Overland Run - Part 9

Harry’s Story

Harry had known Max since he was seventeen, well over six foot and ten and a half stone in the terminology of the time. All bones and hair, as enthusiastic as a Labrador pup, an empty page awaiting the pen. He had seduced Max away from the forces of good, sneering at the university politics of the time and showing him that wealth was the only option available to intelligent men. They had used their college science to blow safes all over the city until an error in tactics had left both of them as guests of Her Majesty. Harry had planned on doing the time easily, planning his next career move, until one night the cell door was opened and prison officers had taken him to the main gate; his mother was in hospital seriously ill. He was being checked out and a car would take him to her bed. After various bureaucratic fuck ups she was long dead on his arrival and he swore that the system would pay as long as he could make them. All he had wanted to do was tell her he was sorry.

After release he never saw Max for years, going back to school, finishing his degree and even teaching for a while he saw a fellow ex inmate one night and bought a brothel. Assured that the girls did eighty tricks a week he hung around the shop and was pleased to see that a hundred and twenty was the average. Having lunch with the vendor a few weeks after he happened to mention the discrepancy to see the former pimp explode with rage, “fucking bitches, fucking bitches, that’s what happens when you don’t watch them!” he shrieked to the amazement f the other diners. The lesson learnt well, Harry became one of the leading brothel owners in the city and later switched to sex shops seeing that they were a future cash cow. Real crime always stayed in the back of his mind and he financed many an armed robbery and drug crop. Taxation was an anathema to him, he stashed every cash dollar away, losing much of it to the lawyers and accountants who constantly battled to balance his books or tried keep him out of jail. Women still eluded him, shy with the opposite sex, even as a brothel owner he was unsure of the correct approach, but wise enough to avoid his staff; he discovered the Philippines where hundreds of young women leaned against him in bars, drank the drinks he ordered for them and carried out his long suppressed desires in bed.

The forces of law and order took little time to start placing serious surveillance on him, jail became a regular part of his life, he found out that money bought privileges, and came to enjoy the prestige that being heavy criminal with money to back him brought in the penal system. Sex became something he looked forward to when he got out, laughing at the jail poofs who hung around he accepted the odd blow job but made sure that no one thought that he was ‘that way’. He put money into legitimate enterprises, building, property management and more sex shops. Cash was hidden or lent to ‘friends’ who disappeared; as long as they paid him respect Harry never cared, all that mattered was the acceptance as a serious criminal amongst his peers.
When Max appeared back his life he was amazed to find him married; a tattered marriage at that but still something that had eluded him personally. Max had a lot of ideas that he didn’t want to involve another return to jail on his part and Harry passed them on to professionals who paid Harry a commission, who saw that Max picked up a few dollars. Warehouses were emptied with the information that only a truck driver could give; semi-trailer loads of valuable stock disappeared enroute. When Max’s marriage fell over and he disappeared into Asia Harry thought long and hard, he waited for Max to reappear and introduced him to the Philippines where money flowed but it was always understood that Max would pay it back. A considerable disappointment was hard to conceal when he did; his plans for Max involved carrying out the criminal side of his operations and financial dependence was important.
Some what piqued Harry turned to his businesses, in the nineties nothing had gone wrong, everything turned to gold, his love of guns brought bikies and ex soldiers to his door, hand guns and automatic weapons were readily available to the criminal classes while honest citizens shook in their beds unarmed.

