The Big Bite

by Gerry Travis

  The brassiere came free, clung momentarily to the tips of her fingers and then floated toward Tiber. He took a lumbering step toward it, trying to see it and at the same time not lose sight of Meridee.

  He tripped and fell, shaking the floor. She did not lose a beat.

  The lights went out.

  Knox made a run in the direction of the divan where Nat and Adele were sitting. From somewhere in the room there was a scream; it sounded like Meridee. Knox kept going. There was a good deal of swearing now.

  He stumbled and fell into a lap. “Ouch!” It was Nat.

  Knox said, “Nat? Adele?” Both answered, and he said hurriedly, “Make for the dock. Get aboard. There may be some guns. Get them—and use them on anyone who comes close and doesn’t signal.”

  “Signal how?”

  Knox brayed softly. “Like a burro. Get going.”

  He heard Nat scampering away. A hand touched his arm and he smelled the subtle perfume Adele wore. “Paul?”

  “You, too,” he whispered. “They’re onto us. Forrest was the one who shot at us, so you aren’t safe, either. Get moving.”

  Lips brushed his cheek and then her heels clicked away. A flashlight flared into brightness. In the dim backglow, Knox saw Forrest. The light swept about, pinning briefly Gomez and Tonio, unmoving, waiting. It went on, touched Natasha, still clinging to Kurath’s arm, flickered over the phonograph where Knox had a glimpse of Meridee crouched behind the machine. The light came to rest on Tiber. He was struggling up from the floor, the brassiere in one hand. He was thoroughly drunk.

  “Tiber, where the devil are the spare fuses? Get down to the powerhouse. Can’t you hear the motor’s been shut off!”

  Tiber swayed to his feet. Knox sidled toward the veranda doorway behind Gomez and Tonio. A bit of the light touched them. Gomez turned his head and saw Knox.

  Knox stopped, bent toward him, and whispered, “Watch Forrest and Natasha. If Kurath can’t handle them, they may try to take the gold and go tonight—we were expecting this …”

  Forrest had come up to Tiber and was speaking quietly but viciously to him. Knox moved again, but he did not turn into the doorway and seek escape. He remembered the brief look he had had at Meridee, the stricken, frightened expression on her face. He continued along the wall toward the phonograph.

  He could hear her shifting position. There was the heavy breathing of fright. He crouched and said, “Knox here. Quiet! Get your dress out of the kitchen and run for the dock. When you get there, bray like a donkey.”

  He heard her heels click, and he rose, catching her arm. “Leave the shoes!”

  “My costume—”

  “I’ll buy you a dozen. Move!”

  This time when she went there was only the soft patter of bare feet on the parqueted floor. There was a good deal of noise now and Forrest’s light was leaving Tiber, making the rounds of the room. There was no time to make for the veranda. Knox took out after Meridee.

  He saw the splash of light about him as he struck the kitchen door with his shoulder. Someone shouted. A gun went off, sending splinters flying from the door edge as it swung back behind him. There was a sharp order, given in Spanish. Then feet pounded heavily toward the kitchen.

  Ahead of Knox, Meridee was trying to run and wriggle into her dress at the same time. As he reached her, she jerked it down, pulled up the skirt and bolted.

  He said, “It’s Knox,” and stayed at her heels. They were in a vegetable garden now, stumbling from a graveled path into vegetables and finally through a hedge and onto a wider pathway.

  Behind them the flashlight swept in a long arc. The gun went off again, but there was no sign of the bullet.

  Knox had her hand now and they kept running, taking first one path, then switching as another joined the first. Knox tried to bear toward the dock, but after five minutes he realized that he was lost. Around them, in the thick woods that seemed to press in on all sides, voices called to one another, seeking identity.

  He recognized Tiber’s tones, less drunken now. Once he heard Natasha’s voice. Twice Forrest gave his name. Once there was a shot, but again no bullet came near them.

  Then Knox heard it—the putt-putt of an outboard. Manuelita, he thought. Manuelita going for the mainland. It was a hope and he clung to it.

