There’s a Hippie on the Highway

Chapter Nine

‘Are you sure you want to come?’ Harry asked.

‘Of course... don’t fuss!’ Nina moved irritably. ‘Of course I’m coming!’

They were standing on the rock platform just above the lagoon. She was wearing a bikini and Harry his trunks.

‘Well, okay, if you’re sure.’

He spent a few minutes helping her put on her aqualung and then put on his own, then the belts with the nylon cord. There was seven feet of cord, and as they stood side by side, poised to dive into the lagoon, the cord made a loop of slack between them.

He signaled and they both dived.

Concealed against the rock face, his fat back against the wall, Fernando Cortez watched them dive, then he started down the path that led to the rock platform.

Harry swam slowly, not exerting himself, constantly looking to see that Nina was keeping close to him. He was relieved to see she swam well. She pointed and he changed direction, then he saw a big opening in the rock face, well below the surface. She came close, touched his arm and pointed again.

Harry became aware that the current was getting stronger. He headed towards the opening, lengthening his stroke as the current began to force him against the side of the rock wall. Nina kept close to him. There was no drag on the cord between them. With a few more powerful strokes he was in the tunnel. He felt the water turning colder. The current was running hard against him and he looked back to see how Nina was getting on. He could see she was struggling now and swimming hard and only just keeping up with him. The moment he slackened his stroke, he lost ground and was swept back abreast of her. He decided he had to exert his strongest effort if they were to get through the tunnel before he became exhausted.

He put on pressure and shot off, the cord tightening, dragging at him as Nina tried unsuccessfully to keep up with him. He kept on, towing her, cutting through the current, feeling his heart, under the strain, begin to hammer.

Minutes dragged by and his pace became slower. Without Nina acting as a brake, he knew he would have reached the end of the tunnel by now, and he began to wonder if they would make it. The drag on the rope increased, telling him that Nina had reached the end of her strength. He could see nothing. He was swimming in complete darkness. He now had only two alternatives: to keep going or to turn and let the current sweep them back into the lagoon. He wasn’t going back, he told himself and he made a racing effort, drawing on the reserve all great athletes keep for an emergency like this.

After a grinding, heart hammering two hundred yard fight, he suddenly felt the current slacken and he knew they were through the tunnel. He surfaced into a soft blue light and he pulled out his mouthpiece and lifted his goggles.

He floated on his back, panting, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal, seeing Nina bob to the surface a yard or so from him.

‘I thought you weren’t going to make it,’ she said breathlessly as she lifted her mask.

Harry shook the water out of his eyes.

‘Nor did I.’

He looked around the grotto with its phosphorescent walls and water. Over to his right, he was startled to see a forty foot launch, painted white, its cockpit red. Clearly painted on her prow was her name: Gloria II Vero Beach.

‘Did you know this launch was in here?’ he asked, turning to Nina.

‘Know?’ She shook her head, splashing water into his face as her wet hair made a swinging flail. ‘Of course not! It’s not from Paradise City. It must be a smuggler’s boat that got trapped in here by the tide.’

‘You think that’s what it is?’

‘It’s from Vero Beach.’

Harry undid the knot on his belt, releasing the cord that held them together, then he swam fast to the launch. He swam around it, seeing the portholes of the cabin were smashed, seeing neat rows of bullet holes, like stitching, along the gunnel.

Nina joined him.

‘She’s been in a fight,’ she said. ‘Let’s get aboard.’

Harry swam around the stern, found a hanging rope and hauled himself onto the deck. He helped Nina to come aboard.

What looked like stains of dark red paint marked the deck and when they reached the cockpit, the dark stains were everywhere.

‘That’s blood,’ Harry said. ‘Looks as if the crew was wiped out. I’ll look in the cabin. You’d better stay here.’

‘I want to see.’

He turned and regarded her.

‘You’re not squeamish, are you, Nina?’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I said you’re not squeamish are you?’

She shrugged impatiently.

‘Blood doesn’t frighten me if that’s what you mean.’ She began to climb out of the cockpit but he caught hold of her arm and pulled her back.

‘Wait a minute, Nina. I want to talk to you.’

‘We can talk in the sun... later. I want to see what’s in the cabin.’

‘Don’t you know? Tell me something, Nina, were you watching when Solo and Cortez held Baldy Riccard’s foot in a fire?’

She stiffened. For a brief moment he saw a flash of vicious anger come into her eyes, but it was instantly gone.

‘What are you saying?’

