It was still early afternoon, so I decided to return to the yacht port to find the idiot who sold me the weird weapon I had in my pocket. I needed to do that because, on my way back from Gzundis’ house, I took a slight detour from the constantly repaired Route 001 to try my new gun in the fields, and it turned out it was shit. When I pulled the trigger at first, I was afraid the entire island would vanish in a bluish cloud of smoke, but my funny little thing only coughed once and spit some water out of the barrel. I tried it again, and it didn’t even do that the second time! It was supposed to be the earthly answer to the positron technology of aliens, but it was more suitable for washing your eyes some mornings when you were lost in nature without water.

I drove back into the city about half an hour later, still angry, but I left my car in the small parking lot near the hotel because the area around the yacht port was so crammed with Chinese and their carts that I couldn’t find a vacant spot. Then I walked to the place, looking around for the jerk, and, of course, he wasn’t there anywhere. He had probably anticipated I would come, and he scrammed!

I scratched my head, wondering what to do. There was the usual agitation around with all the shouting, screaming, and praising shitty items to the skies. I could easily buy a new gun and forget about the douchebag, but I didn’t want to waste more money, and besides, there was a pretty good chance the result would be the same because everything here was Chinese. I looked at the merchants. If you just listened to their bragging and believed it blindly, you could gain the impression that mankind was the most powerful race in the universe, destined to conquer the stars! The unsettling truth was quite the opposite, in fact. We were probably the weakest of all the species out there and existed at the sheer mercy of others—the Couloongs in our case. The aliens felt so safe that they even sold us their old weaponry without concern.

I irritably crisscrossed the market a couple of times, but it turned out to be in vain—I didn’t find the moron I was looking for. If he were here, I would have washed his eyes with his gun and asked him if it hurt! Unfortunately, my sweet and ingenious revenge was unfeasible, so I just wandered around, watching the boats instead. Unlike the previous time, now the waters of the yacht port crawled with them, and some made me full of awe. It was actually a bit ironic because there were so many luxury vessels on this small, presumably poor island, which was also doomed to sink. Here, every single owner was wealthy enough to sell Greenspace tons of ammonia, but they didn’t want to, while over there, at the harbor, everybody wanted to, but they had no means—either the money, the vessel, or both. And the two places were only a few minutes’ walk away!

I kept squeezing through the crowd, still hoping to find the Chinese bastard, and since I had no plans for the afternoon, I started comparing the boats and trying to guess their prices. The variety was truly astonishing—from small ones intended for a crew of five to huge ones capable of transoceanic voyages. They were all good until the very last one, and some were built with an emphasis on speed, while others attracted the eye with luxury and comfort. The owners usually hung around on the bridges in the inevitable marine uniforms, looking down at the crowd beneath them, self-satisfied. They clearly thought themselves to be people from another world.

One of the boats, however, stood out from the background of all the others, and it caught my eye immediately. She was almost as large as a small Samoan village and probably worth a fortune. She had two decks nearly the size of baseball stadiums: the upper one intended for sunbathing and wild night parties and the lower for extravagant dinners or lounging at noon. Her engine was surely a monster—capable of shooting rockets into space! It had to be because the vessel displaced seventy tons easily, and it was just what I had needed for my imaginary ammonia deal with Spit Master.

“The idiot would be so impressed if he saw me on that bridge; he’d spit on the ground at least ten times!” I dreamed about it while watching the boat. “The owner of this beauty must be insanely rich! He must be able to buy the moon!”

And just as I thought this, I froze in disbelief. The owner stood on the lower deck, and I didn’t know about his being able to buy the moon, but he was surely beloved by it! The man was talking on his phone, and the presence of this magnificent yacht here suddenly made perfect sense.

“Who else would be so wealthy to own such a treasure if not for the boss of the Indian mafia?” I murmured to myself, looking around to find a place to hide.

