Innocent on the run. Part 36.

Chapter 13. Ricky searched the lounge in panic, but the holdall was nowhere to be found. One of the Jamaicans sat up on the floor and said, `What you doin' man?' 'My holdall's gone from the cupboard. Did you see who took it ?' ‘De steward came in earlier and was cleanin' dat cupboard out. Maybe he took it.' Ricky dashed out of the lounge and down to the mess room. The Steward was just putting his cleaning things away. `My holdall,' Ricky shouted. ` It was in the cupboard.' The Steward shrugged his shoulders, not understanding English. Ricky opened a cupboard in the mess room and mimed picking up a case in his hand. 'Ah,' the Steward said, and mimed throwing something. Ricky looked at him in horror. `Thrown away.' he shouted. 'Si. Trash.' and he pointed through the porthole. Ricky ran to the porthole and looked out. There was a rubbish container on the quay. Thank God. He dashed outside and looked over the side into the container. There it was. Along with a load of other rubbish including the junk that had been in the cupboard. But the Cubans had placed an armed guard at the bottom of the gangway to make sure none of the Jamaicans went ashore. Ricky looked around for something to use as rubbish and picked up a cardboard box that was on deck. He carried it down the gangway, hoping that the guard didn't know he was with the survivors, and he walked past him with his heart thumping and his stomach in a knot. The guard was leaning on the gangway smoking a cigarette, and Ricky, remembering the Spanish that Doc had used, said `Bueno Noches,' as he passed him. The guard grunted. At the skip a dirty and dishevelled tramp was standing in the rubbish at the far end, rooting through the junk for anything of value. Ricky climbed up on the side and threw the box in, grabbing his holdall and pulling it out from under some kitchen refuse. It stank. The tramp looked up as the holdall was pulled free and, with a roar of rage, he dropped the rubbish he was holding and tried to run towards Ricky, shouting, ‘Mio, Mio!’ The lad turned away from the furious tramp whose arms were reaching out to grab him, and fled. Thoughts raced around in his mind. If he ran aboard, the tramp would follow him and catch him. The guard wouldn’t stop him as he was standing with his hands on his hips laughing uproariously at them. It was entertainment to him. Ricky dashed across the quayside and out into the roadway, dodging cars and buses, the tramp in hot pursuit. He made it safely to the pavement on the far side and raced through the crowds of people, pushing and shoving, barging into people, scattering them out of his path in his haste to escape the clutches of the furious tramp who was shouting, ‘Alto, Alto.’ Spying a department store on his left, the lad dashed into the shop and mingled with the crowd of shoppers. Luckily the shop was crowded and he made his way to the far end of the ground floor. He waited behind a large pot plant and peered out from the foliage. The tramp was nowhere in sight. After waiting five minutes he came out from behind the plant and made his way to the side entrance of the shop. He walked out and was about to step off the kerb to cross the road when he spotted the tramp on the corner, looking around him. He dashed back into the shop without being spotted and watched the tramp through the window. He was mouthing something to himself, turning his head slowly from left to right. With a gesture of disgust the tramp finally gave up and crossed the road to the skip. Ricky watched him until he was out of sight then walked out of the shop and turned left, away from the dockside. He would have to lay low until the tramp gave up searching the rubbish skip. The street that he was in was narrow with tall buildings on either side. A few cafes and bars were doing good business, laughter and loud music coming from the open doorways. Ricky wandered on, clutching his bag. He glanced quickly inside the bag and found that the money was still there so he took some bills out and shoved them in his pocket. It would be best if he got rid of the bag, he thought. It was too conspicuous and also awkward to carry. Another worry was that he could get mugged at any time. There were some desperate looking characters in the streets. The brightly lit shops were crowded with Cubans and Ricky looked into a lot of shop windows before finding what he was looking for. It was a shop selling leather goods. He went in and inspected the range of leather belts on display. Some were thick leather with enormous buckles, others interwoven with leather strips and others fancily decorated with coloured beads. There were plain leather ones and others with intricate tooled designs. He eventually found what he wanted. A soft leather body belt with pockets sewn into it, big enough to conceal banknotes yet slim enough to go undetected under a shirt. He picked it out and paid for it at the counter. There was a bar next door, crowded and noisy and the lad went in and crossed the floor to the door with the figure of a man painted on it. The toilet stank with a breath-catching rawness, and he nearly gagged on the stench as he locked the door and transferred the money from the bag to the body belt, lining up the notes neatly before sliding them into the pockets. He tightened the belt around him and tucked his shirt in, before threading his way back through the bar and out into the street. The fresh air outside was like nectar and he gulped it down into his lungs gratefully. In a side alley up the