  Meridee was limping badly, the gravel punishing her bare feet cruelly. He stopped to scoop her into his arms and ran on. Now he had direction from the noise of the outboard and in a moment he broke out of the trees and onto the wooden surface of the dock. The cruiser was there, dark, silent.

  Knox forgot his own warning. A bullet nicked wood splinters at his feet, coming on the heels of a sharp report from a rifle.

  He brayed.

  Nat said, “Come aboard.”

  He dropped Meridee onto the deck.

  “Start the motor,” he said vaguely. “I’ll take the wheel …”

  “Adele isn’t aboard yet,” Nat said.

  Knox swore. “Start the motor anyway. Then go forward to cast off. Meridee—”

  “I’ll go forward,” she said. “I’m all right now.” She limped off, the first piece of rising late moon outlining her faintly.

  Nat said, “You took a long time. I already have the motor ready to go.” She started aft. “In case you’re interested, there are no keys. I had to short the ignition across.”

  He grinned feebly out of his weariness. “It’s a good thing you made it first,” he said. “Who else would know the technique of stealing a boat?”

  Someone was coming, crashing through underbrush. Knox picked up the rifle Nat had left and watched the end of the dock. A figure came into sight, gasping out something. Knox lowered the rifle.

  It was Adele. She staggered aboard, one shoe missing, her dress half-torn from her, hair disheveled. She tripped and fell and lay on the deck sobbing.

  Knox called, “Hurry up!”

  The motor coughed, died, coughed and roared up. Meridee called, “All clear up here.” Knox left Adele and went into the wheelhouse. He snapped on the binnacle light, put the gear into reverse and started away from the dock.

  “Unless they swim, we’ve got ‘em,” he said.

  He swung the cruiser about, shifted into forward, opened the throttle. The powerful motor took hold and they headed into the streak of moonlight toward the mainland.

  Behind him, Adele said, “I’m sorry. I got lost.”

  Knox said, “We’re okay now.”

  Nat called, “Boat coming up!”

  Knox looked but made out nothing more than its shape in the dim light. It was stern to the mainland and coming fast. Either it had swept around from the lee of the island or it was coming direct from the town.

  “Coast Guard,” he said hopefully. “Or Silac. Manuelita made it!”

  The boat swung sharply and came near them broadside. Knox said, “Get the gun!”

  He could make out the chiseled features of Forrest. Then a harsh searchlight pinned them squarely and he could see no more. Forrest called:

  “Set adrift and get aft—in the open—or we’ll drop a grenade on you. Fast!”

  Knox did not question it. There was too much authority in the voice. Taking Nat’s hand, he led her after the others into the open.

  “Sorry, kid,” he said.

  “They haven’t got us yet,” Nat said, but there was no sureness left in her voice.

  CHAPTER XVII

  They were transferred to the other ship, roped well but not too uncomfortably, and placed in the cabin. Natasha and Kurath, who seemed as friendly as they had been at the party, stood guard. Tiber was forward in the wheelhouse.

  Forrest took the cruiser back to the island. Before he left, there was a disagreement of opinion. Tiber called from the wheel, “I say get rid of ‘em.”

  “Not yet,” Forrest said. “There could be a slip-up. Do it as we planned.”

  Natasha looked angry. “As you planned, you mean. Why should we stay on that damned island all day?”

 
; “To get ready for tonight,” Forrest said. “The boats will be coming in about ten.” He moved insolently toward the other cruiser, which was neatly grappled to this one.

  Knox looked at Kurath, who had watched the interchange with bored disinterest. “What’s your stake in this?”

  “I’m just along for the ride,” he said. Lighting a cigarette, he wandered away, standing on the deck to watch the receding lights of the other cruiser.

  Knox said to Natasha, “You’ve just been made a sucker of, baby.”

  She looked at him and sneered. He said, “You know who Forrest is, don’t you? Why do you think he’s suddenly so arrogant after being docile all this time?”

  She did not even bother to answer. Knox went on, “The boys who put up the money sent him to keep an eye on you. They were willing to let you and your man Friday up there at the wheel buy the gold for them and set up this shipping point so their hand wouldn’t show in the deal, but that doesn’t mean they were suckers enough to trust you—not with twenty million in gold.”

