Overland Run - Part 10

That morning Max wanted to immediately head south down through Luzon, into the Vasayan Islands and through Mindanao to Borneo. Easily and inconspicuously done on local buses and ferries, just a tourist seeing the country on the cheap and doing the final leg with one of the many illegal boats that ran between the Philippines and Malaysia. He hated the thought that too many people knew about the drugs he carried and only wanted to get a way before a serious interest was taken by undesirables. Rex was an integral part of the plan and contact with him was essential before anything went much further. Harry had had a word with the hotel owner and a wary Charlie had turned up for breakfast and was deep in conversation with Harry at the other end of the table. Max knew it boded little good for him and was tempted to leave while they were shovelling down the hotels famed poached eggs and bacon but the prospect of arriving in Australia without a contact there was daunting.

He was surprised to see the smouldering old gunman leave the restaurant, he usually sat there most of the morning eating fruit and reading the English language newspapers; his former two bottles of vodka a day habit having reduced his constitution to a state where he often wondered if a watery grave under the Harbour Bridge may not have been a better alternative to his present situation.

Even more surprising was the arrival of a pair of Philipinos who were obviously armed and even more obviously not members of the local forces of law and order. The New Peoples Army were strong in the Pampanga area that included Angeles City and  often offered the only justice available to the local residents. Communist by reputation they ruled a large number of rural communities, taxing them for nearly forty years but dispensing retribution to the police chiefs and army colonels who robbed and raped the local peasants with little regard for future consequences. The execution of an American Army NCO had been condemned world wide as a terrorist act but it was well known locally that the family of a fourteen year old girl he had raped had donated heavily to the NPA the week before the killing.

Many Philipinos have Spanish blood and these men were heavily moustached with long black hair tied back in pony tails, they went straight across to Harry, and Charlie who started to sweat heavily his receding hair ignoring the latest transplant to show his pink scalp, and sat down; one barely bothering to conceal a light automatic weapon under his khaki jacket. Max’s lady companion got up and spoke to them briefly in Tagalog before giving him a quick good bye kiss. Her sister, a long term consort of Max’s before marrying well into the Philipino business community, had belonged to the political arm of the NPA. No harm would come to him from these guys, Max was tempted to join the group but pulled off his tea shirt and walked to the pool in his shorts before diving clumsily in. Let them scheme, he thought, all would be revealed eventually. He was relieved to find out that Harry’s local contacts were through these people and not through the police force. With considerable mental exhaustion he realised that scoundraly work was afoot; Harry knew nothing else and he shouldn’t be surprised, he had to take full advantage of what he knew of the local ground and never cease to watch his back.

He walked across to Harry’s table when he left the pool, his hangover slipping away as he called the waitress for more orange juice. A beer would be nice but he needed his wits about him and any show of weakness was to be avoided in front of the Philipino guerrillas.

Harry, straight to the point, said that there were several boxes to be collected from his Philipino girlfriend’s house in Zamboanga City far to the south. He declined to elaborate on how they had got there, merely saying that it was important that they got back to Angeles as quickly as possible and, smiling, he said that Max was the only one he trusted to supervise the movement. Unfortunately, he said, Louie and his boat were possibly unavailable, hinting that he fell into the category of the untrustworthy, but Max, Charlie, the local help- here he waved airily at the Philipinos, and several gentlemen he was in the process of employing would collect the goods and bring them to him. As much as he would love to accompany them, and Max believed him, there was serious work to be done here and it could be only done by him. Max understood immediately that he wanted Charlie Gilmour out of the way while he went through the process of setting up his new empire. Charlie’s contacts had to be approached and their loyalties either bought or their influence negated.

Max suggested they island hop down to Mindanao using one of the small local airlines, he wanted to spend as little time there as possible, he wasn’t sure of the working relationship between the NPA and the local Muslim guerrilla group, Abu Sayef,  but suspected that it may not be a close one. In a country racked by corruption and crime he knew that a common cause amongst insurgents didn’t necessarily mean a desire or an ability to work together, particularly amongst groups of such diverse political and religious beliefs.

