Like a Hole in the Head

CHAPTER ONE

In theory it seemed to me to be a pretty bright, money making idea, but it only took around four months for the fact to sink in that The Jay Benson School of Shooting was headed for a flop.

Of course, I should have known. The previous owner, a nice old guy named Nick Lewis, had hinted that the school had long ago run out of powder. It was certainly ramshackle, and in need of a lot of paint. Against this it was plain to me that Lewis was long past good shooting and this, I told myself, was the reason why he had only six paying pupils, all as old and as doddery as himself. He had been running the school for twenty years. Over this period his books showed an impressive profit and it was only during the past five years the receipts had fallen off as his shooting had fallen off. I was confident enough to believe my shooting talent could put the school back on its feet, but I didn’t take into consideration two important factors: my lack of working capital and the location of the school.

By the time I had bought the lease, the buildings and the three acres of sandy beach I had used up all my savings and most of my Army gratuity. Advertising in Paradise City and Miami comes high, and until I could make some kind of profit, advertising had to remain a pipe dream. Until I moved into the black, I couldn’t afford to give the shooting range, the restaurant, the bar and our bungalow a much needed face lift. This, of course, turned into a vicious circle. Those few who were willing to pay to become good shots expected a decent restaurant and a comfortable bar. Those who did show up lost interest when they saw the set-up. They expected something in mink. They turned up their rich, spoilt noses when they saw the paint peeling from the buildings and that the bar carried only a bottle of whisky and a bottle of gin.

At least we had inherited Nick Lewis’s six pupils, old, tiresome and hopeless as they were, but they did provide us with eating money.

Four months after we had opened, I decided to take stock. I looked at our bank balance ($1050) and our weekly turnover ($103) and then I looked at Lucy.

We’re not going to get anywhere unless we make this place fit for the rich and the idle,” I told her.

She fluttered her hands. This was a sure sign she was getting into a panic.

“Take it easy,” I said. “Don’t get excited. We can do quite a lot ourselves. Some paint, a couple of brushes, some hard work and we can put this place nearly right. What do you think?”

She nodded.

“If you say so, Jay.”

I regarded her. Every now and then, I wondered at the back of my mind, if I had made a mistake. I knew this school, if it was going to make money, had to be worked on. I couldn’t do it alone. Maybe, if I had married a pioneer type of girl who could work as hard as I could, there would be less of a problem, but I hadn’t wanted to marry a pioneer type of girl, I had wanted to marry Lucy.

Whenever I looked at Lucy, I got a lot of satisfaction. The moment I had seen her, I felt sure she was for me. We had run into each other in that strange way that destiny has for pairing off the male and the female.

I had just got out of the Army after serving ten years as a range instructor and three years in Vietnam as a sniper. I had ideas about my future, but no idea of getting married.

Lucy, twenty-four years of age, blonde, beautifully built, lovely to look at, was walking ahead of me along Florida Boulevard, Miami, where I had come for some sun while I made up my mind just how I was going to earn a living.

There are breast-men, leg-men, bottom-men and men who dig for the over-all female scene. I have to admit that a neat, small bottom that twitches as its owner walks has always caught my eye.

Lucy had the prettiest bottom I had seen and it so fascinated me that I followed it along the boulevard without being aware of the rest of her. As she passed a saloon a fat drunk came staggering out and cannoned into her. She went reeling across the sidewalk, heading helplessly towards the fast moving traffic. I was ten steps behind her. I reached her, caught hold of her arm and swung her against me.

She looked at me and I looked at her : those clear blue eyes, the snub nose, the freckles, the wide, scared mouth, the long silky blonde hair, the brave little breasts straining against the white cotton dress made a tremendous impact on me. I knew right away that she was the woman for me.

During my years in the Army I had met a lot of women. Experience had taught me how to handle the various types. I saw at once that Lucy was the timid, dithering type so I appealed to her kindness. I explained I was on my own, I had no friends and as I had undoubtedly saved her life would she have dinner with me?

She stared at me for a long moment while I tried to look lonely, then she nodded.

We saw each other every night for the next three weeks. I could see I had made an impact on her. She was the kind of girl who needed a man to lean on. At this time, she had a job as a book-keeper at a Pets’ store on Biscayne Boulevard so she had only the evenings to herself. I took her by storm. I told her I had this chance to buy the shooting school and why I thought I could turn it into a paying proposition.

I had the reputation of being the second best shot in the U.S. Army. I had enough medals, trophies and cups to fill a small room. Also I had spent three years in the jungles of Vietnam as a sniper. I didn’t tell Lucy I had been a sniper. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get far with her if she knew that. Sniping is cold- blooded murder. It’s a necessary job and I had got used to it, but it is something I never want to, talk about. When I got my discharge, I had to look around for a new career. Shooting is my business. I have no other talents. When I saw the ad. that this school of shooting was in the market, I felt it was for me.

“Let’s get married, Lucy,” I said to her. “We can make a go of this school together. With your business training and my shooting, we can’t miss… How about it?”

I saw the hesitation in her blue eyes, She was the kind of girl who dithered, not sure whether to go forward or to go back. I knew she loved me, but to her, marriage was a big step and she had to be pushed. I put pressure on her and turned on all my persuasive charm. Finally, after more dithering, she agreed.

So we got married and we bought the school. The first month was the sort of paradise I thought only came in dreams. I liked playing the boss-husband. Although she wasn’t much of a cook and she would rather read historical romances than clean the bungalow, she was terrific in bed and she seemed to like being bossed around. Then, when the money didn’t come in, when we had only these six old deadbeats paving us, between them, $103 a week and wasting my ammunition, I began to worry.

“It takes time… I must he patient,” I kept telling myself.

At the end of the fourth month, the position looked so bad, I decided Lucy had to accept some of the responsibility and I called this board meeting.

“We have to create a better image, honey,” I said. “Then, somehow, we must advertise. The trouble is we are fifteen miles from Paradise City… that’s fifteen miles too far. If people don’t know we are here, why should they come to us?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“So I’ll buy some paint and we’ll smarten the place up. What do you say?”

She smiled.

“Yes… let’s do it. It’ll be fun.”