I took cover behind a cart of fake samurai swords and continued my observation undisturbed. The big shot kept the phone to his ear, obviously angry about something—maybe some of his whores or drug dealers were giving him a headache. The guy paced nervously up and down the front deck, gesticulating agitatedly with his other hand. Down on the quay, at the base of the gangway, I saw two of his bodyguards with big holsters under their armpits, looking sullenly around them. One of them was a white man with a terrible scar on his neck, and the other was a two-meter-high, bald-headed Indian with a mighty beard. He was actually one of the thugs who kidnapped me and pushed me into the white limo the previous day.

At some point, Sengupta abruptly stopped moving and put his phone in his pocket. He seemed to be staring at something, but I couldn’t see it because my position was lower than his. Then the guy vanished for a moment and soon reappeared at the upper end of the gangway with a woman—probably Mrs. Sengupta or some of his favorite hookers. He helped the lady climb down, and meanwhile, his white limo on the quay arrogantly backed up toward the boat, shoving the noisy Chinese merchants aside. A few minutes later, the vehicle was already positioned, waiting to accommodate the “royal” personas.

The two figures slowly went down to the car, but before the woman vanished into it, Sengupta leaned in to kiss her. It took a while because it was a rather passionate kiss, and I waited patiently. Afterward, the lady turned around to sink into the limo, pausing for a second to lift the hems of her dress, which was enough for me to recognize her, staggering with surprise. It was Sharon! It was my Sharon—the bitch I was looking for! Sengupta closed the back door for her, and then the limo immediately set off. This time, the Chinese were ready for the action, and they instantly scattered like chicks on a dirt road, screaming twice as much as before.

“Zou kai, zou kai! Ruguo ni bu mai, gun kai!” I suddenly heard a cry too close to me. I sharply turned around, expecting to see one of the merchants here vocally express his solidarity with the ones who suffered from Sengupta’s arrogance, but it was only the guy whose cart I stood by, making gestures to me. Judging by them, I gathered he wanted me to scram. His shrieks reminded me painfully of my problems back in Greenland, and since they attracted attention to me, too, I listened to the man and moved away.

By that point, both Sengupta and the limousine had vanished. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything about it because my Ford was still parked at the hotel. It was a ten-minute walk from here—long enough to forget about following anyone anywhere. I angrily cursed my bad decisions and headed back there, disappointed. Had I followed Sengupta’s example and ran over the Chinese when I came here from Gzundis’ house, I would’ve actually been after Sharon now!

On my way to the parking lot, still thinking, I realized I had acted too hastily when I hired a boat to take me to Ofu the next day. The guys I chased were obviously still in Pago Pago, arranging things, and it could take a while until they made a move. I definitely needed to figure out their plans first! Besides, after what I saw, I didn’t believe it was Bobby Bjornson who had allied with the Indian mobster anymore. It was clearly Sharon, and the fact changed everything. And on top of that, she was kissing him now!

After ten minutes, highly annoyed, I got to the hotel and hopped into my Ford, driving it back to the harbor. I needed to put off my trip urgently, so when I arrived, I just stopped in front of a cart full of shit and nervously leaped out. The merchant there was selling shish kebab of rat meat, frying pans and pots, shorts, boxer shorts, and, of course, his special recipe for mona. It was pretty much everything a decent man on this island could ever want. He glared at me for disturbing his “business activities,” but I showed him my water gun, and he decided to shut up.

Then, I followed my route from the previous day because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find Saranya-82 and her owner in the terrible crowd. I had just passed by the guy with the oysters and confidently navigated toward the boat of Spit Master when I suddenly had to stop and look for someone selling Santa Claus outfits, or at least huge cowboy hats or sombreros. It was really a day full of surprises! Marty Cork stood beside Mountain Cougar, talking to the asshole who owned the boat. The latter couldn’t see me because he had turned his back on me, but the former could easily recognize me, so I needed to hide.

