So What Happens To Me?

Five

A battered, rusty Chevy rushed me from the Merida airport to the Chalco hotel. The driver looked as if he should still be at school: his blue-black hair reached to the collar of his dirty white shirt and he continually leaned out of the car window to curse other drivers.

The heat was something and it was raining fit to drown a duck. I sat back on broken springs and sweated, and every now and then, shut my eyes as a crash seemed certain, but the boy finally got me to the hotel in one piece.

I paid him of in Mexican money I had collected at the airport and dashed through the rain into the hotel.

It was down a narrow side street, painted white and the lobby was clean with cactus plants, bamboo chairs and a tiny fountain that made a soft sound which encouraged a coolness that didn’t exist. I went up to the reception desk where an old fat Mexican sat picking his teeth with a splinter of wood.

‘A room for the night with a shower.’ I said.

He shoved a tattered register towards me and a police card.

I went through the motions, then a tiny, dirty boy appeared to take my bag.

‘Mr. O’Cassidy in?’ I asked.

The old man showed slight interest. He said something in Spanish.

‘Mr. O’Cassidy,’ I repeated in a slightly louder voice.

The little boy said, ‘He in bar.’ And he pointed. I followed the direction of his dirty finger and saw a door. I gave the kid the equivalent of a half dollar and told him to take my bag up to my room. The kid’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. The old man leaned forward and stared first at the money in the kid’s dirty hand and then at the kid. I doubted if the kid would stick with the money. I left them and entered the tiny bar where a radio played soft music, where a fat girl with long black plaits supported herself on the bar and where, at the far end of the bar, was a man, hidden by the Herald Tribune.

‘Scotch on the rocks,’ I said, moving down to the middle of the bar.

At the sound of my voice, the man lowered the newspaper and regarded me. I waited until the girl had given me the drink, then looked at him.

He was a man of around forty-five, big with reddish, close-cropped hair, a blunt, heavily tanned face and steady green eyes. He was the same ilk as Tim O’Brien: a man you couldn’t help but like.

I raised my glass and said, ‘Hi!’

His wide Irish smile was warming.

‘Hi, yourself. You just moved in?’

I wandered down the bar close to him.

‘Jack Crane. May I buy you a drink?’

‘Thanks.’ He nodded to the girl who busied herself with a Scotch and soda. ‘Bill O’Cassidy.’

He offered his hand and I shook it.

‘That’s luck. Tim O’Brien told me to look out for you.’

He lifted his eyebrows.

‘You know Tim?’

‘Know him? We were out on the town last night.’

O’Cassidy glanced at the fat girl as she brought him his drink then picking it up. he jerked his head to a table away from the bar and we went over there.

‘That babe never stops listening,’ he said as we sat down. ‘How’s Tim?’

‘Fine. He’s working like hell on this runway. You know about that, don’t you?’

‘Yeah. He’s in trouble with rocks.’ O’Cassidy grinned. ‘He doesn’t know when he is well off; I’ve had swamps to cope with.’

‘Tim was telling me.’

‘Well, that’s all behind me now. I’m leaving tomorrow. Phew! I can’t wait to get out of this god-forsaken country!’

‘Certainly hot and this rain!’

‘This is the beginning of the wet season. The sonofabitch will rain non-stop now for a couple of months. Just got the job finished in time.’

‘O’Cassidy?’ I said idly. ‘No relation to Sean O’Cassidy who won the Silver Star?’

He sat upright.

‘My kid brother! You knew him?’

‘I was out there. I was with the bombers. I met him once. 6th Parachute... right?’

‘For Pete’s sake!’ He leaned forward, grabbed my hand and shook it. ‘Hell of a small world! You met Sean?’

‘That’s it. We had a drink together. I had no idea he would win the Silver Star. We just got drunk together.’

He sat back and beamed at me. ‘A great little guy.’

‘He certainly was.’

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Jack Crane.’

‘Okay, Jack, you and me are going out on the town. It’s my last night here. We eat, we get goddamn drunk, but not too drunk and we get us a couple of girls... how’s about it?’

I grinned at him. ‘Fine with me.’

‘Nothing gets moving in this city until around 22.00.’ He looked at his strap watch. ‘It’s now only 20.18. I’ll take a shower and suppose we meet here at 21.45... okay?’

