every night Ruita and I made frantic love — as if it might be our last night — while during the day I had to stay awake to make small talk about pearls and sickness, listen to inflated lies about gems. Trying to play detective was discouraging, I was far from certain the pearl had any real meaning in the murder.
On the afternoon of the fourth day as I was lounging on the coral dock, my tired mind going over various remote islands — the reasons some of them were deserted — lack of water, in the hurricane path, even fallout — I had dozed off when a small hand shook me. Opening my eyes, I saw Clichy’s dirty beard fluttering above me.
“Monsieur Judson, I have a pearl!” he whispered. “A pearl so large and full of color it blinds the eyes!”
“Who’s selling it?”
“I am.”
“You? Where did you get it? What kind of a pearl?”
“A rainbow! I am not at liberty to say where I got it. What does it matter? I am not acting as a middleman, you understand — I have bought the gem, it is mine!”
“Okay. Where is it now?” I asked, getting up, trying to think clearly — certain he was lying, didn’t have enough ready cash to have purchased the gem.
“I will have it — for your inspection. I trust you are prepared to pay much cash money, Monsieur Judson?”
I nodded. “Did you mention my name?”
“Monsieur still does not understand — I now own the pearl. I am a businessman, not a fool. Certainly I did not mention you — give the seller a choice of buyers. For the very same reasons you wished your money a secret, I have kept it quiet — about having such a fabulous gem in my possession.”
“It’s at your store?”
“Where I have the pearl is known only to me. You state when you wish to examine it, I shall produce the pearl.”
“Tonight. 7:30, in your rooms.”
“Good. Remember, cash, Monsieur Judson.”
I watched Clichy walk away, the almost girlish prance to his short steps. I found Eddie busy talking to a giggling Titin, on the outskirts of the crowd watching a realistic fight scene between Matt and two other actors. Titin now wore — while any scene was being shot — a comical ‘sack’ dress she had picked up in Papeete, sheer stockings, and fuzzy red slippers — to impress upon her friends she was an actress. The moment shooting was done for the day, Titin rushed to wrap a pareu around her perfect body, kick off her slippers.
When I told Eddie, “We have to go — to the HOOKER. Something’s … eh … come up!”
He told me, in English, “Just when I’m making time … something else has to come up.”
“Goddamnit, this is urgent!”
“Okay, okay…. Let’s go, I can see on your face it’s important.” Turning to Titin, he told her there was a leak on the boat, added something in the island dialect I didn’t get.
Rowing out to the HOOKER, neither of us talked — even whispers carry on the water. But once inside the cabin I explained the deal, added, “Whoever approached Clichy certainly didn’t leave the pearl with him — that would be dumb. Also, I doubt if he has the cash to buy it. So, around twilight — when the island is bathing — either Clichy will go to the seller, or — more likely — they’ll bring the gem to his store. He’ll tell them to return shortly, after he sees me, for the money. We …”
“We keep an eye on him or anyboody approaching his place. Then what — jump Molly?”
“We’ll have the dink on the sand, past the bathing beach. We carry her to the dink, row to the islet — I want a complete story, all the details, before we make our next move. If we have to belt her, be careful.”
“I like the idea, on the quiet of the islet, she’ll spill, then we call in Clichy, as the island official, and Chief Bonten, to arrest her — do it all before Matt or Herbie can use any fast talk or influence.”
Clichy’s store was the biggest building on Roogona, except for the church. The shop was a ramshackle affair of palm boards, tin can roof, with a thatched hut added to the rear of the store for living quarters. A path of crushed burnt coral lined with empty Coke bottles, led from the dirt “main street” to the worn steps of his shop. A few shade palm trees ringed the store, with other huts less than 50 feet away.
Eddie simply went into the nearest hut on the left of the store, talked for awhile, then said he was sleepy — with true island hospitality a mat was unrolled for him … giving Eddie a perfect view of the store. I went into a hut on the other side of the shop and after some banal chatter with a toothless old crone about the weather, asked if I could sleep for awhile, was politely offered a pandanus mat.
In the next few hours I saw only islanders come to the shop. As twilight darkened the sky, grandma — now joined by her grandson and his plump wife — announced they were going for a swim. Yawning like a ham actor, I said I’d wait for their return, assured them I didn’t need a lamp.
