End of the Ocean Page 5

  He was comfortable and relaxed and saw few people around him, but those he did see looked untroubled and carefree. He sent a message to Ngyn that said they would meet tomorrow. Then he started his Harley Davidson and left. Dropping the sim card Grady gave him on the ground once he got deep into traffic, he rode toward home.

  ***

  Wayne was standing on his balcony, watching the ocean beyond the buildings, as birds fluttered above him and horns honked on the street below. He looked at his phone when it chirped, read a text message and walked inside and picked up the package, walked to the front door and listened.

  After hearing nothing he stepped into the hallway and walked across it and entered a room that was registered to a young Balinese woman with a small lean body and long dark hair.

  She was paid to hold any packages he received. She was paid for more than that.

  Wayne felt like he was being watched, whether he was or not, and in the event he was being watched she had been his back-up plan. In his line of work he had to have one; in Bali, everyone watched everyone so a good back-up plan was essential.

  He stood against the door and watched his back-up plan climb on the bed and lie on her stomach and return to her open laptop.

  “Well hello to you, too, my love.”

  Without looking, she held up her arm and gave him the finger.

  “Now, is that any way to talk to your employer?”

  “You two day late, Wayne. You not call back, not return call. What the fuck, Wayne?”

  Walking toward the bed, looking down, he saw his reflection on her computer screen. He turned his palms up. “Sorry, love.”

  “How long you already here in Bali?”

  Wayne, shrugging again, knelt down on the bed on one knee.

  “Wayne Tender is biggest asshole.”

  He reached for her foot and touched it softly. Rubbing his finger along the inside arch, he lifted it off the bed and massaged it.

  “Don’t be upset with me, dear, I’m a busy man.”

  “Ah, you busy get pussy from other girl.”

  Wayne held one of her small feet in both hands and put her toes in his mouth.

  “Oh, Wayne, what hell you doing?”

  “Relax, love, gonna work my way up to your snapper.”

  She giggled and tried to pull her foot away, but she did not try hard. Wayne bit her and gave her slow quick kisses which became long obscene licks until she was pushing her panties down under his chin and pulling his head up by the hair.

  Wayne loved her and pleased her the best way he could for the better part of fifteen minutes. He used every technique in his repertoire. Then he collapsed beside her and asked for a sandwich.

  “God, that so good,” she said, ignoring his request.

  “Thank you. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “Yes, Wayne Tender is cowboy, his tongue like lasso.”

  “That’s right, baby girl, don’t you forget it.”

  He slapped her on the ass, hard, which left a nice hot palm print against her brown skin, but she did not jump or scream. She bit her lip instead.

  “You like that, did you?”

  She said she liked it and told him to do it again so he did it. Both ass cheeks red. She bit her lip and said nothing after that, squeezing the sheets into small white wads of fabric under each tight fist; she let Wayne Tender do whatever he wanted.

  When he woke, it was dark and she was gone. That much he knew. But he was too tired to think about it. He had to piss, and he wondered what time it was but knew if he looked he’d be awake for good. Closing his eyes tightly, wrapping his arm around a pillow without waking to piss or check his phone or look for the girl, he slept for several more hours until there was a knock out in the hall that woke him for good.

  When he finally got out of bed he knew it was either very early or very late. The girl still gone, package where he had left it, he walked to the door and leaned against the peep hole and saw a man knock on the door across the hall, to the room that belonged to him.

  Wayne, stepping back, blinked, rubbed his eyes then leaned against the peep hole and watched the back of the broad-shouldered man in front of him. He had an old head that looked bald and tough. He turned and walked away.

  Wayne turned away from the door and sat on the bed. He wondered where Ogi had gone. Checked his phone and saw six messages. Reading them with slight hesitation, he was pleased at the news. He now had a meeting to attend.

  He tossed his phone on the bed and walked to the bathroom, where he stood in a hot shower and wondered who that man had been. Wayne assumed Tuk had sent someone to see him and he was glad to have missed him.

  He soaped and rinsed and toweled and dressed and walked into the bedroom, unwrapped the package and removed a flat cardboard box. Using a pocket knife he opened the box and removed a stack of hundred dollar bills. He filled his backpack with money, walked to the door and opened it, left the room, closed the door, and walked down the long hall to the elevator, nervous yet relaxed.

  He pressed down and scratched his ear, wondering if the man who knocked on his door would be waiting for him on the elevator. The door opened and Wayne stepped back, but there was no one inside. Wayne entered, pressed 1, and the doors closed. He rode down until it came to the 6th floor and stopped. Wayne was as ready as he could be, but for what he did not know. He stood and waited and knew he must be prepared for anything. Just in case. But nothing happened. The door opened and closed and there’d been no one waiting on the other side.

  Wayne was nervous now. He hit the button and closed the doors and the elevator moved smoothly until he came to the 2nd floor and stopped.

  The doors opened and two men stepped inside the elevator and stood in front of him. Both Indonesian, one was too poorly dressed to afford the hotel and the other didn’t fare much better. Wayne stepped back. He was still much bigger than they were. He was older but more seasoned and he was ready if they came at him.