‘You know,’ Harry said quietly. ‘Under torture, Baldy told Solo this launch was trapped in here, didn’t he?’

‘It’s not your business, is it, Harry?’ Her voice was harsh and cold.

‘It wouldn’t have been my business if you hadn’t involved me,’ Harry said. He sat on the bench seat, took from his trunks a plastic case containing his cigarettes and lighter. He offered her a cigarette.

She hesitated, then shrugging, took a cigarette and accepted a light. She leaned against the steering wheel, the cigarette between her lips while she regarded him.

‘Do you want to tell me about it, Nina?’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘When Randy telephoned Solo, telling him he had run into me who was an expert swimmer and we were heading to Paradise City by highway 1, he did some quick thinking, didn’t he?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Nina said, her eyes like chips of ice.

‘Yes, you do.’ Harry took a long drag at his cigarette. ‘Solo and you set me up for your patsy, didn’t you? It was you, wearing the anti-dazzle goggles, the white scarf, with the story you were taking a caravan to Miami, who planted Baldy’s body on Randy and me. Your outfit is still in the locker of Solo’s boat. You should have got rid of it. That was careless of you. You gave yourself to me because it was the easiest way you could think of to get me to pilot you into this grotto. That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘I loved your lovemaking, Harry.’ She moved her body suggestively. ‘Don’t be so suspicious. Suppose we make love now?’

He flicked his cigarette into the water, got out of the cockpit and walked along the deck to the cabin. After a moment’s hesitation, she trailed along after him.

He pushed open the splintered door of the cabin and peered into the semi-darkness. It took him some moments for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, then he saw on one of the berths four wooden boxes: each a foot by a foot and a half in size. He went down the few steps into the cabin and examined the boxes. They were secured by cord. As he unclipped his knife from his belt, Nina said hastily, ‘Don’t open them, Harry. The way they are packed now they’re watertight. We can swim them out.’

‘So you knew the boxes were here?’

She arched her shoulders as if she were trying to contain her impatience.

‘Yes, I knew.’

‘Baldy told you?’

Her hands turned to fists.

‘Yes!’

‘What’s in them?’

‘Money.’

‘How much.’

‘I don’t know... a lot.’ She lifted her full breasts and rearranged her bra. ‘Don’t worry, Harry. Solo is going to share it all with you.’

‘Is he? That’s nice.’

Harry lifted one of the boxes. It was heavy.

‘These won’t float.’

She pointed to a locker.

‘There are life jackets in there. We can tie one to each box and then we can swim them out. The current is with us on our way out.’

Harry smiled.

‘You really have thought this operation out, haven’t you, Nina?’

‘So, all right, I’ve thought it out!’ She was again trying to conceal her impatience. ‘Let’s get going, Harry.’

‘Not yet. There’s a question I want to ask.’ He moved forward so he was close to her. ‘Who is the passenger with us in the locked cabin, Nina? Solo or Cortez?’

Solo was in his office when Joe came in, his big eyes rolling.

‘Boss, the cops are here.’

This came as no surprise to Solo. It surprised him they hadn’t come sooner. Instead of spending his Sunday morning in bed as he usually did, he got up early and had been awaiting their arrival for the past hour.

He wasn’t worried. He was sure Lepski didn’t know who had knocked him cold. Solo had crept up on him like a ghost, and he knew Lepski had been far too occupied with Cortez to have the slightest suspicion. All the same he knew there would be an inquiry and awkward questions asked about Cortez.

‘Show them in, Joe,’ he said, getting to his feet.

As Beigler and Lepski came into the office, Joe moved around them and hurried away. Solo smiled expansively.

‘Come right in, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Ah, Mr. Lepski! How are you this morning? Very sorry about last night. I got my man to see you home... very sorry.’

‘Yeah,’ Lepski said, moving into the office. Beigler remained by the door. He had agreed that Lepski should handle the interview. ‘And you’re going to be a lot more sorry, Solo.’

Solo lost some of his smile.

‘Now, Mr. Lepski, you know it wasn’t my fault. You know, honestly, you had just a little drop...’

‘Shut up!’ Lepski snarled. ‘Sit down!’

Seeing the ferocious expression in Lepski’s eyes, Solo, now a little uneasy, sat down.

‘Where’s Harry Mitchell?’ Lepski demanded.

Solo blinked. This he wasn’t expecting.

‘Mitchell? Maybe in his cabin... maybe swimming... I don’t know. It’s his day off.’

‘I heard it Mitchell is with your daughter on Sheldon Island,’ Lepski said.

