The Killer Touch

Ten

He awoke in terror. For an instant he thought he really was blind; there was nothing but blackness outside his eyes; it stopped his vision not in front of his eyes but at their surfaces, as though his eyeballs had been painted black. Then he made out the details of the window; just a paler shade of black against the total darkness of the room. He was puzzled. There should have been a sunrise. Then he heard the soft susurration on the thatched roof. It was raining; a heavy, windless rain, as though the clouds were not releasing moisture but rather leaking.

He lay still for a moment trying to sum up the situation. He was still tied. Maudie, presumably, hidden. Boris dead. Jata, locked in. Joss, Coco and Godfrey, totally harmless. He hoped Rolf realized that. Unfortunately, he was a psychopathic killer and capable of killing everybody on the island.

He heard soft breathing above him; occasionally there came a rustle of bedclothes and a soft high moan. Female. He was in the keeping of Bunny, and Bunny was a restless sleeper.

He waited until the wind rattled the palm leaves outside, then he tested his bonds. Tight. His hands were tied to some protuberance on the wall. He moved them and found a mortar seam jutting out between the stones. He rubbed the rope against it and the concrete crumbled damply. Damn Joss for using lousy cement...

He settled back and breathed heavily through his open mouth. He wished he’d been left with Ace instead of Bunny. There was no way to reach the woman.

Something tickled his wrists, and he felt a shooting pain in his hand. A rat, hell. Lie still: oh, if I only had something to put on my ropes so the rat would chew them...

This is the rat that gnawed the rope.

But no, he’s moving up, pitter-patter of little feet heavy weight on chest, he smells the blood from those burns...

No!

It was more than he could take; with a thrusting twist of his body he rolled over, spilling the rat on the floor. It scurried away, and from above him came the crackle of the coconut straw mattress. Her voice came sharp and clear without a semblance of sleepiness:

“Fuzz, you awake?”

Burt said nothing.

Patter of bare feet, scrape of a match, tinkle of lamp chimney. Yellow light filled the room. Careful not to blink, Burt stared at the ceiling. He heard the whisper of her bare feet, saw her face appear only inches from his. Her hair was a black, tousled cloud.

“You’re awake, sure. You’re really blind, are you? Rolf thought you might fake it.”

Burt tightened his lips and kept staring upward. The strain made his eyes water.

“You crying, Burt? No, you wouldn’t cry, would you? What have you been doing?”

“Counting sheep, what else?”

She laughed without humor. “Can you count what you can’t see?” She tugged at his bonds with a skillful hand, then rose to her feet. “You should’ve talked sooner. You wouldn’t have had to spend your last hours as a blind man.”

She picked up the lamp and walked toward the bathroom. From the corner of his eyes, Burt saw the curved outline of her body silhouetted by the lamp she carried before her. Her black, ankle-length gown flowed around her like smoke.

The door closed, leaving the room in half-darkness. Burt closed his eyes and felt the tears course down his temples, into his ears. He heard the gurgle of the chain-flush toilet, then the sputter of the shower. Outside the day grew lighter.

The bathroom door opened. Burt turned his head back toward the ceiling. He was aware of the woman walking toward him on silent bare feet. She moved in a slow, stagy, hip-rolling fashion, shrugging the gown off her shoulders and catching it behind her. A moment later she stood over him, filling his vision with the twin hemispheres of her breasts bisected by the gentler curve of her stomach. She bent down, and he smelled the soap-washed odor of her skin. He felt her hand searching intimately.

She rose with an abrupt snort. “Man, you are blind. Blind as a bat.”

She walked away and Burt heard her rummaging in her suitcase.

She appeared again in his field of vision, laid her clothing out on the bed, and began dressing. Without looking at her directly, Burt noted the difference in the way a woman dresses in the presence of a man, and the way she does it when she’s unaware of being watched. There was no languor of movement; buttons and zippers were no longer keys which could open windows into a mysterious world, but only garment fastenings. It was a matter-of-fact operation, totally devoid of erotic ritual, like harnessing a horse or setting a table. Her voice filled the spaces between the swish and rustle of her clothing. She would accompany Rolf to meet the men in Caracas, she said. Rolf wanted her along because she knew the language better than he did. She talked to Burt with a vague condescension, as though she had already come to regard him as less than a man. Burt decided that it would be worth all the pain in his eyes, if it only made her careless...