‘Sure.’

We collected our keys at the desk. The old Mexican regarded us without interest. My room was five doors along the corridor from O’Cassidy’s room. We parted. I found my bag on the bed. In spite of the window being open, the room was stiflingly hot. I stared down into the street, watching the rain making puddles, then I unpacked, dug out another shirt and another pair of slacks and lay on the bed.

The noise of the roaring traffic and the clanging of the church bells made a nap impossible so I did some thinking.

Later I stripped of and took a shower, changed, but it didn’t help much. Life in Merida was like living in a sauna.

I went down to the bar and asked the girl with the plaits for a whisky on the rocks. At least there was a fan in the bar. I read through the Herald Tribune and then O’Cassidy joined me.

‘That’s the last drink you buy yourself tonight,’ he said. ‘Come on... let’s go. I’ve got a car outside.’

We ran through the rain to a Buick. By the time we had scrambled in we were both pretty wet, but the heat dried us before O’Cassidy parked outside a restaurant. We ran from the car and ducked out of the rain into the entrance lobby.

A fat, grinning Mexican in a white coat shook hands with O’Cassidy and then led us into a dimly-lit room, but air-conditioned, to a table in the fat corner. There were about thirty tables dotted around, occupied by sleek looking Mexicans and sleeker looking girls.

‘I’ve been in this city now for nine months and I always eat here nights,’ O’Cassidy said as he sat down. ‘The food’s fine.’

He waved to a dark, sulky looking beauty who was at the bar and who lifted a tired hand and weary eyebrows. He shook his head, then turning to me: ‘The dolls here are very willing, but let’s eat first. You like Mexican food?’

‘So long as it’s not too hot.’

We had tamales which were hot but very good, followed by Mole de Guajolote: a fricassee of turkey seasoned with tomatoes, sesame seeds and covered with a thick chocolate sauce. The sauce startled me until I tried the dish to find it excellent.

After we had got through the Mole and had talked of Vietnam and O’Cassidy’s brother, I felt O’Cassidy was relaxed enough for me to get to business.

‘Can I ask you about this runway you’ve built Bill?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Why, sure. You interested in runways?’

‘I’m an aero-engineer and anything to do with flying interests me.’

‘Is that right? Well, this goddamn runway was the worst I’ve ever had to build so far: Right in the middle of the jungle: trees, rocks, swamps, snakes... you name it, it was there.’

‘Yet you built it.’

He grinned.

‘When I get paid to do a job, I do it, but no kidding there were times when I nearly packed it in. The crew I had to work for me drove me nuts. They had an I.Q. a child of four would be ashamed of. I had around a thousand of them and they did as much work in a day as twenty good Irishmen would do. Six of the jerks during the nine months got themselves killed either by snakes or walking into blasting or a tree falling on them.’

‘But you built it.’

He nodded, leaning back in big chair, a look of pride on his face.

‘That’s what I did.’

‘I remember in Vietnam we had to build a runway fast with coolie labour,’ I lied. ‘The first bomber to touch down smashed it up and the kite was a write-off.’

‘That’s not going to happen to my runway. I guarantee a 747 could land on it and when I guarantee something, it stays guaranteed...’

Then came the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

Casually, I said, ‘Who the hell wants a runway slap in the middle of a jungle?’

‘You get these nuts.’ O’Cassidy shrugged. ‘The one thing I’ve learned in my racket is not to ask questions. I get propositioned: I get paid. I do the job and then I move on. I’m going to Rio tomorrow to extend a runway for a Flying Club: that’ll be an easy one. How about a brandy and coffee?’

‘Why not?’

He gave the order then we lit cigarettes.

After a moment of hesitation, I said, ‘It’s important to me Bill, to know who financed your runway.’

He stared at me, his green eyes probing.

‘Important? Why?’

I flicked ash on the floor.

‘I’ve got myself mixed up in something I can’t talk about,’ I said. ‘It’s to do with your runway. I smell trouble and I need as much information as I can get.’

The coffee and two brandies arrived.

He put sugar in his coffee, stirred and I could see he was thinking. I didn’t hurry him. Suddenly, as if he had made up his mind, be shrugged his heavy shoulders.