I quickly dove into the crowd, kneeling and pretending I had problems with my shoelaces. Every now and then, I stretched my head to see what was going on. At the same time, I thought about the ups and downs of life. I had cursed my bad luck just minutes ago, but it turned out it wasn’t so bad after all. Instead of Sharon, I now had a chance to get Cork, and I swore I wouldn’t miss it.

The two jerks kept talking for about ten minutes, during which time they put me in quite a stupid situation. I looked just like a moron who explored the marvels of contemporary shoemaking in the middle of a busy marketplace full of people! I was afraid someone might eventually come to me, offering to help me with this “tricky” and “complicated” task, thus ruining my ingenious disguise. Fortunately, no one did it.

Marty’s cell rang at some point, and after a short talk, he had to cut his conversation with the boatman short, ending with a handshake. This miraculously helped me solve my terrible shoelace problem, and seconds later, I was already after my target. We squeezed through the crowd, zigzagging almost chaotically between the carts. Marty was in a hurry, probably because of the phone call, and after a while, I realized he was going to his car.

And then, yet again, I had to think about the ups and downs of life! His vehicle was obviously parked somewhere at the distant end of the marketplace—not close to where I had left mine. If I kept following him, I would stray too far from my car, and I wouldn’t be able to chase after him when he reached his. However, if I walked back to the Ford, I probably wouldn’t know what his car looked like, and I would lose him again.

I nervously stopped, thinking. Then I quickly turned around and wildly ran toward my Laser because, by doing so, I still had a fifty-fifty chance of catching up with the bastard outside the marketplace. If I kept following him, the chances of me outrunning his presumably hydrogen-driven vehicle were one to one zillionth against me, not to mention I would have become a star in the sports news on national TV, which I definitely didn’t want.

Unfortunately, in this part of the world where nobody was ever hurrying, a running man looked suspicious, and most often, it meant stealing. I had just taken a few steps on my way when a Chinese pointed his finger at me and started yelling, and then the number of people crying multiplied geometrically during my run. Nobody asked themselves if something was missing; everybody just wanted me to stop, or at least to be stopped. Eventually, I had to take out the fake police badge, which I always carry in my pocket, waving it along with my toy gun in the other hand to stop the racket. Everybody shut up immediately. And then—ups and downs again! Marty was just passing by in his dark blue Omisumi without looking around.

I feverishly hopped into my old Ford, praying to every god on this planet that it would start. It started right away, but that still didn’t mean everything would be alright. I feared driving such an antique car in the twenty-first century would attract Marty’s attention to me. Fortunately, the Laser happened to be too slow, and it dragged far enough behind my target, but it was still sufficiently good to stick with it. The fact that Marty was a terrible driver helped a lot because he paid no attention to his surroundings. Soon, he took the exit out of town, and it was easier for me to follow him after that moment.

Ten minutes later, we had already established a parity, with him driving on the ubiquitous Route 001 at first and then on 009 west of Leone and me following him about fifty to seventy meters behind. Somewhere at Failolo, Cork sharply turned north and climbed the hills. After fifteen more minutes, he stopped.

I pulled up at the curb, too, and waited. We were in a resort area with palm groves and small motels between them. Beyond all this, in the distance, there was the mountain. Marty stayed in his car for about ten minutes, and I stayed in mine. It was terribly hot, though. It felt like there was no oxygen in the air, probably because of our proximity to the ocean. Then, at last, the door of the Omisumi slowly opened.

I promptly dove behind my steering wheel. The jerk looked around rather carelessly and tucked a gun into the back of his pants. He crossed the street and headed toward the nearest motel, some twenty meters away. The entire scene suddenly reminded me of an almost identical one in Greenland, where I nearly ended up dead, and I shuddered. Despite the unpleasant feeling, after he vanished behind the corner, I started the engine and slowly moved the car closer. Then, I stepped out of the Ford and approached the motel.

The building was an old, poorly maintained three-story structure. There were no balconies on this side of it, and the windows looked directly to the street. On the front wall was a decorative wooden trellis on which some plants were climbing, and a thick, thorny shrub was growing underneath. I glanced around but saw no entrance here—it was probably on the other side where Marty had gone.