  No one did.

  He popped his knuckles as the door opened and both men stepped out. Wayne stepped out behind them and left through a side exit. Walking to the back of the building, making sure no one followed, he circled around to the parking lot and found his motorbike and left the property. He had the room rented for a week but he also had a house in Ubud where he could go and wait, and that’s where he would find Ogi. She had a way of turning up. Sometimes she did that. Turned up. Other times he would not see her for months. She worked at a café on Goutama. He’d met her there the summer before last. She was small, like other Balinese women, but she had a smile that made him want to kiss her face. She was very pretty and he liked the way she said his name. He liked many things about her.

  But mostly, he could trust her. One of the few women in his life he could.

  ***

  Despite the pain he felt from the leg muscle he pulled, Sage taught himself to ride a motorbike. Though it had not been hard, it felt good to learn a new skill. Now he could get around.

  He left the villa on his motorbike and rode to an empty lot. Pulling over and withdrawing his map, he saw he was a few kilometers from the shop but headed in the right direction. Another block and he’d be riding in full traffic. Three rights then left then straight for two traffic lights then another left.

  After folding his map and sliding it in his pocket, he pulled onto an old road of patched concrete and dust, controlling his speed with the easy turn of a wrist. There, about to merge with traffic, Sage slowed to a full stop and took it in. No one appeared to be stopping or slowing down. Everyone was going as fast as they could and no one used turn signals. Everyone, everywhere, honked their horns, whether they needed to or not, and when someone on a motorbike saw an opportunity they took it. Kids as young as twelve buzzed by him on their motorbikes. Some of them smoking.

  Sage took a deep breath and held it and pulled into the mess of traffic, turning his wrist all the way
back as other riders passed him. When he looked down he was going 80 kilometers per hour, a speed faster than he had thought his motorbike capable of achieving.

  Relaxing his grip on the grips, he let his breath out. This was exciting. Just a few months ago who would have seen this.

  A motorbike that looked twenty-years older than the one Sage was currently riding passed him carrying three Indonesian men in sarongs. They were holding a ladder above their heads and each man had his head inside a rung.

  Beautiful. Sage smiled at that. To his right, a motorbike passed him with three young Balinese girls dressed in school uniforms and raincoats. If he had not seen it himself he would not have believed it.

  They came to a stoplight and the other motorbikes around him stopped so he stopped. Traffic was thick, but friendly. People revved their motorbike engines. The light changed colors and the motorbikes around him took off so he took off. It began to rain. It came from nowhere and fell hard and before he knew it he was in it. The sky came gray behind the rain and there was thunder and the rain fell harder now and showed no sign of lessening its pace.

  Sage, letting off the gas, slowed down as people passed him and pulled to the shoulder. Stopping beneath a tree, he removed his map but his shorts were soaked so the map was soaked too.

  As he sat there, being passed by motorbikes and trucks and vans and busses, it all felt so unreal. He could not believe this was happening, that he was in Indonesia. That for the next few weeks he would call this place his home.

  When he pulled back into the rain it pounded his skin and helmet. He stayed to the left and rode slowly. Took a beating. Rode for half a mile and turned where he thought he was supposed to.

  He was there. He’d been lucky to find it as easily as he had. He parked and climbed off his motorbike, wincing in pain, thoroughly saturated; he took his time and walked inside.

  “Halo,” a voice said. Sage saw the kid who had come with the woman who had dropped off his motorbike.

  “Hello,” Sage said.

  “How you today, you wet?”

  “I’m completely soaked.”

  “Yeah yeah,” the kid said, pointing to the motorbike, “there raincoat under seat.”

  “There is?” Sage threw his hands up. “Wish I’d’ve known.”

  The kid smiled at him. “Every body know this rainy season.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Cocking his head he said, “You from Aussie?”

  “No, America.”

  He opened his mouth in surprise and nodded.

  “Oh yes, America, USA. Nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  “You like motorbike?”

  “Yes,” Sage said. “It’s,” he paused and tried to remember the word. “Bagus.”

  The kid said, “Bagus, yeah yeah.”

  Inside Petute’s laundry business it was hot.

  “Where’s Petute?”

  “He not here.”

  “OK, well,” he paused. “I need to pay for the motorbike.”

  “Yeah, you pay me. You know how much?”

  Sage had to think. This new currency was difficult to remember and it was hard to keep the math straight.

  “That no worry,” the kid said, picking up his phone to text him. “I ask Petute.”

  Sage looked at the washers and dryers and piles of clothes on the floor. Everyone’s clothes were thrown together and, looking closely, he saw a different colored piece of string attached to each item to keep them separate.

  He looked at the kid.

  “So not lose.”

  “Oh,” Sage nodded. “Pretty clever.”

  “You laundry?” he asked. “Dirty clothes.”

  Sage said not yet, but when he did he would bring them.

  “We do good job. Give you good deal.”

  “Bagus?”

  “Yeah, bagus bagus,” the kid smiled.

  Sage told him his name and the kid said he was Kadek.

