The Lion Killer (The Dark Continent Chronicles)

by James S. Gardner

  Max shook hands with Rigby. “Fair enough, but I need a promise from your husband.”

  “And what might that be?” asked Helen.

  “I've always dreamed of hunting in Africa. Tonight, I met the only professional hunter I'd ever consider hiring. Dr. Croxford, that man is your husband.”

  “I'm flattered, but I'm booked for the next two hunting seasons.” Rigby spoke so quickly his excuse sounded lame. “Max, I'd be happy to recommend another PH.”

  Turner acted like he didn't hear. “Let's talk about this tomorrow. We're going to pull anchor in the afternoon. It's time we returned your lagoon.”

  They turned and stared at a woman standing in the companionway. She wore a silky nightgown outlining the sensual curve of her hips and accentuating the line of her breasts. She was the type of woman who could tongue-tie men and pucker the noses of older women. “I'm sorry. I didn't know we had guests,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. Her voice sounded weak.

  “Sweetheart, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed. Ashlyn, I'd like you to meet the Croxfords. You know the Dodges. Ashlyn's my daughter-in-law.”

  “I'm pleased to meet y'all. I haven't been feeling well. I think it's motion sickness. I'm worn thin as summer cotton. I think I better go back below. Goodnight.” She turned and disappeared down the hallway. The smell of her perfume lingered for a few seconds. The way Turner looked at his daughter-in-law puzzled Helen, but she dismissed her thought. When Turner realized Helen was watching him, he looked uncomfortable. Turner should have offered more information about his daughter-in-law, but he didn't.

  “Folks, this has been the highlight of our cruise. I can't tell you when I've had a more enjoyable evening.”

  “It was wonderful,” concurred Helen.

  “Rigby, I need a favor.”

  “After that, how could I say no?”

  “How about coming onboard for lunch tomorrow? I'd like to pick your brain. I was serious when I said I wanted to do an African hunt. Let's say we make it around noon.” Max knew his compliments would make his invitation unavoidable.

  “See you tomorrow,” Rigby answered.

  ***

  Later that night, in the privacy of their stateroom, Helen quizzed her husband. “Did you find that woman attractive?”

  “You mean Molly?”

  “Don't play games with me. You know which woman I mean. I think I've read about Turner. He's a personal injury lawyer.”

  “That Tucker was a wanker.” He used curled hand movements to illustrate the remark. “Was it me or did I see Turner drooling over his daughter-in-law?” he asked.

  “You have a dirty mind. Don't you dare let him talk you into taking him on safari.”

  “My dear, it'll never happen. He might bring the Dodges. Helen, he had to be lying about that wine costing a thousand dollars a bottle. There's no way.”

  “Come here, my sweet African naive,” she whispered, snuggling next to him.

  ***

  At noon the next day, Rigby tossed a line to Kevin, who secured it to the Liti-Gator's stern. Max was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He was wearing sweat pants and a sleeveless tee shirt. The fantail of the yacht had been turned into an outdoor gymnasium. Exercise machines with pulleys and counter weights lined the walls. A blue wrestling mat had been rolled out.

  Max wiped his forehead with a towel and handed it to a steward. “You're just in time to watch our martial-arts exhibition. Bob's a master of karate and tae kwon do. He was a ranked boxer, before I bailed him out of a problem he had with the Miami police. Kevin warms him up before he works me over.” Max nodded at Bob, who was busy stretching.

  Turner's staged bravado was therapy for his small-man complex. Croxford on the other hand, reeked of masculinity. His jet-black hair and honest blue eyes irritated Turner. Turner considered using his wealth to knock him down a few pegs, but sensed it would be a waste of time.

  “Kevin doesn't look very enthusiastic,” said Rigby, moving to get a better look.

  “He's fine. You look like a weightlifter. How much do you weigh?”

  “I reckon about a hundred kilograms. As far as lifting barbells, I got my muscles the old-fashioned way—manual labor.”

  “Rigby, my father died at fifty. My two younger brothers are dead, both from heart attacks. When you talked about waiting until next year to go hunting, I may not have a next year.”

  “There are lots of great professional hunters in Africa.”

  “You're the best PH in the business. I always insist on the best.”

  “I'm not the best professional hunter in southern Africa.”

