Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait Страница 2

     “'All by yourself?'

     “She looked too hardboiled for the coy routine. I told her, 'Yeah, it don't take two to swim.'

     “'Isn't it lonely? Don't you miss the newspapers, a radio?'

     “'Do you?'

     “She laughed, a real warm laugh. I mean the laugh was her—the human behind all the beauty and glamour. By this time I was eyeing her openly, making no pretense of not staring at her beauty. After she finished her cigarette she suddenly got up and thanked me for the grub. She let herself over the side gracefully—careful not to get her purse wet—picked up her clothes and bag and waded ashore. She walked around to the other side of the islet, and disappeared behind the low bushes—probably went to sleep. I stretched out on the deck and thought about her—a little. I knew that under all her casual questions she had been pumping me. But she was far too pretty to take seriously.

     “I slept for a couple of hours, even cleaned up the boat, somewhat. I took a swim and considered swimming around to the other side of the dot of sand, but let it go. I got a line out and caught me a good snook. I dived for clams and then broiled the fish. She still hadn't appeared and I wondered if she had taken off...”

     “How?” Hal cut in.

     “I had no idea. Like I had no idea how she'd landed there. Matter of fact, I didn't give that, or anything, much real thinking. I felt it was all a dream. But to get on with my story, I called out, 'Want some supper?'

     “"Thank you very much,' she called back, suddenly standing up from behind the bushes. Maybe she'd been watching me all the time. She was red and oily all over from too much sun. She picked up her things and started to wade out. The tide had come in and about ten feet from shore the water was already up to her shoulders. I said, 'Best you leave your stuff on shore and swim out.'

     “'I'd rather not,' she said, standing there in the water. 'Can't we eat ashore?'

     “Of course I realized her problem. There wasn't anybody to steal her suitcase and clothes—no worry about that—but she couldn't swim out to the Sea Princess and take the gun without getting it wet. I called out, 'The stove is bolted down to the boat.'

     “'Then I must decline your invitation,' she said, and she waded back to the sand. I untied the dink and rowed ashore. She got in without saying a word—carrying all her things. We had a silent supper on the boat, using up the last three bottles of beer I had. I washed the dishes and started a cigar working. Finally she broke the silence by asking, 'What did you do all afternoon?'

     “'Nothing. Sleep and think.'

     “'What were you thinking about?'

     “'I don't know, anything that came to mind,' I said, wondering where this bright conversation was heading for.

     “'Like a bump on a log.'

     “'Could be. Something special I should have been thinking about?'

     “'Please don't misunderstand: I'm a bump-on-a-log thinker myself. When I was a child I used to crawl into a large old crate in our back yard and dream I was in a castle, a theatre, or wherever I wished to be. And I really was in a castle—until something snapped the spell. But if that something hadn't come up, why I would have remained in my dream castle and it would no longer be a dream. You know what I mean?'

     “'I'm not sure,' I said.

     “'It's not hard to do, once you achieve the balance. That's the big thing: the very delicate balance between thought and reality. For an example, this island is a lovely bit of even sandy beach and very clear water. We could easily imagine we were on a lonely part of Miami Beach, or Atlantic City, Fire Island, or even the beach at Monte Carlo. They are all clean sand, clear water, the sun, and various degrees of quiet. So I sit on the beach of this tiny hunk of sand and as long as I keep the balance, why for all purposes I am on Miami Beach, and I can stay there until a wrong move, a single false thought, destroys the balance, shatters the dream. You see?'

     “'Sure. Especially if the wrong move happens to be a shot from the .45 you're packing.'

     “'There!' she said loudly, jumping up. 'You've broken the spell! That's exactly what I mean: we were talking about sand, sun, water, and Miami Beach. Why spoil it with an ugly thought about guns?'

     “'Because there's plenty of guns in Miami Beach, and also because you've been covering me with that heater in your bag ever since you saw me.'

     “'That's so, but we could ignore it, like we must ignore that this is simply a lousy blob of sand without water, food, or a goddamn comfort! We forget it—that's the secret of daydreaming. We merely pretend this is Laguna Beach instead of an isolated spot of sand—and unless one of us broke the spell, we would be in Laguna Beach.'

