The Mark of Cain

by William J. Coughlin

  Van Pelt frowned slightly. “Yes, I understand that. But these incidents in the performance of your employment have resulted in the death of several people. Is that not so?”

  “It has happened,” Cain said.

  Van Pelt sighed loudly. “You see, Mr. Cain, even though technically you have no criminal record, you still have quite a reputation, whether deserved or not. The island government would be most upset if we were to allow persons with … well … reputations like yours to play here at the casino. If it were up to me alone, Mr. Cain, I would be delighted to have you as a guest, but I must preserve my relationship with the new government. I hope you understand.”

  Cain nodded. “I understand.” It had happened to him before. They were always polite. Nevertheless it seemed he was forever barred from the meeting places of peaceful people.

  “I really am very sorry, Mr. Cain, but you see my position, I’m sure.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m not much of a gambler anyway.” He paused and looked at Van Pelt. “But perhaps you may be able to do me a favor.”

  “If it is reasonable, of course.” Van Pelt was obviously relieved that Cain had agreed to leave quietly.

  “Mr. Zinner’s great-grandson, Stewart Hamilton, and his young wife visited here in their sailboat. They sailed from San Bonaparte and were never heard from again. I’m down here trying to find some trace of them. Perhaps you might know something about them?”

  Van Pelt’s smooth face registered shock, but only for a fleeting second before his features returned to normal. He looked sad, his expression not unlike a funeral director’s mask when talking to a member of the late departed’s family. “I believe inquiries were made of us by the government people at the time. Unfortunately I don’t believe the young people ever stopped here at the casino during their stay on the island. In any event, if they did, our staff didn’t notice them.”

  “Too bad,” Cain said. “But maybe you can give me a little information? There is talk about a ring of narcotics smugglers who take pleasure boats in these waters, murder the crews, and use the boats in their operations. Have you heard anything about that?”

  Van Pelt colored slightly. A look of anger passed like a cloud across his features. “I know the source of those outrageous stories; they are spread around by your American Coast Guard.” The last few words were sputtered out in anger. “They put out these cock-and-bull stories about pirates and use these fairy tales to explain away the disappearance of a number of yachts.” Van Pelt pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Mr. Cain, these horror stories have frightened much of our business away. And it is a shame because not a word of them is true.” He trembled with indignant emotion.

  “Mr. Cain,” he continued, “boats have been lost, of course. They always are out here. But see here, these marina people will rent sailboats to people who can’t tell a jib from a tiller. And those that can have had all their experience back on small safe lakes in your country. They come down here, sail out in a small boat into the great vast sea, and people are somehow surprised when they don’t come back.”

  “Are you saying, Mr. Van Pelt, that the disappearing boats just sank, that the Coast Guard’s statements are not true?”

  Van Pelt nodded, taking time to stuff a cigarette into a long holder and light it. “That’s exactly what I am saying. It is a story put out to cover up their own inefficiency. I don’t know what kind of sailor your Stewart what’s-his-name was, but I’ll bet it was inexperience that sank him and not any pirates. That business is all a bunch of hokum, let me assure you.”

  Cain smiled. “If that’s the way you see it, then I guess I won’t be able to get much information about the pirates from you.”

  “I would help you if I could, Mr. Cain. But the whole thing is just the product of someone’s overworked imagination.” He blew out a delicate stream of cigarette smoke. “Now, sir, is there anything else that I can do for you?”

  Cain glanced over at Princess Louise.

  “Again the offer is limited,” Van Pelt chuckled.

  “If I am barred from the casino, does that include the other men on my boat?”

  Van Pelt thought for a moment. “Please be frank with me, Mr. Cain. Are they notorious? I mean, are they the sort of chaps known to the police?”

  “No.” It was not altogether true, but Cain wanted the others to have complete freedom of movement on the island.

  “In that case,” Van Pelt beamed, “they would be most welcome.” He waddled from behind the desk and shook Cain’s hand. “I’m sorry the circumstances are such, Mr. Cain, that we cannot extend the same hospitality to you.”

