Vagabond

CHAPTER 1

David Helm was lying in bed in his small apartment, when his phone began ringing incessantly. As he stirred in response to the continued antagonist, he sat up and immediately grabbed his head with both hands, and wondered what fool would be calling him at this insane hour of the morning?

He glanced over at the clock on his bed stand, and was shocked to find that the hour was almost noon. He grasped three times at the phone before he finally got a hold of the infernal instrument. Then he was forced to hold the receiver away from his ear, as the voice coming in was loud, and the conversation so rapid as to confound him completely.

Dammit! He thought. These hangovers are becoming a regular malady. But in all honesty, he had to admit that last night’s meeting at Ruben’s Steak House, was of great significance. He had successfully conned Ezra Jacobs, Mitchell Morgan, Timothy Aldrich, and even his old friend the ex-cop, Daniel O‘Brien, to finance his proposed jaunt into the Amazon in search of gold. Dan O’Brien of course, would be the only one actually coming with him.

As he thought these thoughts, and was about to place the phone back to his ear in order to hush this talkative individual that he knew was Ezra, so they might more rationally communicate, the doorbell rang.

Then there came a knock, then the chimes of the doorbell again, then again the knocking. David continued to hold what he referred to as his walk-around phone, away from his ear, though he could still hear the man flapping his jaw, and got out of bed to answer the persistent sonofabitch at the door.

David Helm slept in the raw, and in his perverse mood on this morning, he decided to answer the door, clad as was. Give ‘em a little shock, he thought, in return for their obnoxious relentlessness. Who knows? He thought further, maybe it’s the landlady and I’ll get lucky.

On his way to answer the door, he couldn’t help but observe himself in the full-length mirror that hung there. He smiled in satisfaction, though he already knew that he was fairly well endowed. He was also well built, with defined muscularity bulging almost everywhere, but particularly on his upper body. He was six feet two inches tall, and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. He noticed his dark brown hair, showing a little gray at the temples, desperately needed combing. He had piercing, brown eyes. In fact, they were almost black, and set wide apart in a face he thought was not really handsome, but certainly had character. His nose might have been a little bigger than he would have liked. All in all, he didn’t look to bad, he thought. But then he looked down at his chest and frowned.

You sure are a hairy bastard, though, he grumbled, as he reached for the door handle.

He opened his door and found himself starring into the barrel of a revolver. The caliber of which, he determined to be at least a five thousand millimeter. It had to be, he thought, the damn thing looked to be at least five foot in diameter. Then it dawned on him that this was about the two most inept thieves—and he was certain that’s what they were—that anyone could imagine.

One was obviously a man, the other a woman, or young girl. And David couldn’t help but remember scenes from The Lone Ranger movies he had watched in his childhood. Even back then, he had always wondered what made that western movie hero, think that no one would recognize him with his skimpy, black mask, covering only the area around his eyes.

These two obviously young people suffered from the same insanity as the Lone Ranger. David knew immediately that he would recognize either of them, anytime, anyplace. But even more ludicrous, was the fact that neither of these thieves made a single sound, or even a single move. They just stood there, while David Helm snickered at the fools, and slammed the door in their faces. Must have shocked the livin’ hell out of ‘em with my magnificent nudity, he thought.

He returned to his bedroom, thinking that he most definitely had to move to a better neighborhood. He also waited and listened to see if his potential intruders would make a noise; shoot their gun, anything. Absolutely nothing happened.

He had long sense recognized the voice on the phone, and decided it was time to interrupt the mouthy sonofabitch, and interject some of his own thoughts.

Ezra! Shut your damned mouth for a minute, will ya’?

The voice on the other end of the line began to stutter and stammer. You can’t talk to me like that. I’m’ the one that got you your investors, and your money.

Ezra! David said in a sarcastic tone. The way I feel this morning, you can stick the money, along with your investors, where the sun don’t shine.

Yeah but… Ezra stammered some more.

