towards Haig. First without expression, and then with his face seeming
to crumble, older and tired-looking. Mike Haig stared at the glass. He
moistened his lips again, With a physical wrench he pulled
his eyes away from the glass.
"Damn you, Hendry." His voice unnaturally low. "God damn you to hell."
He hit out at the glass, spinning it off the counter to shatter against
the far wall.
"Did I do something wrong, Mike?" asked Hendry softly.
"Just offered you a drink, that's all." The smell of spilt brandy arose,
sharp, fruity with the warmth of the grape, and Mike moistened his lips
again.
The saliva jetting from under his tongue, and the deep yearning aching
want in his stomach spreading outwards slowly, numbing him.
"Damn you," he whispered. "Oh, damn you, damn you," pleading now as
Hendry filled another glass.
"How long has it been, Mike? A year, two years? Try a little, just a
mouthful. Remember the lift it gives you. Come on, boy.
You're tired, you've worked hard. Just one - there you are. just have
this one with me." Mike wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
sweating now across the forehead and on his upper lip, tiny jewels of
sweat squeezed out of the skin by the craving of his body.
"Come on, boy." Wally's voice hoarse with excitement; teasing,
wheedling, tempting.
Mike's hand closed round the tumbler, moving of its own volition,
lifting it towards lips that were suddenly slack and trembling, his eyes
filled with mingled loathing and desire.
"Just this one," whispered Hendry. "Just this one." Mike gulped
it with a sudden savage flick of his arm, one swallow and the glass was
empty. He held it with both hands, his head bowed over it.
"I hate you. My God, I hate you." He spoke to Hendry, and to himself,
and to the empty glass.
"That's my boy!" crowed Wally. "That's the lad! Come on, let me fill you
up." ruce went in through the front door of the hotel with
Shermaine trying to keep pace with him. There were a dozen or so people
in the lobby, and an air of tension amongst them. Boussier was
one of them and he came quickly to Bruce.
"I'm sorry, Captain, I could not stop them. That one, that one with the
red hair, he was violent. He had his gun and I think he was ready to use
it."
"What are you talking about?" Bruce asked him, but before Boussier could
answer there was the bellow of Hendry's laughter from behind the door at
the far end of the lobby; the door to the bar-room.
"They are in there," Boussier told him. "They have been there for the
past hour."
"Goddarn it to hell," swore Bruce. "Now of all times.
Oh, goddam that bloody animal." He almost ran across the room and threw
open the double doors. Hendry was standing against the far wall with a
tumbler in one hand and his rifle in the other. He was holding the rifle
by the pistol grip and waving vague circles in the air with it.
Mike Haig was building a pyramid of glasses on the bar counter.
He was just placing the final glass on the pile.
"Hello, Bruce, old cock, old man, old fruit," he greeted Bruce, and
waved in an exaggerated manner. "Just in time, you can have a couple of
shots as well. But Wally's first, he gets first shot. Must abide by the
rules, no cheating, strictly democratic affair, everyone has equal
rights. Rank doesn't count. That's right, isn't it Wally?"
Haig's features had blurred; it was as though he were melting, losing
his shape.
His lips were loose and flabby, his jowls hung pendulously as an old
woman's breasts, and his eyes were moist.
He picked up a glass from beside the pyramid, but this glass was nearly
full and a bottle of Remy Martin cognac stood beside it.
"A very fine old brandy, absolutely exquisite." The last two words
didn't come out right, so he repeated them carefully. Then he grinned
loosely at Bruce and his eyes weren't quite in focus.
"Get out of the way, Mike," said Hendry, and raised the rifle
one-handed, aiming at the pile of glasses.
"Every time she bucks, she bounces, hooted Haig, and every time she
bounces you win a coconut. Let her rip, old fruit."
"Hendry, stop that," snapped Bruce.
"Go and get mucked," answered Hendry and fired. The rifle kicked back
over his shoulder and he fell against the wall. The pyramid of glasses
exploded in a shower of fragments and the room was filled with the roar
of the rifle.
"Give the gentleman a coconut!" crowed Mike.
Bruce crossed the room with three quick strides and pulled the rifle out
of Hendry's hand.
"All right, you drunken ape. That's enough."
"Go and muck yourself," growled Hendry. He was massaging his wrist; the
rifle had twisted it.
"Captain Curry," said Haig from behind the bar, "you heard what my
friend said. You go and muck yourself sideways to sleep."
"Shut up, Haig."
"This time I'll fix you, Curry," Hendry growled. "You've been on my back
too long - now I'm going to shake you off!"
"Kindly descend from my friend's back, Captain Curry," chimed in Mike
Haig. "He's not a howdah elephant, he's my blood brother. I will not
allow you to persecute him."
"Come on, Curry. Come on there!" said Wally.
"That's it, Wally. muck him up." Haig filled his glass again as he
spoke. "Don't let him ride you."
"Come on then, Curry." "You're drunk," said Bruce.
"Come on then; don't talk, man. Or do I have to start it?"
"No, you don't have to start it," Bruce assured him, and lifted the
rifle butt-first under his chin, swinging it up hard.
Hendry's head jerked and he staggered back against the wall.
Bruce looked at his eyes; they were glazed over. That will hold him, he
decided; that's taken the fight out of him.
He caught Hendry by the shoulder and threw him into one of the chairs. I
must get to Haig before he absorbs any more of that liquor, he thought,
I can't waste time sending for Ruffy and I can't leave this thing behind
me while I work on Haig.
"Shermaine," he called. She was standing in the doorway and she came to
his side. "Can you use a pistol?" She nodded. Bruce unclipped his Smith
& Wesson from its lanyard and handed it to her.
"Shoot this man if he tries to leave that chair. Stand here where he
cannot reach you."
"Bruce-" she started.
"He is a dangerous animal. Yesterday he murdered two small
children and, if you let him, he'll do the same to you.
You must keep him here while I get the other one." She lifted the
pistol, holding it with both hands and her face was even paler than was
usual.
"Can you do it?" Bruce asked.
"Now I can, she said and cocked the action.
"Hear me, Hendry." Bruce took a handful of his hair and twisted his face
up. "She'll kill you if you leave this chair.
Do you understand? She'll shoot you."
"Muck you and your little
French whore, Fuck you both.
I bet that's what you two have been doing all evening in that car -
playing "hide the sausage" down by the riverside." Anger flashed through
Bruce so violently that it startled him. He twisted Hendry's hair until