So there it is, Frazer thought — he actually said it. His ego’s bigger than his discretion, a fatal personality flaw.
‘Look,’ Frazer said, ‘you’ve convinced me. I’m off for Mexico tonight to meet my wife. I’ll take care of your business Monday morning and see you in Houston on the first. Our offices, nine A.M.?’
‘Excellent, I like an early start,’ Lavander agreed, and then, ‘Oh! The check!’
‘On me,’ Frazer insisted and summoned the waitress.
Lavander said goodbye and scurried from the shop. After Frazer had paid the check, he picked up his newspaper and walked outside, tore it in half and dropped it in a waste container.
Hinge had had less than an hour to plan the elimination of Lavander. He had left Eliza’s car and had driven his own Datsun to a dark side Street just off the square, where he parked and got the small bag from the trunk, Inside were a cigar-type blowgun, a hypodermic needle, a small vial of mercury and a double-edged knife in an arm sheath. The knife blade was eight inches long and sharpened on both edges.
Beautiful.
Simple tools for a simple job. In all probability he would not need the dart gun.
No guns. Carrying a gun in Jamaica could be inviting trouble. Besides, this job did not call for bullets.
He strapped the sheathed knife to his left forearm. Then he loaded three drops of mercury in the syringe opening, inserted the needle in the cigar blowgun and put it in his shirt pocket.
Fast and neat, he thought. Nothing complicated. Hit and run. Lavander would be an easy mark. Now to find the spot.
His information on the mark was skimpy and of little value, but he did know that normally Lavander preferred walking to taking cabs particularly over short distances.
Hinge hurriedly measured the distance from the square to the pier, by walking the obvious route first and heading away from the square and down the main street four blocks and then west another two. He arrived at the pier in seven minutes, During the next forty minutes he tracked back to the square, figuring the various combinations Lavander might choose if he tried a short cut. There were few paths he could take. The toughest for Hinge would be if he stuck to the main street. It was fairly well lit and there was a lot of traffic. The others had led him down long narrow side streets through the warehouse district.
By the time Lavander had arrived at the pastry shop, Hinge was waiting across the square. He watched the mini-drama unfold in the shop. He had the advantage on Lavander. Lavander had to cross the square on the way back to the ship, and Hinge, who was between Lavander and the ship, had a good head start when Lavander left.
Hinge first concentrated on Frazer, saw him leave the shop and tear his newspaper in half, throwing it in a litter barrel. With this simple move, Frazer had approved the death of Lavander. Now Hinge began stalking his prey.
Lavander stopped a local and asked for directions. Hinge watched the man, first indicating a route down the main drag, arcing his hand off to the Left, then pointing straight down through the warehouses.
Lavander decided to take the short cut.
Hinge was elated. He hurried down the main street two blocks and cut west to the end of one of the long passages. And he waited.
Lavander was sweating by the time he reached Talisman Way, a narrow, cobblestone alley barely broad enough for two people to pass comfortably, stucco warehouse walls rising on either side, cutting off what light there was. But Lavander could see the lights from the pier at the other end. He started down, Thunder mumbled overhead arid a streak of lightning lit the passage for a second.
He was perhaps halfway down the tunnel-like walk when a man appeared at the other end and started toward him. Lavander felt momentary panic. But ii the dim light at the end of the street, he saw that the man was dressed in a suit and was white, so he assumed he was a tourist. Nevertheless, he quickened his pace. The man coming toward him was whistling.
As they drew closer together the man stopped whistling and said good-naturedly, ‘Hey, pal, how about a little ginja? Best in Jamaica.’
Lavander, his face burning with indignation, turned angrily, looking up at the man. ‘I’m not interested in your damn—’
He never finished the sentence. As he started it he was aware of a blur of movement, a sudden burning sensation in his neck, and his voice seemed to fade and the man was smiling at him, he could see the hard edges of his face, lit from the pier lights spilling into the street, and the man was holding something in front of Lavander’s eyes and Lavander seemed to have trouble focusing, then saw what it was, a stiletto, its thin blade soiled by a splash of blood, and then it was gone and he felt something tug his suit jacket and then the back pocket of his pants and the man was wiggling something else in front of his face and it was Lavander’s wallet, and Lavander felt as though he were in a dream and he could not feel his feet and he was floating and then he tasted salt and the burning sensation in his throat turned to fire. He looked down, saw a bubbling, crimson stain down the front of his white suit, then saw more crimson splashing down, and he realized it was his own blood and he opened his mouth to scream but his windpipe was filled with blood and he grabbed at it and a finger slipped into the slit in his throat.
The ground began to blur, to spin away from him.
He could see his feet, moving one in front of the other, but there was no feeling in them.
Something hit his knees and it was a few moments before he realized he had fallen.
Lavander began to crawl toward the lights, trying to scream, to attract attention, but there wasn’t anybody to hear him and then he felt the edge of the building and he crawled out on to the pavement and looked up and saw the face of a woman and she opened her mouth and seemed to be screaming, only he could hear nothing. He tried to speak, but his teeth started to chatter and for a moment his body was racked with spasms and then his back arched and he fell face down into King Street and died.
At the airport Frazer checked in and confirmed his reservation. Then he walked across the terminal and stood near the public phones. He had been there ten minutes when the first phone in the line rang. He picked it up immediately.
