King Rat

It had taken minutes for the others to lift the stump and pull his numbed arm free and lay him on the earth, his blood weeping into swamp-ooze—the flies and bugs and insects swarming, frantic with the bloodsweet-smell. The wound was six inches long and two wide and deep in parts. They had pulled out most of the root daggers from the wound and poured water over it and cleaned it as best they could. They had put on a tourniquet, then fought the tree stump onto the trailer and labored it home to Changi. He had walked beside the trailer, faint with nausea.

Dr. Kennedy had looked at the wound and doused it with iodine while Steven held his good hand and he was starched with pain. Next the doctor had put a little zinc ointment on part of the wound, and grease on the rest to stop the clotting blood from melding with the dressing. Then the doctor had bandaged the arm.

“You’re bloody lucky, Marlowe,” he had said. “No bones broken and the muscles are undamaged. More or less just a flesh wound. Come back in a couple of days and we’ll take another look at it.”

The King looked up sharply from the cards as Max hurried into the hut.

“Trouble,” Max said, his voice low and strained. “Grey’s just left the hospital, heading this way.”

“Keep him tailed, Max. Better send Dino.”

“Okay.” Max hurried out.

“What do you think, Peter?”

“If Grey’s out of the hospital, he must know something’s up.”

“He knows, all right.”

“What?”

“Sure. He has a stoolie in the hut.”

“My God. Are you sure?”

“Yes. And I know who.”

The King put a black four on a red five and the red five on a black six and cleared another ace.

“Who is it?”

“I’m not telling you, Peter.” The King smiled hard. “Better you don’t know. But Grey has a man here.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. Yet. Maybe later I’ll feed him to the rats.” Then the King smiled and changed the subject. “Now the Farm was one helluva’n idea, wasn’t it?”

Peter Marlowe wondered what he would do if he knew who it was. He knew that Yoshima had a plant too, somewhere in the camp, the one who gave old Daven away, the one who had not been caught yet, who was still unknown—the one who was looking for the bottled radio right now. He thought the King was wise to conceal the knowledge, then there would be no slip-up, and he did not resent that the King did not tell him who it was. But even so, he examined possibilities.

“Do you really think,” he asked, “that the—meat’ll be all right?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” the King said. “Whole idea’s sickening when you think about it. But—and it’s a big but—business is business. With the twist we got, it’s a genius idea!”

Peter Marlowe smiled and forgot the hurt of his arm. “Don’t forget. I get the first leg.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No.”

The King laughed. “You wouldn’t hold out on your buddy?”

“I’ll tell you when delivery’s made.”

“When it comes right down to it, meat’s meat and food’s food. Take the dog, for instance.”

“I saw Hawkins a day or so ago.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I certainly didn’t want to say anything and he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“He’s on the ball, that guy. What’s over’s over.” Then the King said uneasily, tossing the cards on the table, “I wish Shagata’d get here.”

Tex peered through the window. “Hey!”

“Yeah.”

“Timsen says the owner’s getting panicky. How long you going to wait?”

“I’ll go see him.” The King slipped out of the window and whispered, “You watch the shop, Peter. I won’t be far away.”

“All right,” Peter Marlowe said. He picked up the cards and began to shuffle them, shuddering as the ache rose and fell and rose again.

The King kept to the shadows, feeling many eyes on him. Some were the eyes of his guards and the rest were alien and hostile. When he found Timsen, the Aussie was in a sweat.

“Hey, cobber. I can’t keep him here forever.”

“Where is he?”

“When your contact arrives, I produce him. That’s the deal. He ain’t far away.”

“You better keep your eye on him. You don’t want him knocked off, do you?”

“You stick to your end, I’ll stick to mine. He’s well guarded.” Timsen sucked on his Kooa, then passed it over to the King, who took a drag.

“Thanks.” The King nodded up towards the jail wall, east. “You know about them?”

“’Course.” The Aussie laughed. “Tell you another thing. Grey’s on his way down here right now. Whole area’s lousy with cops and bushwhackers. I know of one Aussie gang, and I hear there’s another that’s got wind of the deal. But my cobbers’ve got the area taped. Soon as we get the money, you get the diamond.”

“We’ll give the guard another ten minutes. If he doesn’t arrive then we’ll plan again. Same plan, different details.”

“Right, mate. I’ll see you after grub tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope it’s tonight.”

But it was not that night. They waited, and still Shagata did not arrive, so the King called off the operation.