  Sage removed his wallet and asked Kadek what Petute had said and Kadek said Petute said three-hundred thousand rupiah.

  “OK,” Sage said, spreading his wallet open, removing three crisp pieces of smooth pink paper. He set them on the worn rattan counter.

  Kadek said, “Where you stay?”

  “I’m in Nusa Dua,” Sage said. “I’m staying at a villa.”

  “How long you here? Just for holiday?”

  Sage, running his hand through his hair, said he didn’t know.

  “You stay there whole time, at villa?”

  “Actually no, I need to find something cheaper. Too expensive.”

  Kadek said if he wanted a room to rent he could find him one cheap-cheap.

  “You could?”

  “Yeah yeah,” Kadek said. “Course it easy like snap you finger.” He snapped his fingers.

  “How much?” Sage said. “How many rupiah?”

  “Maybe two million,” he shrugged. “That is good deal, yeah?”

  “A month?” Sage took out his phone and used the currency converter.

  “It like one-hundred fitty dollar maybe two-hundred dollar, yeah?” Kadek said.

  It translated to one hundred and fifty-five dollars a month and Sage said he would take it.

  Kadek looked surprised, his eyes widened. “You take, huh? Without look? What if you no like?”

  “OK,” Sage said. “Can you show it to me today? Or I can come back tomorrow if it quits raining.”

  “Yes, OK, that sound good, boss. But it rain every day. This rainy season.”

  “Of course,” Sage said.

  “I kind of busy right now. But you come back tomorrow I show you room.”

  “Great. Sounds good—I mean, bagus.”

  “Yes, bagus.”

  “OK, thank you, Kadek.”

  “No,” Kadek said. “It terima kasih.”

  “It’s what?”

  Kadek said, “Terima kasih,” and bowed. “It mean thank you.”

  “Right,” Sage said, repeating it to himself time and time again. “Terima kasih.”

  He left the building and stood beneath the edge of the roof and watched it rain. It came as hard as it had before and water flowed across the road. People drove by on motorbikes and continued their day as if this torrential downpour was little more than an inconvenience.

  Sage had to think about which way to go. His map was useless. He considered where he had come from, which way he had to go. He watched it rain and made a plan.

  Walking from under the edge of the building, toward his motorbike, Sage heard a long powerful rumble of thunder. He was very wet by the time he arrived; still, he sought his raincoat, bending down to look at the seat.

  He looked for a way to lift the seat and saw that it was locked. Reaching in his pocket, he found the key and pulled it out and put the key in the ignition, but when he turned the key nothing happened.

  As Sage pulled on the seat, rain slamming his back, someone in a rain poncho called him, and, holding his hand above his eyes to shield them from the rain, turning his head, squinting, he saw a woman in a green slicker walking toward him.

  “Here,” she said, reaching for the key. “Turn this way.” She spun the key to the left.

  When she did, she pressed a button and there was a pop. The seat unlatched and she lifted it, nodding to Sage.

  “Thank you,” Sage nodded at her. “I mean tuh—rima cu—see.”

  It was the same woman who had brought his motorbike the day before and she stood in the rain and let him look at her for a long slow minute before she said it was terima kasih.

  “It is K sound in your alphabet not C sound,” she said, and drew a backward K in the air with her finger.

  Sage thanked her and she smiled at him and nothing mattered in that moment. Not the rain or the inconvenience or the wetness. Not the coolness
in the air. There was an immediate connection between them and he felt it.

  “Next time you turn key back other way for seat.”

  Turning quickly, she walked back toward the laundry.

  Reaching into the shallow trunk beneath the seat he removed a rain poncho like the one she wore, and, watching her run away, seeing two brown legs sprout from a pair of red Chuck Taylor Converse, he hoped he would see her again.

  Sage opened the stiff poncho and, after pulling it over his head, dry material sticking to him, sat down on the wet seat and removed his helmet that hung upside down, by the strap, from the handlebars. It was filled with water.

  Turning his helmet over and dumping the water out and putting his wet helmet on his wet head, he started his motorbike and pulled onto the shoulder. The plan he’d decided on already forgotten. He was sodden, but he felt good.

  Waiting for a break in traffic, the air very thick, he rode back the way he thought he’d come and tried not to think about the woman who was so appealing and so friendly and so completely beyond his reach.

  He rode for a long while in the rain.

  Galungan Days

  Ngyn Suterma woke early and left his village and rode to a warung in Ubud to meet Djoko. He would pick up the methamphetamine and take it to Wayne Tender. After that they were free, but not until then. Until then they risked their lives.

  Ngyn arrived at the warung and Djoko was already waiting. He was always early. Many times Ngyn had tried to beat him but he never could so he stopped trying. Djoko was very much the professional, but Ngyn knew he had a flamboyant lifestyle; a glorious life that many men would envy.

  But not Ngyn. He believed in family. It was his honor to be a father and a son. To be a brother and a husband. He believed a man should make money for his family. That he should provide at all costs.

  He approached Djoko and sat at his table and asked him how things went.

  “They go good, everything good.” He nodded, and Ngyn saw a hint of a smile on Djoko’s face.