So on this bright late summer afternoon with a stiff breeze fanning the sand, the sea lapping the beach, the sun hot, the shadows growing long, we were both at work, slapping on paint.

I was working on the shooting gallery while Lucy worked on the bungalow. We had been at it since 05.00 with a break for coffee and another break for a ham sandwich. I was dipping my brush into the paint pot when I saw this black Cadillac come bumping up the dirt road that led to the gallery.

I put down the brush, hurriedly wiped my hands and stood up. I saw Lucy was going through the same motions. She too was looking hopefully at the big car as it came slowly up the drive, scattering sand and pebbles.

I could see two men in the back and the driver. All wore black, all had black slouch hats and they looked like three crows, sitting hunched up and motionless until the car pulled up within ten yards of the bungalow.

I started across the sand as a short, squat man got out of the car and paused to look around. The other passenger and the driver remained in the car.

Thinking back, I can see now that there was something menacing and vulture-like in the way this squat man stood, but that’s thinking back. As I approached him, all I hoped for was this could be a profitable client. Why else, I asked myself, would he be here?

The squat man was looking at Lucy who was regarding him roundeyed, too shy to welcome him; then he looked towards me. His fat, swarthy face lit up with a smile that showed gold- capped teeth. He moved towards me, extending a small, fat hand.

“Mr. Benson?”

“That’s me.” I shook hands. His skin was dry and felt like the back of a lizard. There was power in his fingers, but the grip was friendly without being challenging.

“Augusto Savanto.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Savanto.” Thinking back, this was the understatement of the year.

Augusto Savanto was around sixty years of age. I guessed he was Latin-American. His face was full and slightly pock-marked. He wore a straggly moustache that hid his top lip. He had flat, snake’s eyes : genial, darting, suspicious and possibly cruel.

“I’ve heard about you, Mr. Benson. They tell me you are a fine shot.”

I glanced beyond him at the Caddy. The driver looked like a chimpanzee. He was small, very dark with a completely flat face, deep set tiny eyes and hairy strong hands that rested on the driving wheel. I looked at the man in the passenger’s seat. He was young, slim, swarthy and he wore big sun goggles, a black tight suit and a startlingly white shirt. He sat motionless, staring straight ahead, not looking at me.

“Well, I guess I shoot,” I said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Savanto?”

“You teach shooting?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Is it difficult to teach someone to shoot well?”

I had been asked this question before and I gave him the cautious, stock answer.

“It depends what you call well and it depends on the pupil.”

Savanto took off his hat to reveal thin, greasy hair and a bald spot on the crown of his head. He stared into the hat as if expecting to find something hidden in it, waved it in the air, then replaced it on his head.

“How well do you shoot, Mr. Benson?”

That was the kind of question I could live up to.

“Come over to the gallery. I’ll show you.”

Savanto revealed more of his gold-capped teeth.

“I like that, Mr. Benson. No talk… action.” He laid his small hand on my wrist. “I am sure you are very good at hitting the bull, but can you hit a moving target? I am only interested in moving targets.”

“Would you like to see some clay pigeon shooting?”

He looked at me, his small black eyes quizzing.

“That’s not what I call shooting, Mr. Benson. A burst with a shotgun… what’s that? One bullet from a gun… that’s shooting.”

He was right, of course. I waved to Lucy who put down her paint brush and came over.

“Mr. Savanto, meet my wife. Lucy, this is Mr. Savanto. He wants to see me shoot. Will you get some beer cans and my rifle?”

Lucy smiled at Savanto and offered her hand. He shook hands, smiling at her.

“I think Mr. Benson is a very lucky man, Mrs. Benson,” he said.

She blushed.

“Thank you.” I could see she loved this. “I think he knows it. I’m lucky too.”

She ran off to collect some empty beer cans we keep for shooting practice. Savanto watched her go. So did I. Whenever Lucy took off, I was always looking after her. Her neat little bottom would never lose its charm for me.

“Beautiful woman, Mr. Benson,” Savanto said.

This was said very quietly and there was nothing but friendly admiration in the small eyes. I began to warm to this man.

“I guess so.”

“You are doing good business?” He was looking at the buildings and the peeling paint.

“We’ve only just started. A school like this has to be built up. The previous owner got old… you know how it is.”

“Yes, Mr. Benson. This is what I call a luxury trade. I see you are painting the place.”

“Yes.”

Savanto took off his hat and looked inside it. This seemed to be a habit. After he had waved the hat around in the air, he put it on again.

“Do you think you can make money out of a place like this?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” I was relieved when Lucy came from the bungalow carrying my rifle and a string hag full of empty beer cans.

I took the rifle and she set off across the sand, carrying the string bag. We had often gone through this routine together and it was now close to a circus turn. When she was three hundred yards from me, she dropped the cans on the sand. I loaded the rifle, then waved to her. She began tossing the cans high into the air. She knew by now exactly the right height and just how fast to throw them. I hit each can. On the face of it, it was impressive shooting. When I had punctured ten cans, I lowered the rifle.

“Yes. Mr. Benson, you are a fine shot.” The little snake’s eyes roved over my face. “But can you teach?”

I rested the butt of the rifle on the hot sand. Lucy went off to collect the cans. We were no longer drinking beer : these cans still had a lot of work ahead of them.

“Shooting is a talent, Mr. Savanto. You either have it or you haven’t,” I told him. “I’ve been at it for fifteen years. Do you want to shoot the way I do?”

“Me? Oh, no. I am an old man. I want you to teach my son to shoot.” He waved towards the Cadillac. “Hey… Timoteo!”

The swarthy man who had been sitting motionless in the back of the Cadillac stiffened. He looked towards Savanto, then opened the car door and came out into the hot sunshine.

He was built like a beanpole with big feet and hands : a shambling brittle-looking giant with hidden eyes behind the black sun goggles, a full mouth, a determined chin and a small pinched nose. He shambled across the sand and stood expectantly by the side of his father, dwarfing him by his lean height. He must have been around six foot seven. I’m tall, but I had to look up at him.

“This is my son,” Savanto said and I noticed there was no pride in his voice. “This is Timoteo Savanto. Timoteo, this is Mr. Benson.”

