The Girl, the Gold Watch and Everything (21 page)

"Don't get smart," Rene said, suddenly alert.

"Just trying to work a cramp out of my shoulder," Kirby said humbly.

Raoul spoke in the crude patois of the African port cities. Kirby missed much of it, but he caught the essence. Don't exercise yourself about the clerk type, my friend. He is too weak and scared and helpless to make problems for us.

The helplessness, Kirby realized, was the greatest danger. The gold watch could as easily have been a mile away, for all the good it could do him. Helplessness froze the mind, preventing any kind of creative scheming. It made one believe that Charla would manage to arrange everything just as she wanted it, in spite of the police search, in spite of all the alarms and publicity and public fascination with an amount of money beyond any rational comprehension. And in spite of anything he might do, he would find himself on the
Glorianna
with the crew of five and the three shattered young women. Or perhaps, all impudence gone, Bonny Lee was at this moment falling all over herself in her eagerness to tell Charla about the mysterious powers of the inherited watch. Soon they would come for it, test it. and perhaps quietly and efficiently crack the skulls of everyone connected with the venture and drop them off at the edge of the Gulf Stream, with suitable wires and weights.

The awareness of defeat, the anticipation of defeat, was like a sickness. He had only pride to fight it. This is the time, he thought, when I must become whatever Uncle Omar thought I could become, hoped I could become—or give up completely.

He wondered if Bonny Lee's little car was still out there. It would seem logical that they would leave it behind. It was rather conspicuous. For Charla, Bonny Lee would be a new factor in the equation. But he sensed that Charla adjusted with maximum speed and efficiency to all new factors. He was doubly grateful he had told Bonny Lee about the whole mess he was in. She would be in a better position to anticipate Charla's moves. He hoped Bonny Lee had the good sense to play absolutely dumb. If there was the slightest hint she knew anything of value, Charla would not rest until she had found out what it was—as unpleasantly as possible.

If Bonny Lee's little car was out there, one could assume the keys were in it, as Bonny Lee had known the probable necessity for leaving quickly.

Rene and Raoul were arguing over the play of one hand. Raoul seemed to feel he had been cheated.

"About that twenty-seven million," Kirby said.

They both stared at him. "Yes?"

"It's very boring and uncomfortable just sitting here. Maybe there's some game three could play. For some of the money."

"You've got no money," Rene said. "We took it. We split it. Twelve hundred." The rest of it, Kirby remembered, was tucked under Bonny Lee's mattress.

"I could give you an I.O.U. against the other money."

Rene looked contemptuous. "And the boss would pay us off on your I.O.U. Winter?"

"She wouldn't. I would."

"You won't be doing anything."

Here was the special moment of truth. Defeat was implicit in the length of clothesline around his arms, biting into his flesh. He smiled at the two men. "Don't you wonder a little bit why I'm taking all this so calmly?"

Rene looked mildly uncertain. "You're not like a lot of the jokers the boss has clobbered. I figured you'd try to make a deal with me. I wouldn't buy, even if you did. But maybe I wonder why you don't."

"Deal," said Raoul.

"Shut up. Winter, I don't see how you got any edge at all. Three days aboard and you'd sign over your sister, if she asks you. She'll pick you clean and then she'll keep you for kicks or throw you away, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

"Deal," Raoul said again.

"The best Mrs. O'Rourke can get from me is a partnership deal."

"That's going to surprise hell out of her."

"I expect it to. I've got it all tucked away in photo and thumbprint accounts."

Rene stared at him dubiously. "Thumbprint?"

"They're number accounts, of course, but there's no draw against them except on personal application. Six hundred different accounts in nine different countries, all set up the same way."

Rene thought for a minute. "So if you dropped dead, what's the deal to get it out then?"

"There isn't any. Any time five years passes with no activity in any account, it's automatically closed and the net is delivered to whoever I nominated, whichever person or organization in each case. So I'm no good dead to your boss, and there's nothing she can force out of me that'll give her access to what she wants."

"But she doesn't know this?"

