Рауль Уитфилд - The Virgin Kills

Mick O'Rourke woke me by battering on the door. I let him in; he was grumbling. My watch showed that it was almost nine o'clock. I said: “What's wrong with you?”

He told me that Eric Vennell had taken a long time getting asleep, and that after he'd got to sleep, he'd snored continuously. I went into the suite's shower, had one, and came out again. Mick was still grumbling. I shaved, and only cut myself once.

“What sort of a day is it?” I asked him. Mick grunted: “Why don't you look out of the window? It's hot and clear. It's going to be hotter.”

I nodded. “But not clearer,” I told him. “The varsity race is always rowed in a lightning storm, a rough river, or in the darkness.” Mick said: “Why?”

I put powder on my face. “The officials don't believe in pampering the boys,” I replied. “They only have to row four miles, and too many of them are able to sit up in their rigs at the finish. The officials don't like to see 'em sitting up.”

Mick said: “You're kidding me.”

I nodded. “That's true,” I replied. “But I'll cut it out, now that you've discovered it.”

The big fellow went into the shower room and started to sing, I said:

“It's too early for that—I haven't had breakfast, and it's tough. Just splash around.”

He came out stripped and gave me a scare. Aside from a flock of bullet scars around his belly, he was something at once awe-inspiring and beautiful.

“Vennell's acting pretty worried this morning,” he said. “He seems to think something's going to happen today.”

I thought of the radio. “It is,” I said grimly. “Maybe he's afraid it won't be the right thing.”

Mick blinked at me. “I ran into that Sard moll,” he said after a little pause. “I told her I was sorry about pinching her arms.”

I whistled. “You're getting highbrow, Mick,” I said. “What did she do when you told her that?”

He grinned. “She said: 'Like hell you are!' ” he replied.

I shook my head sadly. “There's too damn much cursing on this boat,” I said slowly. “No respect for her name.”

Mick thought that was funny. He sat down and roared with laughter. I dressed in white, and felt sort of snappy. Mick looked me over and said in a thin voice:

“Lily—lily of the valley!”

I blew him a kiss. “You get dressed and stick close to Vennell,” I said. “You don't take this business seriously enough. Didn't he give you five grand?”

The big fellow nodded. His face got serious.

“You get two of it, Al,” he said. “This ain't such a bad racket, at that.”

I said quietly: “Just the same, don't get too careless. Things are happening that seem funny, but they may not be. Vennell's keen—he's taken chances for his money. He's a big-time gambler. He's not handing five grand out for nothing.”

Mick's eyes were hard; his even teeth were pressed together. He separated them.

“Don't I know that!” he breathed. He dressed, and remembered the radio. When he asked me the question, I said very softly:

“I don't know, but it looks as though Vennell is putting a lot of money on one of the crews. The radio might have told him that it was covered—at odds of three to one.”

Mick stopped trying to tie a bow around his neck and stared at me.

“Which crew is he betting on?” he asked. I grinned. “Columbia,” I replied. “But if you lay the five grand the same way—you're crazy.”

Mick said: “How much do you figure Vennell's betting?”

“Plenty,” I replied. “He never bets the other way.” Mick started whistling and thinking. I knew he was thinking, because there were little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. I said:

“I'm going to have breakfast on deck—would you care to join me?”

He grinned and bowed. “Avec plaisir,” he said, and reached for my hand.

I got it away from him. “Where'd you learn that?” I muttered.

He grinned with delight. “At Frenchy's speak, in Chicago,” he said. “I fooled around there for a few weeks, on the lay for Little Louis.” I said: “Did Louis come in?” He shook his head, still grinning. “He started in,” he said. “But one of the Flaco mob got him in the alley.” I got a pack of cigarettes. “Tough,” I said. “You learning bad French—and some other guy guns out Little Louis.”

Mick O'Rourke made a sweeping gesture with his big right hand and started to work on the bow tie again.

“It's the breaks,” he said. “Just the breaks.”

I nodded, “if you don't have any luck with that bow, ring for Griggs,” I suggested. “The race starts just before dark, maybe.”

The big fellow chuckled. “I'll have it by dark,” he came back. “What's that one about what I'm supposed to think of Italy?”

I groaned. “You found little youth there,” I said. “The people, even the younger ones, seemed old. It was like expecting a child to be happy among monks, in a monastery.”

Mick repeated it slowly. I said: “Pirandello said that.”

The big fellow blinked at me. “No?” he muttered. “And Jackie Fields knocked him out in the fourth, last week!”

I covered my face with my palms and groaned. When I looked at Mick again, he was working on the tie.

“Pirandello's an Italian playwright,” I said, “Not a Pug.”

Mick swore softly. “It's a good line, anyway,” he replied.

I moved toward the door. “He'd be glad to know you liked it, Mick,” I said.

The big fellow grinned. “Only these monks—they like their liquor, Al. Why couldn't a guy be happy among monks?”

I went out, slamming the door. Every once in a while Mick O'Rourke pulled one that was tough to answer.

2

At lunch Don Rayne told me that the Columbia crew was in fine shape. Cy Dana went to the California boat-house, and when he came back, he said the varsity-shell boys were in fine shape. He said that the Navy crew looked great, and that Dartmouth and Penn were fit.

Syracuse had a husky crew, and the other shell outfits looked perfect.

“Strange,” I told the two of them. “I sort of figured the boys would be in the shells with broken arms and legs, fractured skulls—”

Cy Dana shook his head. ' Those things might happen on this craft,” he said. “But the crews are in swell shape.”

I said: “They'll all win, eh?” Vennell came over to the table at which we were eating, on deck. He frowned at me.

“The yacht's been searched thoroughly,” he said. “We haven't found a thing.”

He shook his head. The color of his skin wasn't so good and his eyes looked tired. Cy Dana spoke.

“I hate to suggest it, but it looks to me as though one of the crew was after what he thought were real diamonds. He knew you had the stones. He got clear, chucked that face mask and black robe overboard. No one was the wiser.”

Vennell said: “It isn't a large crew, and Captain Latham has confidence in all the men.”

I nodded. “Then there are the others—the guests.” Cy nodded, grinning at me. “I believe Miss Sard has said that the masked one was about your build, Al,” he said.

Vennell swore. He shrugged his shoulders, looked from the awninged deck toward other craft near what was to be the finish line. The Virgin had a fine position, not far from the shadow of the new bridge.

“Going to be hot—and calm,” he said. “Any of you boys betting?”

Cy Dana said that he had a hundred on California. I looked at Vennell curiously.

“How much have you got up, the same way, Eric?” I asked.

He smiled. “The Golden Bears look right to me,” he said. “I'm taking it easy though—about fifty thousand, spread around the country.”