by Wilbur Smith
“Harry,” he told me expansively, one thick muscled arm around my neck. “You are a good boy, Harry. You know what, Harry, I’m going to tell you now what I never told you before.” He nodded wisely as he gathered himself for the declaration he made every pay day. “Harry, I love you man. I love you better than my own brother.”
I lifted the stained cap and lightly caressed the bald brown dome of his head. “And you are my favourite eggshell blond,” I told him.
He held me at arm’s length for a moment, studying my face, then burst into a lion’s roar of laughter. It was completely infectious and we were both still laughing when Fred Coker walked in and sat down at the table. He adjusted his pince-nez and said primly, “Mister Harry, I have just received a special delivery from London. Your charter cancelled.” I stopped laughing.
“What the hell!” I said. Two weeks without a charter in the middle of high season and only a lousy two-hundreddollar reservation fee.
“Mr. Coker, you have got to get me a party.” I had three hundred dollars left in my pocket from Chuck’s charter. “You got to get me a party,” I repeated, and Angelo picked up his knife and with a crash drove the point deeply into the table top. Nobody took any notice of him, and he scowled angrily around the room.
“I’ll try,” said Fred Coker, “but it’s a bit late now.”
“Cable the parties we had to turn down.”
“Who will pay for the cables?” Fred asked delicately.
“The hell with it, I’ll pay.” And he nodded and went out. I heard the hearse start up outside.
“Don’t worry, Harry,” said Chubby. “I still love you, man.”
Suddenly beside me Angelo went to sleep. He fell forward and his forehead hit the table top with a resounding crack. I rolled his head so that he would not drown in the puddle of spilled liquor, returned the knife to its sheath, and took charge of his bank roll to protect him from the girls who were hovering close.
Chubby ordered another round and began to sing a rambling, mumbling shanty in island patois, while I sat and worried.
Once again I was stretched out neatly on the financial rack. God how I hate money - or rather the lack of it. Those two weeks would make all the difference as to whether or not Dancer and I could survive the offseason, and still keep our good resolutions. I knew we couldn’t. I knew we would have to go on the night run again.
The hell with it, if we had to do it, we might as well do it now.
I would pass the word that Harry was ready to do a deal. Having made the decision, I felt again that pleasurable tightening of the nerves, the gut thing that goes with danger. The two weeks of cancelled time might not be wasted after all.
I joined Chubby in song, not entirely certain that we were singing the same number, for I seemed to reach the end of each chorus a long time before Chubby.
It was probably this musical feast that called up the law. On St. Mary’s this takes the form of an Inspector and four troopers, which is more than adequate for the island. Apart from a great deal of “carnal knowledge under the age of consent” and a little wife-beating, there is no crime worthy of the name.
Inspector Peter Daly was a young man with a blond moustache, a high English colour on smooth cheeks and pale blue eyes set close together like those of a sewer rat. He wore the uniform of the British, colonial police, the cap with the silver badge and shiny patent leather peak, the khaki drill starched and ironed until it crackled softly as he walked, the polished leather belt and Sam Browne cross straps. He carried a malacca cane swagger stick which was also covered with polished leather. Except for the green and yellow St. Mary’s shoulder flashes, he looked like the Empire’s pride, but like the Empire the men who wore the uniform had also crumbled.
mr Fletcher he said, standing over our table and slapping the swagger stick lightly against his Palm. “I hope we are not going to have any trouble tonight.”
Sir I prompted him. Inspector Daly and I were never friends - I don’t like bullies, or persons who in Positions of trust supplement a perfectly adequate salary with bribes and kick-backs. He had taken a lot of my hard-won gold from me in the past, which was his most unforgivable sin.
His mouth hardened under the blond moustache and his colour came up quickly. “Sir,” he repeated reluctantly.
Now it is true that once or twice in the remote past Chubby and I had given way to an excess of boyish high spirits when we had just hung a Moses fish - however, this did not give Inspector Daly any excuse for talking like that. He was after all a mere expatriate out on the island for a three-year contract - which I knew from the President himself would not be renewed.
