There’s a Hippie on the Highway

Chapter Four

It was siesta time.

On the beach, in front of the Dominico Restaurant, there were some thirty men and women lying under sun umbrellas, sleeping off their lunch. They were all shapes and sizes: all as skimpily dressed as decency would allow.

A silence hung over the restaurant which an hour ago had been a hive of activity. Somewhere at the back of the restaurant a faint rumbling sound announced that Solo Dominico was sleeping. The mid-afternoon sun blazed down on the sand and the sea and a soft, hot wind dried the oil and sweat of the sunbathing addicts.

Harry sat in the shade of a spider orchid tree, scooping up hot sand and letting it run through his fingers as he talked Beside him, Randy lay on his back, his eyes hidden behind sun goggles, listening.

Harry had thought over what Lepski had said and what Solo had told him about Baldy Riccard. After some hesitation, he decided that Randy should be told. Harry came to this decision because he and Randy faced the risk of having Baldy’s murder pinned on them. Randy had to be told.

‘Well, that’s it,’ he concluded. ‘Whoever killed him was after this key and they didn’t get it. I’ve got it.’

‘Throw it away,’ Randy said without hesitation. ‘This is something that happened We’re in the clear now: let’s stay that way.’

‘It’s not that easy.’ Harry clasped his knees as he sat forward. ‘The body was planted on us. If it is ever found, there will be a murder hunt. Right now, the police think he’s been knocked off. They don’t know, of course, but they suspect it, so they are already alert Lepski is a smart cop. If he finds the Mustang, he’ll start digging and he could come up with us. We are not in the clear. I want to find out what is in this left luggage locker.’

‘I still say throw the key away.’

‘The rumour goes that Baldy pulled a big job,’ Harry went on, ignoring Randy’s interruption. ‘He was a top class safe breaker. The picture I get of all this is he was hired to open a safe. When he got his hands on the contents, he did a double cross and hid the take in this left luggage locker. The people he was working for caught up with him and put pressure on him to talk. He didn’t, and while under pressure, he died. There could be a whale of a lot of money in that locker, Randy. If it’s there, we cash in.’

Randy sat up abruptly. He looked questioningly at Harry.

‘I don’t get it. What do you mean?’

Harry continued to stare across the hot white sand.

‘All the police know is that Baldy is said to have pulled a big job. They don’t know what the job was. If it had been any legitimate steal it would have been reported. Baldy’s job hasn’t been reported so that must mean it is illegal money: a hijack if you like: money or something valuable owned by criminals so they can’t go to the police and complain. That kind of money is anyone’s money.’

Randy was tense with interest now.

‘You mean if we find money in the locker we can grab it?’

‘I don’t see why not... findings keeping.’ He looked at Randy. ‘You still want me to throw away the key?’

‘Not if it’s worth money. You really think there’s money in the locker?’

‘I don’t know, but I do know there’s something valuable in there. It would have to be a great deal of money for me, personally, to let someone burn my foot the way Baldy’s foot was burned and not turn the key in. So if it isn’t money, it’s something worth a lot of money.’

‘That’s right.’ Randy dug his fingers into the sand. His thin face was puzzled. ‘Harry, I don’t dig you. You didn’t have to tell me all this. You didn’t have to tell me you found the key. You could have opened the locker, taken the money or whatever it is in the locker and said nothing to me about it. Why are you cutting me in?’

Harry studied him.

‘If the police ever get on to us, we could land up in the chair. It seemed to me that as we are both in the same jam, we should also split what we get out of it.’

Randy shook his head in wonderment.

‘You’re an odd ball, Harry... but thanks.’ He thought for a moment, then his face brightened. ‘Gee! Do you really think we’re going to be rich, Harry?’

Harry shrugged.

‘Don’t bet on it.’ His eyes became suddenly alert as he saw Nina come out of the restaurant. She was wearing a red bikini and carrying a towel. Harry’s’ heart gave a little jolt as he watched her run across the sand. The movement of her breasts and the roll of her hips sent a savage stab of desire through him.

