Twenty Blue Devils

'Right, but that's only part of it. Think it through; the inflated payments to the suppliers are made with drug money, not company funds, right? But—'

'But,” Nelson said, speaking slowly as he took it in, “the inflated returns from our sales should go right into our own coffers—only they don't, do they? They've never shown up in our financial records. That means...that means...'

'That we're talking about somebody raking off a lot more—a whole lot more than six hundred thou a year.'

Nelson groaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. “I feel as if I'm in a nightmare. John, how could he? After all Nick's done for him. Oh, I've never thought he was quite as perfect as everyone else did, but never would I have expected this from him. Not in a million years.'

It was time to let Nelson in on recent developments. “Nelson, Brian wasn't quite what we thought. There's a lot about him that you and I didn't know.'

Nelson's mouth hung open for a minute. “Brian? What does Brian have to do with it?'

John was startled in his turn. “What?'

'I'm talking about Rudy. Rudy's the one who actually buys the coffee. You know that, John. Rudy's the one who signs the purchase orders in the first place, and then signs off on the invoices—not Brian. Rudy's our buyer.'

'Rudy...' John sat back in his chair and digested this latest screwy twist, or maybe it wasn't so screwy. “What do you know?” he said half to himself. “Now that really throws a new light on things.'

'What's this about Brian?” Nelson said. “What didn't we know about him?'

'A lot,” said John. “I'll tell you later. Right now I want to go over to the hospital and have a few words with Rudy.'

'But he's not in the hospital, he's right here, down on the docks.” Nelson turned in his chair and pointed out the window. “See the gray-and-white ship, the one with the block and tackle?'

'The rusty one?'

'Yes, the rusty one.'

The ship was the Beaune, Nelson said, an interisland schooner; that is, a small freighter with a regular local route. Every few months two or three thousand pounds of Paradise beans were put aboard to go to resorts and small roasteries on Bora Bora, Rarotonga, and Pago Pago. As it happened, the beans were being loaded this morning and Rudy was on board overseeing things.

'Well, then, that's where I'm going,” John said, standing up.

Nelson got up as well. “I believe I'll go with you.'

'No, I think it'd be better if I talked to him by myself.'

'Pah.” Nelson breezed imperiously by him and through the door. “Don't be ridiculous, John. Of course I'm going with you. You don't know how to handle Rudy. It takes a delicate touch.'

Say hello to the old Nelson again. For a moment the hair on the back of John's neck automatically bristled, but only for a moment. Then he laughed and followed Nelson out.

'Okay, big brother, show me how to handle Rudy.'

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 30

* * * *

Papeete's commercial harbor was out of another time, a lively, old-fashioned South Seas port from the days before there were huge, anonymous container ships and robotlike, hundred-foot-high cranes. Here, most of the quays were lined with battered, midsized interisland schooners that were being chain-loaded by their Tahitian crews one dented drum or one case of milk or canned goods at a time, for shipment to the outer islands. Lots of bustle, noise, cursing, and laughter.

The Beaune was no exception. It was docked between two equally seaworn, equally work-scarred freighters, and you couldn't look at it without thinking of Joseph Conrad, and the old China Sea trade, and grizzled, bleary-eyed, seen-it-all sea captains in dingy whites. When John and Nelson got there, a line of four perspiring Tahitians was swinging the cargo onto the foredeck, where two more men used a block-and-tackle arrangement to get it down into the hold. There were cases of Hinano beer, of Twisties Cheese-Flavoured Snacks, of Biscuits Mckay ('C'est OK!'), of canned beef stew, of soap flakes, of frozen fish croquettes.

'Your coffee's already stowed,” one of the men told Nelson. He shrugged his chin at the string of big plastic sacks of ice cubes that was being hefted along the line. “For the captain's drinks,” he said, laughing.

'I don't doubt it,” Nelson said primly.

They found Rudy on the enclosed bridge with Captain Thorwald, a big-boned, middle-aged Dane whose whites were by no means dingy, but who otherwise made a satisfactory old sea dog, what with his graying Captain Ahab beard and hard, bronzed, windburnt face. The captain bent over a drafting table to scrawl his signature across the bottom of a form, gave Nelson a brusque hello, and went off to speak to the harbormaster, leaving them to the modest comforts of the bridge.

John and Nelson stood just inside the door. “Hello, Rudy,” John said.

Rudy seemed to sense something in the air. He looked from one to the other, waiting for them to say