Solo shifted and his eyes turned misty.

‘No. I don’t know who told you that, Mr. Lepski, but Nina only goes to Sheldon on her own. Because she likes to be on her own on the island from time to time, I let her have my boat.’

‘Are you telling me Mitchell isn’t right now with her on the island?’

‘Of course he isn’t!’

‘But your daughter is?’

‘Yes... she took the boat.’

‘What makes you so sure Mitchell isn’t with her, Solo?’

‘I saw her leave. She was alone! She wouldn’t take Mitchell or any man out there on her own. She’s a good girl!’

Lepski grinned evilly.

‘Are you sure about that, Solo?’

Blood rushed into Solo’s face.

‘You watch your mouth, Mr. Lepski! I won’t hear a word against my daughter! Against me... okay, but against her... no!’

‘Fine. Take it easy, Solo. So we don’t have to get worried, huh?’

‘What you mean? Get worried... about what, hey?’

‘We were getting worried about your daughter, Solo,’ Lepski said. ‘We got a tip she had gone out to Sheldon with Mitchell and it sounded like a good tip, but as you know he isn’t on the island, then we don’t have to worry, do we? We needn’t have come rushing out here with four of our boys. We could have stayed home.’

Solo clenched his big fists.

‘I don’t understand... worried about what?’

Lepski turned to Beigler.

‘Think we should tell him, Sarg?’

Beigler shrugged indifferently.

‘I don’t see why,’ he said. ‘If Mitchell isn’t out there with his kid, I don’t see what business it is of his, do you?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Lepski nodded. ‘Not his business.’

‘What is all this, hey? What is it?’ Solo demanded, banging his fists on his desk.

‘But, of course, if he is lying and Mitchell is out there, then it could be rough on the girl,’ Lepski said, ignoring Solo.

‘He’s too smart to lie to us,’ Beigler said, staring at Solo. ‘Aren’t you, Solo?’

Solo took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating face.

‘I don’t understand, Sergeant. I–I...’

‘We’re wasting time,’ Lepski snapped. Where’s Mitchell’s cabin?’

‘What do you want him for?’ Solo asked.

‘What do you know about him, Solo?’

‘Me? Nothing... he’s a fine swimmer... a nice guy... I...’

‘How do you know he’s a nice guy?’

Solo licked his dry lips.

‘He — he acts nice... what is it?’

‘You didn’t make any inquiries about him before you hired him?’

Solo stiffened.

‘No. Inquiries? What inquiries?’

‘You mean you hired him as a lifeguard without checking on him?’ Lepski said, his face expressing amazement. ‘A lifeguard teaches swimming, doesn’t he?’

‘Sure... why not? Is there something wrong in teaching swimming?’

‘Mitchell gave swimming lessons, huh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Young girls, huh? Handling them in the sea, huh?’

‘He gave them swimming lessons.’ Solo’s voice was husky now.

‘If a guy’s right, then it’s okay, but if he isn’t right, it’s dangerous, isn’t it?’ Lepski said. ‘A kinky guy gets his hands where they shouldn’t go, Solo. I don’t have to tell you that. Girls can’t complain. It could be an accident, but the hands are there, aren’t they?’

‘But Harry isn’t like that!’

‘Isn’t he? How do you know? You didn’t make inquiries?’

Solo got to his feet. He looked like a bull with the pics in.

‘What are you telling me?’

Lepski took out his wallet, produced the Telex and dropped it on the desk.

‘Washington says Sergeant Harry Mitchell, 3rd Paratroop Regiment, 1st Company was killed in action on April 2nd 1967. Read it for yourself. That’s official: straight from Washington where they don’t make mistakes!’

Beigler coughed and hid a grin by lighting a cigarette.

With a shaking hand, Solo picked up the flimsy, read the message, then stared at Lepski.

‘How do you know your lifeguard is Mitchell?’

Solo flinched.

‘If he isn’t Mitchell... who is he?’

‘Now, Solo, you’re beginning to act intelligent.’ Lepski paused to light a cigarette while he stared at Solo with his hard, cop eyes. ‘Yeah... that’s a good question. Who is he? Maybe if you had made inquiries about him you wouldn’t be asking that question now. Have you ever heard of Dave Donahue?’

Solo shook his head. His face was bewildered.

‘You haven’t huh? You don’t read the newspapers? You’ve heard of the Boston Strangler?’

Solo gulped.

‘Yes... but...’