‘Okay Jack, because you’re a friend of Tim’s and you’ve met my kid brother and because I’m pulling out of here and frankly, I don’t give a damn now I’ve got my money. I’ll give you my ideas about this runway, but they’re ideas not facts... understand?’

I nodded.

He paused to look around as if to make certain no one was paying us any attention, then leaning forward and lowering his voice, he went on, ‘It’s on the cards there is going to be a revolution here. Listening to the jerks who work for me I get the idea something’s on the boil. That’s my guess. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so, that’s why I’m damned glad to be getting out tomorrow.’ He sipped his brandy, then went on, ‘The man financing the runway is Benito Orzoco. He’s a nutter Jack. A real nutter but he is a big shot around here. He leads the left wing extremists and so I hear is a blood brother of Castro of Cuba. Orzoco considers himself a second Juan Alvarez who was the first President of the Republic way back in 1855. Orzoco is stinking rich. Anything he wants he has and I mean anything. With this runway, plus a big kite, he could fly men and arms in and keep them hidden in the jungle until the green light goes up.’ He finished his coffee. ‘Look, Jack, I don’t know a thing for certain. I’m telling you what I think could be the reason for building the runway. Maybe it’s something else, but I don’t think so. I’m of tomorrow and couldn’t care less... that help you?’

‘Sure does. Did you ever meet Orzoco?’

‘I’ll say. He came to inspect the runway every month.’ O’Cassidy’s nose wrinkled. ‘I’d rather touch a black mamba than him.’

‘Give me a better idea than that.’

O’Cassidy blew out his cheeks.

‘He’s a nutter. I’m sure of that. He’s short, powerfully built and a dresser. He has snake’s eyes. First glance he’s like any other rich dago, but he has something plus. He’s crazy in the head. Every now and then, it shows. He is rich and has power but wants more power. He’s as deadly as generalised cancer.’

‘Sounds nice,’ I said soberly.

O’Cassidy sipped his brandy.

‘I don’t know what your racket is Jack, and I don’t want to know, but take a tip from me... watch out.’

Two dolly birds descended on us and we began drinking in earnest. Later, they took us back to their pad. They gave out. Finally, we got back to our hotel around 03.40.

‘Some night, huh?’ O’Cassidy said as he shook hands. ‘So long Jack. I’m off early.’

‘Some night.’

I wasn’t to see him again.

I went along to my room, fell into bed and went out like a blown flame.

Around midday I checked out of the Chalco and took a taxi in the pouring rain across to the Continental hotel. This was one of the top hotels in Merida and the lobby was crammed with American tourists, wrapped in plastic macs and making a noise like a disturbed parrot house.

I edged my way to the reception desk and waited while an elderly American quarrelled with a bored-faced clerk about his check. Finally, the argument was settled and the clerk turned to me.

‘Checking in. Jack Crane.’ I said.

He stiffened to attention.

‘Happy to have you with us Mr. Crane. Yes... room 500. Top floor with a view. If there’s anything you need, please ask. We are at your service, Mr. Crane.’

A boy in buttons appeared and took my bag and the key the clerk gave him. He led me around the tourists to the elevator and up to the fifth floor.

Unlocking a door opposite the elevator, he bowed me into a big sitting room, led me into a big bedroom with a king’s size bed, then placing my bag, he showed me the ornate bathroom, bowed, accepted the tip I gave him, bowed again and removed himself.

I looked around, wondering how much this setup was going to cost. Then I moved into the sitting room and through the open French windows onto the covered terrace. The humid heat was making me sweat again.

A man leaned on the terrace rail, looking down at the slow moving traffic. He turned as I came out onto the terrace.

He was tall, thin, with thick longish jet black hair, around forty years of age, his eyes hidden behind black sun goggles: a long thin nose, an almost lipless mouth, a cleft chin. He was wearing a white suit that looked as if it had just come back from the cleaners, a yellow shirt and a blood red tie.

‘Mr. Crane?’ He advanced towards me, smiling.

‘That’s right.’ I took his offered hand, dry and hard, and shook it.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Juan Aulestria, but call me Juan... it is easier.’

I got my hand back from his grip and waited.