     “As I told you, Hal, I figured her for about thirty-three, a long way from kid games. I also knew she wasn't a nut: this was a selling pitch. But I still didn't know what she was putting in the showcase. I said, 'I'll go along with you. Far as I'm concerned we are now dining on a yacht off Cape Cod, or wherever you wish.'

     “'You're making fun of me! Thank you for supper. I'd like to go back to the beach, now.'

     “I pulled the dink in, gave her an old GI blanket. 'You better take this along. The mosquitoes and sand fleas here lack imagination; forget this ain't Venice.'

     “I rowed her ashore and when I returned to the Sea Princess I was full of two thoughts. The first was, I ought to get up sail and get cracking because whoever had put her ashore—or whoever she was carrying the gun against —would probably return. She looked like a big time goon's girl. The other idea was, she was throwing herself at me. I mean, well, I couldn't leave her there to starve— or rather, I didn't want to. You don't get to know a gal pretty as her once in a lifetime. Remember those carbines we won in a crap game?”

     Hal nodded, his questioning eyes impatient.

     “I checked and cleaned 'em, put in clips. I left them within easy reach under a canvas near the engine hatch, and went to sleep. Early the next morning I heard this tapping on the side of the boat. The tide was low and she had walked out, ferrying all her stuff on her head again. She asked could trouble me for breakfast again, added, 'I'll be glad to pay you for it.' Her left arm was up holding the stuff on her head, the right was holding the gun in the purse.

     “'Don't spoil the balance,' I said, kidding her. “'I was a millionaire all last night.'

     “'Then at least let me do the cooking.'

     “She went down to the galley, taking her things with her. I kept calling out, telling her where to find the bread and eggs, but she didn't answer. I figured she was using the head. Finally I looked in and she was punishing a pint she'd found. And when she looked up, saw me, there was a hell of a tough expression on her face. Then she flushed, or maybe it was the cheap gin, said coldly, 'I'm sorry. I needed this—needed it damn badly.'

     “'Okay,' I said. Booze wasn't any stranger to her— she'd killed the pint and didn't look drunk. 'But how about getting the coffee and the last of the eggs working?'

     “She cooked and we ate up on deck, without talking. But she kept watching me, kind of judging me. I knew she was working up to the real pitch. She lit the last of her cigarettes, threw the box over and we both watched it drift out with the tide. She said, 'It's so red, it could be a flower floating in the sea, a rose. About what we were saying last night: do you realize if we play it smart, we can really carry this dream on, make it a reality—forever?'

     “'Slower. You lost me. Play what smart?'

     “'It's quite simple. Let us start with the fact we're alone on this boat. Your eyes have been feeling me up ever since we met, and you'll do for me. Let us suppose I'm Nancy and you're Joe and...'

     “'I'm Mickey.'

     “'... and here we are with nothing holding us back— once we forget everything except ourselves and the boat. The boat will make our dream workable. This lousy hunk of sand is nothing, but there are other islands. Right this second we can pull anchor and head for Cuba. We stock up on food and gas, sail around until we find the right island for us: one where too many nosey people won't spoil our dream, our balance. For the rest of their lives Nancy and Mickey do nothing but take life easy. We can do it hands down if we both keep that balance in mind and remember to think only of the present. Our own little world starts as of now. It hasn't any past—and tomorrow is what we make it. Will you buy that?'

     “'Glad you mentioned buying. What about the dream-busters like food, gas, clothes? Or do we use dream bucks?'

     “She was sitting—as usual—on the suitcase. She stood up, stepped away from it, told me, 'Mickey, open my bag —slowly.' She pointed toward it, and me, with her purse gun. I opened the suitcase. It was packed solid with bills: hundreds, twenties, fifties.

     “'It's our magic carpet, Mickey. If we live modestly, but comfortably, there's enough there to last us from now on. Money won't be our problem, it will be up here.' She touched her blonde head. 'As long as we have sense enough to only think of the present, and that may not be easy all the time, we can make it. In other words, Mickey and Nancy are born as of this second!' She held out her arms.

