Boxman gave the driver his orders: “Main gate and don’t spare either of the horses.” The little machine lurched off, emitting a cloud of blue exhaust.
The walk across the bridge connecting the naval base and Olongapo City always sobered Jake. Children sat in boats amid the filth of the canal and called for sailors to throw them coins. Jake looked over the rail. The stench from one of the world’s largest open sewers knocked him back. “Hey Joe. Throw me a quarter.” A boy about ten stood precariously in the bow of a boat holding a fishnet in his hands. A girl, probably his sister, sat amidships with oars, sculling occasionally to hold the craft in place. Jake shook his head.
“Throw me a dime, Joe. Come on, Joe. Just a lousy dime. “Sorry, kid.” Near the boat a bloated pig floated in the brown, scummy water.
“You cheap bastard, Joe, Throw me a nickel and show me you not a cheap bastard.” Jake found a quarter and tossed it toward the boy, who fielded it expertly in his net. “Thanks, Joe. Hope you don’t catch the clap.”
The kid’s white teeth flashed in his brown face.
“I hope you get rich, kid, and become president of a bank.”
The Boxman grabbed his arm. “Ain’t you ever seen Shit Crick before?”
“Yeah, but-“
“The American Club is where it’s at. And where it’s at is where we want to be.” The five men picked their way along the street, avoiding the clusters of sailors and the Hey-Joe kids begging money or selling glass necklaces. They dodged mud and water thrown up by passing jeepneys, ancient Willys jeeps with canvas tops. Filipino soldiers wearing cartridge belts and carrying shotguns or submachine guns sauntered along the street. In the doorway of every bar, a bouncer, armed extravagantly, stood sentinel.
“you sort of expect to see Pancho Villa come riding down the street,” Jake said. Po City never failed to disturb him deeply. He went on, “It would be a great place for a TV evangelist; ‘read your Bible, folks, or you’ll end up here.” A credit could run at the end of the program: ‘Filmed on location in hell.”‘ “If they ever give the world an enema, this is where they’ll stick the tube,” Box observed. “Come on, let’s go in here. I know some of the girls.” He dived into a dark doorway under a broken neon sign that proclaimed, “American Club.”
One of the girls greeted the Boxman with glee. “Ah, Box, you’re back,” she squealed and threw her arms around his neck.
“This here is Suzy. She’s my bonita seniorita. Come on, honey, let’s find a table for me and my friends.”
“You want some girls, too?” she asked.
“No,” said Jake and Ferdinand in unison.
“Of course, a lady for everybody, Suzy babe,” shouted the Boxman.
They were soon seated around a large table, five men and five women.
Suzy, the one the others obviously looked up to, didn’t look eighteen. A waitress placed a bottle of San Miguel beer in front of each man and glasses of brown liquid in front of the girls.
“What your name?” asked the small brown girl to Jake’s right.
“Jake,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Hake?”
“No. Jake. With a J.”
“Oh … Hake. I’m Teresa. You like me, Hake?” He looked down at her.
“You’re very pretty.”
She nuzzled up to him, rubbing her breasts against his arm. “I like you, too, Hake.”
The other tables were filled up with American men and Filipino girls. All the bartenders were Filipino men, and the only other Filipino male in the place wore a .45 automatic on his right hip and cradled a short-barreled pump shotgun in his arm. He leaned against the bar near the rear of the room, watching the door. God only knew what disaster he was there to prevent, Jake thought. If he started blasting away with that shotgun, he’d take down half the people in the bar. Jake watched the man, who had a wisp of a mustache and seemed about seventeen, and tried to recall if he had ever heard of a shootout in one of these dives.
If you were a Hey-Joe watch thief with a hot sister and survived long enough, this was the job you could aspire to.
Teresa tried valiantly to turn him on. “What do you do on your ship, Hake?”
She wrapped her arm around Jake’s and smiled. With her head tilted up, s looked genuinely curious.
“I shovel coal for the furnaces.”
“Oh,” she gushed, “such a hot job. But if you’re American, you must be rich.
“Why would rich men shovel coal?”
“How old are you, Teresa?”
“I eighteen.” She glanced at Suzy, who was busy laughing at the Boxman’s jokes. Jake decided she was fourteen or fifteen. He gulped his San Miguel and let the strangeness of the place flow over him. Teresa apparently decided that the conversation was too much work and she began giggling and whispering with the girl beside her.
About the time they had finished their third beer, Boxman got the urge to move on. “Hey Jake, let’s buy our gals out of here. I know a little place called Pauline’s that’s worth the trip.”
Grafton was not enthusiastic. “What could possibly be over there that isn’t over here?” Jake had seen all he cared to of the local nightlife and was ready to settle in and get seriously soused.
“Come on, Jake. Trust me. This place’ll knock your socks off.”
The pilot shrugged. Ferdinand Magellan seized the opportunity to bow out and Big Augie and Razor followed his lead. Boxman gave up trying to persuade them. “Let’s go, Jake,” he said and got to his feet.
American currency slipped to the club’s proprietor convinced him he could spare his B-girls for several hours. Soon Jake, Box, Suzy, and Teresa were bumping along in the back of a jeepney.
Pauline’s Place looked like every other dive in Po City, except that in front of the joint was a pond that contained a half dozen or so small alligators, or perhaps crocodiles. On the sidewalk vendors sold chicks and ducklings to drunk Americans to feed to the reptiles in the pond.
As Box and Jake and the two women approached the club, they saw a young American in blue jeans and a tank top, with an earring dangling from one ear, lean over the waist-high rail with a duckling in his hand. “Here, boys. Come and get it.” He tossed the small bird into the pond.
The duckling fluttered its wings, quacked several times, and paddled through the scum toward the edge. From beneath the water came a slight snout. Two small white feathers remained floating on the water when the turbulence subsided.
“Duck soup!” shouted the sailor. “How about that? Just slurp and smack and it’s all over. Gimme another one of them ducks. No, let’s try a chicken this time.
I know they like ducks. Let’s see If they go for chicks la feathers.” He and his buddies laughed uproariously. “We’ll perform a scientific experiment. I wonder if it’s the wings flopping that attracts them crocs.”
“Let’s go in before I puke,” Grafton said.
They found a table in a corner. Even before a waitress came up, two hostesses approached and looked daggers at Suzy and Teresa, both of whom glared back. The Boxman laughed and motioned to the new hostesses to join them. The women refused the invitation, though, as a group of marines arrived.
Suzy and Teresa ordered the usual brown fluid, while Box ordered a San Miguel and Jake bourbon. Jake gagged down a mouthful and promptly choked.
“Box, I’m ready to go back across the bridge. I, definitely had all the fun I can stand tonight.” He poured his drink on the floor.
Just then the earring man and his friends trooped in and arranged themselves at the bar. They shouted beer and were soon surrounded by ladies of the house. Earring was having a great time. He giggled and drank and slid his hand inside the pants of the girl beside him. She whispered to him and stared at the mirror behind the bar. Earring dug his hand deeper and said something to the man beside him. The two howl with laughter. The girl’s face was expressionless.
Jake looked at the Boxman. “Am I the only sane man here, or the only crazy one?”
“He’s an asshole all right. It must be something in the water.” Box shrugged. “Maybe it’s the beer.” He picked up his bottle and eyed it. “I don’t feel an attack coming on yet, but I probably just haven’t had enough.”
“Why’s he wearing that earring?”
“It’s the fucking rage back in the States. Shows he’s tuned in and turned on. Bet he doesn’t wear that damned junk on the ship.”
