Like a Hole in the Head

CHAPTER EIGHT

I dug the pole into the slime, a cold, murderous rage exploding inside me, and heaved the punt forward. The blunt prow hit the bank and slid up it. I dropped the pole into the boat and jumped on to the bank.

Lucy, looking terrified, backed away, leaving Timoteo to face me. I charged up the steep bank like an enraged bull, intent only on getting my hands around his throat, but the slime of the bank beat me. My feet slipped when I was within reach of him and I sprawled face down with a thud that drove the breath out of my body.

If I had been Timoteo, I would have put the boot in. A solid kick to the head would have finished me, but he remained motionless in that exasperating zombie stance of his while I tried to get to my feet in the oozing slime. As I struggled, he bent forward, caught hold of my arm and with surprising strength, heaved me upright. Blind with fury, I swung at him, but the unbalanced swing made my feet slide from under me and cursing, I slid down the bank to splash into the stagnant water.

Spluttering, I surfaced, tearing weeds and water-lily leaves from my face. I was up to my waist in the warm, stinking water. My feet sank into the mud of the canal bottom, like wet concrete, and I found myself trapped.

“Leave him!” I heard Lucy scream. “Tim! Come away!” The effect of those words was like a bucket of iced water poured over me. My rage sparked out. I remained fixed in the mud, realising that what I had already suspected was true. Timoteo slid down the bank and into the boat. Leaning forward, he offered me his hand. For a moment I hesitated, then I caught hold of his wrist. With scarcely an effort, he heaved me out of the mud and into the boat, steadying the boat as it threatened to overturn.

“Tim! He’ll kill you !” Lucy screamed frantically.

As I got to my feet, I saw her sliding down the bank, a stick in her hand. She missed the boat and landed in the water. As Timoteo and I both reached out to grab her, the boat capsized, throwing us into the water beside her.

I was the first to reach her. As I pulled her upright, she hit me across the face with the stick. The wood was rotten and flew into bits as it struck me.

Frantically, she splashed away from me as Timoteo reached her. I felt my feet beginning to sink in the mud. Somehow, I struggled to the bank, caught hold of a tree root and dragged myself on to firm ground.

Timoteo had Lucy in his arms, but I saw he was sinking. I hung on to the tree and reached out my hand. He caught hold of it and I dragged them to the side of the bank. He heaved Lucy up to me, then as she rolled away from me, I helped him on to the bank.

For some moments we lay there, trying to breathe, the sweat pouring off us, the mosquitoes making a cloud around us.

I thought of the rotten stick breaking across my face and I looked at Lucy who was lying on her back, her hands covering her face. Then I sat up and looked at Timoteo who was scraping mud out of his eyes.

“So besides being a gutless bastard,” I said, “you now have become a wife stealer.”

Lucy struggled up.

“I love him !” she screamed at me. “He isn’t gutless. He’s wonderful ! You don’t…”

“Oh, shut up !” I barked at her.

She flinched away from me as I continued to stare at Timoteo.

“Lucy and I love each other,” he said quietly.

“And you shut up !”

I slithered down the bank into the water. As I began to struggle to right the boat, Timoteo joined me. Together, we got the boat floating again. As I climbed into the boat, he pulled himself up on to the bank to join Lucy.

I looked up at them.

“We can get through to the sea,” I said. “Do you want to come or do you want to go on with your goddam Romeo and Juliet act?”

They slid down the bank to the boat. I watched Timoteo as he half carried, half led Lucy down the slippery bank. I realised his hands had a tenderness that mine could never have.

She sat at the far end of the boat, away from me. The sight of her cropped head and the unhappiness on her face sent a pang through me.

Timoteo moved to the middle of the boat and sat down on the cross bench.

I picked up the pole and began to force the boat through the weeds. I had been doing this for the past hour before I had found them. With their extra weight, I now found it a struggle to move the boat.

I struggled on, sweat pouring off me, then finally with my heart hammering, my breath hissing through my clenched teeth, I stopped, leaning on the pole beaten.

“I’ll do it.”

Timoteo stood up and took the pole.

I hated to be beaten, but I couldn’t go on. I sank down on the bench and dropped my head into my sweating, blistered hands. He had either a lot more strength than I or he had the knack I hadn’t got, but he kept the boat moving through the weeds at a speed I didn’t think possible.

Finally, we broke out of the weeds and into salt water after an hour’s gruelling struggle. By then I had my strength back and I took the pole from Timoteo’s exhausted hands. Now it was his turn to slump down on the bench.

Minutes later, we were free from the torment of the mosquitoes and I could see the jungle opening up and ahead of us, the sea. Another ten minutes brought us out into the light of the evening sun : a red ball as it sank below the horizon. There was no longer any need to use the pole : the current took us along towards the open sea. As the boat drifted away from the overhanging branches of the mangrove trees, I dropped the pole into the boat and flopped down behind Timoteo on the forward bench.

