But not for long. Their confederates, enraged at this police bias, attacked the paddy wagon. Swarming over the cops, first they tipped it over and then they forced the door open with a crowbar. However, just as the three emerged, Torres’ men opened fire and all three went down, their blood soaking the pavement. I shrank back in the van and waited.
I didn’t have to wait too long. It was only a few moments when the scene of the action shifted away from the paddy wagon and toward where “Baby” stood surrounded by his men. The “South Dock Gang” was attacking now, and once again the cops moved in to help "Baby".
That was my chance, and I took it. I leaped from the wagon and started running. I dived across the street and into the first available doorway. Behind me, the cloak of night was shrouding the battle. I had to squint to make out the lettering on the door in front of me. It read: LEGASPI HEALTH CLUB – MEN -WOMEN. I pushed through the door.
There was a cashier’s booth between me and the swinging doors on the other side of the entrance hall. Behind its bars sat a skinny, middle-aged Filipino woman with black teeth. They got even blacker as she shot me what I supposed was meant to be a smile.
“Are you a member?” she asked me in English.
I shook my head.
“Then admission to all facilities will be twenty pesos,” she informed me.
“What’s that in American money?”
“Five dollar.”
I handed her the five dollars and went through the swinging doors. There was a small sign on the wall there with an arrow underneath it. The sign said: Men’s Locker Room. I followed the arrow.
The attendant it led me to fixed me up with a locker for my clothes, a pair of swimming trunks, and a towel. I tipped him in American money, gathered from his smug response that I’d given him the best of the dollar-peso exchange, and followed his directions to the steam room. Once I’d closed the frosted glass door to it behind me, I went to the very back and climbed up on a bench so my face would be close to the ceiling where the steam was the thickest.
I stayed there a long time working the red beard and moustache off. Then I massaged my face until I was sure the steam had melted away all of the gummy substance which had held the beard in place. The Philippine National Constabulary might be looking for Steve Victor, but if they sent out a description based on my disguise, I was damn well going to see that it didn’t bear any fruit. That red beard would have been like waving a cape in those bulls’ faces.
The same was true of my red-dyed hair. So when I was through in the steam room. I headed for the men’s showers. I waited until it emptied out, and when I thought I’d have it all to myself, I turned on one of the showers full blast and began rinsing the red gook out of my hair. But I didn’t have it to myself for long. Just as the spray hit me, a naked man entered the shower room and chose the shower alongside the one I was using. His eyebrows shot up as he saw the color wash out of my hair.
“I don’t know that you’re right,” he said peremptorily, almost as though we were old friends. “It’s really a very pretty color. You should keep it. Touch it up, perhaps.”
“I’m tired of it,” I told him, keeping my distance.
“Is it that it doesn’t match?” he asked, soaping himself intimately and lingeringly.
“Beg pardon?”
“Are you embarrassed that it doesn’t match? You know-—below.” He was lathering up a storm now, and his eyes were rooted to my swimming trunks.
“I never thought about it.” I scrubbed at my head impatiently. This creep was making me nervous. I wanted to get out of there.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, you know. The contrast could be very interesting.”
“Could be,” I said non-committally.
“Is it?”
“Is what?”
“Is it interesting? The contrast. Is there a contrast?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Oh!” He clapped his hands. “Aren’t you the coy one? Come on. Don’t be like that. Drop your trunks and let’s see. After all, there’s only us boys here.”
“I’m not so damn sure of that!” I told him. I shut off the water and started out of the shower room.
“I’ll see you around, dearie,” he called after me.
“Not if I see you first!” I called back.
I was feeling pretty tired, and I decided that what I needed to do was sit down some place quiet where I could think things over and plan a course of action. I passed a door labeled Sauna, and that sounded like just the spot. Underneath the sign there was a notation to remove swimming trunks before entering. Obediently, I took mine off and hung them on a peg outside the door with my towel. Then I went inside.
It was a large room and there were perhaps a dozen naked guys sitting around. From the scenery, I could appreciate those people who were howling for penal reform. But the air was hot and dry and refreshing, and I felt the tension leaving my body as I perched on a bench and soaked up the heat. I sat there for about twenty minutes, unscrambling my thoughts.
Then the door opened and four men entered. I recognized one of them immediately. I still didn’t know him by name then, of course, but I knew he was important by the way I’d seen the cops trying to protect him during the riot before. It was “Baby” Torres.
The four took a seat across-the sauna room from me. After a few minutes one of them looked up, focused on me, and started. He turned to “Baby” and said something in a low voice. His manner said he was excited. “Baby” shrugged, and the man kept nodding his head as if he was insisting on something. Then all four of them had their heads together. I heard the words “South Dock” very distinctly, and then they were all staring at me and glowering.
“Baby” nodded his head in my direction and then stared at the ceiling. Two of the hoods stood up and started walking slowly toward me. Crazily, I noticed that one of them had at some time in his life been the victim of a very bad job of circumcision. The other had long, flowing black moustaches in the Spanish style. Still not comprehending what was happening, I wondered for a mixed-up minute if he was about to correct the sloppy work done on the other. What made me wonder was the fact that he’d reached into the slippers he was wearing, come up with a pushbutton knife, and snapped it open. There was a sudden mass exodus from the sauna room, and that’s when it finally percolated that he meant to use the knife on me!
“Now, wait just a minute!” I exclaimed, jumping up and automatically clasping my hands in front of me to protect my most vulnerable parts. “We have no quarrel."
“That’s right, Senor South Dock,” the moustache hissed. “Sing for your life! When I get through with you, then you will be singing soprano!”
“I have nothing to do with the South Dock, or any other dock,” I tried to explain, backing away.
“Then why did the police have you in custody?” he asked, closing in with his buddy.
“For murder. Just plain old-fashioned non-maritime murder. I’m apolitical, believe me. I only kill when I’m mad.”
“One should never murder in anger,” the moustache chided me. “It’s unprofessional.”
It was a point of view worth considering. I considered it. By his logic, if I made him mad, he should stop trying to kill me. Okay then! I’d make him mad. Action followed the thought. I shot one foot out and kicked him square in the groin.
It made him mad, all right. Very mad. But the so-and-so turned out to be a hypocrite. For all his talk about not murdering in anger, he tried to kill me twice as hard after the kick. He dived for my gut with the switchblade, and I had to slam my elbow into his Adam’s apple to remind him that he was behaving unprofessionally.