I knew then that nothing I could say would make any difference. I had guessed this as soon as I had returned to the verandah, but I had to make a try. I was wasting time.
'Okay,' I said, 'I'll kill him for you, but I'm not taking your money. I walked into this because I thought money was all important. It is important, but not your kind of money. I'll kill him because I want my wife hack.'
Savanto stroked his moustache.
'Any kind of money is important, Mr. Benson,' he said. 'Don't make a hasty decision about the money. Two hundred thousand dollars would change your way of life.' He levered himself to his feet. 'The money will be waiting for you.'
From one of the sheds away from the house the black Cadillac appeared with the chimp-faced driver at the wheel.
'I must go now, Mr. Benson.' He looked directly at me. 'I can leave this business safely in your hands?'
I returned his look, hating him.
'Good. I promise your wife will remain safe. Do what I ask and she will return to you unharmed. You can rely on Raimundo. He will help you. He is as anxious as I am that this business is successfully concluded.'
He walked heavily down the steps to the car. He got in and settled himself, then the car drove away down the narrow road. Behind it, like a ghost, followed a spiral of dust.
As I watched the car disappear, Raimundo came out and walking around me, sat down in the chair Savanto had vacated.
He made to take a cigarette from my pack, then paused.
'Mind if I use one of these?'
I was pretty near flash point, but I held on to myself.
'Use your own goddam cigarettes!' I snarled. 'Don't use mine!'
He got up, went into the house and after a moment or so, came back, smoking. He sat down again, putting a pack of Camels near my pack.
We sat there for a long uneasy minute, then he tossed the cigarette over the verandah rail.
'Feel like a fight, soldier?' he asked.
'What's that mean?'
He got up and walked down the steps into the overgrown garden. He turned, his hands resting on his hips.
'Come on, soldier . . . let's fight.'
I wanted this. I wanted to smash a human face. Lucy was in the front of my mind . . . alone and frightened. I wanted to smash my way out of the trap I had walked into. I wanted to beat and be beaten.
I got to my feet and started down the steps. Raimundo backed away and began to strip off his shirt. I pulled off my shirt and let it drop, then I started towards him.
He was fast as I knew he would be. I got a clip on the side of my head as I came in which warned me he could punch. I jabbed him, but his head wasn't there and I collected a solid bang in the teeth that sent me off balance. He was fast all right and moving around me, bouncing, on balance, able to shoot fast with either hand. I took two more of his punches : one split the skin under my right eye; the other made a graze on my cheek bone, then I nailed him with my right. It had all my weight and hate behind it. It exploded on his jaw and as he started to fall, I saw his eyes roll back. He went down, his head thudding on the sand.
I stood over him, my right fist aching and I waited.
After a moment or so, he opened his eyes, blinked up at me, then with a rueful grin, he got himself to his feet, but his legs were rubbery and he was staggering as he raised his fists.
The punch I had caught him with had taken most of the bile out of me.
'Let's cut it out,' I said. 'Okay?'
'If you want to go on . . . come on !' He took a step forward, then sagged down on his knees. He peered at me, shaking his head to clear it. 'Have you let off enough steam, soldier?'
I caught hold of his arm and hoisted him to his feet. I helped him up the steps on to the verandah and steered him to one of the chairs. He collapsed into it, holding the side of his face. Blood was dripping from the cut under my eye. I sat down, holding my handkerchief against the cut.
We sat there like a couple of dummies for quite a while, then I removed the handkerchief. The cut wasn't bleeding any more. I picked up my pack of cigarettes and offered it to him.
He looked at me, grimaced, then took a cigarette. We lit up.
'If you have to hate someone,' he said, 'I'd rather you hate Carlo than me.'
Carlo came out on to the verandah. There was a bovine grin on his brutish face. He put two whiskies and ice on the table.
'That was a fine punch, Mr. Benson. You want to punch me too?'
I looked at him, then at Raimundo.
'Go ahead,' Raimundo said. 'Hit him. He likes it . . . I don't. Listen, soldier, we have a job to do, but we can't do it if you're still full of steam. So go ahead and hit him if it'll help.'
I looked at the distant sea.