Yeah but what? David questioned. Are you all of the sudden remembering that it’s me that owns the property along the Amazon? And that I’m the dumb SOB that also has the only map in existence, indicating the course of the Amazon River fifty million years ago?

And don’t call me Ezra, dammit! Ezra Jacobs sputtered into the phone line. Everybody calls me Plug. Did I ever tell you that story?

No, Ezra. And to be honest with ya’, I don’t even want to hear it now, said David Helm in exasperation.

Ignoring David’s last comment, Ezra Jacobs began to ramble on, The second thing my mother said after I was born, was: He’s so stocky, he looks like a little fireplug. Let’s call him Plug."

And the first thing your mother said? David asked, not really interested in knowing.

Ezra was quiet for a long time, and David said nothing, thinking to let the little fart stew in his own juice for a while.

I don’t share this with everybody, Ezra finally said, but since she’d had four boys already, it’s been related to me, that mom’s first comment was: Another boy? Hang him from the chandelier! But she was under the influence of drugs and in a hallucinatory state of mind, you understand.

Maybe, David said, but it don’t sound like all that bad an idea to me.

Then before Ezra could interject another of his boring opinions, Helm cleared his throat.

Damn, Ezra. This phone ain’t cuttin’ it. Let’s get together and talk, David suggested.

I guess we should, Plug agreed. We’re not gettin’ a hell of a lot done on the phone, and every single investor wants to come along.

David Helm was shocked.

What the hell are you talking about? They invested in gold, not an adventure, he said. If they want an adventure, tell ‘em to swap girlfriends, for cryin’-out-loud.

David was not even close to saying what he intended, but before he could complete his harangue, he heard gunshots ring out somewhere in the building.

Hold everything, he demanded. Then threw the phone aside, slipped on his Levi’s and rushed to the front door.

There were people running back and forth in his hallway, and he grabbed one of the young ladies he had seen before in the building and recognized. She stared at him wide-eyed, and told him the two older people next to him, had been shot and apparently robbed.

Damn! He thought. I liked those two old people. Then David released the young lady’s arm, just as two masked people, a man and a woman, ran past them.

Hold it! You sons a bitches, he hollered after the retreating couple. But they only looked back briefly, and then disappeared.

Ah hell! He thought. It’s my fault. I slammed the door in the face of those two young fools, so the next time they must have gone in shooting.

David closed the door quietly, and returned to the phone. He told Ezra he would meet him in an hour, and after telling him where, slammed down the phone in disgust.

David and Plug met for a late lunch, or for David, an overdue breakfast. As they ordered, Plug began to enlighten his young acquaintance.

As I said on the phone, Mitchell Morgan, Timothy Aldrich, and now, Dutch Robinson, all want to join us on the flight to South America.

David was very close to reaching over and slapping this mouthy little bugger, but controlled himself temporarily.

"What’s this us crap? he asked. You got a turd in your pocket? You are not going along. And neither are any of your cronies."

After this outburst, David looked at Ezra for a long time in silence. Ezra Jacobs took a long slug of his drink, and while he fidgeted nervously, he couldn’t meet David’s stare.

This is no comfortable, Sunday afternoon outing, for the love of Pete, Ezra, David informed the short, stout man. We’re headed into some of the most deadly country on earth. Damn, Plug. Those white-collar friends of yours, in that neck of the woods, would last about as long as a fart in a windstorm. Can’t you control those people, and convince ‘em that this is just too dangerous a trip for novices?

Damn you! Helm. You think I haven’t tried? Plug shouted at him. Hell! I don’t want to go into your stinking jungle. I’m real comfortable behind my desk. But every damn venture I’ve got going, these people are the main investors. And they not only insist on coming along, they have made it quite plain that I’m also coming. And if I don’t, they’ll pull every nickel they’ve got invested with me, out. And I can go whistle for money in the future. He emptied his glass, but was quiet for only a moment. What the hell am I supposed to do? he asked dejectedly.

David Helm now realized there wasn’t a thing he could do about this almost intolerable situation, not if he wanted the money to follow his dream. He finished his Bloody Mary and slammed the oversized glass on the table. Then he stood up and began to leave.

