The Big Bite (5 page)

“Until I get some evidence, or I’m satisfied there isn’t any.”

She let him hear her sigh. “It’s nice having someone new for a change. It would be nicer if you didn’t stay a stranger.”

“I’d like that, too.”

She stretched, flipping her cigarette over his head and into the pond where it hissed faintly. “Then come and swim with me here some night.”

“Sans bathing suit?”

“Of course. I told you my—peculiarity.”

Knox waited for more, still wondering at her lack of subtlety. She was silent. He rose and said, “I’ll be going now.”

“Forrest will run you back.” She made no effort to get up. “And I am glad you called, Mr. Knox. Or—Paul?”

“Paul is fine.”

She extended a hand and he took it. “Good night—Paul.”

“Good night, Natalie.”

• • •

When Forrest returned to the island, Tiber told him sullenly that the boss wanted to see him. She was still by the pool. Taking a whisky and soda along, he lowered himself onto the stool Knox had used. Natalie sat quietly, smoking a cigarette.

“Well?” He sounded half-angry.

“Don’t be a boor, Nige. I didn’t bring him down here to make love to him.”

“I can believe that. Did you ever make love to anyone?” He gulped at his whisky.

She was laughing at him. She stopped. “He has all the answers, so maybe he’s just what he claims to be. And maybe he’s another Curtis.”

“We weren’t sure about Curtis. He could have been a poor guy down here for some cheap fishing.”

“We’ll know,” she said, “if that friend of yours in Mexico City ever gets through with his investigation.”

“It takes time,” Forrest said.

She said, “Call him and have him see about this Knox, too. I’m assuming that Curtis was what we thought he was and that Knox is part of the same package. Let’s not waste any time. You go back to La Cruz and start things going. And I want you to keep an eye on Knox during the siesta. No one in these parts is worth a damn in the afternoons.”

“All right.” He sounded irritated.

“Don’t complain. We have too much at stake and the time is getting close. We can’t take any chances.”

“Why not just get rid of him, then, and stop worrying.”

“Too much of a good thing. There would be more than a simple-minded police investigation if it happened twice. Do as I say.”

“All right.”

“Don’t be sulky, Nige. You may kiss me good night.”

He wished that he could tell her to go to hell, but he was in no position to do so. He tried to make something of it when he kissed her but she pushed him away. He went to the house, hearing her laughter in his ears.

The man who called himself Orvil Curtis awoke to find that he lay on a hard-packed dirt path with one foot dangling on the edge of a swamp. He had never smelled such a stench before, nor had he ever—even with the finest of hang-overs—felt quite as he did now. He moved and groaned as a straight-down sun struck him full in the eyes. Somehow he found the strength to roll back into a slight patch of shade.

He lay quiescent, his eyes shut. When he opened them, he discovered that he had fallen asleep. The sun had moved some distance and now the high black rock to the west had cut it off, leaving the area where he was in shadow.

He took stock of himself. Nothing seemed to be broken, but his head ached abominably, his stomach felt as if it would turn itself completely inside out if he so much as opened his mouth, and his throat was on fire from thirst. His eyesight, which had been blurred, began to clear and he looked around.

Slowly, the realization of what must have happened came back to him. He had tied the dinghy at Horsetail Island and slipped through the trees and brush to the edge of the garden that faced seaward. With the moon still up, he had been very careful, neither making noise nor exposing himself as he moved.

Finally he had reached a position where he could hear the pair seated by the pool. Natalie Tinsley and Forrest were having a low-voiced discussion. It had been a very interesting discussion, he remembered. Most illuminating. Coupled with the information he already had, it made a number of puzzles clear. He decided that he no longer need risk himself here but could afford to leave La Cruz and make his report.

He had begun a slow retreat to his dinghy. And had almost made it. He was, in fact, putting one foot over the gunwale and turning to free the painter when the deep voice of Tiber said, “Let’s just hold it like that.”

And he had held it. There had been little else to do considering the size of the cannon in Tiber’s fist. He had stepped back out of the dinghy and allowed himself to be led to the house. In a few moments the striking woman who called herself Natalie Tinsley and the man Forrest had come in.

“I found this one trying to leave the island,” Tiber said.

“How long has he been here?” Forrest had a deceptively lazy voice. He had smiled, but not the kind of smile Curtis appreciated.

