Like A Hole In The Head (13 page)

     "That was branded on the face of the girl Timoteo wished to marry," Savanto said.

     I turned.

     "Are you and your tribe so primitive that you can't turn this over to the police?" I said.

     "Yes. It is a personal thing."

     "Did the girl think so?"

     Savanto shrugged his shoulders.

     "It is not the girl. It is the insult."

     "What happened to her?"

     
"Mr.
Benson, don't become too curious. Please sit down."

     "I don't want to hear any more."

     "You are involved in this." He stared at me. "Let me finish. Please sit down."

So I sat down.

     "You will understand from what I have told von, I had a problem. I suspected Timoteo couldn't do what was expected of him. I heard about yon : a first-class shot : a man who spent three years in the jungle as a sniper. A sniper is a legalised killer, Mr. Benson. I decided you were the man I was looking for. I let it be known that Timoteo was taking shooting lessons. The news pleased my people and it amused Diaz because Diaz is no fool. He knew, as I suspected, that no one could teach Timoteo to shoot, but my people don't know and that is important."

     "They'll know now," I said.

     "Not if my thinking is correct," Savanto said. "You see, Mr. Benson, you are going to deputise for my son : you are going to kill Diaz Savanto."

     I sat for a long moment staring at him. I felt a cold prickle run up my spine.

     "Your thinking is not correct," I said.

     
"
Mr
.
Benson, this is important to me, to Timoteo and to my organisation. It is not that I mind losing the power I have. I am getting old. If there was someone to replace me, then I would go, but there is no one. I represent the rights and interests of a quarter of a million peasants. Because of my efforts, they are no longer starving, but there is still much to be done. I . . ."

     "Your thinking is not correct," I repeated.

     "I am now offering you two hundred thousand dollars to take my son's place. Think carefully, Mr. Benson. How many men have you already killed in cold blood? Eighty-two? What is one more life to you?"

     "I was a soldier . . . a soldier has to kill. I'm no longer a soldier so I am not doing it. And let me tell you something : your son's thinking is right. If you are too primitive to know this, then take it from me."

     I got up and walked into the lobby of the house.

     Raimundo was leaning against the wall close to an open door through which I could see Carlo, sitting at a table, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood.

     "I want the key of my car," I said to Raimundo.

     I was set to hit him. I knew I hadn't much of a chance.

     He looked at me thoughtfully, then he took the key from his pocket and tossed it to me.

     I backed away, turned and started to cross the verandah.

     "So you are leaving, Mr. Benson," Savanto said.

     I ignored him, going down the steps to the car.

     "If you are returning to your wife, Mr. Benson, there is no need to hurry. She won't be there."

     His words came clearly to me as I was opening the door of the car. I stood for a moment feeling the hot sun on my face, then I closed the car door and came back on to the verandah.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

     Savanto looked up at me as I came towards him. His fat, pockmarked face was expressionless; his stubby fingers stroked his moustache.

     Raimundo and Carlo had come out onto the verandah. Raimundo leaned against the door-post. Carlo stood away from him, still picking his teeth with the splinter of wood.

     "I'm sorry, Mr. Benson," Savanto said, "but I must consider the lives of a quarter of a million people . . . peasants like my father : all struggling to live."

     "You can cut out the crap!" I said. "What do you mean . . . she won't be there?"

     Raimundo pushed himself away from the door-post, his hands hanging loosely, and he edged towards me.

     "Your wife is now under my protection. She is quite safe. Please don't be anxious, Mr. Benson."

     For a long moment I looked into the flat snake's eyes. There was sadness on the fat face, but no mercy in the glittering eyes.

     "You've kidnapped her?" I asked, holding on to myself because I knew, at this moment, control was essential.

     "I would prefer to say she has been taken as a hostage."

     Well, I had been warned. Raimundo had told me if I flopped I would be in trouble. I had thought this was an empty threat. Now, I knew differently. I fought down the urge to smash this elderly thug, to turn on Raimundo, to hammer my fists into Carlo's brutish face.

