King Rat

“Uncle Sam?” The King stared at him blankly. “The American symbol. You know,” he said exasperatedly, “like John Bull.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m just—today—I’m just—” A wave of nausea surged over Peter Marlowe.

“You beat it back to your bunk and relax. I’ll take care of it.”

Peter Marlowe got up unsteadily. He wanted to smile and thank the King and shake his hand and bless him, but he remembered the word, and he felt only the saw, so he half nodded and walked out of the hut.

For Chrissake, the King told himself bitterly. He thinks I’d let him down, that I wouldn’t do nothin’, unless he had the screws on me. Chrissake, Peter, I would help. Sure. Even though you didn’t have me by the shorts. Hell. You’re my friend.

“Hey, Max.”

“Yeah.”

“Get Timsen here on the double.”

“Sure,” Max said and left.

The King unlocked the black box and took out three eggs. “Tex. You like to cook yourself an egg? Along with these two?”

“Hell no,” Tex said, grinning, and he took the eggs. “Hey, I took a look at Eve. Swear to God she’s fatter today.”

“Impossible. She was only mated yesterday.”

Tex danced a little jig. “Twenty days an’ we’re all daddies again.” He accepted the oil and headed outside for the cooking area.

The King lay back on his bunk, scratching a mosquito bite thoughtfully and watching the lizards on the rafters hunt and fornicate. He closed his eyes and began to drowse contentedly. Here it was only twelve o’clock, and already he’d done a hard day’s work. Hell, everything’d been sewn up by six o’clock this morning.

He chuckled to himself as he remembered. Yes sir, it pays to have a good reputation and it pays to advertise …

It had happened just before dawn. He had been soft asleep. Then a cautious, muted voice had interrupted his dreams.

He awoke at once and looked out of the window and had seen a little weasel of a man staring at him in the shadowed contrails of the dawn. A man he had never seen before.

“Yeah?”

“I got somethin’ yer wanter buy.” The man’s voice had been expressionless and hoarse.

“Who’re you?”

In answer the little man had opened his grimy fist with its broken, dirt-flecked finger nails. The diamond ring was in his palm. “Price’s ten thousand. For a quick sale,” he added sardonically. Then the fingers had snapped tight as the King moved to pick the ring up, and the fist was withdrawn. “Tonight.” The man had smiled toothlessly. “It’s the right one, never fear.”

“Are you the owner?”

“It’s in me ’and, ain’t it?”

“It’s a deal. What time?”

“You wait in. I’ll see yer when there ain’t no narks abart.”

And the man had gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

The King settled more comfortably, gloating. Poor Timsen, he told himself, that poor son of a bitch’s got egg on his face! I get the ring for half price.

“Morning, cobber,” Timsen said. “You wanted me?”

The King opened his eyes and covered a yawn with his hand as Tiny Timsen walked up the hut.

“Hi.” The King swung his legs off the bed and stretched luxuriously. “Tired today. Too much excitement. You want an egg? Got a couple cooking.”

“Too right I’d like an egg.”

“Make yourself at home.” The King could afford to be hospitable. “Now let’s get down to business. We’ll close the deal this afternoon.”

“Na.” Timsen shook his head. “Not t’day. Tomorrer.”

The King was hard put not to beam.

“The heat’ll be off by then,” Timsen was saying. “Hear that Grey’s got himself out’ve hospital. He’ll be eyeing this place.” Timsen seemed gravely concerned. “We got to watch out. You an’ me. Don’t want anything to go wrong. I got to watch out for you, too. Don’t forget we’re cobbers.”

“To hell with tomorrow,” the King said, feigning disappointment. “Let’s do it this afternoon.”

And he listened, shouting with laughter inside, listened while Timsen said how important it was to be careful; the owner’s scared, why he even got beat up last night, and why, it wuz only me and my men what saved the poor bastard. So the King knew for sure then that Timsen was bleeding, that the diamond had slipped through his slimy mitts, that he was playing for time. Why, I’ll bet, the King told himself ecstatically, that the Aussies are going out of their skulls trying to find the hijacker. I wouldn’t like to be him—if they find him. So he allowed himself to be persuaded. Just in case Timsen did find the guy and the original deal stood.

“Well, okay,” the King said grudgingly. “I suppose you got a point. We’ll make it tomorrow.” He lit another cigarette and took a drag and passed it over and said sweetly, still playing the game: “On these hot nights few of my boys sleep. At least four of them are up. All night.”