  “Modesty becomes you. I've been doing my homework. I know your father was a professional hunter as was his father. He named his four sons after gun companies. One brother was named Smith, another one's Wesson and another Browning. I guess your preferred weapon has to be a .416 Rigby. I know you were a Selous Scout in the Rhodesian military. And that you led clandestine operations into Mozambique and Botswana. You're fluent in Swahili as well as Afrikaans, and you speak four or five other African dialects.” Max smiled at Rigby and continued. “The Internet's a marvelous invention.”

  Rigby heard a thump. He turned around and saw Kevin on his knees. He seemed dazed as Bob danced around him. “Are you sure Kevin's all right?”

  “He's fine,” Max said, without looking. Max stood up and blocked Rigby's view. I've tried pity and flattery. Now let's try greed, he thought. “You know, my friends say I have a Napoleonic complex. I hate to think what my enemies say about me. I know one thing they can't say. They can't say I'm cheap. How much does a lion hunt go for these days?”

  “You've got a minimum of twenty-one days at two thousand per day, plus hunting permits, taxidermy and miscellaneous costs. We're talking about seventy thousand, give or take.”

  “Fine, I'll make it one hundred and twenty thousand.”

  Rigby stood up and walked over to the railing. The amount of money Max had just offered was staggering. He didn't want Max to see his enthusiasm. Helen will kill me, he thought. “As I told you, I'm booked for two years. When I get home I've got two weeks to get ready for my first hunt. On top of that, all the lion permits in Zimbabwe are taken.”

  “You said that after you arrive in Zimbabwe, you've got two weeks open? Zimbabwe's not the only country in Africa that allows hunting. I'm perfectly willing to pay for three weeks and only stay for two.”

  “There's always Mozambique. The living conditions will be raw.”

  “How so?” Max asked, sensing he had softened Croxford's resolve.

  “Mozambique is lawless. Bloody country's been embroiled in a civil war for thirty years.”

  When Rigby heard another thump he looked over Max's shoulder and saw Bob back-kick Kevin in the chest. He could see Kevin's nose was bleeding. “Max, did you say this Bob was a professional fighter?”

  “That's right. Now he works for me,” said Max, trying to refocus Rigby's concentration. “Let's do this. I'll pay you one hundred and twenty thousand. I'll only stay for two weeks and I'll pay you a bonus of another fifty thousand if I get my lion. That way, I won't be interfering with your first safari.”

  Rigby didn't answer. He got up and walked over to Kevin who was still on his back. Blood dripped from Kevin's nose. His upper lip was puffy. “Mate, are you hurt?” Rigby asked. Kevin's eyes were vacant. Bob continued shadowboxing.

  Rigby approached Bob on the mat. “Bob, I went to school with someone who used to move his lips like you do. It was like he was sucking on something. Do you think you could give me a few pointers in this martial-arts business?”

  Bob motioned Rigby onto the mat. Both men started circling each other. “I heard what you said last night,” Bob said. “Come a little closer. I won't bite you.” An evil smile crossed his lips.

  “This isn't gonna be a tango lesson, is it?” Rigby asked.

  “Let's make sure nobody gets hurt,” Max yelled. “If either man raises his hand and gives up, it's ove
r, or as they say in French, hors de combat.”

  When Rigby turned to acknowledge Turner, Bob used the distraction to duck under and go for his legs. The big man's speed surprised him. They crashed to the mat, but Rigby took the brunt of it. He felt the air forced out of his lungs. Before he could gather himself, Bob got one leg pinned over his neck and his other tucked under his armpit. He started to bend Rigby's arm, using his twisted elbow as a lever. Rigby felt the ligaments in his shoulder starting to give way. The circulation in his hand was cutoff. He felt incredible pain flowing from his shoulder into his neck. Turner jumped down and pounded the mat, “Rigby, give up before he breaks your arm. He's got you in an arm-bar. Give up before you get hurt. Please, I'm begging you!”

  Kevin dropped to his knees and also pleaded. “Mr. Rigby, don't let him break your arm. It's my job to fight him.”