     "Kidnapping carries a long stretch in jail, Savanto," I said. "Where is she?"

He continued to look at me, then he nodded approvingly.

     "Sit down, Mr. Benson," he said. "I admire the way you are taking this. I expected trouble. If someone had kidnapped my wife, I wouldn't have been able to control myself. I would have done something foolish, but then I am a Latin-American. My blood boils too easily. But you have been a soldier and you have discipline. You know violence will achieve nothing. You tell yourself if you remain calm and listen to what I have to say, you will be able to make a good decision. So sit down, Mr. Benson, and listen to my proposal. After I have made it, you will then be able to decide what to do. You will have two alternatives : either to do what I ask or to try to outwit me. You have the freedom of choice, but I hold the trump card . . . your wife. For the time being, you need not worry about her. Already, there is a woman with her. Her new home is much better than the home you provided for her. She will have everything she wants, except, of course, her freedom. I have spared no expense to make her comfortable. Please don't worry about her."

     I thought of Lucy, alone and frightened, as I walked over to the chair and sat down.

     "Go ahead," I said. "I'm listening."

     Savanto looked at Raimundo and then beyond him at Carlo. He lifted his fat hand in a wave of dismissal. The two men went back into the house.

     "Mr. Benson, because you are an expert, I have chosen you to execute Diaz," Savanto said. "The execution has to be arranged in such a way that my organisation and the Red Dragon organisation will believe that it was my son who fired the shot. Because you are an experienced killer I propose to leave it to you to work out how this is to be done. You have five days. Raimundo and Carlo are at your disposal. They are reliable men. Money is no object. Spend what you please to make the operation successful. When Diaz Savanto is dead, I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars."

     For a long moment I sat thinking.

     "Let's look at the other side of this blackmail coin," I said. "Suppose I tell you to go to hell?"

He shook his head.

     "You won't, Mr. Benson. I am sure of this because I am a judge of men. I know you are in love with your wife."

     "I want to hear from you what will happen to her if I don't play."

     He grimaced, then shrugged.

     "I come from a primitive tribe of people." He had now lost his sad look. He sat forward, staring at me as I was staring at him. His snake's eyes had become deadly. "Look at that symbol . . . the symbol of the Red Dragon." He pointed to the wooden upright supporting the verandah. "I'll send her back to you, Mr. Benson, but she will have that brand on her face if you fail me."

     He had talked of discipline. It needed all the discipline the Army had hammered into me to stop me smashing my fist in his fat, pock-marked face.

     I reached for the pack of cigarettes I had left on the table, shook out a cigarette and lit it. I stared across the garden full of weeds at the distant sea.

     Savanto watched me and waited.

     I let him wait. Finally, I flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the garden.

     "So you're the Chief of the Little Brothers who looks after a quarter of a million peasants," I said. "You claim to be the father of these people. You claim, because you are getting old, you don't want to keep your hold on them, but you have to because you can't find a man as good as you to take your place. So you turn blackmailer, you protect a weakling son who doesn't want to be protected and you kidnap a girl who has done no harm to anyone and if you don't get your own, murderous way, you will brand her with the symbol of the organisation you are supposed to be fighting. I wonder what your peasants would think of you if they found out the kind of animal you really are?"

The fat, pock-marked face remained expressionless.

     "Go on talking, Mr. Benson. It is always good to get the bile out of one's system."

     I knew then that nothing I could say would make any difference. I had guessed this as soon as I had returned to the verandah, but I had to make a try. I was wasting time.

     "Okay," I said, "I'll kill him for you, but I'm not taking your money. I walked into this because I thought money was all important. It is important, but not your kind of money. I'll kill him because I want my wife hack."

     Savanto stroked his moustache.

     "Any kind of money is important, Mr. Benson," he said. "Don't make a hasty decision about the money. Two hundred thousand dollars would change your way of life." He levered himself to his feet. "The money will be waiting for you."

