King Rat

Mac carefully scooped the last bean and belched. It was a wondrous belch. “I’ll tell ye, laddies, I’ve had some meals in my time, from roast beef at Simpson’s in Piccadilly to rijsttafel in the Hotel des Indes in Java, and nothing, no one meal, has ever approached this. Never.”

“I agree,” Larkin said, settling himself more comfortably. “Even in the best place in Sydney—well, the steaks’re great—but I’ve never enjoyed anything more.”

The King belched and passed around a pack of Kooas. Then he opened the bottle of sake and drank deeply. The wine was rough and strong, but it took away the over-rich taste in his mouth.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Peter Marlowe.

They all drank and they all smoked.

“Hey, Tex, what about some Java?” yawned the King.

“Better give it a few more minutes before we open the door,” Brough said, not caring whether or not the door was opened just so long as he was left to relax. “Oh God, I feel great!”

“I’m so full I think I’ll bust,” Peter Marlowe said. “That was without a doubt the finest—”

“For God’s sake, Peter. We’ve all just said that. We all know it.”

“Well, I had to say it.”

“How’d you manage it?” Brough said to the King, stifling a yawn.

“Max told me about the dog killing the hen. I sent Dino to see Hawkins. He gave it to him. We got Kurt to butcher it. My share was the hindquarters.”

“Why should Hawkins give it to Dino?” asked Peter Marlowe.

“He’s a veterinarian.”

“Oh, I see.”

“The hell he is,” Brough said. “He’s a merchant seaman.”

The King shrugged. “So today he was a vet. Quit bitching!”

“I gotta hand it to you. Sure as hell I gotta hand it to you.”

“Thanks, Don.”

“How—how did Kurt kill it?” Brough asked.

“I didn’t ask him.”

“Quite right, laddie,” said Mac. “Now I think let’s drop the subject, huh?”

“Good idea.”

Peter Marlowe got up and stretched. “What about the bones?” he asked.

“We’ll smuggle them out when we leave.”

“How about a little poker?” Larkin said.

“Good idea,” the King said crisply. “Tex, you get the coffee going. Peter, you clean up a bit. Grant, you fix the door. Don, how about piling the dishes?”

Brough got up heavily. “What the hell are you going to do?”

“Me?” The King raised his eyebrows. “I’m just gonna sit.”

Brough looked at him. They all looked at him. Then Brough said, “I’ve got a good mind to make you an officer—just so as I can have the pleasure of busting you.”

“Two’ll get you five of mine,” the King said, “that that wouldn’t do you any good.”

Brough looked at the others, then back at the King. “You’re probably right. I’d find myself court-martialed.” He laughed. “But there’s no rule I can’t take your dough.”

He pulled out a five-dollar note and nodded at the card deck in the King’s hands. “High card wins!”

The King spread the cards out. “Pick one.”

Brough gloatingly showed the queen. The King looked at the deck, then picked a card—it was a jack.

Brough grinned. “Double or nothing.”

“Don,” said the King mildly, “quit while you’re ahead.” He picked another card and turned it face up. An ace. “I could just as easy pick another ace—they’re my cards!”

“Why the hell didn’t you beat me then?” said Brough.

“Now, Captain, sir.” The King’s amusement was vast. “It’d be impolite to take your dough. After all you are our fearless leader.”

“Crap you!” Brough began stacking the plates and mess cans. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

That night, while most of the camp slept, Peter Marlowe lay under his mosquito net awake, not wishing to sleep. He got out of the bunk and picked his way through the maze of mosquito nets and went outside. Brough was also awake.

“Hi, Peter,” Brough called quietly. “Come and sit down. Can’t you sleep either?”

“Just didn’t want to, not just yet, feel too good.”

Above, the night was velvet.

“Gorgeous night.”

“Yes.”

“You married?”

“No,” Peter Marlowe replied.

“You’re lucky. Don’t think it’d be so bad if you’re not married.” Brough was silent a minute. “I go crazy wondering if she’ll still be there. Or if she is, what about now? What’s she up to now?”

“Nothing.” Peter Marlowe made the automatic response, N’ai vivid in his thoughts. “Don’t worry.” It was like saying, “Stop breathing.”

“Not that I’d blame her, any woman. It’s such a long time we’ve been away, such a long time. Not her fault.”

Brough shakily built a cigarette, using a little dried tea and the butt of one of the Kooas. When it was alight he dragged deeply, then passed it over to Peter Marlowe.

“Thanks, Don.” He smoked, then passed it back.

They finished the cigarette in silence, racked by their longing. Then Brough got up. “Guess I’ll turn in now. See you around, Peter.”

“Good night, Don.”

Peter Marlowe looked back at the nightscape and let his eager mind drift again to N’ai. And he knew that tonight, like Brough, there was only one thing he could do or he would never sleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN