“This is the day,” Raimundo went on. “It’s up to you now. By tonight, you could be a rich man, soldier. You…” He broke off as we saw Carlo coming across the sand.
Raimundo got to his feet.
“Sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yes.”
“It won’t be long now… we’d better eat.”
He joined Carlo and they went into the house.
I sat still, feeling the heat of the sun as it was reflected off the white sand while I stared across the dunes to the sea.
I thought of Timoteo.
Lucy had said : We think alike.
She had also said : Since this happened, you’ve become someone I don’t know.
Raimundo came out on to the verandah. He put a plate of sandwiches on the table.
“Something on your mind, soldier?” he asked as he sat down.
“Do you have to ask stupid questions?”
After a long pause, he said uneasily, “You’d better eat. It could be a long afternoon. Like some beer?”
“Why not?”
He got up and went back into the house. By the time he had returned with two glasses of beer, I had forced Timoteo out of my mind.
We drank and ate in silence. When we had finished, I got to my feet.
“I’ll fix the rifle.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No.”
I cleaned and loaded the rifle, then clipped on the telescopic sight and screwed on the silencer. As I completed the operation, Raimundo came to the doorway.
“All okay, soldier?”
I suddenly realised he was much more jittery than I was. I was jittery enough but I could see he was really steamed up.
“Sure.” I moved round him, carrying the rifle and went up the stairs and up the ladder to the roof. I put the rifle by the concrete parapet in the shade. I looked across the empty bay. Would Diaz show? The chances were that he would, but he might not. If he didn’t, Savanto would imagine I had warned him. He had said : I will avenge myself on your wife.
Raimundo came up on the roof.
“Any problems?” he asked.
I had had about all I was going to take from him.
“For God’s sake, can’t you leave me alone?” I snarled at him. “You’re driving me crazy !”
“I’m driving myself crazy, soldier. I’m as responsible as you.”
“Have you only just found that out?”
I walked across the roof and looked up at the big tree with its leafy, overhanging branches. I got up on the parapet, caught hold of one of the branches and swung myself up. It was an easy climb. I had only to step from one branch to the next until I was high enough to be out of sight. But I had to be sure.
I sat astride one of the branches, my back resting against the trunk and looked down. The dense foliage hid the roof, but not the bay.
“Can you see me?” I shouted down.
I heard Raimundo walk across the roof. There was a long pause, then he said, “I don’t see a damn thing except leaves. Move a little.”
I swung my legs.
“I can hear you, but I can’t see you.”
I came down slowly and cautiously : no branches swayed, no leaves rustled. When I joined Timoteo on the roof, Savanto’s witness must have no suspicion that Timoteo wasn’t alone.
I dropped lightly to the roof by Raimundo’s side.
“You’re certain you couldn’t see me?”
“I didn’t even hear you as you came down.”
I looked at my strap watch. In another ten minutes Timoteo would be here. I moved to the parapet to stare across the bay. Raimundo joined me.
“You said you saw my wife. What was she doing?” I asked, not looking at him.
He hesitated.
“Doing?” I could see my question had fazed him. “She was talking to Timoteo.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s a great talker. When anyone will listen to him, he talks all the time.”
We think alike.
“She didn’t look… unhappy?”
“You don’t have to worry about her, soldier. She’s all right.”
“What’s this about Timoteo being Savanto’s heir?”
“When the old man dies, Timoteo takes over the Little Brothers.”
“Will he want to?”
Raimundo shrugged.
“That’s the way the old man has fixed it. Timoteo could make a good leader. He’s no fool. He’s educated. It’s just his bad luck to get caught in this set-up. This is something he can’t handle.”
We both heard the sound of an approaching car. We moved together to the other side of the roof.
The black Cadillac with the chimp-faced driver at the wheel was coming up the road. Timoteo, wearing his big black hat and his sun goggles was sitting at the back of the car. By his side was one of the men I had seen from Nancy’s boat : a powerfully built, swarthy man, wearing white ducks.
