Paul Theroux: Saint Jack

The story made Shuck uneasy. “I thought you were telling a joke,” he said. “Don’t sweat it, Jack. The military takes good care of themselves.”

“It wasn’t that they were soldiers,” I said. “They were strangers. I had the feeling that after they turned the corner something awful happened to them. For no good reason.”

“You would have made a good — what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “There isn’t one. Anyway, what’s on your mind?”

“Hey, you called me , remember?”

“This harbor tour wasn’t my idea,” I said. “I just wanted to shoot the bull in your office.”

“You said we had some unfinished business.”

“Did I? Oh, yeah, I guess I did.” I tried to laugh. Shuck’s silence prompted me. I said, “I’m looking for work.”

“What makes you think I can help you?”

“You said you had a proposition. I told you I wasn’t interested. Now I am.”

“I remember,” said Shuck. “You told me to roll it into a cone and shove it.”

“A figure of speech,” I said. “I got a little hot under the collar — can you blame me?” I leaned close. “Ed, I don’t know what you had in mind, but I could be very useful to you.”

If he laughs I’ll push him overboard, I thought.

Shuck said faintly, “Try me.”

I was trembling. I was prepared to do anything, say anything. “See that channel?” I said. “Well, follow it far enough and you come to Raffles Lighthouse. Go a little beyond it and you’re in international waters. You don’t know what goes on there. I do.”

“What does that prove?”

“Listen,” I said, “smugglers from Indonesia sink huge bales of heroin in that water and then go away. Skindivers from Singapore go over and dredge it up. That’s how the stuff’s transferred — underwater. You didn’t know that.”

“That’s the narcotics division. Dangerous drugs,” said Shuck. “Not my bag.”

“Commies your bag? How about the Goldsmiths and Silversmiths Union on Bras Basah Road — what do you know about them?”

“We’ve got a file on them.”

“I know a feller who’s a member — pal of mine, calls me Jack. He makes teeth for my girls. I could show you the teeth.”

“Making gold teeth doesn’t count as subversion, Jack.”

“He’s a Maoist,” I said. “They all are. What I’m trying to say is I’m welcome in that place anytime. I could get you names, addresses, anything.”

“That stuff’s no good to us.”

“I’ll buy that — I’m just using it as an example,” I said. “Don’t forget, I’ve been hustling in Singapore for fourteen years. What I don’t know about the secret societies isn’t worth knowing. See those tattoos? I’ve learned a trick or two.” Shuck smiled.

“You look suspicious,” I said.

“You’re too eager,” said Shuck. “We get guys coming into the embassy every day with stories like that. They think we’ll be interested. Lots of whispering, et cetera. The funny thing is, we know most of it already.”

I tried a new tack. “Tell me frankly, what’s the worst job you can imagine?”

“Frankly, yours,” said Shuck. “I think hustling is about as low as you can go.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Now, who’s the straightest feller you know?”

“I used to think it was you.”

“Why don’t you think so now?”

“You’re coming on pretty strong, Jack.”

“I’m looking for work,” I said. I was getting impatient. “You told me you had a proposition. All I want to know is — is it still on? Because if it is, I’m your man.”

The Kachang was speeding alongside a wharf where a high black tanker was tethered. The tour guide was saying, “—fourth largest port in the world—”

“It was just an idea,” said Shuck finally. “And the whole thing’s pretty unofficial. I mean, it’s my baby, not Uncle Sam’s.”

“All the better,” I said. “So it’s just between us two.”

“There’s someone else,” said Shuck. “But he doesn’t know a thing.” Shuck spoke slowly, teasing me with lisps and pauses. “Let’s call this guy Andy Gump. He comes to Singapore now and then. From Saigon. Is there anyone behind me? No? Andy Gump doesn’t do much here — probably picks up a hooker and rips off a piece of ass. That’s not news to you. In Saigon, though, it’s a little bit different. He makes policy there.”

“How high up is he?”

“High,” said Shuck. “Now this is the crazy thing. No one finds fault with what he does there, but they’d shit if they knew what he did here. I’m talking about pictures and evidence.”

“Can we be a little bit more concrete?”

“I’m just sketching this thing out,” said Shuck. “Take a guy that’s got the power to keep a whole army in Vietnam. He says he’s idealistic and so forth. Everyone believes him, and why shouldn’t they? He’s got some shady sidelines, but he’s a family man, he’s fair to his troops — more than fair, he covers up for them when they kill civilians. He does his reports on time and flies to Washington every so often to explain the military position. So far, so good. Now, let’s say we know this guy is screwing Chinese whores — maybe slapping them around, who knows? Ever hear of a credibility gap?”

Even in the stiff sea breeze my hands were slippery. I said, “For a minute I thought you were going to ask me to kill him.”

“You’re not that desperate for work,” said Shuck. “Are you?”

“In despair some fellers contemplate suicide,” I said. “I’m different. I contemplate murder.”

“From what we hear, the same might be true of Andy Gump.”

I said, “You want something on him?”

“That would be nice,” said Shuck, squashing “nice” with a buzz.

“A few years ago,” I said, “you would have been pimping for him. With a smile.”

“That was a few years ago,” said Shuck. “Now you’re going to pimp for him. You know all the girls, you’ve got friends in the hotels. It should be easy.”

“I don’t monkey around with a feller’s confidence,” I said. “This is pretty nasty.”

“It stinks ,” said Shuck. “I wouldn’t do it myself. But you might think it over and if it interests you — you say you’re looking for work — maybe we can talk about the details.”

“There’s only one detail I’m concerned about,” I said. “Money.”

“You’ll be paid.”

“Who names the price?”

“Good question,” said Shuck. “Tell me, in your business who does that?”

“With hustling?” I said. “The gal does.”

“The whore?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The one that does the work.”

“So what’s your price?”

I scratched my tattoos; the tourists hooted in the cabin below; the breeze on my face was so warm it made me gasp, and when I looked at the kampong on stilts we were passing I saw some children swimming near the hairy bobbing lump of a dead dog. I said, “I won’t lift a finger for less than five grand.”

Shuck didn’t flinch.

“And another five when I finish the job.”

“Okay,” said Shuck. Was he smiling, or just making another fishmouth?

“Plus expenses,” I said.

“That goes without saying.”

“I could use a drink.”

“They pass out Green Spot when we get to the model shipyard in Kallang Basin,” Shuck said. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just thinking about Andy Gump,” I said. “How old would you say he is?”

“Mid-fifties.”

I shook my head. “I might have known.”

“I’ll tell you a couple of stories,” said Shuck, “just so you don’t go and get a conscience about him.”