I offered my hand. Timoteo’s grip was hot, sweaty and limp. “Glad to know you,” I said. What else could I say? He was a possible pupil.

Lucy had collected the beer cans and was now approaching.

“Timoteo, this is Mrs. Benson,” Savanto said.

The beanpole giant turned his head, then he took off his hat, revealing crisp black curls. He ducked his head, his face expressionless. The twin mirrors of his black glasses reflected the palms, the sky and the sea.

“Hello,” Lucy said and smiled at him.

There was a long moment of nothing, then Savanto said, “Timoteo wants very badly to shoot well. Can you make him into a good shot, Mr. Benson?”

“I don’t know right now, but I can tell you.”

I offered the rifle to the beanpole. He hesitated, then took it. He held it like you might hold a puff-adder.

“Let’s go over to the gallery. I can tell you when I’ve seen him shoot.”

Savanto, Timoteo and I walked across the sand towards the range. Lucy took the cans back to the bungalow.

Thirty minutes later, the three of us came out into the hot sunshine. Timoteo had fired off forty rounds of my expensive ammunition and had dinned the edge of the target once. The other shots had hummed out to sea.

“Okay, Timoteo,” Savanto said in a cold, flat voice, “wait for me.”

Timoteo shambled away, reached the car, got in and settled down : a depressed-looking statue.

“Well, Mr. Benson?” Savanto said.

I hesitated. Here was a chance of making a little money, but I had to be honest.

“He hasn’t any talent,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t shoot straight if he’s carefully coached. With ten lessons under his belt, you’ll be surprised how he’ll improve.”

“No talent, huh?”

“It might develop.” I was reluctant to kill a possible pupil. “I can tell you after I’ve had him a couple of weeks.”

“In nine days, Mr. Benson, he must be as good a shot as you.”

For a moment I thought he was joking, then I realised he wasn’t. The flat snake’s eyes had become glittering bits of glass.

His lower lip had turned into a thin line. He was serious all right.

“I’m sorry… that’s impossible,” I said.

“Nine days, Mr. Benson.”

I shook my head, controlling my impatience.

“It’s taken me close on fifteen years to shoot well,” I told him, “and I have talent. I guess I’m a pretty good teacher, but I just don’t perform miracles.”

“Let us talk about it, Mr. Benson. It’s hot out here. I’m not a young man.” Savanto waved his hand towards our bungalow. “Let us get in the shade.”

“Why sure, but there’s nothing to talk about. We’ll just be wasting each other’s time.”

He walked off slowly towards the bungalow. I hesitated, then followed him.

In nine days he must be as good a shot as you.

The boy would not only never make a good shot, but worse, he hated the feel of a gun. I could tell by the way he handled my rifle and by the way he flinched every time he pulled the trigger. He had held the rifle so loosely, his shoulder must be one black bruise right now from the recoil.

Seeing Savanto coming towards the bungalow, Lucy opened the front door, smiling at him. She had no idea what he had just said and she imagined I was about to sign up my first new pupil.

As I joined him, she said : “Would you like a beer, Mr. Savanto? You must be thirsty.”

He regarded her, the genial smile back in place and he lifted his hat.

“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Benson : not now; perhaps later.”

I stepped around him, opened the sitting-room door and waved him in. As he entered the room, I patted Lucy’s arm.

“I won’t be long, honey. You get on with the painting.”

She looked surprised, then nodded and went out into the sunshine. I moved into the room and shut the door, then crossed to the open window and looked out.

Lucy had gone around to the back of the bungalow. The black Cadillac stood in the hot sun. The driver was smoking. Timoteo was sitting motionless, his hands resting on his knees.

I turned around. Savanto had taken off his hat which he laid on the table. He lowered his bulk on to one of the upright chairs we had inherited from Nick Lewis. He looked around the room, slowly and with interest, then he looked at me.

“You don’t have much money, Mr. Benson?”

I lit a cigarette, taking my time, then as I flicked out the match flame, I said, “No, but why bring that up?”

“You have something I can use. I have something you can use,” he said. “You have talent. I have money.”

I pulled up a chair and sat astride it.

“So?”

"It is vitally important that my son becomes an expert shot in nine days, Mr. Benson. For this I am prepared to pay you six thousand dollars. Half down and half when I am satisfied.”

Six thousand dollars!

Immediately, I thought what we could do with a sum like that.

Six thousand dollars!

We could not only give this place the complete face-lift it so badly needed, we could even run to a spot on the local T.V. station. We could

hire a barman. We could be in business!

Then I remembered how Timoteo had handled the rifle. An expert shot? Not in five years!

“Thanks for your confidence, Mr. Savanto,” I said. “I certainly could use money like that, but I must be honest with you. I don’t think your son will ever be a good shot. Sure, I could train him to shoot straight, but that’s all. He doesn’t like guns. Unless you really like guns, you just can’t be a good shot.”

Savanto rubbed the hack of his neck and his eyes narrowed.

“I think perhaps I will have one of your cigarettes, Mr. Benson. My doctor doesn’t like me to smoke, but sometimes the urge is too strong for me. A cigarette at the right time is soothing.”

I gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. He inhaled and let the smoke drift down his nostrils while he stared at the top of the table and while I thought of what Lucy and I could do with six thousand dollars.

Silence hung in the room along with our cigarette smoke. The ball was in his court so I waited.

“Mr. Benson, I appreciate that you are being honest with me,” he said finally, “and this I like. I wouldn’t be happy if you said you could make Timoteo into a good shot the moment I mentioned six thousand dollars. I know my son’s limitations. However, he must become an expert shot in nine days. You told me you don’t perform miracles. In a normal situation I would accept this, but this isn’t a normal situation. The fact remains my son must become an expert shot in nine days.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“There are important reasons. They need not concern you.” His snake’s eyes glittered. He paused to tap ash off his cigarette into the glass ash-tray on the table. “You talk of miracles, but this is the age of miracles. Before coming here, I made inquiries about you. I wouldn’t be here unless I was satisfied that you are the man I am looking for. Not only do you have a great shooting talent, but also you are very determined. During the years you served in Vietnam you spent long, dangerous and uncomfortable hours in the jungle, alone with your rifle. You killed eighty-two Vietcong… cold blooded, brilliant shooting. A man who can do that is the man I am looking for… a man who doesn’t admit defeat.” He paused to stub out his cigarette, then went on, “How much money do you want to make my son an expert shot, Mr. Benson?”