“Here he is,” Raimundo said and started towards the trap, leading down to the house.
“Send him up,” I said. “I’ll wait here.”
He nodded and slid down the ladder.
I sat on the parapet and waited. After a delay, Timoteo, hiding behind his sun goggles, came up the ladder on to the roof. Following him came the man in the white ducks. I gave him a quick look. I had run into men like him in the Army : dangerous, rebellious, shifty and very sure of himself. He stood away from me, his hands on his hips, a watchful expression on his swarthy face.
At the sight of me, Timoteo came to an abrupt halt. The black goggles were directed towards me. At least, he was looking at me.
Although it hurt, I had buttoned my shirt. I. wasn’t ready to show him what his father had done to me.
The sight of him set my blood moving hot through my veins. I wanted to slam my fist into his face. Into my mind came the picture of him and Lucy paddling, side by side, talking. Since this happened you’ve become someone I don’t know.
“Do you want me to explain what is going to happen?” I said.
He just stood there, sweat glistening on his face.
“The idea is,” I said, speaking slowly as if talking to an idiot, “your cousin will come on skis out there. He…”
“Yes, I know.” His voice was unsteady and husky.
“You know? That’s fine.” I felt a spurt of vicious rage run through me. Because this thin creep was incapable of shouldering his own responsibilities, I had been blackmailed into cleaning up his mess for him. I walked slowly up to him. “So you know?” I repeated. “So you know I am being forced to kill a man because you haven’t the guts to do it yourself. You know I am being blackmailed by your ape of a father to kill this man : a murder I will have on my conscience for the rest of my days. You know all that, do you, you goddam, gutless talker?”
The man in the white ducks suddenly came between Timoteo and myself.
“Shut your flapping mouth !” he snarled viciously.
I was now burning with rage. I swung a punch at him that carried all my hate with it. If it had caught him, it would have flattened him, but it
didn’t. He was very professional.
Then Raimundo arrived. He slid between me and the man in the white ducks and caught hold of my arms.
“Cool it, soldier !”
I threw off his hands and moved back.
“Set him up,” I said. “Get him ready to look like a killer.” I moved across so I could see Timoteo who was still standing motionless. “How do you feel, killer?” I shouted at him. “Are you proud of yourself? It’s easy to talk to my wife, isn’t it, killer? I’d like her to be here to watch me kill a man who raped and branded your girl because you haven’t the guts to do it yourself ! I’d like her to be here!” I was now yelling at him.
Raimundo moved between us.
Will you cool it, soldier?” he implored.
I got hold of myself.
“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath. “Take him away. The sight of him makes me want to throw up.”
; The man in the white ducks touched Timoteo’s arm. Timoteo turned and moving like a zombie, went down the trap and out of sight.
I sat on the parapet in the shade while I got control of myself. Raimundo sat away from me, every now and then, looking anxiously at me.
After a while, I said, “That creep gets me. I’m okay. Don’t flip your lid. When they arrive, bring him and Lopez up here. When Lopez has had a look around, take him down to the verandah. Tell Timoteo to alert me when Lopez has gone. I can’t see the roof from where I’ll be. Try to make him look like a killer. The way he looks now, Lopez won’t believe he could kill a fly.”
“Yeah. Are you sure you’re all right?”
I stared at him.
“I’ll kill him if that’s what’s on your mind.”
We looked at each other for a long moment, then he nodded.
“I’m sorry you walked into this, soldier,” he said. “It doesn’t do a damn hit of good, but I want you to know.”
“That’s right. It doesn’t do a damn bit of good.”
We sat there in silence for around twenty minutes, looking towards the road. Then Raimundo said sharply, “They’re coming.”
I had already heard the approaching car.
“Just get him to look like a killer,” I said, and climbing on to the parapet. I swung myself up into the tree. I climbed to the branch where I had sat before and sat astride it.
