There was one further touch, one further embellishment to the extraordinary scene to bemuse Ossie and Gabby. The old man was now perched high and astride his boat like some ancient fighting king mounted upon a huge and armoured warhorse. The vessel plunged and heaved over the long regular waves and the hostage shouted with the sheer abandoned enjoyment of it. There was little wind now and in front of him, in any case, there was a protective glass shield. Mr Hoffner snorted with freedom and gladness. Then came the final touch. He reached and turned first one switch and then another. The first illuminated the entire vessel, lighting it like a flashing ghost as it charged across the empty sea of silver and purple. Then, at the second switch, there burst out a brilliantly amplified recording of The Ride of the Valkyries played by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra under Bruno Walter.
What a sight it was! Any wandering fishing boat that night would have seen the dipping, rising cruiser, vividly lit, with an old man strapped in a wheeled chair on its cabin roof, and that old man frantically conducting the flying music of Wagner as it issued over the heavy sea.
From the cabin, the sickly kidnappers, Bruce, Molly and Sidewalk, the latter pair now having abandoned their masks, looked out hollow-eyed, upwards to the amazing sight on the roof. Bruce closed his lids with despair and mat de mer. The others, yellow-gilled, stared and let their mouths drop into gapes.
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'I think we've got a lulu here,' sighed Gabby.
At three in the morning the Marilyn Monroe- VII struck a coral reef half a mile off-shore at Key Largo. By this time the kidnappers had all been rendered helpless by the passion of the sea. Mr Hoffner had shortly before been returned to the cabin and was sleeping soundly in his chair with the bottle of Scotch almost drained but held conqueringly in his fist. Ding and Dong were playing Monopoly for cents and Belle, brimming with bourbon, was at the wheel. Ossie, holding on to the wheelhouse just prior to the collision, could not bear to take one more look at the dipping and rising moon. He knew they had failed again.
'Get this thing inshore,' he muttered to Belle. 'This is where we quit. Where the hell are we anyway?'
Belle, breathing Jack Daniels everywhere, consulted the chart. 'Just there, baby,' he smiled angelically. 'I guess.'
'What d'you mean, you guess? Don't you know?'
Belle looked amiably, quizzically, at the chart. 'I really don't know this coast,' he said. 'But if we're on course that could be Key Largo.' He wiped the chart exaggeratedly with his hand. 'If it's a dead mosquito,' he said benignly, 'we're lost.'
'Stop screwing about and get us in,' said Ossie. 'Just get us to the land.'
Belle bent at the knees and took another swig at the bourbon bottle. 'Key Largo here we come,' he said, happily turning the wheel. 'And real fast. Real fast.' He put the engine into full ahead and with power to match her elegance the boat curved shorewards towards the single string of lights showing where the road strung itself across the islands of the Florida Keys.
'Steady, boy, steady,' said Belle as if the vessel were racing ahead of her own accord.
Ossie looked doubtfully at him. 'What about rocks and things?' he said.
'We haven't got an inshore chart for here,' beamed Belle, a camp smile. 'So I guess the quicker we get there the better. I don't think there's too much danger.'
At that moment Marilyn Monroe VII scuttled across the reef less than a fathom down and took a large slice out of her
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bottom boards. Everyone was thrown to the deck by the force. But the gallant vessel, like a horse jumping an injurious barrier, went on with its own force and skidded through a lagoon before hitting shallow sand a mile offshore.
'Abandon the goddamn ship!' bellowed the voice of Cyril M. Hoffner from the cabin. The Marilyn Monroe VII halted spectacularly as if baulking at a fence. Everyone aboard was thrown forwards, threshing about on the deck or the floor of the saloon. The steering wheel came off its mounting and Belle was left bemusedly holding it in his hands.
Ossie got to his feet and gained the rail. Then the nose of the vessel was dipping as though it had smelled something on the sea-bed. He judged the distance to the shore by the lights. Gabby staggered alongside him. 'Anything wrong?' she inquired laconically.
'Let's get the old man into a boat or we'll have a murder rap on our hands,' muttered Ossie. He need not have worried. The faithful Landers now appeared on the deck carrying Cyril M. Hoffner like a child. Ding, Dong and Belle followed in orderly and serene fashion, Ding and Dong carrying the wheeled chair between them, Belle with a fresh bottle of Scotch and a case containing the ship's papers.