Inspector, am I correct in my belief that this is a public place - and that neither my friends nor I are committing a trespass?”
That is so.” Then Am I also correct in thinking that singing of decent songs in a public place does not constitute a criminal act?”
Well, that is true, but, - Inspector, piss off I told him pleasantly. He hesitated, looking at Chubby and me. Between the two of us we make up a lot of muscle, and he could see the unholy battle gleam in our eyes. You could see he wished he had his troopers with him.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he said and, clutching at his dignity like a beggar’s rags, he left us. Chubby, you sing like an angel,” I said and he beamed at me.
“Harry, I’m going to buy you a drink.” And Fred Coker arrived in time to be included in the round. He drank lager and lime juice which turned my stomach a little, but his tidings were an effective antidote.
“Mister Harry, I got you a party.”
“Mister Coker, I love you.” “I love you too,” said Chubby, but deep down I felt a twinge of disappointment. I had been looking forward to another night run.
“When are they arriving?” I asked.
“They are here already - they were waiting for me at my office when I got back.”
“No kidding.”
“They knew that your first party had cancelled, and they asked for you by name. They must have come in on the same plane as the special delivery.”
My thinking was a little muzzy right then or I might have pondered a moment how neatly one party had with, drawn and another had stepped in.
“They are staying up at the Hilton.”
“Do they want me to pick them up?”
“No, they’ll meet you at Admiralty Wharf ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
I was grateful that the party had asked for such a late starting time. That morning Dancer was crewed by zombies. Angelo groaned and turned a light chocolate colour every time he bent over to coil a rope or rig the rods and Chubby sweated neat alcohol and his expression was truly terrifying. He had not spoken a word all morning.
I wasn’t feeling all that cheerful myself. Dancer was snugged up alongside the wharf and I leaned on the rail of the flying bridge with my darkest pair of Polaroids over my eyes and although MY scalp itched I was afraid to take Off my cap In case the top of my skull came with it.
The island’s single taxi, a “62 Citroin, came down Drake Street and stopped at the top end of the wharf to deposit my party-There were two of them, and I had expected three, Coker had definitely said a party of three.
They started down the long stone-Paved wharf, walking side by side, and I straightened up slowly as I watched them. I felt my physical distress fade into the realm of the inconsequential, to be replaced by that gut thing again, the slow coiling and clenching within, and the little tickling feeling along the back of my arms and in the nape of the neck.
One was tall and walked with that loose easy gait of a professional athlete. He was bare-headed and his hair was pale gingery and combed carefully across a prematurely balding pate so the pink scalp showed through. However, he was lean around the belly and hips, and he was aware. It was the only word to describe the charged sense of readiness that emanated from him.
It takes one to recognize one. This was a man trained to live with and by violence-He was muscle, a sol
dier, in the jargon. It mattered not for which side of the law he exercised his skills - law enforcement or its frustration - he was very bad news. I had hoped never to see this kind of barracuda cruising St. Mary’s Placid waters-It gave me a sick little slide in the guts to know that it had found me out again. Quickly I glanced at the other man, it wasn’t so obvious in him, the edge was blunted a little, the outline blurred by time and flesh, but it was there also - more bad news. “All this, and
“Nice going, Harry,” I told myself bitterly.
a hangover thrown in.”
Clearly now I recognized that the older man was the leader. He walked half a pace ahead, the younger taller man paying him that respect. He was a few years my senior also, probably late thirties.
There was the beginnings of a paunch over the crocodile skin belt, and pouches of flesh along the line of his jawbone, but his hair had been styled in Bond Street and he wore his Sulka silk shirt and Gucci loafers like badges of rank. As he came on down the wharf he dabbed at his chin and upper lip with a white handkerchief and I guessed the diamond on his little finger at two carats. It was set in a plain gold ring and the wrist watch was gold also, probably by Lanvin or Piaget.
“Fletcherr he asked, stopping below me on the jetty. His eyes were black and beady, like those of a ferret. A predator’s eyes, bright without warmth. I saw he was older than I had guessed, for his hair was certainly tinted to conceal the grey. The skin of his cheeks was unnaturally tight and I could see the scars of plastic surgery in the hair line. He’d had a facelift, a vain man then, and I stored the knowledge.