     “'You mean the three of us: you, me, and your gun?' “She dropped her arms so fast I thought she was set to throw a punch at me. She said, “There you go, spoiling things! You must learn to stop that, if we are to have balance. I mean really stop it, not even a joke or a small wisecrack. You could have sailed away last night, no one made you stay, or come here. I'm not forcing you to live with me, I'm asking. If you say no, that's it. Why must you always bring up my gun?'

     “'Because it's always with us, a part of the present.' “She shrugged. 'You have a couple of rifles under that canvas. And I saw a fighting knife in your cabin. I didn't say anything about them. In time the gun will go—I'll throw it away. In time.'”

     “That's the story, Hal,” I said, nodding at the wall clock as I stood up. “Time and tide, and all that—I have to go. The point is, I bought the dream deal and it's worked ever since. It was kicks seeing you and perhaps we'll run into each other again. But do me one favor. Don't ever ask around about me.”

     “Mickey, I never saw you,” Hal said, following me up and out to the cockpit, his face ready to bust with questions. I didn't say a word but started the Diesels. Hal nodded as he listened to them, said, “Good clean power.”

     Making sure the sail tracks and slides were clear, I started to untie the main sail from the boom, had the halyard ropes ready. I pulled the fenders on board as Hal jumped on the dock without my telling him, and tossed me the bow line. He couldn't hold his curiosity in any longer. As Hal untied the stern line he asked, “Mickey, how long ago was all this?”

     “It wasn't yesterday.”

     “But you're still able to tell it word for word?”

     “Don't put me on the witness stand, Hal. I'd hardly forget something like this, or any of the details.”

     “What happened to the first Sea Princess?”

     “Rammed by a freighter and went down,” I said, lying smoothly. “Good-bye, Hal. Stern line.”

     He threw me the line as he asked, “But Mickey, what happened?”

     “We made Cuba after a rough trip,” I said, and put the wheel over as the Sea Princess pulled away from the dock. I waved at him.

     “But the girl?” he shouted. “Where did she come from? How did she ever get on the island? And the gun and the money? Why was she on the run?”

     The satisfaction I felt at this moment was almost childish. I knew it, yet I was enjoying it to the hilt. As the Sea Princess swung out to the harbor, headed for the channel, I called back, “You want the truth, Harold?”

     “Of course,” he yelled.

     “You forget that balance,” I yelled back.

     He cupped his hands in front of his lips. “Mickey, you said the truth!”

     “Okay,” I shouted back, giving the motors the gun. “This is the truth: I never bothered asking her!”

     I didn't have the nerve to turn around and look at his stunned face.

II

     For the last nine months or so Rose and I had been living in the Cayman Islands, about five hundred miles from Haiti. I went to Cuba for supplies every two months, or to Port-au-Prince, or to Kingston. Of course I could have bought most of what we needed in Georgetown, on Grand Cayman, but Rose was leery of us attracting attention, insisted I go elsewhere.

     It usually took me about a week to make the journey to Haiti, and less to Cuba. I always anchored at night because there was a lot of boat traffic, and also I didn't know the waters well enough to take a chance on lashing the wheel while I got some shut-eye. I had mixed feelings about these little trips. I like to travel so I looked forward to them as a change from our little island, and I was also jittery. Rose would never go along and I was always surprised to find her when I returned, somehow expecting her to vanish as mysteriously as she had appeared. I think in the beginning she had the same feeling about me, that I might be taking off with the money she gave me for supplies. The money was a big problem with us for a time. In fact it took a hurricane to straighten Rose out about me and money. But I left the money with her when I went for supplies and that made me nervous, figuring she might be robbed or killed if anybody else got wind of the dough.

     Now, as I sat by the wheel, waving at beat-up fishing boats, keeping the Sea Princess down to her sailing lines and racing toward Jamaica, I kept thinking about Hal. I'd lied to him. While that grandstand exit of mine was true— I never had asked Rose what she was running from—still, I sure wanted to. Not because I gave much of a damn as to what she had done. I was very fond of Rose and a man likes to know his woman's life almost as well as he knows her body. In time, piecemeal, she had told me much about herself, her childhood... but when it came to how and why she'd been on that two-bit Florida Key, Rose clammed up tight.