"Not yet. And when she finds out, she's going to have to treat us nicely, we and Miss Farnham and Miss Beaumont, and even Miss Alden."

"What if they haven't been treated so nice already?"

"Then I'll reduce Mrs. O'Rourke's participation, as a sort of penalty for greed and bad manners. You see, my friend, I'm going to end up in pretty good shape—assuming Mrs. O'Rourke is a logical woman."

Rene stared at him with a corrugated brow. "So why hassle with her the way you been doing?"

"Why should I split with anybody? But now that she's won this round, I might as well cut her in. There's enough to go around, I'd say, wouldn't you?"

Rene grinned like a yawning dog. "One half of one twenty-seventh would do me good for the rest of my life."

"I wouldn't gamble for that much. But whatever I did gamble for, I guess you can see I'd be in a position to pay off, if I should lose."

"She say keep tied," Raoul said. "Deal."

"We can keep him tied, Raoul, and still bring him into the game."

"Don't like it," Raoul said.

Rene switched to the rough argot, and reminded Raoul of what he had said about Kirby being no cause for worry, and reminded Raoul that they would be playing the stranger only for money, that they would keep a separate record of winnings and losses to determine who would have the little chicken first. Raoul shrugged his acceptance.

Rene came over and picked Kirby up, chair and all. It was a shocking demonstration of raw power. He set the chair in front of the coffee table. With a flick of the seaman's knife he severed the line around Kirby's arms. With more line he deftly lashed Kirby's left arm to the arm of the chair, put a fairly snug loop around Kirby's throat and tied that to the back of the chair. Though it was pleasant to be released from the previous cramped position, Kirby realized he had gained less than he thought. His right arm was free, but it would be awkward, obvious and too slow to stick his right hand in the trouser pocket and hope to manipulate the watch in time. And even if he did, he would be almost as helpless in the red world. He had learned enough of the behavior of inanimate objects to know that the rope would become like stiff cables.

"All you need is one hand loose," Rene said. He put two hundred dollars in front of Kirby. "You owe me two hundred, pal."

"Want it in writing?"

"I can make you remember it."

"I'd rather put it in writing. Have you got a piece of paper? I think I've got a pen right here." With difficulty he put his hand in the side pocket of his borrowed slacks.

"Hold it!" Rene yelled.

His fingers touched the watch stem and he pressed and turned. The world was a murky red. They were caught in the cessation of time, staring at him. He took the gold watch out. He placed it on the table and tried to undo the knots binding his left arm, but knew he could not budge them. It was a strange impasse. Even if he could get hold of a knife, he doubted that he could saw his way through the rope. Objects had an obdurate toughness in this subjective space where time stood still. The silver hand moved. The gold hands of the watch were motionless at quarter to six.

He knew he would have to set himself up for a better opportunity, but did not know how he could manage it. But the watch would have to be in a more convenient and accessible place, yet without any impression of any blur of movement which would make them suspicious. He suddenly had a reasonable idea, and tucked the watch under his thigh, chain out of sight, stem pointing out. He put his right hand back in his pocket and, through the fabric, reached the stem of the watch with his middle finger and pressed it.

"I thought I had a pen but I guess I don't," he said and slowly took his hand out of his pocket and showed them it was empty.

"We don't need it in writing. Stay away from pockets," Rene said.

"He got nothing on him," Raoul said.

"Neither did that guy had a razor in his hat brim, and he cut you up pretty good," Rene said.

"Shut up and deal."

They agreed on five card stud. Kirby held his own. Raoul lost steadily. He was the eternal optimist, confident the last card would solve all his problems.

"Your friend is very lucky," Kirby said to Raoul.

"Deal."

Kirby licked his lips and said, "And he has very quick hands."

Raoul tensed. He leaned toward Rene, and spoke the argot with a speed Kirby could not hope to follow. Kirby let his right hand fall casually near the watch. He could hope for some small change, some small opening, but did not know what it might be. At the end of his gunfire warning, Raoul slapped a knife down on the table beside him, not within Kirby's reach. Kirby had not seen him take it out or open the blade.