‘Well, Donahue is like him: a sex killer. He escaped from the Sherwin Institute for the Criminally Insane three weeks ago. It had a full coverage in the press, but then you’re too busy running this joint to read newspapers, aren’t you, Solo? The newspapers published a description. Donahue is a big man, blond, pale blue eyes, a badly set broken nose, around thirty years of age. One time he was a pro fighter. He was also a swimmer: won a bronze medal for diving.’

Solo’s legs collapsed under him. He groped for his chair and sank into it.

‘That’s Mitchell!’

‘No, it isn’t. Washington says Mitchell’s dead. That’s Dave Donahue, a dangerous, cunning sex maniac. He’s already killed three young girls. He’s as nutty as a fruit cake and when he gets a girl to himself he really gives her the treatment. When he’s through with her, he cuts her up.’

With sweat streaming off his face, Solo lumbered to his feet. He started across the office to the door. Both Lepski and Beigler tried to stop him, but it was like trying to stop a charging bull. He swept them aside and rushed out into the open where four of Beigler’s biggest and toughest patrolmen were waiting.

They got him back into the office again but only after clubbing him half silly. They slammed him down in his chair and drew back, panting.

Lepski winked at Beigler, then took up his stand in front of Solo who was holding his head in his hands, moaning to himself.

‘What’s the fuss about, Solo?’ Lepski demanded. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

Solo lifted his head and stared blearily at the four cops, then wrung his hands.

‘Let me go to my little girl, Mr. Lepski,’ he pleaded. ‘She’s with Mitchell... I was stupid to lie to you. Let me go to her.’

‘How are you getting to Sheldon, Solo... you swimming?’

‘I’ll get a boat... I’ll...’ Solo stopped, realising it would take some time to get a boat big enough to reach Sheldon.

‘We’ve got a boat, Solo,’ Lepski said. ‘You want a ride?’

Solo got unsteadily to his feet. His head felt as if it could burst at any second.

‘What are we waiting for? That sonofabitch could have killed her by now! What are we waiting for?’

‘You don’t get a ride until you sing, Solo,’ Lepski said, and smiled his evil smile. ‘I mean that. I want the whole Baldy story. I want to know why Mitchell is on Sheldon with Nina. I want to know where Cortez is and how he figures in this setup.’

Solo glared at him.

‘I don’t know anything about Baldy! I told you!’

‘That’s too bad.’ Beigler turned to Lepski. ‘How about some coffee? This is a restaurant isn’t it?’

‘Good idea.’ Lepski turned to one of the cops. ‘Get some coffee organised. We could be here all the morning.’

‘We’re wasting time!’ Solo shouted frantically. ‘He could be killing her!’

‘Well, if he does, you have only yourself to blame,’ Lepski said. ‘You don’t leave here until you sing, Solo, so make up your goddamn mind!’

Solo writhed with impotent rage.

‘You’re bluffing!’ he shouted, smashing his huge fists down on his desk. ‘I don’t believe Mitchell is Donahue! You’re lying!’

‘Washington says Mitchell died in 1967,’ Lepski said in a bored voice. ‘Maybe your barman reads the papers.’ He turned to one of the patrolmen. ‘Get the barman, Alec.’

A few moments later, Joe came in, sweating, his eyes rolling.

‘What’s your name?’ Lepski asked.

‘Joe Small, boss.’

‘Okay, Joe, have you ever heard of Dave Donahue?’

Joe gaped at him.

‘Have you or haven’t you?’ Lepski barked.

‘Ain’t he the guy who killed all those girls?’

Lepski smiled, reached forward and patted Joe’s shoulder.

‘That’s right. You read about him in the papers. You remember he was a big blond guy, huh?’

‘Yeah boss. A fighter.’

‘That’s it. Okay, Joe, beat it.’

When Joe had gone, Lepski stared at Solo who was now looking ten years older. His face was the colour of cold mutton fat.

‘Satisfied, Solo? You want to make up your mind. This guy does it slow, but they’ve been out there some time now. There’s still a chance if you hurry.’

‘I’ll tell you about it on the boat,’ Solo said huskily and got to his feet.

‘Okay,’ Lepski said, ‘Come on, boys, let’s go.’

While the police launch raced towards Sheldon Island, Solo sat in the cabin and talked.