     From one of the sheds away from the house the black Cadillac appeared with the chimp-faced driver at the wheel.

     "I must go now, Mr. Benson." He looked directly at me. "I can leave this business safely in your hands?"

     I returned his look, hating him.

     "Good. I promise your wife will remain safe. Do what I ask and she will return to you unharmed. You can rely on Raimundo. He will help you. He is as anxious as I am that this business is successfully concluded."

     He walked heavily down the steps to the car. He got in and settled himself, then the car drove away down the narrow road. Behind it, like a ghost, followed a spiral of dust.

     As I watched the car disappear, Raimundo came out and walking around me, sat down in the chair Savanto had vacated.

     He made to take a cigarette from my pack, then paused.

     "Mind if I use one of these?"

     I was pretty near flash point, but I held on to myself.

     "Use your own goddam cigarettes!" I snarled. "Don't use mine!"

     He got up, went into the house and after a moment or so, came back, smoking. He sat down again, putting a pack of Camels near my pack.

     We sat there for a long uneasy minute, then he tossed the cigarette over the verandah rail.

     "Feel like a fight, soldier?" he asked.

     "What's that mean?"

     He got up and walked down the steps into the overgrown garden. He turned, his hands resting on his hips.

     "Come on, soldier . . . let's fight."

     I wanted this. I wanted to smash a human face. Lucy was in the front of my mind . . . alone and frightened. I wanted to smash my way out of the trap I had walked into. I wanted to beat and be beaten.

     I got to my feet and started down the steps. Raimundo backed away and began to strip off his shirt. I pulled off my shirt and let it drop, then I started towards him.

     He was fast as I knew he would be. I got a clip on the side of my head as I came in which warned me he could punch. I jabbed him, but his head wasn't there and I collected a solid bang in the teeth that sent me off balance. He was fast all right and moving around me, bouncing, on balance, able to shoot fast with either hand. I took two more of his punches : one split the skin under my right eye; the other made a graze on my cheek bone, then I nailed him with my right. It had all my weight and hate behind it. It exploded on his jaw and as he started to fall, I saw his eyes roll back. He went down, his head thudding on the sand.

     I stood over him, my right fist aching and I waited.

     After a moment or so, he opened his eyes, blinked up at me, then with a rueful grin, he got himself to his feet, but his legs were rubbery and he was staggering as he raised his fists.

     The punch I had caught him with had taken most of the bile out of me.

     "Let's cut it out," I said. "Okay?"

     "If you want to go on . . . come on !" He took a step forward, then sagged down on his knees. He peered at me, shaking his head to clear it. "Have you let off enough steam, soldier?"

     I caught hold of his arm and hoisted him to his feet. I helped him up the steps on to the verandah and steered him to one of the chairs. He collapsed into it, holding the side of his face. Blood was dripping from the cut under my eye. I sat down, holding my handkerchief against the cut.

     We sat there like a couple of dummies for quite a while, then I removed the handkerchief. The cut wasn't bleeding any more. I picked up my pack of cigarettes and offered it to him.

     He looked at me, grimaced, then took a cigarette. We lit up.

     "If you have to hate someone," he said, "I'd rather you hate Carlo than me."

     Carlo came out on to the verandah. There was a bovine grin on his brutish face. He put two whiskies and ice on the table.

     "That was a fine punch, Mr. Benson. You want to punch me too?"

I looked at him, then at Raimundo.

     "Go ahead," Raimundo said. "Hit him. He likes it . . . I don't. Listen, soldier, we have a job to do, but we can't do it if you're still full of steam. So go ahead and hit him if it'll help."

     I looked at the distant sea.
I hold the trump card . . . your wife,
Savanto had said. I looked at the crude brand on the upright supporting the roof of the verandah. I thought of Lucy. This wasn't the time to thrash around like an animal caught in a net. This was something I had to handle if I wanted Lucy back, safe and unmarked.