Chapter 4
SHANGHAI PETE’S
On his return to the base, Beau parked the Corvette and continued to the brown, flat roofed, two story brick building, found his assigned room, and changed. It felt good to be in jeans and a shirt again. At least there would be no fear of terrorists in the restaurant. As he prepared to leave, someone knocked on his door. He answered, mildly surprised to see Mike Marix. Beau responded with a cheerful grin and handshake, and invited him into the room.
“What brings you here, Marix? Shouldn’t you be gettin’ yourself ready to go to Shanghai Pete’s?” Beau asked. He sat down on the bed and spread his arms to his side, resting his hands on the edge of the mattress.
“We need to get some things straight,” Marix said menacingly. “I’m the leader of this group. My rank gives me that authority.”
“That’s true and it’s fine with me. I have no intention of moving in or stepping on anyone’s feet. You’re the leader. Stay the leader. I won’t interfere. Besides, I have no intention of being here for long.”
“Good! I know your record. Seems you have a tendency to leave when you are needed most.”
First he was taken back at the accusation Marix aimed at him and found it hard to believe the words. Then Beau became angry. Was Mike referring to his resignation or his family? He quickly brought his emotions under control, knowing he was soon leaving the military and a confrontation would serve no purpose at all.
The intention of forcing a reaction did not work as Mike had hoped. But it wasn’t his love for Krysti pushing him to confront Beau. As a child in England, growing up in a royal family, he lacked for nothing. At an early age he had always sought out other children’s toys, pushing until he possessed the prized object. Once he had acquired it, he would later discard the undesirable item; each always lost its appeal after he gained possession. The quest was more important than the prize.
Mike knew he could make short work of the man before him. After all, he was an expert in the martial arts. No reaction only confirmed his assessment that Beau was a coward.
“One more thing,” he said, as he stood in the open door preparing to leave. “Stay away from Krysti. She belongs to me and I shall not permit her to associate with someone like you.” Then he pointed at Beau and added, “Do you understand?”
The absurdity of the situation and the half threat immediately struck Beau as humorous. He stood and faced Mike raising his palms in the air, shrugged his shoulders as though surrendering, and laughed.
“Hey, anything you say. Right, Baron?”
As he finished the words, Mike’s face turned red. He slammed the door and Beau could hear him stomping down the hall of the Officers’ Quarters. Beau shook his head. “Ya lost control, Marix.” Pulling a blue windbreaker from the closet, he wondered what the eventual outcome would be. He was sure they’d knock heads again; he only hoped he could avoid it if at all possible.
Again in his familiar Corvette, he cranked the engine to life. The gentle motion and low rumble of the exhaust as it rolled peacefully along the highway made the incident with Marix seem meaningless. Marix was jealous and surely in love with the woman, and maybe she was in love with him. Their situation wasn’t important to him. After all, he was going to see his friends, and interfering with Marix was the furthest thing from his mind. Besides, in a few more weeks he would be in Big Bend with his brothers and the problems would be far away and forgotten. He hung his elbow out the window, his old car like a soothing tonic on his nerves. Nothing mattered, and again his thoughts filled with Ruben and the others.
Across the bridge on Padre Island he noticed the commercial construction and fancy condominiums lining the road. When he was small his family would go to the Island, pay a dollar, and camp in the dunes, staying the weekend and sometimes never seeing anyone. Now people walked the beaches twenty-four hours a day and large motels jutted their gaudy forms into the waters of the Gulf. Beau turned right and headed south on the beach.
Fifteen miles down, the Island ceased to have the huge hotels and condominiums. Wildlife flourished and few structures were evident. Sand dunes loomed large and created a natural barrier from the sea. All the commercialism in the world could not convert the quicksand area that lay beyond. In the past he and his brothers spent many a day in dune buggies far down the island — far from any other people.
On his right he spotted what appeared to be an old pirate vessel. It was Shanghai Pete’s Bar and Restaurant. The only change, from the way he remembered it, were the new neon lights across the front of the old building. Once isolated and the only structure for miles, it was now surrounded with a souvenir shop to the left side and a surfboard rental shop to the right. Shanghai Pete’s still remained. It was one of the only structures on the island to survive Hurricane Carla in sixty-one. On each side of the entrance was a cannon from some long-gone Spanish galleon that had gallantly sailed the coast of Texas centuries before.
Beau parked his car next to Ruben’s van. Next to it was a large four-wheel drive truck, with an empty trailer attached. He recognized the outdated bright red ‘96 Ford. It belonged to his three brothers: Brook, Jack, and Danny. Before he entered Shanghai Pete’s, he paused a moment and watched as night settled on the island. A brisk Gulf breeze brought in wave after wave, only to see each melt away on the beach. The sand dunes turned to gold as the disappearing rays of the sun settled down to rest for another night. The stars slowly chased away the sun, taking their rightful place in the darkening sky.
The old, partially rotted wood doors creaked on their rusty hinges when Beau entered the bar portion of Shanghai Pete’s. He knew the others would be ordering dinner on the deck behind the bar. For a moment he watched the people. Beach bums, business people, sailors and pilots frequented the popular getaway on Padre Island. Three slovenly, dirty men had gained control at one end of the bar near where a long hall led to the restrooms and telephones. The end of the hall opened to a large room used to store supplies and drinks for the patrons. The other end of the bar led to the back and the dining area.
Near a drunken stupor, the three men were well on their way to completing the task as they bellowed for more. The apparent leader of the trio created the most noise. Mauro Haun was a big man and dwarfed Beau, not only in height, but also in size. He easily weighed over 300 pounds. The pants that sagged around his rear end exposed a large portion of his buttocks. His sleeveless shirt was torn and dirty. The long, black thinning hair was greasy, and the oily skin of his unshaven face glistened in the dim light. Bushy eyebrows partially obscured the bloodshot bulbous eyes.
Leaning his back on the bar, the big man scanned the area eager for some kind of excitement. The rotund belly hid the huge belt buckle. A barmaid passed too close to the three and paid the price as she was pinched on the rear.
“Hey girlie! You wanna spend night wit’ ol’ Haun?” roared the fat man to his own delight. Rapidly he gulped the remains of his drink, and then ordered another round for his two friends and a bottle of wine for himself. Of the three, he was the cleanest and best dressed. When the wine arrived, Haun turned it straight up and chugged it like water.
Beau gave them only a casual glance and continued to where his friends waited patiently for his arrival. Momentarily he paused when he noticed a woman coming toward him. A small brunette, hair bouncing below her shoulders at every stride, approached the bar from the restaurant area, unaware of the three men in her path. In a direct line past Haun and his horde, Beau hesitated and waited.
Haun saw her coming and his eyes locked on his next victim. “Lookey what we got here.”
The woman saw Haun, frowned, turned her head, and continued, never wavering from her path. The bear of a man caught her shoulder and spun her around to face him.