Like A Hole In The Head (19 page)

     "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 wires 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.

     Hidden behind the sun goggles, he faced me.

     "You could say that, Mr. Benson," he said huskily.

     "Give me the clip."

     He took the clip of cartridges from his hip pocket and dropped it into my outstretched hand.

     I looked at the bay. The skiers were out of sight, but I could still hear the drone of the motor-boat.

     "Go down and talk yourself out of it," I said. "You're supposed to be a good talker. You'd better be convincing if Lucy means anything to you."

     He turned away and went down the ladder into the house.

     In a few moments there came an explosion of talk in Spanish. I could hear Savanto's voice, quivering with rage. I had never heard him talk this way and although I didn't understand what he was saying the sound of the rage in his voice chilled me.

     Every now and then I heard Timoteo say something. His voice was low-pitched and controlled among the other shouting voices. This went on for some time, then I heard car doors slam and cars start up.

     There was a further long wait, then Raimundo came up the ladder. He paused when he saw me sitting on the parapet and he beckoned.

     "Mr. Savanto wants you."

I followed him down the ladder and out on to the verandah.

     Savanto was sitting in a chair. Carlo was standing at the end of the verandah. He grinned idiotically at me. I went straight to Savanto. I took the clip of cartridges from my pocket and dropped it on the table in front of him.

     "Your gutless son unloaded the gun while I was in the tree," I said. "It was a certain shot. He would be dead by now if your gutless son hadn't deliberately fouled up the operation."

     Savanto stared stonily at me.

     "You should have checked the gun."

     "You think so? I had checked the gun. It was ready to shoot. Do you think I should have thought your son would have unloaded the gun? Would you have imagined he would unload the gun? Are you all that smart? The gun was ready to shoot. If you want to kick someone, kick your goddam son, not me!"

     Savanto nodded.

     "I have spoken to him. At least, he was convincing. Lopez believes the shot was impossible. From where we were watching, it looked that way. So we do it tomorrow."

     "This is tough enough without having to cope with your son."

     "You will have no further problems with him," Savanto said. "Just be certain, Mr. Benson, I have no problems with you."

     He turned to Carlo and held out his fat hand. Grinning, Carlo took from his hip pocket a flat packet carefully done up in tissue paper.

     Savanto took it and laid it on the table.

     "Here is something, Mr. Benson, to help you to be successful tomorrow. It could be something not so easily replaced next time. Please remember that."

     He got to his feet and followed by Carlo, he went down to the Cadillac.

     I hesitated for a long moment before I went to the table. The Cadillac drove away as Raimondo came up to me.

     "Leave it, soldier," he said quietly. "It's her hair. He had it cut off, but she's all right, soldier. He just wants you to know he means business."

     I stared at him.

     "Her hair?"

     He turned away.

     "It'll grow again."

     With shaking hands I opened the packet. The sight of Lucy's golden tresses, tied neatly into a switch with black ribbon, made my heart lurch.

     "When did this happen?" I said, scarcely recognising my voice.

     "This morning."

     I sat down. I had to. Suddenly there was no strength in my legs. I touched the hair, feeling its softness.

     "This morning? When you went for the whisky?"

     "No . . . after. I told you she was all right. It was after."