  “I understand it’s nothing personal.”

  “Precisely. Mr. Finzanno, please escort Mr. Cain out of the club.”

  He followed Finzanno back through the corridor and paused only to tell Johnson he would see him back at the boat.

  “You’ve come a long way, Finzanno,” Cain said as they walked between the groups of people around the gaming tables. “This must be very nice down here—no snow, no bugs. I hope this beats what you used to do for a living.”

  “It’s a living,” the big man replied. “You know, after a while you can get pretty sick of all this sand-and-sun business.”

  “I wouldn’t know; I’ve never tried it.”

  “Don’t.” Finzanno nodded to the two guards stationed at the main door as they stepped out of the casino. He accompanied Cain down the steps to the street. “Cain, I can’t talk right now, but that fat Dutch bastard was lying. There are pirates here, just like you said, and they make my old playmates look like saints by comparison.” He glanced back up at the guards. “Keep your eyes wide open. I’ll contact you just as soon as I can.” He turned and ran up the steps. Finzanno pointed at Cain and said something to the guards, who showed new interest in Cain as they nodded their understanding.

  Cain reflected on Finzanno as he walked down the quiet limestone streets, now dark and empty. Finzanno had been one of Marty Meat Hook’s boys, a muscleman who did his work professionally with no sadism or any of the other traits that sometimes marked a strong-arm man. The police knew that Finzanno worked for money, not because he liked it. That fact alone raised him a level above the weird men who followed that line of work. Although he did not know him well, Cain knew Finzanno had the reputation of being a sensible man. If he said the Dutchman was lying, Cain was inclined to believe him. He would wait until Finzanno found some safe way of contacting him.

  *

  Cain awakened to the sound of children’s laughter. For a moment he found it difficult to remember where he was. The sleeping cabin came into focus. Soldier’s bunk was empty. Sun streamed in through the open porthole.

  Dressing quickly, Cain walked through the passageway and up the short steps into the topside cabin. Soldier sat quietly in one of the deck chairs, his eyes watching the boat next to them.

  “It came in about two o’clock,” Soldier said, nodding his head toward the large motor sailer. “Just a family aboard. A father, mother, and two children—a boy and a small girl.”

  Cain studied the lines of the other boat. It was as long as their own boat. But it was a motor sailer, its mast reaching up into the clear blue sky. The lines of the hull reminded him of the boat used by the Hamiltons, but this craft was much larger.

  “When did Slick get in last night?” Cain asked.

  “He didn’t.”

  Cain glanced at his watch. “It’s seven o’clock.” He wondered if anything had happened to Slick. He tried to ignore the feelings of remorse that began to creep into his mind. “Have you been up all night?” he asked Soldier.

  “Yes. Johnson offered to spell me, but I thought it would be better if we had an experienced man standing guard. Besides I just felt like sitting up.”

  Cain wondered if Soldier too was worried over Slick’s absence.

  He stepped out of the cabin and into the sun-drenched cockpit. The terraced rows of houses gleamed in the early morning sun. He could
see people moving about, starting a new day on the island of San Bonaparte. The low hill behind the town was dotted with the homes of the rich: sun-baked villas glittering like white bones in the lush green of the hill. He had heard that many of them were seldom used and mostly stood vacant. It seemed a terrible waste.

  He turned at the sound of an outcry, just in time to see one of the children on the motor sailer topple backward off the boat. The splash was followed by silence. Cain sprang across the cockpit, leaping to the deck of the motor sailer. He rushed to the side where the child had fallen.

  “Hey, give me a hand,” he shouted to Soldier as he slipped off his shoes. He thought he heard some movement below decks as he slipped over the side. The harbor water was clear, and he looked quickly about him, but he could find no sign of the child. He took a breath and dived.

