Fast Buck

Rico hunched his shoulders. Mosquitoes droned above his head. He was afraid to flap his hands at them in case he upset the boat.

‘What a hole!’ he said, looking at the tal saw-grass on either side of the bank. ‘How can we hope to make a path through that stuff? How the hell are we going to get him away?’

‘We haven’t got him yet,’ Baird said. ‘Keep your voice down. Sounds carry a long way across water.’

Rico grunted and lapsed into silence. As the boat moved slowly up the river, taking him farther into the dense undergrowth and away from civilisation, he regretted still more getting himself mixed up in this crazy, dangerous business.

He noticed a big log of wood, like a tree trunk, floating motionless in the water. Baird suddenly swung the boat’s nose away from it, and slightly increased his speed.

‘Don’t wake that guy up,’ he said. ‘That’s an al igator.’

Rico felt suddenly sick. He gripped the sides of the boat as he stared at the black object that was now in their rear.

‘An al igator?’ he repeated hoarsely. ‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. This river’s lousy with them,’ Baird said indifferently. ‘They’l leave you alone if you leave them alone. It’s crocodiles you have to watch. They’ll charge you on sight.’

Rico gulped.

‘Any around here?’

‘Not likely,’ Baird said. ‘Farther south you might find some, but not here, I guess.’

A big bird rose out of the saw-grass with a tremendous flapping of wings, and climbed above Rico’s head, making him start violently. The boat rocked, and Baird cursed him.

‘Sit still, can’t you?’ he snarled. ‘Do you want to have us over?’

A hundred yards farther on, Baird swung the nose of the boat towards the shore.

‘That is it,’ he said. ‘Mind how you get out. The ground’s like glue along the bank.’

The nose of the boat rammed the bank and sank into it.

‘Get hold of the boat and steady it,’ Baird said.

Rico got out awkwardly. His foot sank up to his ankle in the soft ground. Miserably he held the boat steady while Baird threw their suitcases on to the bank, and then worked his way aft and joined him.

‘Most of the ground near the shore’s like this,’ Baird said, hauling the boat into the saw-grass and picking up the Thompson and his suitcase. ‘Mind you don’t lose a shoe. This stuff pulls like hell.’

He began to walk through the high grass, forcing a passage, pulling one foot after the other out of the swampy ground.

Rico followed as best he could. He felt he was walking through a sea of molasses, and after he had gone a few yards he had sweated right through his clothes.

Baird seemed indifferent to the conditions. He kept on until he reached higher ground, then paused until Rico came panting up.

‘It’s okay here,’ he said. ‘It’s only by the water it’s so soft. Come on, let’s get under cover before these goddamn mosquitoes eat us alive.’

Rico followed him along a path bordered each side by dense thickets of custard apple. He could hear the steady pounding of the dredging machine distinctly now. It sounded close.

After walking some distance through the thicket, they came upon a small wooden cabin in what had once been a clearing, but which was now almost overgrown. Big cypress trees obscured the light around the cabin, but Rico was thankful to be out of the direct sunlight that had been scorching him during the trip up river.

‘This is it,’ Baird said, pushing open the cabin door. ‘Not much of a place, but it’l do. I found it when I came down to look over the ground. I’ve fixed it up pret y wel . There’re mosquito nets, food and all the stuff we want for a couple of days. Come on in and take a look.’

Rico entered the cabin and looked around the one big room.

‘Doesn’t anyone come here?’ he asked uneasily.

Baird shook his head.

‘No. Used to belong to the overseer of the dredging gang, but now they’ve moved up the river, he’s got another place. Noddy said he’d keep an eye on the stuff I left here.’ Baird went over to a pile of canned food, two wooden cases, blankets and mosquito netting stacked in a corner. ‘It seems to be all here.’

‘Noddy?’ Rico repeated. ‘Who’s he?’

Baird pulled a blanket from the pile, tossed it on the floor and sat down on it.

‘The guy who’s helping us,’ he said, looking at Rico, his pale eyes expressionless. ‘Can’t do the job without inside help.’

Rico got himself a blanket and sat down. His head ached from the heat, and his feet felt too big for his shoes. He pulled off his shoes with a grunt of relief, and sat back against the wall, wiping the sweat from his face. Roughing it in a swamp wasn’t his idea of enjoying life, and he thought wistfully of the quiet and luxury of his apartment, the ice drinks and an understanding woman to amuse him. He would gladly have given up his share of the half million if he could turn the clock back and pick up his life again before Zoe died.

‘Noddy,’ he said, looking questioningly at Baird. ‘Who is he? Can we trust him?’