  “You know a lot, don’t you, Mr. Knox?”

  “It was Paul once,” he said, grinning. He wished he had a cigarette and free hands so that he could smoke it.

  She ignored that. “I know all about Forrest. He’s no more one of them than you are.”

  Knox continued smiling. “How do you know I’m not? Gomez thinks I am. He thinks I was sent here to watch Forrest because Forrest gave signs of defection—of running off with you and the twenty million. You’re going to have a hard time explaining yourself to Gomez. And to the boys who come with the ship to take him and the gold to Cuba.”

  “Everything is aboveboard,” she said. “I did a job and I’m being paid for it.”

  “Of course,” Knox said. “That’s why you have this ship as well as the cruiser. Or have you an explanation for having a seagoing rig? Hell, I’ll bet you have enough food and water aboard right now to take you from here to South America.” He was judging by the sluggishness of their passage, by the way the boat sat in the water, low and heavy. It was a good-sized boat, with obviously a good deal of cabin space, plenty of power. If it were well provisioned, he knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to tackle an ocean crossing in it.

  “Maybe,” she said, “we wanted a way of getting out of here if the Mexican authorities became too snoopy.”

  “Could be,” Knox said. He yawned. Let her worry what he had said for a while. In the meantime, he decided to rest. He surprised himself by falling asleep.

  When he awoke it was still dark but with the first signs of gray morning along the eastern horizon. The boat was moving into the natural harbor of Fog Island, moving through the twisting gap in the rock, barely sliding past the rough sides of the natural cut. When Kurath had them tied to the natural rock pier, Tiber took his hands off the wheel, cut the motors and let out a breath of shaky relief.

  He came into the cabin. “It’s a tight fit. We’ll have to move this out before the boats come in to load.”

  “Meanwhile,” Knox said, “you might feed us some breakfast.”

  “Rustle your own grub,” Tiber said. He looked about and his eyes fastened on Meridee, who, like Knox, had been asleep. She curled her lip at him.

  “Take your dirty eyes off me.”

  “You’ll talk nicer by afternoon,” he said, “when you come crawling back for a drink of water.”

  Kurath came into the cabin. “Quite a place,” he said lightly. His eyes went from one to the other, touched briefly on Nat’s weary, hollow-eyed face and then moved on. “What’s next?”

  Natasha was taking automatics from a drawer. She handed one to Tiber and kept one for herself. “We run them up onto the island and then get things ready for the loading tonight. Then it’s over.”

  “Then,” Tiber said in his heavy voice, “we take our cut and move out.”

  “A million cut four ways,” Kurath said in a soft voice. “It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  “Four ways?” Natasha asked. Her tone had the sleekness of silk. “Why four? Why not just two? If Forrest is what Knox says he is, he won’t want a cut. It’s capitalistic. If he gets greedy, someone will object and take care of him.”

  Kurath met her speculative gaze with a faint smile. “That leaves three, not two.”

  Knox watched with interest, noting the easy balance with which the man stood, ready to move. But he also noted Tiber, who, although slow and heavy, had himself in a position by the doorway. The gun he held was dwarfed by the hugeness of his hand.

  “Two,” Natasha said. “We aren’t complete fools. You did your job for us, letting us know that the time was ripe in Cuba. But you should have stayed there and not come here, hoping to help your little friend cut herself in.”

  She glanced toward Nat. “With twenty million at stake, I could afford a little money for investigation. You haven’t changed much since I last saw you.”

  Kurath looked at Nat. “Sorry, kid,” he said.

  Knox said, “How do you work it, Natasha? If you load the gold on this tub, you’ll sink her. It takes a real ship to carry that much weight. And if you try to take a big piece of it and go out of here in daylight, you’ll be spotted. Don’t think Forrest hasn’t got a watch on you.”

  “We’ll manage,” she said insolently. “All right, get up.”

  There was no further explanation. The big searchlight on top of the wheelhouse was on, showing up clearly the rock pier and the natural stairstep pathway that ran up and disappeared somewhere inside the island.