street he threw the bag into a pile of rubbish awaiting collection. At a loss to know what to do to kill time, he wandered back the way he’d come and walked among the crowds on the main thoroughfare. The Cubans were a very happy crowd, nearly everyone smiling and talking to their friends as they walked. At a road junction, Ricky turned left again and walked up a wide avenue. The road had been pedestrianised and was decorated with palm trees and flowerbeds. Wooden bench seats lined the walkways through the sweet smelling flowers and people were sitting talking, laughing, some of them animatedly waving their arms about and gesticulating to get their point of view across.The cafes were full of people, the waitresses moving quickly around the pavement tables taking orders. There was a rich aroma of coffee and cigars in the air. Ricky sat at a vacant table and looked around. Most of the men were smoking large, thick cigars, blowing out clouds of thick, grey smoke. The waitress came to Ricky’s table and started speaking in Spanish. ‘Sorry,’ he answered. ‘I’m English. Well, Welsh, actually.’ ‘Ah,’ she exclaimed. ‘I spik inglis good.’ Ricky felt very relieved. ‘Oh, great! I’ll have some coffee, please.’ ‘OK. Coffee, cognac?’ He would have agreed with anything she suggested. ‘Yes, please.’ She scribbled on her pad and Ricky watched her as she wrote. She was beautiful with shoulder length raven hair, flawless pale skin, ruby red lips which were smiling at him in amusement, displaying perfectly white, even teeth. Her wicked, jet black eyes flashed with laughter as Ricky caught himself staring at her with his mouth open. He flushed scarlet as she laughed and turned away. Her blouse was cut very low and she forced her bosom out in front of her, tightening the thin white cotton material to breaking point. The tight, black skirt stretched across her hips and thighs rustled as she moved away and Ricky’s eyes followed her all the way into the café. She returned with a tray loaded with coffee a cup and saucer, cream and sugar  and a small glass of amber coloured liquid. She placed them on the table and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘You are on vacation?’ she asked. ‘No. I’m on a ship in the port.’ ‘Ah! Sailor man. I like sailor mans.’ A man came out of the café, a dark, swarthy individual with a pock-marked face and a white apron tied around his waist. He called out to the waitress, ‘Maria, Maria!’ then followed her name with a staccato burst of Spanish. The girl with Ricky turned to him and shouted back at him in fast Spanish and he glared at her before turning back into the café. ‘He’s your husband is he?’ She burst out laughing. ‘That pig? No, but he want my body.’ She spat on the floor. ‘I tell him I kill him first.’ She raised her hand to her throat and made a cutting sign across it. Ricky took a drink from the glass in front of him. Immediately tears sprang into his eyes and he started coughing as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. Maria was convulsed with laughter as she got up and slapped him on the back. He croaked, ‘What is it?’ ‘Cognac. Brandy. It go with coffee.’ He sipped the coffee. ‘Wow!’ he said wiping his eyes. Maria picked up his glass. ‘Drink Cognac in one go, like so.’ She put the glass to her mouth and mimed throwing it down her throat in one movement. ‘Oh, right. Let’s try that then.’ He picked up the glass and shot the liquid down his throat. ‘Not bad,’ he whispered throatily as again, Maria roared with laughter. She stood up and picked up the glass. ‘I get you more,’ she said as she went across to the café. Ricky sipped the coffee, soothing his burning throat. Maria came out of the café shouting something over her shoulder at the owner. ‘He pig!’ she said, sitting down. ‘What you name?’ ‘Rick.’ ‘I Maria.’ ‘Yes.’ He agreed. She was much older than him, probably in her mid twenties, he thought. ‘How old you?’ ‘Eighteen,’ he lied and she nodded in acceptance. He had grown in height and filled out bodily since the start of the trip so he could easily be taken for eighteen. His tan had helped to age him also. ‘You come shore alone?’ she asked. ‘Yes, none of my friends could get away. They’re all on duty.’ ‘Oh, poor boy.’ She made her lips pout. ‘Maria cheer you up, yes?’ ‘Yes, please,’ he answered eagerly. ‘Drink up, then,’ she coaxed, and the lad took the glass and threw the contents down in one swallow. She clapped her hands in glee when he didn’t choke this time. ‘Good, good,’ she encouraged. ‘You learn quick.’ The owner of the café came out again ‘Maria,’ he bellowed, and again, ‘Maria.’ She leaped to her feet with an oath in Spanish and stormed across to him. Ricky watched in amazement as she stood in front of the owner with her hands on her hips and berated him in front of the customers. Everyone listened to her ranting at the poor man, they couldn’t help but overhear, as she was shouting so loudly. Some were laughing and some applauding her. Maria waved her fingers in his face and spat on the floor in front of him. She ripped the apron from around her waist and threw it in his face before storming into the café with the owner following behind, placatingly calling her name. She reappeared carrying her purse with the owner still pleading with her but she ignored him and crossed to Ricky. ‘I quit! Finish,’ she said. ‘Come, we go.’ Ricky stood up. ‘My bill?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t paid yet.’ ‘Forget bill,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘We go.’ Copyright Deric Barry 2005.