Джеймс Чейз - So What Happens To Me?

‘Don’t pity me.’ She forced a grin. ‘If you have to pity anyone, pity yourself.’

‘How about some food and a drink?’

‘Not yet. If I sit down. I won’t be able to get up again.’

We looked at each other and I saw she meant it.

‘Okay. We’ll go on.’ I slapped at a mosquito that had settled on my neck and we went on, crossing the clearing and into the jungle again.

I moved cautiously, worrying about the clearing. It told me there was a village nearby, and I knew we were too close to Orzoco’s neck of the woods to take any risk.

It was lucky I hadn’t forgotten my jungle training. Suddenly, as we walked along the sodden muddy path. I heard a sound that immediately alerted me. I caught hold of Vicky’s arm — I was now thinking of her as Vicky and not as the glamorous Mrs. Victoria Essex — and swung her of the path and into the undergrowth. She went with me without resisting although we dropped into a pool of muddy water and I gave her full marks for that. We crouched down and waited.

Three Yucatan Indians came down the path, all carrying broad bladed axes. They moved swiftly and I only caught a glimpse of them before they were gone.

‘We’re near a village,’ I whispered. ‘It’s too close. We must move east and then head north again.’

We left the path and struggled across swampy ground, through the thick undergrowth and the going was bad, but she kept up. Then suddenly the rain ceased and the humid mist lifted. Like a glittering sword, drawn from its scabbard, the sun came out. The heat turned into a throat drying, sweat soaking hell.

Mosquitoes tormented us. My arms and face were swollen with bites. I stopped to look at her. What a mess she was in! The only thing I could recognise in her swollen, insect bitten face were those dauntless violet eyes.

‘What are you stopping for?’ Her voice was a croak.

‘Cut out the iron woman act,’ I said. ‘We’re going to rest.’

She stared at me, then her face crumpled and she dropped on her knees in the mud and putting her filthy hands to her face she began to sob.

I put the suitcase and the gun in a bush, then kneeling, I took her in my arms. She clung to me and I held her the way I would have held a child.

We remained like that for several minutes while the mosquitoes attacked us ceaselessly, then she stopped sobbing and pushed me away.

‘I’m all right now.’ Her voice was steady. ‘Sorry for the dramatics. Let’s eat.’

‘You’ve certainly got guts.’ I said as I opened the suitcase.

‘Think so?’ She looked down at the red bumps on her hands. ‘If I look anything like you, I must look like hell.’

I grinned at her.

‘At least you’re human.’

I opened a can of beans and a can of goulash. We ate the mixture with plastic spoons that were taped to the cans.

‘Are you going to get me out of this mess Jack?’ she asked abruptly.

‘I’m going to try.’

‘Aren’t you scared of going back?’

‘I haven’t thought of that. Right now I want to get us out.’

She eyed me.

‘You’re throwing away three million dollars.’

‘A million: we agreed to split it three ways.’

‘Doesn’t that bother you?’

I shrugged.

‘It’s an odd thing. At first I was thirsting for all that money, then I got thinking and realised I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I remember you saying with all your money you got bored. That’s something I wouldn’t want.’

‘Would you still work for my husband if you got the chance?’

‘I won’t get the chance.’

‘Yes, you will. I’ve been thinking about you. I could tell Lane we crashed into the sea. You and I were the only survivors. We clung to some wreckage and you got me ashore. He would believe that, coming from me and he’d do a lot for you.’

I stared at her.

‘Would you lie like that for me?’

She nodded

‘Yes. You’re the first man who has ever treated me as a woman should be treated. You mean something to me.’

I tried to think clearly but my head ached. It seemed the solution: the way out. Instead of spending years in jail for air piracy. I would have a thirty thousand dollar a year job with Essex Enterprises, plus Vicky.

‘I’ll get you out of here,’ I said. ‘I...’

We both heard the sound of an approaching helicopter.

‘Don’t move!’ I looked up cautiously.

We were well screened by the treetops and I was pretty confident we couldn’t be spotted.

A few moments later I saw, just above the trees, the chopper pass over. It was painted a drab green and had Mexican roundels. It went as quickly as it had come.

‘They’re looking for the wreck,’ I said and got stiffly to my feet. ‘I guess we’re about twelve miles from it by now: too close for safety. Once they find you’re not on board, they’ll start a hunt. Let’s go!’

I reached out my hand, grasped her wrist and hauled her to her feet. She fell against me with a cry of pain.

‘God! My feet!’ she gasped. ‘I don’t think I can walk.’

‘I’ll carry you if I have to, but we’ve got to move.’

She pushed away from me, took four tottering steps forward, her face white.

‘It’s all right: I’ll manage.’

‘Good girl.’

‘Don’t be so damn patronising!’

I snatched up the suitcase, slung the gun over my shoulder and started again. I walked slowly, but steadily, giving her a chance and I kept looking back. She limped along, her head down, the mosquitoes swarming around her, but she kept going.

We walked for over an hour, then the jungle ahead began to thin out.

‘Rest,’ I said. ‘Wait here. We could be nearing a road. Looks like we’re nearly out of the jungle.’

She dropped on her knees. I put the suitcase beside her.

‘I’ll be right back.’

She was past speaking. She just knelt there, her head in her hands.

I moved forward rapidly. In three or four minutes I came out of the jungle. I had guessed right: before me was a wide dirt road. As I stood hesitating, I heard the sound of an approaching truck. I stepped back into the shelter of the undergrowth.

A rusty, battered truck, hauling oil drums, went roaming by, driven by a young, thin Mexican. It took the curve in the road and disappeared.

Maybe with luck, I thought, we could get a ride to the coast. My compass told me the track was heading towards the sea: possibly to Progreso.

I went back fast to where I had left Vicky.

The suitcase marked the spot so I knew I hadn’t made a mistake, but Vicky was gone.

As I stood there in the steamy heat with a cloud of mosquitoes buzzing around my head, my mind went back to Vietnam. I remembered the big, powerfully built Top-sergeant who took us on the jungle course.

‘Every leaf, every tree branch, every bit of ground tells a story if you know what to look for,’ he had said. ‘So look for it. Look for signs that men have passed. If you look carefully enough, you’ll find the signs.’

I saw Vicky’s knee marks in the mud. That was how I had left her: kneeling and half conscious. Then I saw a naked foot print, then another, then two more, big, splayed prints that came to the spot where Vicky had been kneeling, then reversed and went back into the jungle.

I unslung the Thompson and moved fast and silently along the path. In the thick mud the foot prints were easy to follow: two men: one of them carrying Vicky. I could tell that by the deeper impression his feet made in the mud. I moved fast. Ten minutes later, I could hear them ahead of me. They were jog trotting, smashing through the jungle and I increased my speed. I didn’t care if they heard me. With the gun I felt capable of dealing with them. I was running now and ahead of me I saw them: two Yucatan Indians. The one ahead was carrying Vicky, slung over his shoulder like a sack. The other ran behind him.