He was an old soldier, risen from the ranks to a position of command. He was the brain, and the man that followed him was the muscle. Somebody had sent out their first team and, with a clairvoyant flash, I realized why my original party had cancelled.
A phone call followed by a visit from this pair would put the average citizen off marlin-fishing for life. They had probably done themselves a serious injury in their rush to cancel.
“Mr. Materson? Come aboard-” One thing was certain, they had not come for the fishing, and I decided on a low and humble profile until I had figured out the percentages, so I threw in a belated ” - sir.”
The muscle man jumped down to the deck, landing softfooted like a cat and I saw the way that the folded coat over his arm swung heavily, there was something weighty in the pocket. He confronted, my crew, thrusting out his jaw and running his eyes over them swiftly.
Angelo flashed a watered-down version of the celebrated smile and touched the brim of his cap. “Welcome, sir.” And Chubby’s scowl lightened momentarily and he muttered something that sounded like a curse, but was probably a warm greeting. The man ignored them and turned to hand Materson down to the deck where he waited while his bodyguard checked out Dancer’s main saloon. Then he went in and I followed him.
Our accommodation is luxurious, at a hundred and twenty-five thousand nicker it should be. The air, conditioning had taken the bite out of the morning heat and Materson sighed with relief and dabbed again with his handkerchief as he sank into one of the padded seats.
This is Mike Guthrie.” He indicated the muscle who was moving about the cabin checking at the ports, opening doors and generally, overplaying his hand, coming on very tough and hard.
“My pleasure, Mr. Guthrie.” I grinned with all my boyish charm, and he waved airily without glancing at me.
“A drink, gentlemen? I asked, as I opened the liquor cabinet.
They took a Coke each, but I needed something medicinal for the shock and the hangover. The first swallow of cold beer from the can revitalized me.
Well, gentlemen, I think I shall be able to offer you some sport.
only yesterday I hung a very good fish, and all the signs are for a big run—2 Mike Guthrie stepped in front of me and stared into my face. His eyes were flecked with brown and pale green, like a hand-loomed tweed.
Don’t I know you? he asked.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure.”
“You are a London boy, aren’t you?” He had picked up the accent.
“I left Blighty a long time ago, mate,” I grinned, letting it come out broad. He did not smile, and dropped into the seat opposite me, placing his hands on the table top between us, spreading his fingers palm downwards. He continued to stare at me. A very tough baby, very hard.
“I’m afraid that it is too late for today,” I babbled on cheerfully. “If we are going to fish the Mozambique, we have to clear harbour by six o’clock. However, we can make an early start tomorrow-” Materson my chatter. “Check that list out, Fletcher, and let us know what you are short.” He passed me a folded sheet of foolscap, and I glanced down the handwritten column. It was all scuba diving gear and salvage equipment.
“You gentlemen aren’t interested in big game fishing then?” Old Harry showing surprise and amazement at such an unlikely eventuality.
“We have come out to do a little exploring - that’s all.”
I shrugged. “You’re paying, we do what you want to do.”
“Have you got all that stuff?”
“Most of it.” In the offseason I run a cut-rate package deal for scuba buffs which helps pay expenses. I had a full range of diving sets and there was an air compressor built in to Dancer’s engine room for recharging. “I don’t have the air bags or all that rope. “Can you get them?”
“Sure.” Ma Eddy had a pretty good selection of ship’s stores, and Angelo’s old man was a sail-maker. He could run up the air bags in a couple of hours.
“Right then, get it.”
I nodded. “When do you want to start!”
“Tomorrow morning. There will be one other person with us.”
“Did Mr. Coker tell you it’s five hundred dollars a day and I’ll have to charge you for this extra equipment?” Materson inclined his head and made as if to rise.
“Would it be okay to see a little of that out front?” I asked softly, and they froze. I grinned ingratiatingly.