“Okay?” I called down.
“Yes.” There was a pause, then he said, “Good luck, soldier.”
I sat there. I couldn’t see what was going on below : the foliage was too dense. I heard voices and car doors slam. I recognised Savanto’s voice, but I didn’t understand what he was saying. He was speaking in Spanish. A harsh voice I hadn’t heard before answered him. I guessed this would be Lopez, the witness.
After some minutes, I heard movements on the roof. The conversation was all in Spanish. I listened for Timoteo’s voice, but didn’t hear it. He was still doing his zombie act. Then after more talk, I. heard the scrape of feet on the wooden ladder. I guessed they were going down, leaving Timoteo alone. I looked at my strap watch. The time was now 14.45. In another quarter of an hour Diaz would come out on to the bay… providing he was coming. Sweat was running down my face. I thought of the shot. I thought of lining this man’s head up in the cross wires of the sight. I thought of the flattened sound from the silencer as I squeezed the trigger. I thought of seeing him drop into the sea with a hole in his head.
I sat motionless, listening. I heard nothing. Was someone still up on the roof with Timoteo? I didn’t dare move until I was sure he was alone.
Then I heard his voice, pitched low. It just reached me. “Mr. Benson…”
A child bleating for its mother, I thought savagely, then just as I was about to start my climb down, I froze.
Coiled up on the branch immediately below me was a diamondback rattler snake, its forked tongue flickering at my foot that was within twelve inches of it.
A diamondback rattler, one of the few deadly snakes in Florida, and it looked ready to strike!
* * *
“Mr. Benson…?”
Timoteo’s whisper floated up to me.
I couldn’t he sure if the sound of my voice would make the snake strike. I held my leg rigid, feeling the sweat of fear start out on me. I have always had a horror of snakes: even harmless snakes make my flesh creep. I looked down at this coiled horror. The shot, Diaz, Timoteo and even Lucy were washed out of my mind. I just sat astride the branch, motionless and cringing. My guts had gone away like a fist becoming a hand.
“Mr. Benson…”
A little louder… more urgent.
“There’s a snake up here.”
There was no power in my voice : it was a croaking whisper. He couldn’t possibly have heard me, but the snake lifted its spade-shaped head. Its warning rattle, like dried beans shaken in a bag, made me flinch.
I sat there. I could hear voices talking in excited Spanish. I could hear the wind rustling in the palm trees. I stared down at the snake. Cramp was setting in in my legs.
“Mr. Benson…”
I knew the speed of a rattler strike. I hadn’t a chance if I tried to get my legs up on to the branch. Besides, if I made such a wild movement, I could easily overbalance and crash down on the roof of the house.
“Snake,” I said, lifting my voice.
Again came the warning rattle.
Had Timoteo heard? If he had what would he do?
Minutes like hours dragged by. Then another sound came to me : the sound of a motorboat starting up. Even in my panic, half my mind switched to Lucy. My target was coming out on to the bay and here I was, treed by a snake!
Then I saw Timoteo. He was climbing awkwardly and very cautiously. He still had on his sun goggles and still wore the big black hat.
“Watch it !” I whispered. “It’s by my foot.”
Again the warning rattle: a sound that made my heart skip a beat.
About six feet below me, Timoteo paused. He peered up. I could see myself reflected in his sun goggles : a frightened, sweating man, cut down to size by a coiled reptile.
I could see by the way Timoteo stiffened that he had spotted the snake and that the snake had spotted him. It turned its head away from my foot and its forked tongue flickered in Timoteo’s direction.
“Don’t move,” Timoteo said quietly.
I had been about to snatch my leg out of range, but his quiet, confident tone stopped me.
Very slowly, he hoisted himself up to another branch. He was now within four feet of the snake.
I watched him, sweat rolling off me, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Very slowly, his hand began to move towards his hat. The warning rattle sounded again.
