Captiva

Simpang Alas Prison. I kept at it. Kept practicing. Tried to picture the way it would be: Me in the room, Raymond Tullock in the room, plus two, maybe three others. I had to point at something—anything to shift their attention— then draw the bandanna out of my pocket smoothly, very, very smoothly. . . .

When I thought I had it pretty good, I played around with my portable shortwave radio, then took up the bandanna again and practiced for another half an hour. I wanted to embed the move into the muscle memory; wanted to be able to do it mechanically, like it was second nature, without having to think.

In the early evening, while the city's bullhorns told the faithful that it was time to bow to Mecca, I decided that I had had enough. I put everything away, changed into different clothes. Then I took my three ox-eyed tarpon into the bathroom to dissect.

Later that night, I ate satay beef and rice, sitting across a restaurant table from Rengat. I told him that I would be leaving Medan the next evening. I told him to come by my boarding house promptly at sunset, so that he could take my luggage to Polonia Airport. I told him that because of a business engagement, I would arrive separately by private cab and might be a little late.

I watched the little man's eyes shift around as he projected great sadness that I had to leave Sumatra so soon. 'Has something happened to displease you?' he asked.

I handed Rengat my Garuda Airline ticket so that he could check my luggage. 'I'm afraid something very bad has happened,' I told him. 'I've been robbed.'

When Raymond Tullock returned from his run the next evening, two Indonesian policemen and I were standing in the hallway, outside his room, waiting on him. For days, I had been looking forward to this moment; had anticipated, with great pleasure, the shock that seeing me would cause the man . . . had anticipated, with greater pleasure, the terror that would drain his face pale.

So I stood there, arms folded, a uniformed cop on either side of me. I could hear the squeak-squeaking of Tullock's rubber-soled shoes as he came up the linoleum steps, two at a time. Could see his head and shoulders come into view, and I fixed my eyes on his face. As Tullock got to the top of the stairs, he hesitated when he saw us. I watched closely as his eyes registered consternation and minor surprise; but nothing that communicated shock, nothing close to terror.

Not a good reaction. . . .

He paused at the top of the stairs, collecting himself. He was wearing black spandex beneath burgundy running shorts. The rubber skin of his sweat pullover was shiny but dry—a vaguely reptilian touch. Tullock stared at me for a moment . . . then at the two cops . . . then back to me. Favored me with a thin, nervous smile before he said, 'Well, well—long time no see. The name's Ford, isn't it? How's our girl Hannah doing, Ford?'

At least he doesn't know.

I said, 'My girl Hannah is just fine. Me, too. We're all just fine.'

Which seemed to cause him momentary discomfort. But he recovered quickly, showing me he didn't much care. Said, 'Always good to see another American in these Third World countries,' as he continued down the hall toward us. Then: 'Is it true? I hear you've been robbed.'

I thought: Rengat, you son of a bitch!

Tullock brushed past me just close enough so that his shoulder collided with mine—a gesture designed to stake out territory—and he produced a key, then swung his door wide. 'You're welcome to have a seat while I change, gentlemen. But I'm afraid I can't give you much time. I have a dinner appointment in less than an hour.' Turned his head to give me a private, searing look. 'So let's make it quick.'

In Indonesia, law enforcement has an informal aspect. Visitors or individual citizens can seek out the help of specific cops. Havildar had given me the names of two who spoke English. One was Lieutenant Suradi, the other was Officer Prajurit. Both were small, dark men who wore navy-blue slacks and shirts that were brightened with red trim. Because I had used Havildar's name, they had come with me to the Hotel Tiara willingly enough—not that I could expect any favors from them. Already I could sense that Tullock's self-assurance had made Lieutenant Suradi, for one, dubious.

'This a very serious charge, sahr,' he said to me as we entered the room. 'You must be certain. You not very certain, sahr, maybe this man ask we arrest you!' Said it loud enough for Tullock to hear, letting him know that he was not taking sides in this squabble between two Americans.

Tullock was stripping off the rubber pullover, handling himself pretty well. Showing just the right mix of tolerance and indignation. 'It's a damn serious charge, Ford. If you've never been to Indonesia before, maybe you don't know, but—over here?—they cut a man's hand off for stealing.'

I gave a soft whistle, trying to play it just as cool. 'Maybe you can get the doctors to fix you up with a hook, Ray. A man with your hobbies wouldn't want to get caught shorthanded.'

'Oh? What hobbies are those?'

'Wires and things. Timers? Things that can blow up in your face.'

Tullock was toweling himself down. Gave me a pained expression— Fuck you— before saying to Suradi, 'I suppose you're here to search my room.'

'Yes. If this man want.'

'You mind showing me the search warrant?'

Suradi was puzzled for a moment. 'Oh! No need warrant. This man want, we search.'

I got the impression that Tullock didn't care if we searched his room or not; was just playing a role. I wondered what kind of deal Rengat had worked with him. The little bastard had picked up my luggage right on time. Had probably reasoned that since I was flying out tonight, he no longer had a cause to fear me. So why not make some extra money? Could picture him telling Tullock, 'All week, this big man follow you! You pay, I tell you more!'

Obviously, Tullock had paid. The question was: When had Rengat told him, and how much could he know?

To Lieutenant Suradi, Tullock said, 'Tell me something. How are people who make false accusations treated in Sumatra? I'll cooperate, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let this guy get away with calling me a thief. I've got business interests in this country.' Letting the cops know that he was an important man; a man with connections.

Suradi said, 'It very serious, sahr. Yes, very serious. Mr. Ford wrong, maybe we take him to jail. You charge him, we do it, yes sahr.' The little man was glaring at me, giving me one last chance to back down.

Tullock made a sweeping motion with his hand. 'In that case,' he said, 'search all you want.'

Suradi was still looking at me. I thought it over. Thought: What the hell. I nodded at the lieutenant. Said, 'The man's a thief. Search his room.'

Tullock had pulled on a dry T-shirt. He took a chair across from me, dabbing at his face with a towel as Suradi and Prajurit began to politely lift and poke their way through drawers and luggage. It was a large, sparsely furnished room. Hard brown linoleum floor, an open window that looked out over the city, off-white walls decorated only with two small paintings done in the gaudy colors of a cheap valentine card. Both paintings were weirdly abstract—one of a dark-faced girl, her hands extended in an Egyptian-like pose; the other was of a cart pulled by water buffalo. Cart and oxen—it caused the image of Hannah's face to flash into my mind.

'You tell me what you're looking for, maybe I can help.' Tullock was sitting there, projecting indifference. His chair was against the open window. There was a floor lamp and a closet door to his left.

I told him, 'You'll know when they find it,' but I was thinking: If it starts to unravel, I'll shove him through the window.

'Ah-h-h,' he said. 'So it's going to be like that. I don't suppose you'd tell me when this supposed theft occurred?'

Suradi and Prajurit were leaving the conversation to us, just doing their jobs, not very happy about it.

'Yesterday,' I said. 'Late afternoon—just after the muezzin called the prayer.'

'You mean that noise they blast over the streets?' Tullock had his legs crossed. He was a foot tapper—the only symptom of nervousness in the otherwise shielded demeanor of a bureaucrat who was probably seasoned by years of long meetings and public hearings. His foot continued to tap as he said, 'In that case, I couldn't have done it, because that's when I take my daily run.'

'Your running partner can confirm that?'