‘Eyes off, Harry,’ Randy said quietly, watching him. ‘I told you: she’s for nobody, unless you want to tangle with Solo.’

Harry got to his feet. He turned his back on Nina as she ran into the sea.

‘Tell him I’ve borrowed the Buick,’ he said. ‘I’m ordering the rails for the high dive.’

‘Is it anywhere near the airport?’ Randy asked.

‘Not all that far.’

‘I dig... I’ll tell him.’

Harry returned to his cabin, changed into a short-sleeved shirt and slacks, then walked to the car park. As he was getting into the estate car, he paused.

Standing in the opposite row under the palm-thatched roof of the car park was a white Mercedes SL 180. Not a car that is seen every day, Harry thought, and he hesitated. His mind went to the white Mercedes which he was now sure had picked up the woman who had been driving the Mustang. A coincidence? More than likely, but the Army had trained him too well now to accept nothing but facts.

He looked up and down the long double row of cars and saw no one, then he crossed to the Mercedes. The windows were down and he had no trouble leaning in to examine the licence tag. It was made out to:

This told him nothing. He stepped away from the car, again looked to right and left, again hesitated. The sight of the car alerted and disturbed him. Of course, he told himself, there must be a number of white Mercedes SL 180 in the district, but his mind refused to dismiss the car.

He walked rapidly down the long shaded aisle and into the barroom.

Joe was washing glasses and humming to himself. His black shining face lit up when he saw Harry.

‘Want a drink, boss?’ he asked.

‘I’ll have a Coke, thank you.’ Harry sat on a stool, leaning his elbows on the counter. The bar was deserted. Through the big windows, he could see the beach and the bodies under the sun umbrellas.

Joe poured the Coke, added ice and pushed the glass towards Harry.

‘Would you know Mr. Emmanual Carlos?’ Harry asked after taking a long drink.

‘Mr. Carlos? Sure, boss.’ Joe rolled his eyes. ‘One of our best customers. He comes here regularly three, four times a week. Lots of money: he’s a very important gentleman. He’s out there now with Mrs. Carlos.’

Harry’s suspicions began to subside.

‘What’s he do, Joe?’

‘Do?’ Joe looked blank. ‘I don’t reckon he does anything. His father left him a whale of a lot of money.’

‘What did his father do?’

Joe took a box of cigars from under the counter and laid it before Harry.

‘That’s his father. Carlos Havana Cigars.’

Harry stared at the ornate label on the box and examined the coloured photograph of the bearded man in a frock coat.

‘I thought we had given up importing Havana cigars, Joe.’

‘That’s right. This is now under the counter stuff. Mr. Dominico has a big stock. We sell only to the customers we know.’

‘You say Mr. Carlos is here now?’

‘Sure. He came in here only a few minutes ago to use the phone. He’s out there now with Mrs. Carlos... the fourth umbrella to the right.’

Harry went to the window and looked out onto the beach.

He could see a man and a woman lying under an umbrella. The man, heavily built, was in swim trunks, lying on his side, his back to Harry. The woman, wearing a sharkskin white bathing suit, lay on her back. Most of her face was concealed by enormous sun goggles. Her hair was brick red and her skin was tanned to a nut brown, even shade. She had small thrusting breasts and a flat stomach which was more than the other women had who lay around her.

Harry studied them for a long moment, then shrugged.

‘See you, Joe,’ he said and left the bar.

By the time he had placed an order for the chromium handrails for the high dive board, it was 16.00 hours. He hurried to the estate car and headed for the airport. He had trouble in finding parking space. Finally leaving the car, he entered the bustling reception lobby. It took him some minutes to locate the left luggage locker section, then he walked down the long alley, looking for locker No. 388.

When he found it, he paused to look right and left. A fat, middle-aged woman, some way down the alley was struggling to get a bag out of a locker. Coming down the alley was a thickset man in a creased lightweight suit. He carried a grip and was looking impatiently for a vacant locker. Neither of these people alerted Harry’s suspicions. He took the key from his pocket, sank it into the lock and opened the locker door.

