“No, not hateful. I wouldn’t like you to call me that. Not after the nights I’ve given up to you. You can’t say that. It’s because it’s the truth and it annoys you. Be honest, isn’t that right?”
He drew a deep breath. “All right, it does more than annoy me, it hurts. For God’s sake, can’t we stop this awful bickering?”
“I’m sorry.” She finished the drink Manuel had given her. “Tell him to give me another. It’s terribly, terribly dangerous stuff, but I don’t care.”
Harry signed to Manuel, who smiled. If she wanted another, it must be all right.
They didn’t say anything to each other until Manuel had brought the drinks, and then, when he had gone away, Harry said: “He’s a genius for finding new drinks. Will you thank him very nicely when we go?”
She sipped the drink, pulling a little face. “Yes, I will thank him. I’ll be very, very nice to everyone you like, including your wife and your daughter. There, I can’t do more than that, can I?”
He felt the evening couldn’t go on any longer like this. It was absurd that she should dominate him. He was determined to get things back to normal.
“Listen,” he said, “are you going to say bitchy things all the evening?”
Her eyes opened a trifle. “Am I?”
“It’s no use going on like this. Tell me. Get it off your mind, then perhaps we can forget about it.”
“Forget about what? Mrs. Harry Garner and Miss Garner? They’d be very difficult to forget.”
“Four months ago you said they didn’t matter,” Harry said, determined to keep his temper. “You said you understood my position and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind; I know you didn’t. Why this sudden change?”
She didn’t like this direct approach. “Harry, do you think if I fell in love with a woman I should be any happier?”
“No, you can’t side-track like that. You don’t mean anything by that. You’re just gaining time.”
“No, honestly. I’ve wondered. Women can be so much more understanding.”
Three people came up to the bar and ordered drinks. They stood close to Harry and the girl. One of them was a tall, flat-chested girl with a serious expression on her face. She wore heavy, horn-rim glasses. The other two were middle-aged men.
One of the men said, “Manuel, you’re looking pretty good tonight.”
Manuel pushed a bottle of Canadian Rye across the polished wood. He said: “Yes, sir, I’m feeling pretty good. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
The man turned to the serious-looking girl. “I like this place. They give you the bottle and let you get tight, fast or slow, just as you feel. There’s no waiting to be served.”
The serious-looking girl said: “That’s fine, because I want to get tight very fast tonight.”
Harry said: “Let’s go. I can’t talk to you here. Let’s go back to the apartment.”
She shook her head. “No, not tonight. I’m feeling nervy. We should only quarrel. Not tonight.”
He hid his disappointment. “Well, let’s go, anyway. I’ll see you home.”
He gave Manuel some money and she smiled at him. “Your drink’s been a big success. Mr. Garner says you’re a genius.”
Manuel showed his surprise. He said good night rather stiffly. He felt somehow that she had insulted him.
The two of them walked out into the bustle of the street. He noticed that she was just a little drunk; it gave him hope.
“Let me come back with you,” he said, “I have a lot to say to you.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She sounded very final.
He raised his hand to signal a cab.
“No,” she said, “I’m much too tired. We’ll walk.”
THE GENERAL DIES IN BED
It all happened so quickly he hadn’t any chance of making plans. They had come to him and offered him three hundred dollars to give Pedro de Babar the heat. Three hundred dollars! They were crazy! Well, he’d got them up to five hundred and there they stuck. When he found they wouldn’t give any more, he agreed. He knew once he had given it to de Babar he’d have to get out of Cuba. That didn’t worry him. He was sick of Cuba, anyway.
In the afternoon he went up to de Babar’s bungalow with the intention of having a look round. It was a nice place, fitting for a General of the Cuban War Department to live in.
The big garden that surrounded the one-storied building flamed with colours. Palm trees bent graceful heads against the blue of the sky. The place was so nice that the boy was violently envious. He would have liked to have been a devastating god with powers to destroy by a wave of his hand.
The heat of the afternoon sun had driven the guards to shelter. The boy could see no one as he made his way cautiously towards the bungalow. So he went on, until he came to a little path leading to the back of the building.
He moved soundlessly, beads of sweat running down his yellow-white skin. He was not frightened for himself, only that he might make some mistake that would prevent him from killing the General. He reached the bungalow and began walking slowly along the wall, glancing into the windows.
That was how it happened. He looked through the window and saw the woman and de Babar on the bed. He couldn’t see very much of the woman. She stared up at the dirty white ceiling, her eyes very wide. He could see she was chewing her bottom lip, and every now and then she would toss her head from side to side on the pillow. As he stood watching, she suddenly shut her eyes and began to drum on the bed with her heels.
He could only see the back of the General’s head and his bull neck, creasing into three great rolls of fat. He could see the sweat running down behind the big fleshy ears, and the slow movement of the gross body.
Without thinking, the boy pulled the blunt-nosed automatic from inside his coat. He did not hesitate. Perhaps such an opportunity would never come his way again. The General was helpless. There was no one to protect him, and he would have to take his chance of getting away.
He hooked his fingers under the window and pushed it up. As it went up, it made a little grating noise. The General heard it. He moved his head languidly and looked over his shoulder.
The boy smiled at him. He thought it was very, very funny to kill the General like this. He wondered if any other man had ever been killed doing what the General was doing. He leant a little way into the room and brought the automatic up.
The General looked at the automatic. He remained very still. The blood congestion of his face gradually faded, leaving the pock-marked flesh a greenish white.
The woman said urgently, “Go on—go on—why do you stop?”
The General didn’t say anything. He couldn’t do anything. He just stared with hot intent eyes at the gun. He was in a hell of a jam.
The woman opened her eyes. “What is it?” she said. Her voice was unsteady, as if she were out of breath. “What is it?” She looked across at the window.
The boy smiled at her too. The shock of seeing him there with the gun was so great that the blood even went away from her lips. She looked as if she were going to die.
The boy squeezed the trigger gently. He would have liked to delay the shooting longer, because these two did really look very ridiculous, but any moment the guards might come. The gun went off with a sharp crack just as the General began to move away from the woman. The heavy bullet smashed the side of his skull. He flopped on the woman, pinning her flat.
The boy leant further into the room. She had seen him. It wouldn’t be safe to leave her. She made no attempt to move. She lay still, the blood from the General’s wound running on to her cheek and neck. It was all so horrible for her that she wanted to die. There wasn’t much to aim at, but the boy didn’t have to fire a third time.
It was a great pity that he had to wait to kill the woman, because the guard, turning out on the first shot, saw him; and although the boy managed to get away, they knew who to look for and it made it very difficult for the boy to get down to the harbour where a boat waited to take him across the Straits.
By nightfall the search had intensified. They had no intentions of letting him get away. He had spent the
