'That's Mrs. Benson.' I gave him the hard eye. 'What things have you brought?'
'The works: the rifle, ammunition, food, booze. I haven't missed a trick.'
'What do you mean . . . food? We're capable of buying our own food.'
His grin became sly. 'You don't have to . . . it's all here with Mr. Savanto's compliments.'
He turned to his companion who was standing indifferently by the truck.
'Hey, Nick, get the stuff unloaded.' He turned to me. 'Is that the shooting range over there? We'll unload the ammunition there if it's okay with you.'
I hesitated, then shrugged. If Savanto wanted it this way, he was the boss and it would save me money.
'Where's Timoteo?'
'He's on his way. He'll be here any minute. Have you somewhere we can pitch a tent? Me and Nick won't bother you. We have our own food. Nick knows how to take care of me.' Again the wide grin. 'Just say where we can be out of your way and that's where we'll be.'
'What are you going to do around here?'
'Security. We'll wander around out of sight. If anyone comes here, we'll ease him off. No rough stuff, Mr. Benson. All done with charm. That's what Mr. Savanto said and what Mr. Savanto says goes.'
I pointed to some distant palm trees: over five hundred yards from the bungalow.
'Anywhere beyond those trees.'
'Okay. I'll give Nick a hand.'
He strolled over to the truck. I returned to the bungalow. I had an
itchy feeling down my spine: the feeling I used to get in the jungle when I was sure one of the Vietcong was moving in my direction. Lucy had come out on to the balcony and was watching.
'Who are they?' she asked when I reached her.
'Two of Savanto's men. They have brought provisions.'
She stared at me.
'Provisions?'
'That's it. Savanto is providing the food so that saves you a shopup.' I looked at my watch. 'Show them where to put the stuff, honey.'
She looked helplessly at me, hesitated, then moved down the steps towards the truck. Both Raimundo and Nick were coming towards her, staggering under the weight of two wooden cases. Raimundo gave her his sexy smile.
'Plenty of good food here, Mrs. Benson,' he said. 'Where do you want it put?'
At this moment I saw the black Cadillac coming up the drive.
'Here he is, honey. I'll leave you to handle this,' and I started across the sand to meet the car as it pulled up.
The driver who looked like a chimpanzee slid out of the car, opened the rear door, then ran around to the boot, opened it and took out a suitcase.
Timoteo Savanto got slowly out of the car and stood awkwardly in the sun as I approached him.
He was wearing a black short-sleeved cotton shirt, black cotton slacks and black rope-soled shoes. He looked like a stork that had fallen in tar. 'Hi, there,' I said and offered my hand.
He ducked his head : his face was anonymous with his eves hidden behind the black goggles. He took my hand in his limp, sweaty clasp and immediately released it.
'Come and see your room,' I said. 'Would you like a cup of coffee?'
'No, thank you. No . . . I've had all I want.' He looked helplessly around.
'I'll show you your room, then let's get over to the range.'
'It doesn't matter about the room. I'm sure it's all right.'
'Fine . . . it is.' I turned to the Chimpanzee. 'Take the hag to the bungalow. Mrs. Benson will show you where to leave it.'
Raimundo and Nick were coming out of the bungalow, having got rid of the two cases.
Raimundo lounged up to me.
'Nice little place you have here, Mr. Benson,' he said chattily.
'The stuff's all delivered.' His eyes took in Timoteo and his smile became an insulting jeer. 'Hi, Mr. Savanto : you all ready for the bangbang act?'
I saw Timoteo cringe and turn red.
I've had to handle lots of smart boys during my time in the Army. I decided to crack down on this hairy know-all right away.
'Get the ammunition and the rifle to the range!' I barked at him, using my Army voice that can carry a quarter of a mile. 'What the hell are you hanging around here for?'
