Hector considered this. ‘How much money do you have?’
‘I have twenty thousand on me. I will give you half whatever happens, because there’s no question in my mind that the person whose money this is would want you to have it. I will give you the other half if you manage to come up with something. I don’t want to put you in any danger, but if you think you can manage it, I’d be very grateful.’
Hector looked away and thought. ‘Okay, I do it. They are not good people.’
‘Believe me, I know this, Hector. We have a deal. You keep an eye out for our return and I’ll make sure you have that money.’
He found the Bird and Gaspar talking beside a Pinzgauer, a German utility vehicle. The Bird was already looking pretty weary but Gaspar was so keen to impress he hadn’t noticed. They all got in and set off down the ridge, following a track into the woods. Gaspar was opening up with unmediated theories about black people, Mexicans, Jews and Arabs then suddenly brought the vehicle to such a shuddering halt that the gun case and metal ammunition box slid from the seat beside Samson. Gaspar, now wearing wrap-around reflective sunglasses, jumped out of the vehicle and jogged to a grassy patch in a clearing thirty paces from the track. ‘You gentlemen need to look at this!’ he called out.
They climbed down reluctantly. In the tall grass, a bear had keeled over on its side and expired. One massive front paw was raised, as if trying to ward off its attacker. ‘Have a guess what killed this sucker?’
‘You?’ said the Bird, quietly.
‘Kind of, yeah! That little plug in the ground you see right there is an M-44 trap. The animal comes along, chews and pulls at the bait, and bang! The spring-powered ejector is triggered and sends a plume of cyanide into the animal’s face. This site right here has killed two bears, a coyote and a bob cat.’ He looked down at the bear. ‘That’s the biggest yet – six hundred pounds or more.’
‘Aren’t these illegal?’ asked Samson, as appalled as the Bird.
‘No sirree! Not if you have contacts in the Wildlife Services Agency. Hell, I’m doing their job for those sons of bitches.’ He made a call to his staff and told them to dispose of the bear and charge the M-44 with a new capsule of poison. Then his eyes followed a movement in a glade dappled with spring sunshine. A deer looked inquisitively in their direction. ‘A Northern white-tail,’ said Gaspar. ‘Go get the gun. May-lek and I can show the general what killing power looks like.’
Samson didn’t move.
‘Didn’t you hear me, May-lek?’
‘It’s Malek, Mr Gaspar, and I did hear you, but that animal will be gone before I return. And we really want to see the accuracy of the Nitro Express on the target you promised us.’
Gaspar wasn’t listening. He had pulled a pistol from his pocket and, seconds later, fired. The deer jumped and tore off, uninjured. Samson caught a look of hatred briefly flood the Bird’s face. ‘Not now,’ he said under his breath as they walked back to the vehicle. ‘Focus on what we came for. There’s been a development. When we get back, delay him for ten minutes inside the house.’
A target had been set up a little way on, but before Gaspar put the gun together he wanted sight of the money and made some show of counting it. They fired the gun with different sizes of ammunition, the longest shells giving a kick twice as powerful as the two-inch ones. The Bird, who, like his brother, was a very good shot, effortlessly blew an almost circular hole with six bullets in the centre of the target. Samson did less well but bettered Gaspar, who reminded them he was selling the gun because of a shoulder injury.
On the way back the Bird said, ‘The second trigger is not quite what it should be, old chap. A bit sticky, wouldn’t you say? Can your gunsmith look at it?’
‘Are you kidding me? It’s in perfect condition, General.’ Gaspar was outraged.
‘Well, it’s just my impression, but otherwise I like the gun. What do you say, Aymen?’
Samson agreed and said he thought it worth the price of $75,000.
Nothing more was heard from Gaspar until they reached the Ridge. He said he would look at the trigger and maybe use a little oil. They’d talk it over inside; maybe the General would like a fine malt whisky he’d opened.
Samson got out, said he’d go back to the car to check something, and headed for the passageway.
He found Hector waiting in the spot, a bag at his feet. ‘I have what you want,’ Hector said.
‘That’s terrific. What did you get?’
‘Razor for the legs and a comb for the hair. In freezer bags.’
‘You got these items pretty quickly. How did you do that?’
‘Martha, the maid, brought them to me. I pay her. It was hard because Mrs Gaspar, she is here.’
‘Gaspar’s wife is here now!’ It was a Thursday. Daus wasn’t meant to be at the Ridge.
Samson looked him in the eye, saw nothing to mistrust and handed him the money.
‘She is with Mr Gaspar and your friend in the den right now.’
‘How do I go back in – through the front?’
‘Ring the bell – someone will come. Maybe Martha.’
He went to the car and locked the two freezer bags and the rest of the money in the glove compartment. He waited for a couple of minutes in the hope that the Bird would extricate himself, but the risk of Mila Daus testing his story was too great to leave it any longer and he went to ring the bell. Within a few seconds a young maid in uniform opened it. She was flushed and darted a look of terror at him. ‘Martha?’ he said quietly. ‘Is she with them?’
She
