Fast Buck

Why not leave him here? Baird asked himself. All along Rico had been useless. Now with a broken leg he’d be worse than useless. Baird had already exhausted himself get ing Hater on board. The thought of having to go through that all over again with Rico decided him.

‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘I’l be back. I’ve got to find Hater.’

Rico knew at once he was lying.

‘You can’t leave me like this!’ he cried, half sitting up. ‘I’m bleeding! Baird! You can’t do it!’

‘Aw, shut up!’ Baird said, and staggered back to where he had left the gun and the suitcase.

Rico shouted after him, but Baird didn’t look back. Sure now Baird was going to leave him, Rico started to crawl after him, dragging his broken leg behind him. His body was torn with pain, but somehow he managed to keep moving, digging his fingers into the soft ground to pull himself forward.

‘Baird!’ he shouted. ‘Wait for me!’

Baird looked over his shoulder. He saw Rico crawling after him, and he was tempted to put him out of his misery, but he decided not to risk a shot. The guards might still be near at hand looking for him for all he knew.

He slid down the bank into the water, hoisted the Winchester, then the suitcase on board and heaved himself over the gunwale.

Rico made a desperate effort to increase his speed. He was half out of his mind with pain and fear, and he began to scream at Baird.

‘Come back! Come back!’

Baird dragged himself to the bridge, eased open the throttle and the launch began to edge away from the bank.

Rico pulled out his gun.

‘Come back, Baird!’ he yelled. ‘I’l kil you if you don’t come back!’

Baird spun the wheel and the launch headed out to midstream. Already he was fifty yards or so from the bank. He wasn’t even listening to Rico’s frantic cries.

Rico pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He tried to thumb back the safety-catch, but the gun slipped out of his hands and fell with a splash into the river. He made a frantic effort to save it, overbalanced and toppled over into the shallow water.

His broken leg twisted under him, and for a moment he lost consciousness, engulfed by pain. The water, closing over his head, brought him round, and he struggled to the bank, where he lay half in and half out of the water.

With sick horror, he watched the dim shape of the launch gathering speed and disappearing down the river into the darkness.

He dropped back, sobbing wildly. He could feel blood coming from his wound. In the bright light of the moon he saw the water around him was turning red.

Even then he wouldn’t believe he was going to die. The police would find him, he told himself frantically. Another launch would come in search of the first one, and they would find and save him.

He closed his eyes and began to pray: words coming from his mouth without meaning.

He didn’t see a dark, log-like shape slither down the opposite bank and take to the water. The scent of his blood drifted across the river: it was an irresistible invitation the alligator accepted with alacrity.

The dark silent shape came through the water with surprising speed, only its scaly snout showing; as dangerous and as menacing as the half-hidden periscope of a submarine.

Rico felt a movement of water against his face. He opened his eyes. A few yards away from him he saw a steady ripple on the water that was advancing towards him. He stared at it, wondering what it could be. Pain had dulled his fears. The ripple didn’t frighten him. He watched it, puzzled.

He only realised what it was when it was too late even to cry out.

PART FIVE

I

Rain ran in the gutters and dripped from the trees that lined the broad Roosevelt Boulevard. The street lamps made wet pools on the glistening sidewalk. An occasional car swished past, its headlamps lighting up the driving rain.

Adam Gillis stood under a tree, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his shabby mackintosh, his soggy felt hat pulled down over his eyes.

He didn’t appear to notice the heavy rain or the fact that he was soaked to the skin. He was concentrating on Kile’s house, a big, double-fronted mansion, its lower windows ablaze with light.

They won’t be much longer, he told himself. Nothing like a policeman for getting some fast action. A little too fast, if anything, he thought, as he remembered he had only just left the pay booth and had taken cover in a dark doorway before a couple of prowl boys had arrived. Lieutenant Olin certainly knew his business. He had tried to keep him talking while he had sent his men to pick him up.

When the prowl car had gone, Gillis had taken a taxi to Roosevelt Boulevard hoping to be there in time to see the result of his anonymous call to Olin.

He had had to wait longer than he expected. He wasn’t to know Olin had had difficulty in finding a judge to sign the necessary search warrant at that time of night.

Gillis had twenty minutes to wait in the rain before he saw the red light of a police car coming swiftly up the boulevard.