Finally, the prow of the boat bumped into a sand bank, stewed around and came to rest.

Not bothering about the other two, I stripped off my wet, mudcaked shirt and dived into the sea. I swam slowly, feeling the mud, the blood and the sweat leaving my body.

I love him!

A woman doesn’t scream that at the husband she has lived with for only six months in that tone of voice unless she means it. This wasn’t hysteria. I knew I had lost Lucy.

When I felt clean enough, I swam back to the boat. I swam slowly. I saw Timoteo and Lucy were also in the sea. I trod water, watching them. After a while they came out of the sea and moved up the beach to a sand dune.

I came out of the sea and walked up to them.

Timoteo got to his feet while Lucy sat where she was, staring up at me, her eyes round and terrified.

“Okay, slob,” I said, pausing in front of him. “Maybe you can’t shoot, but you can steal my wife. Tell me, how many times have you screwed her?”

He didn’t react as I hoped he would. I had hoped to provoke him to take a swing at me and then it would have been a knock down and drag out which I wanted.

“Did my father do that to you?” he asked in a shocked, husky whisper.

I saw he was looking at the Red Dragon brand.

“Does that bother you?” I said. “Does that bother you more than stealing my wife? Your father isn’t fit to live. I’m going to kill him.” I moved around so that I stood in front of Lucy. She jumped to her feet, backing away from me.

“Look at this, Lucy,” I said, pointing to the brand. “His father said he would put this on your face if I didn’t kill a man this slob is too gutless to kill. He branded me to show me he meant business. Do you still want this gutless creep who hasn’t the guts to spit in the face of the animal who calls himself his father? Do you?”

She stared with horror at the brand mark, then she put her hands to her face.

“Lucy! Do you want me or do you want him?” I yelled at her.

I saw by the expression in her eyes that I had lost her.

“I’m sorry, Jay… We love each other.”

I slapped her face. As she reeled back, I saw Timoteo move. I spun around and into a punch that lifted me off my feet and flung me down on my back with my head half in the sea.

I wanted this. I was sure I could take him. I wanted to smash him and drop him bleeding and helpless at Lucy’s feet. I wanted to show her the kind of man she had chosen.

I had had a number of fights when I was in the Army. Every so often you got a challenge: some guy would think he was better than you and you had to show him he was wrong. Sometimes a guy was nearly right and the fight was long, bloody and savage. I had had around twenty fights while I was in the Army and I lost only one. This guy I had lost to had a chest like a beer barrel and I had broken my hands on him. He took everything I gave him : grinning, his face a mask of blood. I got one of his teeth embedded in my fist and I broke two fingers of my left hand hanging a punch on his jaw. He took everything I dished out and he still stayed on his feet. Then when I had nothing else to throw at him, he started to creep towards me like a crab and started hitting me. Well, he was a better fighter and a lot stronger than I was, and when he finally stretched me on my back, covered with blood, I admitted it.

But I was sure Timoteo wasn’t a better and stronger fighter than I was, but I had learned he could punch and he was fast so I moved towards him cautiously. I wanted to land one crippling punch and once I had him shaken, I would go in and cut him to pieces: that’s what I wanted to do.

I moved in, weaving, my head down, my chin tucked in, feinting with my left to set him up for my right. It was the classic Jack Dempsey attack, but he wasn’t there. As my right started, he slid away. With the ease of a professional, he caught me with a short jolting right that exploded on the side of my jaw and stretched me flat on my back.

I had walked into the punch and worse, I hadn’t seen it coming. Then I knew I was up against a fighter who might lick me. I felt a trickle of blood run down my chin. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, shook my head and got to my feet.

Timoteo stood away from me, his long arms hanging by his sides, his serious, goddam intellectual face expressionless.

I started towards him. He let me come within punching distance, then with the same professional arrogance, he slid my rush and again I found myself flat on my back from a bruising punch to the side of my head. This long slob carried a punch like the kick of a mule.

I stared tip at him. He had again moved back and was looking down at me. Behind him I could see Lucy watching, her eyes large and her hands to her face.

“You’re quite a fighter, aren’t you, you sonofabitch?” I said as I got to my feet. “Well, so am I.”

He could dish it out, but could he take it? I knew I could absorb a lot of punishment. I was built to take it, but could this thin beanpole take a man-sized punch?

He seemed rooted to the sand until I got within range of him, then he flitted away. He poked out a long left that thudded into my face and rocked me back.

