Vampire

This is John Steele reporting on adventure. Maybe you call it Kalimantan. Maybe just plain Borneo. But to me, it spells just one name, Rajrani.

She was beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes you think of the misty moonlight of the tropics. I call this transcribed yarn, vampire. Fort Romero is just a fishing village on the south coast of Borneo until a guy named Muhammad Ali opened up a place there.

After that, purity and innocence died natural deaths, but you could buy provisions of Muhammad Ali's. You could buy anything from American soft drinks to Chinese narcotics. In Fort Romero, if you want to go anywhere at all, you have to go to Muhammad Ali's, unless you go swimming with sharks and octopus in the bay.

Or you want to take a stroll through the jungle and be eaten alive by assorted spiders and ants. Me, I wanted a cold drink in human company, so I went to Muhammadales. I picked up a beer and carried it to the only vacant chair in the place, and found myself looking at a human mountain seated across the table from me.

I figured the guy for a trader of some kind, of indifferent nationality. A pleasure, my friend, to offer you a cigarette. Thanks. For me to extend the light? Thanks again. American, of course. Basically, I was once in your country, San Francisco.

Delightful city. It was the last time I saw it. Are you familiar with Borneo? Not too well. But this is not your first time here. Oh no. No, you seem at home. My name is Vrak and Jan Vrak in.

I'm John Steele. What do you think of this place? It'll do for what it is. I find it revolting, Mr Steele. I seldom come down here either. Charming little bungalow just up the river. Oh.