Mr Hoffner was laughing uproariously as the waves bit into his luxury cruiser. 'Goodbye Marilyn Monroe the seventh!' he shouted. 'Hello Marilyn Monroe the eighth!' This struck him as an enormous joke because he broke up into further laughter, hooting like a funny baby in the enormous hands of Landers.
The crew did not bother to launch the small lifeboat. Instead, one after the other in an apparently well-timed and rehearsed act, they dropped into the sea, which, Ossie was relieved to observe, came only up to their armpits. They held the wheeled chair above their heads like African tribesmen carrying a chieftain's seat. And, like a chieftain, Cyril M. Hoffner was placed in the chair and borne in some majesty towards the shore.
'Let's get going,' said Gabby to Ossie. 'This hulk's going to turn over before too long.'
Ossie sighed. 'Could be that's the best thing that could
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happen to us.' He turned and saw his woebegone gang assembled on the deck, sick-faced every one, eyeing each other and eyeing the dark washing sea. 'Okay, abandon ship,' he grunted.
'They'll have the cops waiting on shore,' put in Bruce dolefully.
'Let's get there first then,' said Ossie.
He put Molly Mandy on to his shoulders and climbed into the ocean. The others followed one at a time. They went into the water up to their necks, and began a sad, liquid tramp towards the island.
There was no chance of getting to the shore first. When eventually Ossie helped Molly Mandy up the gradual sand from the dim sea, Cyril M. Hoffner and his odd henchmen were arranged on the darkened and deserted beach in almost regal formation, the chair like a throne in the centre of the four attendants. The Ocean Drive Delinquent Society looked a sorry clique, its old members bent almost double on the beach, water running from their garments while Bruce, Ossie and Gabby stood despairingly like some hapless native subjects standing to ask a favour of a local potentate.
'Jesus,' said Cyril M. Hoffner after surveying them. 'You guys are the greatest collection of bums I've ever seen. Hi-jack! You couldn't low-jack.' He stared at Ossie as though demanding an answer.
Things go wrong,' shrugged Ossie.
'All the time,' put in Bruce.
Mr Hoffner began to laugh. Polite grins appeared on the set faces of Ding, Dong and Belle, although Landers, even more menacing when wet, remained wooden-featured, the awful eyes glaring from beneath soaked and dripping eyebrows. Not a soul had come to the beach from Key Largo. Occasional cars drifted along the inter-island highway, their lights carving the darkness, but from the settlement came only muted sounds, the easy wind in the wires of docked boats, a dog calling, dimmed voices.
The strange inquisition on the beach continued. 'What were you bums hoping to get anyway?' asked Mr Hoffner, managing to still his laughter.
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'Experience,' replied Gabby at once. 'We're hoping to gain experience, Mr Hoffner.'
'And boy, oh boy, do you sure need it,' the old man agreed. He glanced along the set piece again. It was like a scene in a classic tragedy. Molly had sunk to her knees on the shingle by the waterline. Ari was solicitously hovering over her but she sent him away saying she was fine. 'I just felt like praying,' she grunted.
Cyril M. Hoffner, victim turned victor, now paused as though considering judgement. 'Okay, okay,' he said at length. 'You gave me the greatest belly-laugh I've had in years. I've never seen such godd
amn incompetence. It's made me feel years younger just to know that you kids can screw things up too. You ought to get the old folks to put you straight. Anyway, I guess I owe you that.'
He paused, the faces all on him. He was a natural winner. 'I was going to get a new boat anyway,' he said eventually. 'And she was insured. And nobody here is going to mention it wasn't an accident.' He looked at his henchmen with a confident scowl. Then he looked back at the gang. 'So beat it,' he said.
'Beat it?' said Ossie. 'You mean go?'
'I mean go,' said Mr Hoffner. 'Just go.'
They went. The younger members of the gang helped their elders, and they staggered up the beach towards the sparse lights of Key Largo. From far behind they heard a shout of triumphant mirth.
eight
Loose Bruce was moodily drinking a blackcurrant juice in the Ragtime Coffee Shop on Collins Avenue, when in the mirror behind the counter he saw Gabby come through the street
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door. He concluded that Ari the Greek must have told her he was there because she made directly for him and climbed on the next stool.