Go ahead, slob, I thought, and I kept coming in to be jabbed away with long raking lefts. Up to now I hadn’t landed a punch on him, and I had taken half a dozen jolts, but I had taken such punches before. I again bored in. The left jab came again, but this time I was ready for it, I shifted and closed in. I hit him in the belly with all I had. I felt my fist sink in. I heard the breath come out of him like the sound of a burst tyre. I saw his face fall to pieces and I smashed my right to his jaw. He went down as if pole-axed. I stood over him, my chest heaving, blood from the cuts he had made in my face dripping on my chest.

Lucy ran between us and kneeling down, she lifted his head and cradled it against her breasts.

I watched her for a long moment, then I turned and walked down the sandbank into the sea.

I had a long swim ahead of me, but I was in the mood for a long swim.

The moon was coming up behind the palm trees as I came out of the sea. I had three things to do: I had to get a change of clothes; I had to pick up my car, and then I had to drive to the little white house and pick up the Weston & Lees rifle.

The villa where Lucy had been was in darkness, but I approached it cautiously. I moved through the flowering shrubs until I got round to the front of the house, then I paused to listen. I heard nothing. In the light of the moon I could see my Volkswagen parked where Raimundo had left it.

Nick and the other guards had been living in the place. In there, I would find a change of clothes. Although it was a temptation to jump into the car and drive away, I had to get out of my mud-stained, soaking-wet slacks and put on other clothes.

I found the front door unlocked. I moved into the darkness silently. I found the stairs and climbed them, listening, cautious all the time. The first door I opened led into a bathroom. The light from the moon was strong enough now for me to find my way around without turning on any lights. The second door led into a bedroom. There I found what I was looking for: dark slacks and a black sweat-shirt. The fit was tight but good enough. I also found with some impatient searching a pair of stout, leather-soled sandals. Holding the sandals in my hand, I crept down the stairs, paused at the front door to put the sandals on, then crossed the tarmac to the Volkswagen. I found the key in the ignition lock. With my heart banging against my ribs, I started the engine, engaged gear and drove down the drive.

No one shouted after me. When I reached the narrow road, I turned on the headlights and stamped down on the gas pedal. It took me under fifteen minutes to reach the road leading to the little white house. Here, I stopped the car, turned off the lights and walked the rest of the way.

Reaching the house, I saw it was in darkness, but even then I took my time approaching it.

The rifle was up on the roof where I had left it. Moving as silently as I knew how, I went up the steps of the verandah and moved into the dark house, pausing to listen. I heard nothing so

I went on up the stairs to the ladder that led to the roof, lit by the brilliant white moon.

Raimundo was sitting on the parapet, a colt automatic pistol in his hand : its blunt nose pointing at me.

“I’ve been waiting for you, soldier,” he said. His voice was husky and I could see in the light of the moon his throat was swollen. “I thought you’d be along to collect the rifle. No tricks unless you want a second navel. Sit over there.”

I rubbed my hand across my bruised, mosquito-bitten face and then walked over to the parapet about five yards from him and sat down.

I had tricked him once before and given time I could trick him again, but did I have the time?

As I sat down, he lowered the gun, resting it on his thigh. His left hand went to his throat.

“You goddam nearly killed me,” he said.

“What did you expect?”

“Don’t let’s waste time. Savanto knows Timoteo and your wife got away. You know what that means, soldier?”

“You told me. We’re dead men.”

“That’s it. Did you find them?”

“I found them. She and he are doing a modern Romeo and Juliet act.”

He stared at me.

“Those were the characters who died young… or is my education slipping?”

“They were the two.”

He continued to stare at me.

“I don’t know if I’m with you, soldier. Are you telling me Timoteo has stolen your wife?”

“That’s about right, but it isn’t one-sided.”

He touched his throat gingerly as he thought.

“Doesn’t seem to be your lucky day, does it?”

Probably it was his way of saying he was sorry.

“Any cigarettes?” I asked.

He tossed me a pack and a book of matches. I lit up and as I made to throw them back, he said, “Keep them; the way my throat feels I can’t imagine I’ll ever smoke again.”

“You had it coming.”

He grinned crookedly.

“I was holding on to the last pieces. Where are they?”

“Where you won’t find them.”

“I don’t want to.” Again he touched his throat. “But Savanto will find them. He’ll find you and me too.”

I didn’t say anything. I was tempted to say that I would find Savanto first, but I wasn’t sure if that kind of talk would pay dividends.

I watched Raimundo lay the pistol on the parapet by his side. I decided he was too fast, even slowed down by a swollen throat, for me to jump him.

“It won’t be long, soldier, before they come here and find us,” he said. “Then there will be some shooting. Then you and I will be dropped into the sea. Then they will go after Timoteo and your wife and there will be more shooting and they will be dropped into the swamp.”

I regarded him. His face was glistening with sweat. He looked like a man waiting to die.

“Are you telling me Savanto would have his own son murdered?”