I cautiously went to the corner and peeked behind it. I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted close contact with the bastard because I felt nervous about my weird weapon, but I had no choice. I had to figure out what he and Sharon were up to. In fact, I didn’t have to worry too much about it because it wasn’t up to me to decide, as it turned out. Suddenly, a sharp noise that sounded like something tumbling down echoed above my head, and feet trotting followed. After that, the dull hiss of a positron gun added to the scene, making me shiver.

I looked around, alarmed. The noise had come from the third floor, as it seemed. I nervously turned the corner, sneaking along the driveway, which led to a small parking space. I was almost halfway through when a car engine started behind the next corner, and for a few seconds, I wondered whether to go ahead or get back to my Ford. However, I thought about it too long, and my hesitation eventually proved critical. Very soon, the car appeared before me, running straight at me at full speed.

I had very little space to maneuver and even less time. The driveway was relatively narrow, and the vehicle left only about forty centimeters on both sides for me to squeeze through. It was still enough, but I couldn’t pick a side. On my left was the building itself, and on my right was the concrete wall dividing the motel from the next building. I couldn’t figure out the car’s exact position and decide which option was better. Since the time for my decision quickly elapsed, I eventually ended up without a choice. I had to put up with the only thing left in this hideous situation.

I froze in the middle of the driveway and bent my knees a little, ready to throw myself on the front hood. It was a perilous stunt, and I looked tensely at the windshield, trying to see the driver and assess the time. I had only two seconds before the collision, but they were enough to notice a familiar face behind the wheel. I saw Bobby! She fixed her gaze on me, and upon recognizing me, she coldly stomped on the gas without hesitation. Right before hitting me, though, she stepped on the brake briefly, giving me a chance to jump.

Suddenly, I found myself in the air, flying. I was flying like a misguided missile! After my leap, I quickly turned sideways to meet the windshield with my shoulder and hip and avoid smashing my head into the glass. This way, I escaped the heavy impact, but I rolled onto the roof at full speed, then along the car roof, then off the roof, and finally, the vehicle slipped away from under my body, and there was nothing else to stop me from rolling all the way to the moon!

Somewhere behind me, I heard the car sharply revving up, and shortly after that, I totally lost my orientation. Earth and sky melted into a bluish-green amalgam, and the world suddenly exploded into thousands of beautiful and colorful strips. Weirdly enough, I didn’t lose consciousness while spinning. During the entire adventure, I also never stopped planning my landing.

However, it turned out I didn’t have to worry about that either! I absolutely had no chance of rolling all the way to the moon or even going too far simply because someone took care of the situation for me, preventing both things from happening. The guy flashed before my eyes for an instant, which was enough again for recognition. I saw Marty Cork, who was just turning the corner after Bobby, and before he even noticed me, I rushed over him, taking him with me toward the parking space behind him.

It all happened in a split second, but all the while, I was perfectly aware that whoever stood up first won the game. I gave it everything to be the winner. As soon as I felt the gravel beneath my body, I tried to focus my eyes on a single spot. Unfortunately, the world was still wildly spinning around my head, and my right hip hurt terribly. Almost an eternity passed before I rose to my knees, shaking. By then, Marty Cork was already on his feet, looking for something on the ground. I desperately tried to find my pocket and extract my gun to sprinkle him with water, but just then, a few cries echoed not far from me. Cork looked anxiously at his left; he looked back at me; he looked at the ground again, and in the end, he turned around and quickly ran toward his car.

I finally found my pocket and reached into it, disoriented, but the weirdly moving green and yellow splotches before my eyes were obscuring my vision. Then, with great difficulty, I took the fake police badge out of there and feebly waved it in the air. It was too much of an effort, as it turned out. The world around me nervously shook up and sharply collapsed over my head. I literally felt my consciousness slipping away. It was a very unpleasant yet curious sensation, and I didn’t even remember falling down.

©2016 S.T. Fargo
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