‘Mr. Carlos wanted to get a big consignment of cigars out of Cuba,’ he told the two detectives. ‘They were his property but there was this ban on Havana cigars — there’s big money in cigars, you understand: everyone wants them — so he planned to smuggle them in. He hired Baldy Riccard who was a Castro fan to fix the deal and gave him money to pay off Castro’s boys and bring the cigars back. There was three hundred thousand dollars involved. Cortez who works for Mrs. Carlos, overheard Carlos and Baldy talking. He came to me because I have a boat. Now, I’m no Commie, Mr. Lepski, so I thought it would be in the National interest to hijack Baldy’s boat as it took off for Cuba. I was planning to hand the money over to the Customs authorities as soon as I got it.’

‘Yeah? I can imagine,’ Lepski said with his evil grin. ‘So what happened?’

‘Cortez and me intercepted Baldy’s boat off Sheldon. It was pretty dark and instead of stopping, Baldy tried to run for it. Cortez got kind of annoyed. He had a sub machine gun and there was some shooting.’ Solo looked hopefully at Beigler who was taking all this down in his notebook. ‘I didn’t want any shooting, you understand? I thought Baldy would heave to and there would be no unpleasantness. In the darkness he got away, but the boat was pretty hard hit, and after we had wasted a lot of time searching for it, we decided it was sunk and that was our bad luck.’ Solo licked his lips, hesitated, then went on, ‘A couple of months later, Baldy walks into the restaurant. Seeing him shook me because I thought he was drowned. He tells me he wants to hire my boat. I could tell by the way he talked he had no idea it was me who had tried to hijack him. Well, I wasn’t going to lend him my boat, but I told him he might get one at Vero Beach. As soon as he had gone, I called Cortez and told him to meet me at Vero Beach and Nina and I drove out there in my car and found Baldy. Cortez turned up in Mrs. Carlos’s car as his wasn’t running so good.’ Again Solo hesitated. ‘Well, Cortez played rough. He persuaded Baldy to tell us what happened to his boat.’

‘You mean Cortez stuck Baldy’s foot in a fire and kept it there?’

Solo wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand.

‘That’s what he did. I want you to understand, Mr. Lepski, I didn’t like it.’

‘And I bet Baldy didn’t like it either.’

‘No, I guess he didn’t. In fact, Mr. Lepski, he had a heart attack or something. Anyway, he died on us.’ Solo looked hopefully at Lepski. ‘You understand I had no idea he would do a thing like that.’

Lepski wagged his head.

‘Tough on you.’

‘That’s right, Mr. Lepski. It upsets me a lot. He was an old friend. It upset me.’

‘But you did persuade him to tell you what happened to the boat before he had a heart attack?’

‘Oh, sure. He told us that. When Cortez started blasting off with his machine gun, Baldy’s crew got killed and Baldy took the wheel. He headed for Sheldon. It was dark so we didn’t see him. Somehow he got through the Funnel and into the blue grotto. The tide was right. Once he was in the grotto, he decided to hole up there until we got tired of looking for him. But he didn’t know about the tide and when he got ready to leave, he found he was trapped. Well, he stayed there for three weeks until the food began to run out and then he got desperate. He put on a life-jacket and towing a rubber raft, he got swept through the tunnel and back to the mainland. He went to Carlos and told him what had happened. Carlos knew about the Funnel and knew the tide would be right on the 27th of this month. He told Baldy to get another boat and go to the Funnel on 27th and get the money off the other boat that was trapped. Well, when we knew Carlos was expecting to get the money by 27th we had to act fast. Right when we were wondering how to get into the grotto before the 27th, Randy Roache telephoned and told us about this guy Mitchell or whatever his name is. He said he was an Olympic swimmer. Nina figured a real top swimmer could get into the grotto and get the money out. If he was that good, he could help her through the tunnel so she could make sure he didn’t double-cross us. So we hit on the idea of planting Baldy’s body on this guy so we could have a hold on him if he didn’t cooperate. We borrowed a caravan, Nina used Baldy’s car and the plan went off without a hitch.’ Solo turned and looked anxiously at the island that was now in sight. ‘Can’t this goddamn boat go faster?’

Beigler handed his notebook to Solo.

‘Initial each page and sign the last page, Solo,’ he said. We’re going as fast as we can.’

Without even bothering to read what Beigler had written, Solo did as he was told.

Lepski made a sign to one of the patrolmen who quietly drew his Billy and balanced it in his hand.

‘You can relax, Solo,’ Lepski said. ‘Harry Mitchell’s come back to life.’ He took the second Telex from his wallet and handed it to Solo.

Solo read it, crumpled it in his great fist and glared with vicious fury at Lepski who grinned.

‘You hit me, Solo, so I hit you. Never hit a cop; it’s bad medicine.’

