Nothing happened. Anita remained like a stone woman. Except for the sound of the surf and the distant shouts of the late bathers, silence like a humid, terrible pall hung over the three in the penthouse suite.
Manuel forced himself to say, 'Dear Jesus! Anita! What can I say?'
Still she sat there, motionless. Any moment now, Manuel thought, she will begin to scream. He got to his feet and moved towards her.
'Anita! This is a terrible thing!'
'Don't come near me!' Her voice was a harsh whisper.
Manuel paused. The sound of her voice was so unearthly, Fuentes backed away. A small table lamp lit up as Anita pressed the switch. Manuel caught his breath as he looked at her face, directly lit by the lamp. He didn't recognize her. He saw before him a face that had shrivelled, aged and her eyes had retreated into their sockets. But there was no sign of hysteria. He could be looking at the face of a dead woman.
'Anita!' He forced himself to lie. 'This is as terrible a shock to me as to you.'
The dead eyes suddenly came alive. 'So you lied to me, you man of truth.' Her voice was like the rustle of dry leaves. 'You knew all the time Pedro was dying. You lied to me to unlock the doors. You lied to me so you could get your hands on all this filthy money! May God curse you!'
'Anita! No!' Manuel half shouted. 'Listen to me! I didn't lie to you! I swear it to you! Think! I am a real man of truth! I promised you your husband. When I promise one of my people something, I do everything possible to honor that promise! No, Anita, I didn't lie to you, but the man at the hospital lied to me!
'Why did he lie to me? Why did he assure me Pedro was recovering? Why?' Dramatically, Manuel banged his head with his clenched fists. 'I will find out! This I promise you! I will make him tell me why he lied, and I will punish him! This I swear to you!'
Anita closed her eyes. Tears began to run down her face. 'Pedro, my darling husband,' she moaned softly, 'I have lost you.'
Manuel gave Fuentes a quick glance. Fuentes nodded and winked. He thought Manuel's speech had been masterly.
'When we get to Havana,' Manuel said gently, 'we will arrange a Mass for Pedro. I know how you must be suffering. Cry, my poor woman. Release the agony in your heart.'
Again there was a long pause, then Anita wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up. 'I will go now,' she said.
This was the last thing Manuel expected to hear. Alarmed, he stared at her.
'But, Anita, where will you go?'
'To a church. Where else? I have to light candles for Pedro. I need to pray.'
'But not now,' Manuel said in his softest tone. 'This dreadful news has shaken you. When you and I reach Havana, we will light many candles and have a Mass said, but not now.'
She moved to the door. 'I am going.'
He moved swiftly to her, taking her arm. He felt her shiver at his touch, but he held her firmly.
'No, Anita! Think! The cops are looking for you. They will find out that it was you who unlocked the doors. You will be arrested and thrown into a cell. Think! How many candles will you light for Pedro when you are locked in a cell?'
Watching her as she stood motionless, Manuel saw a resigned, hopeless expression cross her death-like face, and he released her.
'We will go on the terrace,' he said gently. 'In the light of the moon, we will pray for the soul of your husband.'
He took a furtive glance at his watch. The time was 01.05. It couldn't be long before the Warrentons returned. Somehow, he must keep this woman occupied until they did return.
Like a zombie, Anita went with him onto the terrace. He led her to a dark corner, half hidden by a potted orange tree, its golden fruit shining in the moonlight. They knelt side by side. Watching, Fuentes marvelled at Manuel's hypocrisy.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the chalet, Brady, already made up as a dark skinned, youngish looking man with a chin beard and wearing a tuxedo, was working on Bannion's face.
'Your own mother won't know you by the time I've finished,' he was saying. 'If the Warrentons catch a glimpse of us before you dart them, there will be no problem. Just hold still for a moment while I fix your moustache.'
Bannion, also wearing a tuxedo, held still. He was thinking of Chrissy while Brady worked on him. He felt hollow inside. The pain killing pills were like a comforting blanket, but he knew the teeth of this cancer was rapidly gnawing away at his vitals, like a hungry wolf tearing at the carcase of a stricken animal.
'There!' Brady said, sitting back. 'A beautiful job. Take a look.'
With an effort, Bannion got up and surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror. He saw a big, heavily built stranger who was so unlike himself he stared. If only he could really become this tough, strong looking man and make himself a new life!
