Dyer found wood, hammer and nails and we shored up the door. By the time we had checked the windows and repaired three of them it was getting on for 19.00.
‘I’m hungry,’ Dyer said. ‘Feel like eating?’
‘No... I’ll have another drink though.’
While I was fixing the drinks. Dyer made himself a beef sandwich.
‘How about Mrs. Vidal?’ he asked with his mouth full. ‘Maybe she wants something.’
‘You finish that. I’ll go up and ask her.’
Feeling light headed after the two big whiskies, I mounted the stairs and started down the corridor. Then I paused. Vidal was coming out of Val’s room. He had changed into a scarlet open neck shirt and white slacks. Humming under his breath, he closed and locked the door. Leaving the key in the lock he started towards me, his little eyes narrowing.
‘Yes, Burden?’
‘I... I was wondering if Mrs. Vidal would like some supper,’ I said.
‘Very thoughtful. No... we’ll let her be for a while, she is being a little dramatic.’ He laughed. ‘I find it is better to leave women alone when they become tiresome. Women dislike being ignored.’ He took hold of my arm. His fingers felt like steel hooks. ‘Suppose you get me something Burden, if it is not too much trouble... a few sandwiches and lots of coffee.’ He steered me to the head of the stairs. ‘Put it in my office, will you?’
I jerked away from his grip. His touch was to me the touch of a leper
He smiled.
‘Don’t worry about Mrs. Vidal, Burden. I have a little spare time now, so I will do the worrying should it be necessary.’
He stared at me, his eyes hostile, then moving into his bedroom, he closed the door gently in my face.
‘Hi Burden!’
I looked down the well of the staircase. Dyer was beckoning to me.
‘What is it?’ I was in no mood for his company.
‘Come on down.’
No excuse came to my mind, so reluctantly I descended the stairs. He moved back into the kitchen.
‘Does she want anything?’ he asked as I followed him into the kitchen.
‘Vidal says no.’ I couldn’t disguise the bitterness in my voice. ‘He’s locked her in.’
‘He treats her like a puppet.’ Dyer shrugged. ‘Never mind about her Burden. You and I have problems. Shut the door and keep your voice down.’
I looked sharply at him. There was a worried, uneasy expression on his face. As I closed the door, he began to build two whiskies.
‘Vidal wants food,’ I said.
‘It’s all fixed. Are you sure you don’t want anything?’
‘Nothing. What problems?’
He lifted his hand while he listened.
‘He’s coming down now. I’ll take him his supper. Then we can talk.’
Picking up a tray of sandwiches and a jug of coffee, he left the kitchen. I moved around restlessly, nursing the whisky until he returned. He shut the door.
‘We’re off duty,’ he said. ‘Orders not to be disturbed.’ He came close to me and keeping his voice low, he asked, ‘How are you fixed Burden, if you lost your job?’
I stared at him blankly.
‘All right. I can go back to the A.T.S. Do you think I’m going to lose it?’
‘It’s more than likely. I’ll lose mine too and I haven’t a job waiting for me.’
‘What makes you think we’re going to lose our jobs?’
‘Strictly between you and me, old boy, Tiny’s in real trouble. While he was upstairs with Mrs. V. I went into his office with some papers he wanted. On his desk was a letter from Jason Shackman, his attorney: a tip off that the Feds are on to him for tax evasion and they’re applying for a warrant. Shackman says he hasn’t a hope and he had better get out and fast. He has a bolt hole in Lima. They couldn’t get at him there, but who the hell wants to live in Lima?’
‘He’s booked an air taxi to San Salvador.’
Dyer pulled a face.
‘There goes my job. He hasn’t a lot of money. He...’
‘But he’s worth millions!’ I broke in.
Dyer shook his head.
‘He had millions but not now. He was crazy enough to have financed a deal with the Libyans and they took him to the cleaners.’ He glanced uneasily at the kitchen door. ‘This is strictly confidential, old boy. I shouldn’t be telling you this. He owes the tax people a hell of a sum. He’s in real trouble. Know what I think? After living the way he has — the best of everything — Lima could be his end.’
‘What do you mean?’ I was now listening intently.
‘It would never surprise me if he put a bullet through his head. Tiny’s a bit unbalanced. He’s fine when he’s living it up, but yellow when the crunch comes. I could be wrong, but that’s my bet.’
I thought about this, then shook my head.
‘I can’t imagine him killing himself,’ I said. ‘No... not Vidal.’
Dyer shrugged.
‘You don’t know him as I do. You could be right, but it wouldn’t surprise me if his nerve broke and he opted for out.’ He finished his drink. ‘I thought I’d tell you what’s in the wind. I’ve always had a feeling my job was too good to last.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I’ve managed to put a little money by for the rainy day, but not much.’
I was only half listening to what he was saying. A sudden idea was growing in my mind.
‘Well, I guess I’ll go up. I have some thinking to do.’ Dyer moved to the door. ‘We should be all right tonight... touch wood. If you hear anything alarming come running. See you,’ and he left me.
I stood for some minutes, listening to the storm raging outside, then picking up the bottle of whisky and taking my glass I walked quietly up the stairs and into my office. As I put the bottle and glass on my desk, the lights in the room flickered and went out.
The torch Dyer had left was right by my hand. I groped for it, found it and switched it on. I went quickly into the corridor. Vidal came bouncing up the stairs, torch in hand.
‘All right Burden,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of Mrs. Vidal. You take care of yourself.’
Dyer’s door opened and he came to the doorway, holding a hurricane lamp.
‘I’ll take that,’ Vidal said, taking the lamp from Dyer. ‘Go down and light my lamps, will you?’ He went on to Val’s door, unlocked it and entered, leaving the door ajar.
‘It’s a wonder the lights haven’t gone before this,’ Dyer said and using his torch, he hurried down the stairs to Vidal’s office.
I stood looking down the corridor at Val’s door, feeling a surge of bitter frustration that Vidal had gone to her and not I.
‘There is nothing to be alarmed about, Valerie,’ I heard Vidal say curtly. ‘Here’s a light. Perhaps you had better go to bed instead of sitting there and please no more dramatics.’
I heard Val stifle a sob. The sound was like a knife thrust to me.
‘Please stop snivelling,’ Vidal said impatiently. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
‘Leave me alone.’ Her voice was low and muffled.
‘Please yourself.’ He backed out of the room. I hurriedly stepped into my office and stood out of sight until I heard him go down the stairs. Then I moved out into the corridor as Dyer came up.
‘I’ll turn in,’ he said, ‘not that anyone can sleep in this infernal racket.’
‘Have you looked at Gesetti?’ I asked.
‘No. I’ve forgotten about him. Maybe I’d better take a look.’
‘I’ll go. Where is he?’
‘Fourth door on the lower corridor. See you,’ and he went into his bedroom.
I stood listening, but only the sound of the screaming wind and the rain came to me. I braced myself and went silently down the stairs, past Vidal’s door, along the corridor until I reached Gesetti’s door. I listened. Gesetti was snoring: a massive, grunting noise a pig would make. I looked up and down the corridor, turned the handle and peered into the darkness. Then screening the bulb with my fingers, I directed the beam of the torch on to the bed.