Honey in His Mouth

beach. I really mean that. But we are being followed.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Harsh took hold of her hands in one of his, and the instant he had hold of them, he knew that they would or they wouldn’t and either way it was going to be exciting. Her hands were like warm excited cats.

“Watch out, Mr. Harsh.”

“That’s what I’m gonna do, baby. That’s what—”

Godamighty, there was a car behind! He lifted his head, looked back. The car, coming without lights, was almost on them. With an outcry from locked wheels, it came to a stop. It was a small convertible two-seater sports car which Harsh had seen at Brother’s estate. Mr. Hassam was driving. Brother stood up in the little car and jumped over the side. He had the shotgun in his hands.

Harsh shoved Miss Muirz, hoping to get her out on the driver’s side of the car, so he could leave by the same route. This would put him on the limousine opposite side to Brother, give him a chance for his life, he felt. But she didn’t move, and when he looked over at her he discovered Miss Muirz was holding a revolver, a big thing, a Magnum such as he had seen state patrolmen wearing. Miss Muirz let the gun rest on her knee. It was as ugly as a black hog. Brother jerked open the car door, the shotgun in his other hand. Harsh turned on the seat and brought up his legs and kicked Brother in the face with both feet. Brother fell like a quarter of beef. Harsh slid out of the car and he was groping for the shotgun when Mr. Hassam touched his shoulder. “What in God’s name did you do that for? Why did you kick him?”

“He was gonna shoot us, the son of a bitch.” Fright made Harsh’s voice quite hoarse.

“No, he thought you were in trouble.” Mr. Hassam sounded disgusted. “We saw your car stop and the lights go out, and we thought you were ambushed.”

“The hell!” Harsh leaned against the limousine weakly. “Why didn’t you say so?” His legs felt double-jointed. “I thought Brother was going to shoot us both. He has been pretty free with that shotgun once before, you know.”

Miss Muirz had gotten out of the limousine. She carried the big revolver lightly. “Hassam, was that you trailing us from town?”

“No. Not from town. We were parked at the road junction and we saw you pass, then we saw another car pass behind you. We decided it could be following you, so we fell in behind.”

“Where did the other car go?”

“It turned off on the beach, apparently.”

“We had better look into the matter of that car.” Miss Muirz sounded calm and deadly.

“I never saw anybody following us from town.” Harsh wiped his forehead.

Miss Muirz gave him a look. “You had something else on your mind.”

She walked back along the road and Mr. Hassam picked up Brother’s shotgun and followed her. Harsh fell in behind. The quick succession of events had shaken him, the way Miss Muirz had produced the big revolver shaking him as much as anything.

They walked some three hundred yards and found a parked car. It was a small sedan, and Mr. Hassam circled it cautiously, his feet noiseless in the sand. “No one here.” He put a hand on the radiator. “Warm.” The shotgun made an audible noise as he cocked it. “Shall we have a look at the beach?”

On the beach they saw several persons, a man and a woman who were sitting by a driftwood fire toasting something, other men fishing in the surf with casting rods.

They watched these people from cover for some time. Mr. Hassam made a disgusted sound. “We are not going to be sure of anything.”

“Maybe it was just some guy goin’ fishin’.” Harsh found his mouth was dry.

Miss Muirz put the big revolver away in her purse. So that was where it had come from, Harsh thought. Mr. Hassam dropped the shotgun in the crook of his arm after uncocking it. “If that bastard was not on the gunboat in the harbor at home, I know who I would suspect it was. But—well, it may have been a fisherman.” He turned and trudged off through the sand toward the limousine and the sports car. Miss Muirz and Harsh followed. The walk was silently thoughtful.

Brother had recovered consciousness. He had climbed into the back of the limousine and was leaning back holding a handkerchief to his mouth. He got out of the car shakily when he heard them coming, and seemed prepared for flight. He recognized them. He gave Harsh a wry look. “You pack a lusty kick, Mr. Harsh.”

Harsh was astonished by the man’s politeness. “I guess I picked the wrong time to let go with it.” Harsh felt almost apologetic.

EIGHTEEN

The sunrises and sunsets around here were some shows, Harsh thought as he stood looking out of his bedroom window the next morning at the purple clouds stacked in front of the sun, great mountains of them with the sun behind like a golden furnace reflecting rich yellow around the edges of the clouds and into the canyons between. The sea was serge blue and each wave bore a sparkling crest as it came in from the horizon. The waves dumped fifty-foot-wide sheets of foam on the sand around the feet of the tiny long-legged birds that ran up and down the beach.

He did some experimental exercises with his left arm and decided it did not feel bad. He could flex the fingers without pain. His eyelids were gummy and he picked at one of them with a fingernail and pulled cautiously at the sleep stuff that was stuck to the eyelashes.

He reviewed last night. He decided that no person or persons unknown had been trailing himself and Miss Muirz. That was baloney. Mr. Hassam and Brother had got their wind up, was all. There had probably been some guy and his gal in the car they had found with the warm radiator, but almost any time of the day or night you could hear people whooping it up on the beaches near the estate.

He wished Mr. Hassam and Brother had not shown up last night, because they had sure queered his plans for Miss Muirz. Why couldn’t the silly bastards stay away when they weren’t wanted, he thought.

He went to the wall near the safe and put a cheek against the plaster and looked behind the oil painting for the match head. It was still in place, so no one had tampered with the safe. He felt like laughing as he wondered if Goldberg was working on that key yet.

Then he thought of something that made him feel sick. Jesus, he was dumb! There last night he had walked off and left Brother alone unconscious, and Brother probably had the other safe key on his person at the time. Jesus, why hadn’t he thought of that, how stupid could he get? What a dumb thing, to go following Miss Muirz and Mr. Hassam off down the beach, taking a chance of getting his head shot off, when he might have stayed behind and filched the key off Brother while he was senseless.

He was disgusted with himself. He went to the portable bar and poured bourbon into a glass and drank it, and the liquor promptly tied his empty stomach in a knot and brought tears to his eyes. A guy as dumb as he had been last night deserved to choke to death, he thought bitterly.

When Harsh had dressed, he went down to breakfast, and found Vera Sue sitting on the dining terrace. When he saw her, it was too late to retreat.

Vera Sue planted her knife and fork on the table with a bang. “Walter, I think you are the biggest stinker that ever lived.”

He was somewhat relieved, having expected her to scream and throw something. “I guess you’re right, Vera Sue.”

“You know what I’m mad about, Walter?”

“Yeah, I guess I know.”

“You robbed me. While I was asleep, you took my money, didn’t you?”

“Well, I guess I must have. Anyway I found some dough in my pocket the next morning, and I didn’t remember where it came from.”

“Walter, I bet you split open your head trying to remember where you got the money. I just bet you did.”

She lit her cigarette with elaborate gestures which led him to suspect she had already taken a drink or two.