The Killer Touch

Five

Burt squatted inside a clump of grass and peered at the woman who stood beside the cistern. Strange that she’d wear her white beach coat to a secret tryst; she stood out like neon beneath the thick crescent of the moon. The water catchment was a gray triangle on the slope above her. He could hear rats chittering in the grass around him; the booming surf had become an unchanging part of life, audible only when he made an effort to hear it. Beyond the cistern he saw the fumaroles geysering up like pale gleaming wraiths in the moonlight.

A match flared and went out. A cigarette glowed in the pale oval of her face, brightened and dimmed several times in rapid succession. Lover’s getting impatient, he thought, but I’ll bet she doesn’t leave...

A cloud obscured the moon and darkened the island. A darker shadow joined the white shape of the woman. When the moon came out again, the larger shadow broke away and disappeared around the corner of the cistern. Burt gripped the two-foot length of steel pipe and crept out of the grass. He angled to the right, down the slope and back up again on the side of the cistern opposite the woman. He peered around the corner and saw Rolf squatting with his back to the stone wall. Rolf was an old night fighter; Burt knew he could never sneak close enough for a solid blow. He picked up a stone and, holding his arm away from his body so there would be no swish of cloth, threw it over Rolf’s head. It thumped on the ground ten feet ahead of the man; Rolf rose to his feet. Burt leaped forward and swung the pipe against his head with a delicate, calculated force. Rolf fell against the cistern and started a limp-legged slide to the ground; Burt caught him beneath the arms and lowered him gently. He withdrew a .38 snub-nosed revolver from Rolf’s shoulder holster and shoved it in his hip pocket. Rolf’s pulse and breathing were both surprisingly normal; Burt decided he’d have less than a quarter hour with the woman.

He retraced his steps around the cistern to where she waited. Like a passenger whose bus has just arrived, she pushed herself away from the wall and threw her cigarette to the ground. As she came toward him, Burt saw that her long legs were bare beneath the beach coat.

“I was beginning to get cold,” she said, locking her hands behind his head and looking up with a teasing smile. “I wondered if you’d have the guts to come.”

Burt spread his hands across her back and felt the muscle-taut flesh beneath it. She was not as calm as she appeared.

“Where’d you leave Rolf?” he asked.

“In the cabin, reading. He thinks I’m taking a walk.” She rocked against him, an undulating warmth pressing him from chest to knee. “We don’t have much time. Will you kiss me?”

“No biting?”

“Maybe that comes later.”

He felt the surprising coolness of her lips and the curiously facile, impersonal probing of her tongue. He tasted wine and braised pigeon, and decided that this girl knew all the right moves at the right time, but that skill could never take the place of natural passion.

Then suddenly all her weight hung from his neck. She fell backward onto the ground, pulling him off-balance so that he had to put out both hands to avoid crushing her with his weight. The sandy soil scraped his elbows as he tried to break her grip around his neck, and Burt discovered that somewhere in midfall she had managed to unfasten the robe. He made three more discoveries in rapid succession: She wore nothing beneath the robe, she had a wiry masculine strength, and whatever her ulterior purpose in arranging the meeting, the seduction was in deadly earnest.

He jerked free and sat back on his haunches. “Cool it a minute. What’s all the rush?”

She put her hands behind her head and began laughing softly.

“Did him want to chat? Did him want to be a big strong man and just overwhelm poor little me?”

Her mock babytalk curdled his stomach. “I think I get it. Rolf was supposed to catch me in the act and shoot me, right?”

She raised her head and frowned at him. “Huh?”

Burt rose to his feet. “Get up. I’ll show you something.”

“Oh, now wait—”

Burt seized her arm and jerked her up. “Come on.”

Rolf was stirring when they rounded the corner. The woman tore free and ran toward him. “Rolf, what happened?” She knelt beside him an instant, then whirled and leaped at Burt, her teeth bared, her white robe flying out like the wings of a silver moth on both sides of her nude body. Her nails raked his cheek once, then again, while Burt wrestled with an untimely question: Where does a gentleman seize a naked woman he doesn’t want to hurt? He felt he was being smothered in satin-firm flesh, she seemed to have a dozen arms, breasts, stomachs all heavy with an exciting smell of sweat and perfume. Her teeth were seeking a purchase somewhere in the region of his jugular vein when he found her shoulders and pushed with all his strength. She sprawled backward on the ground, but she was game; she bounced up and was about to charge again when Rolf’s voice cracked like a pistol shot:

“Drop it, Bunny!”

She stopped as though on a short leash, her robe hanging open. Rolf sat up, drew his legs under him, and spoke in a tired voice:

“Wrap up the package, baby. It didn’t sell.”

She drew her robe together and tied it slowly, like a child putting away a doll which she’d been forbidden to play with until Christmas. Burt watched the pair, feeling like a stranger at a family dinner.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said with petulance.

“Mine. Totally mine.” Rolf touched the back of his head. “Sergeant March used an old trick. I was expecting something more original.” He pressed his hand to the bulge of his jacket, sighed, and looked up at Burt. “Did you borrow my gun, old man?”