After a few minutes Clichy closed the screen door of his shop and seconds later an oil lamp was lit in his rooms. He had a swank hut — real glass windows. As best I could judge by the greyness of the sky, the single bright star — it had to be after 7 P.M. The …
I heard the sound of footsteps, soft pad of sneakered feet, Buddy came trotting along the “main street,” his skin and shaved dome gleaming wet in the dim light. He wore only sneakers and swim trunks. As he turned into the coral path, I saw a little white box in his right hand. I was confused — he hadn’t even been in Papeete when Kitty was killed.
Buddy peered into the dark screen door as I walked over to him. Eddie came up from the other side. Buddy said, “Oh, Ray — gave me a nasty start, pussyfooting up behind me like … Hello, Eddie.”
“Want something in the store, Buddy?” I asked.
“Sort of.” He held up a little plastic pill box. “The Frenchman makes up a medicine, or something, for Molly. She’ll call for the pills later when….”
“Molly sent you?” Eddie asked.
“Aha. The old girl’s at the dock, not feeling at all well, so I said I’d….”
I grabbed the pill box from his slim hand as he asked, “What the hell are you….?” Eddie’s hook quieted him.
Opening the tiny box, I pulled aside some cotton, my fingers feeling the hard smoothness … as Eddie lit a match. It was a perfect rainbow pearl the size of a small grape and even in the harsh matchlight — the pearl was a number of delicate shades of wonderful colors. Sucking in his breath, Eddie grunted, “Man, what a bubble! That’s the largest….”
I slammed the little box shut, shoved it in my pocket. As we ran toward the dock, I asked, “How long will baldy be a study in still life?”
“Couple of minutes. Sorry to wallop the poor bastard.”
Some 500 islanders and popaas were horsing around in the water near the dock. Molly Watson was sitting on a wooden crate, a shawl on thin shoulders, looking very small and pathetic in the faint light. The moment she saw us, she jumped to run, but I was right on top of her. “I have your pills, Miss Watson.”
“I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.” There was a nervous shrillness to the strong voice.
“Good, because we’re going to talk it over,” I said, picking her up, muffling a scream with my hand over the thin lips, feeling the teeth bite into my palm. I started running along the beach with her. She was slapping and kicking me; some of the islanders pointed at us. Eddie shouted, “Since she never swims — we throw her in!”
This bright crack brought laughter, but one of the movie crew — the head grip — came splashing out of the water. “Cut the horseplay, Judson, Molly isn’t feeling well.”
Eddie’s left sent him spinning like a drunk, then flat on the dark sand. All told, I had to run about 200 yards before I saw the dink; was panting like a rusty engine. Tossing the anchor in, Eddie pushed the boat out. Stepping in with Molly, I nearly capsized the little boat — Molly stopped fighting, lay in my arms — about 100 pounds of dead weight … except for her eyes: they were full of cold fury.
Rowing hard, Eddie said, “Maybe in the twilight nobody saw me hit that guy — maybe! Getting dark so fast they won’t know where we’re going, probably figure out to the HOOKER!”
My fingers were wet — I realized Molly was weeping. Loosening my hand over her mouth, I told her, “Don’t try anything — it’s too late.”
She mumbled something about my mother’s sex life — her lips moving, hot and slimy against my hand — then Molly continued her silent weeping.
Ruita stepped out of the shadows as we landed on the islet. Standing Molly on her feet, I told my wife, “She had the pearl!” and yanked the pill box out of my pocket.
I pushed Molly down on the sand, so the moon acted as a faint spotlight on her pale face; Eddie, Ruita and I remained in the shadows. I said, “Molly, we want the truth about Kitty’s murder! I don’t want to hurt you, but my wife’s involved, and if you make us learn the truth the hard way, we’ll do it. Might keep you here for a few days without your diabetes’ pills, for example. All we want is the truth about….”
“You don’t have to third degree me,” Molly cut in, voice low and clear. “I never meant to involve Ruita — or anybody else. I’d read about the use of cerbera poison while checking historical facts in the script, found the trees growing in Tahiti. I thought … they wouldn’t be able to trace it in her blood, that her death would be called a heart attack, or due to causes unknown. Didn’t think the island police would be that sharp.”
