Nodding, he ran out into the rain and down the path towards his office.
Moving slowly, I mounted the stairs and walked into my office.
Connie was on the telephone, a half-eaten hamburger clutched in her fat little fingers.
‘That’s right,’ she was saying. ‘Okay, I’ll fix the visas,’ and she hung up. ‘I’ve got one schedule tied up, Mr. Burden,’ she said, smiling happily. ‘I’ve sent Potter for the visas. They’re for Mr. and Mrs. Lu Mayer.’
I didn’t know what she was talking about nor did I care. I nodded.
‘Good work,’ I said. ‘What else is there?’
‘There is a schedule...’
I hadn’t listened. He is coming back. When? I had to know. I flicked down the switch of the intercom.
‘Burden,’ I said when Dyer answered. ‘When did you say Mr. Vidal was returning? Can I fix his reservation?’
‘He is already on his way,’ Dyer said. ‘He’s due in at 06.00 tomorrow. I’ve told his chauffeur. There’s nothing for you to handle.’
As I flicked up the switch, my gun hand went behind me and my fingers touched the butt of the gun.
‘Excuse me, Mr. Burden,’ Connie said, ‘would you mind if I got the weather service?’
I was far away with my thoughts and came to with a start. I blinked at her.
‘What was that again?’
She held up a tiny transistor.
‘The weather service.’
‘Oh, sure... go ahead.’
I looked across the big room to the two picture windows.
Rain poured down the big panes, blotting out the palm trees and the sky.
The weather service man said that the hurricane, named ‘Hermes’ was coming from the West Indies, was approaching the Florida coast at the rate of 20 miles an hour. Unless it was diverted which seemed unlikely it would hit Key West in two days’ time and then Miami the following morning.
‘This is a hurricane warning,’ the voice said. ‘Stand by for hourly reports.’
‘What does all that mean?’ I asked as Connie switched off the transistor and produced a paper sack from her handbag.
‘When we get a hurricane warning, we have to make arrangements,’ she told me. ‘All the rich ran away. People like you and me stick here and get battered. It’s quite fun really. I’ve been through two hurricanes and I’m still here to brag about it.’ She peered into the paper sack. ‘Would you fancy a bit of chocolate cake, Mr. Burden?’
‘Not right now, thank you.’ I said.
The intercom buzzed. I flicked down the switch.
‘Do you mind coming to my office, old boy?’ Dyer said.
‘Bring an umbrella or something. It’s raining like hell.’
‘I’ll be along and I can see it is raining.’
I got wet running along the path to Dyer’s office. I found him at his desk, a telephone receiver clamped to his ear.
He was saying. ‘Get men working on it, Harry. Board up the place. You take care of the yacht... okay? What’s that? God knows! You know Tiny. He could opt to stick. Yes... call me back,’ and he hung up.
I shook the rain off my jacket as I moved further into the room.
‘Action stations.’ He grinned. ‘Hermes is going to be violent. From tomorrow the office closes. All the staff will either go to Dallas — that’s Tiny’s second headquarters or stay home. How about you Burden? Want to stick around here or go home?’
I rested a hip on his desk.
‘I’m not with you. What’s all the fuss?’
He laughed.
‘Of course, you’re from Boston. You haven’t ever experienced a hurricane. It’s quite something. We bed down and sit it out... those who have to. The migration of the rich, the fat and the powerful has already begun. Everyone who can shoves off. Paradise City, Miami and Fort Lauderdale come to a grinding halt. If Tiny opts to remain here, then Mrs. Clements, the chef and the butler will stay.’ He pulled a face. ‘Me too. I’ve been through this caper before. It’s pretty dreary. Canned food, no electricity, hellish noise, but plenty of booze. What do you want to do? You’d better stay home. There will be no work to do.’
‘You mean everything literally comes to a standstill?’
‘That’s what I’m telling you. According to the weather bureau, Hermes is going to be a real sonofabitch. Your best bet is to stay home.’
‘What is going to happen to Mrs. Vidal?’
He shrugged.
‘That’s for Tiny to decide. If he thinks she shouldn’t be moved then I’ll have to stay here. When he arrives tomorrow I’m hoping he’ll have her shifted to Dallas. I want to know where you will be. As soon as Hermes blows itself out, I’ll have to recall the staff. I have your home address, haven’t I?’
I didn’t hesitate.
‘I’ll stick around here,’ I said. ‘If things get rugged I might be of help, but if Vidal goes to Dallas, I’ll go home.’
He looked surprised.
‘Please yourself. You won’t have anything to do, but if you want to stay, it’ll be company for me. Bring an overnight bag with you tomorrow. After tomorrow no one will be happy on the streets.’
A trash of thunder rattled the windows.
‘It’s building up.’ He reached for the telephone. ‘Have a word with Mrs. Clements. She’ll fix your room here.’
It was now raining so violently I had to borrow an umbrella from the receptioness before returning to the house. I told Connie not to come in tomorrow and I would call her when the hurricane had blown itself out. I then called Mrs. Clements on the intercom.
‘Mr. Dyer suggests I have a room here until the hurricane is over,’ I said. ‘Can that be arranged?’
‘Yes, Mr. Burden. Room 2, next to your office.’
That put me thirty yards from Val’s room.
There was very little work now to keep us occupied.
Around 16.00, as there was a lull in the rain, I sent Connie home.
When she had gone, I lit a cigarette and leaned back in my chair. So Vidal was returning tomorrow. Val was supposed to be having a nervous breakdown. I was going to spend the following night here, close to her and close to Vidal.
I took the gun from my hip pocket and examined it. The old Negro had explained about the safety catch, had shown me how to load and unload it. It was now unloaded. I had six cartridges in my pocket. I raised the gun, sighted along the short barrel and squeezed the trigger. The hammer made a sharp snapping sound. I wondered if when the time came I could bring myself to shoot. I put the gun in my brief case and lit another cigarette. Now was the time to think of a safe and foolproof method to kill Vidal. No one must suspect Val nor me. I sat in the stillness of the room with the sound of the storm for the next two hours while I racked my brains but no foolproof idea presented itself. I tried to assure myself that an opportunity would arrive. I had a gun. When the opportunity did arrive, I would use the gun. That was as far as I got with my thinking: a pretty feeble effort which depressed me.
Finally I quit thinking and left the office. The wind was now screaming through the palm trees. Driving towards home, I found the traffic was bad. All cars seemed to be heading out of the city. There were many buses crammed with old people. As Dyer had said the migration had begun.
Along the main shopping street, men were busy removing electric signs and boarding up shop windows. A string of trucks piled high with bedding and cooking utensils held me up, and impatiently I took a side road that would take me in a circular route to my complex.
In the residential quarter I saw men standing on bungalow roofs capping chimneys and others plugging windows and door crevices.
The wind was so violent I had trouble in steering my car in a straight course. Every now and then a gust forced the Plymouth half across the street.
I was glad to drive down the ramp of the communal garage and get out of the wind. As I locked the car, torrential rain began to fall.