Raimundo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“He has to. The word has gone out that his son has walked over his father’s face. That’s the way these people talk. No one walks across the face of the Boss and survives, even if he is the Boss’s son. If the old man is to remain Boss, Timoteo will have to go, and the old man is going to remain Boss, make no mistake about that.”

“Boss of what? Boss of a lot of peasants? Is that all that important to him?”

Raimundo hesitated, then shrugged.

“Why shouldn’t you know? I’m out of the deal now. Savanto thinks big, makes big plans and makes big promises. All these goddam peasants he talks about look on him as God. So to stay God, he must have money : the kind of money you and I can’t even imagine. His brother runs the Red Dragon organisation and this organisation has the money Savanto needs because they control the gambling and the drug traffic in Venezuela and that’s where the big money is. Toni Savanto, the brother, is dying of cancer of the liver. He can’t last much more than a couple of weeks… if that. Diaz, his son, is a very smart cookie and his heir. So long as he is alive, Savanto hasn’t a hope of taking over the Red Dragons. You would imagine nothing could be more simple than to knock Diaz off. The old man has only to tell me and I’d do it, but that’s not the way he works. Because a quarter of a million, simple-minded, starving peasants look on him as God, and because he is also beginning to think he is God, he doesn’t want it known he has blood on his hands. There are ten men known as the Elders who do the administrative work of the Little Brothers and Savanto is scared of them. They have the power, if they gang up on him, to ease him into retirement. These men would never go along with a killing, but they would go along with a vendetta. That’s part of their tradition.” Raimundo paused as he stared out to sea, then he went on, “So the old man’s problem was how to get rid of Diaz. With Diaz out of the way, the Red Dragons would be like a fat, sleek body without a head. The old man has only to reach out and stick his head on the headless body to have all the money he needs to make good his promises. So he cooks up this idea of getting rid of Diaz and establishing Timoteo, who is his heir, as a guy to be taken seriously. Timoteo was told what to do. When Savanto tells anyone what to do, he does it. So Savanto found a girl and Timoteo took her around until the Elders were sold on the idea he was in love with her. I know Timoteo couldn’t stand the sight of her, but he did what he was told. When the background was killed her. Just before she died, Carlo branded her face with the Red Dragon symbol which was stolen from the old man’s brother. Savanto called the Elders and showed them the girl’s body. He told them Diaz had raped and branded her as a challenge to Timoteo. The Elders fell for it. They said Timoteo had to kill Diaz. They knew Savanto had only to give the sign and Diaz would be dead, but that would he murder. But if Timoteo killed him, that would be justice. So Savanto had to put on a show. He knew he couldn’t force Timoteo to kill Diaz. Timoteo was a yesman to a point, but he stopped at murder. So you got involved, I got involved, and now Timoteo has fouled it up by running away. That puts him in trouble. The Elders know by now what he has done and they have turned their thumbs down. If Savanto wants to remain boss, he has to turn his thumb down too. So Diaz gets a new lease of life and Timoteo is marked to be hit. Later, Savanto will cook up another idea to get rid of Diaz. He’s full of those kind of ideas. So Savanto’s button men are after Timoteo. They will knock off your wife, you and me because we know too much. We are all dead bodies… make no mistake about that, soldier. The word has gone out.”

What happens if Savanto drops dead?” I asked, flicking the butt of my cigarette into the darkness.

“He won’t drop dead. He’s built to last.”

“But suppose he does drop dead. What happens?”

Raimundo stiffened. He got the message.

“Timoteo would take over. The peasants wouldn’t do so well but they would survive. But Savanto isn’t going to drop dead.”

I lit another cigarette.

“I think it’s time he did.”

We looked at each other.

“It can’t be done, soldier,” Raimundo said, shaking his head. “The red light has gone up. This is the first thing Savanto would think of now he knows the operation has turned sour. By now he is surrounded by his button men : men trained for just this job. Get that idea out of your mind.”

“Do you want to be in on this?” I asked. “Or are you chickening out and sitting here waiting to be slaughtered?”

“You don’t know what you’re up against, soldier.”

“Haven’t you the guts to try? What have you to lose?”

He hesitated.

“What do I do?”

“I’m going to kill this man,” I said. “He came into my life with promises. Now you tell me he is going to kill my wife and kill me. Okay, I believe you. He branded me.” I put my fingers through my shirt opening and felt the scar on my chest. “No man can regard himself as God. I don’t give a damn if he is the father of a lot of starving peasants if this is the way he works. I don’t believe these peasants would think anything of him if they knew the kind of animal he is. There is a hell of a lot of talk about tradition. Well, I have traditions too. No one brands me or threatens me and gets away with it. He called me a professional killer. I am just that.” I got to my feet. “You tell me I’ll be dead, but I tell you Savanto will be dead before me. I’m going to kill him!”

Raimundo shook his head.