“Why did you kill her?” Ruita asked. “Jealous?”
Molly stared up at us, then laughed — deep laughter almost like a man’s. “Jealous of that piece of baggage? Good God no! I’m a sickly woman, a dying woman with a year or less to live. I wanted to live my last months … wanted money! Money rightfully mine — I was the one who discovered Matt, a multi-million dollar property! I guided him to stardom, I … I kept pleading with him to give me enough money to live in comfort, but the big bastard tossed me a job — have me around to rub his success in my face! Before we left Hollywood my doc told me the news — cancer. In Papeete I again begged Matt for money — not much — I only asked for ten grand. I even showed him the doc’s cancer report. In a maudlin moment he agreed — claimed he was waiting for money from the States, would have it by the time he returned from your island.” Her voice became a hoarse whisper. “You know the rest.”
“You tell us,” I said softly.
“The louse changed his mind! I knew the money had come for him but when he returned from Numega he said I’d have to wait until the picture was released and new money started coming in, that he was busted. The pix won’t return money for at least a year from now — I couldn’t wait. Matt told me right to my face he’d spent the money buying a pearl for Kitty — she was blackmailing him. Wished to God I knew what she had on him …! I went to her room, told her about my condition, asked her to give me the pearl — she could get more from Matt, the idiot belives his own publicity slop about being the world’s great lover. Oh, I didn’t expect her to give it to me, but I was desperate. She was strutting around in the nude, flaunting her youth in my face — me, who once had more beauty and talent in my little finger than this little whore even knew existed! She was playing her crazy records, hardly heard me. We had a fight, but being sickly, Kitty threw me out. The rest …” Molly waved her thin hands in the moonlight. “I knew the bellhops often left her food…. I found a cerbera tree, squeezed the milky juice into the coconut drink on the serving table outside her door. Then I waited a half hour, went to her room. She was dead … I found the pearl….”
Over the low monotone of words tumbling from her thin lips, we heard another sound — the roar of the skiff approaching the islet at full speed. I glanced at Eddie: he was smiling, head cocked as he listened intently. I started to move toward Molly, but Eddie put his hand on my shoulder — shook his head.
“… The pearl was said to be worth fifty grand or more. I was going to sell it, spend my last months traveling — leisurely, quietly. I’ve been on such a goddamn merry-go-round all my life, hustling, scrawling for success, a buck….” Molly stopped, the night full of the launch’s powerful motor.
Eddie said, “They’re dumb as hell, speeding on this reef.”
From a distance, in the island dialect, a man shouted, “Slow! Slow …!”
With the almost perfect timing of a play, his yell was interrupted by a splintering crash, and violent curses — in English. Holding Molly gently by her elbow, I walked the dozen or so feet to the other side of the islet. About ten yards out, Matt, McCarthy, and Sing, were standing in the submerged skiff, a hell of a hole in its bow.
Monsieur Clichy and Bonten were padding around them in an outrigger canoe. As Matt started to dive — the Frenchman yelled, “No, no! You will cut yourself to pieces on the coral!”
Matt dived — a perfect shallow dive — swam towards us. Bonten paddled the canoe close enough for Walt and Herb to jump in — warning them to move slowly or they would all be swamped. As Matt came out of the ocean, bellowing, “What the dirty hell are you doing to Molly!” he sounded like one of his star roles — looked the part, too — silver hair flashing in the moonlight, wet pants and polo shirt clinging to his muscular frame — blood on one thigh — from the razor sharp coral … his swaggering walk.
“Don’t come too near,” Eddie said. “Walt ain’t here to run interference for you.”
He stopped on the edge of the beach, flexing his long arms as he shook water off his head — waiting for the others to paddle ashore. Suddenly pointing to Molly, his voice projecting like thunder, Matt asked, “Bitch, what did you tell them?”
Pushing me away, Molly took a few steps toward Matt. “Only what a cheap creep you are!” There was pure hatred in her words.