Lying on the floor of the locker was a white plastic, much travelled suitcase, showing cuts and scars. Painted along its side was a broad red band: the kind of band people put on their cases for quick and easy identification.

Harry pulled the suitcase out of the locker and lowered it to the ground. Its weight was disappointing: it was no heavier than any average suitcase packed for a long weekend. It told Harry that there was no great fortune of money inside.

Leaving the key in the lock, he shut the locker door, then picking up the suitcase, he walked, without hurrying, towards the reception lobby.

Swarms of travellers swirled and eddied around him. A girl’s strident voice broke through the chatter and the sound of shuffling feet to announce the departure of Flight 507 for New York. Children, laughing, screaming and frazzling, added to the pandemonium of departure.

Harry kept on, avoiding people, side stepping children, intent on getting back to his cabin to examine the suitcase.

‘Hey you!’

There was a snap of authority in the voice that was like a blow.

Harry looked to his left, still moving, but when he saw Detective Lepski signalling to him, he stopped abruptly.

The suitcase he was carrying suddenly seemed to him to be red hot. He waited, watching Lepski push his way unceremoniously through the crowd.

Lepski planted himself in front of Harry: his ice blue eyes probing.

‘Remember me?’ he demanded in a tough cop voice.

Harry met the stare without flinching.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Detective Lepski... the officer who wondered if I could swim.’

‘That’s me.’ Lepski paused, a little thrown out of his stride by Harry’s apparent unconcern. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘If it’s any of your business, I’m collecting my bag,’ Harry said.

‘That your bag?’ Lepski stared at the white plastic suitcase in Harry’s hand, scowling at it.

‘Sure. I left it here last night. Now I’m working for Solo I need my things. Any other questions?’

Lepski bristled ‘Don’t get smart Mitchell! I don’t like smart guys in this City.’

‘You don’t? Who do you like? Dummies?’

Lepski’s tanned face darkened.

‘I said don’t get smart! Where are you from?’

Harry took from his shirt pocket the plastic folder containing his papers and offered them.

‘If you’re that curious, Mr. Lepski, go ahead and have yourself a ball.’

Lepski took the papers, read, taking his time, then he carefully folded the papers, returned them to their plastic cover and handed it back.

‘Paratrooper, huh?’ He regarded Harry now with a respectful expression ‘Okay, Sergeant, excuse me. You’re welcome here. We get a lot of bums through this City. It’s one of my jobs to put a rocket under their tails. No hard feelings?’ and he offered his hand.

Harry shook hands.

‘No hard feelings.’

‘You staying long, Sergeant?’

‘A couple of months. I have a job waiting for me in New York. I came here for some sun and air.’

‘You’ve come to the right place.’ Lepski scratched the end of his nose, then asked, ‘Did Solo tell you Baldy Riccard called on him, Sergeant?’

Harry’s face remained expressionless.

‘No, Mr. Lepski. He said nothing like that.’

‘Didn’t he say anything about me after I left him?’

‘Oh sure. He said you were a very smart cop and a very ambitious one.’

Lepski looked pleased.

‘He’s a smart old coot. One of these days I’ll come out to his place and bring my wife.’

‘He’ll be pleased.’

‘You think so?’ Lepski laughed. ‘I wouldn’t bet on that. Well so long: happy vacation,’ and he walked away, shoving through the crowd to the exit.

Harry drew in a deep breath. He was aware he was sweating. He crossed the reception lobby, then leaving the airport, he made his way to the car park.

He put the suitcase on the passenger’s seat of the car, got in, started the engine and drove the car out of the parking lot.

Because the unexpected meeting with Lepski had shaken him a little, his instincts for trouble were alerted. There had been long hours when he had taken a patrol through the jungle that this instinct had saved him whereas it hadn’t saved some of his men who followed him and who had allowed their alertness to become slack. Harry’s instinct for danger was highly developed and even now, after three months from the jungle, it still functioned.

As he swung the car around so that it headed for the airport exit, he spotted a dusty green and white Chevrolet back out fast, squeal to a stop, swing around and come after him. In his driving mirror, Harry saw the driver was a squat, dark complexioned man, wearing a panama hat pulled well down to half conceal his features.

