Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair

Henri opened his briefcase and took out a battered copy of Billboard, pretended he was reading it. I wondered how in hell he ever got ahold of the magazine and Eddie gave me the eye—we were waiting for his proposition. Henri never dropped in just to chatter and he knew we were broke, so he had a deal of some sort cooking in his fat brain.

Henri kept reading and finally Eddie's curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “What kind of a magazine is that?”

“A theatrical periodical from the States,” Henri said with comic seriousness. “One day I my take a troupe of Tahitian dancers on tour of the States and Europe.”

I said, “Old hat.”

“Old hat?” he repeated, puzzled, and asked in French what that meant. When I told him he repeated the words several times with great pleasure and I knew I'd hear the phrase the next time we talked. He said, “But this will not be any old stuff like the shimmy. A Tahitian hula will knock them in the aisles.”

“A real one is pretty hot,” Eddie agreed.

Henri sighed. “But these natives, they will not—”

“Islanders,” Eddie cut in.

“Yes, these islanders, they will not rehearse, make a name here so we can arrange bookings in the States. They have no understanding of making money. Look at the pitiful tourist business we get here. The government should encourage tourists, like they do in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii? Jeez!” Eddie said, neatly spitting over the rail.

“Everything is run here on a small scale, with great inefficiency as I have often said,” Henri went on. “The few tourists who do come here, like the people from this yacht we take them for only a handful of francs. We need a package deal.” He pronounced these last two words with great care, as though tasting them.

Eddie blew out a cloud of smoke. “A what?”

“You have been in America and do not know what a package deal means?” Henri asked, amazed. “I read much about it in this magazine and in other copies I have read. Instead of a cafe hiring a band, a singer, and dancers, the agent furnishes all the entertainment. A package means less trouble and more money for all. We should have a package deal for the tourist.”

“Like what?” Eddie asked.

“Dubon means he'll have postal cards already stamped, written, and addressed—save the tourist time,” I cornballed.

“I mean,” Henri shrilled, “we sell them what they want, they will pay hundreds of dollars instead of a hundred francs!”

“You give them what they want—when Heru is sober,” Eddie told him.

Henri didn't pay any attention to Eddie; instead he turned to me and added, “Monsieur Ray, if we tied our paradise package in bright pareu ribbons, we could make much money.”

“We?” My hangover didn't allow for any hard thinking.

Henri nodded, broke into fast French. “The pretty ribbons are the coral heads off Moorea—any place not more than a few hours sailing. These worthless dabs of land with a few coconut palms are too small for any use. But for us they become islets of dollars!”

“Okay, what about them?” I asked. This was his pitch— he needed a boat.

“Suppose we take over one of them, build a thatched hut? I put Heru there with flowers in her hair, some tapa bark cloth around her hips. We stock up plenty of food, let Eddie act like a nat... an islander. Perhaps we will cut in another tone and vahine. You see the package?”

Eddie and I shook our heads like puppets.

Henri waved a fat hand in the air, sweat rolled down his neck, onto his dirty collar. “Sometimes I believe I am the only man in Tahiti with a head for business! Now listen to me: instead of hustling these tourists for a few lousy francs, I pick out a man who has money. I get into a conversation with him at a bar, and off-hand I mention I know of an unknown island, so small no whites ever bothered with it.

On this island there is a beautiful vahine who it is said longs to see a nice popaa, all for free, of course. I say I wish I wasn't married here in Papeete, or I would surely go for this beautiful and lonely girl. The sucker bites, wants to know if it is possible for him to go there in the few days he has in port. I inform him it is possible in a small boat, that in truth I happen to know of a boat for charter—yours. We start off modestly, we charge the man three hundred American dollars. Are you interested?”

“What's the rest of this sales talk?” Eddie asked.

Henri waved the fat hand again. “Mon Dieu, can you not see it?”

I shrugged and Dubon said, “You are both blind! Once the man is on this boat, the money paid in advance of course, we sail out to sea and at night we cut back, so our sucker believes we have been sailing all night. Maybe we are only two dozen miles from here, say at the other end of Tahiti, off Point Puha. The exact spot we shall have to hunt for with care. But we land in the morning and Heru welcomes him as the great popaa god. Eddie cooks a big meal, a whole roasted pig and many fruits. Maybe we even hire some fool to drum and dance. Heru and Eddie are delighted with gifts of beads and other crap. The man has been fed well, and at night Heru will take care of his other appetites. The following day we sail, return to Papeete in the morning. Our tourist is most happy. At last he has seen the real South Seas, found a lovely princess madly in love with him. He will be the hero of all the cafe gossip back in his home town. Paradise in a package! This has many angles. Now, you like the idea?”

“Nobody would be dummy enough to fall for a set-up like that,” Eddie said.

“Yes, they would,” I said. “World is full of island-happy dreamers.” I almost added, “I know!”

“So what you think?” Henri asked impatiently.

“I don't like the idea, but what's our cut?” Eddie asked, re-lighting the stub of his cigar.

“Half. You will supply the boat and the food. I find the sucker, toss in Heru and what other... islanders we need. On the Post Office bulletin board there is an announcement of a round-the-world cruise ship putting into Papeete next week. She will remain four days. That is our chance.”

Eddie fingered his prune-ear and flattened nose. “Won't my puss make the joker suspicious?” .

“We have to be careful about speaking English or French. As for your face, we can tell him you really are a Lion Face... no, that would frighten him. Don't worry—with Heru around why should he worry about your face?” Dubon turned to me. “You have not made a comment, Ray.”

I belched several times by way of an answer. I felt a little better—the deal wasn't too far-fetched. Our cut would be a hundred and fifty bucks, more than we cleared on a cargo. Of course this would put us in Henri's class, kind of panders by accessory. But with seventy-five bucks I could bring Ruita something decent—even a real wedding ring. I told myself maybe that was the thing troubling me. I felt like a poor relation, a kept man; she had everything.

Dubon said, “Why the silence?”

“I'm thinking,” I said.

He stood up and pulled a wad of money from his pants pocket, peeled off a thousand franc note, said, “Perhaps this will seal our deal.”

I glanced at Eddie. He nodded. “That will bind it for Ray, but for me—maybe I'll go over and see Heru now. One partner talking to another.”

“You are welcome to her,” Henri began. “I will—”

“I didn't ask you if I would be welcome or not.”

Henri handed me the money, got his magazine and briefcase together, straightened his greasy hat as he said, “In a day or so we shall find our hunk of paradise and prepare things. Come, Eddie, I shall take you to Heru.”

As Eddie stood up, Dubon took his arm. Eddie pushed him away. “I can find her myself.” As they walked off the cutter Eddie called over his shoulder, “Save a bottle for me, Ray.”