The man I knew as Lu Gerando was pacing the deck. He stared down at the tourists and sneered at them. After Hank, I thought, this yacht would go. I would have to have a limpet mine. Ali Hassan would supply that. He would supply anything if the money was big enough.
I had walked far enough. I took a taxi home.
Bill was out. I had more hours to kill. I sat down and forced myself to relax. Action tonight, I kept thinking. Hitting back.
Bill returned soon after 20.00. I let him in and he was carrying a plastic sack in one hand and a duffel bag in the other.
‘Let’s eat,’ he said, dropping the two bags. ‘I’m starving.’
He went to the kitchen, and I returned to my chair. I wasn’t hungry: only hungry for revenge.
A few minutes later, Bill appeared with hamburgers, heated up. He set the table and sat down.
‘Come on, Dirk, for God’s sake!’ he said sharply. ‘You’ll be a nut-case if you don’t watch out.’
I picked at the hamburger.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Around and about. Now, look, Dirk, let’s get Hank fixed first. Maybe, when we’ve fixed him, you’ll be able to listen and make some sense. OK?’
‘What’s in the duffel bag?’
‘All we’ll need to break into Hank’s club, and all we’ll need to smash up his car.’
I nodded and suddenly found I was hungry. I ate the hamburger.
‘I’ve talked to Beigler. The cops are getting nowhere, but they have found a witness who swears the driver was black.’
‘We more or less knew that,’ Bill said, his mouth full. He darted into the kitchen and came back with two more hamburgers. We ate them, and I kept looking at my watch. The time now was 20.35. God! I thought, how time drags!
I went back to my chair, lit a cigarette while Bill cleared the table. I was tempted to have a double Scotch, but refrained. This wasn’t the lime to get reckless on Scotch.
Finally at 21.00, I got to my feet.
‘I’ll get the bomb, Bill.’
‘Fine. I’ll come along. I’ve got nothing to do.’
Leaving Bill sitting in the parked car, I walked to Ali Hassan’s junk stall. In spite of the drizzle the tourists were still on the waterfront, most of them staring at the junk stalls. It was several minutes before Hassan, sitting under an awning, saw me. He got to his feet, spoke to his wife, then joined me.
‘You got it?’ I asked.
‘Yes. It’s a beautiful job, Mr Doe. Worth every dollar you are paying for it.’
‘Let me have it, and I’ll give you the money.’
‘That’s as it should be. It is all ready. Now listen, Mr Doe, there is no problem. There is a switch at the top. You turn that to the right and the bomb goes off in ten minutes. It is safe so long as you don’t touch the switch. You can even drop it. No problem.’
Moving into the deeper shadows, I took out my wallet and gave him the balance of the money we had agreed on. He counted the money, nodded and stowed the bills under his robe.
‘Just a minute, Mr Doe.’ He waddled away, then returned carrying a plastic sack. This he gave me. ‘Turn the switch to the right, Mr Doe, then take off. In ten minutes there will be a big bang and a lot of damage.’
‘Could be I will want something else,’ I said. ‘Something that could sink a hundred-foot yacht. You in the market?’
He put his hand under his robe and scratched himself.
‘That would come expensive, Mr Doe. I could arrange it, but I would have to fix it with a Marine sergeant who comes very high.’
‘But you could arrange it?’
‘If the money is right, anything can be arranged.’
‘I could be seeing you again,’ I said, and leaving him, I returned to the car. I put the plastic sack on the back seat and slid under the driving wheel.
‘That it?’ Bill asked, turning to stare at the sack.
‘That’s it.’ I started the motor. ‘We’ll go home and wait.’
‘I’m not crazy about bombs,’ Bill said. ‘Is that thing safe?’
‘It’s OK,’ I told him. ‘Relax,’ and I drove back to my condominium. In the underground garage, I opened the plastic sack and took from it a black, square-shaped object. As Hassan had said, there was a small switch on the top of the box. Bill watched, his eyes goggling.
‘You push this switch to the right,’ I said, ‘and after ten minutes — boom!’ I returned the bomb to the sack, and leaving the car, we took the elevator up to my apartment.
‘We have a five-hour wait,’ I said. ‘Let’s have some coffee.’
‘Sure.’ Bill went into the kitchen.
I put the bomb on the table, then, lighting a cigarette, I sat down.
Bill came in with a jug of coffee, a cup and saucer.
‘I’m taking a nap, Dirk. Call me when you are ready to take off.’
When he had gone to his bedroom, I drank coffee, smoked cigarettes, paced the living room, constantly looking at my watch. My mind now was solely on the thought of making Hank Smedley’s life miserable as he had made my life miserable.
Finally, at 01.45, I roused Bill who was sleeping peacefully. I envied him.
‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘We’ll take a look at the scene.’
So with the plastic sack containing the bomb and the K.K.K. notice, we drove down to the waterfront. It had begun to rain again. The waterfront was more or less deserted. A few fishermen were leaving their boats. The tourists were in bed. There was no sign of the two waterfront cops.
I found easy parking within a hundred yards of the Black Cassette.
‘I’ll take a look, Bill,’ I said, and slid out of the car.
Leaving him, I walked past the club, hearing jazz. There was a side alley that I guessed led to the back of the club. Moving silently, I went down the alley and peered into a rear window of the club. It was a window which would offer no resistance. I saw a couple of blacks wandering around. The room looked like a makeshift kitchen.
One of the blacks was taking off his dirty apron as if preparing to go home. The other sat on a table, munching a hot dog.
I ducked away, then moved silently back to the car. I joined Bill.
‘There’s a rear window. No problem,’ I said.
We sat in silence and waited. By now the waterfront was quite deserted. Rain fell steadily. The only lights showing came from the Black Cassette.
As the hands of my watch crawled to 02.30, some of the lights in the club went out. There was a babble of voices, then some thirty-odd blacks, men and women, came out onto the sidewalk. They were all chattering like magpies. After a minute or so the group broke up. There was a lot of shouting and waving, and they dispersed down the various alleys.
Then four big black men, who I guessed were the staff, came out and hurried to a car parked not far from where we were parked. They scrambled in and drove away.
Just after 03.00, Hank Smedley appeared. There was no mistaking his giant, ape-like figure. He and a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a white jacket paused for a moment while Hank locked the door of the club. Then they walked rapidly to Hank’s Olds, got in and drove away.
‘Who’s the guy wearing the hat?’ Bill asked. ‘He’s white.’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ I said. ‘Come on, Bill, we have a job to do.’
We left the car. Bill had taken a short jemmy from the duffel bag. I carried the bomb.
It took Bill less than a minute to open the window into the smelly kitchen. I had brought a powerful flashlight with me. I switched it on, then motioned Bill to give me the bomb. ‘I’ll fix this. You go and fix the K.K.K. notice on the door.’
I found my way into the big room where the blacks danced. I put the bomb on the bar counter. Then, gun in hand, I checked the whole place to be sure no one was sleeping there — no one was.