“The old pitch about how you discovered me?” Matt said, giving us his famous sneer. “She gave you the icing, but not the whole goddamn crumbling cookie! Go on, Molly, tell ‘em how you were an extra all your empty life — hungry till you met me! Hard to believe now, but once I really loved this broad. Didn’t give a hoot about her being older, all the lovers she’d had in this racket. Back in those days, to me, she was the most beautiful gal on earth! I was willing to work for her, dig ditches, run a gas station — anything. I could have been a big athlete, perhaps an Olympic swimmer, college team scholarships…. I was glad to give that all up, just make a living for her, have us a normal life. But she had to make me an actor — no, a goddamn personality! Did she hand you the line about how she ‘guided’ me up the ladder …?”
“Matt, shut up!” McCarthy yelled from the canoe.
“… Always hear about the casting couch for starlets,” Matt went on, voice booming, “but somehow nobody ever writes about the life of a pretty boy in Hollywood … all the fat, ugly, wives of the ‘right’ husbands you have to sleep with, love soggy old women who make you puke with their wretched bodies and stinking breath! You have to really swing, make them think it’s the love, so they’ll nag hubby to give you a fat part. Know who used to find these old biddys for me, who drove me to the hotels, their homes, in our rundown heap? Her — my beloved wife! My …’ ”
“Louse, you were anxious to be a star!” Molly screamed. “Like a mutt in heat, straining at the leash — once I pointed out the woman, the …!”
Walt and McCarthy came splashing ashore, followed by Bonten and Monsieur Clichy. “This is kidnapping, a most serious offense!” Herbie said, clipping the words. “I will have you all….”
“Don’t talk us to death!” I snapped. “Sure, there has been a damn serious offense committed — murder!”
Walt and Herb ran at us, followed by Matt. As Eddie and I stepped forward, the thunder of a shot split the air — we all came to such an abrupt halt, it would have been comical under other circumstances. I turned to see Ruita holding the Luger. She said softly, in Tahitian, “He who wants to live, will stand still!”
Drawing himself to his full five feet, Clichy came sloshing out of the water — nearly stumbling over his wet pants. “Madame, you dare to threaten an official of the Republic, on French soil? I warn you — I hereby order you not to resist!”
Ruita answered in French, “It is because I respect France’s long tradition of justice, and your office, that as a French citizen I am helping you carry out justice.”
“I am Bonten, Chief of Roogona,” the Chief said in broken French. “Let us not have any more trouble.”
In Tahitian Ruita told him, “I am happy you are here, for you too, must hear the truth.” Turning to Molly, she told her in English, “Tell them what you have told us about Kitty’s death.”
Molly stood there, silently, for a moment. I shook her elbow. “You’ve already said it before witnesses — Eddie and I.”
Clichy shrilled, “Monsieur, you will not use force on a woman in my presence!”
Shrugging her thin shoulders, Molly said, “Oh, shut up — or talk English! It doesn’t matter; I’ll never live to be guillotined. Okay — I poisoned Kitty in Papeete. I killed the bitch for a pearl, which should have rightfully been mine. I confess it. There’s my confession and you can all shove it!”
Ruita started to translate it into French, but Clichy held up a waxen hand. “I understood.” He explained things to Bonten, speaking the island dialect. The Chief nodded gravely, said he was glad an islander hadn’t done the murder. Then he added, “This makes a big problem — we have no jail on Roogona. Where will we keep the lady?”
Clichy pulled at his silly beard. “I shall inform Papeete on the wireless. In the meantime, she can live as before, but under house arrest. There is no way for her to leave the island. We will now take her ashore. I will return in another canoe for you.” He said this last sentence to McCarthy. Bonten took Molly’s hand, then gently picked her up, carried her out to the canoe. Clichy suddenly did a smart about-face, walked over to Ruita, said stiffly, “Firearms are forbidden on Roogona. Also, I will need the pearl, for evidence.”
Ruita handed him the pill box and the gun. Clichy walked out into the ankle-deep water, stepped into the canoe — holding the Luger as if he was a general with a sword of surrender.
We watched them paddle into the darkness. Herb McCarthy rubbed his hands, told Matt, “This won’t be too bloody. Some dirt, but like that phony rape case didn’t hurt you — women fighting over Matt Gregg; it’s expected. Damn shame Molly looks so old, but we’ll send the press snaps of her taken when she was an actress. The….”
“You lice are about the poorest excuses for men I’ve ever seen!” I heard myself say, the words trembling with rage. “ ‘We’ll stand by you … the company will see to it Ruita gets off….’ All the time you must have suspected Molly was the killer!”