'Pretty good, huh?' Brady said, grinning.
'Yes,' Bannion said quietly. 'Yes, pretty good.'
Brady looked uneasily at him. 'Mike, you are all right?'
'I will and can do this job,' Bannion said. 'You can rely on me.'
He turned and looked fixedly at Brady. 'When this is over and I get really ill, can I rely on you to look after my daughter's interest?'
'We've gone over this before,' Brady said. 'Relax. You will get your share in two days' time. Don't worry about it.'
Bannion took a card from his pocket. 'Lu, this is the address of the doctor who is looking after my daughter. I've talked to him on the telephone. I've told him the money will be coming.' He paused, then went on, 'Something might happen to me before I get the money. Will you take care of it for me? All you have to do is to send a money order, saying it's from me. Will you do this for me?'
Brady felt a little chill run through him. 'But, Mike . . .'
'Don't let us discuss this further,' Bannion said curtly. 'Will you do it?'
'Of course I will.'
'Shake on it, Lu.' Bannion offered his hand.
'You think something bad will happen even in two days?' Brady asked, taking the cold, damp hand in both of his.
'I don't know. Let's call it insurance. As soon as the job is over, I'm leaving, Lu. I want to see my daughter before anything does happen. I'm not going to wait for the money. Do you mind?'
'No, of course not, Mike.'
'Thanks.'
Brady felt himself strangely moved. He told himself if anything went wrong and there was no money, he'd damn well see this man's dotty daughter got fifty thousand dollars, no matter where it came from.
Maggie came in. 'Oh, boy! What a gorgeous meal! Now I'm all set for the house dick.' She gaped at them. 'Lu, you're a marvel. I wouldn't know either of you.'
Brady looked at his watch. 'Let's go, Mike,' he said, then to Maggie, 'Baby, you know what to do. Keep that dick busy. When you get back here, Louis de Marney will be waiting. He's Kendrick's man. Keep him happy until we return with the loot.'
'Yes, hon,' Maggie said and kissed him.
Brady picked up a big executive briefcase, then made for the door.
Maggie threw her arms around Bannion, giving him a kiss.
'Good luck, soldier,' she said. 'You're a lovely man!'
He smiled at her, patted her shoulder, then followed Brady out of the chalet.
As the two men walked towards the hotel, Bannion said, 'You've got yourself a great girl, Lu.'
'A guy strikes lucky sometimes,' Brady said. 'I guess I've struck more than lucky.'
The two men walked into the lobby. There was a scattering of the elderly still sitting around, having nightcaps. None of them paid any attention as Brady led the way to a corner table. Two men in tuxedos were all part of the scene.
'Now, we wait,' Brady said as they sat down. 'We look as if we're doing a deal.' He opened the briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. Dividing the sheaf, he handed the first half to Bannion.
A waiter approached.
'Drink, Mike?'
'A coffee.'
Brady ordered coffee and smoked salmon sandwiches. When the coffee and sandwiches arrived, he paid, tipping generously.
It was while Brady was eating a sandwich which Bannion had refused, that he saw Josh Prescott come into the lobby.
'That's the house dick,' Brady said. 'The guy Maggie's taking care of.'
The two men watched Prescott glance around, then, leaving the hotel, he hurried towards the swimming pool.
Then a little after 02.00, they saw the two security guards come in and speak to the night porter. They handed over keys and left.
'Going like clockwork,' Brady murmured. 'The loot is now in the safe. We'll wait until the Warrentons arrive, then away we go.'
Ten minutes later, Maria and Wilbur Warrenton walked in. While Maria walked to the penthouse elevator, Wilbur collected the key from the night porter, than hurried after her.
Brady stared fixedly at the diamonds as Maria waited impatiently for Wilbur to join her.
'Look at those rocks,' Brady muttered. 'This is going to be a pushover, Mike. We'll give them five minutes, then up we go, bust the safe, then by that time they should be in bed.'
Realizing that he was about to embark on his first criminal offense, Bannion felt cold sweat start out on his forehead. His first and last, he thought, as he watched Brady put the dummy papers into the briefcase.
Brady looked at him. 'Okay, Mike?'
'Yes.'
