He lowered the rifle the way Hercules must have lowered the world. I went down the sand and took off his two targets and then joined him.
“How do you feel about it, Tim? It’s not so hard, is it?”
“No.”
He put his sun goggles on again and I was shut out.
As we approached the bungalow, I saw Lucy was painting. She was on a ladder, doing the gutter. Already the bungalow looked pretty smart.
“Hi, Lucy… beer,” I called.
She looked down and waved her paint brush, smiling.
“Get it yourself, helpless. I’m busy.”
“Come on down. I want you to see what Tim’s been doing.”
“Suppose Tim comes on up and finishes this gutter. It’s killing me!”
He started forward like a greyhound released from the trap. He was at the bottom of the ladder before I got moving. I heard him say, “I’ll be glad to do it. It’s too hard for you, Lucy.”
I hung back as she came down the ladder and gave him the brush and the pot of paint. As he climbed the ladder she joined me.
We walked together into the kitchen.
“The trouble with him is he’s simple minded,” I said as I took two cans of beer from the refrigerator.
“How did he shoot?”
I waved to the two targets on the table, then zipped open one of the cans of beer. I took a long pull from the can as she studied the targets.
“This is good, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s a start.”
She looked quickly at me.
“Thank you for being kind to him, Jay. He needs kindness.”
She went out carrying a can of beer. I hesitated, then shrugged. I was sweating. When I had finished the beer, I went into the bedroom, stripped off and took a shower. I didn’t hurry. Thirty minutes later, I came out on to the verandah.
Lucy was finishing off the gutter. Timoteo wasn’t around. “Where is he?”
Lucy looked down from the top of the ladder.
“He’s gone hack to the gallery.”
“He has? What’s this… sudden enthusiasm?”
I heard the crack of the rifle.
“I asked him to go back.”
“Thanks, Lucy. I’ll get over there.”
“No, don’t. Leave him alone. Let him shoot on his own. We have a bet on.”
I looked up at her. I could see she was anxious and bothered. “You betted him he could do better?”
“Yes.” She slapped on more paint. “He needs that sort of encouragement.”
I began to get it.
“You mean he’s fallen for you. Is that it?”
“I guess so. You don’t mind, do you, Jay?”
I grinned a little uneasily.
“So long as you haven’t fallen for him.”
She flushed and looked away.
“Of course not !”
All the time we were talking the rifle was firing… slow : five or six shots every three minutes. I could imagine him shooting as if his life depended on it. Then I saw Raimundo coming across the sand. He was carrying a long cardboard box in his hand, swinging it and slapping his thigh with it as he walked.
I waited, aware that Lucy, high up on the ladder, had also stopped painting.
He came up, taking his time, his eyes first going to Lucy, then shifting to me.
“So you’ve got him shooting.” he said.
“What do you want?”
“Something from Mr. Savanto… special delivery. Goon has to shoot with it… orders.” He offered me the box.
“What is it?”
“Take a look, soldier. You’ve got eyes.” He stared up at Lucy, then he gave me his jeering smile, turned around and walked off with that insolent lounging movement that made me long to kick him.
As I began to open the box, Lucy scrambled down the ladder and joined me.
“What is it, Jay?”
I squatted on the sand as I took off the lid. There was a slip of paper on top of some foam packing. The note was typewritten:
Timoteo will shoot with these two attachments. See to it, please. A.S.
“What is it?” Lucy repeated, peering over my shoulder.
“A telescopic sight. This is a silencer. They are both highly sophisticated… both cost the earth.”
“But why?”
“The telescopic sight will make it much easier for him to hit a bull. When Savanto first talked to me I wondered about a telescopic sight, but I didn’t imagine it would come within the rules of his bet.” I turned the sight over in my hands. “He can’t fail to shoot well with this.”
“But why a silencer?”
I shrugged. I was asking myself the same question.
“I don’t know.” I stood up. “The silencer will make it a little more tricky for him. I’ll get these two attachments fitted to the rifle right away before he gets used to the rifle as it is.”
“All this worries me, Jay.”
“Oh, come on, Lucy,” I said a little impatiently. “There’s nothing to get worried about.”
Leaving her, I walked over to the gallery. He was there, the rifle against his shoulder, his face against the shoulder of the gun, his shirt black with sweat. As I came in, he fired again. I looked beyond him at the distant target. He had another set of holes topside of the inner ring. He was still off the bull, but at least he was still grouping.
“Hi, Tim,” I said. “We’ve got the answer to your problem. Look at this.”
He started like he had received an electric shock and dropped the rifle. He spun around, gaped at me, flinched, then stepped back where he had no room to step back, cannoned off the shooting rest.
“For God’s sake!” I was as startled as he by this exhibition of nerves. “Can’t you relax? Look at this.”
He continued to gape at me, his eyes wild, his expression dazed.
“Your father sent this over. It’ll help you more than I can.”
As he still remained paralysed, I picked up the rifle and took it over to one of the benches. I sat down. It took me a couple of minutes to clip on the sight and to screw on the silencer.
I looked at him. He was staring at the rifle like you might stare at a snake that had dropped into your bath.
What a goon ! I thought. To give him time to straighten himself out, I went over to the shooting rest and sighted through the telescopic sight at the target. It was as if I could stretch out my arm and put my finger right on the hull. In my time, I had handled a lot of telescopic sights, but nothing as good as this one.
“Take a look through this, Tim,” I said, turning.
The sight of him as he stood in the dimly lit lean-to set my nerves tingling. He looked as if he had gone out of his mind. There was a wild, crazy look in his eyes: his mouth was working: the muscles in his neck were standing out like knotted ropes and he began hissing through his clenched teeth.
“Hey ! Tim !” I shouted. “What’s the matter?”
He came at me with two quick shuffling strides. I was handicapped by the rifle I was holding. His fist slammed against the side of my head with the force of a steam hammer. My knees buckled, then dimly I saw his fist coming again towards my face. There was nothing I could do about it. I felt the shock, then a white flash of light scorched my eyes, then nothing.
I became aware of the sound of the sea pounding on the beach. Then I became aware my jaw was aching. The ache reminded me of the fist flashing towards my face. I shook my head, grunted and sat up. This wasn’t the first time I had taken a punch, but I couldn’t remember taking a harder one.
I looked around. I was on my own. I fingered the swelling on my jaw, winced, then levered myself to my feet.
The rifle with its telescopic sight and its silencer lay on the sand. I looked at it, continued to rub my jaw, coaxing my mind to work.
Then I heard a sound. Raimundo appeared in the doorway. He propped himself up against one of the posts of the lean-to and regarded me. His eyes were bored; a cigarette burned between his fingers.