Ezra began to babble again, and most of what David could understand, was one form or another of apology.

David made his decision, and looked down at the still seated Ezra Jacobs.

Everything is ready to go, he informed Plug. All the equipment is already loaded on the plane. It’s in the harbor at Long Beach. You know where it is?

Ezra nodded in the affirmative, as he began to sip at the new drink sat before him.

I’m leaving tomorrow morning at sunrise, David informed the little man that looked like he had just lost his best friend, and if you and your ridiculous investors are really serious about coming along, transfer two million dollars to my account today. You have the number?

Again, Ezra Jacobs only nodded.

Good! Then meet me at the plane. And I pray to all that’s holy, that these people have what it takes to survive in the rain forest. Then he walked from the restaurant, thinking the little pip-squeak could pick up the tab.

David Helm had taken a taxi to the restaurant; he did not own a car. All of his money, what little he had, was tied up in his plane, and various gold prospecting equipment. He decided to walk back to his apartment. There were things he needed to sort out in his mind, and he always seemed to think more clearly while walking.

He was irritated that the investors wanted to accompany him on this venture, but knew he couldn’t tell them there wasn’t enough room in the plane. They were all fully aware, that he had taken an old DC-3 and had it completely retrofitted, including pontoons.

The old Douglas airship was capable of transporting twenty-one passengers, even in the old days. And could easily accommodate at least ten people now, even taking into consideration the portion he had converted to cargo space. He chuckled, as he considered, that if they thought they would be traveling in the lap of luxury, they were in for a big surprise.

His old friend, the ex-cop Daniel O’Brien and he, had already done their plotting on the map, and knew exactly where on the Amazon River they wanted to set down and go inland. The two of them were there themselves two years ago, and based on what they’d learned from the local Indians and their folklore, had drawn their own map in regards to the ancient course of the Amazon. Together, they had also done some exploratory dry washing, so they knew the gold was there.

It would seem, he further calculated, that everybody in South America with a boat was dredging the Amazon for gold, and most were doing quite well. But to be able to dig where the river used to run, was virgin territory, and David was certain they would find gold in abundance.

The Brazilian Government was not supposed to sell property to anyone not a citizen of that country, but he and O’Brien had bribed an official with a thousand dollars. The interesting part, David considered, was that they did not really know whether their claim was actually in Brazil, or in Ecuador.

As David Helm neared his apartment building, he shook his head in astonishment. His life had definitely been a hodgepodge. And it was no wonder that his old friend O’Brien, referred to him as The Vagabond. He had begun by selling on-your-lot construction, then graduated to encyclopedias, both of which he sold door-to-door. Eventually, he got what he considered a real job. Selling stainless steel and nickel-based alloys to industry, and this he continued for several years.

Inevitably, he became bored with the constant drinking, along with the intolerable ass kissing, and started his own steel company. From there, he went into metal fabrication, then to the selling of oil shares in both Kentucky and Oklahoma, then to selling shares in gold and silver mines. Finally, he said to hell with it all, and because the most exiting thing he had done up to that point, was the gold, he became a full-time prospector. He had also taken out time in his life to do a tour in Vietnam, but that experience he preferred not to think about. Even though, in only two years he had obtained the rank of Sergeant, and was an Air-borne Ranger.

Now, here he was, about to take on the greatest adventure of his life, and that stupid Ezra Plug Jacobs, was about to saddle him with a pot full of no-nothins’.

When he got upstairs and into his apartment, David grabbed the phone and called Dan O’Brien. When the older man answered, David told him he wanted to go to the plane and do all of the necessary last minute checks, and would he pick him up. Daniel O’Brien had told him he didn’t have a problem with that, and would be over in twenty minutes.

Dan O’Brien had been married four times, and though every wife he had had, loved him desperately, none were able to live with a man that never came home. He had two children by each wife, and all were boys. The irony of Dan’s life was that now that he was retired and fifty years old, he never left the house, except to accompany David on one of his harebrained adventures. And this one, he had actually put some of his hard earned cash into.