“I go along with all you say, soldier, but you won’t kill him. He is organised. Getting a shot at Diaz is kid’s stuff to getting a shot at Savanto.”

I crossed the roof to where I had left the rifle and I picked it up.

“Listen to me, soldier,” Raimundo went on. “No one can hope to knock off Savanto when he is alert, and now, he is very alert. He thinks ahead all the time. Do you imagine he doesn’t know you will come after him? He knows now the set-up has turned sour. He knows Timoteo has taken off with your wife. He’s smart. He knows you will be after his blood. How do you imagine he has survived for so long? Because he’s lucky?” He took a cigarette from his pack that I had left on the parapet and lit it. This is going to kill me, but if I don’t smoke I’ll flip my lid.” He coughed like a man with lung cancer as soon as the smoke reached his sore throat and cursing, he threw the cigarette away. “That’s the way you and I will go, soldier… like dead butts.” He waited a moment while he wheezed, then went on. “He knows you will come after him. He is a judge of men. I’ve worked for him since I was a kid of fifteen and he is an expert in judging men, so he knows you now plan to fix him. But lie has a trained organisation to take care of guys like you. He is up in his lush suite at the Imperial Hotel. He likes living there. The staff drop on their knees and beat their stupid heads on the carpet at the sight of him and he loves that. So a punk like you, soldier, won’t shift him out, but he knows the danger points.” He gave a snorting, derisive laugh. “You’re aiming to nail him as he sits on the balcony of his suite, aren’t you? You aim to use the apartment block across the way to get at him.”

“That’s the way I’ll get him,” I said.

Raimundo threw up his hands in despair.

“Do you imagine he hasn’t thought of that? He thinks of everything.”

“I’ll kill him from there.”

“You’re just sounding off,” Raimundo said angrily. “By now, that apartment block will he swarming with his button men. You’d never get within a hundred yards of it! That is the one place Savanto can be got at and that’s why it will be made safe!”

I swung the rifle from one hand to the other.

“Because it is safe, it is the one place I can get at him,” I said.

Raimundo gaped at me.

“It’s because he is sure and his men will be sure the place is safe that it ceases to be safe,” I said. “They will be so damn sure it’s safe they will he looking elsewhere for the action to start. There are twenty floors in this building with around fifteen rooms to a floor and each room is empty. That offers me three hundred hiding-places, apart from the corridors. How many men do you think will be guarding this block of apartments? At a guess, ten men who are quick on the trigger and very alert. Where will they be? Five of them will he covering the entrances. There will be a couple of men covering the elevators and there are certain to be at least two men on the top floor which overlooks the hotel. They will be so satisfied that the other guy is alert, they will cease to be alert after they have been at action stations for more than three or four hours. They will be no different from Army sentries and I know how they behave. I’m going to take a look at the place. Do you want to come?”

He remained sitting on the parapet for a long moment, then he got to his feet.

“What have I to lose? I still think you’re crazy, but anything is better than sitting here, waiting for a bullet.”

“Have you any money?”

He cocked his head on one side.

“I’ve a couple of hundred in my room.”

“That’ll do.”

As he started towards the trap door, I caught hold of his arm.

“You take the rifle. I’ll go first. You wait here… I’ll call you.”

I saw his eyes widen in the moonight.

“You think they could be here already?” His voice sank to an uneasy whisper.

“They could be. From now on, I’m taking no chances. Give me your gun.”

He hesitated, then he picked up the automatic and handed it to me as I handed him the rifle.

I moved to the trap door and listened, then holding the gun in my hand, I swung myself down into the darkness. I heard nothing and nothing happened. It wasn’t until I had been through the whole house, moving like a shadow, that I was satisfied that Raimundo and I were still on our own. I returned to the foot of the ladder and called to him.

He came down and I took the rifle from him.

“Get the money and a suitcase,” I said. “We might have to go to a hotel.”

Ten minutes later we were heading for Paradise City.

The night porter of the Palm Court Hotel was an elderly negro who was sleeping peacefully behind the reception desk. The flyblown clock behind his nodding head showed 02.22

We had had some luck. On our way to Paradise City we had come on a car with a hag of golf clubs in the rear seat. I had stood on the brake pedal and had nearly sent Raimundo’s head through the windscreen.

This car had been parked outside an ‘Eat-’n-Dance’ joint, the kind that litter Highway 1 until you reach Paradise City.

“Get it!” I said.

Raimundo read my thoughts. He slid out of the Volkswagen, grabbed the golf bag, emptied the clubs on to the back seat and was back in the car within ten seconds.

So we arrived at the Palm Court Hotel with the Weston & Lees rifle hidden in the golf bag and a suitcase full of nothing : like two respectable guys on vacation.