“Where is Rolf now?” he asked.

“He went to Petit—” She caught herself. “He went to give his wife her... uh, food for the day. He’s picking me up on his way back. Then we’ll...”

Burt barely heard the rest of it. Petit, he thought, Petit Martinque, Petit Baliceaux, Petit Mustique, Petit Cannouan, Petit St. Vincent, Petit this and that. Even the Tobago Gays had three islands with such a prefix; Petit Rameau, Petit Bateau, and Petit Tabac. One of those remote clods, he decided, but which one?

He turned his attention to the woman. Dressed now in a white blouse, smoke-blue skirt and matching shoes, she sat on the bed and peered into a hand-mirror propped against the lamp. Her words became slurred as she applied lipstick:

“... spend two days without me, Baby, but don’t break up. I’ll be back. Meantime you’ll be tied up here in the dark like a little rabbit. No food, no water. Don’t try to untie yourself because Hoke or Ace will be outside. They can’t come in because I’m padlocking the door and taking the key. Don’t bother to yell because they won’t answer. Rolf calls it the black hole treatment; you’re supposed to gabble like a turkey when you come out. I don’t know, personally; I did two years in a reformatory because of guys like you and we went through things just about as bad. But maybe Rolf knows what he’s doing...”

Rolf did know what he was doing, thought Burt; so had the Chinese Reds, the Japanese and the wardens of Devil’s Island. They’d learned that you totally destroy a man’s will when you bury him alive.

He watched her reach into her purse and take out a tiny black cylinder not more than a half-inch long. She spread a handkerchief on the table, unscrewed the cylinder, and took out an object which glistened like a drop of water on her right index finger. With her left hand she spread the lids of her right eye and touched the finger to it. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly. She clenched her fists and beat them gently against the table.

“Oh, brother, I know how you felt when Rolf dropped that sap in your eyes. These lenses are a bitch at first, like running around with a cinder in your eye.” She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose, then bent to insert the other lens. “But I can take it another week.”

“Oh, is that when you drop the masquerade?”

“That’s when they stop hurting.” She gave a laugh which ended in a sniffle. “Man, you live in a dream world. This is no masquerade, this is for real. Bunny DeVore is dead; I’m Tracy Keener for the rest of my life.”

Burt felt his lips go dry. “And the real one? She dies, I suppose.”

“You’ve got the scene, Baby.” Bunny closed her purse, got up and went into the bathroom. Her voice floated back through the open door. “It’s been a drag running out to... to that island every day, practicing how she moves, how she walks and talks. Rolf’s a real perfectionist. What if we meet some of our old friends, he says. Personally, I don’t intend to give them the time of day, I’ll be in and out of Capri, Monaco, Hawaii, and anyway there’s my height. But Rolf says a woman’s height is expected to fluctuate according to what shoes she’s wearing and—”

“When?” asked Burt.

“When what? Oh, her. Just as soon as we get back. I’ve got her down cold.”

Cold. The word echoed in his mind.

Bunny returned with the two-piece plastic shower curtain. She wrapped it repeatedly around his wrists and ankles, making a separate knot with each loop. Burt wondered where she’d become so skilled at tying a prisoner.

She stiffened at the sound of the launch. “There’s Rolf. So long, Baby.”

She bent over him, her hair brushing his cheek. Her lips touched his with brief, surprising tenderness. Her lipstick tasted of mint. She raised her head and he saw her eyes glistening. “That’s so you’ll remember me. And... this!”

He saw her arm move, but he forced himself not to flinch. Just before the hand struck his face, it curved into five bright red claws which tore furrows from his ear to his nose. Then she was gone.