‘Welcome to Yucatan, Mr. Crane,’ he went on. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here. I’m sure you would like a drink.’

I wasn’t going to let this smoothie be sure of anything as far as I was concerned.

‘No, thanks: I’m easy. Just who are you?’

This fazed him for a brief second. The smile slipped, but it came quickly again into position.

‘Ah... yes.’ He turned and stared at the rain swollen clouds. ‘Such a pity. Sad for the tourists. If you had come two days ago you would have seen this city as it should be seen. Suppose we sit down?’ He moved to a lounging chair and sank into it. ‘You ask who I am, Mr. Crane.’ He flicked a speck of dust from his immaculate white sleeve. ‘I have to do with the runway that has just been built. I am told you want to inspect it.’

I stood over him

‘That’s what I want to do.’

He nodded, looking up at me.

‘But do sit down: are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?’

‘I like standing and I don’t want a drink.’ I paused to light a cigarette. ‘I represent the people who are bringing you the plane. This plane costs ten million dollars. My people want to deliver it in one piece and unless I’m sure the runway is right, we don’t deliver.’

He hated sitting there looking up at me so he got casually to his feet.

‘Our contact explained this to me. This shows efficiency, Mr. Crane, but I assure you the runway is perfect. However...’ He waved his thin hands, ‘You are the expert. You shall see it and decide for yourself.’

I was liking him as you would a big spider in your bath.

‘When do we go?’

‘Would this afternoon suit you?’

‘Fine.’

‘Then at three I will have a car here for you. We will go by helicopter. We can survey the ground, then we will land and you can inspect it. I’m afraid you will get rather wet but I have ordered plastics for you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I have also arranged for you to lunch up here. Would that please you?’

‘Thank you.’

He started towards the living room.

‘So glad. Since you have already tasted our great national dish of Mole de Guapalote, may I suggest you try our Chile Jalapeno: quite excellent.’ He turned and smiled at me.

Keeping my face wooden, I said. ‘I’ll settle for a steak.’

‘Anything: then at 15.00. Mr. Crane.’

We shook hands and he let himself out of the room as silently and as smoothly as a snake.

I closed the French windows and turned on the air conditioner. Then I went to the refrigerator and poured myself a stiff whisky and soda.

So he knew I had met O’Cassidy. Obviously he wasn’t making any secret about it by telling me what I had eaten last night. I sat down and did some thinking.

After a while a tap came on the door and a little Mexican in white pushed a trolley towards me. Another little Mexican came behind him with a suitcase in his hand. He set it down as his companion took of the covers of my meal. They bowed themselves out.

The steak was fair. I ate it, left the carafe of red wine, decided against the mangoes, lit a cigarette and inspected the suitcase. It contained a short plastic coat, plastic trousers, rubber boots and a plastic hood.

I lay on the bed, smoking until 14.50, then I got up, took Bernie’s .38 from my suitcase. I checked it, loaded it and stuck it in my hip pocket.

As the nearby church clock struck three, I went down to the lobby.

The reception clerk came around his desk, smiling. ‘There’s a car waiting for you, Mr. Crane.’ He led the way and handed me over to the doorman who had an open umbrella. The doorman conducted me to a sleek Cadillac, driven by a blank-faced Mexican in a smart blue uniform.

As soon as I was seated in the rear of the car, the chauffeur took of; He was a skillful, fast driver and in spite of the thick traffic, he got me to the airport in ten minutes. He by-passed the reception and departure building, drove around the back and pulled up beside a helicopter. He was out of the car with a big umbrella before I could move. I got out of the car. carrying the plastic gear and got into the helicopter without getting more than a sprinkle from the pouring rain.

Aulestria occupied one of the seats just behind the pilot. He smiled his snake’s smile as I settled.

‘Did you have a good lunch, Mr. Crane?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

The blades started to swing and in a few moments we flew away over the city.

Aulestria made small talk, pointing out the Palace of the State Government, the Cathedral and the National University. Leaving the city and heading south, I looked down at the haciendas and the many sisal factories. The rocky countryside slowly changed to dense forest land and finally to jungle.

After an hour of flying, Aulestria said, ‘We are now approaching the runway. Mr. Crane.’

I looked ahead but could see nothing but tree tops and jungle.