Curtis answered for himself. “Only a few moments. I was fishing and found my water jug was empty. I saw your light and came here, hoping I could borrow a little.” He smiled a disarming smile that no one bothered to notice.

“I been watching his dinghy for three quarters of an hour,” Tiber said.

The woman looked at Forrest and let her eyebrows rise in a silent question. Forrest shrugged. “This is private property, you know—but then when a man needs water …” He paused and moved toward the bar. “Let’s have a drink and talk it over, shall we?”

That was very kind of them, Curtis said. He watched closely as Forrest made the drinks, gin and tonic, all around. He was willing to swear that there was nothing in his drink that was not in the others. And he was quite right. Forrest had made them openly, put in straws and handed them around. The straws were cellophane, with Curtis’ being a bright pink. It had never occurred to him to doubt the straw.

When the drug hit, he had tried to fight it, but without luck. He had felt the faint prick of the hypodermic and barely had time to wonder what was coming next when he went under.

Now he was here. He knew about Fog Island, and if he could believe the natives of La Cruz, there would be neither palatable food nor water here. But Curtis’ value to his job lay a great deal in his lack of imagination. He was a man who had to be shown. Consequently he did not just lie and wait for death but decided that the first thing to do was find water for his throat.

One sniff, one sip of the swamp water convinced him that thus far the natives were right. It was nauseating stuff, sea water that had worked its way up through the ooze.

He found that he could stand and, if he was very careful, walk. He walked. And he found the path that led to the tiny cove with the natural rock pier. He lay belly down on the pier for some time, enjoying being away from the stench of the interior but knowing that he was no closer to drinking water than he had been before.

To go back uphill required more effort than he had the energy for. He got as far as the cave mouth and knew that he could never make it the rest of the way. A coolness came out of the cave and he crawled into it and lay on the hard sand floor and closed his eyes. He could hear the faint echoes of his own breathing. While he lay there he began to realize that rest was not rebuilding his energy. The thirst in him was too great, the nausea and whatever drugs he had been given too sapping. It began to look as if he might die. From Curtis’ point of view this was an ignoble way to die.

He rolled onto his back and lay with his arms behind his head. His breathing was slow and quiet now and he knew that his mind was beginning to wander. But it was really too soon, he thought. A man didn’t go out of his head from thirst in such a short period of time. When that idea had taken firm root, he decided that he wasn’t imagining the gentle tinkle that a rivulet of water made going over rock.

He rolled onto his hands and knees and began crawling toward the back of the cave. It was very dark and the roof above him grew lower until he was crawling on his stomach. With each foot of progress the sound grew. There was faint light at the cave mouth when he looked back, but he made a turn and then there was no light at all. His hand, reaching ahead to grasp the ground so that he could pull himself forward, encountered nothing. He reached out and felt the chill of cold water running over his fingers.

Drawing them back, he thrust them into his mouth. The water was sweet. He lay there and began to laugh. The sound echoed harshly in the narrow confines of the cave, but he could not stop laughing until the pain in his dry throat was so great that he could no longer force sound from it.

By extending both hands, he managed to catch enough water to wet his lips. But it wasn’t enough. Slowly, awkwardly, he worked a shoe from his foot and in this he caught enough water to satisfy his thirst. He drank too much, and began to retch.

But finally it was all right. He pulled back a few feet, shut his eyes and fell asleep again. When he awakened, he drank some more, all that he could hold comfortably. Then he retreated in the cave until he could sit upright again.

Outside there was only darkness. At the mouth of the cave, he looked upward and saw the stars and, later, the late moon. His shoe squished a little when he put it on, but he was so hungry that everything but the thought of food was excluded from his mind and feeling.

It was a long, slow exploration. Despite the moonlight, he cut his shins badly when he stumbled over the sharp black rock. He ignored the swamp in the interior of the island, reasoning that anything found there to eat would be as unpalatable as the water. He made his way around the island until he came to the seaward side and there he saw the remains of his dinghy.

He understood now how they had planned to dispose of him and he had to admit that it was a logical, neat plan. He waded to the reef through waist-deep water. The dinghy was obviously useless, its whole bottom gone on the sharp surface of the reef. He was trying to think of a way to get it onto the island side of the reef, in the little tidal basin, when he saw something moving.