“It’s been a long lean winter, Mr. Materson, and I’ve got to buy this stuff and fill my fuel tanks.”
Materson took out his wallet and counted out three hundred pounds in fivers. As he was doing so he said in his soft purry voice, “We won’t need your crew, Fletcher. The three of us will help you handle the boat.”
I was taken aback. I had not expected that. “They’ll have to draw full wages, if you Jay them off. I can reduce my rate.”
Mike Guthrie was still sitting opposite me, and now he leaned forward. “You heard the man, Fletcher, just get your niggers off the boat,“he said softly.
Carefully I folded the bundle of five-pound notes and buttoned them into my breast pocket, then I looked at him. He was very quick, I could see him tense up ready for me and for the first time he showed expression in those cold speckled eyes. It was anticipation. He knew he had reached me, and he thought I was going to try him. He wanted that, he wanted to take me apart. He left his hands on the table, palms downwards, fingers spreadI thought how I might take the little finger of each hand and snap them at the middle joint like a pair of cheese sticks. I knew I could do it before he had a chance to move, and the knowledge gave me a great deal of pleasure, for I was very angry. I haven’t many friends, but I value the few I have.
“Did you hear me speak, boy?” Guthrie hissed at me, and I dredged up the boyish grin again and let it hang at a ridiculous angle on my face. “Yes, sir, Mr. Guthrie,” I said. “You’re paying the money, whatever you say.”
I nearly choked on the words. He leaned back in his seat, and I saw that he was disappointed. He was muscle, and he enjoyed his work.
I think I knew then that I was going to kill him, and I took enough comfort from the thought to enable me to hold the grin.
Materson was watching us with those bright little eyes. His interest was detached and clinical, like a scientist studying a pair of laboratory specimens. He saw that the confrontation had been resolved for the present, and his
voice was soft and purry again.
“Very well, Fletcher.” He moved towards the deck. “Get that equipment together and be ready for us at eight tomorrow morning.$ I let them go, and I sat and finished the beer. It may have been just my hangover, but I was beginning to have a very ugly feeling about this whole charter and I realized that after all it might be best to leave Chubby and Angelo ashore. I went out to tell them.
“We’ve got a pair of freaks, I’m sorry but they have got some big secret and they are dealing you out.” I put the aqualung bottles on the compressor to top up, and we left Dancer at the wharf while I went up to Ma Eddy’s and Angelo and Chubby took my drawing of the air bags across to his father’s workshop.
The bags were ready by four o’clock and I picked them up in the Ford and stowed them in the sail locker under the cockpit seats. Then I spent an hour stripping and reassembling the demand valves of the scubas and checking out all the other diving equipment.
At sundown I ran Dancer out to her moorings on my own, and was about to leave her and row ashore in the dinghy when I had a good thought. I went back into the cabin and knocked back the toggles on the engine-room hatch.
I took the FN carbine from its hiding-place, pumped a cartridge into the breech, set her for automatic fire and clicked on the safety catch before hanging her in the slings again.
Before it was dark, I took my old cast net and waded out across the lagoon towards the main red, I saw the swirl and run beneath the surface of the water which the setting sun had burnished to the colour of copper and. flame, and I sent the net spinning high with a swing of shoulders and arms. It ballooned like a parachute, and fell in a wide circle over the shoal of striped mullet. When I pulled the drag line and closed the net over them, there were five of the big silvery fish as long as my forearm kicking and thumping in the coarse wet folds.
I grilled two of them and ate them on the veranda of my shack. They tasted better than trout from a mountain stream, and afterwards I poured a second whisky and sat On into the dark.
usually this is the time of day when the island enfolds me in a great sense of peace and I seem to understand what the whole business of living is all about. However, that night was not like that. I was angry that these people had come out to the island and brought with them their special brand of poison to contaminate us. Five years ago I had run from that, believing I had found a place that was safe. Yet beneath the anger, when I was honest with myself, I recognized also an excitement, a pleasurable excitement That gut thing again, knowing that I was at risk once more. I was not sure yet what the stakes were, but I knew they were high and that I was sitting in the game with the big boys once again.