As Rene began protestations of innocence, Kirby thumbed them to murky stillness. He remembered what he had learned from Bonny Lee regarding the behavior of objects in motion. He leaned forward as far as he could. The loop bit painfully into his throat. He could not reach the knife. He took a playing card by one corner and found that by extending it, he could touch the knife. He began to scratch at the knife with the edge of the card, bringing it a millimeter closer each time, pausing to lean back from time to time to take a breath. At last he could grasp it. He released the card and it remained in the air. He took the knife and worried it, point first, blade up, under the double strand that held his left arm to the arm of the chair. When it was in position, he pulled up on it as hard as he could. It made no impression on the strands of line. He brought the watch over and put it in the fingers of his left hand where he could manipulate it as quickly as possible. He pressed, and when the silver hand jumped back to twelve, he turned the stem back immediately. In the instant of reality he heard a loud fragment of one word from Rene and felt a tug at his left arm. Now the knife was two feet above the level of his head. The strands had been sliced and were slightly apart. He peeled them back and freed his left arm. He put the watch in his lap and worked the stiffness out of his left arm. He pushed the loop out and was able to slump in the chair and work it up over his head, not without some further attrition to his bruised nose. He reached up, recaptured the knife and used the same procedure on the line around his legs just above his knees. Before he thumbed the watch stem, he looked at Rene and Raoul. Their glance had swiveled toward him and the first faint indication of astonishment was beginning to change their brute faces.

He worked it more quickly than before, freezing the knife at eye level this time. He peeled the rope back and got up and paced around the room, feeling the familiar drag of the inertia of his clothing, slipping his shoes off after tiring of the effort of moving them about. There were two heavy masonry pots on either side of the fireplace. Whatever had been growing in them had died and withered to naked sticks. With great effort and by degrees he positioned the two pots in midair, and, after estimates of the forces involved, about seven inches above the heads of the two men.

It would not do, he realized, to give the impression of having suddenly disappeared, not in front of two witnesses. So he got back into the chair right in their line of vision, before thumbing the watch stem. His discarded shoes clumped to the floor. The card fluttered down. The knife chunked deeply into a cypress beam overhead. The pots fell, thudded against thick skulls, smashed on the floor. Rene slumped sideways on the couch. Raoul bent slowly forward and bounced his forehead off the coffee table.

As soon as he ascertained they were both breathing, Kirby, profiting by experience, tied them precisely as he had been tied, finding it easier to operate in the brightness of real time, where materials were not as stubborn. Realizing they might untie each other, he added the refinement of the rope loop about the throat, fastening Raoul to an iron eye in the front of the fireplace, and Rene to a sturdy catch at the base of a window across the room.

Wilma was still in the oversized robe, face down across the bed, her head hanging over the edge. She snored rhythmically, insistently, beautifully. After ten minutes of proddings, slappings, pinchings, and an attempt to walk her, he knew that all he could hope to achieve was a temporary interruption of the snoring sound. She was a limp, warm, loose-jointed doll, and the most infuriating thing about the whole procedure was that she seemed to be smiling.

But, with or without her co-operation, he knew he had to get her out of the house. He had already given up more hostages than he could afford. He felt less regard for Wilma, but more responsibility. He pulled the robe off her and tried not to stare at her more than was necessary as he dressed her. Compared with Bonny Lee, as well as the girl on the beach, Wilma seemed to wear extraordinarily practical underthings, opaque and designed for long wear. She kept slipping away, toppling over and picking up the rhythm of the snoring again.

After a few attempts to brush her wild brown hair, he looked in bureau drawers until he found a bright scarf. He put it around her head and knotted it under her chin. He noticed that someone had stepped on her glasses, bending the frames and powdering both lenses. This place was not safe, but he could not think of a place which might be. In any case, he would need money.

Rene stirred as Kirby was recovering the money from his pockets. He opened blurred eyes, shook his head, winced.

"How the hell'd you do that?" he asked weakly.

"I had help."

Rene closed his eyes. "You seem to get it when you need it."