Gangway! (14 page)

    Captain Flagway was keeping them moving right along behind the rope barrier. At the head of the gangplank Vangie was taking the one-dollar-a-head admission charge. And down on the dock at the foot of the plank, Gabe and Francis were counting heads as the gawkers arrived.

    It was a nice sunny morning. If it hadn't been for all the people staring at him, Ittzy would have enjoyed sunning himself in the mild balmy breeze on deck. He glanced past the people toward the signs they had put up-lettered in Francis's fine hand-at the head of the dock, announcing that for one day only Ittzy "Good Luck Charm" Herz could be visited on board. Now the crowd on the ship was steadily growing. The idea was to get fifty people on board all at once. Gabe and Vangie had sat down and worked it out with pencils; they figured forty people would weigh about the same as the gold, and the other ten people would equal the weight of the crew they were going to have to find to man the ship.

    Ittzy watched Vangie and Gabe and Francis and the captain and he smiled. He had grown to like his new friends.

    Down on the pier Gabe called out, "Sorry folks, that's all for today. We don't want to exhaust Mr. Herz, now do we. Visiting day's over. Sorry about that, my friend, but better luck next time…" He was putting up the chain across the foot of the plank. Some of them were grumbling but gradually they began to turn away.

    So there must be fifty people aboard.

    The gawking faces were, at least, friendlier than just an eyeball at a time in a knothole.

    Then he noticed somebody was starting to bellow and yell down on the pier. He looked that way again, and it was the people who hadn't been allowed on board. They were raising a ruckus, refusing to take no for an answer.

    They were crowding forward toward the gangplank. Ittzy heard Gabe's voice raised in protest, trying to head them off, but it wasn't working; a ruckus was starting and it looked ready to assume the proportions of a general brawl. Slowly Gabe and Francis were giving way under the onslaught, and the brawl worked its way up the gangplank. The ship was about to be overloaded for sure.

    And here came Mama.

    Ittzy could see her, flanked by Officer McCorkle, thundering along the pier like the transcontinental express.

    Ittzy got to his feet. He didn't feel that danger threatened-he never felt that danger threatened-but it did seem as though, between the brawl and Mama, life was going to get uncomfortable pretty soon. And on such a sunny day, too.

    Vangie and Captain Flagway had both come closer to him now, and flanked him, one on each side. The customers were fighting one another all over the place, and both Gabe and Francis were completely lost to view.

    Mama was almost to the foot of the gangplank, coming along the pier at full speed with Officer McCorkle in her wake and brawlers scooting out of her path as though she were a fire engine.

    Ittzy, pointing, said, "That's my Mama."

    Vangie clutched his arm. She seemed very nervous. "We'll hide you," she said.

    "My, yes," said Captain Flagway. "We'll hide you and stay with you." He seemed in a big hurry to help Ittzy get away from all this, and Ittzy felt immediate gratitude.

    The three of them went through a narrow hatchway and down a steep flight of narrow steps-more ladder than staircase-closing the hatch behind them, shutting out the sunlight and some of the noise of the fighting. There were barrels lying around in the semidarkness, so they righted three of those and sat on them to wait things out.

    It was dank and foul down here, below decks. Ittzy was about to say that maybe things weren't so bad up above after all when Vangie put a quick finger across his lips and said, "Ssshh. You don't want your Mama to find you here."

    No, he didn't. He was also totally undone by the sensation of Vangie's finger actually touching his lips. He whispered, "Uh," three times, rolled his eyes, gulped and remained silent.

    Overhead the brawl thumped and thundered. Voices shouted in rage. Someone fired a shot. Vangie cocked her head and said, "That sounds like Gabe's knuckle-duster. Maybe it'll scare them off."

    Ittzy listened to the racket with his eyes tight shut. Oh please don't let Mama find me down here. He thought again of all that gold. Freedom.

    "Somebody's coming," the captain said softly.

    "Shhhhhh," Vangie said.

    Footsteps. Up above, the shrilling of police whistles and the stomp of boots on deck.

    The bulkhead door opened slowly. Ittzy didn't open his eyes; he buried his face in his hands. If Mama caught him now, here like this, she'd chain him into that peephole room and throw the key away.