With a roar of rage, Solo launched himself at Lepski but the club, wielded with scientific precision smashed down on his skull and he spread out on the floor of the cabin.

‘Passenger? I don’t know what you mean,’ Nina said and backed away.

‘I had an idea either Solo or Cortez was in the locked cabin,’ Harry returned.

‘No one was in the cabin! We’re wasting time! Let’s get these boxes on deck!’

Harry regarded her, then shrugged. He carried the boxes, one by one, out of the cabin and laid them in a row on the deck. Nina came up with the four life-jackets. In a few moments they had strapped the jackets around the boxes. Then Harry found a length of rope and roped the boxes together.

He helped Nina adjust her aqualung, then adjusted his own. He shoved the boxes overboard. They landed with a splash in the water, the jackets giving them enough buoyancy to float.

He looked at Nina who nodded and they both dived off the boat. Harry picked up the floating rope and began towing the four boxes towards the mouth of the tunnel.

Nina swam beside him. They reached and entered the tunnel. The strong current swept them forward. Nina caught hold of one of the boxes and hung on as she was buffeted and bustled through the darkness.

The first indication that warned Fernando Cortez that the operation had been completed was the sight of the four wooden boxes in life jackets as they floated out of the mouth of the tunnel.

He was lying behind a rock on the platform where Harry had left his bag. He held the .22 target rifle in his fat, sweating hands, the butt dug hard into his shoulder. He levelled the rifle sight on the boxes, his finger taking in the slack of the trigger and he waited.

He, Solo and Nina had agreed that as soon as Harry appeared from the tunnel, Cortez was to kill him. Harry would have served his purpose, and a rifle bullet was all that was necessary to put period to his usefulness. The plan was for Nina to swim the boxes to where Cortez was hiding, return to the boat and bring it around the island to the lagoon. Cortez would load the boxes onto the boat and they would return to the mainland. Cortez would receive his share, give Solo the value of his boat and sail for Yucatan: a long trip, but in Solo’s boat and at this tune of year, a safe one.

Always suspicious of a double-cross, Solo had been uneasy about the plan. Suppose, he argued to Nina when Cortez had gone, Cortez took it into his head not to return to the mainland?

Suppose he killed her as well as Harry and grabbed all the money? Nina had argued him out of this thinking. Cortez, she had told Solo, was in love with her. When Solo’s face turned dark with rage, she had assured him that if Cortez was the last man left alive she wouldn’t dream of marrying him. ‘Marry that fat, stupid pig?’ she had said and had laughed scornfully, but the fact that he was so madly in love with her assured her safety. She had, she told Solo, already hinted to Cortez that once the share out had been made, she would go with him to Yucatan, and Cortez was hopeful. Again she had laughed. ‘I’ll leave you to handle him, Papa, when he learns I won’t be going.’ So good was her acting that Solo was convinced. Her acting had been good because she was speaking half-truths. She was in love with Cortez, and they were planning to go on from Sheldon to Yucatan with the money. There was something about the fat, brutal Mexican that stirred Nina’s blood. The thought of escaping from Solo’s supervision, living with Cortez in Mexico City and spending three hundred thousand dollars was heady wine to Nina. What she didn’t know was that Cortez already had a fat, ugly wife and three fat, ugly children living in Taxco. Cortez had no intention of marrying Nina. He planned to live with her until the money began to run out and then he would quietly drop out of sight.

As he squinted along the barrel of the rifle, Cortez’s eyebrows came together in a worried frown.

He could see the four boxes floating just below him, but where was Mitchell? Then he remembered that Mitchell was wearing an aqualung. Cortez told himself Mitchell would come to the surface any moment now, and when he saw a head bob up out of the water some yards from the boxes, he quickly shifted his aim and squeezed the trigger. In the split second before the rifle fired, he realised it was Nina’s head he was aiming at and not Harry’s. He saw Nina half spring from the water and throw up her arms. He saw blood appearing on the mask covering her face, then he watched her drop limply on her back and remain floating, blood making a dark circle around her.

Cortez remained motionless for a long minute, then he cursed loudly and vilely. Feverishly, he scanned the surface of the lagoon, looking for Harry, but couldn’t see him. He looked down at the floating boxes far out of his reach. He would have to get back to the boat and bring it round to the lagoon, he told himself. But where was that damned Mitchell?

He got to his feet.

‘Hold it! Drop that gun!’

He looked over his shoulder, his lips coming off his teeth in a savage snarl.