At any other time, Harry would have ignored the car, but in his present state of alertness, he wondered about it. He drove to the highway and pulled up at the stop sign, his flasher indicating that he was turning right. On his driving mirror he saw the Chevrolet slowing, its right flasher coming on.

Harry edged his way into the oncoming traffic and drove with the traffic, keeping to the near side. From time to time, he glanced into the driving mirror and saw the Chevrolet was behind him.

Was he imagining the car was following him? He wondered.

The car had so positioned itself behind two other cars, its licence plate was hidden. The car was with him still as he reached the turn off to the Dominico Restaurant. As he turned, he slowed and watched the Chevrolet go past and saw the driver’s head turn to stare at the back of the estate car.

Harry drove into the restaurant’s car park, left the estate car and started towards his cabin, carrying the suitcase, as Solo appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Solo was scowling. His heavy, fat face was dark with anger.

‘You don’t take my car without asking me,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘I don’t hire you to go rides in my car!’

Harry paused. He regarded Solo, his eyes alert.

‘I told Randy to tell you why I took the car,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve been ordering the hand rails for the high dive board.’

Solo snorted angrily.

‘I don’t take messages. Your job is to look after the beach. If you want hand rails, you tell me!’

Harry walked slowly forward until he was facing Solo. He looked directly into the little, angry eyes.

‘Okay, from now on, I’ll look after the beach and you take care of the high dive board if you still want it.’

He stared at Solo for a long moment, then turned and started down the sandy path towards his cabin.

‘Hey! Harry!’

Harry turned.

‘When are those hand rails going to be delivered?’

‘In seven days.’

Solo shifted awkwardly. He cleared his throat, then rubbed the back of his neck.

‘So you look after it, hey? So you forget what I said, hey?’

Harry walked back until he again faced Solo.

‘If you want it that way,’ he said. ‘It’s your business, Solo. You please yourself.’

‘So we do it your way.’

‘If that’s what you want.’ Harry hesitated, then went on, ‘I told you: I haven’t any patience with people who have no reason to act mean. Excuse my impatience.’

Solo grinned sheepishly. He patted Harry on his shoulder.

‘You’re right. Okay, Harry, take the goddamn car whenever you want it. Forget it, hey?’

‘I’ve forgotten it.’ Harry moved a little closer. ‘Hit me with that jab of yours... there’s something wrong about it.’

Solo’s eyes opened wide.

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Throw your punch, Solo.’

The punch came and slid along Harry’s ribs.

‘Very smart boy,’ Solo said, his eyes showing his disappointment.

‘You have a fine punch, but you’re throwing it wrong,’ Harry said. ‘Your elbow is away from your body. Keep it close like a golf swing. Try again.’

He braced himself as Solo’s fist smashed into his side. He was lifted off his feet and he thudded flat on his back. He lay still, stunned, feeling the jar of the punch go through his body. He had deliberately leaned into the punch knowing this was the only way to make Solo happy.

Solo dropped on his knees and caught hold of Harry’s head.

‘Sweet Maria! Are you all right? I didn’t mean it, Harry. I’m sorry...’

Harry shoved the hot, sweating hands from his head and sat up. He put his hand to his aching ribs, then he grinned.

‘That would have sat even Dempsey on his pants,’ he said. ‘You sure have a fine punch, Solo... phew I...’

‘Are you okay?’ Solo was still worried.

Harry got slowly to his feet and began to dust the sand off his slacks.

‘Sure.’ He rubbed his ribs. ‘You remember to keep your elbow in, and you’re the boss.’

Solo grinned delightedly.

‘I wouldn’t say that. You throw a mean punch too, Harry, but maybe we’re in the same class, hey?’

Harry knew then he would have no further trouble with Solo.

‘Weight counts, Solo. A good big ’un will always beat a good little ’un.’ He gave Solo a sharp dig in the ribs. ‘Boss!’

Solo squirmed with delight.

‘Well, maybe. You get on the beach now, hey? I get back to the cooking.’

