Blood of the Albatross Read online

  “You are very sure of yourself, are you not?”

  “Me?” He looked away. “Hardly.”

  “I embarrass you?”

  “Yes, you embarrass me.”

  “You are a strong person, you see. I admire your strength.”

  “Me? Strong? You’re suffering from heat stroke.”

  “You make music—you write music—despite the hardships. You decide everything about your life; you leave none of the decisions to others. So many of us, in our jobs, our families, allow others to make the difficult decisions. This is strength.”

  “Some people might call it pig-headed.”

  “I am sorry?” She did not understand the expression.

  “You know who’s strong? Your friend Holst is strong. I know his type. They can be mean sons of bitches. That’s why I have to disagree with you. I’ve been told by several important people in the music business that I’m never going to make it. It’s not the music—they insist the music is fine. It’s because I’m not hardened enough. If I were stronger then I might stand a chance in the business. I’m not the strong type of personality. I cower when someone becomes forceful.”

  “Iben, strong?” She laughed. “Iben is a conceited fool. He just wants everyone to think he’s strong. He puts on a good show.” She looked in toward shore and said, “There is nothing inside Iben Holst. He is a shell of a man.”

  “Then why do you work for him?”

  “We can’t all work for ourselves. Sometimes one takes what one is offered. In this case it was a free trip to the United States.”

  He heard the tension in her voice. “None of my business. Sorry I said anything.”

  “I am being defensive. I am stupid sometimes. I, too, often wonder why I am working for him.”

  “Just what does an electronics expert do for the owner of a sporting goods retail chain?”

  “Hardly an expert.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Why should I?” She grinned.

  “Because I’m jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “He’s attracted to you, Marlene. I thought at first you were lovers.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m serious. Let me tell you something. You say I’m strong. Not so. Don’t shake your head; it’s true. Inside every performer is an insecurity. The stage is our place to show everyone that it’s not there. I work hard, yes. I have endurance—that’s true. I’ve been in this business for years, despite the hardships, as you say. Some people couldn’t last in this business days—I’m the first to acknowledge that. But people like Iben Holst scare people like me. I doubt anyone scares him. That’s the difference, you see. His strength is very real. He has an intimidating presence that says, ‘Don’t mess with me.’”

  “But he is nobody, inside. He can not carry a conversation for more than five minutes. He is a beast. He uses people to further himself.”

  “All businessmen do. That’s why I avoided business.”

  “Not like Iben Holst. He is different. You are warm, Jay. Kind. Iben Holst will never be kind.”

  He saw her choke. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Please.”

  “I miss my home; that is all. I miss my father. He is warm… You would like him, I think. He is strong in the way you are strong—no matter what you say.” She looked over at him in a way that touched him.

  Here is more of her mystery, he thought. He said, “You know, Marlene…” She cocked her head. “When I first saw you, I sensed something… well, something mysterious about you, like you held a secret you were dying to share. I had the same feeling the first time you mentioned Holst; and again, now, talking about your father.”

  “You are very perceptive, Jay Becker. That is another of your strengths.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “There is nothing to tell.” She paused. “Honestly.”

  He studied her, disbelieving.

  She said, “Sometime. Perhaps sometime I will tell you.”

  Jay felt a warmth spread through him. There is a turning point in any relationship, where the masks and acting finally break down. Sometimes the dropping of this mask is seen in physical hints: the burp at the table, passing gas beneath the sheets. There are giggles. Slowly a bond forms and this closeness allows expression. The emotional masks are let down slowly. The affable, jolly friend may be in reality alone and afraid. Jay recognized the moment. They had just passed through this barrier. She was no longer Marlene the goddess. She had just become human.

  “Sometime,” she repeated. She attempted a smile. She looked terribly pained. He wanted her to open up to him, but didn’t dare press, lest she re-tie the mask.

  “Ready?” he asked, inspecting the giant mainsail.

  “Yes, Jay. You bet. I am ready.” Her one quick glance thanked him for not pushing. They had passed beyond friends. The ship rocked; the sails shifted sides; lines tightened; the canvas snapped as it caught the wind.

