“Jambo,” Tuck said, using a greeting he’d heard in a Tarzan movie.
The whole group looked up. One man actually let out an abbreviated scream. The fat old guy stood up, a fire in his eyes that cooled as Tuck moved out of the shadows.
Mary Jean had always said, “Doesn’t matter if it’s a senator or a doorman. No one is immune to a warm smile and a firm handshake.”
Tuck held out his hand and smiled. “Tucker Case. Pleased to meet you.”
Malink allowed the white man to shake his hand. As the others looked on, still stunned, Malink said, “You are looking better than the last time I saw you. The Sorcerer made you well.”
Tuck’s eyes were trained on the three-gallon jugs of milky liquid at the center of the circle. “Yeah, I’m feeling on top of the world. You guys think you could spare a sip of that jungle juice?”
“Sit,” Malink said, and he waved the young men aside to make space for Tuck on one of the sitting logs. Tuck stepped in and sat as Favo handed him the coconut shell cup. Tuck downed the contents in one gulp and fought to keep from gagging. It tasted of sulfur, sugar, and a tint of ammo-nia, but the alcohol was there, and the familiar warmth was coursing through him before he’d even stopped shuddering from the taste.
“Good. Very good.” Tuck smiled and nodded around the circle. The Shark men smiled and nodded back.
Malink sat beside him. “We thought you died.”
“So did I. How about another belt?”
Malink looked embarrassed. “The cup must come around again.”
“Fine, fine. Drink up, boys,” Tuck said, smiling and nodding like a madman.
“How you come here?” Malink asked.
“A little stroll, a little swim. I wanted to get out and meet some people. You know, get to know the local customs. Gets pretty boring up at the clinic.”
Malink frowned. “You are the pilot. We see you fly the plane.”
“That’s me.”
“Vincent said you would come.”
“Who’s Vincent?”
The men, who had been whispering among themselves, fell si lent. The pouring and drinking stopped as they waited for Malink’s reply.
“Vincent is pilot too. He come long time ago, bringing cargo. He send the Sky Priestess until he come back. You see her with the Sorcerer. At hospital. She have yellow hair like yours.”
Tuck nodded, as if he had any idea what the chief was talking about. Right now he just wanted to see the cup finish its lap and get back to him. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen her. She’s the doctor’s wife.”
Abo, who was drunk and for once not angry, laughed and said, “She is nobody’s wife, you fuckin’ mook. She’s the Sky Priestess.”
Tuck froze. A plane crash and a talking bat rose like demons, ruining his oncoming buzz.
Malink looked apologetic. “He is young and drunk and stupid. You not fuckin’ mook.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Tuck asked. “Where’d you hear ‘fuckin’ mook’?”
“Vincent say that. We all say that.”
“Vincent? What’s Vincent look like?”
The young men looked to Favo and Malink. Favo spoke. “He is American. Have dark hair like us, but his nose point. Young. Maybe as old as you.”
“And he’s a pilot? What’s he wear?”
“He wear gray suit, sometimes a jacket with fur here.” Favo mimed a collar and lapels.
“A bomber jacket.”
Malink smiled. “Yes, Sky Priestess is bomber.”
Tuck snatched the cup from one of the Johns and drained it, then handed it back. “Sorry. Emergency.” He looked at Malink. “And this Vincent said I was coming?”
Malink nodded. “He tell me in a dream. Then Sarapul find you and your friend on the reef.”
“My friend? Is he around?”
“We no see him now. He go to live with Sarapul on other side of island.”
“Take me to him.”
“We drink tuba now. Go in morning?”
“I have to be back before morning. And you can’t tell anyone that I was here.”
“One more,” Malink said. “The tuba is good tonight.”
“Okay, one more,” Tuck said.
39
Showtime
The Sky Priestess rolled over in bed and slapped the beeping intercom as
if it was a mouthy stepchild. “I’m sleeping here,” she said.
“Get in character, Beth. We have an order, due in Japan in six hours.”
“Why don’t these fuckers ever call at a civilized hour?”
“We guarantee freshness. We have to deliver.”
“Don’t grow a sense of humor on me at this point, Sebastian. The shock might kill me. Who’s the chosen?”
“Sepie, female, nineteen, a hundred and ten pounds.”
“I know her,” the Sky Priestess said. “What about our pilot?”
“I’m putting two of the staff on him to make sure he stays in his bungalow.”
“He’s still going to hear it. Are you sure you don’t want to sedate him?”
“Use your head, Beth. He has to fly. We’ll do it with smaller explosions. Maybe he’ll sleep through it.”
She was wide awake now and starting to feel the excitement and anxiety of a performance. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes. Have the ninjas start my music.”
Tuck had Favo in a headlock and was administering affectionate noogies to the old man’s scalp. “I love this fuckin’ guy. This fuckin’ guy is the best. I love all you fuckin’ guys.”
Malink had never seen noogies and wondered why this bizarre ritual had never showed up in the party scenes in People. He prided himself on understanding white people’s habits, but this was a new one. Favo didn’t seem to be enjoying the ritual nearly as much as Tuck was. The tuba had all been drunk. Maybe it was time to rescue his friend.
“Now we go find the girl-man,” Malink said.
Tuck looked up, still holding Favo, whose eyes were starting to bug out a little. “’Kay,” the pilot said.
Malink led them into the village, his bowlegged gait more wobbly than normal. A dozen Shark men and Tucker crashed and staggered behind him. As they passed by the bachelors’ house and onto the trail that led to Sarapul’s side of the island, the music started: big band sounds with easy liquid rhythms echoed through the jungle. The Shark men stopped in their tracks and when the music paused, just for a second, they shouted, “Pennsylvania 6-5000!” and the music began again.
“What’s that?” Tucker asked.
Women and children were stirring from their sleep, creeping off into the bushes to pee, rubbing sleepy eyes and stretching creaky backs. Malink said, “The Sky Priestess is coming.”
“Who?” Tuck finally released Favo, who he had been dragging by his head. The old man gasped, then grinned and sat splayed-legged on the trail.
“We have to go,” Malink said. “You should go back now.”
The music paused and Malink, along with the rest of the Shark People, shouted, “Pennsylvania 6-5000!”
“Go now,” Malink ordered, once again the chief. “The Sky Priestess comes. We must get ready.” He turned and strode back into the village. The other Shark men scattered, leaving Tucker standing on the trail by himself.
Tuck heard the sound of large prop planes mixing with the big band music. The Shark People were draining out of the village onto the trails that led to the runway. Within seconds, the village was deserted. Tuck staggered back to the beach where he’d left his fins and mask. As he stepped over the logs of the drinking circle, there was an explosion and he thought for a moment that he’d found another land mine until he realized that the sound had come from the direction of the runway.
Not trusting himself to find the path through the village, Tucker decided to follow the beach back to the compound. After he’d gone a hundred yards or so, he saw something white lying on the beach
and bent to pick it up. A long spiral notebook. The moon was high in the sky and he could see a name printed on the cover in bold permanent marker: JEFFERSON PARDEE.