  Members of the crew screamed to stop the fight. Above the noise, Rigby heard Tucker Dodge encouraging Bob. When he glanced into the man's eyes trying to break his arm it gave him a burst of energy. Bob's grip started to slip. Rigby ran his free hand inside of Bob's thigh and grabbed a fistful of the man's testicles. Driven by rage, he crushed his balls like walnuts. The veins in his forearm gorged with blood. Bob's screaming sounded like a wounded animal. He tried to unlock Rigby's grip, but it was useless. Rigby rolled on top of him and used his free hand to trap his windpipe.

  “Stand up!” When Bob refused, Rigby squeezed until he jumped up on his tiptoes. As they approached the railing, he rocked him back on his heels and pushed him over. He missed the launch by inches. The crew cheered as Bob hit the water.

  “Max, is there a place where I could wash my hands? By the way, the move I used on him is known in South Africa as the ‘dreaded nut press.' We use it in rugby matches,” he said, fabricating the story for Kevin.

  “I'll do your safari under one condition. I want the hundred and seventy thousand in advance.”

  “I thought I agreed to pay you the last fifty after I get my lion.”

  “You'll get your lion. I'm afraid it's non-negotiable.”

  “Consider it done. Now, I have a request. I never fly commercial. I own my own airplane. I'd like for you and your wife to fly with me to Africa. There's no sense wasting time.”

  “It's eight thousand miles to Africa. That must be some plane,” replied Rigby.

  “It's big enough to go transatlantic. Comes with a dining room and sleeping quarters. Even has a workout room.”

  “I hope to hell it doesn't have a wrestling mat,” said Rigby, drying his hands. “Thanks, Max, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. Helen's staying in the States for another two weeks. If we're gonna do this thing, I've got loose-ends to take care of.”

  “For instance?”

  “For one thing, I need to arrange visas.”

  Rigby and Max began walking back to the fantail. Max spoke. “Your captain mentioned you're headed to Bimini. We thought we might spend a few days in Bimini before we head back to Palm Beach. Maybe we'll run in to each other.”

  “I almost forgot. There's one more condition,” said Rigby.

  “And that one is?”

  “You retire Kevin. If Bob ever lays a hand on Kevin again, I'll make it my business to find him and put a large bullet hole in the front of his bald head.”

  “You're kidding, of course. I mean about shooting Bob.”

  Rigby didn't answer. Turner shivered inwardly when he saw Rigby's expression. The man's incapable of idle threats, he thought. “Anything you say, my friend.” The woman Rigby had seen before appeared at the top of the stairs.

  She was wearing a string bikini. She held her unfastened bikini top with a free hand, but her breasts spilled out of the sides. Her bronzed body looked long and lean. She took off her sunglasses and shook her hair to clear it from her face. Her auburn hair glistened from the sun and rolled like incoming waves against a beach. Rigby glanced at Max. When he looked back, she was gone.

  “Sorry that I can't stay for lunch. I'll give Kevin the wiring instructions for the money. I'll be in touch. Goodbye Max.”

  Kevin helped Rigby fend his skiff off the yacht's stern. “Kevin, be sure to thank Bob for the martial-arts lesson,” he said, winking. Kevin started to speak, but stopped when he saw Max looking at him.

  Max spoke without turning to face Tucker Dodge. “You were right. Croxford's our man.”

  Rigby took his time idling back across the lagoon. He readied himself for the argument. As soon as the skiff touched the yacht's stern, Helen opened the salon door. She moved into the sunlight to get a look at her husband. Rigby kept his back to her, but she turned him around. “What in God's name happened to you?” Before he could answer, she asked another question. “Did you fall? Hold still. Let me have a look at your face. You turned him down, didn't you?”

  “So many questions—so little time. Which one do you want me to answer first?” He walked over and inspected his reflection in the salon window. He wet the bottom of his shirt with saliva and used it to wipe the abrasion on his chin.

  “Tell me you're not taking that yucky man on a hunt.”

  “Max was persuasive. He's paying me more money than I make in four hunting seasons. And listen to this—he's only staying in Africa for two weeks. I can put up with anything for two weeks.”

  “I knew you'd do this. Of course he's persuasive; he's a lawyer.” Helen held up her hands in exasperation and looked at Foley for support. “Where did you fall?” she asked.

  “I didn't fall.”

  Helen grabbed his arm and turned him to inspect his face. He pulled away and massaged his shoulder. “I got in a fight. It really wasn't a fight. I guess you could call it more of an exhibition. I planned on telling you that woman attacked me, but I can see you're in no mood for humor.”

