“Come on, soldier… let’s fight.”
I wanted this. I wanted to smash a human face. Lucy was in the front of my mind… alone and frightened. I wanted to smash my way out of the trap I had walked into. I wanted to beat and be beaten.
I got to my feet and started down the steps. Raimundo backed away and began to strip off his shirt. I pulled off my shirt and let it drop, then I started towards him.
He was fast as I knew he would be. I got a clip on the side of my head as I came in which warned me he could punch. I jabbed him, but his head wasn’t there and I collected a solid bang in the teeth that sent me off balance. He was fast all right and moving around me, bouncing, on balance, able to shoot fast with either hand. I took two more of his punches : one split the skin under my right eye; the other made a graze on my cheek bone, then I nailed him with my right. It had all my weight and hate behind it. It exploded on his jaw and as he started to fall, I saw his eyes roll back. He went down, his head thudding on the sand.
I stood over him, my right fist aching and I waited.
After a moment or so, he opened his eyes, blinked up at me, then with a rueful grin, he got himself to his feet, but his legs were rubbery and he was staggering as he raised his fists.
The punch I had caught him with had taken most of the bile out of me.
“Let’s cut it out,” I said. “Okay?”
“If you want to go on… come on !” He took a step forward, then sagged down on his knees. He peered at me, shaking his head to clear it. “Have you let off enough steam, soldier?”
I caught hold of his arm and hoisted him to his feet. I helped him up the steps on to the verandah and steered him to one of the chairs. He collapsed into it, holding the side of his face. Blood was dripping from the cut under my eye. I sat down, holding my handkerchief against the cut.
We sat there like a couple of dummies for quite a while, then I removed the handkerchief. The cut wasn’t bleeding any more. I picked up my pack of cigarettes and offered it to him.
He looked at me, grimaced, then took a cigarette. We lit up.
“If you have to hate someone,” he said, “I’d rather you hate Carlo than me.”
Carlo came out on to the verandah. There was a bovine grin on his brutish face. He put two whiskies and ice on the table.
“That was a fine punch, Mr. Benson. You want to punch me too?”
I looked at him, then at Raimundo.
“Go ahead,” Raimundo said. “Hit him. He likes it… I don’t. Listen, soldier, we have a job to do, but we can’t do it if you’re still full of steam. So go ahead and hit him if it’ll help.”
I looked at the distant sea. I hold the trump card… your wife, Savanto had said. I looked at the crude brand on the upright supporting the roof of the verandah. I thought of Lucy. This wasn’t the time to thrash around like an animal caught in a net. This was something I had to handle if I wanted Lucy back, safe and unmarked.
“I take it, Savanto has some sort of plan and I have to put a polish on it. Right?” I said.
“More or less.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Diaz arrives at the Paradise City airport at 22.15 on September 27th. He will be travelling with four bodyguards. There will be a car at the airport to meet him. He and his bodyguards will drive along Highway 1. I have a marked map of the route. He will arrive at the Willington estate around 23.20. I have a map of the house and grounds. He will stay there for three days. Then he drives back to the airport and takes off. Mr. Savanto wants him knocked off here… not on his home ground : that would make too much of an uproar. So we have three days and two nights to nail him.”
“The Willington estate… what’s that?”
“It’s where his new girl friend lives,” Raimundo told me. “Nancy Willington. You’ve heard of her, haven’t you?”
“You mean Edward Willington’s wife?”
“That’s the one.”
Edward Willington was the President of National Computers. He was always in the news. There were constant press photos of him shaking hands with the President, boarding his enormous yacht, getting into his Rolls and so on and so on. I remembered him as a tall, fat man around sixty-five years of age with a politician’s smile and financier’s eyes. He had been married three times and had married yet again a year or so ago to an eighteen-year-old model. The marriage had caused quite a newspaper yak. I hadn’t paid much attention at the time, but the yak had been enough for me to remember.
“Are you telling me Willington’s wife is Diaz’s new girl friend?”
“That’s it. They met when Willington took her with him on a business trip to Caracas. While he was making money, Diaz was taking Nancy around. Now Willington is going to Paris from September 26th to 30th. The big house is shut up. Nancy is supposed to be at the Spanish hotel until Willington comes back. There’s a bungalow used for guests on the estate. That’s where she is meeting Diaz.”
“How do you know all this?”
Raimundo grinned.
“We got at Nancy’s coloured maid. She will be there to cook and clean while Diaz is screwing Nancy. Nancy told her the whole programme and she relayed it to me.”
“Let me look at the map of the estate.”
“Don’t waste your time. I’ve been to the place and checked it. There would be no problem if he was on his own, but he isn’t. His four boys are good. I don’t say they are better shots than you, but they are good. They will be patrolling all the time.” While he was talking, Carlo came out with a plate of sandwiches. “Eat something, soldier,” Raimundo went on. “You don’t have to worry about her.” He was smart enough to read my thoughts. The sight of those sandwiches had turned my mind to Lucy who had been getting my lunch ready when I had left her. “When Mr. Savanto says someone is okay, you can believe it.”
“I want to talk to her on the telephone. You make the connection and let me talk to her.”
He hesitated.
“I’ve got to talk to her,” I urged. “Maybe she is safe, but she doesn’t know it. If Savanto wants the job done well, I’ve got to talk to her.”
He chewed his sandwich while he thought, then he nodded.
“Makes sense to me. Just don’t tell Mr. Savanto.”
He went into the house. I waited, my heart thumping. It was a five minute wait. To me it seemed like an hour, then he came to the door.
“She’s on the line.”
I went into the hot sitting-room and picked up the telephone receiver.
“Lucy?”
“Oh, Jay…”
The sound of her voice, scared and unsteady, hit me under the heart.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Jay, what does all this mean?”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you being looked after?”
“Oh, yes, but Jay ! I must know… what’s happening?”
“Don’t worry. Trust me. I’ll be with you in a few days. Just trust me…” I heard a click on the line and it went dead.
Well, I had got some kind of message over. At least, she had told me she was all right. Of course she was scared, but now I hoped she would hang on, remembering what I had said.
“Got that off your chest, soldier?” Raimundo asked. He was standing in the doorway, watching me.
I replaced the receiver.
“It helped.”
I returned to the verandah and sat down. I was now more relaxed and hungry. As Raimundo sat by my side, we both reached for sandwiches.
“If I can’t nail him on the estate where do I nail him?” I asked.
“In around ten minutes you’ll see.” He chewed for a moment, then went on, “The Little Brothers are sending a witness who has to be convinced Timoteo did the shooting.”
“Who will that be?”
Raimundo spat over the verandah rail.
“Fernando Lopez. He is a big shot in the organisation and he hates Savanto. He’s sure Timoteo hasn’t the guts to knock Diaz off. It’ll be your business to convince him.”