The other people who were holding his paper weren't happy about it. They hadn't minded taking markers in the middle of the game, but they had figured on a settlement. Now they were being offered a piece of paper that was worthless in the middle of the ocean, and might be worthless on land as well. Trouble was, it was Calvin Weiss, a fixture in their lives, and none of them wanted to offend him. They looked at each other, unsure. I made it easy for them.
"I'll buy your paper," I told them, "and I'll take Calvin's check for the total."
They were so relieved they practically threw the paper across the table at me. I paid them with chips, and put their markers with mine. The total came to fifty-three thousand and change. I showed the figure to Calvin, and he nodded. He whipped out his checkbook, and made out the check with all the aplomb in the world. He slid it across the table.
"Thanks, Ben. Appreciate the courtesy."
That finished the game, and the others drifted away, some still looking for action, some to bed, and some to the casino's hash-brown breakfast, which was the best food served on board.
"Have a drink with me," I said to Calvin.
He shook his head, grinning. "Gotta see a lady about a pussycat."
"Not this morning. We have something to talk about."
"Some other time."
"Now," I said firmly.
The grin was gone. He didn't like the tone of voice, but he went to the bar while I cashed in my chips. When I joined him, I didn't waste any time on it. I said, "Your check is no good. You know it, and I know it. What are we going to do about it?"
"Ben, baby, what are you talking about? You put the check in and it clears, no sweat."
"Bullshit."
"Bullshit, your ass. I'm telling you it's good."
"And I'm telling you it isn't." I went into his troubled mind, and plucked out a figure. "You've got maybe three thousand bucks in that account, give or take a little. Your house and your cars are hocked to the hilt, and all you've got is your salary."
"How do you know what I've got?"
"What difference does it make? It's true, isn't it?"
He stared at me, suddenly deflated.
"So let's get one thing straight. The check is n.g., right?"
He shrugged, and looked away.
"So I deposit the check when I get home, and it bounces."
He wouldn't look at me.
"Then I write a nice little letter to the Carnival Lines with a photocopy of your bum check enclosed, and you're out of a job."
"It never gets to that," he mumbled. "I figure to cover the check."
"With what? Calvin, please stop snowing me. You're talking now the same way you play poker. You're dreaming. There's no way in the world that you can cover that check."
"If you're so sure of that, why did you take it?"
"To save you the embarrassment. Why the hell did you write it if you knew you couldn't cover it?"
He sighed. "I figured… I'd figure something out."
"Like what?"
"I know some people who could maybe cover it."
"Fifty?"
He nodded.
"And you pay back sixty?"
He nodded.
"And a broken arm for every payment that you miss?"
He nodded.
"You're dreaming again. You'll never be able to make the payments. Not even the interest. You don't have enough arms and legs."
"Very funny. I make the jokes."
"I'm not trying to be funny, Calvin. I'm trying to help you out of a hole. There's a way."
He was instantly alert. "I'm listening."
I told him. A slow, sad smile worked its way across his face. "You know how much money I could have made doing that, I mean, all these trips. But I never did it, never once. I always played it straight."
"There's always a first time."
"Yeah, this time. Let's get it straight. You get to be the one who kills me, and I'm off the hook. You tear up the check, right."
"Right. No cash for you, but you owe me nothing."
"You'll still be losing. You'll only get about twenty."
"The other way I get nothing."
"All right, you got it."
"It's a deal?"
"I said you got it, didn't I?"
"There's one more thing."
"There always is."
"Wherever you hide out tomorrow night, I stay there with you. All night, until it's time to make the kill. Until the game is over."
"Trusting bastard, aren't you?"
"I can't afford to take a chance. You can see that, can't you?"
"Yeah, I can see it."
I grabbed a few hours sleep and got up at noon, in time to sign up for the Kill Calvin game in the Main Lounge. The officer in charge was Fleckmann, the second purser. I gave him my hundred dollars, and in return he gave me a receipt, an identification card, and one of those toy pistols that shoots pellets of paint. The paint came in three different colors: red, yellow, and blue. I chose yellow.
"Any particular significance?" asked Fleckmann.
"Cowardice. Real guns scare me."
He grinned. "Good hunting."
I took the pistol back to my cabin and examined it. It was roughly the same size and shape as the Walther in my suitcase. As far as I could tell without opening it, the paint was stored in the grip and was expelled in the form of pellets by a cartridge of compressed air. There was a Degas print on the cabin wall, the usual ballet dancer. I aimed, fired, and the pellet landed square in the tutu. I had no way of knowing how it would work at a greater range, but I didn't care. I had no intention of carrying the toy. I threw it into the suitcase, and tucked the Walther into my waistband under my shirt. Real guns really do scare me, but going up against Madrigal with a paint pistol scared me even more.
I spent the afternoon and the early evening trying to keep Calvin under observation, but it wasn't easy. He kept bouncing all over the ship, from lounge to lounge and group to group, whipping up interest in the game that night. It was a ridiculous sight, all those people flaunting their toy pistols, fake daggers, and lacy little nooses. I caught up with Calvin outside the Carousel Room, and pulled him aside. It was seven-thirty and the game began officially at eight.
"When do you disappear?" I asked.
"Very shortly. One minute you'll see me, and the next minute you won't."
"With all these people watching you?"
"I've been doing this for years. Don't follow me too close. Give me maybe half an hour, and make sure that nobody sees you."
I still don't know how he did it, but one minute he was in plain view, and then he was gone. A moment later, someone said loudly, "Hey, where the hell did Calvin go to?" But by then it was too late, as a bell rang to announce that the hunt was on.
I gave him his half-hour, and then joined him in his hidey-hole. It was a lifeboat, but not any old lifeboat. Both the port and the starboard sides of the Bridge Deck were lined with lifeboats hanging from davits, each about fifteen feet long and protected by tarpaulins, but the boat farthest aft on the starboard side was something special. Twenty-five feet long and painted a fire-engine red, it was a power launch that was built like a miniature tugboat with an enclosed cabin and a tiny wheel-house. Inside the cabin were two bunk beds, a folding table, a chemical toilet, and a sink. Not all of the comforts of home, but enough of them including the bottle of Scotch that Calvin had brought. The only inconvenience was that we could not show a light.
After I had settled onto one of the bunks, I asked, "Do you always use this place?"
"Always. It's amazing, I mean you'd think that somebody would check this out, but it's never happened, not in all the years I've been doing this. Sometimes I can hear them outside on the deck, but they never look here."
"How long do you stay?"
"Depends on how I feel. Sometimes I can catch some sleep in here, but if I can't then I get it over with early. Two, maybe three in the morning. I just show myself until somebody zaps me, and the game is over. You want a drink? It's gotta be from the bottle, I forgot to bring glasses."