“Are you packed, honey?” I asked, stretching.
“Don’t spoil it. I don’t want this ever to end.”
“Me too, but we’d better pack.” I got to my feet. “I’ll pack first, you next, huh?”
“Go away!”
I went down to the state cabin and looked around.
Man! Was I going to miss all this! Reluctantly, I took a suitcase from the closet and tossed it on the bed.
There came a knock on the door, and the Chief steward-cum-butler-cum-valet entered.
He was tall, lean with a hatchet shaped face and beady eyes as animated as sea washed pebbles. His service to us had been immaculate, but all the time he was with us, he looked as if there was a faint, unpleasant smell under his thin nostrils.
“I will be happy to do that for you, sir. You will be leaving us I believe this evening?”
“Yeah. That’s a good idea. Pack for me, and pack for Mrs. Anderson.”
For the sake of decency, we had come aboard as husband and wife, but I had the idea that we weren’t conning this guy, nor the Captain, nor the rest of the crew.
“Yes, sir.” He paused, then produced a fat envelope. “Here is the accounting, sir. It is usual to settle before we land.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll fix that.”
“It is also usual to distribute twenty-five percent of the total amongst the crew, sir. I will be happy to do this for you.”
I looked at him and he looked at me.
“Twenty-five percent?”
He allowed his thin lips to part in a smile.
“Well, of course, sir, if you wish to increase the amount...”
“Sure... sure,” and I left him and went into the saloon. Sitting down at the desk, I opened the envelope and regarded the account. The total came to $36,000. The Chief Steward had added in pencil $9,000 for booking: final total $45,000. I sucked in a long, slow breath. Then I went through the items. Then I sat back. After more staring at the account, I took out my pencil and did a little figuring. I came to the conclusion that I was now worth two thousand, three hundred dollars, after having had over fifty thousand dollars four weeks ago.
I walked to the sun deck where Bertha was pouring yet another glass of champagne.
“That was quick,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve packed already.”
“Prune face is doing it. He’s doing yours too.”
She stretched, smiling.
“This is the life, Bart, Hmmm, lovely.”
“Yeah. Take a close look.”
I handed her the misery. She spent a few minutes going through the items, then shrugged and handed the accounts back to me.
“It was worth it. I don’t regret a dime.”
My money, of course, not hers.
“This practically puts me back in hock again, baby.”
“Well, you still have your job.”
“Yeah. I still have my job.”
She poured me champagne and patted the mattress.
“Don’t look so down in the mouth, pet. Money is for spending.”
I sat beside her. I was now thinking what a birdbrain I had been to have accepted fifty thousand dollars from Snake Diaz. I hadn’t even pressed him. I had asked for one hundred thousand, and had let him rob me off with half! Man! How stupid can you be? I thought. I had had that snake over a barrel, and I had let him get away with it. Then I remembered what he had said: Don’t come back for more. Blackmailers are greedy. This is the final payment. Okay? Then he had said: I promise you one thing, if you try to put the pressure on again, you will have an unpleasant end. I, personally, will take care of you. You will die slowly.
What a mug! I thought. Well, that’s it. I’m not taking any more chances with that snake. He means just what he said.
“Bart!” Bertha said sharply. “Tell me something: how bad is this can of worms you’ve opened?”
“Couldn’t be worse.”
“She paid fifty thousand to keep it quiet without a struggle?”
“Well, not quite, but she paid.”
“You went to the wrong customer, Bart. You shouldn’t have gone to her.”
I stared at her.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Did you or did you not get the money from Nancy Hamel?”
“I worked through her agent, but she found the money.”
“If the can is as bad as you say it is, you could have asked much more, couldn’t you?”
“She hadn’t any more.”
Bertha nodded.
“That’s where you made your big mistake. You should have gone to Russ Hamel who is worth millions.”
“You don’t know the set-up, honey.”
She lit a cigarette.
“Then tell me.”
“Bertha, you don’t want to get involved in this.”
She looked hard at me.
“Tell me!”
“It’s safer for you to keep out of it!”
“Stop acting like a virgin who sees it for the first time! Tell me!”
So I told her. As I talked, I felt a sense of relaxation. I needed to confide in someone. It wasn’t until I started from the beginning: watching Nancy, Josh Jones, running into Pofferi, Pete and Tommy, then Coldwell with his mug shots, and finally Diaz with his threat, that I realized just how much I needed to confide.
Bertha listened. When I got up to the part about Nancy being Lucia Pofferi, she sat up, staring at me, but she said nothing until I had finished.
“You really mean Nancy Hamel is Lucia whatever her name is: a murderess?” Bertha asked, her voice low.
“No doubt about it.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, closed and opened her eyes.
“Man!” she whispered.
“Yeah. I told you. So okay, now you know. The weak hinge is that if it ever surfaces, I’ll spend years in jail.”
“And you sold this package to Diaz for fifty thousand?”
“I’ve told you!” I snapped. “Okay, I wanted a hundred, but when he put all that green on his desk, I fell for it.”
“Man!” She cupped her breasts and moaned softly.
“Okay. Okay, don’t tell me. I should have twisted his goddamn arm, but he’s dangerous. He said she had scraped the barrel.”
“But there was nothing he could have done to you!” Bertha hissed. “You had him! He couldn’t touch you with that report with Selby! Bart! You had him, and you let him jump off the hook!”
I wiped the sweat off my face.
“I’ve been telling myself that again and again, but I did it!”
Lowering her voice and putting her hand on my arm, she said, “You still have another hook and a much bigger fish.”
I stared at her.
“Now, look, honey, I’m all through. I got fifty grand. We’ve enjoyed it, and we’ve spent it. That’s it. I’m back in hock again, and I start work on Monday.” I paused and gave her a double take. “What hook? What fish?”
She gave an exasperated sigh.
“There are times, Bart, when I really and truly think you need your head examined. You should never have gone to Nancy. You should have known she would have rushed to Pofferi. By trying to put the pressure on her, you come against Diaz.”
“I know that now,” I said angrily, “I thought I had a soft touch. Well, it paid off, didn’t it?”
“Did it? What have you left?”
“What hook? What fish? Spell it out!”
“Russ Hamel! You should have gone to him in the first place. Can’t you see that? Take a look at Hamel, Bart. Take a close look. Here is a big selling writer, getting long in the tooth, and rolling in money. He meets up with Nancy and falls for her. He sees in her his second chance. Bear that in mind, Bart. His second chance. He found out his first wife was a tramp. That must have dented his ego. He got rid of her. Now he marries a young woman he thinks blameless. Think how he would react if someone tells him she is one of the most wanted Italian terrorists with two murders behind her. How do you imagine he would react?”