'Oh, come on, Lucy,' I said a little impatiently. 'There's nothing to get worried about.'
Leaving her, I walked over to the gallery. He was there, the rifle against his shoulder, his face against the shoulder of the gun, his shirt black with sweat. As I came in, he fired again. I looked beyond him at the distant target. He had another set of holes topside of the inner ring. He was still off the bull, but at least he was still grouping.
'Hi, Tim,' I said. 'We've got the answer to your problem. Look at this.'
He started like he had received an electric shock and dropped the rifle. He spun around, gaped at me, flinched, then stepped back where he had no room to step back, cannoned off the shooting rest.
'For God's sake!' I was as startled as he by this exhibition of nerves. 'Can't you relax? Look at this.'
He continued to gape at me, his eyes wild, his expression dazed.
'Your father sent this over. It'll help you more than I can.'
As he still remained paralysed, I picked up the rifle and took it over to one of the benches. I sat down. It took me a couple of minutes to clip on the sight and to screw on the silencer.
I looked at him. He was staring at the rifle like you might stare at a snake that had dropped into your bath.
What a goon ! I thought. To give him time to straighten himself out, I went over to the shooting rest and sighted through the telescopic sight at the target. It was as if I could stretch out my arm and put my finger right on the hull. In my time, I had handled a lot of telescopic sights, but nothing as good as this one.
'Take a look through this, Tim,' I said, turning.
The sight of him as he stood in the dimly lit lean-to set my nerves tingling. He looked as if he had gone out of his mind. There was a wild, crazy look in his eyes: his mouth was working: the muscles in his neck were standing out like knotted ropes and he began hissing through his clenched teeth.
'Hey ! Tim !' I shouted. 'What's the matter?'
He came at me with two quick shuffling strides. I was handicapped by the rifle I was holding. His fist slammed against the side of my head with the force of a steam hammer. My knees buckled, then dimly I saw his fist coming again towards my face. There was nothing I could do about it. I felt the shock, then a white flash of light scorched my eyes, then nothing.
* * *
I became aware of the sound of the sea pounding on the beach. Then I became aware my jaw was aching. The ache reminded me of the fist flashing towards my face. I shook my head, grunted and sat up. This wasn't the first time I had taken a punch, but I couldn't remember taking a harder one.
I looked around. I was on my own. I fingered the swelling on my jaw, winced, then levered myself to my feet.
The rifle with its telescopic sight and its silencer lay on the sand. I looked at it, continued to rub my jaw, coaxing my mind to work.
Then I heard a sound. Raimundo appeared in the doorway. He propped himself up against one of the posts of the lean-to and regarded me. His eyes were bored; a cigarette burned between his fingers.
I picked up the rifle and laid it carefully on one of the benches. 'For a guy who's getting paid fifty thousand bucks, you certainly are some flop,' he said.
'That's right.' I sat down, pushing the rifle along the bench to give me room. 'Yeah, I guess that's fair criticism.' I was still a little dizzy in the head. 'What's with this jerk? Is he crazy?'
Raimundo flicked ash off his cigarette.
'He's nervous.'
'Just nervous, huh?' I tried my teeth carefully with my tongue. None of them seemed loose. 'He's quite a puncher, isn't he?'
'You could call him that.'
'What makes him nervous?'
Raimundo flicked more ash off his cigarette.
'He has his troubles. Don't we all ?'
'He's more than nervous. He has a couple of screws loose and you know it.'
Raimundo shrugged.
'Where is he?'
Nick's taking care of him.'
I rubbed my jaw. It didn't help.
'Get my phone connected. I'm going to talk to his father.'
'I bet.' Raimundo sneered. 'Right now, Mr. Savanto doesn't want to talk to you, soldier. When he does talk to you, he'll want to hear the goon
can shoot. He isn't interested in your problems. He pays. You deliver.'
I got to my feet. 'Then I'll talk to Timoteo.'
Raimundo shook his head.
'You've had your chance. You don't know how to handle him. He doesn't react to the soft approach. From now on, I'm handling him and tell your wife to lay off the palsy-walsy act. You be here at 09.00 tomorrow. Goon will be here, ready to shoot.'