The old negro came awake and blinked at us. After a lot of fumbling with the register, he found us a double room with twin beds on the second floor. We signed in as Toni Franchini and Harry Brewster. I told him we didn’t know how long we’d stay and he didn’t seem to care. He took us up in a creaking elevator, unlocked a door and showed us into a big, shabbily-furnished room. He had tried to take the suitcase and the golf bag, but when I told him I was giving my muscles some exercise, he gave me a dismal smile as if he were sure I was going to gyp him out of his tip. I gave him a dollar after he had proved the plumbing worked and he went away, happy.

I sat on the bed while Raimundo took the only armchair.

Before arriving at the hotel we had driven past the Imperial Hotel and past the apartment block, under construction. We had luck as the night traffic was heavy and we could crawl without attracting attention. We even got into a solid jam of cars right outside the apartment block. I was able to take a good look at the building. Part of my Army training was to sum up a situation. I probably saw a lot more than Raimundo did. He was driving as I wanted to examine the set-up I was going to walk into.

Along the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the apartments was a line of parked cars. As we crawled by them I spotted a Buick in which two men were sitting. There was no one hanging around the entrance to the block which was in darkness. To the left of the block was a builder’s crane, its long steel arm stretching up to the top floor positioned immediately over the roof. The feet of the crane were in a vacant lot, high with weeds, and there was a big hoarding announcing another apartment block was to be built there.

“How do you see it, soldier?” Raimundo asked.

“I’ll climb the crane.”

He gaped at me.

“You’ll never do it. That goddam crane is twenty storeys high.”

“That’s the way I’m going. It’s the only way.”

“You think Savanto’s men haven’t thought of that?”

“Sure. So what do they do? They put a man or a couple of men in the

vacant lot to see no one gets near the crane.” I looked intently at him. You and I will fix them… then up I go.”

“It’s a pipe dream, soldier. You’ll never get up there.”

“I’m going to bed. We do the job tomorrow night. By that time the guards will have got slack. It’s tricky, but it can be done.”

When we got back to the hotel, I stripped off and took a shower. By the time Raimundo had taken his shower I was asleep.

I have this knack of relaxing before a dangerous operation. During my years in the Army I had schooled myself to sleep. I had all day tomorrow to think about what I had to face the following night : now was the time to sleep.

I came awake with a start to find Raimundo shaking me. The morning sunlight was coming through the faded blind, making me screw up my eyes.

“Wake up! Listen to this !” Raimundo was saying and the note in his voice brought me fully awake.

A voice was talking on the radio on the bedside table.

“Mr. Bill Hartley claims he saw the killing,” the voice said. “When the police arrived with Mr. Hartley after he had raised the alarm the bodies he claimed to have seen had disappeared. There was no evidence that the shooting had occurred. The police are continuing their enquiries but Chief of Police Terrell has hinted that this could be a hoax. We have Mr. Bill Hartley with us in the studio.

“Mr. Hartley, you tell me you are a bird watcher and you often go to the Cypress swamp early in the morning to observe wild life. That is correct?”

A voice like gravel going down a chute said : “Yeah. I don’t give a damn what the police say. I saw this killing. I was up a tree with my glasses and I saw these two…”

“Just a moment, Mr Hartley. Could you give us a description of these two people you saw?”

“Why, sure. I told the police. There was a man and a woman. The man was a giant. He looked around seven foot to me: thin, swarthy and wearing a pair of black cotton trousers. The woman was blonde and pretty and she was wearing a white bra and white slacks. The thing I particularly noticed about her was her hair was cropped short like a boy’s. Well, these two were running along the sand. He was hanging on to her hand, dragging her along…”

“Mr. Hartley, how far do you reckon you were from these two?”

“How far? Five hundred yards, perhaps a little more. I use very powerful glasses.”

“They were running along the beach. Did you get the impression that they were running away from someone?”

“I certainly did. They looked like frightened people and they were running like hell.”

“Then what happened, Mr. Hartley?”

“They got shot. There were only two shots. The first shot hit the woman. It was a head shot. She fell down and rolled into the surf. The man went down on his knees beside her and there was a second shot. He was hit in the head. I saw the spray of blood and he dropped face down on the woman. It was a hell of a thing to see.”

“What did you do, Mr. Hartley? You didn’t see the killer?”

“No, I didn’t see him, but from the sound of the gun he wasn’t far from me. I was scared and shocked as you can imagine. The tide was coming in fast. After five or six minutes, I got down from the tree. It took me half an hour to reach a phone. I called the police. They came out pretty fast. I took them to the place where these two were shot, but by that time the tide had come in. There were no bodies, no footprints, no nothing. The police think I’m a nut, but…”

I turned off the radio.

Raimundo said quietly, “I warned you, soldier… I’m sorry.”

I felt a trickle of cold sweat run down my face and I flicked it away with my finger.

“I had lost her anyway,” I said.