“I’ll keep it for a while.”

Rolf smiled. “With my compliments. I don’t like guns. That one shoots slightly to the left, anyway.” He fumbled beneath his jacket and drew out a cigarette. “Will you ask your question here, Sergeant, or—” he paused to ignite the cigarette “—shall we go to my cabin and have a drink?”

“This is fine.” Burt pulled out the gun and squatted with his back against the wall. To the woman he said, “Get over beside him.”

She obeyed, leaning against Rolf and delving into his jacket for a cigarette. She lit it from Rolf’s and giggled softly. “Maybe he handles a gun better than he does a woman.”

“Keep quiet,” said Rolf absently. “Permit me to observe, March, that any restriction of an individual’s freedom of movement is technically kidnapping. Since you’re off-duty and outside the United States, you have no authority whatever.”

“Let’s all go together and complain to the authorities.”

Rolf chuckled. “You win. First question.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“Sitting beside me.”

“You called her Bunny.”

“A term of endearment, just between us.”

Burt decided it felt good to have the intellectual jump on Rolf. He smiled. “The island seems to have agreed with her. She’s grown three-and-a-half inches since she arrived.”

Rolf stiffened and looked sharply at the woman.

“Rolf, I didn’t—”

“No, I understand it now.” He turned back to Burt. “I assumed you’d be too chivalrous to search the purse. I was wrong.” He pressed a shaky hand to the back of his neck. “Do me, Bunny. I’ve got a headache.” She rose to her knees behind him and began kneading his neck. Rolf looked at Burt. “She’s Bunny DeVore, specialty dancer, late of Miami Beach. She starts her dance in a cowboy suit and winds up wearing only a gun. Clever act, particularly when she demonstrates the symbolism of the gun—”

“You didn’t bring her here to dance,” said Burt.

“No, she goes with me on all my trips to South America. Sort of a traveling secretary, except that she can’t type and can’t take shorthand.” He chuckled. “Pity you struck so soon, March; you’d have learned what makes her so valuable in my business.”

“I know,” said Burt, “But I can’t say I dig the professional touch.”

“Oh, you lousy fink—”

“Go to the cabin, Bunny,” said Rolf. Your ego’s getting noisy.”

“Stay there,” said Burt.

“Burt’s afraid you’d bring back a sawed-off shotgun, I suppose.” To Burt he said: “I’m your hostage, so why worry? I can speak more freely when she’s gone.”

Burt hesitated a moment, then nodded. Bunny rose and disappeared into the darkness, her back stiff.

“She minds well,” observed Burt.

The secret,” said Rolf, “is to give no commands she’s not already half-inclined to follow. She usually enjoys the tasks I give her. This one tonight — I must say she was particularly eager, but now — you know what they say about a woman spurned. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

“What was the purpose of this business tonight?”

“I have a theory that people act because of pressure on them. When I want somebody to do something, I find out what pressures prevent them from doing it. Then I set up a counterpressure in my favor, stronger than the one against.”

“And Bunny supplied the pressure.”

“There are less pleasant pressures, March.”

Burt narrowed his eyes; Rolf didn’t seem to be threatening, only stating a fact. “I had a feeling last night you wanted something from me. Why not just tell me what it is?”

“Not until you put the gun away.”

“All right. Then it can wait. Tell me why you pulled the switch.”

“That was a challenging problem. My wife and Bunny are almost polar opposites. My wife is small, as you know, with a triangular face, brown eyes, blue-black hair and a faintly olive complexion. Bunny is a type particularly favored by South Americans, an ash blonde with green eyes—”

“Green? But they were brown—”

“Tinted contact lenses.”

“Oh... is that why her eyes watered?”

“They do when she first puts them in. Later the tears stop.” He ground out his cigarette in the dirt. “Of course it was easy to dye her hair, but that left the problems of weight and complexion. I put Bunny on a strict diet and told her to get tanned in a hurry. Meanwhile she wore dark glasses and stayed out of sight. Joss couldn’t see well. I remembered that, and I figured that white women look basically alike to the native boys. The fact that my wife seldom makes close friends made the problem simpler. I told Bunny not to talk to Joss at the start, for fear the woman would recognize the change in her voice. Gradually Bunny would show more and more of herself, until the reality of her presence replaced the memory of my wife.” Rolf sighed. “The only thing we couldn’t change was Bunny’s height. Now that’s all I’ll tell you until you put the gun away.”

Burt held onto the gun; he didn’t feel he needed it any more, but he couldn’t put it aside without losing part of the initiative.

“I can tell you a few things,” said Burt. “You pulled the switch night before last, didn’t you?”

Rolf shrugged. “Think what you like.”

“She flew in to Grenada and you picked her up in the launch, brought her here, and removed your wife. What did you do, kill her?”

Rolf looked up, startled. “Of course not.”

“Then let me see her.”

“No.”

Burt paused. “Did Bunny come in as Tracy Keener?”