    "Oh, here you are."

    It was Gabe's voice. Ittzy looked up in vast relief.

    Francis was with Gabe. They both looked disheveled. Gabe's soft cap was tilted far over on his head, about to fall off. Francis's cape had a rip in it. There was a big bruise on Gabe's cheekbone.

    They closed the door behind them and sat down on waterkegs. "Let's just sit tight till the cops clear those damn fools off the decks," Gabe said.

    "Oh dear," Francis said, "they've ruined my cape, utterly ruined it."

    "You'll have enough to buy a cape factory in a few days," Gabe growled. Then he brightened. "Must be eighty, ninety people up there stomping around. At least we know the old tub holds up all right."

    The ship was creaking and settling a little, but she did seem to be remaining afloat. Ittzy listened for the unmistakeable sound of Mama's tread, and he was sure he heard it several times. He shivered and made himself smaller in the dark corner.

    Gabe was beginning to look oddly weak and pale. He cleared his throat several times and said, "Okay, okay, the boat's all right, now we need a crew. Come on now, everybody think. Any suggestions?"

    Ittzy tried to think, but all he could think about was Mama up there on deck. Dust was shaking down from the beams overhead; the pounding continued up there, the police whistles shrilled much nearer, and Ittzy recognized Officer McCorkle's hoarse voice.

    Francis said, "Well, you may not agree with this, old cock, but actually there's only one man for that job."

    "Who?"

    "Roscoe Arafoot."

    "Who?"

    "You know. The chap who was crimping Captain Flagway yesterday."

    Flagway said, "You must be daft. You'd have dealings with that scoundrel?"

    "You do want a crew, don't you? Well, dears, that's Roscoe's job. Everyone's an expert at something, and crew… getting is Roscoe's specialty. Besides, I'm sure I can… ah, handle him. You needn't worry your gentle hearts."

    "But he's a… a blackguard, sir!"

    "Yeah," Gabe intervened. "But Francis is right The guy can recruit guys for a crew for us." He looked up at the dust that was still coming down from the beams in puffs and clouds. "Soon as this weather clears let's go have a talk with the son of a bitch."

    Captain Flagway was obviously not greatly pleased, but he didn't have anything else to say, and for a few minutes the group sat in silence, listening to the noise from above. Ittzy felt warm in the midst of this group, sheltered amid their friendships. He said, "You don't think my Mama will find me down here, do you?"

    Vangie patted his hand, which turned him to jelly all over again. "Don't worry, Ittzy," she said, "you've got us now."

    Ittzy smiled. "Thank you," he said. He had never felt so safe.

    

    

    Gabe looked around at the filth in the alley. "This is kind of a tough neighborhood for you to be hanging around, isn't it?"

    "Oh I have friends just everywhere," Francis said with a private little smile, and led him into a blind pig.

    It was the seventh saloon they'd hit so far. Francis eeled through the packed crowd of sailors and thugs. The bartender looked up, Francis caught his eye, and Gabe heard the bartender's answer to Francis's question:

    "Yeah, he's here. Back there someplace. Watch you don't get trampled to death."

    Clatter of glass on glass, scrape of bootsoles and chairs, drone of hard masculine voices, odors of spilled whisky, heavy tobacco smoke and stale beer. The place had a low ceiling and the light was bad. Gabe felt constricted; he wanted out. But he followed Francis, who moved through the crowd with effortless insouciance.

    Gabe had seen a lot of dives. This was probably the lowest he'd ever been in.

    Maybe there was hope for San Francisco yet.

    Francis suddenly lifted on tiptoe, waving a hand over his head and saying, "Oh there he is. Yoo-hoo, Roscoe!"

    The burly guy at the table in the far corner lifted his head from a schooner of beer, looking a little meaner than a barracuda with a toothache. Approaching, Gabe caught his first whiff and slowed down. He closed the rest of the distance to the table with a reluctance that increased in direct proportion to the smell.

    Roscoe wore his customary vicious snarl but when he recognized Francis skipping toward him through the crowded tables he paled and looked around very quickly as if he suddenly wanted to know where the exit was, or as if he wanted to pretend he wasn't there at all.