I moved uneasily.

“No amount of money can make him that in nine days. Maybe in six months, I might do something with him, but nine days… no! Money doesn’t come into it. I told you… he hasn’t any talent.”

He studied me.

“Of course money comes into it. I have learned over the years that money will buy anything… providing there is enough of it. You are already thinking what you could do with six thousand dollars. With that amount of money you would be able to make a modest living out of this school. And yet six thousand dollars isn’t a big enough sum to convince you that you can perform a miracle.” He took from the inside pocket of his jacket a long white envelope. “I have here, Mr. Benson, two bearer bonds. I find them more convenient to carry around than a lot of cash. Each bond is worth twenty-five thousand dollars.” He tossed the envelope across the table. “Look at them. Satisfy yourself that they are what I say they are.”

My hands were unsteady as I took the bonds from the envelope and examined them. I had never seen a bearer bond before so I had no idea if they were genuine or not, but they looked genuine.

“I am now offering you fifty thousand dollars to perform a miracle, Mr. Benson.”

I put the bonds down on the table. My hands had turned clammy and my heart was thumping.

“You can’t be serious.” My voice was husky.

“I am, Mr. Benson. Make my son an expert shot in nine days and these bonds are yours.”

To gain a moment of time, I said, “I don’t know anything about bonds. These could be just pieces of paper.”

Savanto smiled.

“So you see, I am right when I said enough money buys anything. You now want to know if these bonds are forgeries. You no longer tell me that you can’t perform a miracle.” He leaned forward, tapping the bonds with his finger nail. “These are genuine, but don’t take my word for it. Let us go to your bank and see what they have to say. Let us ask them if they will convert these two pieces of paper into fifty thousand dollars cash.”

I got up and moved to the window. The little room felt suffocatingly hot. I stared out of the window at the black Cadillac and at the beanpole sitting motionless in the back seat.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “Okay… so they are genuine.”

Again he smiled at me.

“That is good for there is little time to waste. I will now return to the Imperial Hotel where I am staying.” He glanced at his watch. “It is just after five o’clock. Please telephone me at seven o’clock this evening and tell me whether or not you will perform a miracle for fifty thousand dollars.”

He put the bonds in his pocket and stood up.

“Just a moment,” I said, annoyed with myself at sounding so breathless. “I have to know why your son has to shoot so well and what his target will be. Unless I know, I can’t hope to prepare him. You talk about an expert shot, but there are all kinds of experts. I must know, Mr. Savanto.”

He thought for a long moment. He had picked up his hat and was

staring into it.

“So I will tell you. I made a foolish bet with an old friend of mine for a very large sum of money. My friend is an excellent shot and always boasting about what he can do with a rifle. Foolishly I said that anyone could become a good shot with training.” He regarded me sharply with his flat snake’s eyes. “Even I, Mr. Benson, when I have had too much to drink, can be stupid. My friend betted me that my son couldn’t kill a fast- moving animal with a rifle after nine days’ tuition. I was drunk and angry and I accepted the bet. Now, I must win.”

“What animal?” I asked.

“A monkey swinging in a tree : a deer in flight : a hare running from a dog… I don’t know… something like that. My friend has the choice, but it must be a clean, certain kill.”

I wiped my sweating hands on the back of my jeans.

“How much did you bet, Mr. Savanto?”

He showed his gold-capped teeth in a smile.

“You are very curious, but I will tell you. I bet half a million dollars. Although I am a rich man, I can’t afford to lose that amount of money.” His smile became fixed. “Nor do I intend to.”

As I stood hesitating, he went on, “And you can’t afford to lose ten per cent of that kind of money either.” He stared at me for a long moment. “Then at seven this evening, Mr. Benson.”

He left the room and started off across the hot sand towards the Cadillac. I watched him go. Halfway to the Cadillac, he paused, turned and raised his hat. He was saluting Lucy.

Fifty thousand dollars!

The thought of owning such a sum turned me hot with a frightening, terrible desire.

Fifty thousand dollars for a miracle ! So I was going to perform a miracle !

I heard the front door open, then Lucy came in.

“Any luck, Jay? What was it all about?”

The sight of her brought me sharply down to earth. In those few moments as Savanto was driving away and Lucy was coming for news, my mind had been ablaze with the thoughts of becoming rich.

“Get me a beer, honey,” I said, “and I’ll tell you.”

“There’s only one… Shouldn’t we keep it?”

“Get it!”

I didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but I was pretty worked up and I wanted the beer because my mouth was dry and my throat constricted.

“Of course.”

She gave me a startled look and then ran off to the kitchen. I walked out of the bungalow and sat down on the sand under the shade of the palm trees.

Fifty thousand dollars ! I kept thinking. God ! It can’t be possible! I scooped up a handful of dry sand and let it run through my fingers. Fifty thousand dollars !

Lucy came from the bungalow, carrying a glass of beer. She came to me, gave it to me and then sat down beside me.

I drank until the glass was empty, then I found a cigarette and lit it.

Lucy watched me.

“Your hands are shaking,” she said, her expression worried. “What is it, Jay?”

I told her.

She didn’t interrupt, but sat still, her hands clasping her knees, looking at me and listening.

“That’s it,” I said, and we looked at each other.

“I just don’t believe it, Jay.”

“He showed me the two bonds… Each are worth twenty-five thousand dollars… I can believe that ! ”

“Jay ! Think a moment ! No one would pay that sum of money without a good reason. I don’t believe it.”

“I’d pay that sum of money to save half a million. Don’t you call that a good reason?”

“You don’t believe he made that bet, do you?”

I felt blood rising to my face.

“Why not ! Rich men make big bets… He said he was drunk at the time.”

“I don’t believe it !”

“Don’t keep saying that ! I’ve seen the money !” I found I was shouting at her. “You don’t know anything about this ! Don’t keep saying you don’t believe it!”

