“You knocked it off the stern. Now I’ll kill you,
“Take it easy,” said Harry. “What the hell you going to kill me about?”
“Give me a gun,” Roberto said to one of the seasick Cubans in Spanish. “Give me a gun quick!”
Harry stood there, never having felt so tall, never having felt so wide, feeling the sweat trickle from under his armpits, feeling it go down his flanks.
“You kill too much,” he heard the seasick Cuban say in Spanish. “You kill the mate. Now you want to kill the captain. Who’s going to get us across?”
“Leave him alone,” said the other. “Kill him when we get over.”
“He knocked the machine gun overboard,” Roberto said.
“We got the money. What you want a machine gun for now? There’s plenty of machine guns in Cuba.”
“I tell you, you make a mistake if you don’t kill him now, I tell you. Give me a gun.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re drunk. Every time you’re drunk you want to kill somebody.”
“Have a drink,” said Harry looking out across the gray swell of the gulf stream where the round red sun was just touching the water. “Watch that. When she goes all the way under it’ll turn bright green.”
“The hell with that,” said the big-faced Cuban. “You think you got away with something.”
“I’ll get you another gun,” said Harry. “They only cost forty-five dollars in Cuba. Take it easy. You’re all right now. There ain’t any coastguard plane going to come now.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Roberto said, looking him over. “You did that on purpose. That’s why you got me to lift on that.”
“You don’t want to kill me,” Harry said. “Who’s going to take you across?”
“I ought to kill you now.”
“Take it easy,” said Harry. “I’m going to look at the engines.”
He opened the hatch, got down in, screwed down the grease cups on the two stuffing boxes, felt of the motors, and with his hand touched the butt of the Thompson gun. Not yet, he thought. No, better not yet. Christ, that was lucky. What the hell difference does it make to Albert when he’s dead? Saves his old woman to bury him. That big-faced bastard. That big- faced murdering bastard. Christ, I’d like to take him now. But I better wait.
He stood up, climbed out and shut the hatch.
“How you doing?” he said to Roberto. He put his hand on the fat shoulder. The big-faced Cuban looked at him and did not say anything.
“Did you see it turn green?” Harry asked.
“The hell with you,” Roberto said. He was drunk but he was suspicious and, like an animal, he knew how wrong something had gone.
“Let me take her a while,” Harry said to the boy at the wheel. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Emilio,” said the boy.
“Go below and you’ll find something to eat,” Harry said. “There’s bread and cornbeef. Make coffee if you want.”
“I don’t want any.”
“I’ll make some later,” Harry said. He sat at the wheel, the binnacle light on now, holding her on the point easily in the light following sea, looking out at the night coming on the water. He had no running lights on.
It would be a pretty night to cross, he thought, a pretty night. Soon as the last of that afterglow is gone I’ve got to work her east. If I don’t, we’ll sight the glare of Havana in another hour. In two, anyway. Soon as he sees the glare it may occur to that son of a bitch to kill me. That was lucky getting rid of that gun. Damn, that was lucky. Wonder what that Marie’s having for supper. I guess she’s plenty worried. I guess she’s too worried to eat. Wonder how much money those bastards have got. Funny they don’t count it. If that ain’t a hell of a way to raise money for a revolution. Cubans are a hell of a people.
That’s a mean boy, that Roberto. I’ll get him tonight. I get him no matter how the rest of it comes out. That won’t help that poor damned Albert though. It made me feel bad to dump him like that. I don’t know what made me think of it.
He lit a cigarette and smoked in the dark.
I’m doing all right, he thought. I’m doing better than I expected. The kid is a kind of nice kid. I wish I could get those other two on the same side. I wish there was some way to bunch them. Well, I’ll have to do the best I can. Easier I can make them take it beforehand the better. Smoother everything goes the better.
“Do you want a sandwich?” the boy asked. “Thanks,” said Harry. “You give one to your partner?”
“He’s drinking. He won’t eat,” the boy said. “What about the others?”
“Seasick,” the boy said.
“It’s a nice night to cross,” Harry said. He noticed the boy did not watch the compass so he kept letting her go off to the east.
“I’d enjoy it,” the boy said. “If it wasn’t for your mate.”
“He was a good fellow,” said Harry. “Did anyone get hurt at the bank?”
“The lawyer. What was his name, Simmons.”
“Get killed?”
“I think so.”
So, thought Harry. Mr. Bee-lips. What the hell did he expect? How could he have thought he wouldn’t get it? That comes from playing at being tough. That comes from being too smart too often. Mr. Bee-lips. Good-byee, Mr. Bee-lips.
“How he come to get killed?”