He looked up at me.
'Are you having trouble with Timoteo?'
'Up on the legs and dust.'
'Because if you are I can fix it. That's why I'm here.'
'Is it I thought you were here to take care of the security.'
'That and Timoteo.'
Then I remembered what Savanto had said.
I sat down on the opposite bench. I thought for a moment, then shrugged.
'I guess I'm having trouble with him,' I said. 'He doesn't want to shoot.'
'Okay. Why didn't you say so? I'll fix it.'
The confidence in his voice made me stare at him.
'I didn't ask you to fix it. What's the matter with him?'
Raimundo sneered.
'Just a big yellow streak . . . that's all. You and Mrs. Benson have now been with him since 06.00. He has fired off only two shots. Okay, now I'll talk to him.'
'What do you tell him?'
A sneering smile showed his white teeth.
'That's between Timoteo and myself, soldier.'
'I'll talk to him first. This morning he was so jumpy he couldn't even hold the rifle. He's had time to calm down. I'll talk to him. If it doesn't work, then you talk to him.'
'Okay. I'll give you two hours.'
'You'll give me nothing! I'll tell you when to talk to him . . . understand?'
He regarded me with a sneering pity that tempted me to hit him.
'Man ! Do you sound off ! Maybe, instead of talking to him, I'd better talk to you.' He sat back and stabbed his forefinger in my direction. 'You don't know it yet, but you're in a jam. You've got to deliver or else. What you have to get into your thick skull is this set-up isn't a game. That yellow slob has got to shoot and it's your job to make him shoot ! If you flop, then you'll not only lose the money Mr. Savanto's promised you, but you will be in personal trouble ! '
I felt blood rush to my face.
'Are you threatening me?'
'No. I don't threaten anyone . . . I deliver messages.' He stared at me with his bleak, black eyes. 'That's the message Mr. Savanto told me to deliver to you. Remember this : this isn't a game. You're being well paid. You deliver or you'll be in trouble.' He stood up. 'Don't bust an artery over me. I'm just the messenger boy.' He balanced himself on his feet, his hands hanging loosely and I could see he was ready to take and to give a punch. 'You got the message, soldier?'
'Get my phone connected.' I said. 'I'll talk to Savanto. I'm going to tell him I want you off the scene.'
He grinned.
'Wouldn't you like that? If he isn't shooting by 16.00, I'll talk to him.'
He walked off. When he was some fifty yards from me, he began to sing. With his looks and his voice he was a TV natural.
* * *
I found Timoteo sitting under a palm tree, staring out to sea. His long legs were drawn up so that his chin was resting on his knees; his big hands hung slackly between his drawn-up legs.
I paused to watch him. I stood there in the hot sun for perhaps a minute. During that time, he didn't move. He looked as if he were in a trance.
So I had to teach this zombie to shoot ! In the past, I had had some crummy material through my hands, but none so crummy as this sad sack.
I had promised Lucy I would handle him with kid gloves. My instinct was to kick him to his feet and then kick him to the gallery. I waited another minute while I mentally put on my kid gloves, then I approached him. It wasn't until my shadow fell across his big feet that he became aware I was with him.
He reacted as if someone had goosed him with a hot iron. He sprang to his feet and looked around in panic for a way of escape.
'Hi, Tim,' I said. 'Sorry if I startled you. You were miles away.'
He was wearing the sun goggles again. I had to restrain myself from jerking them off his face and smashing them.
'For the love of mike, sit down.' I grinned at him. 'The way you act, I'm beginning to think you don't like me.'
I sat in the shade. He still stood there, looking as if he were going to bolt, the vein in his temple pounding.
'Can't you sit down?'
He gulped, hesitated, then slowly and reluctantly folded himself about five feet from me. He drew up his long legs and stared fixedly out to sea.