She flinched away from me.

“I’m sorry, Jay.”

I pulled myself together and gave her a wry grin.

“I’m sorry too. All that money ! Think what we can do with it ! Just think! We can turn this place into a dude ranch. We can have staff… a swimming pool… we can’t miss! I’ve always thought with enough capital…”

“Can you teach this man to shoot?”

I stared at her. Those words brought me down to earth. I got up and walked away from her, stopping a few yards from where she sat. She was right, of course. Could I teach this beanpole to shoot?

I knew I couldn’t teach him to shoot for six thousand dollars, but for fifty thousand… a miracle, I had said. This is the age of miracles, Savanto had said.

I looked at Lucy.

“This is a chance in a lifetime. I’ll teach him to shoot if it’s the last thing I do. Let me think about this. I have only an hour and a half before I telephone Savanto. If I say yes, I’ve got to know what I have to do. I’ve got to convince him and I’ve got to convince myself I can do it. Let me work it out.”

As I started across the sand to the shooting gallery, Lucy said, “Jay…”

I paused, frowning at her. My mind was already busy. What is it?”

“Are you sure we should get mixed up in this? I — I have a feeling… I…”

“This is something you have to leave to me,” I said. “Never mind how you feel, honey… this is a chance in a lifetime.”

I sat in the gallery and smoked cigarettes and thought. I sat there until it was close on 19.00 and by then I had convinced myself that I could earn Savanto’s money. I had been one of the top range instructors in the Army, and God knows, I had had dozens of dopes through my hands who didn’t know one end of the rifle from the other. Somehow, with patience, by shouting at them, by cursing them, by laughing with them, I had turned them into respectable riflemen, but a respectable rifleman is miles away from an expert shot. I knew that, but the thought of all that money lessened the problem.

I left the gallery and crossed the sand to the bungalow where Lucy was still painting the window frames. She looked at me, her eyes troubled.

“Have you decided?”

I nodded.

“I’m going ahead. I’ll talk to him now. I’ll need your help, honey. I’ll go into the details after I’ve talked to him.”

I went into the bungalow. I looked up the number of the Imperial Hotel and after a delay, Savanto came on the line.

“This is Jay Benson,” I said. “One thing I want to know before I commit myself… . Just how co-operative will your son be?”

“Co-operative?” I heard the surprised note in Savanto’s voice. “Of course he will be co-operative. He understands the situation. You will find him most willing to learn.”

“That’s not what I mean. If I take him on, he’s got to be more than willing. He’s got to work at it, and I mean work. When do you have to put up?”

“September 27th.”

I thought for a moment. That would give me nine clear days, starting from tomorrow.

“Okay. From tomorrow at 06.00 until the evening of the 26th, he’s mine… body and soul. He will stay here with me. He will do nothing but shoot, eat, sleep and shoot. He doesn’t leave this range for a second. He will do everything I tell him to do and he won’t argue, no matter what I tell him he is to do. I have a spare bedroom he can have. Until the evening of the 26th, he belongs to me… I’ll repeat that… he belongs to me. Unless he agrees to these terms, it won’t work.”

There was a pause on the line. I could hear Savanto’s breathing. Then he said, “It sounds as if you are thirsty for my money, Mr. Benson.”

“I am, but I intend to give you value for your money.”

“I think you will. All right… my son will be with you at 06.00 tomorrow.”

“How about my terms?”

“That is all right. I will explain everything to him. He knows how important it is.”

“I don’t want any mistake, Mr. Savanto. When he comes here, he is mine. Is that understood?”

“I will tell him.”

“That’s not good enough. I want your guarantee. He’s mine or we forget it.”

Again there was a long pause, then he said, “You have my guarantee.”

I drew in a long slow breath.

“Fine. Now I want some money. I’ll have to buy a lot of ammunition. I must buy him a gun. He has to have a gun to fit him. He can’t shoot with my rifle. His arms are too long.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I have bought him a gun : it is a Weston & Lees. I had it made for him. He will bring it with him.”

Weston & Lees were the top gunsmiths in New York. To buy a madeto-measure gun from them costs around $5,000. He was right. If Weston & Lees had built a gun for his son I had nothing to worry about on that score.

“Okay. I want an advance payment of five hundred dollars,” I said.

“Do you, Mr. Benson? Why?”

“I am closing the school. I am getting rid of my pupils. I have bills to settle. We have to eat. I don’t want anything on my mind except your son.”

“That is reasonable. Very well, Mr. Benson, you shall have five hundred dollars if it will make you happy.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And you think you can make my son a good shot?”

“You said this is the age of miracles. I’ve thought about it. Now, I believe in miracles.”

“Good.” Again a long pause, then he said, “I would like to have a final word with you, Mr. Benson. Have you a car?”

“Sure.”

“Then would you come to my hotel tonight… at ten o’clock?” He wheezed a little and then went on, “I would like to finalise our arrangement. I will have the money for you.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Benson,” and he hung up.

Lucy was in the kitchen, cutting sandwiches. In our present state of economy, we had agreed that sandwiches were about the cheapest food we could live on. The previous day, I had bagged four pigeons and Lucy had spit-cooked them. With their breasts cut very fine plus a touch of Tabasco and a sliced pickle they made an acceptable sandwich.

I propped up the kitchen doorway.

“We have to have Mr. Savanto’s son here, honey,” I said. “For the next nine days, I’ve got to live with him eighteen hours a day. Is it okay to put him up in the spare bedroom?”

She finished cutting off the crusts of the bread, then she looked up. Those clear blue eyes were a little cloudy. Worry never helps anyone’s face. For the first time since I had met and loved her she looked a little plain.

“Must we have him here, Jay? We’ve been so happy. This is our place.”

I remembered what my old man had once said. My old man had been a great talker and he had been very proud of his successful marriage.

Women are tricky, he had told me when I was too young t care. My mother and he had had a little spat and I had listened, noting that my father had got the worst of it. When we were alone together, he had sounded off. I guess he was trying to justify his defeat. Maybe he was, but his words stuck.