Time became a succession of half-heard sounds: The heavy clump of Hoke’s feet, Ace’s softer tread, the scratch of a match and the whisper of rain on palm leaves. The rain ended; the sun came out and converted all moisture into steam. The walls of the unventilated room became beaded with moisture; breathing was like trying to inhale warm, damp cotton. A rust-colored, eight-inch centipede crawled onto Burt’s right leg, nosed around his trouser cuff while Burt held his breath, then dropped off and disappeared through a crack in the wall.

Burt felt a tingle of excitement when he heard Ace and Hoke in mumbled conversation on the porch veranda; perhaps the seed had sprouted and borne fruit. He was certain when he heard the splintering crack of wood and the protesting screech of metal. The door crashed open and Ace walked in.

“You wanta tell us where the diamonds are?”

“What do I get out of it?”

“You live. We’re getting out of here before Rolf comes back.”

“How?”

“That’s our problem.” He snapped his fingers, and his voice showed the strain of his decision. “C’mon. Make up your mind.”

“I’ll show you,” said Burt. “I can’t tell you.”

They untied him and led him outside. Burt forced himself not to blink, though the light was blinding after the darkness of the room.

“You’ll have to lead me,” he said. “It’s near the fumaroles.”

“What’s that?”

“Where the water shoots up from the ground.”

“Yeah, this way.” Ace caught the protruding end of his belt and pulled him roughly through the tangle of vines around the cabin. “Okay. We’re on the path now.” Burt found it easier to fake blindness if he stared straight ahead with his eyes unfocused. He bumped once into a palm tree and another time sprawled forward with his feet tangled in railroad vines. Hoke guffawed behind him; this was the kind of humor he could understand.

Short, salt-crusted grass crunched beneath his feet. He let himself be pulled along and felt the strength flow back into his aching muscles. He sensed Hoke behind him with the shotgun ready. He knew his life would be measured in minutes if he showed them the diamonds; killing him would be a reflex action not worth debating.

“Okay,” said Ace. “Where is it?”

Burt stood two yards from the ten-foot cliff and felt the spray cooling his face. He tried to remember exactly where he and Coco had found a half-submerged cavern two years ago. Giant langouste liked to hole up there during the day, and they had taken out dozens.

He dropped to his hands and knees. “There’s a hole here somewhere.”

“Here’s one!” shouted Hoke.

“Okay, stick your hand in. It’s out of sight under the edge.”

Hoke laid his gun on the grass beside him and plunged his arm in up to the elbow. Ace watched him, his attention off Burt for an instant. Burt took two running steps and dived off the cliff. He struck the hissing water and clawed for the bottom. The water was clouded with foam and sand particles. He groped along the cliff, fighting against the water which tried to thrust him to the surface. He found a hole and pulled himself inside. He swam into darkness, his lungs bursting, aware that he could be entering a blind pocket. Above him was solid rock. He visualized himself trapped beyond the point of no return, drowning with his head pressed against the roof of the cavern. Then his hand groped into air. He surfaced and filled his lungs with great gulps. He found a narrow shelf where he could stand with his head above water, and began the long wait. No sound reached him except the gurgle of water and the hiss of air. There was no light; no measure of time except the steady rise and fall of the waterline on his chest and the changing pressure on his eardrums. After a time even that became unconscious, like the rhythmic beat of his heart.

It could have been two hours or three when he detected a faint glow coming through” the water from the entrance to the pocket. He watched, his mind suspended, until the glow faded and disappeared. Night-time now. He couldn’t be sure that someone wasn’t waiting at the edge of the cliff, but there was no way to make sure. He dived down and pulled himself blindly through the tunnel. He felt the force of the surf and came to the surface. The gibbous moon in the east seemed brilliant as day after the darkness. The black silhouette of the cliff was unmarred by any manlike shape. The sea seemed unusually calm, and there was no wind. He moved northward along the cliff, swimming silently without raising his arms from the water. He emerged on the pebble beach, found the crevice, and groped toward Maudie’s cave. He saw the yellow glow of lamplight before he entered.

Maudie lay curled up on the foam-rubber cushion, dressed in a green silk dress with red chiffon bordering the neckline. Burt knelt down and shook her plump shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened wide. She sat up, her features swollen from sleep, then pressed her palms against her forehead and brushed the hair off her temples.

“You don’t seem glad to see me.” said Burt.

