hands. Christ, I hate him.
Viciously he tore the rubber mats off the floor and the dust made him
cough.
Been to university, makes him think he's something special. The bastard.
I should have fixed him long ago that night at the road bridge I nearly
gave it to him in the dark. Nobody would have known, just a mistake. I
shoulda done it then. I shoulda done it at Port
Reprieve when he ran out across the road to the office block. Big bloody
hero.
Big lover. Bet he had everything he ever wanted, bet his Daddy gave him
all the money he could use. And he looks at you like that, like you
crawled out of rotting meat.
Hendry straightened up and gripped the steering wheel, his jaws chewing
with the strength of his hatred. He stared out of the windscreen.
Shermaine Cartier walked past the front of the truck.
She had a towel and a pink plastic toilet bag in her hand; the pistol
swung against her leg as she moved.
Sergeant Jacque stood up from the cooking fire and moved to intercept
her. They talked, arguing, then Shermaine touched the pistol at her side
and laughed. A worried frown creased Jacque's black face and he shook
his head dubiously. Shermaine laughed again, turned from him and set off
down the road towards the stream. Her hair, caught carelessly at her
neck with a ribbon, hung down her back on to the rose-coloured shirt she
wore and the heavy canvas holster emphasized the unconsciously
provocative swing of her hips. She went out of sight down the steep bank
of the stream.
Wally Hendry chuckled and then licked his lips with the quick-darting
tip of his tongue.
'This is going to make it perfect,' he whispered. 'They couldn't have
done things to Suit me better if they'd spent a week working it out.'
Eagerly he turned back to his search for the diamonds.
Leaning forward he thrust his hand up behind the dashboard of the truck
and it brushed against the bunch of canvas bags that hung from the mass
of concealed wires.
'Come to Uncle Wally.' He jerked them loose and, holding them in his
lap, began checking their contents.
The third bag he opened contained the gem stones.
'Lovely, lovely grub,' he whispered at the dull glint and sparkle in the
depths of the bag. Then he closed the drawstring, stuffed the bag into
the pocket of his battle-jacket and buttoned the flap. He dropped the
bags of industrial diamonds on to the floor and kicked them under the
seat, picked up his rifle and stepped down out of the truck.
Three or four gendarmes looked up curiously at him as he passed the
cooking fires. Hendry rubbed his stomach and pulled a face.
'Too much meat last night!' The gendarme who understood English laughed
and translated into French. They all laughed and one of them called
something in a dialect that Hendry did not understand. They watched him
walk away among the trees.
As soon as he was out of sight of the camp Hendry started to run,
circling back towards the stream.