“Women are tricky,” he said. “You have to treat them with kid gloves if you want to get along with them, and there’ll come a time when you will want to get along with one particular woman, so remember what I’m telling you. The right woman will be the pivot of your life: you’ll find everything important revolves around her. A woman has different ideas from yours, but her ideas should be respected. But there comes a time when you know you are right, when you know you have to do this or that and she might not agree. You either do one of two things: you either spend a lot of time persuading her to see it your way or else you stamp over her. Either way works. The first way tells her you respect her opinion, but she is wrong: the second way tells her you’re the boss… and make no mistake about it, providing you are on the level, a woman wants her man to be the boss.”

I hadn’t the time to persuade Lucy I was heading the way I had to head, so I stamped over her.

“Yes, he has to come here. We are about to earn fifty thousand dollars. Unless I have him here, we won’t get the money. Nine days from now, we will be rich and we will have forgotten him. So he comes here.”

She hesitated for a brief moment. We looked at each other, then she nodded.

“All right, Jay.” She put the sandwiches on a plate. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

We went out on to the patio.

I was disappointed that the thought of making all this money hadn’t excited her as it excited me.

“What is it, honey? What’s on your mind?”

We sat down in the sling chairs that creaked under our weight. Even when I knew she was worried I couldn’t help thinking that before long we would get rid of these crummy chairs and have something lush on wheels with a sun umbrella clipped to its arm… before long.

“The whole thing is crazy!” she burst out. “You know it is! There’s something wrong about it! All that money ! That fat old man ! You must know there’s something wrong!”

“Okay, so it’s crazy, but crazy things do happen. Why not to us? Here’s a man rolling in money… he makes a bet… he…”

“How do you know he’s rolling in money?” she demanded, sitting forward and staring at me.

For God’s sake ! I told you. He showed me those two bonds… fifty thousand dollars. Of course he is rolling in money!”

“How do you know they aren’t stolen… forgeries?”

Kid gloves, my father had said. My gloves were beginning to wear thin.

“Honey. I’ve been offered a job of work… something I can do. The pay off is more money than I’ve ever dreamed of. I will have to earn it. Okay. I wouldn’t want so much money for nothing. This is a chance in a lifetime. He said I could go to my bank and check the bonds. Would a crook take such a risk?”

“Then why didn’t you check them?”

“Will you let me handle this?” I was now using the tone of voice I used with the dopes who came to me to learn to shoot in the Army, but I was using more polite language. “I’m doing what is best for you and for me. “Let’s skip the talk… . Let’s eat.”

She looked at me, then away. We began to eat. I found I wasn’t all that hungry. Lucy merely nibbled at her sandwich and finally, she dropped it back on her plate.

“You do realise we stand to make fifty thousand dollars, don’t you?” I said when I could stand the silence no longer. “You do realise what such a sum of money could mean to us?”

“I’d better get his bed ready. When is he corning?” She got to her feet. “Have you finished?”

“Lucy! Cut it out ! I’m telling you this is a chance in a lifetime! Fifty thousand dollars! Think ! We’re home ! With that kind of money we won’t have a care in the world!”

She collected the debris of the meal.

“It sounds wonderful… not a care in the world.”

I let her go into the bungalow. I sat there in the growing darkness, staring at the moon as it crept out of the sea and continued its slow climb into the cloudless sky. For the first time since I had married Lucy, I was tense and angry.

I saw the light go up in the spare bedroom on the other side of the bungalow to our bedroom. Ordinarily, I would have helped her make up the bed. I liked to share the work around the place with her. I never liked to be far from her, but now, I let her make the bed. I just sat there, looking at the moon until it was time to get the car and drive into Paradise City.

I heaved myself out of the chair and found Lucy making coffee for tomorrow’s breakfast.

“I have to go to the Imperial Hotel,” I said, standing in the doorway. “Savanto wants to finalise this thing. I’ll be back around eleven thirty. Okay ?”

During the four months we had been married, I had never left her on her own on this lonely range. I knew she scared easily and I was annoyed with myself for not thinking of this when I had said I’d meet Savanto at his hotel.

But although her eyes were a little scared, she smiled.

“All right, Jay. I’ll wait up for you.”

I grabbed hold of her and hugged her to me.

“Honey, this means everything to me,” I said and slid my hands down her slim back until I cupped her buttocks. I pulled her hard against me. “I love you.”

“You scare me… I’ve never seen you like this… suddenly, you’re so hard and tough… you scare me.” She was speaking with her mouth against my neck and I could feel her trembling.

“Come on, Lucy,” I said, pushing her away. “There’s nothing about me to scare you.” I looked beyond her at the kitchen clock. It was close on 21.15. I would have to hurry. “Lock up. Wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I reached the Imperial Hotel a few minutes after 22.00. The hall porter told me Mr. Savanto was in the Silver Trout suite on the fourteenth floor. A snooty bus boy in a cream and scarlet uniform took me up, opened a door and waved me into a big, luxuriously furnished sitting-room. On the far wall was a big silver trout, lit by concealed lights and looking very opulent : a set-piece to please the customers.

Savanto was sitting on the balcony, overlooking the promenade, the beach and the sea, lit by the silver-white moon. As I walked into the sitting-room, he called to me and I joined him on the balcony.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Benson,” he said. “You had to leave your beautiful wife on her own. I should have thought of that. It was thoughtless of me.”

“She’s durable,” I said. “Have you talked to your son?”

“All business?” Savanto looked up at me and smiled. “I am now satisfied that you won’t fail me, Mr. Benson.”

“Have you talked to your son?”

He waved me to a chair.

“A whisky… something?”

“No… we’re wasting time. What did he say?”

“He is a good boy. He does what I say. It is all right, Mr. Benson. Until the evening of the 26th he is yours, body and soul.” He paused and looked at me. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

I sat down and lit a cigarette.

“What else do you want to say to me?”

“Looking at you now, Mr. Benson, I can understand how it was possible for you to have spent so many hours alone in the jungle, waiting to kill your enemies.”

“What else do you want to say to me?” I repeated.

He regarded me, then nodded with approval.

“Here is five hundred dollars.” He took from his wallet five one hundred dollar bills and offered them to me. I took them, checked them and then shoved them in my hip pocket.

“Thank you.”