  Jay sipped his beer, which was getting warm. Time to change the subject. It didn’t take a genius to realize that. He tugged the boat’s wheel back and forth. “You know, the wheel is sticking again. That’s not good. We wouldn’t want to lose the rudder out there,” he said, cocking his head out to sea. “I suppose I should check it out.”

  Marlene continued to stare toward Shilshole, thinking of her father and what Holst held over her.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “About the steering cable?”

  “Yes, a good idea. Is that not what you said?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She attempted a shrug of indifference, but her face revealed her anxiety.

  “Are you mad?”

  She placed her beer down, slid quickly over to Jay, and wrapped her arms tightly around him, drooping her head over his shoulder.

  “You’re frightened. What is it?”

  She held him. Trembling. Jay steered with his foot. She lifted her head off his shoulder, their faces close. He could smell the beer sweet on her breath.

  He set his beer down and took her cheeks between his strong hands. His right hand was cool from the beer, his left warm from where he had held her. He kissed her gently. She closed her eyes. Her lips were moist and warm, and she kissed him affectionately, pulling him closer and pressing herself against him.

  Abruptly, she let go of him and pushed away. “What are we doing?” She glanced around. “We are acting like child—”

  “No,” he cut in.

  “We must not do this. We must not become involved.”

  “We are involved, Marlene. We both know that.”

  She held her hands to her ears as if she were a child not wanting to hear. “No, Jay. Not here. Not now,” she said, suddenly another person.

  “Tell me.” He knew she wanted to.

  She shook her head and pulled him closer again. “No. I wish I could. I wish I could.” And then she began to cry.

  21

  A morning rain was falling, rinsing the buildings, the streets, the air, washing garbage from the gutters. Rosie had gone off to wherever Rosie went off to. Kepella poured himself some Bran Flakes, heaped on the sugar, filled the bowl with 2%, and struggled through it. He would have preferred eggs and bacon, but the plumbing was congested and word had it that Bran Flakes worked wonders.

  The knock on the door surprised him. It was early for a visit, though he knew who—at least what—it was before he opened the door. It was them. He had failed to pay yesterday. Who else could it be? Knowing this would be the first test, he turned the doorknob. His emotions were not unlike those of the fraternity pledge who willingly bends over, bare-bottomed, to be paddled. Initiation.

  “Peace Brother? What the hell—?” The broad-shouldered Chinaman was standing in the door with another huge man. Kepella tried to close the door on the two. He had little problem playing the guilty man—half his life had been spent playing the guilty man.

/>   “Time to pay you visit, Mr. Roy. You put friend of ours in bad place, you know.” Peace Brother slurred his words together. “You late, Roy. Whatza matter, you fo-get or somethin’?”

  Peace Brother—John Chu—pushed his way inside. Kepella backed away. Behind Chu, the other man, a Samoan with thick round arms and skin the color of an old saddle, followed.

  “Come on, fellas. I’m one day late with my payment. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Kepella wiped his brow nervously, thinking, The jaws of the lion—wide open and coming to get me.

  “Meet Donnie, Mr. Roy. Donnie a friend of mine.”

  “How ya doing?”

  Donnie nodded, threw an arm straight forward, and knocked Kepella five feet back and to the floor. Kepella hit hard.

  “What the…?” he hollered.

  “You late, Mr. Roy. No good. We come to have a little chat, you know. We come to straighten this out. Make it right,” Chu said.

  Donnie moved toward Kepella patiently, bent over, and picked him up. Then he hit him in the stomach. Kepella buckled and vomited onto the worn out rug. Bran Flakes and milk. Kepella swung, landing a strong right into Donnie’s kidney. The Samoan tilted to his left and gripped his side. He was about to rearrange Kepella’s face when Chu stopped him mid-swing and stepped between the two. “Have seat, Mr. Roy.”

  Kepella didn’t budge.

  Chu hit him squarely with open palms on both shoulders. Kepella fell back into the couch. “That better. Now, you got the scratch, Mr. Roy?”

  Kepella rocked his head back and forth. All he could think about was Donnie. If Donnie had connected with that right… He no longer had to act scared. The Samoan was part gorilla—the mean part. “Listen”—Kepella fished for a name—“Peace Brothera…”

  “My name John Chu, Mr. Roy.”