‘It’s well hidden.’

‘Yes: very well hidden.’ His voice was smug.

Then I saw it: an engineering feat de luxe: A solid ribbon of tarmac that stretched for at least two miles, bordered by the jungle on either side, painted a dullish green and unless you were hunting for it, you would never spot it.

‘Some job!’ I said, leaning forward as the chopper flew the length of it, circled and came back again.

‘We think it is satisfactory,’ Aulestria said. ‘It is good that you approve.’

‘Tell him to fly back a mile, then come in. I want to see the approach.’

Aulestria spoke to the pilot.

Now I was ready and as we came in again, I judged how Bernie would come in I decided it presented no problem to a pilot of Bernie’s experience.

‘Fine. Now let’s look at the control tower.’

We landed by the side of the tower and I put on my plastic coat. It was still pouring with rain.

Aulestria led me from the chopper, up steps and into the tower. I spent over an hour checking the instruments, the radar and all the gimmicks needed to bring in a kite. I couldn’t fault anything.

What bothered me was the personnel in charge of the control tower. They all looked like bandits right out of a Western movie: real thugs who watched me with snake’s eyes and who wore .45 revolvers on their hips.

‘Do you want to walk the runway, Mr. Crane or did Mr. O’Cassidy convince you that he has built something to last?’ Aulestria asked.

‘I won’t walk it.’

‘Then I may take you back to your hotel?’

‘That’s it.’

He led the way into a small air-conditioned office.

‘Shall we talk?’ He sat down behind the desk and waved me to a chair. ‘You are satisfied?’

‘Yes. We can bring the kite in.’

‘Good.’ He stared at me, his eyes hidden behind the goggles. ‘Now, Mr. Crane, let us be practicable. This plane is highly sophisticated. We have three pilots. Naturally, they will have to be trained to handle the plane. I take it that your pilots will train them?’

‘That’s for them to decide.’

‘It would be no use for us to accept the plane unless our people could fly it. I was under the impression our contact had arranged for this?’

‘He said nothing to us about it.’

‘Would you check, then, Mr. Crane? My men must be trained by your people or the deal’s off.’

‘I’ll check. How good are your pilots?’

‘Excellent. One of them has been flying a 747.’

‘Then I see no problem.’

‘Good.’ He got to his feet. ‘There’s a flight back to Paradise City in three hours. The sooner we get this arranged the better. When will the plane be delivered?’

‘In two months: could be less.’

‘Send me a cable: just the date and time of expected arrival. That’s all that will be necessary.’

‘I’ll do that.’

As he moved to the door, he paused.

‘Mr. Crane, you haven’t asked any questions as to why we need this aircraft and I like that. I am aware that O’Cassidy has talked to you and perhaps he has given you his views. Dismiss anything he has told you from your mind. There should be no talk: is that understood?’

Keeping my face wooden, I said. ‘That’s okay with me.’

‘I hope it is Mr. Crane,’ then he led me through the rain to the helicopter.

Because of what is known as a technical hitch, my flight back to Paradise City was delayed for two hours. I didn’t reach the City until 20.25. I collected the Alfa I had left in the airport garage, then drove down to the waterfront. I decided not to return to my cabin this night. I didn’t want to run into Pam while Bernie was away. I parked the Alfa and booked in at a modest hotel.

After a quick shower. I wandered out to find a meal. I picked on a small, but smart looking seafood restaurant, ordered curried prawns, then read a newspaper while I waited. I had just finished the prawns and was waiting for coffee when Mrs. Victoria Essex, accompanied by Wes Jackson, came in.

She saw me at once and smiled. Jackson also went through the grimace he called a smile. She started towards me so I stood up.

She looked marvellous in a simple white dress that must have cost the earth and there was that look in the big violet eyes that immediately turned me on.

‘Why, Mr. Crane, I thought I had lost you.’ she said. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Around and about,’ I said. ‘Glad to see you’re no worse for your fall.’

‘I’m fine now.’ She was staring at me, then she turned around and looked at Jackson as if seeing him for the first time. She flicked her fingers at him. ‘All right, Jackson, don’t wait.’

‘Yes, Mrs. Essex,’ and he took his bulk out of the restaurant.

