Fast Buck

In the failing light Rico could see the angry red streaks, and the flesh turning blue around the bandage.

The sight horrified him.

‘That’s poisoned,’ he said. ‘Hadn’t you better do something about it?’

‘What the hell do you think I can do, you dope?’ Baird said, exasperated. ‘Keep going, and make it fast!’

Rico continued to paddle. He kept glancing at Baird uneasily. Baird looked bad. Sweat beaded his face and his eyes seemed to have sunk into their sockets. He kept passing his hand across his forehead, and every now and then he swayed as if he were going to topple out of the boat.

‘Bet er lie down,’ Rico said feverishly. ‘You look bad.’

‘Aw, shut up!’ Baird said, but his voice lacked its usual snap. After a moment or so, he did lie down.

Rico was paddling more slowly now. There was a burning ache in his shoulders, and he could feel blisters forming on the palms of his hands. He kept digging the paddle into the water, but their progress was slow.

‘How much farther do you reckon we’ve got to go?’ he asked, after a long silence.

Baird grunted.

‘Another three or four hours at this rate. Can’t you go faster? We want to be miles from the river before dawn.’

Rico made the effort and slightly increased his stroke. He groaned softly to himself. Baird had said they would earn every nickel of that half million. He hadn’t believed him at the time, but he believed him now.

An hour crawled by. Rico was so tired he scarcely did more than make the motions of paddling. The boat moved sluggishly along with the stream. It had become almost dark since the plane had passed, but now Rico was aware of more light, and he could see the outlines of the trees against the night sky. The moon was coming up, he thought thankfully. This drifting in the darkness was beginning to get on his nerves.

He increased his rate of paddling slightly. His hands were so sore it was an effort to hold the paddle tightly. Would this nightmare journey never end? he asked himself. It was too dark to see how Hater was. For all Rico knew Hater might have died. He could hear Baird muttering to himself as he dozed.

How was he going to manage Hater as well as Baird? Rico thought wildly. There was a five-hour car drive to the shooting-lodge yet to be tackled.

Suddenly he imagined he heard a sound, and he stopped paddling to listen, letting the boat drift. Far away he thought he could hear a faint throbbing of an engine. Was the aircraft coming back?

He looked towards the bank, and turned the nose of the boat so that he could get under cover if the plane was returning.

‘Baird! Wake up!’ he cal ed anxiously.

‘What’s the mat er now?’ Baird asked harshly, sit ing up.

‘Listen!’

The pulse in Baird’s head drummed violently, and his arm was a blaze of fire. Cursing softly, he leaned out of the boat, bringing his head close to the water. He picked up the sound that Rico had heard.

‘It’s a motor boat!’ he said, swinging upright. ‘That goddamn plane spot ed us!’

Rico went cold with panic. He began to paddle furiously until Baird snarled at him to stop.

‘We don’t stand a chance of racing them, you fool! Get over to the bank!’

Rico paddled the boat to the bank.

‘Shal we get out?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Baird said. ‘Those boys wil be carrying a machine-gun.’

He hauled himself out of the boat on to the bank, surprised to find how weak his legs were.

‘Get Hater up here, and snap it up.’

Rico struggled with Hater. He managed to get him from the boat to the bank, nearly upsetting the boat as he did so. Baird reached down and dragged Hater to higher ground.

‘Get the Thompson and the Winchester,’ he said. ‘Better bring the suitcase, too.’

Rico floundered up to his knees in the water as he got the guns and case. He climbed up the bank and joined Baird. They lay down in the darkness.

‘The chances are they’l miss the boat in the darkness,’ Baird said, ‘but if they don’t we’ve got to nail them somehow. They’l probably have a radio on board…’ He broke off as a light appeared on the river.

A white motor launch came around the river bend with a big searchlight mounted on the bridge. They could make out three figures on the bridge and two others kneeling in the prow with a machine-gun between them. The light was sweeping both banks, and Baird could see at once that the police couldn’t fail to spot the boat.

‘Split up!’ he said urgently. ‘Quick! You go to the left. Use your gun if they start shooting.’

Bending double he ran from where their boat was moored and took shelter behind a tree.

Rico was too scared to move. He flattened down in the long grass and lay still. His hands covered his head.

The beam of the searchlight crept along the bank, reached the boat and then passed on. For a moment Baird thought they had missed the boat, but as he began to relax he heard someone shout, from the bridge and the searchlight swung around and focused on the boat. There was a clanging of a bell and the motor launch went about in a tight circle.