Twenty Blue Devils

something more.

'Rudy,” John began, “we've been—'

Nelson cut in, shrill and excited. “Where did all that money go, Rudy? What was it for?'

John almost laughed aloud. Good old Nelson and his delicate touch.

But it brought results. Although Rudy at first swelled himself up to protest, he changed his mind and decided to give it up before the first word was out. He looked stolidly, almost wistfully, at them for a moment— how could you ever hope to understand? he seemed to be thinking—then turned sadly away from them and walked to an open window, leaning on a built-in cupboard and staring out across the harbor toward the two sleek, gray missile cruisers tied up at the French naval base at Fare Ute.

'It's a long story,” he said.

Here it comes, John thought. He's cooking it up right now. I can practically see the gears turning. It was all Brian's fault, he's going to say. It was all Tari's fault. Anybody who was dead and couldn't speak for himself.

But John wasn't even close. When Rudy turned back to face them he spoke only two words and they had nothing to do with Brian or Tari.

'Don't move,” he said.

He was standing about eight feet from them, no longer even remotely wistful, and in his right hand was an object shaped something like a snub-nosed revolver, like a .38-caliber Police Special, in fact, but made of gaudy orange-and-black plastic. John would have taken it for a clumsy Halloween toy except for the strip of black plastic that jutted down from the base of the grip and held a row of three red cylinders that looked convincingly like twelve-gauge shotgun shells. From where he stood John was uncomfortably able to look straight up the stubby barrel and see that a fourth shell was already chambered. With his thumb Rudy slowly cocked the hammer.

'Now what the hell is that supposed to be?” John said.

'It's a flare pistol,” Rudy said. “At least I think it is.'

'You can't hurt anybody with a flare pistol,” John said, wishing he believed it. “They have to meet safety specs.'

'Do they? Well, we can find out easily enough. Who wants to be the guinea pig?'

'You killed Tari, didn't you?” Nelson demanded. “He found out what you were doing.'

John looked at him with something like pride. Nelson had more than his share of faults, but lack of gumption wasn't one of them.

Rudy moved the pistol slightly, so that it was directed more at Nelson than at John. That gave Nelson his chance to look up the barrel and now he quailed visibly, for which John couldn't blame him.

Scared or not, Nelson didn't back down. “You...you wouldn't kill us,” he said, not quite bringing off the intended sneer.

'Wouldn't I now?” Rudy said. “Let me assure you, Nelson, that underneath this feeble exterior lies a tremendous absence of moral character.'

It was the sort of wry crack he might have tossed off at a cupping session, and delivered in much the same tone of voice. He's not panicky, John thought. He's in control, he knows what he wants.

'What do you want, Rudy?” he said.

'I want out,” Rudy said. “Nelson, come here.'

'No!” said Nelson, white and trembling.

The gun swung around to him again. Rudy extended his arm, took dead aim at his nose. “Nelson, come here!' Nelson moved a reluctant step forward and stopped. “Why?'

'Because you and I are leaving. And John will just stay there like a good little fellow and not say peep while we climb into the van and get on our way. Otherwise...well.'

Nelson licked his lips but stood his place. “How do I know you won't kill me anyway?” He was barely able to get it out.

The question, a pretty sensible one from John's point of view, seemed to irritate Rudy. “Oh, for God's sake, Nelson—'

'Rudy, what's the point?” John said. “You know you can't get off the island.'

'Of course I can get off the island.'

And of course he could. There were a thousand places along the shore from which boats could leave and find their way to just about anywhere in the Pacific.

'John,” Rudy said, “you'd better tell him to come here. You know I mean business.'

'Go ahead, Nelson,” John said.

'Backward,” said Rudy.

Nelson shuffled backward toward him. His frightened glance met John's once, then dropped miserably to the floor. Rudy put a hand on his shoulder to halt him and moved up closer behind him and a little to the side, the pistol digging into Nelson's hip.

'Now, John,” Rudy said, “we'll be leaving. Move away from the door. Sideways. Lie down over by the wheel, on your face. And stay there, John. I warn you.'

'No, I don't think so, Rudy.'

Rudy's face twitched. So did the hand with the gun. That shook him up, John thought. Great, now both of us