  “John. I’m only one day late. Gimme a little room, will ya? Come on. I know I have to pay more points. Hey, that’s okay. I understand. Who should I see? Mr. Holst? Is that who sent you? Is that who I should see?”

  Chu studied him. Donnie was rubbing his sore side, anger gripping his features. “What you got, Mr. Roy? What can you come up with right now? I—we—gotta bring back something.”

  Kepella searched his pockets and his wallet. He dug up forty-five bucks and change. He stretched out his hand. Chu knocked the money out of Kepella’s hands.

  “Don’t play with me, Mr. Roy. I need one hundred fifty. Please, reconsider your payment.”

  Kepella searched the room in a panic. He searched the alcove kitchen. Donnie and Chu followed him into his bedroom. It smelled like sour laundry. The bed was a mess, the sheets rumpled and stained. He grew frantic, ransacking his own apartment. He found ten bucks in the pocket of a pair of dirty pants. “I’m tapped out.” He looked scared.

  “How about this?” Chu waved Kepella’s checkbook in the air.

  “No such luck. Zero. Overdrawn, actually.”

  Chu kicked the bedroom door shut, closing all three of them in the small room. He nodded to Donnie. Donnie’s hair was black and oily. His gray T-shirt fit tightly and ended inches above his belt, showing a band of dark Samoan skin and a hairy navel. Donnie slapped Kepella hard across the face, splitting Kepella’s lip.

  “What you do with money?” Chu asked.

  Kepella looked around the room and then back at Chu. He knew what had to be done next. He knew the penalty, too. He gathered what little courage remained and charged Donnie. The two moved across the room in slow motion until Donnie slammed into the chest of drawers and Kepella’s head sank farther into the man’s abdomen. As Donnie rocked forward, Kepella jerked back and slammed his knee upward, catching the Samoan in the forehead. The man swayed and collapsed to his knees. Kepella turned and used what little training he could remember. He lifted his right leg and kicked out at the surprised Chu. But Chu was trained in martial arts. He deflected Kepella’s attempted blow effortlessly, spun on his heels, and kicked Kepella in the jaw. Kepella was lifted off his feet and careened into the wall, then crashed to the floor Donnie staggered over and worked on Kepella’s abdomen until Chu pulled him off. Kepella, nearly unconscious, lay sprawled on the floor.

  “What did you do with it?” Chu asked.

  “Paid back Fu.”

  Chu nodded. Donnie slugged Kepella hard just above the groin. Kepella screamed.

  “That bullshit, Mr. Roy. You pay Fu a thousand bucks. Where the rest of it?”

  Kepella didn’t need to act anymore. It was all real now; it had begun. “I blew it on the dogs. I thought I had something going, you know. I was up eleven hundred. I got this tip. I placed nearly all of it on this fine-looking greyhound out of Oregon. I thought I had it made.”

  Chu shook his head in disappointment. “You fucked up, Mr. Roy. I think you gonna have to have little talk with Mr. Holst.” He turned to Donnie. “Clean him up.”

  Donnie dragged Kepella into the bathroom and slammed Kepella’s head into the small sink, cutting it. Donnie turned on the water and let it run over Kepella’s head before standing him back up. Kepella’s head bobbed like a puppet’s.

  ***

  They parked next to a van near the Kingdome. One on either side, they walked Kepella into the vehicle and pulled the door closed. The back of the van was empty and windowless, the floor carpeted. A thick curtain separated the cargo area from the two front seats. Holst lifted the curtain and ducked into the back of the van. He reached up and switched on a small overhead light.

  Kepella was still dizzy. He touched his wound and inspected the finger for blood. Nothing.

  “You do not look too good, Roy.” Holst’s heavy accent bounced off the metal walls.

  John Chu snuffled. Donnie rubbed his side.

  “What the heck, Iben? I’m one day late.”

  “One day too many, Roy. I tried to warn you. You have to make those first few payments. That is why I asked John to pay you a visit. The people I secured this arrangement through will treat you much worse. If it had been them, Roy, you would be in the hospital, and then it all becomes even more expensive. So you see, I am only trying to help you out.”