I thought of Lucy, her laugh when she was happy, the way her bottom twitched, her freckles and her eyes that scared easily. Yes, I had lost her in every sense now. She had found this long slob and she had said they thought alike. Thinking about them, I realised they would have made a better pair than she and I had done.

I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Ask them to send up coffee,” I said and closed my eyes.

A bright-eyed, coloured boy came up with a tray of coffee. As he set it down, I said, “Do you want to earn five dollars?”

His eyes grew round.

“I sure do.”

“Is there a sports’ store around here?”

“A sports’ store? Yeah… at the end of the block.”

“I want a Levison hunting knife : I want two of them. They cost around thirty dollars each. There’s five bucks in it for you if you go along and get them for me.”

He gaped at me, a little uneasily.

“A Levison hunting knife?”

“That’s it. They’ll stock it. Okay?”

He nodded, looking from me to Raimundo and from Raimundo back to me.

“Give him the money,” I said.

Raimundo took out his two one hundred dollar bills and gave one of them to the boy.

“Well, it’s your money,” the boy said. “I’ll get them if that’s what you want,” and he left the room.

“What’s the idea?” Raimundo asked.

I poured the coffee.

“Knives are silent,” I said.

We had been lying on our beds for the past two hours. Raimundo seemed to sense the mood I was in. He lay flat on his back, his eyes closed. He was probably dozing. I mourned for Lucy and I buried her. It was a mental thing, but realistic. I gave her the funeral I thought she would like with lots of flowers and organ music and a tall, dignifiedlooking padre. I even said a prayer for her : the first prayer I’ve said since I was a kid. I then thought over the six months we had spent together, picking out the highlights, then I closed the memory book. It had a lock on it and I turned the key and threw the key away. There were now other things to think about. I didn’t imagine I would think of her again. I had lost a lot of buddies during the war. I had gone to their funerals, but never to a memorial service. When I say goodbye, there is nothing else to say.

“When Savanto gets a hole in his head,” I said suddenly, “what will you do?”

Raimundo lifted his head from the pillow and looked at me. “It’s a pipe dream, soldier. I wish I could make you believe it.”

“Don’t answer the question if you don’t want to. Why should I care?”

There was a long pause as Raimundo studied me.

“If he did get a hole in his head,” he said finally, “I’d go back to my wife and kids in Caracas.”

“So you have a wife and kids?”

“Yeah… four kids… three boys and a girl.”

“With Timoteo dead and the old animal dead… what happens?”

“I guess Lopez will become Boss. There’s no one else What sort of man is he?”

“Short of brains but peaceful.”

“Would he take care of you?”

“I wouldn’t want his care. He would leave me alone. That’s all I would want. I have a farm. My wife looks after it. With me working with her, it would become something important.”

“So you have something to plan for… a future?”

He got the message.

“I guess I have.”

There came a tap on the door.

I whipped Raimundo’s automatic from under my pillow and covered it in my hand with the bed sheet.

“Open up,” I said softly. “Get your back to the wall and swing the door open slowly.”

Raimundo was off the bed and by the door in a smooth, silent flash. Watching him, I knew he was going to be a useful man to have with me when the crunch came. He turned the key and eased open the door.

I was ready to shoot, but when I saw the coloured boy standing in the doorway, his eyes rolling, I left the gun under the sheet and brought my hand into sight.

“I’ve got those knives,” he said.

“Come on in,” I said and got off the bed.

A Levison hunting knife is special. It has a six-inch blade of the finest steel and is so sharp that if you draw the blade along your arm, you’re shaved. It is beautifully balanced and with a finger grip handle covered with a sponge jacket. If your hand is soaking with sweat you can be sure the knife won’t turn or slip. I never went into the jungle during my Army days without a Levison knife. It had saved my life a number of times. When the pressure is on, it’s a man’s best friend.

I checked both knives, then gave the boy a five dollar bill after he had given me the change out of the hundred dollar bill.

“I want two steak sandwiches and beer up in an hour,” I said to him. “Steak… not hash.”

When he had gone, I tossed one of the knives in its leather sheath on to Raimundo’s bed.

“Do you know how to use a knife?”

He gave a crooked smile.

“A lot better than you, soldier. I was born with a knife in my hand.”

I asked him the question that had been nagging at my mind ever since I knew Lucy was dead.

“What will they do with the bodies?”

“She’ll go into the swamp. He will be flown back to Caracas. The old man will stage a funeral. He likes funerals.”

“Then it’s just too bad he can’t stage his own funeral,” I said.

We spent the day in the bedroom. We listened to the radio. The midday news said there was no further development about the two people Bill Hartley claimed he had seen shot to death. The police were checking on missing people, but so far they hadn’t come up with anyone matching the descriptions of the people Hartley had said had died. The radio announcer, by the tone of his voice, seemed to be hinting that Hartley was yet another nut.

