I could sell the house and we could rent until I got some kind of work. What kind of work? No kind of work. I could go down to the bank and squeal now and what would I get? Thanks. Sure. Thanks. One bunch of Cuban government bastards cost me my arm shooting at me with a load when they had no need to and another bunch of U. S. ones took my boat. Now I can give up my home and get thanks. No thanks. The hell with it, he thought. I got no choice in it.
He wanted to tell Freddy so there would be someone knew what he was doing. But he couldn’t tell him because Freddy wouldn’t stand for it. He was making good money now. There was nobody much in the daytime, but every night the place was full until two o’clock. Freddy wasn’t in a jam. He knew he wouldn’t stand for it. I have to do it alone, he thought, with that poor bloody Albert. Christ, he looked hungrier than ever down at the dock. There were Conchs that would starve to death before they’d steal all right. Plenty in this town with their bellies hollering right now. But they’d never make a move. They’d just starve a little every day. They started starving when they were born; some of them.
“Listen, Freddy,” he said. “I want a couple of quarts.”
“Of what?”
“Bacardi.”
“O.K.”
“Pull the corks, will you? You know I wanted to charter her to take some Cubans over.”
“That’s what you said.”
“I don’t know when they’ll be going. Maybe tonight. I haven’t heard.”
“She’s ready to go anytime. You’ve got a nice night if you cross tonight.”
“They said something about going fishing this afternoon.”
“She’s got tackle on board if the pelicans haven’t stole it off her.”
“It’s still there.”
“Well, make a good trip,” Freddy said.
“Thanks. Give me another one, will you?”
“Of what?”
“Whiskey.”
“I thought you were drinking Bacardi.”
“I’ll drink that if I get cold going across.”
“You’ll cross with this breeze astern all the way,” said Freddy. “I’d like to cross tonight.”
“It’ll be a pretty night all right. Let me have another, will you?”
Just then in came the tall tourist and his wife.
“If it isn’t my dream man,” she said, and sat down on the stool beside Harry.
He took one look at her and stood up.
“I’ll be back, Freddy,” he said. “I’m going down to the boat in case that party wants to go fishing.”
“Don’t go,” the wife said. “Please don’t go.”
“You’re comical,” Harry said to her and he went out.
Down the street Richard Gordon was on his way to the Bradleys’ big winter home. He was hoping Mrs. Bradley would be alone. She would be. Mrs. Bradley collected writers as well as their books but Richard Gordon did not know this yet. His own wife was on her way home walking along the beach. She had not run into John MacWalsey. Perhaps he would come by the house.
Albert was on board the boat and the gas was loaded.
“I’ll start her up and try how those two cylinders hit,” Harry said. “You got the things stowed?”
“Yes.”
“Cut some baits then.”
“You want a wide bait?”
“That’s right. For tarpon.”
Albert was on the stern cutting baits and Harry was at the wheel warming up the motors when he heard a noise like a motor backfiring. He looked down the street and saw a man come out of the bank. He had a gun in his hand and he came running. Then he was out of sight. Two more men came out carrying leather brief cases and guns in their hands and ran in the same direction. Harry looked at Albert busy cutting baits. The fourth man, the big one, came out of the bank door as he watched, holding a Thompson gun in front of him, and as he backed out of the door the siren in the bank rose in a long breath-holding shriek and Harry saw the gun muzzle jump-jump-jump-jump and heard the bop-bop-bop- bop, small and hollow sounding in the wail of the siren. The man turned and ran, stopping to fire once more at the bank door, and as Albert stood up in the stern saying, “Christ, they’re robbing the bank. Christ, what can we do?” Harry heard the Ford taxi coming out of the side street and saw it careening up onto the dock.
There were three Cubans in the back and one beside the driver.
“Where’s the boat?” yelled one in Spanish.
“There, you fool,” said another.
“That’s not the boat.”
“That’s the captain.”
“Come on. Come on for Christ sake.”
“Get out,” said the Cuban to the driver. “Get your hands up.”
As the driver stood beside the car he put a knife inside his belt and ripping it toward him cut the belt and slit his pants almost to the knee. He yanked the trousers down. “Stand still,” he said. The two Cubans with the valises tossed them into the cockpit of the launch and they all came tumbling aboard.
“Geta going,” said one. The big one with the machine gun poked it into Harry’s back.
“Come on, Cappie,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Take it easy,” said Harry. “Point that someplace else.”
“Cast off those lines,” the big one said. “You!” to Albert.
“Wait a minute,” Albert said. “Don’t start her. These are the bank robbers.”
The biggest Cuban turned and swung the Thompson gun and held it on Albert. “Hey, don’t! Don’t!” Albert said. “Don’t!”