The night my old life was blown to pieces, I'd just returned from Mogok, where I'd bought some pigeon's blood rubies from a merchant who was a family acquaintance. I was staying at the Strand Hotel, which looked pretty shabby by 1958. Understandable, I suppose: the grand hotel had been a favorite of the British colonial administration and wasn't much loved by their successors, Burma's tottering civilian regime. Somehow, though, the phone call from the States still managed to get through to me.
Because of the time difference between Southeast Asia and the Pacific Coast, it was well after midnight when the twinned rings from the old telephone woke me. I answered with a curt, "Yes?"
"Mr. Steven Corvey?" My caller's local accent was diluted by a slight British tinge.
"This is he."
"International operator, sir. I have a phone call from the United States for you."
At this hour? Bad news, no doubt. "Please put the call through."
"Very well, sir."
We both hung up. From the other side of the bed, I heard a noise of protest, but I was too busy staring at the phone, willing it to ring, to pay much attention. Just as well for the state of my nerves that the phone sounded again after only a minute or so: amazingly fast. I snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"
"This Steve Corvey?" The soprano voice seemed familiar even when distorted by the crackles of an overseas connection.
"Yes."
"Okay. Winifred Jowlett here." Aha, a second cousin of my business partner. "We thought we'd better call you. Nate's in trouble back home."
Nate Jowlett was my partner, but he was also my friend. I waved a hand to shush my companion, who'd started on what was probably a complaint at being abruptly awoken. "What? How?"
"Oh, he's in jail down in San Agustin." There was a pause as we both contemplated the improbability of this. "Anyhow, he didn't want you to know, but Aunt Susie said we'd better call you."
"And she was right." I turned on the lamp and found the stationery and pen on the writing desk. "Has he made bail?"
"Uh, he's a little strapped for cash right now since he sent off Grandpa and Grandma to visit England. So we were going to pass the hat around--"
"Never mind that. Let Jimmy--" Nate's next-to-youngest brother "--get any money needed for the bailsman from the green pouch in the lower drawer of the store safe." Jimmy didn't have the combination, but he could still get past the lock. "How about a lawyer?"
"Figured you'd ask that. Mr. Penrose, from out by Piney Lake."
I recognized the name: a shyster, as might be expected from anyone who'd take on a Jowlett as a client in a criminal case, but a competent one.
"Good." Then, the most important business taken care of, I finally asked, "Why, in God's name, is Nate in jail?" Which member of his family was he embroiled with this time, I meant.
"Well, now, they scooped him up down in San Agustin when they raided a sissy joint."
For a long few seconds, I stared up at the fan squeaking rhythmically overhead as it stirred the humid air of Rangoon. On the bed, the army sergeant who I'd hired under the table as my driver and translator had sat up and was now scratching his bare chest, expression turned curious. I asked, "We are talking about Nate?"
"Yeah."
"Being arrested?"
"During a raid, yes, sir."
"In a bar patronized by, ah, a certain kind of gentleman?"
"Yeah, we thought that was kind of odd, you being out of town and all, but--"
"Never mind that. I'm coming home. I'll telegraph the flight information and someone can meet me over at the airport in Los Angeles."
"You bet." Winifred didn't sound the least bit surprised. Jowletts not only knew who their allies were but who all the allies of their relatives were, to boot. Just because Nate had turned respectable didn't mean he wasn't still a member of the clan. "Okay, I'm going to hang up now. This call's expensive." She did. Jowletts also tended to be decisive.
Hanging up as well, I turned to the sergeant. "Ko Min Hla, I apologize for disturbing you. I must leave for the United States as soon as possible. A young relative is in trouble."
After gesturing his understanding, Min Hla got out of the bed and reached for his uniform trousers. He was an amiable man and one to whom I hadn't lied in any but the most literal of senses. As close as I came to having a family these days, the dumbfounding Jowletts were it. As for Nate, I'd attended his graduation from Arboleda High and been best man at his wedding to Brenda. He was like a little brother to me.
That's probably why I, whose other unofficial family sprang from ancestors like Walt Whitman and Oscar Wilde, would soon try my hand at marriage counseling. But given the situation I walked in on, given that Jowletts were involved, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by the results.
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