“Ray, stop babbling like a child,” Herb said calmly. “Certainly, we suspected her, would have gladly thrown Molly to the police — but believe me, our hands were tied. We fully intended to stand by Ruita….”
“While she was in jail? Our life ruined!”
“We had no choice. There’s another ruddy factor in this you don’t know, and I can’t tell….”
“You mean Kitty blackmailing Matt?”
McCarthy stiffened as though I’d socked him, nervously rubbed his flat nose.
“You would have … sacrificed … me to misery,” Ruita said, disbelief and anger in her voice, “merely because of … of poor headlines for him?”
“Beautiful Ruita, listen to me — we’re not bloody monsters. We were going to hire the best lawyers from Paris, see to it you were given a suspended sentence. Granted, you would have been on the end of some nasty publicity, but that lasts only as long as the next headline. Isolated on Numega, what difference would it really have made to you and Ray?”
“It would have meant the end of me,” Matt said. “Not me, as a person; what I stand for. It was ugly blackmail — involving a little boy I turned on, the fool became an addict …”
“For God’s sake, close your big stupid mouth!” McCarthy cut in. “It would have spoiled the image we’ve built of Matt — a ten million buck image. Let’s forget it — no harm has been done.” He turned to Matt again. “We can handle this Frenchman, and I’m sure Ruita, Ray, Eddie, will cooperate. If the … eh … blackmail angle doesn’t come out — we’re still in business. Even Molly will understand.” McCarthy spun around to me. “Ray, you must realize our position, every cent we have — or will make in the future — the whole packet goes down the drain if Matt’s smeared. Now wait, be honest, realistic — in our boots, what would you have done to save millions? I swear, we were going to see to it Ruita wouldn’t do time or….”
My wife turned her back, got sick. Stroking her shoulders I told them, “I don’t give a fat damn how you handle it, what happens to you! Ruita and I are going back to Numega, and if we ever leave it again — we’ll deserve anything we get.”
“Fine! Bless you both and thank you!” Herb held out his hand to me. “Eddie, don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you.”
Standing there, the picture of nonchalance, Matt boomed, “As the old gag goes, all’s well that ends well.”
I pushed McCarthy’s hand away so hard he fell. As I stepped toward Matt, Walt Sing dived at me — ran smack into Eddie’s left hook, came to a sliding stop on his face in the sand.
Matt backed away. “Ray, I don’t want to hurt you …” I heard myself screaming, “The great scared image … of virile man! You’re not even the image of crab dung!” Lunging at him, Matt belted me flush on the chin with an overhand right.
I was staggered, but didn’t go down. Somebody was now laughing like a loon — me. “Like all idols — you’re hollow! You can’t even really belt! I’m going to literally smash your lousy image!”
Swinging wildly, I missed a left but caught him in the belly with a solid right, took a punch on the eye which made me think the stars had fallen. My gut blow doubled Matt over; grabbing his famous hair with my left hand, I yanked his head up — felt my right shatter his nose bone. I kept punching and clubbing away until his face was a bloody hunk of meat, mouth a mess of torn lips and broken teeth … kept punching until I could no longer raise my right — nor fight off Ruita and McCarthy pulling at me.
I let go of Matt’s silvery hair … he crumpled to the sand, blood all over him. Placing my arms around Ruita, I walked her toward the dink, gasping, “Honey … we’re going home!”
She nodded, crying, kissing my puffed eye, then the raw knuckles of my right hand. Looking sick, McCarthy was kneeling over Matt.
As Ruita sat in the stern of the dink, I took the oars and Eddie pushed us off. When he climbed in, motioned for the oars, I told him, “If you want to stay, I’ll sail the HOOKER to Numega, you pick it up later.”
Eddie and I understood each other perfectly; he knew I wasn’t being nasty — nor asking him to pass up a big piece of change. Rowing, his brown puss broke into a smile as he said, “You ain’t much of a navigator with two eyes, probably pile up the boat with that pip of a shiner you got. And what’s around here but a stink? I’m no bodyguard, no flunky. Hell, I’ve a boat and a new suit of sails waiting. Maybe I’ll return here — in about a year … for trade, see how Titin looks and…. Hey, you think she’ll go to Hollywood?”