The forces of the ungodly had learnt many a trick since those days, Harry’s banking was carefully watched, his expenditure became a matter of major interest, minor criminals were offered exemptions to knock on his door with bags full of stolen goods. Not that they needed any encouragement, there was always a line up anyway.
Harry dodged most of them with aplomb; never inclined to violence he had noticed that Max had a tendency to go from nice guy to psycho very quickly, always ready to pick up the nearest available heavy object and pound an unsuspecting assailant, Harry envied the lack of forethought involved. Violence was something that he bought from guys like Louie, to them it was just a job, part of life, and carried out with a complete lack of passion. Max was different, he was incapable of beating up a passive victim, the fury only emerging when he considered someone was putting him or someone he cared about under threat. Harry had been amazed when Max had come up with the drug smuggling scheme. He had always considered him too straight for that line of business. Drugs killed people and Max worried about that sort of thing; he wondered what inner demons had changed the man who had once been so easy going, so caring of his friends and as loyal as a dog. Harry had several plans in reserve; it would suit him if the drug deal went wrong, the money mattering little to him, but would place Max completely under his control. There was no room for partners in Harry’s world, only employees and trusted ones were few and far between. In Australia he had employed managers from the straight world, letting them run his legitimate businesses but without exception they had fled when the dark side of his dealings appeared. He was totally incapable of understanding their reasoning, to Harry if you were making money it didn’t matter where it originated from, and if it was illegal the thrill of beating the system made it all the sweeter. Totally amoral he never suspected for a moment that others weren’t the same under a veneer of respectability.

Guns and money, nothing else mattered in the material world, once he had worried over the lack of a permanent woman in his life but found that he could buy one on a casual basis at any time. Many moved in for a few weeks, sometimes more, but they either stole off him or decided that the emptiness in his soul wasn’t worth the money he gave.

Angeles City was Harry’s special turf; after a ‘new broom’ mayor had closed most of the Manila bars he had enthusiastically embraced the former Air Base bar area. Here was the place where he had launched his hunt for Yamashita’s Gold, the elusive millions, some said billions, hidden by the retreating Japanese in the closing days of World War Two. Reputed by military historians to be the best general in the Pacific Theatre, Yamashita Tomoyuki, the Tiger of Malaya, had withdrawn with his troops into the mountains of northern Luzon and prepared them to sell their lives dearly. Never defeated by the American general, Douglas Macarthur, he had surrendered only at the direct order of the Emperor. Smarting at the missed opportunity to show his military superiority a probably lucky Macarthur had hanged Yamashita within months of the war ending for war crimes committed by troops outside of his command; when it was realised that they had neglected to inquire as to the whereabouts of the gold that had been looted from the bank vaults and personal treasuries of Hong Kong and Singapore.

Legends sprang up around the missing hoard; Ferdinand Marcos was said to have found some of it and shipped it to Swiss banks. Maps were sold to fortune hunters and they plunged into the jungles and mountains of the Cordillera Central, some reputed to be more successful than others. Harry had produced a map of his own, swearing that he hadn’t paid a cent for it the seller only requesting a percentage of the find. Yamashita had temporarily dammed an isolated river in northern Luzon, building a bunker on the dry river bed, filling it with the gold and dynamiting the dam, removing all traces of it before machine gunning the slave labour force. A survivor had played dead and crept away before being buried alive.

Harry formed a syndicate and sold shares to anyone who would listen. Hundreds contributed to the fund and years later they still waited for a dividend. A cynical Max had once inquired as to the progress of the treasure hunt only to be told “there’s no problems’ it’s just on the back burner.” Max had considered finding the gold to be the easy part of the operation compared to the logistics of shipping the tons of bullion out of the country under the noses of the greedy Philippine Government. Government agents had confiscated tons of platinum valued at nearly half a billion dollars in 1996, the finders still waiting for their share of the proceeds.

Like all those who invest in easy money schemes the punters weren’t too surprised at the lack of profits; treasure hunting is always something that you tell your mates about in the bar, not something you do personally and a small investment in that field only added a little spice to the tale.