Harry picked up the suitcase.

‘Be right with it.’

Solo’s eyes went to the white suitcase with its band of red.

‘That your stuff?’

‘Yeah... I picked it up now I’m staying.’

‘Sure, you’re staying.’ Solo patted Harry’s shoulder. ‘You fix the high dive board, hey?’

‘I’ll fix it.’

Harry left him and made his way to his cabin. As he pushed open the door, he became aware how flimsy it was. He entered the cabin, stripped off his clothes and put on trunks. He then tried the catches on the suitcase, but found them locked. This wasn’t the time to see what was inside the case. Solo would be expecting him to be on the beach any minute now. He hesitated, then decided the cabin wasn’t the place in which to leave the case.

He carried the case outside, made sure no one was watching him, then took the case to the back of the cabin where a big pile of deck chairs were stacked. He buried the suitcase under the chairs, smoothed down the sand where his footprints showed, then returned to the cabin. From his rucksack he took a reel of black cotton He snapped off a length of cotton, left the cabin, closed the door, then fixed the cotton across the bottom of the door so that if someone entered the cabin, the cotton would snap.

Then he walked down to the beach.

He saw Charlie and Mike, the two coloured helps, carrying trays of drinks to the people lounging under the sun umbrellas. He paused to look at the fourth umbrella under which Carlos and his wife had been lying. The man had gone, but the woman was still there, reading a magazine.

He felt an urge of curiosity to see her at close quarters. He walked over to where she was lying and paused by her.

‘Can I get you a drink, Mrs. Carlos?’ he asked.

The woman put down her magazine and looked up at him. Her big sun goggles partially hid her face, but he saw her nose was short, her mouth small; her lips, carefully painted, were thin. He guessed she would be closer to forty than thirty: a woman who took care of herself with a long history of massage, sauna baths, daily visits to the hairdresser: a contestant in the battle most women make to look younger than they are.

He felt the hidden eyes behind the sun goggles quizzing him.

‘No, thank you.’ Her voice carried a faint accent that Harry thought he recognised. He was now almost certain this was the woman who had been driving the Mustang. ‘Who are you?’

‘Harry Mitchell, the new lifeguard around here.’

‘Hello, Harry.’ She smiled. ‘Solo will tell you we — my husband and I — are often here. Can you swim? The last boy Solo hired...’ She lifted her hands and laughed.

‘Do you swim, Mrs. Carlos?’

She looked at him.

‘Probably better than you.’

‘Is that right? I’m going in now. Do you bet, Mrs. Carlos?’

She shook her head.

‘Not on a dark horse.’

‘If you’re so good, how about a fifty yard start to that raft and ten dollars to one?’

‘My! My! You must think you are good. Can you afford to lose ten dollars?’

‘That’s my business, isn’t it, Mrs. Carlos?’

‘Excuse me.’ She stared up at him, then shook her head. ‘No. I am good, but now I can see you would be better. I’ll have a gin and tonic instead.’

‘Yes, Mrs. Carlos.’ His tone was curt. That she had thought he couldn’t cover a bet angered him. He turned abruptly and headed for Charlie who had distributed his last drink. Seeing him coming, Charlie ran to him, grinning widely. Harry told him to take Mrs. Carlos a gin and tonic, then he walked away until he reached a pedal boat. He sat on it, his anger still gnawing at him.

Had she recognized him as he had recognized her? He wondered.

She had given no sign that she might have recognized him, but that didn’t mean anything. She was very sophisticated and cool: not a woman to be fazed easily. He frowned down at the sand. Was he mistaken? He thought again of the woman in the Mustang: the same build: the same accent, but, of course, he could be mistaken. What would the wife of a man as wealthy as Carlos be doing with a dead body? It didn’t make sense.

He stroked his nose and looked across the hot sand to where the woman was lying. She had picked up her magazine and was reading again.

Irritated that it was now a problem he couldn’t immediately solve, he shrugged, pushed himself off the pedal boat and walked down to the sea. He stood watching the bathers, thinking of the woman and thinking of the white plastic suitcase.

