Дональд Уэстлейк - Forever and a Death

She was alone in the world. Would George Manville come back? He had saved her life, out there on that ship, he had carried her here, and he had promised he would come back, but would he? Wasn’t it time for him to start taking care of his own life? Hadn’t he made it clear that from here on she was only a burden, an added difficulty when he had his own safety and his own future to worry about?

There had been no conversation at all at first. The nighttime journey in from the Mallory had been slow and bumpy, and had taken all of Manville’s concentration. Not that it had been hard to find the way; Brisbane was a bright pink dome of light against the blackness, just ahead of them to the west. But they were running without lights, in case Curtis’s killers decided to pursue them in one of the Mallory ’s launches, and there was no telling what might be anchored or floating in the darkness out ahead. They didn’t want to foul their propellers with some fisherman’s cast-off net or somebody’s lost rope.

This launch was larger and more elaborate than the ones belonging to the ship. It had a proper cabin, with a galley and two proper bunks, one above the other, and Kim spent most of the night on the lower bunk, to ease the soreness as they jolted their way across the bay. Manville had to stay up at the wheel, so there was no conversation between them until, in early morning, she at last climbed out to look at the nearby city sparkling in the fresh sunlight and say, “What do we do first?”

“Hide,” he said, “while I try to find somebody who can help.”

Surprised, she said, “Hide? Aren’t we going to the police?”

“To say what?”

“But— They tried to kill us!”

“Who did? Kim, Captain Zhang isn’t going to back up anything we say, and why should he? And without him, who are we? A disgruntled ex-employee and an environment nut. You don’t even have ID, or a passport, or a visa for this country. What are you going to tell the police, and how are you going to prove it? You can’t even prove who you are.”

“But— They can’t, they can’t just do things like that, and get away with it!”

“Of course they can.”

Morning water traffic was coming out of the wide river mouth now, past the harbor cranes and warehouses and fuel storage tanks; commercial fishermen, barges, private sailboats, excursion boats to take the tourists to see the birdlife on St. Helena Island in the bay. Heading inbound against most of that traffic, Manville had to keep his attention on his steering, while Kim sat on the white vinyl-covered bench behind him and watched the city come closer and the day begin, and she wondered, once they got ashore, what they could possibly do.

The Brisbane River, as twisty as a discarded piece of string, meandered through nine miles of switchbacks through the city, flanked by new glass skyscrapers stacked next to colonial-era buildings of stone and brick. Kim felt she must look very strange, with her matted hair and her borrowed grubby sweater and jeans, and these rubber-tire-soled shoes, but there was so much river traffic, and so much going on ashore as well, that she soon decided nobody was paying any attention to them, and she relaxed a bit.

Several high bridges crossed the river, connecting the two halves of the city. Manville passed a number of them, then said, “Isn’t that a railroad station?”

It was, over there to the left. Just visible beyond some sort of park or fairgrounds. She said, “You want to take a train somewhere?”

“No. But they’ll have phones and phone books, and an ATM, and probably whatever else I need. Curtis knows by now that we got away, and I don’t know exactly what he’ll do, but he’ll certainly try to find us and at the same time he’s sure to try to make us look like criminals or crazies or something, just to protect himself. You might be able to get out from under, with that Planetwatch group to help you, but he could pretty well put a stop to my making a living anywhere in the world.”

“Oh, my God! I hadn’t even thought.”

“I can’t waste a lot of time,” he said. “I’ve got to get hold of some friends, start fighting back. There; we’ll stop there.”

It was a bridge. Just beyond the next curve in the river, the William Jolly, at a quieter place than that fairground back there. Manville cautiously steered them in toward the shallower water, tied the launch to a stanchion where he could get ashore and up to the roadway, and said, “You’ll be all right here for a while. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

“If the river police come by, tell them your boyfriend went for beer.”

She smiled at that, and shook her head. “I’ll tell them you went for sunblock. Because that I could use.”

“I’ll bring some,” he promised, and said, “See you soon,” and left her there.

For how long? It seemed like hours. The sun was much higher in the clear sky, the humidity was moving from soft toward oppressive, and the constant river traffic kept the little launch bobbing at its tether. George Manville must have realized by now that he was much better off from here on doing things on his own. He’d even said that she’d be all right, better off than him, because she had Planetwatch to look out for her, and that he didn’t have any time to waste. So this would be the easiest way to get rid of her, wouldn’t it? He’d done the right thing up till now, he’d done wonderful things, rescuing her, saving her from being murdered, facing down those thugs. He even shot one of them, as startling to Kim as it was to the men who’d grabbed her. But now he was finished, she was safe, and he had his own life to worry about. So why would he come back?

So he isn’t coming back, she decided at last, and was depressed but not surprised at the idea. And now the question was, what should she do on her own? She had no money, no identification, knew nobody in Australia, and had probably been declared dead by the people of Planetwatch. She had a story no one would believe, and no other story to put in its place because it was true.

Should she try running the boat somewhere, farther inland? Should she leave the boat and walk to that railroad station and try to find a policeman to surrender to? That was probably best, though she couldn’t help a strong reluctance to leave the known world of this launch for the unknown world ashore.

Still, it was the thing to do, and she knew it, and she actually had one leg over the side of the boat when she looked up and saw him, coming down toward her from the bridge approach. Manville, solid and serious, arms loaded down with supplies, concentrating on his movements.

She felt such relief at the sight of him that she made a surprised cry, a “Hah!” that made him look up and call, “Wait. I’ll be right there.”

She stepped back aboard, and watched him come down. When she’d believed he wasn’t coming back, she’d done her best to hide from herself how deep was the disappointment she felt, but now she let it all come to the surface, how much she needed him right now, how frightened she was of being alone, in this place, at this time.

He clambered onto the boat, put down the bags he was carrying, and took a tube from his pocket. “Sunblock. Better put it on while we talk.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” She took the tube and started spreading the white lotion on her forehead and nose and the back of her neck.

He said, “I’ve tried calling friends in San Francisco and in Houston, left messages for them both, I want to find out what’s going on with Curtis. But for now, what we should do is leave this boat right here, and take off.”

“Where?”

“The Gold Coast,” he told her. “Just south of the city, it’s the Australian version of Miami Beach, full of tourists. Very crowded. Nobody will find us there.” He lifted a shopping bag, held it out in her direction. “And you’d probably like a change of clothes,” he said.