  There was no sign of a child’s body alongside the long hull. He wondered if the youngster had somehow slid beneath the keel of the motor sailer. Expelling some air, he kicked to get deeper. There was very little clearance between the hull and the sandy bottom. Cain knew that seconds counted if the child’s life were to be saved, and he could not afford the luxury of swimming around the boat to get to the other side. He expelled the rest of the air in his lungs and dived beneath the huge mass of the boat’s hull, aiming for the small opening at the bottom.

  His shirt caught as he tried to wiggle under the keel. Panic seized him, and he fought frantically to pull free. Finally the shirt tore, and he was able to push through with his hands and kick his way to the surface. He vaguely realized he was passing a pair of small thin legs as he shot up to the top of the water.

  Cain gulped for air as he popped up. Three concerned faces stared down at him from the motor sailer. Soldier stood on the little dock between the two boats. A young boy, his face distorted behind a diving mask, trod water next to Cain. He was dressed in a light cotton shirt and trousers.

  Cain laughed as he looked at him. “I thought you fell in,” he said. Then he looked up at the boy’s parents standing on the boat. “I saw he had clothes on, and I thought …”

  “I’m sorry, mister,” the boy interrupted. “I was just playing around.”

  “Are you all right?” the man on the motor sailer inquired. “Your shirt is rather badly torn.”

  “I’m okay,” Cain said, swimming to a rickety ladder built of scrap lumber that led to the dock above. He climbed out, feeling the flood of water pouring from him like a waterfall. “I feel a bit foolish,” he said to the couple on the boat. “I saw your boy topple off the boat, or I thought he did. I didn’t see the diving mask, just the clothes.”

  “He wears clothes because of his terrible sunburn,” the woman said. “But it was awfully good of you to go after him like that. We appreciate it, mistake or not.” She had a wide, warm smile that erupted into reluctant laughter.

  The incident united the two boats. A chemistry developed between the men on the cruiser and the family aboard the motor sailer. Even Slick, who returned looking like he had neglected to sleep for a week, was caught up in the holiday mood. The day was spent with stories, laughter, and chilled wine.

  Bill Drake, a schoolteacher, had rented the motor sailer to take his wife and their two children on a cruise, a dream vacation they had planned for years. Cathy, his wife, had the knack of putting their new friends at their ease, and the children seemed like little sponges, listening to the stories and sucking in every detail.

  The steely defenses of Cain and Soldier melted before the happy eyes of the children and the warm contact with a normal happy family. Each was reminded of another time in their lives, a soft time, a period of love and wonder. Both knew that there was no way to call those times back or recreate them. But for a moment the Drake family provided a crack in memory’s door, and the distant remembrance of other, happy times.

  Even Slick, who had spent a wild and sleepless night allowing his island “spy” to extract “secrets” from him, seemed content and relaxed in the company of the Drakes, showing no sign of even the slightest fatigue.

  Johnson took the two children fishing and later taught them to clean their catch. The lesson cost only a slightly nicked thumb and a big cut near the prow of the motor sailer when the sharp cleaning knife slipped.

  They roasted fish and steaks on an outdoor grill set up on the afterdeck of the motor sailer. It was the kind of Caribbean sunset that photographers dream about. The huge red ball sank into the purple waters, filling the sky with a dying burst of reds and yellows, a display that drenched the horizon until the crystal-blue Caribbean night asserted itself and filled the sky with a million sparkling diamondlike stars.

  They watched and sipped their wine, these newfound friends. The Drakes planned to sail early in the morning, and they all knew it was improbable that they would ever meet again. This gave a special meaning to the evening, a sweet sadness that reminded the hard-eyed men of other, distant times. They toasted each other before retiring for the night. It seemed as if they were all reluctant to say good-bye.

  But the good-byes were said, and promises made to keep in contact, promises that each knew would never be kept, and then both boats settled down, and quiet returned to that part of the harbor.