It wasn’t until just before dinner that Harry was able to return to his cabin. A blonde, plump teenager had come up to him, flushed and giggling, and had asked him for a swimming lesson.

At the end of half an hour, there was another giggling girl waiting.

By their prowess, Harry knew both of them could swim and they were making this an excuse to fool around with him. This was part of the job, and he went through the motions.

There was then a constant demand for drinks and he had to help Charlie and Mike to handle the rush. It wasn’t until 19.00 hrs. when the bathers had gone in for a shower before changing for dinner that he found himself free to go to his cabin.

He paused at the door to check the black cotton and his eyes narrowed as he saw the cotton was snapped. He pushed open the door and entered the stuffy little room. He looked around. Nothing had apparently been disturbed, but he knew someone had been in there.

He stepped cautiously out and looked to right and left, then he went around to the back of the cabin and checked that the suitcase was still under the pile of deck chairs. Satisfied, he took a shower, put on slacks and a shirt and went along to the kitchen for dinner.

He was the only one to sit down at the table. Neither Nina nor Manuel was there and Solo was busy at the stove. Solo grinned cheerfully at him.

‘You go ahead,’ he said. ‘I see you were giving lessons, hey? Nice cuddly girls, hey? Everyone is very pleased, Harry. I’m pleased too.’

Joe produced a plate of Chicken Maryland with fried bananas.

‘You’re trying to make me fat,’ Harry said.

Solo laughed.

‘You need good food... a big man like you. You need food like I need food.’ He paused to peer into the oven. ‘Mrs. Carlos was asking about you. She’s very interested in you.’ Solo shut the oven door and winked at Harry. ‘She’s my best and richest customer.’

Harry cut into the chicken.

‘What did she want to know?’

‘Who you are... where you come from... how you got here...’

Harry regarded the morsel of chicken on his fork.

‘How I got here? What’s that mean?’

Solo began to baste the five chickens turning on the rotor grill.

‘Women ask the goddamnedest questions. She wanted to know if you came by road.’

Harry laid down his fork.

‘So what did you tell her?’

Solo stared at him.

‘I told her you came with Randy on the thumb. Did I say anything wrong?’

Harry shook his head.

‘That’s how we came. Is she staying for dinner?’

‘She never has dinner here. Lunch... not dinner. She’s gone home.’

Solo began to cut up the chickens, whistling under his breath.

Harry ate. So she now knew who he was and her question made it certain she was the woman in the Mustang. So what followed?

He finished his meal without enjoying it, then got to his feet.

‘I’m going to the bar. Randy might need a hand.’

‘Sure,’ Solo was scarcely listening. He was arranging with loving care pieces of chicken on a salver, adding fried bananas, cherries and pineapple.

Harry walked past the restaurant. There were some forty people dining. Manuel was darting around the tables. Nina, in a scarlet pyjama suit, was standing at a table talking to four men. They were looking up at her, laughing, their eyes stripping her.

Harry entered the deserted bar. Randy was washing glasses. He looked at Harry, lifting his eyebrows inquiringly.

Harry quickly told him that he had collected the suitcase, that he had run into Lepski and was now sure that Mrs. Carlos was the woman in the Mustang.

Randy listened, a glass suspended in his hand, his eyes startled.

‘Not Mrs. Carlos... that’s crazy!’ he said when Harry paused. ‘I don’t dig for that.’

‘Then why did she ask if we came by road?’ Harry sat on a stool and rested his elbows on the counter. ‘The same build: the same accent... and now this question. It’s her all right.’

Randy put down the glass.

‘But she’s stinking rich! What... I mean... what the hell does it mean?’

Harry lit a cigarette.

‘I don’t know. Maybe we’ll get a clue from the suitcase. When are you free?’

‘Not before 23.30.’