He reached out and picked up a crab. It promptly bit him. He dashed it against the side of the dinghy. He had never eaten raw crab but he had enjoyed oysters and herring in that fashion, and there seemed no possibility of a fire. The crab went down quite well. He found some mussels and these were even better.

He was still trying to decide about the dinghy when his stomach revolted. When the revolt was over, he rinsed his mouth with sea water and ate more mussels. This time they stayed down.

The tide began to come in. By the time he was standing with waves breaking up to his knees, he saw what he must do. He readied the dinghy, freeing it from the rock where it was jammed. When a large wave struck, a light heave lifted the dinghy over into the basin. Before it could sink, Curtis had the painter and was dragging the boat toward a narrow strip of beach.

He was exhausted when he finished. The moon was gone and the darkness seemed acute. He was thirsty again and hungry. But he had the dinghy and the boards that had been ripped loose safely on sand. He lay down beside it and went to sleep.

The wind shifted during the night. Clouds came up from the south, threatening rain. But before it arrived the wind began to move. Curtis awoke to feel the wind whirling about him and the rankest of odors assailing his nostrils.

He stood, ignoring the wind. “Eureka!” He began following his nose.

When he finally made the scramble over the rocks and into the interior, he stood on a ledge of rock and looked down at the bubbling pots of water and smelled the sulphur fumes rising from them. He did not have to put his hand into the water to know that it was close to boiling.

The rain came and he lifted his face, his mouth open, grinning like a madman. Cooked shellfish was going to taste very nice indeed.

Knox let himself into his cabin, sleepy from so much sea air. He switched on the light in the living room. Nat was curled up on the divan, smoking a cigarette. The disguise she had been wearing in the cantina was gone.

“And how was Natalie Tinsley?” she asked.

Knox blinked stupidly at her. “I’m one hell of a detective,” he said. “I walk into a room full of cigarette smoke and don’t even smell it.”

“There’s my perfume, too,” she said sweetly. “That woman must still be quite something.”

“As Chuco would say,” Knox answered, “she’s a dame—a real dame.” Peeling off his coat, he started for the bedroom. “She’s invited me back—to go swimming. She always swims without a suit.”

She bounded into the bedroom and seated herself on the edge of the nearer bed. “Paul Knox, what happened out there?”

He went to her and kissed her lightly, pulling back when she tried to make a production of it.

He told her about the evening. Nat listened quietly, nodding now and then. When he had finished, she said, “I dug up some more after you left Tangier, Paul. Do you remember my telling you about one of Dad’s men who came here and disappeared?”

“I remember.”

It was Kurath,” she said. “Hans Kurath. You never met him, but he was as loyal to Dad as—as I. What he learned here perturbed him and he went to Cuba and did some more investigating. He knew how broke I was and he was also worried about Natasha using my name. He got to Tangier just before I left. What I told you there was right.”

Knox carried his pajamas into the bathroom and changed. She did not speak until he came back out. She said then, “Only now I know the details.”

“Are you bargaining with me again?”

She smiled impishly at him, but the smile did not last. She said seriously, “Natasha is here to do some trans-shipping all right. When the time is ripe—and it nearly is—a ship will come and pick up a former Cuban politician who’s been in exile and take him and twenty-five million in gold to Cuba. Then things will pop.”

“Twenty-five million in gold!”

“Yes. She has it around here somewhere. She’s gathered it and brought it here.”

“And how much does she get for delivering that?”

“One million.” Nat said. “One cool million. And all she’s done has been to sit and wait.”

Knox looked into her eyes and he could guess what thoughts were going on in her mind. But he said, “What about the Cuban politico?”

“I suppose she has him or will have him on her island. She could hide him there and no one would know the difference.”

True enough. Knox thought about the size of the house and the dense growth covering most of the land. “That kind of money she’ll fight for,” he said. “I just wonder that she doesn’t try to take off with it.”

“My guess,” Nat said, “is that she’s afraid to. Remember, our information hints that the money came from behind the Curtain. Those boys aren’t fools, Paul. They probably have a watch on her and she knows it. Besides, you can’t move that much gold in a cabin cruiser.”

It would take a fair-sized freighter, he agreed. He moved into the living room and Nat followed. Knox opened two bottles of beer and gave her one. “Well, well. I’d like to know where that much money is hidden.”

