by Jay Bennett
“But I knew there was somebody on the other end.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Maybe it’s something.”
Al slapped at the water and watched the spray thin out and die. “I’ll be able to pick those guns up tomorrow.”
“It won’t make me sleep any better.”
“Why?”
Eddie shrugged and was silent.
“You starting to hate the money again?”
“Maybe I’m starting to hate what money does to people,” Eddie said.
Al’s brown eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.”
“What, Eddie?”
“I’m in a crazy mood. Forget it.”
“Yeah. I guess you are.”
They stood silently in the water. Far out, the black hulk of a freighter suddenly appeared. They watched it move slowly along the rim of the horizon.
“We know each other a long time, Eddie,” Al said. “Something’s eating you. What is it?”
“Forget it.”
“You don’t trust me with the money?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t trust me, then we’ll go in tomorrow and get it out.”
The freighter veered; they watched it slowly dip and disappear over the rim. The ocean was vast and empty again.
“I’ll give you your share and I’ll take mine. You do with yours what you want.”
Vast and empty and inscrutable.
“We’ll leave it where it is, Al,” Eddie said.
CHAPTER TEN
Eddie slept fitfully. He dreamed of one of his fights. And in the dream the face of his opponent kept blurring till it became a composite of many fighters he had fought. The body took on many arms, like a huge crab, and he didn’t know how to defend himself against the rain of blows that struck him. It seemed the merciless beating would never end.
He awoke hearing the bell. His hand went to his face and he felt a thick wetness. At first he thought with a shock of terror that it was blood. Then he realized that his face was bathed with sweat.
Then the bell he had heard was that of the telephone.
Eddie sat upright in the disordered bed and stared through the darkness at the ringing phone. He slowly got out of bed and walked across the room to the insistent bell.
It was one o’clock. Eddie lifted the receiver from the gleaming cradle, and the harsh ringing stopped abruptly.
“Hello?”
Then he heard the voice and his face blanched.
“Doran?”
It had the same slightly Spanish accent. The same metallic hardness.
“Eddie Doran?”
His first impulse was to jam the receiver down and kill the voice. His hand lowered, then it slowly rose again, and he heard himself saying, “Yeah?”
“You know me.”
“I know.”
“I’m in Miami. I want to see you.”
Eddie rubbed his hand over his wet face. Within, he felt a cold chill begin to spread.
“Doran.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to see you tonight.”
Eddie stared ahead of him into the darkness. The dim sound of the surf reached through the still night and into the room. With a rhythmic, heavy beat. The beat of a large and distant drum.
“Tonight.”
Eddie turned frantically to the door and wondered if he should go across the corridor and wake Al. He felt weak and disorganized, as if someone had suddenly struck him.
He sought the door, as he used to seek Al’s corner of the ring when he was in bad trouble and near a knockout. It was hard to stop the thoughts that whirled through him. To stop them and concentrate upon what the voice was saying.
“I’m at the Lorraine. You’ll come there.”
Eddie gazed at the closed door and didn’t speak. His hand lay flat and moist on his bare knee.
“Come now.”
“It’s late.”
“Now, Doran. It’s been a long search.”
“You found me.”
“And we should kill you now. But we’ll wait. Take a good look through your window, Doran. A good one.”
The phone dangled. Eddie stood in the cold shaft of moonlight, his eyes searching the motionless beach.
Then he saw straight before him two figures, sharp and angular against the night. Beyond their long shadows was the pounding ocean.
One of the figures moved swiftly forward and raised its arm. The blade of a knife flashed. It sped past Eddie, hit the wall with a spinning thud, clattered to the floor and lay still.
Eddie stood flat against the side of the window; then he reached out and slammed the window shut. His hand tore at the curtains and pulled them together.
When he picked up the knife, it felt like a piece of ice against the hotness of his clammy fingers.
Could’ve put it right through my gut. If he wanted to.
Right through it.
He threw the knife onto the bed and went back to the phone.
“I looked,” he said.
“Good.”
“The Lorraine.”
“You’ll ask for Mr. Ferer.”
“Ferer.”
“We’re watching every move you make. From now on in. Till we finish settling with you.”
“I’ll be there,” Eddie said.
“You’ll be there. And alone.”
And then the voice became cold as steel. “The cab driver is dead, Doran.”
There was a click.
He stood a long time after the voice was gone, then he slammed the receiver viciously onto its cradle. The sound crackled through the silence of the room.
Eddie opened the door and went over to Al’s room. As he knocked, he looked about him, but the corridor was empty and still. Finally he heard Al’s, muffled voice.
“Who is it?”
“Eddie,” he whispered. “Open up.”
The door opened a little and Al stuck his sleepy head through and stared at him.
“I gotta talk to you. Come on.”
“What the hell . . . ?”
“Come on.”
The door was now fully open and he could see Laura sitting up in bed, watching them. Her naked body was smooth and silvery in the moonlight. Then the closing door shut it from view.
When they got into Eddie’s room, Al turned sharply to Eddie.
“What’s wrong, Eddie?”