‘Okay. I’ll wait for you.’ Nodding, Harry left the bar. He walked along the path that led past the kitchen and glanced through the open window. Solo was occupied, his back turned. Joe was standing by him, holding a dish. Without stopping Harry continued on towards his cabin. As he approached the shrubbery screening the cabins he became aware of a movement ahead of him. He stopped short, tense, as he peered into the darkness. He was sure that someone ahead of him had moved into the shadows by his cabin. He stepped swiftly and silently off the path and flattened himself against the trunk of a tree. He waited, his eyes searching the shadows.

He heard the scratch of a match and a tiny flame flared up. In the light of the flame he saw Nina’s face, framed by her black, glistening hair. She lit a cigarette, then dropped the match.

Harry hesitated, then stepped back onto the path and walked towards the red, glowing end of her cigarette.

As he came up to her, he smelt the subtle perfume she was wearing. It was too dark to see much of her, but he could just make out her shadowy outline. Again he felt the violent stab of desire go through him: something he had hoped was to torment him no longer.

‘I want to talk to you,’ she said out of the darkness.

‘I’m good at listening.’ His voice was scarcely a murmur. ‘Go ahead... talk.’

She dropped the cigarette. It fell on the sand, its glowing tip flared, then died.

‘We can’t talk here.’ He was aware her voice was husky and breathless ‘Come with me... give me your hand.’

He felt a sense of sharp disappointment. Her rage and her contempt had been important to him. You cowardly thug. She had called him that. Calling him that had been at least something different which he had welcomed: something completely different from the sickening love names he had been called by the sex-starved women who had groaned and squirmed under him, their fingernails digging into his back.

He put out his hand. In the darkness, she failed for a moment to find contact, then her dry, burning fingers closed around his wrist. Leading him, she moved off into the darkness. He went without eagerness, but without hesitation. His heart seemed to be beating more slowly and with difficulty as if his blood had thickened.

Finally, they reached a clump of palm trees, surrounded by sand dunes: a narrow channel between the dunes gave them a direct view of the sea which looked like a black mirror as it reflected the moon.

She released his hand and dropped down on her knees: there was now enough light for him to see her distinctly. Her scarlet pyjamas appeared to be black; her skin sharply white by contrast.

He stood beside her, looking down at her. Impatiently, she caught hold of his hand and pulled him down so he too was kneeling, facing her.

‘That was the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me,’ she said fiercely, ‘when you knocked that fat old swine off his feet.’

He felt a tiny explosion of shock inside him. This was the last thing he was expecting to hear from her. He stiffened, resting his clenched fists on his thighs.

‘If you knew the times I had hoped and prayed that some man would do it,’ she went on. ‘If you could know how much I needed proof that he really wasn’t the godhead and wasn’t utterly invincible as he told my mother, told my brother and told me until we began to believe it. I watched you play with him. Three times you let him hit at you. Then...! It was the most beautiful, satisfying thing that has ever happened to me!’

Still he said nothing: still he stared at her.

‘I hate him!’ The passionate vehemence in her voice made him flinch. ‘He is crushing me and ruining my life as he ruined my mother’s life, as he tried to ruin Sam’s life. But Sam had the guts to clear out and join the army. He looks on me as his chattel as he looked on mother as his chattel: a neuter creature who must have no feelings, no thoughts, no ambitions: who must never have a husband nor a lover. If I hadn’t told him I wanted you to go, he would never have let me out of his sight so long as you remain here. But I’ve fooled him! He really believes I hate you because you knocked him down. You are the first real man, after Sam, who has come here. Others have come and gone: too scared even to look at me.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Harry asked.

‘Because you are a man and I want a man,’ she said.

With two rapid movements, she took off her pyjama top and trousers. He could hear her breath rasping against the back of her throat as she leaned forward and began to unbutton his shirt. He pushed her hands away, hesitating. Then his desire for her, almost as frantic as her own for him, overrode his caution. He stripped off and took her.

She nearly spoilt it for them both by her raging impatience, but he held her firmly, crushing her so she couldn’t move, speaking gently to her, his face against hers, telling her to wait, that it must be slow. After a few moments when she reared against him, she seemed to sense that he knew what was best for her and she became relaxed and still. It took him many long minutes before he knew by her quick breathing and by the way she began to arch her back that she was ready for the storm.