  “You have a funny way of helping people.”

  “You are angry, Roy. I am sorry to see that. You see,” he said to Chu, “it never pays to do business with friends.” He glanced back to Kepella. “Never. No matter what the person says.” He looked up at the dull green ceiling of the van. “I did try to discuss this with you, Roy. I tried to make you understand. I can leave you for my… associates, but I promise they play by an entirely different set of rules. John and his friend here are much more understanding than these other people will ever be. You should have made your first payment. Very important, these first few payments. Now it is time to try and help you through this. I can try to help, or I can go back to my… associates, and inform them you have reneged, and that I have—what is it you Americans say?—washed my hands of it? Your choice, Roy. Ah!” He stopped Kepella before he could respond. “But you had better give it some thought. You make the wrong decision now, my friend, and you will find yourself terribly alone. Frightfully alone.”

  Kepella noted that Iben had delivered all this in a cool, level voice. Yet he sensed an immediacy in the man, an urgency. The two stared at each other in the dimly lit confines of the rear of the van. Traffic moved past outside, tires whirring; a jet flew overhead, grumbling. Kepella touched his injured head and carefully inspected the tips of his fingers—a boy who had fallen down in the playground. “Maybe we can work a deal.” Kepella winced as he touched his head again.

  “What sort of deal?”

  “Maybe you could borrow a little more for me, I could pay my first installment. Everyone is happy.”

  Astonishment covered Holst’s face and he looked around in frustration. “And why would I trust you, Roy? Answer me that if you will.”

  “What else is there?”

  “I told you the options, Roy. All I have to do is leave you off here and drive away. I turn it over to those who made
the loan in the first place. You deal with them, or rather, I should say, they deal with you, and I no longer think about it.”

  “There has to be another way.”

  Holst studied him. “Perhaps you could liquidate assets? Generate some capital. How about that?”

  “No. I don’t own anything. I’m in debt to the bank, to this loan. I’m screwed, Iben.”

  “Your car?”

  Kepella shook his head. “Bank owns the car.”

  “That old heap?”

  “Dealer financing. I got it secondhand.”

  “That much is obvious.”

  Even Kepella grinned. Another jet flew low overhead. The earth seemed to shake.

  Holst said, “There must be something you can sell. Think, Roy, think.”

  Kepella began nodding his head. Up and down. Up and down. He shut his eyes tightly and bobbed his head repeatedly. Then he seemed to change his mind. He rocked his head side to side. Side to side. “How much do you need?”

  “One hundred and eighty dollars, Roy, by six tonight. Two-ten tomorrow.”

  “Will you give me a few hours? Please? Just a few hours?” His pleading was wonderfully convincing. He looked back and forth between Holst and the two thugs, who stared at him with blank faces. Back and forth. Sweat covered his brow. His hands were shaking. “Please? A couple of hours, that’s all… How about it?”

  “You would not try to run away on me, would you, Roy? That would be a terrible mistake, as I am certain you know.”

  “Run away? Me? Come on, Iben. I’d never do anything like that.”

  Holst nodded patiently. “Okay, Roy. You will have your few hours. You know my room. I will expect you there at exactly six o’clock this evening. Exactly at six. Do you understand?”

  “A hundred and eighty bucks. I got it. Six o’clock.”

  “Fine. See you then.” Holst cocked his head and John Chu opened the sliding door to the van.

  Kepella scooted over to the door and stepped out into the rain. The air smelled fresh. His body hurt. His head had stopped bleeding. Chu and Donnie got out and walked over to the other car. The van started up and pulled away. The other car followed closely behind. Kepella watched the two cars blend into the procession of traffic. To his left, the Kingdome sat planted on acres of concrete, looking like a huge flying saucer that had landed and taken over the city. Ever so slowly a Cheshire grin stole onto Kepella’s face. We’re both playing our games, he told himself, and neither is supposed to know the other’s intentions. But we both know the bottom line. You know I’m ready to sell. I pretend there is nothing to sell. I can see you drool, you weird German. I can see you think how clever you are, how you will turn the screws and make me give up what I have hidden. And of course you are right.