“You tell me you are shutting the school and getting rid of your pupils?”

“That’s right. They are a waste of money and time anyway. When your son arrives I will have no time for anyone else.”

“That is good. Has your wife any relations, Mr. Benson?” I stiffened.

What’s that to do with you?”

“I was thinking it would be better for her to visit someone while you instruct my son.”

“If you mean she might take my mind off what I’m going to do, you’re making a mistake. My wife stays with me.”

Savanto rubbed his jaw and stared for a long moment at the sea, glittering in the moonlight.

“Very well. Now there is another thing, Mr. Benson, you should know. It is absolutely necessary that no one… I repeat that… no one knows that you are instructing my son to shoot. No one… especially the police.”

I felt a sudden prickle of apprehension crawl up my spine. “What does that mean?”

“We are embarking on a deal that will make you wealthy, Mr. Benson. I am sure you are reasonable enough to expect certain rules which you, I and my son will respect. One of these rules is strict secrecy.”

“I heard you the first time. Why shouldn’t the police know your son is getting instruction from me?”

“Because he would go to prison if it was found out.”

I tossed my cigarette butt over the balcony rail not caring if it landed on some dowager’s wig.

“Keep talking,” I said. “I want the whole photo.”

“Yes, Mr. Benson, I have no doubt that you do. My son is unfortunately tall. He is also very shy. He has many good points : he is kind, considerate… he’s well read…”

“I don’t give a goddam what your son is. Why shouldn’t the cops know he is getting shooting instruction from me? What’s this about prison?”

Savanto regarded me, his eyes glittering.

“My son went to Harvard. Because of his appearance and his shyness, he was picked on. From what I hear, he had a pretty bad time. In a moment of desperation he shot one of his tormentors who lost an eye. The Judge was understanding and wise. He realised that Timoteo had acted under the greatest provocation. There was a suspended sentence.” Savanto lifted his heavy shoulders. “The Judge ruled that Timoteo must never touch a firearm as long as he lived. If he does, he must serve the suspended sentence of three years.”

I stared at him.

“And yet you made a bet that your son could become an expert shot in nine days?”

Again the heavy shoulders lifted.

“I was a little drunk. What is done, is done. I take it what I have told you doesn’t alter our arrangement?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “If it leaks out he is using a gun that’s your funeral… not mine.”

“It could also be your funeral, Mr. Benson, because then you

wouldn’t get your money.”

“As I see it, my job is to teach your son to shoot,” I said. “I don’t want any complications. It’s up to you to take care of the security. I’ll be busy enough taking care of your son.”

Savanto nodded.

“I have already thought of that and I have made arrangements to take care of it. Two of my men will he arriving tomorrow with Timoteo. Neither you nor Mrs. Benson need bother about them. They will be there and not there, but they will look after security and they will also look after Timoteo if he gets difficult.”

I frowned at him.

“Is he likely to get difficult?”

“No… but he is sensitive.” Savanto waved his fat hand vaguely. “Nothing that can’t be controlled.” He paused, then went on, “You will impress on Mrs. Benson not to talk to anyone about this arrangement? You see, apart from the police, I wouldn’t want my friend with whom I have made this unfortunate bet to know what is happening. I know he is curious. Security must he very strict.”

“She won’t say anything!

“That is good.” He got abruptly to his feet. “Well, then, tomorrow at 06.00.” He walked ahead of me into the brightly lit room with its lounging chairs in white and red satin, its cream-coloured carpet and the big silver trout on the wall. “There is one other thing.” He crossed the room to a Chippendale desk, opened a drawer and took out an envelope. “This is for you. It is a sign of trust and to give you encouragement, but you will have to earn it.”

I took the envelope, lifted the flap and looked at a piece of paper worth twenty-five thousand dollars.

As I drove up the sandy road leading to the shooting range, I spotted a red and blue Buick convertible parked outside the bungalow.

The sight of this car gave me a shock.

Who was visiting at this time of night? It was pushing 23.30. I thought of Lucy on her own, and my heart did a somersault. The excitement of having a bond worth twenty-five thousand dollars in my pocket vanished. I shoved my foot down on the gas pedal, roared up the rest of the road, slammed on the brakes and slid out of the car.

The light was on in the sitting-room, the windows were open and as I started for the front door, ready for anything, Lucy appeared before the open window and waved to me.

I drew in a breath and relaxed.

“Okay, honey?”

“Of course. Come in, Jay. We have a visitor.”

I opened the door and walked into the hall and entered the sittingroom.

A man in a light-weight well-worn suit was sitting in my favourite armchair. He had a glass of Coke in his hand and a cigarette dangled from his thin lips. I took him in with one quick glance. He was tall, wiry and tough-looking with a lined, sun-tanned face and clear, ice-blue eyes. His dark hair was cut close and his jaw line was aggressive. He got to his feet, putting the glass on the occasional table as Lucy said, “This is Mr. Lepski. He wanted to see you. I asked him to wait.”

“Detective 2nd Grade Tom Lepski… Police headquarters,” Lepski said and offered his hand.

Maybe for a split second I stiffened, but immediately I forced myself to relax. The ice-blue eyes were staring directly at me with that disconcerting stare all cops have. I was pretty sure he had noticed my reaction. Cops are trained to notice a thing like that.

“Trouble?” I asked, forcing a grin as I shook his hand.

Lepski shook his head.

“Sometimes I hate being a cop,” he said. “Whenever I call on folk, they react like I’m going to make an arrest. It louses up my social life. Believe me, I’m a very sociable hombre… like I was telling Mrs. Benson. No trouble, friend. I just missed you as you left. Mrs. Benson was on her own, we got talking, and hell ! the time’s rushed away. I guess my wife will be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“You wanted to see me?” I couldn’t relax with this man. I was thinking what Savanto had said : no one must know.., especially the police.

“Jay, would you like a Coke?” Lucy asked. “Do sit down, Mr. Lepski.”

“Sure… I’ll have a Coke,” I said. “Sit down, Mr. Lepski.”

Lepski resumed his seat. Lucy went off to the kitchen and I sat on an upright chair, facing him.

