'I don't know right now, but I can tell you.'
I offered the rifle to the beanpole. He hesitated, then took it. He held it like you might hold a puff- adder.
'Let's go over to the gallery. I can tell you when I've seen him shoot.'
Savanto, Timoteo and I walked across the sand towards the range. Lucy took the cans back to the bungalow.
Thirty minutes later, the three of us came out into the hot sunshine. Timoteo had fired off forty rounds of my expensive ammunition and had dinned the edge of the target once. The other shots had hummed out to sea.
'Okay, Timoteo,' Savanto said in a cold, flat voice, 'wait for me.'
Timoteo shambled away, reached the car, got in and settled down : a depressed-looking statue.
'Well, Mr. Benson?' Savanto said.
I hesitated. Here was a chance of making a little money, but I had to be honest.
'He hasn't any talent,' I said, 'but that doesn't mean he can't shoot straight if he's carefully coached. With ten lessons under his belt, you'll be surprised how he'll improve.'
'No talent, huh?'
'It might develop.' I was reluctant to kill a possible pupil. 'I can tell you after I've had him a couple of weeks.'
'In nine days, Mr. Benson, he must be as good a shot as you.'
For a moment I thought he was joking, then I realised he wasn't. The flat snake's eyes had become glittering bits of glass.
His lower lip had turned into a thin line. He was serious all right.
'I'm sorry . . . that's impossible,' I said.
'Nine days, Mr. Benson.'
I shook my head, controlling my impatience.
'It's taken me close on fifteen years to shoot well,' I told him, 'and I have talent. I guess I'm a pretty good teacher, but I just don't perform miracles.'
'Let us talk about it, Mr. Benson. It's hot out here. I'm not a young man.' Savanto waved his hand towards our bungalow. 'Let us get in the shade.'
'Why sure, but there's nothing to talk about. We'll just be wasting each other's time.'
He walked off slowly towards the bungalow. I hesitated, then followed him.
The boy would not only never make a good shot, but worse, he hated the feel of a gun. I could tell by the way he handled my rifle and by the way he flinched every time he pulled the trigger. He had held the rifle so loosely, his shoulder must be one black bruise right now from the recoil.
Seeing Savanto coming towards the bungalow, Lucy opened the front door, smiling at him. She had no idea what he had just said and she imagined I was about to sign up my first new pupil.
As I joined him, she said : 'Would you like a beer, Mr. Savanto? You must be thirsty.'
He regarded her, the genial smile back in place and he lifted his hat.
'That is very kind of you, Mrs. Benson : not now; perhaps later.'
I stepped around him, opened the sitting-room door and waved him in. As he entered the room, I patted Lucy's arm.
'I won't be long, honey. You get on with the painting.'
She looked surprised, then nodded and went out into the sunshine. I moved into the room and shut the door, then crossed to the open window and looked out.
Lucy had gone around to the back of the bungalow. The black Cadillac stood in the hot sun. The driver was smoking. Timoteo was sitting motionless, his hands resting on his knees.
I turned around. Savanto had taken off his hat which he laid on the table. He lowered his bulk on to one of the upright chairs we had inherited from Nick Lewis. He looked around the room, slowly and with interest, then he looked at me.
'You don't have much money, Mr. Benson?'
I lit a cigarette, taking my time, then as I flicked out the match flame, I said, 'No, but why bring that up?'
'You have something I can use. I have something you can use,' he said. 'You have talent. I have money.'
I pulled up a chair and sat astride it.
'So?'
'It is vitally important that my son becomes an expert shot in nine days, Mr. Benson. For this I am prepared to pay you six thousand dollars. Half down and half when I am satisfied.'
Six thousand dollars!
Immediately, I thought what we could do with a sum like that.
