Just Cause Wrong Target Read online

CHAPTER 4

  THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT

  Ermita, MANILA.

  T.A. considered this first twenty four hours as simply jet-lag recovery time. Many passengers would be sleeping, but after his chat with Ben he felt he had already started his inquiries. It would also be good to find some good female company early on, but that could wait.

  After the conversation with Ben, T.A. had gone to bed, but then tossed and turned much as he did 12 months ago. The dreams had returned, very vividly. Though he slept to around midday he thought the restless night might be because of being in a different bed. Also it always seemed he was more prone to jet-lag than most. His late sleep was disturbed by the room service personnel wanting to make up his room. Sitting in the comfortable easy chair he watched the room maids do their chores before he showered and once again fell between the clean sheets.

  He felt considerably better when he awoke after 5:00 P.M. and dressed casually before going to the hotel restaurant to enjoy a good quality T-bone steak, fries and vegetables.

  He washed those down with a couple of stubbies of San Miguel, the local Filipino beer, and felt ready to start his holiday proper.

  From the Swagman Hotel to the start of the red-light district in Ermita was about four hundred metres. Most hotel guests took a taxi for the short distance to avoid the pedlars and beggars en-route. T.A. preferred to walk. It was not that he felt immune, isolated from or had become insensitive to the problems on the street. It was all part of the atmosphere of the city. He really wanted to see the lives some people had to live to survive. In his being there as a target for the pedlars pitch, or the beggars pleading; he felt he could sense the suffering. Also to learn if any of the con-stories were new.

  He did not have guilt feelings about being from a supposed wealthy country. Everything was relative. This country had oil, gold and agricultural riches greater than most countries, and the population numbers to exploit that wealth. Managed correctly, all the resources could be husbanded without damage to the environment and the whole country would benefit. As late starters in modernisation and development they could learn from the environmental mistakes other countries had made; if they had wanted to.

  It was not as though there were too few adequately qualified people to do it; quite the reverse. The introduction of an American style education system by their former colonial rulers had seen to that.

  One of the major problems seemed to be that many in charge, though university graduates; were from rich families who had basically purchased their degrees. As a result they were often not really qualified, only lettered. To prevent their positions being threatened by more competent underlings, they would hire even less qualified or less competent subordinates. To overcome design and material deficiencies, pay-offs would be made to corrupt officials. Those corrupt officials then were in financial positions to buy degrees for themselves or their family. The situation became self perpetuating.

  But that was a world away from these street people living and sleeping under sheets of corrugated iron in the parks or on the grassed median strips of the highways. These people survived on what they could beg, borrow or steal. Thankfully very little violence was practiced against "Americanos" as all Europeans were termed.

  Many of the adult street people had arrived in Manila from the provinces, and spent the last of their meagre savings to get to Manila where they had dreams of making their fortunes. Here, those dreams were so often shown to be more fragile than the finest crystal and shattered twice as easily.

  They then became imprisoned in Manila by a combination of excessive pride preventing them from returning home as a failure, and lack of funds to do so even if they swallowed their pride. Then, under-nourished, they were unable to do a full days labour if work was available.

  The reasons for the large number of children on the street had almost as many different stories as there were children. Some were simply abandoned yet had somehow managed to survive. The reasons for their abandonment were also just as varied. Some had strong European features, abandoned by mothers too ashamed to take any baby home. Others were off-spring of and part of the new sub-culture that had developed among the street population. Without the normally strong family support system based on bloodlines, a strong-point of Philippines society on which they could normally rely, the street people had developed their own strong and wider family system without bloodlines but based on the common ground of poverty.

  It was 7 P.M., already about 90 minutes after sunset, when T.A. left through the front doors of the Swagman. One of the two armed guards/doormen asked if he needed a taxi, he declined. They wished him an enjoyable night. Both guards/doormen were carrying rifles which did not look real, even to his untrained eye. The barrels were like simple pieces of pipe screwed and clamped into genuine wooden stocks. The trigger mechanisms also looked genuine. He had not bothered to ask but presumed they could have been some sort of home made shotguns; the bore was far too big for a standard rifle bullet. Perhaps he would ask later.

  Soon after stepping out of the comfort of the air-conditioned hotel, the muggy heat started the sweat beads to form on his forehead.

  The smells were like those of a distant rubbish tip. He wanted to blow his nose to get rid of the dust and smell. But that would have been counter-productive as cleared nostrils would mean he would only get a stronger rubbish tip aroma.

  T.A. had only moved a few metres away from the door, just beyond the range of a 'move away' order from the hotel guards, when the first of the street hawkers approached him. Quite tidily dressed in jeans and loose fitting T-shirt with "God Is Love And Truth" emblazoned on it. The old rubber thongs on his feet looked several sizes too large.

  "Hey Joe," he called. "I gotta really good watch for you. Special price, just for you."

  T.A. guessed he might be in his late 20's. "Yeah, what is it?"

  "Rolex. Got it from my cousin who's just come back from America."

  "Yeah, let me see it," answered T.A.

  The hawker pulled an attractive deep velvet coloured box from his jeans pocket, and opened it to reveal a watch wrapped in a small plastic bag.

  "Don't try and run away with it," the Filipino grinned.