When Dan arrived, as always, he beat on the door until it almost came off its hinges. At two hundred and eighty pounds, and six feet four inches tall, the redheaded, ruddy faced, Irish ex-cop did everything with exuberance.

There’s a story on TV, that somebody came in here and raised holy hell this morning, Dan O’Brien informed his younger friend.

Did they catch ‘em? David wanted to know.

Naa, said Dan, they got away. But their descriptions, based on a police sketch, are plastered all over the television.

He walked over to his friend’s refrigerator and confiscated himself a beer, then turned to look at David.

Damn! he exclaimed, the two brain-deads looked like Zorro. Hell! I think one was a woman. The people on TV aren’t sure.

David explained what had happened earlier in the day, and how badly he felt that he might be responsible for getting those two, nice old folks killed.

Hell, not your fault, Dan consoled. You was too busy laughing out your ass. How could you know they’d do somethin’ stupid? Besides, the old folks ain’t dead, just shot a little bit.

Laughing up my sleeve, David corrected.

Say what? asked O’Brien.

I think you mean, laughing up my sleeve, not laughing out my ass, explained David.

How could that be? questioned Daniel. According to the way you told me you were dressed, you didn’t have a sleeve to laugh up, only a bare ass to laugh out of. Whatever, O’Brien eventually agreed.

Then O’Brien finished his beer and grabbed another, and as though the subject of robbery was no longer important to him, he reached with his free hand and grabbed David’s skimpy luggage off the bed.

Let’s go, he said laughingly, before your bandits come back and shoot the crap out of us.

On their way to the plane, David looked over at Dan, and smiled, while that man concentrated on the traffic.

I’ve got two million dollars in my Swiss account, said David, and here we are on our way to the Long Beach Harbor, driving in a damn, 1960 Ford Falcon. How long have you owned this piece a crap, anyway? David Helm wanted to know.

Since the day I bought it in 1960, Dan said, while continuing to look straight ahead. I become attached to things. What can I say?

Maybe you should have tried that policy with your wives, David suggested.

I was attached to ‘em, Dan said while turning his head briefly to look at his friend, "they all dumped me."

David was again looking at Dan O’Brien as they pulled into the parking lot at the harbor. He was observing his ruddy complexion and red hair, along with how uncomfortable he appeared in so small a car.

You should a’ been a Chicago Cop, ya’ big, redheaded Irishman ya’, said David.

Was, Dan said, couldn’t handle the graft. The first wife wanted to move to California anyway, so, what the hell, here I am.

David hadn’t shared with Dan, that there would be others coming with them, and as they walked along the wooden planking on their approach to the plane, he noticed the look of astonishment on his old friends face.

We’re gonna’ have a little company on this trip, was all David said. As they both watched far too many people accumulated in the area of the archaic, DC-3 conversion. Nobody should have arrived this early, David thought. Tonight or tomorrow morning maybe, but even then, certainly not this many people.

The extroverted Dan O’Brien joined right in with the crowd, and began his notorious glad-handing and backslapping. Everyone here seemed to know him, and David knew well, that if you didn’t like Daniel O’Brien, you didn’t like anybody.

Then David Helm recognized one of the women present, which was a simple matter. He’d seen her enough on television. She was some sort of ecologist, and was always raising hell with anybody that effected the water she drank or the air she breathed. Hell! He remembered, this pain in the butt was so liberal, she didn’t even approve of Green peace.

What the hell’s she doin’ here? he mumbled to himself. Or at least, he thought it was to himself.

I think Ezra’s havin’ an affair with her, Dave, somebody whispered in his ear, as he slapped David on the back.

Helm was very particular about two things; who touched him, and being called Dave instead of David. And he thought everybody that knew him was aware, that to do either of these things was the surest way in the world to get knocked on your ass.

He turned to do just that, but was so shocked at the appearance of the offending individual, that he could only stare.

To David’s way of thinking, this aberration could only be described as a biker-type. He wore a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to above the shoulders, and everywhere David looked there was