Charlie disagreed, he wanted to get a mini bus and pass as tourists but Max knew that he was only talking to be important. They would be constantly stopped by police, army and local militia road blocks and the consequences of a fire fight after a too close inspection would be disastrous. The Philipino immigration stamp in his passport would pass inspection and there would be no reason for domestic airport security to question it. Even if there was a computer check Max knew he could talk his way out of it; the immigration officer had forgotten to enter the arrival- a common event in a country where public servants were notoriously underpaid. Max had actually heard of a guy who on arrival in Manila for the weekend from Hong Kong who had walked confidently past a slow moving queue of several hundred arrivals pointing at his bag like he had gone back to get it and, eager to get to the Ermita bargirls, just walked out of the airport like he had every right to do so. When he arrived at departures several days later he had bluffed his way through, cursing the incompetence of the officials and threatening to complain to their superiors about them.  Possibly an urban myth but more than possible in places like Manila where confidence and disdain for authority worked miracles.

Max gave up on the plotters and headed for town, walking the couple of kilometres in the heat and enjoying the sweat running down his body. Perimeter Road was busy with jeepneys and trikes- the ubiquitous three wheeled motorbikes that carried a couple of  normal passengers or six bargirls but he ignored them until he came to Illusions, an outlying bar that specialised in daytime players. The girls were nothing special but they wore bikini bottoms and cut off tee shirts that just covered their bare breasts and there was a room out the back. It was a favourite amongst guys who lived in Angeles and were in a relationship who wanted a little bit on the side without complications.

Max had been well known there and those girls who remembered him squealed and waved so he bought drinks for three or four of his former favourites and settled down with a bottled water. Best to stay sober this early, he was too agreeable when drunk.

The girls demanded to know why he had stayed away so long and where he had been. Cambodia he said, noting the dubious looks on their faces. Cambodia had a bad reputation amongst them, they believed it was a place where men went for young girls. He took his digital camera out and turned it on, showing them the photos on the display screen of the Angkor Wat ruins so they could see that there were attractions for tourists too. He flicked through to the Killing Fields and their faces lit up in horrified fascination at the piles of skulls. By this stage the whole bar was around him and he waved at the glaring Mama San and indicated drinks for all. They were cheap here, the girls were expected to run as many customers that they could through the back room on the short time system as they could rather than make their money on drinks. The youngest girl looked at Max white-faced. “Were there ghosts there?’ she said Max nodded his head solemnly, “the fucking place was crawling with them” he said.

“Had he seen one?” she said with trembling lips. Another solemn nod, “I could see them in the corner of my eye” he said pointing accordingly, “but when I turned my head they disappeared”.  The girls shrieked as with one voice, they had all seen the same thing regardless of whether the priests scoffed at their stories. Ghosts existed, and in a place where more than a million people had died where else to see them? More drinks were ordered, most of the girls switching from Coke to Philipino rum to settle their shattered nerves while Max ordered a beer. The conversation remained on the subject of ghosts and Max wondered about the fascination Asians had for them. He had never met anyone up here, regardless of religion, who doubted their existence and there were few people who wouldn’t admit to having seen one. In Thailand even dreaming of one required a trip to the temple where the associated evil could be blessed out of you.

In Laos or Thailand he would have sent out for food from street stalls but it worked differently here, in this bar some of  the dozen girls were from several different Vasayan islands and some were local, they wouldn’t normally eat together as Thais would and the Mama San would want them back to work. The bar owner, a scrawny Australian, sent him over several drink vouchers which he acknowledged. It would be bad form to use them to pay the bill, they were meant for the next visit, so he put them in his pocket and called for the check bin. Disappointed, several of the girls aroused themselves from the contemplation of ghosts and tried to tempt him into the back room but a heavy session in bed before breakfast that morning had reminded him of his age. Promising to return in a more active mode he tipped heavily and made his way back to the street.

