Edgar Ragged - King Dong

‘Hogwash!’ roared Deadman.

‘Plus the fact that your leading men got trampled to death in the firsht picture and eaten in the shecond …’

Deadman waved a hand dismissively. ‘I tell you, Skipper, I have it all figured out. My movies have adventure, excitement, spectacle, thrills, danger …’

‘And big shtrong elephants and big fierce lionsh …’

‘Sure, sure. But they don’t have the one thing the public wants. Know what that is?’

‘A decent shcript?’ hazarded the sozzled Captain. ‘Conshistent plot? Compelling dialogue?’

Deadman stared at the old salt. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Skipper? No! The public don’t care for any of that horse-shit. I’ll tell you what they want!’ He leaned conspiratorially towards Rumbuggery. ‘Sex!’

The Captain stared. ‘Shexsh?’

‘You heard me! S-e-c-k-s, sex! That’s what I need! Sex!’

The Captain fumbled with his belt. ‘Well, why didn’t you shay?’

‘Not now!’ snapped Deadman. ‘In my movie!’

The Captain rubbed his grizzled chin. ‘Well, I don’t know … if it wash artistically valid, and the money wash right …’

‘Holy mackerel! You think the public are gonna pay to see a rummy deadbeat with his pants round his ankles?’

The Captain considered. ‘I would.’

Deadman ignored this. ‘No, you old fool, I need a girl. But every flapper I’ve tried to hire has been interfered with.’

‘Well, this is New York.’ The Captain did a cock-eyed double-take. ‘Jusht a cotton-pickin’ minute! Are you telling me you’re planning to bring a woman on board?’

‘I sure as hell am! What’s wrong with that?’

‘What’sh wrong with it?’ Captain Rumbuggery spluttered with righteous indignation. ‘I’ll tell you what’sh wrong with it! Women on board ship are nothing but trouble! Talk about a Jonah. Dischipline goesh to hell! The crew neglect vital dutiesh, such as shteering the ship and shtoking the boilersh and pleasuring their Shkipper. I tell you, Mishter Deadman, I’d shooner have an albatrossh round my neck. I’d sooner have a man-eating tiger on board than a woman!’

Deadman gave the Captain a contemptuous look. ‘Oh, pipe down, you old buzzard.’

The blare of an auto-horn from outside caught the movie man’s attention. He crossed to the porthole and rubbed at the condensation misting the grimy glass.

A taxi had drawn up on the wharf below. As Deadman watched, a platinum blonde wearing an outrageous amount of cheap fur and fake jewellery stepped out.

Deadman clicked his fingers. ‘There’s my girl now. Sit tight, Captain. I’ll bring her up here and introduce you.’ He yanked open the ill-fitting door at the third attempt and headed for the companionway.

By the time he reached the wharf, the argument between his star and the cabbie was already turning the air blue and causing the Vulture ’s blistered paint to flake off over a wide area.

‘Whaddaya mean, wiseguy?’ his leading lady demanded as Deadman joined the fray. ‘A dollar thoity from Brooklyn? Ya lousy joik, tryn’a rob me.’

‘That’s the fare, lady.’ The cabbie’s voice was weary. ‘Right there on the meter.’

‘I’ll give ya meter, ya –’

‘Here. Keep the change.’ Deadman thrust a five-dollar bill at the cabbie and took his fare by the arm. ‘Come along, Darling.’

‘Darling?’ The cabbie whistled.

‘That’s my name, ya doity moocher,’ the lady replied. ‘Ann Darling.’

‘Sure it is. And mine’s Rudolph Valentino.’ The cabbie leered. ‘Keep one hand on your wallet with that one, Mac.’ He sidestepped to avoid a vicious swipe from Ann’s purse and roared off while Deadman restrained his furious star.

A few minutes later, Ann was installed in Captain Rumbuggery’s reeking cabin, wrinkling her nose at the foul atmosphere and staring disdainfully at the glass of 90 per cent proof spirit the old sea-dog had considerately poured for her.

‘Ann!’ Deadman radiated cordiality. ‘I’d like you to meet our skipper for the voyage. Captain Rumbuggery – Ann Darling, the leading lady of my new movie.’

Ann gave the Captain a hard-eyed stare and beckoned Deadman closer. ‘We’re sailing half-way round the world with him in charge? The guy’s a lush!’

‘Only when he’s drinking,’ Deadman reassured her.

‘Oh.’ Ann was mollified. ‘That’s OK, then.’ She gave the Captain a winning smile, from sheer force of habit.

Deadman lit another cigar. ‘OK, here’s the deal. Captain, we sail on the first tide.’

Rumbuggery nodded and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Right. Gotcha. Before any shneaky dockside rat getsh to hear about some of the characters we got in the crew – not to mention the cargo …’

Ann’s ears pricked up. ‘What characters? What cargo?’

Hurriedly, Deadman continued, ‘Sure, sure, Skipper. Then you take us to the co-ordinates I’ve already given you.’

‘What’s he talking about?’ demanded Ann. ‘What characters? What’s all this about a cargo? What sort of cargo?’

‘Yessiree.’ Rumbuggery gave Ann a knowing, drunken wink. ‘I sure wouldn’t want the port authorities to hear about thish cargo.’ He gave a phlegmy chuckle which deteriorated into a hacking cough.

‘When we get to this latitude,’ continued Deadman, ‘I’ll reveal our destination.’

‘I want to hear more about this cargo.’

‘I don’t like it!’ The interruption was sudden and shocking. Rumbuggery’s mood, in the way of drunks, had undergone a sudden swing. His voice, powerful enough to summon a favoured fore-mast hand from the fo’c’sle to the Captain’s bunk in the teeth of a hurricane, made the solid steel walls vibrate.

‘I tell you, it’s ashking for trouble.’ The Captain’s face was a picture of misery. ‘You’re ashking me to shet sail for an unknown destination …’ The Captain enumerated his points on nicotine-stained fingers. ‘… on a ship that leaksh like a sieve, carrying a highly dangerous cargo and crewed by the worsht collection of cut-throats and no-goods I ever laid eyesh on – and, worsht of all …’ The Captain’s eyes bugged out with indignation. ‘… with a woman on board!’

‘Now hold it right there!’ Ann shot to her feet, eyes flashing. ‘Did you say, “a woman” on board? “A woman” as in “one”? Singular?’ She pointed accusingly at Deadman. ‘Youse creep, you never told me that!’

‘Didn’t I?’ said Deadman unconvincingly. ‘It must have slipped my mind. Does it matter?’

‘You betcha it matters!’ howled Ann. ‘You expect me to spend three months on this hell-ship, being pawed and leered at by a bunch of lecherous deck apes, without even another goil on board? You told me this would be a cruise, with luxurious accommodation on a swell, high-class liner.’

‘Maybe I exaggerated a little.’

‘I shoulda guessed you were lyin’ when youse lips started to move.’ Ann fixed Deadman with a furious glare. ‘Forget it, buster. Include me out.’

‘Well, there’s gratitude!’ Deadman turned to Rumbuggery. ‘Captain, I appeal to you …’

‘No you don’t.’ Rumbuggery eyed Deadman up and down, then shook his head decidedly. ‘Not one bit. I like lithe young deck-hands with firm, rounded –’

‘I meant,’ grated Deadman, ‘I appeal to your sense of fair play.’ He pointed accusingly at Ann. ‘She hadn’t worked for two years. I dragged her out of the gutter …’

‘I was resting , you joik!’

‘Yeah, like you’d been resting ever since the talkies came in, and your fans discovered that Ann Darling, the Sweet Maid of Milwaukee, had a voice like a buzz-saw tearing through sheet metal.’