‘May I join you?’ she asked.

I pulled out a chair and she sat down. I went back to my chair.

The waiter came and she ordered coffee.

‘I wanted you to ride with me this morning. They told me you had left.’ Her big violet eyes moved over me. ‘Had you?’

‘That’s right. I’ve been in Mexico for the past two days. An airline offered me a job. I thought I’d take a look at it.’

‘Mexico? You wouldn’t want to live in that hole, would you?’

‘I guess not.’

‘Then why did you go?’

‘A free trip: I was getting bored here.’

Her coffee arrived.

‘God! Yes! I can understand that! I get bored too.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘My husband’s jealous. When he goes on a trip. I either have to stay home or if I want to go out I have to have Jackson with me. He’s supposed to be my chaperon and spy.’

‘Supposed to be?’

She smiled, sipped her coffee, then said, ‘He’s more scared of me than my husband.’

I finished my coffee.

‘Have you anything to do tonight?’ she asked.

‘Not a thing.’

‘Have you a car?’

‘Just across the road.’

‘I’ll take you to a place. We can have fun.’

‘It’s only a two-seater. There would be no room for Jackson.’

She laughed.

‘Don’t worry about him. Let’s go.’

‘Don’t you want to eat?’

‘I only eat when I’m bored.’ She looked directly at me and there was that thing again in her eyes. ‘I’m not bored now.’

‘Just a moment. I understand Mr. Essex is due back tonight.’

‘Are you scared of him?’

‘I’m not scared of anyone, but I thought I’d mention it.’

‘I had a telex this afternoon. He’s staying over at L.A and won’t be back until tomorrow.’

I got to my feet, paid the check and smiled at her.

‘So what are we waiting for?’

We went out into the moonlit night. There was a Mercedes parked under a street light with Wes Jackson at the wheel. She went over to him spoke to him and he nodded. He drove away.

Together, we walked to the Alfa and she slid under the wheel.

‘I’ll take you,’ she said.

I got in beside her and she drove away from the waterfront: expert, fast driving, perfect control and I sat back and enjoyed being driven.

We got onto the hill road and we drove fast for three or four miles, then she turned up a dirt road and finally pulled up outside a knotty pine cabin.

‘This is my retreat,’ she said, sliding out of the car, ‘where I exercise my hobbies.’

As she was unlocking the door. I remembered what Bernie had said about Harry Erskine: Mrs. Essex dangled herself and he fell for it and then she cut him down to size That’s her speciality: turning it on, making a guy think he’s going to get into her bed, then telling him he isn’t.

The set-up looked good, but she could just be dangling herself I decided to play it cool. She would have to make all the advances.

I followed her into a large, comfortably furnished room and I saw a big divan across by the picture window.

‘Pretty nice,’ I said. ‘What are your bobbies?’

‘I paint: I’m not bad.’ She walked over to a cocktail cabinet ‘A whisky?’

‘Thanks.’

She made two drinks, handed me one and dropped down into a lounging chair. On the arm of the chair was a number of buttons. She pressed one and then sipped her drink. Soft music came from concealed speakers.

‘That’s neat,’ I said and sat on the arm of another lounging chair. ‘What it is to be rich.’

‘Do you want to be rich?’

‘Who doesn’t?’

‘It has its disadvantages.’

‘Such as?’

She shrugged.

‘Oh, boredom. When you have everything, you also have boredom.’

‘You would know... I wouldn’t,’ I said.

She set down her glass, smiled and stood up.

‘Let’s dance.’

She looked very inviting as she stood there: too inviting.

I sat where I was, looking at her.

‘Mrs. Essex,’ I said quietly, ‘I have some inside information about you and I don’t want to take advantage of you. You should have some inside information about me.’

Her smile slipped away and the violet eyes became hard.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I have been told you are a copper plated bitch. What you don’t know is I am a copper plated bastard. It’s only fair for you to know this. You see, Mrs. Essex, although I think you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, the most desirable, the sexiest, no matter how good you look, I don’t tease. You either get out of the dress and get on the divan and give out or I get out. Is that plain enough for you?’

Her eyes opened wide.

‘How dare you talk to me like that!’

‘That’s what I thought. Well. I’ll be running along. See you,’ and I started towards the door.