“Everything.”
He picked the knife off the bed and handed it to AL Then he motioned him over to the window.
“The hoods,” Al said and came away from the window.
“The hoods.”
Eddie drew the curtains tight and went over to the lamp and snapped it on. Al’s face was ashen; the scar threaded lividly down it.
“They want me at the Lorraine.”
Al sat down heavily on the bed and looked dully at the floor. His eyes were dark and large.
“The guy called. The fellow I spoke to in New York. They’re out for the dough, Al.”
Al kept looking at the floor. “Sonofabitch,” he whispered to himself. “Sonofabitch.”
“They’ve found us.”
“How?”
“Morse is dead. They killed him.”
Al’s hand gripped the knife tighter, but he said nothing.
“But he didn’t know we were down here,” Eddie said.
“No.”
“But they’re here.”
“They’re here.”
He suddenly threw the knife away from him with a savage gesture. He pounded his fist on his knee, again and again. “Sonofabiteh! Sonofabitch!”
The door quietly opened and Laura came into the room. They were unaware of her.
“When do they want you, Eddie?” Al asked.
“Now.”
“Not wasting time, are they?”
“What do you think?”
Laura leaned against the closed door, her breasts showing through the sheer nightgown she had put on.
Her small face was like a mask, only the green eyes were alive.
“They’re not getting that hundred grand,” Al said hoarsely. “Not if I have to kill every sonofabitch of them. It’s ours, Eddie.”
He swung fiercely off the bed and pounded Eddie hard on the chest. His eyes were wild and furious. And then he saw Laura. His mouth dropped open and snapped shut again. Eddie turned and stared at her.
She straightened up, taut and fearful.
“I just wanted to find out what was wrong.”
“And you found out,” Al said in a cold voice.
He pushed Eddie aside and moved swiftly over to her. His breath was hard and sharp. Little beads of perspiration glinted on his white forehead.
“You found out.”
“Al!” Eddie shouted.
But he had already hit her hard across the face. She cried out and then fell to her knees, her breasts dropping out of her nightgown, a stream of blood flowing from her lips.
She began to whimper. The tears rolled down her cheeks and mingled with the streaming blood. Al was about to hit her again, when Eddie threw himself between them.
“Al, let her alone. For crissake, you’ll kill her.”
“The lousy sneaking bitch. Bitch!”
Eddie grabbed him and held him tight. “Get out of here, Laura!” he yelled.
“She knows. She knows, Eddie.”
“Laura!”
He kept Al pinned till she got up and went to the door. The blood stained the lace edge of the nightgown, and he felt a great aching pity for her. But when the door closed behind her, the feeling left as swiftly as it had come. He slowly released Al.
“What the hell did you take it out on her for, Al?”
Al went over to one of the chairs and sat down heavily. The room was close and silent again.
“This is no good, Eddie. We got to think.”
“Then why hit out like a crazy animal? If I didn’t stop you, you would’ve killed her.”
Al kept staring at the floor, his chest still heaving. The matted hair on it was wet with perspiration. His hands fumbled with the cord of his blue robe. “She’s in now. She knows. She’ll want a cut.”
His fingers weaved through the blue cord, and then were still. He looked up at Eddie, a cold glitter in his eyes. “We’ll take care of her later on. Now we got to think. You have a cigarette on you?”
Eddie motioned to the night table. Then he watched Al get one and light it. He shook his head when Al held up the pack to him.
“I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth, Al.”
Al glared at him and flung the pack onto the night table.
“Thanks,” Eddie said grimly.
Their eyes locked, and then Al sighed and said, “You got too thin a skin, Eddie.”
“I don’t like what you did to her.”
Al’s voice suddenly bit out. “Forget her, Eddie. We got more important things to think about. The hell with her.”
Al rose and came over to him. “They’re after the money and they’re not getting it. Nobody’s getting but you and me. That’s the cut we agreed on and that’s the cut we’re ending up with.”
He went over to the window.
“Watch out, Al,” Eddie said. “Leave the curtains alone. The guy might not want to miss this time.”
“They’re not killing me yet,” Al said.
Eddie watched the solid back become rigid.
“We’ll beat those bastards yet, Eddie.”
He swung around to him, his face hard as granite. “We got the dough. And it’s in a box. An iron box.”
“I’m going in there alone,” Eddie said. “It’s not a good feeling.”
“I know,” Al said in a low voice.
“It’s an overmatch. Who the hell knows what they’ll do to me tonight.”
“The guns,” Al said. “If I could only get to the guns tonight.”
“But you can’t.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow won’t help me tonight.”
Al didn’t speak. Eddie started to get dressed.
“Go in and take care of Laura,” Eddie said.
“Still on your mind?”
“Still.”
Al patted him again and murmured. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
“I never saw you touch her before,” Eddie said slowly. “It wasn’t an easy thing to watch, Al.”
“These guys got me going, Eddie. We’re on the spot and they got me going. That last ad was a sucker ad. To make us feel easy and relaxed. And now they go and pull the rug from under us.”