'Hi,' he said quietly. 'Want a blackcurrant juice?'
'Back to high school,' she said. Then she shrugged. 'Sure, why not. Maybe I could go back to school too.'
He asked the waitress for the same again and she brought the drinks in plastic containers. 'We all ought to go back to school,' said Bruce a little bitterly. 'The way we performed on our big hi-jacking. We've got a lot to learn, I guess.'
She touched his shoulder sympathetically and at once he felt it was more than just a touch. He glanced at her. She was smiling reflectively. 'Well at least we gave Cyril M. Hoffner a new lease of life,' she said. 'That should keep him laughing until the old bastard's a hundred years old.'
'I guess it's demoralized everybody,' said Bruce, drinking the dark liquid through his straw. 'If we decided to quit the entire business right now - as of this moment - then I can't see anybody arguing. It was just so embarrassing. There's no way you can run a criminal organization like that, Gabby.'
The girl touched his arm again, this time to warn him to keep his voice down, but Bruce was acutely conscious of the contact. 'Ossie gone off on his fishing?' he said.
'An hour ago,' she confirmed. 'He needs to be alone, he says. Just him and the sea and the stars. He's been really grouchy since the Hoffner thing.'
'But night fishing,' shrugged Bruce. 'I just don't understand any guy going out there to sea, on all that liquid, from choice. Shit, it was bad enough on that cruiser, but sitting in a row-boat all night. Man, that's not for me.'
'He enjoys his quiet times,' said Gabby. 'He's quite a contemplative guy really. I suppose he's older and he's seen a lot more than we have and when you get older you get more thoughtful.'
Bruce felt himself stir. For the first time since he rode with her on the motorcycle she had grouped herself with him. She had said 'we'. 'He sure has,' he nodded at her in the mirror. Her face looked very soft and relaxed in the lights of the coffee shop. He could see her eyes were looking at him in
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the glass. 'But if I wanted to be alone, and I don't,' he continued, 'I'd go off and sit in Flamingo Park or just go to my room.'
'Do you still work the air conditioning with your ass?' she laughed.
'Sure I do. It's not too difficult when you practise.' He waited. 'You like older guys, don't you, Gabby? I mean the sort ... well, okay, Ossie for example. You like the way they have things worked out, nice and wise and calm. You like the grey hair around the edges, don't you?'
She laughed again, quietly. 'That's me, Bruce. I was crazy about my dad. But he preferred my mom, which I guess is the way it has to be.'
'Was the guy in St Petersburg, the one who motivated you to come away, was he older? Like Ossie?'
'About the same age,' she agreed.
'Touch of grey hair?'
She nodded sadly now. 'Grey hair. The wholesome girl's daddy fantasy. You know, the knowing eyes, and the sure grin, and on his very last open sports car - and the big job and the wife and the kids. In other words - disaster.'
'You really felt strong for him, huh?'
She sighed. 'I don't know. I never know how strong you're supposed to feel about anybody. I've never worked out the measurements. All I know is the last time I saw rainbows was when I was eleven. I look for them now and listen hard for chimes but I don't see or hear anything. This guy was okay, I suppose. I felt for him and I was hurt, very deep too, when he threw me out. But I didn't cry the day after. Now he writes me to say that - guess what? - it was me after all he wanted and threatening to come down and take me back.'
Bruce's eyebrows ascended a little. 'You don't say? And what if he arrives?'
She shook her head. 'I'd tell him to go screw himself. At least I think I'd tell him to go screw himself. When it came to it I expect I'd swallow my pride and just get into the car and go.'
'I really wish I could help,' said Bruce looking directly at her in the glass. 'I'd honestly like to help you, Gabby.'
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'Maybe we could help each other,' she said with a frank laugh. 'I feel like I need someone just now.'
'Right now?' he said, still not looking away from their reflections. 'Like right now, when you've finished that blackcurrant juice?'
'Pretty much right now,' she replied.
Bruce turned to her and grinned. 'Maybe I could get a hair colour spray and put a few patches of grey in this.' He ran his hand through his untidy fair hair.
Now they were facing each other on the stools. She put her fingers up to touch his face and smiled teasingly. 'The grey hair needs to be other places as well,' she said slyly. 'That's how it really turns me on.'