  There was a momentary delay while their feet were untied and Kurath’s hands were bound behind him. Then, with Knox in the lead, the march began.

  Daylight was coming into the harbor, but up in the rock cut, no more than a narrow crevasse, deep shadow still clung. Once around the first sharp bend, the light from the ship was no longer of any use. Knox slowed down, feeling his way with his bound hands. He could hear Tiber at their rear, ordering Kurath, the last man, to move a little faster.

  Knox scrabbled to a level spot and stopped to catch his breath, thinking he might have to help Nat up the last steep pitch. To his right a voice said in the softest of tones, “Move this way.”

  Knox moved, not asking questions. He could see only a dark blur of figure, and he could feel the slow working of a razor-edged clamshell across the cords on his wrists. As they dropped off and his hands came free, he blew a soft sigh of relief.

  “Curtis?”

  “Yes. You’re Knox. I’ve been watching from up above. Can you give me a hand?”

  They could hear Nat scrambling, panting, as she came up over the pitch and onto the level place to one side of the cave. Knox reached out, caught her arm with one hand and put the other over her mouth and drew her aside.

  He said into her ear, “Hold out your hands and keep quiet.”

  He had a penknife in his pocket and before Nat’s hands were completely free, Meridee was alongside them. Then Adele. And finally Kurath. Knox wondered what would happen when Tiber came up. Daylight had seeped in here now, enough to show him Curtis’ bearded, gaunt face, his threadbare clothes—and the look of quiet hatred he wore.

  The problem was solved very simply. As Tiber’s head came into view, Curtis swung a bar of gold with all his strength. It caught Tiber across the bridge of the nose. He made only a soft gurgling sound before he collapsed and started to roll back down the path.

  Knox went after him, wanting to stop his fall before he reached part of the path where Natasha could see him. He needn’t have worried. Tiber’s thick body was wedged into the rock at the sharp bend. He lay in a twisted heap, his face almost unrecognizable from the blow. By the time Knox reached him and had the gun pried from his hand, he was dead.

  “Give me a hand,” Knox whispered up softly.

  He and Kurath did most of the work; Curtis was weak, having expended his energy on that one single blow. He guided them to the top of the path and showed them where to put Tiber’s body. They laid it at the edge of the path, o
n a slight slope toward the swamp. Curtis put a foot on Tiber’s shoulder and pushed. The body rolled down the slope and into the swampy water, making hardly a splash. Rising tendrils of fog covered the ripples. The air was very quiet.

  They returned to the cave to find the women standing there, not talking. When she saw Knox, Nat whispered, “I’m hungry, and I know that boat’s full of food.”

  “We have Natasha to take care of,” Knox said. “Just hold it a while.”

  “I have some cooked crab and water,” Curtis offered.

  Knox, carrying Tiber’s gun, started down the path. Full daylight lay in the harbor now and the spotlight was off. Natasha was not in sight, but Knox caught the drifting smell of frying bacon.

  He moved softly along the pier and onto the deck. One shoe sole scraped, making a noise that sounded like an explosion in his ears. He stopped, but there was no response, and after a moment he went on. Now, however, he moved in his bare feet, shoes and socks left behind on the deck.

  He had never been to the galley on this boat, but once inside, his nose guided him the rest of the way to the galley door.

  Natasha was at a small two-burner electric stove. On one burner, a pot of coffee bubbled; on the other, there was a frying pan filled with crisping bacon. Natasha wore very brief shorts and a halter, instead of the evening gown she had come in. There were drops of water along her fine legs and the tendrils of hair just at her neckline were wet; she was barefooted. Apparently, she had taken a quick dip in the harbor.

  Knox lifted the gun. “It smells good,” he said.

  She swung about, a long-tined fork in one hand. Her eyes moved swiftly, taking in Knox and the gun in his hand. She threw the fork side-arm. The fork quivered in the doorframe not two inches from his head.

  “I’d hate to shoot you in your own galley,” Knox said. “Now be sensible and come out quietly.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I haven’t decided. Maybe I’ll let Curtis do what he wants.”