Ace Carver here, private eye, reporting on the whereabouts and activities of the Indo gang in California.
There was a large gathering in Huntington Beach, with the backdrop of “Old WorldTown” where, after sixty miles of bad road I arrived at what appeared to be a quasi hoom-papa establishment. But that didn't throw me off track. I caught the unmistakable scent of satay, which I tracked to within earshot of the equally unmistakable music of Indorock. The banners announced that it was the 25th anniversary of the “ROSI”. (Reunisten oud sportslieden uit Indie). A name that, after twenty five years, inevitably fulfilled its own prophesy in more ways than one. After a brief survey of this crowd I resigned myself to the fact that all the hype about this job of P.I.’s who often meet hip-swinging babes in their twenties with 36-inch double d’s tucked in tight sweaters, was highly exaggerated.
After loitering about a while I shuffled into the chow line although I wasn’t very hungry and spent the next hour contemplating weather I should get out of this line and come back later or stay put since I was only about sixth in line. The alternative would be bratwurst and saurkraut from the delicatessen next door. We were mildly entertained by watching a teenage kid scooping food while slowly though unsuccessfully avoiding to get his hands dirty. After he dropped a second plate on the floor my hands started to itch. A feeling that was shared by his dad who finally lost it and landed a swift one on the kid's ear.
For this joyous occasion the man had taken the trouble to dress up as a tukang satay from yore; A picture of the good old days. Speaking of which: I spotted someone standing a few places in front of me who may have been an old school buddy of mine. Although this guy was tall and lanky and different from the chubby kid I used to know, his mannerism was striking. The sight of him gave me flashbacks of anxiety and posterior pain, which we suffered as result of mischief we got ourselves into back in our schooldays. He did not recognize me so I re-introduced myself to him after which he cheerfully reminded me that it has been forty five years. Then again, he always was a cheerful chap.
His earlier disappearance from sight made me suspect that his parents decided that these two binatangs should be separated and took off to greener pastures on another continent. I learned that his dad, Mr. Attinger was a co-founder of ROSI and now, at 92, was the guest of honor. I left at 2300 hours. They were still partying…