'Oh,' he nodded. I see. Well, I have to be a little careful spraying things in that region. I once sprayed on what I thought was deodorant and it turned out to be hair lacquer. That was a terrible experience, believe me.'
She laughed outright and they bent forward and kissed. 'You mustn't tell Ossie,' she said. 'Promise. I just wouldn't like him to know.'
'He won't,' said Bruce eagerly. He paused. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?' he asked.
'You're slow for a young guy,' she smiled. 'Maybe that's a good thing. Sure, that's what I'm saying. I'm depressed and I'm hungry and I don't mean for a pizza either. Maybe you could show me how to work the air conditioning in your room.'
Bruce dropped the money on the floor as he was hurrying to pay the check. Gabby knelt to help him pick it up. 'Hurry Bruce,' she whispered in his ear. 'I may die of night starvation.'
'I'm hurrying,' he whispered back. 'My hands are just shaking, that's all.' He handed her the money. 'Here, you give it over the counter. I may drop it again. I can't believe this is happening.'
She paid and they went out on to the street. 'Let's run,' he said eagerly.
He took her hand and they began to run along the street. She laughed at the childishness of it.
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'We won't go to my room,' he panted. 'The bed creaks and everybody hears it. I just have to scratch my ass and they all start banging on the walls.
'We can't go to my place,' puffed Gabby, keeping pace with him. 'Grandma's at home.'
'Ossie's,' he said, out of breath. 'He'll be out all night, fishing, and his bed can't creak as bad as mine. Okay?'
'Okay. Ossie's,' she said.
They dropped to a prudent walk as they reached the block where the Sunny Gables was located. 'Go ahead,' said Bruce. 'I'll count to a hundred and follow you. It won't look so suspicious.'
'Right, I'll do that,' said Gabby, out of breath. 'You just take a rest. I don't want you to be exhausted before we make it.'
'I'll breathe oxygen,' he promised. 'I'll be right there with you, don't worry.'
She kissed him lightly and walked down the sidewalk. He watched her go under the evening lights and almost hugged himself with anticipation as her backside swayed sweetly. There was a brass plate on the railings by which
he had halted. He looked at his reflection in it and showed his teeth. 'Lonely no more, man,' he muttered. He counted to seventy, which was as long as his patience would allow, and then walked after Gabby.
Miss Nissenbaum and Mrs Nissenbaum were having their evening confrontation on their respective front porches. 'I'm cutting my rates next week,' said the Sunny Gables Nissenbaum.
'So you cut the food last week.' rasped her sister-in-law.
'Evening ladies,' said Bruce breezily as he went eagerly up the steps. His Nissenbaum smiled and the other scowled. 'I bet he don't pay any rent,' she alleged. 'Or not much.'
'He pays,' Mrs Nissenbaum lied boastfully. 'Just beautifully.'
She turned grandly with the remark and left her rival standing outside. 'Punk,' snarled the sister-in-law. 'Punk.'
All the rooms at the Sunny Gables had keys but few of the locks worked. Mrs Nissenbaum said it was a good thing in its
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way because with so many elderly residents there might be emergencies. Even the bathroom was unlockable, the users being advised to sing. Ossie's room was easily entered and Bruce walked in and right into the naked arms of Gabby.
He stared at her disbelievingly in the gloom. 'I considered there was no point in wasting time,' she said, smiling uncertainly at his expression.
'No point at all,' he whispered breathlessly. He was naked with her in ten seconds. As they went back on to the bed it emitted the most terrible iron creak that either had ever heard. They froze with apprehension, then Bruce said: 'The hell, who cares,' and they returned to their embrace.
Throughout the next ten minutes the old man in the room on the other side of the wall was bent almost double with his ear pressed to a drinking glass which in turn was pressed to the thin wall like a listening trumpet. The creaking and twanging of the springs were within a few inches of him, just the other side of the flimsy screen of wood and plaster. He leaned closer eagerly. His wife called him from the bed at the other end of their small room. She was in bed knitting a pair of socks.
'Hal, what are you doing listening against the wall?' she asked. 'What is going on in there?'
'The Flip Wilson show,' he lied brilliantly. "They have the television right next to here. I can hear every word. It's real good, Annie, real good.'
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