Vulture is a Patient Bird

"What's Mainville like?" Gaye asked, laying down her knife and fork.

Ken grinned. "A horse and buggy town. I have the camp organized five miles out of town in the bush."

They began eating the veal which they enjoyed. They discussed further details of the operation. Both Gaye and Garry were aware that Fennel had little to say except to grunt over his food and keep looking at Gaye. At the end of the meal, they had coffee while Ken talked. He was an easy and interesting talker and he amused them.

"You'll have fun driving to Mainville," he said. "I won't be going on the highway on the last lap and you'll see game . . . warthogs, Impala, waterbuck, vervet monkeys and so on. I'll give you the dope on them when we see them if you're interested. I was once a game warden on a swank reserve . . . taking people around in a Land Rover to spot game."

"What made you give it up?" Gaye asked. "I should have thought it was a lovely life."

Ken laughed.

"You would, wouldn't you? Nothing the matter with the animals, but the clients finally got me down. You can't expect to go into the bush and just find animals waiting for you. You have to be patient. There are days, especially in this season, when you can drive for miles without seeing a thing. The clients always gripe . . . blaming me. After a couple of years I got fed up with it. There was one client who really bore down on me. Okay, he had no luck. It was the rainy season, and he wanted to photograph a buffalo. He had a thousand dollar bet with a pal back in the States that he would bring the photo back . . . no buffaloes. We drove for hours hunting for them, but no luck, so he took it out on me." Ken grinned. "I hauled off and busted his jaw . . . got eighteen months in jail for it so when I came out, I quit."

Fennel who had been listening impatiently, broke in, "Well, I don't know what you two guys are going to do, but I'm inviting Miss Desmond to come along with me and take a look at the nightspots." He stared directly at Gaye, his face set. "How about it?"

There was a slight pause. Garry looked quickly at Fennel's flushed face and then at Gaye who smiled, completely relaxed.

"That is nice of you, Mr. Fennel, but excuse me. If I'm going to get up so early, I need my sleep." She got to her feet. "Good night. See you all in the morning," and she made her way, followed by male stares, out of the restaurant.

Fennel sat back in his chair, his face pale, his eyes burning. "Some brush-off," he snarled. "Who the hell does she think she is?"

Ken got to his feet.

"I'll fix the bill and then I'm going to bed," and he walked over to the cash desk.

Garry said quietly, "Take it easy. The girl's tired. If you want to go somewhere I'll come with you."

Fennel didn't appear to hear. He sat there, his eyes slightly mad, his face now getting back some colour. He got heavily to his feet and walked out of the restaurant and to the lift. He was shaking with frustrated rage.

All right, you bitch, he was thinking as the lift doors swung open. I'll fix you! Just let me get you alone for ten minutes and I'll fix you so goddamn fast you won't know what's hit you.

He reached his room, slammed the door shut and tore off his clothes. He threw himself down on the bed, his nails biting into the palms of his hands, sweat running down his heavy jowls.

For more than an hour, his lewd mind enacted the things he would do to her when he had her alone, but after a while, the erotic thoughts became exhausted and his mind began to return to normal.

He suddenly remembered what Shalik had said: You will leave Gaye Desmond strictly alone . . . try something like that with Miss Desmond and I promise you Interpol will receive your dossier from me.

How had Shalik found out about the three killings?

Fennel moved uneasily on the bed. He reached for a cigarette, lit it and stared across the room, lit by the revolving sign across the way.

He was suddenly back in Hong Kong, coming off a junk at Wanchai's Fenwick Street pier. He had been on a smuggling trip with three of his Chinese friends. They had unloaded a cargo of opium at Chu Lu Kok Island without any trouble and Fennel had $3,000 in his hip pocket. He was due to fly back to England in ten hours. After being cooped up in the stinking junk for six days, he was in need of a woman.

His Chinese friends had told him where to go. He had walked along Gloucester Road amid rickshaws, the fast moving traffic, the fruit vendors and the crowds of noisy Chinese until he had come to the brothel, recommended.