“Bargain with Albert?”
The thought gave her the sick shudders. Then she remembered: He doesn’t want to kill me. It’s Albert’s fault. She sat up, bracing her back against the cabin.
“Kill him.” She whispered. “Get rid of him and run.” She leaned forward, holding her blouse together. “I’ll go with you, Johnny, anywhere you want to go.”
His mouth twisted. “Albert’s insured. You must have heard that.”
“You know how they work. You could kill them as they come.”
He gripped her shoulders and pushed her gently back against the cabin. “Norma, listen. You think they’d stop after one try?”
“We’ll hide! You’re twice as smart as Howard.”
“They’d look ten times harder. Hell! They’ve got a hundred kids like Albert who’d bust a gut to be able to say they took out Johnny Quill. I’d be lucky to last a year.”
She knew she was losing, but she couldn’t give up. “We’d have a good year, Johnny.” She gripped his arms and dug in her fingers. “I’d make it good, Johnny. I’d make it the best year you ever had.”
Gently he removed her hands and placed them in her lap. “They’d make you regret every day you stayed alive. You think you’re safe, then one day somebody whispers in your ear in a crowd. You pack up and run like hell. A month later, somebody writes on your window with soap. You run again. You start getting phone calls at three in the morning, but there’s nobody there when you answer. You go nuts, Norma. Christ! You think your husband enjoyed his last two years?”
She set her jaw. “It’s better than dying.”
“I know a guy who didn’t think so. He tried to leave the organization and start over as a garage mechanic. A year later, a laundry truck ran over his oldest boy. The next month, his seven-year-old daughter drowned in a rain-filled excavation. He had a wife and two other kids. He shot himself to save them.”
“We wouldn’t have kids, Johnny.” It was a feeble, last-ditch try, and she knew it was no good.
“That wouldn’t matter. One guy fell in love with a model and ran away to Arizona. Six months later a man came through the neighborhood handing out samples of face cream. His wife tried it. Her face came off in chunks. The guy spent three months looking at a face like spoiled hamburger. Then they shut up the house and turned on the gas.”
She clapped her hands to her ears. “Don’t tell anymore! God, Howard was weak, but you... How did you get into this slimy mess?”
He sat back on his heels and studied his hands. “In Detroit a bright kid goes to work for General Motors. In Cicero, Illinois, he works for the mob. Simple. To climb out of a snake pit, you use the first ladder you see.” He raised his eyes to hers. “I’ve regretted it several times. Never so much as now.”
She wanted to cry, but her eyes felt hot and dry. “But you’re going to do it.”
“Would you rather Albert did?”
She shuddered. “Johnny, I don’t want him around when you... when it happens. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cabin. There was no way out. She opened her eyes and saw a distant cloud brushing the sea with a long, curved feather of rain. The world was a wonderful place.
“Johnny, let me be alone for awhile. I’ll try to get used to the idea of... dying.”
It’s the right kind of day, thought Johnny. Spray beat against the cabin ports like felt-covered drumsticks. The sea looked like the Dakota badlands.
At the wheel beside him, Albert complained: “Noon already, chief. Don’t forget I report at midnight.”
“We’ll make it.”
“Hell, you’ve already passed up half the Grenadines. Why so choosy? You ain’t gonna build a house on the island.”
“What’s that one?” Johnny pointed to an isolated blob of land to the east.
“Tobago Cays.”
Johnny squinted and the blob resolved itself into five islands, none covering more than five acres. “Anybody live there?”
“No. No water. Too isolated. A millionaire brewer owns ’em.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Albert twisted the wheel and spoke cheerfully over his shoulder. “You gonna have a quiet place to die, baby.”
Johnny set his teeth. “I hope I’m along on your last ride, kid.”
“Man, I’ll sing all the way.”
Johnny walked back to Norma, who sat on the bench with Mrs. Gantry’s blanket around her shoulders. She swayed with the boat as though her body had no life of its own. He lit a cigaret and put it between her light, bloodless lips.
She spoke without looking up, her voice dead and flat. “Is this my last one?”
“Not yet.” She believes she’s going to die, thought Johnny. That was good; because it would help convince Albert. If Albert wasn’t convinced, then she’d be killed in spite of all he did to save her. By someone.
The cigaret fell from her fingers and smoldered on deck. He ground it out with his heel and strode forward.
One of the cays stood more than a mile from the main group. It was a low sliver of sand with a cover of bush and one solitary palm.
“Petit Tabac,” said Albert.
“People ever go there?”
“Every Friday. Fishermen dry their catch for the Grenada market.”
Friday. And this was Wednesday. “That’s the one,” said Johnny.
A vicious current ripped past Petit Tabac, its boundaries marked by a series of whirlpools. The sea rolled in upon the island like a carpet being shaken, tearing itself to pieces on a fringe reef of beige-colored coral.
Albert frowned as they dropped anchor. “This ain’t good holding ground, chief. The tide’ll shift in an hour and she’ll drag her anchor.”
“Take us ashore in the dinghy. You can come back and stay with the launch.”
Albert looked at him curiously. “Why don’t you do it here and throw her to the sharks? They’re all around.”
“I’m doing it my way.”
The kid hesitated, then grinned. “I get it. You want her alone on the island. When’s my turn?”
“You don’t touch her.”
Albert’s eyes narrowed. “You ain’t gonna stop me. Don’t forget I gotta report at midnight.”
Johnny spoke through stiff lips. “Two broken arms wouldn’t keep you from reporting. Now pull in the dinghy. I’ll get the woman.”
In the cabin, Johnny packed Norma’s suitcase. She was fingering the cloth of her blouse like someone counting a rosary. She didn’t look up, and that suited Johnny. He didn’t want her to ask why he was throwing in canned beef, water flasks, skin-diving gear and a roll of bills from his wallet.
As they stepped in the dinghy, Albert pointed to the suitcase. “What’s in there?”
“Her clothes, stupid. I bury them with her.”
Albert grinned. “No, man. You’re gonna maroon her and make me think you killed her.”
Johnny’s stomach tightened. “You think I’m crazy?”
“I think you’re too damn touchy about the woman. I won’t believe you’ve killed her until I see the body.”
Johnny forced himself to relax. This was serious. “Suppose you watched me kill her? And bury her?”
Albert looked confused. “You mean... from the launch?”
“Sure. Use the binoculars.”
He frowned, then nodded. “Okay. But don’t get outa sight.”
They had to jump out of the dinghy beyond the surf line. Johnny struggled through waist deep froth carrying the suitcase and dragging the woman. He climbed to the top of the sandpit which formed the western tip of the island.
“Sit down,” he told her. “Keep your back to the launch.”
He found a conch shell and dropped to his knees beside her. Using the flange of the shell, he began scraping out a trench at right angles to the launch. “Now listen. I’m going to put you in this hole—”