“Yes, but...” She indicated her dress and sighed. “I wish to change before you come.”

He frowned. “You expected me?”

She nodded. “They say you walk blind into the sea and drown, but I know—”

“You’ve been out?”

“Yes, but nobody see. Godfrey meet me and give me these.” She pointed at a case of bully beef and several cans of ship’s biscuits., “They watch the others, but they never see me.”

The sight of the food made Burt aware of the growling complaint of his stomach. He began to open a can of the bully beef but Maudie jumped up. “You sit, sir. I will serve you.”

Another time Burt might have been amused to see this young girl playing hostess in a gaudy dress too small for her burgeoning body, while yellow lamplight flickered on the walls of the cave. She apologized that he had to eat with a strip of shingle; she gave him water from the Haig-and-Haig pinch bottle, then squatted before him and stared with intense fascination while he ate. Gradually he extracted from her the details of what had been happening on the island.

Rolf and the woman had gone, a fact Burt already knew. Joss and the boys had been told only that Burt was a prisoner, and that if any of them misbehaved he would be killed. That had kept them quiet until Coco and Godfrey had been pressed into diving for his body. When they failed to find it, Ace had decided that he’d been carried out to sea. Joss had then been taken to her house and locked in, replacing Burt as a hostage. One of the men guarded her all the time.

Burt thought it over; apparently the two had given up their scheme to get the diamonds, and settled down to wait for Rolf’s return. This posed a dilemma for Burt: should he try to sneak up, overpower the two men and... then what? He had to get Tracy Keener out of Rolf’s way. (He had decided she must be on one of the Tobago Cays, ten miles away.) Her death seemed a foregone conclusion when Rolf returned; that of Joss and the boys remained problematical. If he tied Ace and Hoke, then went after the woman, they might get free and kill the others out of sheer vengeance. The best thing was to leave the island as it was, let the two men think him dead so they wouldn’t get nervous, get the woman to safety and come sneaking back with reinforcements.

“Maudie,” he said. “Do you know where Joss keeps the skin-diving equipment? The tanks, masks, fins, that stuff?”

She nodded. “In the room beside where the boys sleep. You wish me to bring it?”

“Can you get it without being seen?”

“Truly.” She rose, seized the dress at the hem and pulled it over her head. She stood in the bra and a pair of men’s shorts knotted around the waist. “Nobody see me at night when I wear no clothing.”

Burt wondered if he’d ever get used to the way women had lately disrobed in his presence as though he were a bronze Buddha. He watched her untie the shorts, drop them to the floor, then kneel with her back to him. “Will you help? I do not understand the hook.”

As Burt unhooked the clasp, he asked: “Can you carry the stuff? Those tanks are heavy.”

“I am more strong than Coco,” she said. “He learn this one night when he catch me in the path.” She shrugged off the bra and walked to the cave entrance. She turned, invisible except for her teeth and eyes. “You sleep. I bring everything.”

Burt lay down on the cushion and tried to visualize a map of the Grenadines. Mayero was the nearest populated island to the Tobago Cays; he vaguely remembered a tiny, African-like cluster of thatched huts. He would leave the island at dawn, invisible beneath the water, swim to Mayero, leave his tanks there as a deposit on a rowboat. He’d row across the long stretch of open sea to the Tobago Cays, pick up Tracy Keener if she was there, and...

Maudie’s hands shook him awake. “Sir, will you look?”

He raised his hands and saw the equipment lined up for his inspection. Tanks, carrying frame, fins, mask, belt of weights, knife—

“You forgot the regulator.”

“What is that?” Her naked body was wet and glistening like an otter’s pelt.

“A round thing on a black hose. Goes in your mouth.”

“I get it,” she said, and left.

This time he did not wake up when she returned. He dreamed that he was swimming and encountering a black-backed porpoise in the water. He was wrestling the porpoise, trying to push it beneath him, when he woke up and looked down into the wide white eyes of Maudie. She lay passive in his arms, using none of her boasted strength.

He rolled onto his back. “Sleep on the other side of the cave, Maudie. I’ve got a long swim tomorrow.”