Around 22.00 we checked out of the hotel. The old negro clerk seemed relieved to see us go. He was a wise old man and he probably guessed we were cooking up something bad. I was sure the golf bag with its leather hood hadn’t fooled him, but I didn’t worry about him. A hotel of this rating wouldn’t survive if it had trouble with the police.

Raimundo put the golf bag and the suitcase in the Volkswagen and he got under the wheel.

We had gone over the plan of operation. Raimundo still didn’t think we could get away with it, but he was a little more confident.

He drove to the main shopping centre and parked near an all- night self-service store. We were far enough away from the Imperial Hotel not to worry about Savanto’s button men. While he waited in the car, I went into the store. I bought a pair of heavy leather gloves. I would need them for my long climb up the steel structure of the crane. I bought a dozen sandwiches and a family-sized bottle of Coke. I bought a small rucksack in which to carry the stuff.

I joined Raimundo and we headed towards the Imperial Hotel. This was the danger zone. The button men would know I had a Volkswagen. Although there were a number of these cars driving around Paradise City, I was sure every red Volkswagen would now be scrutinized. So when we got to the beginning of Paradise Boulevard, the mile and a half long promenade by the sea where the best hotels were, I told Raimundo to park the car.

He found a hole in a row of cars and parked. We looked at each other.

“Give me ten minutes start,” I said, “then come after me.”

There were a lot of people wandering up and down the boulevard. In that crowd we had a good chance to get lost, but Raimundo had the tricky job. He was carrying the golf bag. You don’t walk along a boulevard at 22.00 carrying a bag of golf clubs. He could attract the attention of an inquisitive cop. We had discussed this. Raimundo said it would be all right. If he saw a cop he would go up to him and ask him for a cheap hotel. He would have the suitcase with him. If questioned, he would say he had hitched into town and was on vacation. That would explain the golf bag.

“Don’t forget the rucksack,” I said as I got out of the car. “I could be up there some time. I don’t reckon to starve.”

“You look after your end of it, soldier. I’ll look after mine.”

I paused, looking at him.

“It’s going to work out,” I said.

He shrugged.

“I’m beginning to think it might.”

I set off, moving through the crowds. I moved steadily, not fast, because everyone on the promenade, under the coloured lights, was strolling and enjoying themselves. I kept a look out for anyone who might be a button man.

It took me ten minutes, weaving through the crowds, to get within sight of the Imperial Hotel. I paused, finding a space between a boy and a girl and a girl on her own who were leaning on the rails, watching the guys and dolls in the sea.

I saw lights were on in Savanto’s suite. I was too far away to be able to see if he was on the balcony.

The lone girl said softly, “Do you want some fun?”

I didn’t even look at her. I moved on.

It took me another ten minutes to reach the back of the building lot. I was now away from the crowds. If I met anyone it was almost sure to be one of Savanto’s men. I had the Levison knife in my hand as I slid into the darkness enveloping the building lot.

I paused for some moments, listening and looking, but there was no one around. I dropped into the long grass and the high weeds. My Army training had taught me to slide over this kind of ground like a snake. After a while I got within sight of the steel feet of the crane. I lay still, listening and watching. It took me several minutes to convince myself there was no one guarding the crane. I looked up at its great height and at the overhanging arm faintly outlined against the night sky. Savanto’s men were not doing their job, but the crane must have seemed to them to be no risk. Even to me, looking up at that height, the thought of climbing that structure made me flinch. They had probably surveyed the crane and had decided no one could climb it so why waste a man, sitting in the weeds, when he could be doing something more useful?

I got to my feet and walked back to the dirt road leading to the building lot. I, sat down in the shadows and waited for Raimundo. I wanted to smoke, but that would be too dangerous. So I sat and waited.

I saw him before he saw me and I called softly to him. He came out of the darkness, the golf bag on his shoulder, the rucksack on his back.

“There’s no one here,” I said.

He stood beside me and looked up at the arm of the crane.

“What did you expect? No one’s going up there, soldier, and that includes you.”

“Give me the rucksack,” I said,

“You’re really going to try?”

“Give me the rucksack.”

I took it from him, then found the leather gloves, which I put on. I slid my arms through the straps of the rucksack and got it on my back.

Then a thought dropped into my mind. I had checked and loaded the rifle. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. I unzipped the hood of the golf bag and lifted the rifle out. It took me only a few seconds to assure myself the rifle was still loaded and ready to fire.

“I’m not blaming you, soldier,” Raimundo said as I put the rifle back.

“I’m killing this old animal,” I said. “I’m not making any more mistakes. Go back to your wife and kids. You have a future. Enjoy it.”

We looked at each other in the faint moonlight for a long moment.

“So long, soldier,” he said. “I hope you make the climb.”

Then he melted away into the darkness and I was on my own.