She smiled at him and tilted her bottle to her lips.

“Do you, Nat? Do you and Kurath know?”

“No, Paul.”

“But if you did, you wouldn’t tell me—is that it?”

She wriggled into a more comfortable position on the divan, and smiled blandly.

“This whole affair—my part in it, I mean—wasn’t staged to get me down here, was it?”

She smiled a second time.

Knox strode over and stood glowering down at her. “Damn you, Nat. Did you think I would help you skin Natasha out of her million?”

“Why not, Paul? There should be some reward for stopping her and putting a wrench in the whole scheme.”

She was her father’s daughter, and Gerard Tinsley had, until his last attempt at a coup, made it a policy to make his living from just this sort of situation. Nat would hardly see anything dishonest in it—and from a certain point of view there was no dishonesty. Technically, who would the money belong to if Natasha should be stopped?

“You know I can’t help you, Nat.”

“Then don’t hinder me, Paul, when the time comes.”

“If you’re broke, you know where you can get money. Why not just ask me?”

“That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Well, marry me then.”

She nibbled a nail as if considering his offer. “No, Paul. I’m too young.”

He frowned at her and she laughed. “Marriage seems sort of stodgy. I’m not ready for it yet. I’m like Dad, I guess. I want excitement. I’m sorry, Paul.”

“You mean you want to get your head blown off. Hell, I can’t do everything—stop them and watch out for you at the same time.”

“I’m not asking you to. And I might get my head blown off, but I’m not ready to settle down. With the way the world is today, there’s big money waiting to be picked up. I want a good share of it before I marry and start knitting.”

Knox had to grin. “I can see my wife knitting.”

“It’s still no, Paul.”

She was right, of course. Neither of them, constructed as they were, had any business marrying. It was a pleasant prospect for some future time, however—if either of them lived to enjoy it….

He finished his beer and set down the bottle. “What about Kurath?”

“He’s back in Cuba with his ear out.”

“And what are your plans?”

“I can move in here with you,” she said brightly.

He grinned suddenly. “Okay, but you’ll have to wear that disguise all the time.”

“I know it,” she said. “So I decided I’d leave and come back—as myself.”

“Whoa!”

“I’ll use another name, of course. But it should be safe enough. Outside of Natasha, I’m not known by any of her men. And I’m sure she doesn’t remember me. I was too young and scrawny and unimportant. Besides, I had long hair in those days.”

She was probably right, he thought. “How do you get out?”

“I thought you could pay that incipient gangster friend of yours to drive me to the bus.”

“Chuco? He’ll do anything for enough money. And then what?”

“I’ll go to Mexico City—my wardrobe is there—fly to Vera Cruz and then here.”

“I thought you were broke.”

“I am,” she said indignantly. “I sold my villa and my jewels and—everything.” She looked as if she might cry. “Did you see the car I came here in?”

“I heard it was a clunker.”

“It was. And it was all I could afford, Paul. I bought it at the border for less than a hundred dollars.”

Somehow he could not really imagine Nat without money, Nat not in the most glittering of hotels, the finest of restaurants. But there was no doubting her sincerity right now. He said, “How much money have you?”

“Exactly three dollars and seventeen cents,” she said.

Knox said, “My Lord, you stayed at that flea trap in La Cruz because you had to!”

“Yes, it was nice using your bath here.”

Knox strode to the bedroom and opened one of his suitcases. It was especially built to carry spare cash. He brought out a good-sized bundle and handed it to her. Their eyes met. He said, “It’s a loan.”

“If I ever pay you back, it’ll be out of profits of the kind you don’t like.”

“We’ll discuss that when the time comes. Right now, let’s say you’re being paid by me to help me. I need you in on this.”

“Do you, Paul?” She was off the divan and standing close to him.

“If I didn’t, don’t you think I’d ship you as far away as I could manage?”

She looked demure. “Thank you, Paul.” The bundle of bills was clutched in her hand tightly. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him lightly. “You’re sleepy.”

“Yes,” Knox said, “and I’m going to bed.” He marched into the bedroom, crawled under the covers, and was asleep before she could get the lights out. She took the other bed and lay awake staring into the darkness, listening to his breathing. When she did fall asleep, the money was still in her hand, held tightly.