  “Living with you for thirty years is about all the humor I can stand.

  Did you see his daughter-in-law?” She placed her hand under her chin as she waited for his response.

  “I saw her, but only for a second.”

  Bonefish Foley stopped wet-sanding the teak deck. There was something about Max Turner that troubled him, something he couldn't put into words. He considered speaking up, but decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

  Helen continued her tirade. “I don't like this. There's something strange about this man.”

  “The idea of returning one hundred and seventy thousand dollars makes me nauseous.” Helen's eyes widened. “You heard me, one hundred and seventy thousand. I'm beginning to feel like a kept woman with your brother paying our bills. It's time I started pulling my own plow.”

  The Liti-Gator left the lagoon on the high tide. The next three days onboard the Hatteras ran wonderfully together. Helen continued to press her husband about his pending safari with Max Turner. She was anxious to reach Bimini where she hoped they would run into Turner, giving her husband the opportunity to cancel Max's lion hunt. Unbeknownst to her, Rigby was driving a brand new Land Cruiser in his dreams, and it was bought with Max's money.

  ***

  They anchored behind Wood Cay waiting for the weather to improve. After waiting for three days, Foley decided the seas had laid down enough to make the sixty-mile crossing to Bimini. At first, the ocean treated them kindly, but gradually a freshening northeast wind furrowed whitecaps. The old Hatteras smashed headlong into mountainous waves that had rolled down unimpeded from the North Atlantic. She would ride over a flat-faced swell and then dig her nose into the next wave jettisoning sheets of foamy blue water. Angry wind blew salt spray in their faces so hard they had to cock their heads to breathe. It felt like the ocean had spawned needles. And then, as suddenly as the ocean had turned ugly, it relented. The water color changed from deep purple to turquoise as the ocean climbed from a thousand fathoms to less than three. The gin clear water on the Bahama Bank was oily calm. They watched torpedo-shaped barracudas and cero mackerel skirt away from the bow. Off the stern, they saw purple sea fans and orange coral whips bending in the current like
windblown grasses.

  Rigby watched his wife standing at the yacht's helm. For a split second they were lost in each other's gaze. Helen was experiencing that moment of bliss most people find elusive. She wondered if her husband felt the same way. As Rigby scanned the horizon, he remembered the first time he met his wife. It was at a New Year's Eve party on Willie's farm in South Africa. I was on leave from the Rhodesian Army. She was on holiday from her Peace Corp duties. I was becoming disillusioned about the war. She had bubbling enthusiasm for her work. I was trying to kill Africans. She was trying to teach them to read. I remember she asked me a harmless question about the progress of the war. “Miss O'Neil, I'd like to remind you, I'm fighting for my country's survival. We're standing up to the communists. Rhodesians are dying for something your country failed to do in Southeast Asia. You thank us by boycotting my country. You bloody liberals are so wonderfully full of yourselves. You'll forgive me if I'm not overly impressed by your work here in Africa.”

  “So, you're killing Africans to prevent them from becoming communists. I'm afraid your logic escapes me.”

  “No, Miss O'Neil, we're trying to kill them before they kill us. You see, that's the way it works in a war. I guess you'd spit on us just like you spit on the soldiers returning from Viet Nam.”

  “Willie dear, please excuse us. I need to speak with Mr. Croxford in private.” As soon as we were alone, she lit into me. “How dare you label me. You don't know me or anything about me. Teaching poor African children doesn't make me the enemy. Why if I didn't feel so sorry for you, I would have slapped you silly in there.”

  “I don't believe you're capable of slapping anyone,” I said.

  “Believe what you want.” Her eyes darted as she spoke. Her cheeks were flushed. Helen was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I remember a feeling of serenity wash through me. Whatever it was, it made me shudder.

  “Miss O'Neil, I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but I have something I need to say.” “Let's hear it. Leaving the table like that was impolite. Not that you'd know what's considered bad manners.” “I…I think I've just fallen in love with you.” I stood up and turned my back to her. “What? Why that's the silliest thing I've ever heard. I think you've had too much to drink or you're suffering from some type of battle fatigue. Poor man, I think we need to get you some medical help.”