His long fingers closed on the brim of his hat and slowly removed it from his head.
Simultaneously two things happened. The snake struck as Timoteo flicked the hat in its direction.
Scarcely breathing, I watched.
The snake’s fangs sank into the felt brim of the hat. Timoteo, with a speed that almost defeated my eyes, had the snake off the branch. His right hand caught the snake at the back of its head. The length of the snake immediately wrapped itself around his arm. He sat astride the branch, just below me, gripping the back of the snake’s head so it couldn’t strike him, then his left hand came down on the spade-shaped head, his long fingers shutting the jaws. He paused. I could see the snake’s body tight around his arm. Then firmly and deliberately, he turned his hands in the opposite direction, breaking the snake’s back.
As he let the thin rope of snake flesh drop out of his hands, he looked up at me.
“It’s dead.”
I sat with my back pressed against the trunk of the tree, looking down at him. I saw myself in the sun goggles and what I saw I didn’t like.
Then the roar of the motor-boat snapped me back to life.
“Get down!” I said. “Fast !”
Even before he began to climb down, I slid around him, dropping from one branch to another until I reached the roof. I grabbed up the rifle, spread myself flat tinder the shade of the shelter I had built and dug the rifle butt into my shoulder.
The motorboat was now in the bay. I could see the negress at the wheel. Nancy and a man were skiing side by side, but he was on her offside and through the telescopic sight, she was shielding him.
When they turned, I thought, he would be on my side and I would have him.
I adjusted the focus. Every so often I caught a glimpse of him in the sight. He was a typical South American male sex symbol : well-built, muscular, handsome with long black hair held in place by a white bandeau.
The boat made a sharp turn and began the return run. She and he were proving to each other how good they were. As the boat turned, he jumped her tow rope, skidding along on one ski and he was again on her off-side.
I waited, following them through the sight. I had the girl’s head between the cross w
ires more often than Diaz’s. It was an impossible shot. I could more easily kill her than him. They were now holding on to their tow bars with one hand and holding each other’s hand with the other. They were now so close together I couldn’t even see him on her off-side.
I lay there, sweating, but patient. I had been trained to wait. I had once waited three hours before I got a head shot and I remembered that while I waited.
The boat was coming round again. This time he kept to the on-side. They were doing a straight run. I now had his head on the cross wires. I could just see Nancy’s nose and chin on the edge of the sight.
To anyone but an expert this would have been too dangerous. To anyone but an expert this could mean hitting the girl and not the man, but I was an expert.
This is it, I thought, this finishes the nightmare even if it starts another.
I drew in a long, slow breath, moving the sight to keep his head in the centre of the cross wires, then I slowly took up the slack of the trigger.
Suddenly, Nancy dropped back a little and she disappeared out of the sight. I knew then I had him. He wasn’t even jinking. It was such a straightforward shot that Timoteo could have made it.
I squeezed the trigger.
Faintly, above the roar of the motorboat engine, I heard the metallic snap of the hammer in the gun. There was no recoil and that told me there was no cartridge in the breech. For a long stupefied moment I lay there, then I slammed down the loading lever which should jack up another cartridge under the firing- pin. The feel of the lever as it operated told me it wasn’t lifting a cartridge.
I realised then the gun wasn’t loaded. I had loaded it. I had had a cartridge in the breech, now it was unloaded.
I turned on my side and looked back at Timoteo who was standing away from me. I remembered the time lag before he had called to me : a time lag when he had been on the roof alone.
“Did you unload this gun, you sonofabitch?”
He nodded.
I looked out at the bay.
The two skiers were now well out of range, the boat taking them out to sea. I knew the opportunity had gone and the nightmare was still with me.
I got to my feet and walked over to him. I wanted to smash him flat, but there was no point. I told myself there was still tomorrow.
“Are you so goddam gutless you can’t even let me kill this man for you?” I said, my voice low and savage.
Like a Hole in the Head Page 14