He said softly to her, ‘Yes... now... together.’

And then came the great rushing surging waves, the roaring in their ears and the floating into a vacuum that they wanted to go on forever.

As Randy approached Harry’s cabin he saw a light from behind the curtain. He paused before the door and knocked. He heard Harry cross the room, then the door opened.

‘Come on in.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Randy said softly. ‘Manuel’s just gone to bed.’

‘Then we’ll take the case to your cabin.’ Harry crossed to the bed and picked up the white plastic suitcase.

‘What’s inside?’

‘I haven’t looked yet... it’s locked. Have you a screwdriver?’

Randy peered at the locks.

‘I have a good knife... that should do it.’

They moved out into the hot night, walked the few yards down the path and entered Randy’s cabin.

Randy put on the light, closed and bolted the door.

‘What have you been doing all this time?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were certain to have looked inside by now.’

‘I was waiting for you. If there’s any money in here, it’s not a lot.’

Randy opened a drawer in his chest, took out a broad-bladed fishing knife and offered it. It didn’t take Harry long to force open the catches of the case. Then he lifted the lid.

Breathing heavily, Randy stood over him, watching.

Carefully, Harry laid the contents of the suitcase out onto the bed. Then he moved the case off the bed and surveyed the articles from the case laid out now in two neat rows.

There was a grey, shabby lightweight suit, three white shirts, four pairs of black socks, a shabby plastic hold-all containing a cordless razor, tooth brush, sponge, soap and a tube of dentifrice, a pair of blue pyjamas, well-worn heelless slippers and six white handkerchiefs. The second row offered more interest.

There was a 7.67 mm. Luger Automatic pistol with a box of one hundred cartridges, a hundred Chesterfield cigarettes, a half bottle of White Horse whisky, a small roll of $5 bills and a well-worn black leather wallet.

Harry picked up the roll of bills, slid off the elastic band and counted them.

‘Here’s our fortune, Randy. Two hundred and ten dollars.’

‘Better than nothing.’ Randy couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Harry sat on the bed and picked up the wallet. He shook out its contents. There were several visiting cards with names of men that meant nothing to him: an American Express Credit card made out to Thomas Lowery; a $100 bill and a driving licence made out to William Riccard with a Los Angeles address.

Harry showed the licence to Randy.

‘At least we know for sure the dead man is Baldy Riccard.’

‘Where does that get us?’

Harry was staring at the articles on the bed.

‘There’s not one thing here that would be worth the torture Baldy endured,’ he said, half to himself, ‘and yet I’m willing to bet he was determined to keep this suitcase from changing hands.’ He picked up the empty suitcase, opened it and taking up Randy’s knife, he began slitting open the cloth lining. He discovered, fixed by adhesive tape to the lid, a plastic visiting card holder containing one plain card. He freed the card, turned it over and read the inscription written in small neat handwriting:

‘This must be it... but what does it mean?’ Harry handed the card to Randy.

Randy read it, then shook his head.

‘The only Sheldon I know is the Sheldon Island, ten miles outside the reef in the bay. Couldn’t be that or could it?’

‘What happens there?’

‘Nothing. It’s just rocks and birds. Nina goes out there when she wants to swim bare.’

‘The Funnel mean anything?’

‘Not to me... Nina might know. Shall I ask her?’

‘No.’ Harry took the card. He regarded it for a long moment, then shrugged and put the card in his shirt pocket. ‘Let’s get some sleep. It’s getting late.’ He split the roll of $5 bills and offered half to Randy. ‘That’s your share.’

‘Gee! Thanks! I can use it.’ Randy waved to the articles on the bed. ‘What are you going to do with this junk?’

‘Get rid of it.’ Harry began packing the suitcase.

‘So that’s that... no fortune,’ Randy said. ‘What a letdown I...’

‘We don’t know yet... the card could be the clue.’ Harry closed the lid of the case and forced the catches back into their slots.

Watching him, seeing the far away expression in the blue eyes. Randy wondered what was going on in his mind.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Harry said. He picked up the suitcase and let himself out of the cabin.