"Back to my hut. Sir," the King said patiently, and all the time his mind was figuring angles — had there been a slip, had someone informed, what was with Grey?
"Where did you get that shirt?"
The King had bought the shirt the day before from a major who had kept it neat for two years against the day he would need to sell it for money to buy food. The King liked to be tidy and well-dressed when everyone else was not, and he was pleased that today his shirt was clean and new and his long pants were creased and his socks clean and his shoes freshly polished and his hat stainless. It amused him that Grey was naked but for pathetically patched short pants and wooden clogs, and a Tank Corps beret that was green and solid with tropic mold.
"I bought it," the King said. "Long time ago. There's no law against buying anything — here, anywhere else. Sir."
Grey felt the impertinence in the 'Sir'. "All right, Corporal, inside!"
"Why?"
"I just want a little chat," Grey said sarcastically.
The King held his temper and walked up the steps and through the doorway and stood near the table. "Now what? Sir."
"Turn out your pockets."
"Why?"
"Do as you're told. You know I've the right to search you at any time."
Grey let some of his contempt show. "Even your commanding officer agreed."
"Only because you insisted on it."
"With good reason. Turn out your pockets!" Wearily the King complied.
After all, he had nothing to hide. Handkerchief, comb, wallet, one pack of tailor-made cigarettes, his tobacco box full of raw Java tobacco, rice cigarette papers, matches. Grey made sure all pockets were empty, then opened the wallet. There were fifteen American dollars and nearly four hundred Japanese Singapore dollars.
"Where did you get this money?" Grey snapped, the ever-present sweat dripping from him.
"Gambling. Sir."
Grey laughed mirthlessly. "You've a lucky streak. It's been good for nearly three years. Hasn't it?"
"You through with me now? Sir."
"No. Let me look at your watch."
"It's on the list — "
"I said let me look at your watch!"
Grimly the King pulled the stainless steel expanding band off his wrist and handed it to Grey.
In spite of his hatred of the King, Grey felt a shaft of envy. The watch was waterproof, shockproof, self-winding. An Oyster Royal. The most priceless possession of Changi — other than gold. He turned the watch over and looked at the figures etched into the steel, then went over to the atap wall and took down the list of the King's possessions and automatically wiped the ants off it, and meticulously checked the number of the watch against the number of the Oyster Royal watch on the list.
"It checks," the King said. "Don't worry. Sir."
"I'm not worried," Grey said. "It's you who are to be worried." He handed the watch back, the watch that could bring nearly six months of food.
The King put the watch back on his wrist and began to pick up his wallet and other things.
"Oh yes. Your ring!" Grey said. "Let's check that."
But the ring checked with the list too. It was itemed as A gold ring, signet of the Clan Gordon. Alongside the description was an example of the seal.
"How is it an American has a Gordon ring?" Grey had asked the same question many times.
"I won it. Poker," the King said.
"Remarkable memory you've got, Corporal," Grey said and handed it back. He had known all along that the ring and the watch would check. He had only used the search as an excuse. He felt compelled, almost masochistically, to be near his prey for just a while. He knew, too, that the King did not scare easily. Many had tried to catch him, and failed, for he was smart and careful and very cunning.
"Why is it," Grey asked harshly, suddenly boiling with envy of the watch and ring and cigarettes and matches and money, "that you have so much and the rest of us nothing?"
"Don't know. Sir. Guess I'm just lucky."
"Where did you get this money?"
"Gambling. Sir." The King was always polite. He always said "Sir" to officers and saluted officers, English and Aussie officers. But he knew they were aware of the vastness of his contempt for 'Sir' and saluting. It wasn't the American way. A man's a man, regardless of background or family or rank. If you respect him, you call him 'Sir'. If you don't, you don't, and it's only the sons of bitches that object. To hell with them!
The King put the ring back on his finger, buttoned down his pockets and flicked some dust off his shirt. "Will that be all? Sir." He saw the anger flash in Grey's eyes.
Then Grey looked across at Masters, who had been watching nervously.
"Sergeant, would you get me some water, please?"
Wearily Masters went over to the water bottle that hung on the wall. "Here you are, sir."
"That's yesterday's," Grey said, knowing it was not. "Fill it with clean water."
"I could've swore I filled it first thing," Masters said. Then, shaking his head, he walked out.
Grey let the silence hang and the King stood easily, waiting. A breath of wind rustled the coconut trees that soared above the jungle just outside the fence, bringing the promise of rain. Already there were black clouds rimming the eastern sky, soon to cover the sky. Soon they would turn dust into bog and make humid air breathable.
"You like a cigarette? Sir," the King said, offering the pack.
The last time Grey had had a tailor-made cigarette was two years before, on his birthday. His twenty-second birthday. He stared at the pack and wanted one, wanted them all. "No," he said grimly. "I don't want one of your cigarettes."
"You don't mind if I smoke? Sir."
"Yes I do!"
The King kept his eyes fixed on Grey's and calmly slipped out a cigarette.
He lit it and inhaled deeply.
"Take that out of your mouth!" Grey ordered.
"Sure. Sir." The King took a long slow drag before obeying. Then he hardened. "I'm not under your orders and there's no law that says I can't smoke when I want to. I'm an American and I'm not subject to any goddam flag-waving Union Jack! That's been pointed out to you too. Get off my back! Sir."
"I'm after you now, Corporal," Grey erupted. "Soon you're going to make a slip, and when you do I'll be waiting and then you'll be in there." His finger was shaking as he pointed at the crude bamboo cage which served as a cell. "That's where you belong."
"I'm breaking no laws — "
"Then where do you get your money?"
"Gambling." The King moved closer to Grey. His anger was controlled, but he was more dangerous than usual. "Nobody gives me nothing. What I have is mine and I made it. How I made it is my own business."
"Not while I'm Provost Marshal." Grey's fists tightened. "Lot of drugs have been stolen over the months. Maybe you know something about them."
"Why you — Listen," the King said furiously, "I've never stolen a thing in my life. I've never sold drugs in my life and don't you forget it! Goddammit, if you weren't an officer I'd — "