  "Don't worry; you'd be faster than me."

  T.A. removed the plastic bag and examined the beautifully crafted gold piece with matching gold band.

  "Gee, this is fantastic," said T.A. "How much?"

  "For you, 50,000 pesos. It's the only one he brought back."

  "Come on, get real."

  "Well my cousin might kill me but he really needs the money. I'll let you have it for 40,000."

  "That's over 900 US dollars."

  "20,000 pesos. The best price I can do."

  "Is it the only Rolex you've got? If I get one, my brother would want one too." T.A. lied; he did not have a brother.

  "Well. My cousin didn't really want me to, but if I have to sell his own personal one to get the money for his Mum's operation, then I'll have to."

  With that the hawker pulled another plastic wrapped watch from his back pocket.

  "Sorry, no fancy box for my cousin's personal one."

  T.A. grinned at the hawker and looked directly into his eyes.

  "I think you're trying to kid me aren't you?"

  "We can come to a good deal for the two watches if you like."

  "I think your cousins trying to trick you into selling fake watches. These watches have a Casio watch movement. Here, I'll show you something."

  The hawker looked at T.A. and feigned surprise.

  T.A. went on. "See the second hand of the watch."

  "Yes," said the hawker, now looking at the watch face with genuine interest.

  "See how it jumps. As each second passes, the second hand moves around the face, it makes one jump every second, 60 jumps in a minute."

  "Yes, yes," the hawker watched the second hand.

  "Well, in a genuine Rolex the movement is steady," T.A. raised his forefinger and slowly and steadily moved i
t to simulate the genuine Rolex movement. "The second hand does not jump like this." He then jerked his finger in a series of short, quick movements.

  The hawker looked at T.A. and grinned.

  "I think that cousin of yours must be a bit naughty if he's trying to get you to sell Rolex copies," T.A. smiled at the hawker.

  "Yeah, he is."

  "I knew it wasn't your fault, you're wearing a T-shirt that says God Is Love And Truth."

  "Thanks for showing me that bit about the second hand Joe."

  "That's O.K, but my name isn't Joe. My friends call me T.A."

  "We call all Americanos Joe."

  "After G.I. Joe, I know. But not everyone with a white face is American.

  "My names Nilo. Where you from then Joe? sorry, T.A."

  "I’ve just flown in via Sydney, Australia, where I worked for a few years."

  "An Aussie eh?"

  "No. I was born in New Zealand, from Auckland."

  "Oh a Kiwi. Good butter from New Zealand."

  T.A. was not surprised at the reaction; he had received similar responses before. He just nodded.

  "Where ya going tonight T.A., I can get a good girl for you, a nice young virgin if you want, but not cheap. At least she'll be clean. No diseases."

  "Thanks Nilo, but no thanks, I'm just gonna walk around a bit. There's lots of 'girlie bars' around here. There was really good one I used to go to. I just can't remember the name of it at the moment. I'll know it when I see it."

  "You need to be careful in those sorts of places. There are lots of pick-pockets around here. Keep your money in your front."

  "Thanks Nilo, good idea." T.A. swung his bum bag to his front as if in response to Nilo's suggestion. Apart from the inconvenience of losing the bag, T.A. would not have cared if it was stolen. When he went out he only carried a few hundred pesos in it, about 20 American dollars worth, and a few novelty give-a-way items. The larger sums of money were unseen in a pouch under his trouser belt.

  T.A. moved off in the direction of the red light district. Nilo fell in beside him as naturally as if he had been invited. T.A. knew he would now get to the 'girlie bars' without any hassles from any other beggars or pedlars. Any that looked like they were going to approach were waved away by Nilo.

  Occasionally Nilo would pause briefly to chat with someone and introduce T.A. as his friend from New Zealand. T.A. would stop and wait, acknowledging the glances in his direction from Nilo's friends with a nod of his head. The more people Nilo stopped to chat with briefly, and introduce T.A. as his friend, the safer T.A. felt. Though he might not recognise them later, he knew they would remember him as Nilo's Americano friend and keep a wary eye out for his safety. That would be good for as long as his few days stay in the area. For a few days, when these new friends would call out a greeting, T.A. knew he would always respond with a similar cheery greeting. This approach meant he would rarely be hassled on the street if any of Nilo's friends were nearby, they would quickly intercede and warn off any pedlar or beggar.

  It was a lesson he had learned early during his first trip to the Philippines. A little courtesy and friendship was returned manyfold in this community.

  As the first of the 'girlie bars' came into sight, Nilo spotted a couple of American sailors in uniform leaving the bar.

  "I've gotta go T.A., they might wanna buy a Casio watch."

  "Hang on," said T.A., reaching into his bum bag and extracting a small soft toy koala fashioned around a bulldog clip. He clipped it to the neck opening of Nilo's T-shirt. "Give this to your girlfriend."

  Nilo looked at it with a broad grin, genuine appreciation, and nodded.

  "Now you'd better see if you can sell your Rolex's."

  Nilo's grin widened to a full smile. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck with finding a beautiful Filipina tonight for some good jig-a-jig."

  T.A. winked, nodded and walked on as Nilo began his spiel with the American sailors.

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