She sprang at me grabbed my arm, swung me around and slapped my face.

‘You devil!’

I caught her up, gave her a stinging slap on her bottom, then tossed her onto the divan.

‘Get out of that dress,’ I said, standing over her, ‘or do you want me to tear it of?’

‘You hurt me!’

‘Okay, so I tear it off.’

‘No! I have to have something to go home in!’

I laughed.

‘So go ahead and get out of it.’

Her eyes glittering, her breasts heaving, she slid out of the dress.

I got to the cafe-bar twenty minutes before the others were due. I ordered a coke and sat in the shade on the veranda and waited.

While I waited, I thought about Mrs. Victoria Essex I knew she would be good, and that’s what she was. She acted like a woman who had been sexually starved most of her life. But why go into details? When it was finally over, she had got of the divan, had taken a shower while I lay there feeling as if I had been hit by a truck.

She had dressed while I still lay there.

‘Lock up,’ she said. ‘I have a car. Put the key under the mat,’ and she was gone.

I waited until I heard her car drive away, then I dressed, locked up put the key under the mat and drove back to the hotel.

Well, I told myself you have laid one of the richest women in the world: what happens next? Would she tell Wes Jackson to get rid of me or did she want another session? It was a matter of waiting and seeing.

Olson’s Buick came down the sandy road and pulled up. He, Pam and Erskine got out and joined me.

‘Good trip?’ I asked as the girl served cokes.

‘The usual,’ Bernie shrugged. ‘The boss got held up. We’ve only just got in.’

I didn’t tell him I knew this.

When the girl had gone, I said, ‘It looks all right. I’ve checked the runway. No problem. It’s raining like hell out there and the fly in could be tricky.’

I went on to give him a detailed description of my reception, how I had met O’Cassidy and what he had told me.

‘I think he’s right: this is a political thing,’ I concluded. ‘Not that it matters to us. The thing that does matter is to be sure Kendrick pays up. We don’t shift the kite until we get that bank receipt.’

‘How do you react now about us getting knocked of once we deliver?’ Erskine asked.

‘I think if we do what we’re told and don’t make reasons for them to turn rough, we’ll be okay.’ I had thought about this a lot. ‘You see, you two have to train their pilots. As we’ve delivered the kite the agreement is we get the full payment. So we’ll probably have to stay at the airfield for a couple of weeks while the pilots are being trained. It seems to me once we have done that, fulfilled all obligations, there is no reason for them to get rid of us. They can’t get their hands on the money once it has been paid into the bank so what’s the point in knocking us of?’

Erskine thought about this, then nodded.

‘But...’ I paused to look directly at Bernie, ‘Pam doesn’t fly with us.’

He stiffened, but before he could say anything, Pam snapped, ‘I’d like to see you stop me!’

I ignored her, looking directly at Bernie.

‘The airfield is staffed with thugs, Bernie. There are no women there. With you two busy training their pilots, Pam could run into trouble. I’m not taking the responsibility of looking after her. That’s strictly out. If one of those greasers makes a pass at her, we could have the trouble I want to avoid. So she doesn’t come with us. She takes a flight to Merida and stays at a hotel and waits for us, but she doesn’t come with us on the flight. Can you see that?’

‘Bernie!’ Pam’s voice was shrill. ‘You’re not listening to this jerk, are you? I’m coming with you!’

‘I guess I’d better think about this Jack,’ Bernie said uneasily.

‘There’s nothing to think about. She doesn’t fly with us. I’ve seen these thugs... you haven’t. The moment they set eyes on her, they’ll come after her and then we’ll have real trouble.’

‘Makes sense.’ Erskine said ‘Why look for trouble?’

Bernie hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.

‘Yes. Okay, she doesn’t come with us.’

‘And what am I supposed to do? Sit in some stinking hotel and wait? Suppose you three decide to ditch me! I’d look a mug. wouldn’t I?’ Pam said viciously. ‘I’m coming with you!’

I shoved back my chair and stood up.

‘Want a lift back?’ I asked Erskine.

‘Sure.’

‘Bernie, this is your problem: she’s your woman. You fix it.’

I walked down the steps with Erskine at my side to the Alfa.