  Cain volunteered to take the first watch. He knew both Soldier and Slick were badly in need of sleep. Slick related his adventures and the way the woman had pried their plans from him. It made guard duty much more interesting knowing that someone seemed very interested in their boat. Perhaps they would be bold enough to try to take them at night in the harbor. Cain sat back in the darkened cabin. He cradled the big magnum revolver in his lap and let his senses take over his mind. He thought no conscious thoughts, allowing his mind to work like human radar, using his senses, waiting for the disturbing signal, if any should come.

  He sensed it more than saw it. A shadow moved quickly along the quiet waterfront. It was not gone, but it was invisible, stopped somewhere in the cover of other, darker shadows. Cain waited, quickly opening and closing his hands in order to drive blood into the stiffened fingers. He saw it again. It moved quickly, dodging from shadow to shadow. It was small, and he wondered if it might be a dog. But dogs seldom slipped purposely from shadow to shadow. He gripped the revolver and waited. Whatever it was, it was coming toward their boat.

  SIX

  As it drew nearer, the shadow assumed a shape. It was either a very small man or a child. Finally the figure was close enough, and there was sufficient dull light to see. He was a thin short boy, about twelve, his skin as dark as the night from which he had come. Cain could see the boy’s eyes as they darted back and forth. He moved quickly toward their boat.

  Cain slid effortlessly out of the chair and moved into the dark shadows near the hatchway to the open cockpit. He put the pistol into his waist and waited.

  The boy crouched down by the back of the boat and looked all about him very carefully. Satisfied that he was alone, he slipped over the boat’s rail and landed silently in the cockpit. He paused and listened for a moment before moving. Very carefully he eased toward the hatchway, slipping through the opening quickly and silently.

  Cain’s hand slipped over his mouth as he pinned one of the boy’s thin arms against his back.

  “And where are you going, my young friend?”

  The boy’s eyes were wide with terror. He struggled against Cain’s grip.

  Cain whispered into the boy’s ear: “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth so you can talk. But if you cry out, I’ll snap that little neck of yours like a stick, understand?”

  The boy nodded quickly. Cain removed his hand.

  “What do you want, kid?”

  “I …” He had to swallow to lubricate his throat which was dry with fear. “I’m looking for a man named Cain,” he sputtered, his voice raspy with tension.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got a message for him,” he said, his young voice carrying the songlike lilt of the island dialect.

  “I’m Cai
n.”

  The boy twisted around, his large eyes seeking Cain’s face. “Mr. Finzanno wants to see you,” he said. “He wants to meet with you, but he doesn’t want anybody to know about it.”

  Cain released the boy. “Why?”

  The boy rubbed his arm. “Hey, man, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him that yourself.”

  “If everything is supposed to be so secret,” Cain asked, “why would he trust you to bring the message?”

  The boy smiled shyly. “He is my uncle.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “Well, he lives with my mother and me, and he told me that makes him my uncle.”

  Cain nodded. “Maybe it does at that. Where am I supposed to meet this ‘uncle’ of yours?”

  “On the beach in front of the baron’s villa.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “About a mile from here. You walk along the harbor road until you come to the long beach. The road ends there. Then you have to climb over a fence. All that property up there belongs to the baron, but he don’t live there no more.” He paused for breath, then looked up at Cain. “My uncle says it will be very private there, that no one will be able to see you.”

  “Why does it have to be so private?”

  The boy’s dark face crinkled with worry. “I think my uncle is afraid to have someone see him with you. That’s why he wants it done this way.”

  “Where’s Finzanno—your uncle—now?”

  “He is up at the casino. He works there, but he will be off from work in a half hour. He is going directly to the baron’s place. It is only a short distance from the casino, and he knows a way that is very private.”

  Cain looked at the boy and wondered if the whole business might be some kind of elaborate trap. But he remembered Finzanno from the old days. If the big man planned to kill him, he would do it head on—tricks played no part in Finzanno’s thinking. Still, he could have changed, or he could be following someone else’s orders. It could be a trap.

  “Go back and tell your uncle I don’t like the arrangements,” Cain said. “I’ll meet with him, but it has to be a place I pick.”