Max always believed that Angeles City was sin heaven for guys his age or older. Pattaya was great for every one but for older men who wanted to pretend that they were still attractive to younger women Angeles was the best spot on the planet. Most Filipina bargirls dreamed of a marriage to a foreigner followed by a trip to his home country where she could bring her children up far from the perils and poverty of the Philippine Islands. A considerable number of the girls arrived at the bars virgins, cherry-girls as they were known, and were convinced by their older sisters and cousins that their virginity was a saleable commodity and there was always a chance that their deflowerer would fall in love with them and take them away from the sordid streets of Angeles City. Most were conned out it by the wiser regular visitors but there were always a few, usually the prettier ones, who had their dreams fulfilled. Max didn’t doubt that any Thai bargirl hearing about this would fall about laughing but he still believed that Angeles was a unique micro-culture that would keep a sociologist enthralled for a life time, providing he was male and prepared to use himself as a subject.

The bargirls addressed the Mama San as Mummy and the bar owner and male manager, or Papa San, as Daddy something that happened occasionally in other countries but the idea of the bar as a family unit was much stronger here. The best bars usually employed girls from the same town and many were related. This was vital as a support system for new girls some of whom were only eighteen and had never had personal contact with foreigners. Their first experience with them was often frightening and the culture shock occasionally sent them scurrying for the first bus home but the sight of an older sister or cousin strutting topless before the monsters, teasing them for drinks and fondling their cocks under the table gradually reassured them and finally convinced them that this was the only escape from their impoverished lives at home. Max always remembered drinking with Bill the Queenslander one night in his bar while they watched a crowd of practically naked dancers laughing and chattering during their break. Bill had shaken his head. “Poor little bitches” he said “they think this is all there is to life.” And it was true, they saw other girls working in shops and offices but it was a world they never even considered was available to them. Some customers would send them to school but few continued with it, for them the only escape from the bars was marriage and surprisingly enough most of the Filipinas made good wives. Raised in a patriarchal and Christian society they settled into Western society a lot easier than their Thai sisters.

Max knew quite a few men who had long standing marriages to Filipina bar girls and some had not necessarily been cherry girls or new arrivals at the bars. The chances of a worthwhile relationship were good and as long as reasonable precautions were taken few men were ripped off. He was convinced that no girl set out in marriage with this in mind but if her life were made unbearable through physical or mental abuse she would flee with everything she could get her hands on, and why not? In a similar position he would do the same.

He strolled into Fields Avenue, the most concentrated area of sin he had seen any where in the world, a late lunch called and he decided to check his email at a local café then head for a Continental deli he knew that served European hams and cheeses on freshly baked rolls. Canned soup from Germany could be ordered as well the whole meal only 200 pesos of five bucks US. Later he would take a trike back to the hotel and have a couple of beers before a shower and a few hours sleep. He knew that Harry would have been out with Charlie, looking at houses and possible investment properties and was now probably asleep in front of the TV in his room. They would hit the bars again and finish at Bill’s, where Max would be told the plan formulated that day and expected to go along with it.

He was surprised to find Harry in the hotel restaurant talking to the owner and was told that Charlie had been more persistent than usual. He wanted to stay in Angeles with Harry and let Max handle the pick up of the goods in Mindanao.

Max immediately protested, Charlie could handle all the paperwork and tickets and shit, that was what he did best and Max would keep him away from the help; he was capable of driving an Asian man into a killing frenzy with a sneering comment or a loud temper tantrum in seconds. Max had told him once he had learnt nothing in fifteen years in Asia only to see him go open mouthed with astonishment. “You’ve got to keep on at them Max” he said, “they’re a mob of useless lazy bastards with no concept of any work ethic or doing anything properly”. To Max this attitude completely explained Charlie’s lack of business success north of Darwin.

He told Harry to get things organised promptly, he hinted Rex had been in contact via email- a mystery to Harry, and was waiting for the gear in Australia. The sooner the pick up was done the sooner he could be on his way. The longer he stayed here the more likely people like Charlie would get a sniff of the dope and either set people to steal it or give him up to the police to bolster his shaky relationship in that area.

Max agreed to meet Harry at six that night so they could head off for a meal and another night around the bars where Max would find out what had been decided for his future.

© Julian. All rights reserved by the author.