“I won’t keep you a few minutes, Mr. Benson,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come out here so late, but something is always cropping up and I was late getting away from headquarters.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you kept my wife company… this is a lonely place.” I took out my pack of cigarettes, offered it and we lit up. “I’ve been out on business.”

“Yeah… Mrs. Benson was telling me.”

What else had she told him? I began to sweat.

Lucy came back with the Coke.

“Mr. Lepski wants you to sharpen up his shooting,” she said, handing me the Coke. “I told him I didn’t think you had time for a couple of weeks.” Seeing the way I was looking at her, she went on, “I told him you

had a special pupil you had to give all your time to.”

I drank some of the Coke. My mouth was as dry as sand.

“It’s this way,” Lepski said. “I’ve got my promotion exam coming up. I’m a pretty good shot, but it helps to get extra points. I wanted you to give me a few tips.”

I stared at the ice in my glass.

“I’d be glad to, but not just now. I’m sorry. As Lucy has told you I’m committed for the next two weeks. Can you wait that long?”

The ice-blue eyes began to probe my face again.

“You mean you’ve got someone to teach as important as that… who’ll take up all your time for two weeks?”

“That’s it. Can you wait? I would be glad to help you if you can wait.”

“It would be cutting it fine. My exam is at the end of the month.”

“I can give you two or three hours on 29th… any time convenient to you. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He was still looking thoughtfully at me.

“I guess so. How about 18.00 on 29th unless I call you?”

“Okay.” I stood up. “I look forward to helping you.”

Lepski finished his Coke, then got to his feet.

“I see you’re doing some painting around here.”

“Giving the place a face lift.”

“It sure needs it. Nick Lewis is an old friend of mine. He taught me to shoot. You know, I never thought he’d sell the place. Let’s see, you’ve been here for four months? How’s it working out?”

“Early days yet. We’ll make out.”

“You should do. You’ve quite a reputation. Is it right you’re the best shot in the Army?”

“Not now. I was rated the second best a year ago.”

“That’s something! Those guys know how to shoot.” The ice-blue eyes probed again. “I heard you were a sniper.”

“That’s right.”

“Not a job I’d dig for, but I guess it calls for some pretty quick shooting.”

“It wasn’t a job I liked either, but someone has to do it.”

“I guess that’s right.” He started to move to the door, then paused. “This pupil of yours must be a dope if you have to give up two solid weeks of your full time to teach him to shoot or does he want to be as good as you?”

“A rich man’s whim. You know how it is. He has the money and he wants it exclusive. I’m not complaining,” I said as casually as I could.

“Anyone I would know?”

“No… he’s here on vacation.”

Lepski nodded understandingly.

“Yeah… plenty of those here now. More money than brains and they don’t know what to do with themselves.” He reached the front door, paused and shook hands. “Unless I call you, I’ll see you on the 29th.”

“That’s it. Thanks for keeping my wife company.”

He grinned.

“It was my pleasure.”

Lucy joined me at the door and we watched him drive away. I took out my handkerchief and wiped off my sweating hands, then shut the door, locked it and followed Lucy into the sitting-room.

“I hope it was all right what I told him, Jay.” She was looking anxious. “You look so tense. I thought the best thing was to tell him right away that you were tied up.”

“It’s all right.” I sat on the table. “It’s just my bad luck he should have turned up.”

“Why bad luck?”

I hesitated, wondering whether to tell her what Savanto had told me. For a few brief moments I decided not to tell her, then I changed my mind. She would have to know. There was to be no more talk about Timoteo and she would have to be told why. So I told her.

She sat motionless, her hands between her knees, her eyes a little wide, listening.

“So you see this makes for complications,” I concluded. “From now on, we mustn’t say a word about Timoteo or his father or our arrangements to anyone. Understand?”

“Could the police involve you if they found out you were teaching a man who, by law, mustn’t touch a gun?” she asked.

“Of course not. I’ll say I didn’t know.”

“But, Jay, you do know.”

“They couldn’t prove it.”

“I also know. Do you expect me to lie to the police if they ask me?”

I pushed myself off the table and began to prowl around the room.

“I must earn this money. I’m hoping you will co-operate.”

“By co-operation, you mean I will have to lie to the police?”

I turned around, staring at her.

“Look at this.” I took the envelope from my pocket, took out the bond and laid it on the table. “Look at this.”

She got up, walked to the table and bent over the bond. Her long, silky hair fell forward, hiding her face. She straightened, then looked at me.

“What about it?”

“That’s one of the bonds I told you about. It’s worth twenty-five thousand dollars. Savanto gave it to me. I can keep it, along with the other bond, when I have done the job. He means business, so we have to mean business… you and I… both of us.”

“Why did he give it to you when you haven’t earned it?”

“To show he trusts me.”

“Are you sure?”

I was beginning to heat up again.

“Why else for God’s sake?”

“It could be a psychological move.” She leaned forward, her eyes scared. “You see, Jay, now you have this bond, you won’t want to part with it. You’ll be hooked with it.”

“So okay, he doesn’t trust me, but he gives me twenty-five thousand dollars to get me hooked. He doesn’t have to do that! I’m hooked already ! I know what money this big can do for us! I’m going to earn it! I’ll teach that guy to shoot if I have to kill him!”

She stared at me as if she were looking at a stranger. Then she moved to the door.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go to bed.”

“Just a minute.” I found a pen, wrote my name and address and my bank account number on the envelope, put the bond in an envelope and sealed down the flap. Will you go to the bank first thing tomorrow, Lucy, and tell them to hold this for me? I would do it myself, but Timoteo is coming at six and I have to make a start with him. Will you do that? Will you also get in a stock of food?” I took two of the hundred dollar bills Savanto had given me from my wallet. “Buy enough food for a week and get in a lot of beer.”

She took the money.

“All right.”

She went along the passage to the bedroom. I knew for the first time since we had married, she was unhappy. The thought nagged me. I stood looking at the envelope. I had to think of our future. She would snap out of it in time, I told myself. I had Timoteo on my mind. For the moment, she had to take second place.

Carrying the envelope, I went into the bedroom. She was in the bathroom, taking a shower. I put the envelope under my pillow, then sat on the bed, waiting for her.

Neither of us slept much that night.