    "Roscoe, we've been looking all over for you."

    "Yeah, yeah," Roscoe muttered. He buried his face in the glass.

    Francis sat down. Gabe hung back and tried to avoid breathing.

    "Now, Roscoe dear, do stop pushing your face in that beer a minute. We're not here to threaten you."

    Somehow Gabe got the feeling it wasn't the threat of physical violence that was making Roscoe bashful.

    Roscoe pushed his chair back. "I got an appointment."

    "We must talk with you, Roscoe."

    "Yeah. Well. Some other time." Roscoe was on his feet, edging around the table.

    Gabe could see it was impossible. Roscoe just couldn't think about business with Francis around. He reached out a detaining hand; before Roscoe could bat him out of the way, he said quickly, "I want to talk a little business… friend."

    Roscoe stopped working up his rage long enough to give Gabe a look.

    Gabe said, "Francis, don't forget that fire-alarm job you've got to do. Why don't you start on that now; I'll talk to friend Roscoe here."

    Francis nodded regretfully. "That might be best, I suppose. But don't go away, Roscoe, I'll be back, dear." He beamed with half-lidded eyes, looked Roscoe up and down, and slipped quickly away.

    They watched him go, and then Roscoe sat back down and poked his beetle-browed face into the schooner. "Need another one," he muttered. "You want something, friend?"

    "Sure. Beer."

    "You buying?"

    "Why not," Gabe said expansively.

    Roscoe waved at somebody and made hand-motions that conveyed a two-beer message. Then he sat back and glowered. "Well?"

    "I need a crew."

    "For a ship? You don't look like no ship captain to me. You look like a dude."

    "Yeah. Well I expect you and I will get that sorted out sometime. In the meantime I've got a ship and it needs eight or ten guys."

    "You want 'em crimped, huh?"

    "No."

    "Eh?"

    "They've got to be willing."

    "You want volunteers? Friend, you come to the wrong guy-"

    "Look, it's just a short trip."

    "How short?"

    "A day. Maybe two."

    "What kinda ship?"

    "Captain Flagway's boat: the
San Andreas
."

    "The
San Andreas
?"

    "It's not my fault."

    "Sheee, that tub. A lot of guys be scared to set foot on her… you never know when some timber's gonna give out from under your foot."

    "This job'll pay pretty high for just a day or two's work."

    "How high?"

    "What'll the traffic bear, Roscoe?"

    Roscoe brooded at him. "Depends, kinda. Where ya going?"

    "Away from San Francisco. Not far."

    "What's the cargo?"

    "Just a wagonload of stuff."

    "One wagonload and you need a big old tub like that?"

    "Well, it'll be kind of heavy."

    The beetling brooding stare fixed him suspiciously. "You gonna have bluebottles on your tail, right?"

    Gabe hesitated. "Well it's possible, yeah."

    It made Roscoe snort. "Sheee. That tub of Flagway's, you couldn't outrun a garbage barge in that. Cops got some nice speedy little police-boats out there in the Bay, you figure on that? How you gonna outrun them?"

    "I figured on the fog maybe."

    "No good. It don't last long enough."

    "We'll wait for a fog."

    "Not interested, friend."

    "Now that's too bad, Roscoe, I was just about to offer you the opportunity to earn yourself five thousand dollars for two days' work." Gabe started to rise. "Maybe I'll see you sometime."

    "Siddown."

    "Hmm?"

    "Well, I just had an idea, see."

    Gabe sat back down. "And?"

    "I got a brother name of Captain Percival Arafoot. You ever hear of him, maybe?"

    "Can't say as I have."

    "Hell, he's the only guy on the Barbary Coast tougher than me."

    "Is he now."

    "You disputin' that, friend?"

    "Not just now, Roscoe. Go on about your brother."

    "Well he's got this ship, see. The
Sea Wolf
. Now this here's a fast ship, friend."

    "Where is it?"

    "Right now? Up north someplace. What he does, my brother, he smuggles Alaska seal furs down to Seattle; that's how come he's got a fast ship. The
Sea Wolf
's gotta be able to outrun the Coast Guard, see."