“Converting ice to cash is no easy trick.”
Rolf sighed. “March, this is my magnum opus, my greatest creation. Nothing is left to chance. Tomorrow night I shall meet two men from the ambassador’s country. They will give me two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in U.S. currency. I return the loot to its rightful owners — it’s all arranged.”
Burt grunted. “Even the disappearance of Ace and Hoke.”
“Of course. That’s why I chose this island. They expect the split to be made here. It will be, but only between you and me.”
“What about Bunny and your wife?”
Rolf made an impatient gesture with his hand. “You’ve asked enough questions, Burt. Are you with me — or against me?”
Burt suddenly felt the weight of two sleepless nights. He shook his head tiredly. “Rolf, you didn’t read me well—”
“I read you. We could have made a natural team, if only you’d lost a few illusions.” He rose to his feet. “I’d like to give you more time, but you’re beginning to distract me...”
Burt was startled to see the glint of the gun appear suddenly in Rolf’s hand. Irrelevantly, he said, “I thought you didn’t like guns.”
“I don’t. They’re too impersonal. But sometimes there’s no choice.”
Burt felt his stomach cringe; the gun was pointed directly at his belt buckle. He talked quickly to gain time, watching for an opening.
“You have a choice, Rolf. Killing the man in the club can be called self-defense; stealing the ambassador’s jewels could probably be fixed, since they were obtained illegally in the first place. No need to add murder to your crimes.”
Rolf laughed softly. “Burt, I was saving the news until you were committed to my side. Bunny killed the ambassador as she left his bed and board. There’s a nationwide alarm from the FBI on down. One more murder won’t matter—”
A scream split the night air. Burt lunged and jammed his shoulder into Rolf’s stomach. The gun exploded and spat a yellow tongue of flame which burned Burt’s cheek. Rolf fell back against the ledge; the ancient mortar crumbled. Rolf teetered a moment, then disappeared.
The scream came again and again; the senseless ululation of a woman in terror. Burt left the tower and ran downhill, falling once in a headlong dive, peeling the skin off one forearm. He reached the club as the screaming changed to a low, sobbing moan. He saw Joss staring at the bench. There sat Boris with his whispy goatee on his chest, his eyes half-closed, staring at the floor with a morose, pensive expression. But he was neither morose nor pensive; he was dead. The cutlass had been swung with tremendous force, lopping off his right arm at the elbow and penetrating three inches into his side. The redhead’s body was gone.
“Burt... Oh, Burt. Look, I woke up and I... I...”
She was suddenly sick on the floor. Burt saw Godfrey and Coco standing white-eyed beside the bar.
“Coco, you and Godfrey run up the hill and start a signal fire. We’ll need—”
“Hold it. Nobody leaves.”
Burt turned to see Ace holding the over-under gun. Hoke stood beside him with the shotgun resting on the railing.
“Let’s have your gun, bird lover. Lay it on the floor and step back.” When Burt hesitated, Ace said: “These shotguns throw a helluva shower of lead. If we didn’t get you we’d get the lady or one of the niggers.”
Burt did as he was ordered; Ace came forward, picked up the gun, and shoved it in his pocket. He jerked his head toward the body of Boris. “His own fault he got it. I thought I hit him hard enough to lay him out for a hour. But he woke up and jumped me.” Ace touched a purple swelling above his eye. “I had to kill him. I was told to get rid of the body without being seen.”
“Rolf’s orders?” asked Burt.
Ace gave a twisted smile. “Did you think Bunny was running it?” He stepped back to the railing. “All right. Everybody on the floor, flat on your backs with hands above your head.”
Everyone obeyed except Burt. Ace jabbed the gun in his direction. “You too, birdman. You ain’t privileged.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
Ace glared at Burt, then called over his shoulder. “Hoke, go find the boss. I wanta know what he wants done with this character.”
“Kill him,” said a voice from the darkness.
A second later Rolf stepped into the club. His clothes were torn. Blood ran from a long cut across his forehead and dripped from dirt-crusted eyebrows. He was holding his right forearm in his left hand, and Burt saw that his wrist was impossibly twisted. His mouth was open, his lips drawn back so tightly that a white rim showed around them. Each perfect white tooth had an outline of blood, and his eyes held a remote, glassy look. It was obvious that Rolf had lost the hard glaze of self-control.
“Did you hear me? I said kill him!”
Ace lifted the rifle. “Sure. You mean, right here?”
“Didn’t I say—? No, wait.” Rolf strode to the body of Boris and jerked out the cutlass. It made a soft sucking sound. Joss moaned and closed her eyes.
Burt backed away as Rolf approached. Why didn’t those idiots run, Coco and Godfrey? No, they had to lie and gape like a pair of fools and Joss was out cold—
His back struck the bar just as Rolf swung the cutlass high over his head with his left hand. Burt leaped aside and the cutlass buried itself in the mahogany rim. Rolf tugged at it frantically with one hand. He seemed crazed with pain, half-sobbing the words: “—I gave you a chance, I tried to be friends, I asked you to come in with me—”
“Rolf, listen—”
He raised the cutlass again. “—you tried to kill me, broke my arm—”
“—and hid your diamonds!”
Crash! The cutlass gouged a two-foot splinter from the bar. Ace ran up and seized Rolf’s arm. “Boss, listen! Listen to what he said!”
Rolf shook free, started to swing again, then stopped and gazed around the room as though he’d just awakened from a long sleep. He blinked at Ace. “What?”
“He said something about the diamonds.”
Rolf looked at Burt. He was breathing heavily, but the glaze was gone from his eyes. “You found them?”
“And stashed them again. If you kill me you’ll never find them.”
“Hoke, go check the barrel.” The big man left, and Rolf tossed the cutlass to the floor. “Cover these people, Ace, especially him.” He walked over to Godfrey and jammed a toe in his ribs. “Get me a pan of water and a cloth.”
The boy scrambled toward the kitchen. Rolf slumped in a chair and passed a shaky hand across his forehead. He moved his wrist slightly and went pale.
“Broken, I think. I’ll have Bunny splint it.”
Godfrey brought the water and stood holding it with hands which trembled so violently that the water rippled and splashed. Burt felt dismay as he watched Rolf calmly wash the blood and dirt from his face. The others had missed their chance; now Rolf was once again in control of himself.
“I’m glad you stopped me, March. That isn’t my scene, to kill in anger. I must have lost my head while I was wedged in that crevice below the tower.” He rinsed out the cloth and watched the water turn a dirty brown. “I like to talk to a man, learn how his mind works, learn some of his background. Then when I kill, I am he. I am both victim and killer. Maybe I have a drive toward suicide, since I tend to identify with the victim. Fortunately my survival drive is stronger—”