David Alexander - Masters of Noir - Volume 2

A night-bird cried out in the palms, a wind from the sea. He closed his eyes, slept and woke again to that same mournful cry. Now stillness, everything dead, asleep. Turning, he saw a figure in white vanish behind a palm; he tried to rise and his tired eyes closed.

He opened them again to the clear tropic light and profound stillness of morning, looked at his watch, stood up, passed through the shadowed room, empty lobby and hurried down the hill toward the beach. Halfway there and he met the Indian cook; a mirrored light flashed from a machete that hung from her waist. She smiled. He smiled in turn, passed on, hurrying.

No one at the beach. He lit a cigarette. Ask for Rodriquez? As if provoked by this thought, the quiet beach came to life. A group of beach-boys arrived. One approached Jim and he said, “Are you Rodriquez?”

“Si. You are ready?”

Jim nodded. Rodriquez barked an order. One of the boys plunged into the water and swam out to a boat at anchor. Rodriquez himself took off barefooted and returned with two fishing poles. Meanwhile the boat had been brought in close to the beach. Jim and Rodriquez climbed aboard. The motor started, the boat backed away, turned and headed for the open sea.

Under other circumstances, the trip alone would have been worthwhile, but Jim was preoccupied. Himself out here, Juan didn’t have to climb the balcony. Knock on the door, walk in and strip for action, he thought.

A strike and his line went taut, the pole bent. Excited, the beach-boys rose to their feet. Far astern the placid surface of the sea broke as the fish that had struck jumped clear and flashed in the brilliant sunlight. Minutes later the fish was boated.

“A durado,” one of the beach-boys pronounced it and with a blow from a club stilled it forever.

One more strike, and thereafter the sea gave up nothing. Only the scenery now, great cliffs with the sea battering them, then miles of beach and white surf wild and booming like cannon. Jim barely took notice, his mind on Kathy and Juan. He had been tricked and couldn’t wait to get back.

At noon the boat nosed against the beach. Jim came ashore, eyes searching for Kathy. Rodriquez handed him his catch. Fifty yards away he saw Juan squatting on the back of his legs and Kathy lying on the sand. He dropped the fish, started forward, fists clenched. The sun was blinding, he began to run, caught himself.

I’m going mad, he thought, and he was gasping when he stood over Kathy. Juan was standing now. Kathy smiled at him. “Ah, your husband is back,” said Juan.

“Didn’t you catch anything?” Kathy asked.

“No luck.”

“As I said, you must leave early for the big ones,” Juan put in and, excusing himself, he walked off toward the hotel.

Kathy lay back on the sand again, aware that Jim was staring at her. “Angry that you caught nothing?”

“Not about that.”

“What then? My boy friend? There, you are jealous?” She laughed, pleased with herself.

“It’s nothing to laugh about.”

“Oh, come now, you’re old enough to know better.”

“I wonder,” he said casually. And to himself: I wonder how long it’s gone on?

Evening on the balcony with Juan serving, and a new air about him that smacked of amused assurance which Jim found aggravating. He showed it, too, but to no avail. Juan’s usual argument with the cook ensued. But back he came to the table in the same high mood — and with a new suggestion — a trip into the jungle. “Not quite for a lady,” he added. “But I am sure you would enjoy it,” he said to Jim.

It was obvious enough now that they wanted him out of the way, Jim realized, but he wondered if they took him for a fool. This time there would be no trip. But suddenly he changed his mind. It was insane, yet he made the decision quickly, saying, “I suppose it would be interesting.”

“Something to remember after you leave,” said Juan. “You won’t regret it.”

Jim looked at Kathy. “Oh, go along,” she urged. “I wouldn’t have you miss it for the world,”

“But what will you do?”

“Occupy myself.” This as she looked directly at him, as if deliberately flaunting him.

“Your wife is very obliging. An admirable quality,” Juan smiled. Jim was afraid to look up, wanting to bash the fellow.

“It’s an all-day trip,” said Juan. “A man named Varga will pick you up at nine.”

“Good. Bring me a Bohemia,” said Jim, this to get rid of Juan. Then he looked at Kathy. She was lighting a cigarette, poised and cool-looking while he soaked in his own sweat.

What am I doing? he thought. Giving her to him. Trying to torture myself? The trip was a foolish idea, and yet behind the madness — method.

“Anything wrong?” Kathy asked.

“Just thinking.”

“You’re not going to change your mind about the jungle trip?”

“Does it matter if I do?”

“Of course. Don’t let me spoil your fun. I’ll be perfectly content here — and no one will steal me.”

He felt she was laughing at him and almost exploded. Tomorrow will tell, he thought. Things are beginning to square. That made him smile, and Kathy asked why.

“It won’t be long now.”

“Meaning?”

“All sorts of things, mostly that we’ll be flying home.”

“I hate the thought of it. Aren’t you going to miss all this?”

“A bit. What particularly will you miss?” he asked, feeling almost malicious now.

“Oh, everything. When are we coming back?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

“Several things, my dear,” and he smiled, seeing her frown.

They finished dining and went to the balcony below. Then Kathy joined the card players. Jim didn’t mind, for he wanted to think and the coolest place was the balcony.

Later, be sought the lobby but didn’t see Kathy. He went to their room and knocked. No answer. For a moment anger assailed him, then he managed to grin, knowing she was with Juan. Stupid little Kathy, he thought. Quickly he turned round, passed through the lobby and down the front steps. The road curved and darkened under the palms; up ahead he thought he saw something white disappear in the shadows. Then Kathy emerged from the darkness.

“Hello, what are you doing out here?”

Kathy advanced, then stood face to face with him. “Taking a breath of air. It was stifling inside.” Perfectly poised, she raised a cigarette to her lips for him to light it.

“Dangerous walking this road at night,” he said calmly as he struck a match. Her face was caught in the light, innocent. She smiled.

“Worried about me?”

“A bit.” He dropped the match and added, “Terrible job you did on your mouth. Your lipstick is smeared. Here.” He gave her his handkerchief and turned round. Up ahead, he again thought he saw a white shadow turn the curve in the road and he quickened his steps. A tall man in white entered the hotel.

“You’re walking so fast,” Kathy complained.

“Sorry.”

He slowed his steps till they reached the lobby where Kathy joined the card players. Then he went to a rear balcony and found a tall man in white leaning against the railing, another waiter.

“Ah, Alfredo.”

“Good evening, Mr. Withers!”

“It is very hot.”

“Yes, very hot.”

“Hotter when one walks fast.”

Alfredo lifted his head and dropped his cigarette.

“You warned them, didn’t you?” Jim said, and his hand went to his pocket. Alfredo stiffened, then saw the crisp bill in the hand extended toward him.

“I was asked to,” he said, accepting the money and shrugging his shoulders.

“Who asked you?”