Standing above him was Lepski, and slightly behind was Beigler. Both detectives had guns in their hands. Like a trapped animal, Cortez swung his rifle around, firing at the same time. Lepski’s bullet took him between his eyes and he reeled back and splashed into the sea.

‘That’s two to be fished out,’ Lepski said in disgust. ‘Now where’s Mitchell?’

Watching all this from the far side of the lagoon, concealed in the heavy shadows, Harry decided it was time to go. He gently submerged and swam invisibly out of the lagoon and headed back to Solo’s boat.

Beigler told the four patrolmen to strip off and bring the two bodies and the boxes to the rock side where they could be dragged out.

While the patrolmen were undressing, Lepski continued to survey the surface of the lagoon.

‘Do you think he’s still in the grotto, Sarg?’ he asked.

‘Who is still in the grotto?’ Beigler asked.

Lepski stared at him.

‘Mitchell for God’s sake!’

‘How would I know?’ Beigler said indifferently. ‘Instead of jumping around like you want a pee, suppose you get into the water and do some work.’

Lepski reacted as if he had touched with a hot iron.

‘Who... me? Get in there! Mitchell may be getting away!’

‘You heard me!’ Beigler snarled. ‘Get in there!’

Thirty minutes later, and only with great difficulty, they got the bodies of Nina and Cortez onto the rock platform. Finally, they began to get the boxes up.

As Lepski was cursing and struggling with one of the boxes, he heard the sound of a boat engine starting up.

‘That’s Solo’s boat, Sarg,’ he bawled, and leaving the box, he swam to the side and heaved himself up onto the platform.

‘Mitchell’s getting away!’

‘Does that bother you?’ Beigler asked. ‘I don’t remember telling you to break off operations.’

‘But he’s getting away?’ Lepski cried excitedly.

Beigler regarded him.

‘Is he? We don’t know he was ever here. We have only Solo’s word for it and he’s a known liar. We don’t even know for sure that Mitchell wasn’t killed in action.’

Lepski began to say something but there was a look in Beigler’s eyes that stopped him.

‘I don’t get it, Sarg,’ he said uneasily.

‘Look at it this way, Tom. You and me were goddamn lucky not to have to serve in Vietnam,’ Beigler said. ‘My kid brother was killed out there. Any guy who did his three years in that mess deserves a break. He’s in the clear anyway. If we pull him in, he goes to jail, until the law decides he is in the clear. That would spoil his vacation.’ Beigler squinted at Lepski. ‘Do you want to spoil his vacation?’

Lepski could no longer hear the drone of the boat’s engine. He grimaced, then shrugged.

‘I guess not,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

‘That’s why you’ll never make a sergeant,’ Beigler said with smug satisfaction. ‘Suppose you get your ugly carcass back into the sea and get those boxes out!’

The setting sun was making long shadows as Harry Mitchell reached The Stop’n Eat restaurant some fifteen miles north of Vero Beach, fronting highway 1. He had taken Solo’s boat back to the Dominico restaurant. He had gone to his cabin and collected his things. As he packed, he had heard Manuel snoring in the adjacent cabin. A silence hung over the restaurant buildings. The beach looked lonely and deserted. He paused for a last look around, then he had walked to Randy’s cabin, opened the door and looked into the empty room. He had nodded his satisfaction. So Randy had taken his advice... he had gone.

Then he had started for the highway.

He had walked all day, feeling like walking and making no attempt to stop any passing car. It was Sunday and the trucks were taking a rest. He wondered if there was a police alert out for him. Life had become too vivid, like looking through a high — powered telescope for him to care. He had seen Nina die and he had guessed that Cortez had made a mistake. He had seen Cortez die and that had given him a feeling of satisfaction. He had wanted some sun and sea air: this was what he had got: some vacation!

He was ready for a meal when he reached the restaurant. The time was 19.15. He had been walking steadily all day and now he was tired.

As he moved towards the entrance to the restaurant he saw, parked in the only occupied parking bay, a dusty blue Chevrolet. He climbed the steps, pushed open the door and entered a brightly lit rectangular room with a bar and some forty unoccupied tables with two forlorn looking negro waiters hovering around them with the sad air of men with nothing to do.

At the bar, a glass of whisky and ice in his hand, was a short, fat man with a red, good-natured face, a balding head, wearing a city suit that looked in need of pressing.

As Harry reached the bar, the fat man looked at him, then nodded. His brown eyes went over Harry with the close stare of a man who likes to sum people up to decide the best angle with which to approach them.

