‘Mr. Heenan, I believe you.’
‘ ‘Cause it’s the truth.’
‘Of course. And your manner is so open and above-board.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. When is this robbery to take place?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Some time soon.’
Baron got to his feet. ‘Very well. I am grateful, Mr. Heenan, and once this robbery has come to pass, you can be sure I will express my gratitude in cash. In the meantime, I’ll be happy to have you as my houseguest.’
‘Not me,’ said the Irishman, getting abruptly to his feet. ‘I want to be off this island when they get here.’
‘No.’ Baron said to Steuber, ‘Find Mr. Heenan a quiet room in the other building.’
‘You can’t do this,’ said the Irishman.
3
THE island glowed like a stage-set in the Hollywood Bowl, surrounded by the darkness of the sea. Grofield sat in the boat slowly turning towards the piers, and as he stared at the island the background music around his head was harsh, strident, violent. This was the eighth day. Tonight it was going to happen.
Salsa was seated to his right, silent, calm, imperturbable, smoking a little cigar. They were both in black suits and ties, the suits tailored not to show the guns stowed beneath them.
It was a Saturday night, with the island at its most crowded. Boats choked the approach to the piers, bobbing at anchor, many containing private parties, spreading out over the black sea yellow lights and the sounds of laughter. People called from boat to boat, waving, laughing, not fully able to understand one another. Dinghies pulled in towards shore or back towards the boats, dark-suited men at the oars and bright-eyed bright-gowned women sitting facing them. Many of them laughed and waved at Grofield and the others in the new boatload threading through the earlier arrivals towards the pier.
Ashore, groups and couples clustered throughout the rock garden or strolled out onto the piers arm in arm. A dance band had been set up Friday and Saturday nights only in a cleared space on the right side of the main building, with a grassy open area under the sky for a dance floor. The waltz music, very schmaltzy, floated out over everything else, uniting all the sights and sounds, combining them into a cohesive whole. Beneath the music the people moved, on the boats and on the piers, amid the rock garden, slowly in the dancing space, in and out of the doors of the main casino, and to and from the cockpit at the back. Above, the sky was black, dead black, pinholed with stars. It was the night of the new moon, and the sky looked wrong, out of kilter, with no moon in it.
Grofield said, ‘The last days of Pompeii.’
Salsa turned his head. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing. I expect the ground to open up, flames come shooting out.’
What he didn’t expect was for Salsa to understand him. But Salsa grinned and said, ‘It reminds me very much of places the ladies used to take me.’
It always surprised Grofield that Salsa was unembarrassed about having been once a gigolo. Grofield couldn’t imagine what that must be like; some time, he’d like to talk to Salsa about it.
The boat bumped against the pier, bumped again, and stopped. Grofield and Salsa joined the others going up the steps. They moved slowly through the people, along the path towards the casino. Along the way they picked up their usual tails.
There were four of them, and Grofield had named them. The meek-looking one in the blue-grey suit and the steel-rimmed spectacles was Walter Mitty. The short one with the crewcut and the military bearing and the severe expression was Giggles. The lanky red-haired one with the freckles, his tie askew, was Casey, Crime Photographer. And the stocky balding one in the brown suit was Friar Tuck.
They were on the island every night, already in place when Grofield and Salsa got there, Grofield knew they were Feds because at one time or another they’d all been on his tail ashore. Usually, Walter Mitty and Giggles followed Salsa around the island while Casey and Friar Tuck hung around Grofield, but now and again they switched it around, probably to relieve the boredom.
Tonight they stuck to the regular dispersement. When Salsa went off around the casino towards the cockpit Salsa really dug cockfighting and Grofield couldn’t figure out why Walter Mitty and Giggles went right along with him. Grofield, followed by Casey and Friar Tuck, went into the main building and stopped first in the dining room. One thing he could say about this place, they had good food.
After dinner Casey and Friar Tuck at a table between him and the door he spent a while, as usual, in the casino, dropping most of his losings at the roulette table but giving some of the other games a play as well. Around nine-thirty Baron came out of his secret door and went over to talk to the cashier about something and then went back through his secret door again, and both times he created the stir among the newcomer customers these entrances and exits always inspired. Grofield had been baffled by the door at first what kind of secret was that? but finally decided it was just a public relations gimmick. Too bad Baron didn’t look more like George Raft and less like Sly Sam the Used Car Man.
At ten o’clock Grofield went into the men’s room, turned around, and was going back out just as Casey was coming in. They bumped into one another, accidentally, and Grofield’s elbow pumped, his rigid hand drove fingers- first twice into the pit of Casey’s stomach. In the press around the door, men constantly on the move in both directions, the action couldn’t be seen. Grofield moved on as behind him Casey doubled over and began to retch.
He had a minimum of two minutes before Casey would have his wind, his balance, and his stomach back. He moved fast now, going by Friar Tuck, who was waiting in the main hallway outside, just as he had every other time in the past. Grofield gave Friar Tuck a guilty sidelong glance as he hurried by, and then gave him a second one because Friar Tuck hadn’t noticed the first. But he got the second, looked around, didn’t see Casey, and took off after Grofield, who was leaving the building.
Grofield went around towards the cockpit at almost a run, brushing by the other people on the path. When he got to the cockpit he kept going, and around behind it there was less light and no people. Grofield stopped, leaning