Harry resented having to leave Australia, he enjoyed his life style and the thrill he got running legitimate businesses in conjunction with crime. The importance of having dependant staff and the good feeling that came with seeing they were well looked after. Never a mean man he was generous to people he liked and stored favours the way a squirrel stored nuts for the winter. The Philippines was his main resettlement option, a friend had recommended Mexico and Central America but the crime syndicates there frightened him and he suspected that the girls were large and hairy. Thailand appealed but he harboured a long standing suspicion that Thai girls were adverse to oral sex. He confided this to a stunned Max one day, who had more Thai tooth marks on his cock than a bowl of durian ice cream, and said it was to do with religion. The Buddhists preached against blow jobs he said, where as Filipina Catholics could do it as long as they confessed it in church afterwards. Bemused, Max only said he should look at it as a challenge; personally he took his partners as they came, always looking at the pleasure they did give him rather than complaining about any shortcomings on the technical side.

Harry had plans of establishing a small empire; a hotel, a couple of bars and maybe a resort. Cash from Australia could be successfully laundered, the money flowing to other countries, cheap goods for export bought by a carefully watched Charlie Gilmour,a challenge in itself, and imported to Australia and the States.

In his later years he had begun asking girls to beat him with small whips before sex, at first enjoying their amusement but one night he had seen a look of contempt from an older girl that had driven him into a sexual frenzy. He had angrily grabbed her throat during orgasm, only stopping when she screamed but had always wandered afterwards what it would be like not to have to stop. Money could buy that in the Philippines.

Max had tried to talk to him once on one of the few occasions he had got Harry drunk after listening to stories that only a former brothel and sex-aids shop owner could tell. He had told Harry that there was nothing like the first years of young marriage to a new wife when it came to fucking. You didn’t want anything but her, came home in your lunch break, looked for excuses to send the kids to bed early, spent hours just laying together talking, laughing, screwing, believing that it only happened to you and that it would last for ever. Harry had looked at him for a long time without speaking.

He had decided that he would have Max’s drugs stolen, he could sell them cheaply here and Max would be stranded. He worried a bit about Rex, regretting the lost contact so he could discuss the options available. Rex had strong views about honour amongst thieves, he was unpredictable and thought Max could do no wrong, he would only accept him being robbed if he thought it was for Max’s long term benefit.
Harry wondered about Max’s Thai connection, knowing that he had a woman there, puzzling over the psychological weakness that took a man back to the same woman. He knew that Max was sexually amoral, taking women as he found them but always seeming to have the one thing that had eluded Harry, a woman who loved him for himself alone. Being an intelligent man he had puzzled over this for years, never suspecting that in relationships you only got back what you put into them in emotional terms.

He had loathed the sea journey, tolerating the crashing reaches against the wind but becoming nauseous as the yacht ran swiftly before the gale swaying gently as it sped along with the waves; but mainly he had resented the change in Max, steering the great boat, leaning into the wheel with his shirt off with stomach hanging uncaring over his jeans, hair turning into straw with the salt, only handing over the wheel to sleep or cook. He envied the easy relationship Max had with the Philipino crew laughing and joshing them about their sex lives. Once he had found a bottle of scotch Louie had below decks and poured a large glass, taking it up to Max who accepted it with thanks. Harry had gone up an hour later to replenish it but it was still sitting precariously on the rail untouched. He didn’t like it when people didn’t conform to the picture that he had of them.

He knew exactly what would happen tonight. Max would buy drinks for the youngest most nubile bar girls, teasing them and asking about their Philipino boyfriends and laughing at their squealing denials while he slipped his hand under the bra of their bikini dancing costume to fondle a hard teenaged breast. Later in the night an older girl from his past would appear, hugging him in welcome and settling back to talk over old times. Max, drunk by this stage, eventually taking her back to the hotel; appearing with her in the morning, breakfasting like long-term lovers and toasting each other with orange juice, while Harry sat wearily with a couple of bored teenagers who were hoping that he would give them their tip so they could get home and sleep after a night of faked lesbian performances and Viagra assisted sex.

He knew it was too late to take back what he had missed now, his only other option was a long jail sentence in Australia and at sixty it had lost it’s attraction, boredom would kill him and the future had to hold some excitement or he would be forced to look back on a wasted and empty life.

© Julian. All rights reserved by the author.