“They pulled the rug,” Eddie said.
“So I let it out on Laura.”
“It wasn’t an easy thing to watch.”
“The hell with her,” Al shouted. “We’re playing for our lives, Eddie.”
“Not easy, Al,” Eddie went on relentlessly. “Maybe that’s what I meant when I said I don’t like what money does to people.”
Al’s face reddened and he was about to speak. But he turned silently and went out of the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When he got out of the car, the sultry tropic night closed about him. The air was still and heavy; the broad feathery leaves of the palm trees hung motionless. Only the sound of the ocean could be heard, boom and swish, boom and swish.
“Doran.”
Eddie stopped. A man came out of the flat emptiness of the night and stood before him. He was as big as Eddie, with wide hulking shoulders and a close-cropped head. His features were thick, his nose flat and broken; the bone jutted under the skin, at the bridge.
“Well?”
Eddie saw another fellow come and stand near him. He was lean, with a narrow, angular face. Even in the moonlight Eddie could see the swarthiness of his skin. His cheekbones were high and pointed; above them the eyes stared at Eddie with a seething hatred. His hair was raven black and shining.
“You go in and you see Ferer,” the big man said to Eddie.
“I know that.”
“And I’m telling you again.”
“Esta el hombre/’ the lean fellow said, and he spat into Eddie’s face.
“Si, Mateo. El hombre/’ the big man said.
Eddie wiped the spit from his cheek, while within a hot rage began.
“Don’t start pushing me around, you bastards.”
“We’ll push you, punk. As far as we want.”
He hit Eddie hard in the jaw, then kneed him in the groin, and Eddie fell to his knees, gasping.
“Bueno, Juan,” Mateo said, and he kicked Eddie savagely in the ribs.
“You sons of bitches,” Eddie shouted.
He got to his feet in a fury and threw himself upon them. He hit the lean fellow on the side of the head and then spun him away from him. Then he feinted away from Juan and struck twice, two hard chopping blows. The hulking man fell flat on the gravel, the blood leaking out of his broken nose.
“Get up, you bastard, and take some more,” Eddie shouted.
He stood over the fallen man. “Get up,” he shouted.
Then he felt the gun barrel pressing into his back. And he heard Mateo’s voice.
“Stay. You stay.”
He slowly lowered his fists. But he kept them clenched till the nails cut into the skin.
“No move.”
Juan got to his hands and knees, the blood still running from the wide flaring nostrils.
“Hold it on him, Mateo.”
His breath heaved. He fumbled madly in his jacket pocket. Then his fist closed over a black automatic. He rose.
“I’m taking you down to the beach and giving you what’s coming to you, punk.”
His little eyes blazed at Eddie. The blood kept running down and over his thick distorted lips.
“Come on, punk. You’re ending up in the ocean. With a bullet in your head.”
Eddie stood there, rooted to the spot. An icy sensation started in the pit of his stomach and then spread rapidly through him. A cold sweat broke out all over
his body.
“Come on,” the twisted mouth barked. “Or I’ll give it to you right here.”
The gun leveled in a hard line.
Then Eddie heard Mateo’s sharp voice.
“No, Juan. Ferer.”
And he saw, as if in a haze, Mateo come between him and the huge man.
“Ferer,” Mateo repeated. ‘
The little eyes still blazed. But the automatic lowered and then slid back into the white jacket pocket.
“All right,” Juan breathed out. “All right. But my time will come. I’ll put a bullet into that head of yours yet.”
He slammed his fist into Eddie’s face. Eddie grunted in pain and staggered back. His hands rose instinctively, and then dropped futilely to his sides.
He felt his lips start to swell, and inside his mouth was the taste of blood.
“Get inside,” Juan said. “Ferer is waiting.”
Then the two of them slipped back into the darkness again.
Eddie stood there, spitting the blood out of his mouth. Then he turned and walked along the gravel till he came to the stone steps. He went up them and paused at the wooden door. His hand grabbed at the gleaming brass knocker and then rapped hard.
The door swung open and he heard the distant sound of a lazy piano and the dim mingle of voices, coming from another part of the house. Before him was an inclined, questioning face.
“Yes?”
“Ferer.”
“Ferer?”
The questioning face became a hard and wary one.
“He’s waiting for me.”
“Oh.”
The man closed the door against the night. They went down a long bright foyer. On its pale walls were groupings of gilt-framed paintings, all of ballet dancers in airy pinks and greys. The rug underneath his feet was thick and soft.
The man stopped before a low archway. Its columns glistened and Eddie touched his hand to one of them, then slowly drew it away. The sound of the piano was now clear and alive. Somewhere in the room, a woman laughed pleasantly; the laugh slowly faded into the low hum of the other voices.
“He’s in there.”
The room was large and dimly lit. The far end led out to a railed terrace that was but a few yards from the ocean. Eddie caught the distant sparkle of the water.
“Where?”
“The man at the table by the terrace.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said curtly.
A woman in an evening gown sat playing at the highly-polished piano. Her eyes casually watched him as he made his way through the tables to the end of the room.