They sat still, then at Brady's nod, the two men got up and walked towards the elevator. The night porter, busy with the breakfast list, didn't look their way.
As the elevator took them to the top floor, Brady patted Bannion's arm. 'Going like a dream,' he said. 'Eight million dollars!'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rubbing his aching knees, Manuel came in from the terrace of the penthouse. He had been kneeling by Anita's side on the marble floor of the terrace, pretending to pray. He had remained on his knees, his head bowed for fifteen minutes, then unable to contain his impatience any longer, he looked furtively at her, and seeing that she remained motionless, her head in her hands, he got silently to his feet, backed away, still watching her. She still remained motionless. Then he walked to the penthouse living room.
Fuentes was sitting in a lounging chair, a cigarette dangling from his thick lips, his fat face glistening with sweat. The two men looked at each other.
'All goes well,' Manuel said quietly. 'No hysterics. She is praying.'
Fuentes sneered. 'At a death, women always pray. What good does it do?'
'Prayer keeps them quiet,' Manuel said and smiled. 'We will have no more trouble with her.'
He looked at his watch. The time was now 02.05. 'The Warrentons will be coming any time now. You take care of the man. I will take care of the woman. She might scream. Women are unpredictable. I will see she doesn't. You won't have any trouble with the man.'
Fuentes nodded, but he was thinking of Anita. She frightened him. Hadn't she cursed him? He knew she blamed him for Pedro's death.
'Anita could be dangerous She could spoil our plans.'
Manuel moved to the terrace doors and looked out onto the moonlit terrace. He could just see Anita, half hidden by the orange tree, still on her knees.
He turned. 'Relax, my friend. What could she do? She has no gun. She is still praying, and when women pray for their dead, they pray a long, long time.'
He would have been startled and alarmed to have known that Anita was not praying. The shock of hearing that Pedro was dead had numbed her. She had gone like a zombie with Manuel to this dark corner of the terrace. She had knelt because he had knelt. She had closed her eyes, clasping her hands, but the prayers she had so often said were sheets of blank paper in her mind. She could only think of her husband. She saw him in a hospital bed with some hard-faced cop sitting by his side.
'Pedro Certes, killer of a rent collector in Seacomb, having been shot by Detective Tom Lepski while trying to escape with three thousand dollars, has died after briefly returning to consciousness.'
The words of the radio announcer burned into her brain. Pedro had died after briefly regaining consciousness! He had had no priest to comfort him and to make his peace with God. Pedro! The man she loved more than life!
She thought of the months when Pedro, out of work, had relied on her to feed him, wash his clothes, pay the rent and give him what was left over of her earnings joyfully and willingly because she loved and adored him. She thought of the very few good nights when Pedro took her to some little restaurant, very few nights but nights which were treasured. She thought of his father's sugar cane farm, the long hours when they slaved in the burning sun.
Then she was really happy, but not Pedro. He wanted to get away from the toil. He had persuaded her to go with him to Paradise City. She had been lucky to have got the part time job of cleaning at the Spanish Bay Hotel. Pedro had assured her that soon he would find a good job. He would make a lot of money, but dear Pedro was unlucky. There was no job and no money, except what she earned.
She thought of that awful moment when Pedro had shown her a gun, and when he had told her his good friend, Fuentes, and he would make a lot of money. Fuentes! She thought that if it was not for this swine of a man, her dear Pedro would still be alive. Fuentes! That mindless brute who had tempted Pedro! That brute who had given Pedro the gun! That brute directly responsible for Pedro's death!
Anita felt a sudden rush of hot blood to her head that made her feel faint. She pressed her fingers to her temples. The faint feeling frightened her. Then the hot blood turned cold making her shudder.
She was not to know this, but in her intensity and fury, she had suffered a rupture of a tiny blood vessel in her brain. This rupture moved her into the twilight of insanity. Kneeling motionless, she suddenly heard a voice inside her head telling her distinctly that Pedro was crying out for revenge. The whispering voice told her that her beloved Pedro could never rest in peace until he had been revenged.
Anita, listening to this insidious voice, nodded. 'I will revenge you, darling Pedro,' she murmured. 'First, Fuentes who is responsible for your death, then Manuel who has lied to me, then this detective who shot you. They will all be punished. This, I swear to you.'