Rolf hesitated, then nodded. “You’d have a hard time proving which one was real. Bunny’s papers are foolproof.”

“Still the authorities would be interested to learn that two Tracy Keeners were on the island at the same time.”

“It would be embarrassing,” admitted Rolf, “should Grenada and St. Vincent ever compare notes, but hardly enough to excuse your taking me in at gunpoint. I can promise you this, Burt: should you try it, I could produce my wife within a few hours, and she would be in good health. She would swear that she left this island of her own free will, and has remained away only because she wanted to. And there you would stand with egg on your face.”

Burt believed him; Rolf could produce his wife within a few hours. That meant... well, hell, it meant she could be anywhere, on the big islands of St. Vincent or Grenada, or on any one of a hundred smaller clods of land. It would take a month to search everywhere, even if he had a boat. And he didn’t have a boat.

“If your wife is not a prisoner,” said Burt, “what’s to keep her from deciding to take off?”

“Pressure,” said Rolf.

“What kind of pressure?”

“The most irresistible kind,” said Rolf with a faint smile. “It comes from inside her.”

Burt felt a chill climb his back; it seemed inconceivable that a man would turn his wife into a heroin addict merely in order to control her. But then, with Rolf, nothing was impossible.

Burt shoved the gun back in his hip pocket. “I suppose your wife knows Bunny took her place.”

“She knows it’s for her own good.”

“How’s that?”

“To remove her from danger.”

“Danger on this island?”

Rolf nodded.

Burt frowned. “You could have left her at home.”

“They’d know where to find her.”

“Who’s they?”

“I am... involved in a deal which puts me in considerable danger. My wife could be a means of getting to me.”

“Yes, but if the masquerade works, doesn’t that put Bunny in the same danger?”

“She’s less sensitive to danger than my wife. And she knows how high the stakes are.”

“How high?”

“Mmmm. Say the liquid assets of a certain small Latin American government in exile.” Rolf leaned forward. “Interested?”

“What do I have to do?”

“Be my bodyguard while I’m here on the island.”

Burt smiled. “You don’t need a bodyguard.”

“You’re wrong. I’m an offensive fighter. I haven’t the patience to guard my back. Besides, if they come, there’ll be more than one.”

“And I’m to capture them and take them to jail?”

Rolf laughed aloud. “Extradition papers, that sort of thing? Don’t be silly.”

“Then you expect me to kill them.”

“You’d find that more practical.”

Burt felt his throat tighten. “I’m not a hired gun, Rolf. I’m not even an instinctive killer, despite what Joss may have told you. I’m a cop, and I serve the law. I’ve been told that’s far above any individual interest—”

“No sermons, Burt.” Rolf rose to his feet and rubbed his forehead. “I’m going to get more of Bunny’s treatment. We’ll talk some more, of course. You haven’t heard all of my terms. Maybe you’ll find that you have no choice but to defend me.”

“More pressure, Rolf? Bunny won’t be so eager this time.”

“Ah, Burt. There are outside pressures... and inside pressures. I prefer the latter.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a cop. You’ve got the gun. Figure it out.”

He walked away laughing to himself. A minute later the screen door slammed on cabin two. Burt walked back to the beach club and found it dark and silent except for the squeak and thump of rats fighting over discarded tidbits of food. He stood on the beach and watched Rolf’s launch rock in the gentle swell of the lagoon. It would be easy to rewire the ignition and go to St. Vincent and... what? He still wouldn’t know where Tracy Keener was. No doubt she was the reason for Rolf’s cruise earlier today; he’d know enough to dole out no more than a day’s supply of the drug at a time. The secret of enslaving an addict was to restrict the supply.

So he’d be going again tomorrow.

Burt climbed up to the watchtower and sat on the parapet. He could hear the wind rippling the grass below with a sound like sliding silk. He rubbed his aching leg and thought of Bunny’s cool fingers. He tasted her lipstick on his mouth and wondered if it had been all work and no play for her.

A rock clattered. He peered over the parapet into a pair of wide, white eyes. A familiar T-shirt bulged below them.

“Maudie,” he whispered. “Go back home.”

“Maman sleeping. She know nothing.”

“Go back anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

Burt sat back down inside the tower and leaned against the low wall. A minute later he heard a sound like marbles rattling. He peered over the edge and saw Maudie huddled against the base of the tower with her arms hugging her stomach.

“Oh, hell. Come on up.”

She crawled over the edge and sat down, stretching her warm young body beside him. “I help you watch, sir.”

“Uh-huh,” said Burt.

Five minutes later the tight-curled mat of her hair fell onto his shoulder. She snored softly. Burt stretched her out on the stones and pillowed her head with his jacket. He felt a wave of warm protectiveness toward the sleeping girl.

Yeah, he thought, that’s what Rolf meant. I’m a cop, and I’m hung up with these people. Whether they like it or not, whether they accept it or not, I’m responsible for the safety of everyone on the island: Joss, Maudie, the boys, Jata, Tracy Keener... even Rolf and Bunny. Because if the danger which threatens Rolf should threaten the others, I will have to act.