‘Hi!’ the fat man said, smiling. ‘Dave Harkness. I’m breaking a rule... drinking on my own. Save me!’ His smile widened. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’

‘Harry Mitchell.’ Harry leaned on the bar. ‘Thanks: a beer, please.’

Harkness signaled to the negro barman.

‘Looks like things are slack here,’ he said. ‘You eating?’

‘I aim to.’

‘May as well put the bibs on together then. That’s another thing I don’t like... eating alone.’

‘Sure.’

The beer arrived and Harry drank. He sighed, lit a cigarette, not offering his pack as Harkness was smoking a cigar. He asked to see the menu. Harkness leaned forward and read it with him. They decided on the chicken dinner.

‘You’re just out of the Army?’ Harkness said.

‘Everyone seems to know that.’

‘Not so hard. You on vacation?’

‘It’s over. I’m heading for New York.’

‘Is that right?’ Harkness again regarded Harry thoughtfully. ‘I’m in wholesale fruit. Been in the game for twenty years.’

They moved to a table and ordered beer. Harkness talked of this and that. He asked questions about Vietnam but when he saw Harry was bored with the topic, he switched to the racial problems and the new taxes.

It wasn’t until the meal was over and they had paid their checks that Harkness said, ‘I’m going through to New York want to come along with, me?’

Harry shook his head.

‘Thanks, but I plan to stop off at Yellow Acres. I want to revisit friends. I promised I’d call in on my way back.’

‘Yellow Acres?’ Harkness paused to light a cigar. ‘My hometown. Who are your friends? I bet I know them. I know everyone in Yellow Acres: nice little town if you don’t have to live there for long.’

‘Mr. Morelli and his daughter,’ Harry said. ‘He runs the restaurant there.’

Harkness frowned. He looked at Harry, his mouth making a small grimace.

‘You know Toni? One of the nicest. Have you known him long?’

‘Oh no. I stopped off at his restaurant a few days back. He and his daughter were good to me.’

‘They had bad luck.’ Harkness rubbed his hand over his balding head. ‘Toni died four days ago. Maria is in some hospital... first degree burns.’

Harry stiffened.

‘What are you telling me?’ His voice was harsh.

‘Yeah... a bunch of kids set fire to the restaurant. Toni was trapped. Maria managed to get out, but she’s bad, so I hear. The place was burned down.’

‘Kids?’

‘Hippies,’ Harkness shook his head. ‘Five of them. The cops got them. They’ve been looking for them for some time. Stinking little junkies.’

‘Four boys and a girl?’

Harkness stared at him.

‘That’s right. One with a broken arm. They said they did it to get even.’

Harry crushed out his cigarette. He sat in silence for some moments while Harkness looked curiously at him.

‘We get a lot of trouble from the Hippies in this district,’ Harkness said after a while. ‘I don’t like driving at night any more on this highway. That’s why I welcome company. If you get a puncture or a breakdown it can be dangerous. Only the other night, my old friend Sam Bentz... he’s been a trucker for years... had a blow-out. The Hippies found him. He’s in jail now, facing a manslaughter charge. He killed two of them before they set fire to his truck.’

Harry’s hands turned into fists.

‘Sam Bentz gave me a ride as far as Orangeville,’ he said. ‘I planned to ride back with him. What happened?’

‘Well, he got this blow-out and as he was changing the tyre, ten Hippies descended on him. Sam has seen service in the Korean war: he’s a toughie. He had this Indian club. The Hippies were stoned to the eyeballs. He cracked the skulls of two of them before he went down. They kicked him around, set fire to the truck, then found these two junkies were dead so they took off. Sam has a broken arm and he’s lost all his teeth. He’s in jail now but he won’t stay there long, but he won’t be the same man again either.’ Harkness stood up. Well, let’s go. We’ve got a long night’s drive.’

If I’d known it was going to be like this, he was thinking as Harkness started the car, I would have stayed on with the Regiment. The Ice Age... the Stone Age... the Bronze Age... now the Age of Violence. You can’t get away from it: it seems to be everywhere.

He leaned back, watching the headlights of the approaching cars, seeing the groups of Hippies waving their thumbs.

The future people, Sam Bentz had called them.

He thought of Maria in hospital, the fat, good natured Morelli dead, Nina floating in the sea, her head a red halo, Solo in the hands of the police and Randy... where was Randy?

Harry shrugged. He reached for a cigarette as the Chevrolet, roaring along the highway, carried him towards the jungle known as New York.