The Big Bite (9 page)

Considering his circumstances, Orvil Curtis was as contented as a man had a right to be. He had food—although sulphur-flavored seafood did get monotonous—and he had found an edible seaweed and a cookable root to supplement his diet; he had water, even though it was difficult to get; and he had his new toy.

The toy pleased him most of all. In a way, it compensated for his inability to leave the island. He had given up the dinghy; it was too stove in. He had tried once to swim and had nearly been bashed to death on the rocks. He lived then on seafood and hope, and when he found his new toy, the hope became a certainty.

He called it a toy, though in reality it should have been in the plural. There was more than one. There were, in fact, boxes and boxes. But as each was just like every other, he thought of them collectively, in the singular. He found his toy under the sand just inside the mouth of the cave.

He had been lying there out of a storm and in shifting his position felt a soft spot. It was the only soft spot in the hard-floored surface of the cave and he had begun to paw there—as much from boredom as for any other reason.

He uncovered the corner of a wooden packing crate and his interest was aroused. It was a tedious process even with sea shells for shovels, but finally he had all the boxes uncovered and dragged onto the floor of the cave behind the hole. They were small boxes, made of such a size and weight that one man could carry one without undue strain.

It took him some time to pry open the lid of one, but when he succeeded, he forgot his broken fingernails. Long bars of gold packed solidly together are very pretty.

Curtis was ingenious; he had sufficient leisure to be so. He estimated the weight of a bar by rigging up a scale with clamshells suspended at the ends of vines attached to the tips of a balanced stick. He weighed his shoes, which he knew to run four pounds, give or take an ounce, against the bar. There was close balance. With nothing else much to do, he indulged in simple mathematics and arrived at the astounding figure of twenty-one million, three hundred and fifty-seven dollars’ worth of gold. He was surprisingly close.

And it was then he knew that if he lived, he had more than just a hope of leaving the island.

Chuco served Knox his breakfast shortly after the siesta hour began. Knox had not awakened until well past noon. Now, aside from a slight headache, he felt fine.

Setting down Knox’s breakfast on the table by the window, Chuco jerked a thumb at the bay. “Here comes the second plane today. I wonder what’s up?”

Knox scratched his head and stretched. He was in pale gray silk pajamas and a wine-colored robe. “You’re the one who should know. What happened while I’ve been out?”

“A guy came in,” Chuco said. “About your age.” He made it sound old. “Blond, going gray, lines in his face, a mean look around the nose.”

“Thanks,” Knox said. He drank some fresh orange juice and lifted a slice of melon. “Fisherman?”

“So he says. But he ain’t got any tackle.”

“We’ll worry about him later,” Knox said. “Anything else?”

Chuco dug into the pocket of the white mess jacket he was sporting and held out a slip of paper. “Telephone message for you.” He shook his head and grinned. “Breaking that bank with the lady professor must have been hard work. I rang a dozen times, but you slept through it.”

Knox took the note and unfolded it slowly. “A rough night,” he agreed. He read, “Arriving about three today. Am looking forward to seeing you. Therese LeGage.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Knox said. He let Chuco see a disconcerted expression.

“Bad?”

“Yes and no,” Knox said. “A lady I met in Europe—a Swiss. You know how it is. You meet a dame, have a good time, and go and forget all about her. Then she turns up again.”

Chuco looked knowing. “Like that, huh? She chasing you?”

Knox shrugged. “Maybe. My office knows where I am and she knows the head man at the office. I found some jewels she had lost, insured with our company.” He smiled. “Then, maybe she’s just coming for the scenery.”

Chuco said, “Hah!” He shook his head. “Now you got two of ‘em.”

“Two?”

“The lady doc and this Frenchy.”

“Swiss,” Knox corrected. “It isn’t her real name, by the way. She’s a countess, but she keeps it under her hat. Do the same, but treat her right. She’s got dough.”

Chuco winked. “I got it.”

Knox said, “What’s this about Adele Fisher and me?”

Chuco grinned. “She ain’t been asking for you all morning just because she’s lonesome for any old company.” He pursed his lips in a whistle. “The way she’s dolled up, she’s quite a babe. More than one of the fishermen stayed in today to see if he could make a little time. A little old but a real dish.”

Knox said, “She wants to see me because she’s frightened. Someone took a shot at her last night with a silenced gun.”

“Hey!”

Knox told him a little about it. “Can you think of anyone who was out about that time?”

“Hell, they were all in bed or somewhere,” Chuco said. “After she broke the bank, Portales closed the casino down tight and everyone left.”

“Can you think of anyone sore at her?”

“No, but half the town knew she had won three thousand clams American before you two got out of the place. That kind of news travels.”

“I can see the La Cruzians sporting silencers,” Knox said.

Chuco looked thoughtful. “Yeh,” he admitted. He peered out the window. “They’re unloading that second plane. It’s a dame with enough baggage to sink a cruiser.”

Knox looked. Even at that distance, he could tell by the walk, the color combination of the clothing—by the indefinable something he had felt from the first meeting—that this was Nat. “It’s Therese.”

“She staying here?”

Knox said, “Hasn’t she got a reservation?”

Chuco didn’t seem to know. Knox sent him off to install her somewhere, and returned to his breakfast. From the speed Nat had made, obviously she had caught a plane at Vera Cruz and flown to Mexico City. He wondered what the Del Prado had thought when she descended on them in her disguise. Not too much, he guessed; Mexicans were broad-minded people.

He had changed into a light gray suit when there was a rap on the door. It was Nat, looking as bright as sunshine in a severe yet feminine suit of dazzling white, a blouse of the palest yellow, and shoes and purse of leather dyed to match. The light glinted on her short-cropped dark hair. As Chuco said later, she was a dish. Even though he liked them a little plumper top and bottom, she was a dish.

“Therese! I just got your message.” Knox held out his hands. “Come in, my dear.”

“’Allo, Paul,” she said in a French accent. “You
are look’ well.”

“Oh, my God,” he muttered, drawing her inside and shutting the door. “Learn English, quickly.”

She grinned her gamin grin at him, fluffed up her hair and strolled to the divan, where she kicked off her shoes and stretched full length.

He looked at her very sheer hosiery. “So that’s where my money went.”

“I had most of my clothes,” she said indignantly. “But you told me to go all out. This suit is a gift from you.” She crooked a finger at him. “Come and kiss me, Paul.” He obliged and then sat beside her as she slipped over, making room for him. “Any news, Paul?”

He said, “I have a lot of strings but nothing tied on the other ends.”

There was a knock at the door. It was Chuco with a bill for groceries he had put in Madame LeGage’s refrigerator. Knox took satisfaction in letting her pay.

Chuco was tucking the money into his pocket as he looked out the window. “Señor,” he said to Knox, “this is an invasion. Another plane is coming.”

“Any new reservations?” Knox asked.

“One from the States that a Miss Meridee Simpson would be along,” Chuco said. “But if that’s her, she made terrific connections.”

Knox didn’t answer; he was at the window watching the plane as it settled in the calm water of the bay. It was impossible, he was thinking. Meridee Simpson was, as far as he knew, no one’s name. It belonged to World Circle; it was the name by which the person he had written about in his letter to San Francisco would identify herself.

He shook his head, scarcely noting that Chuco had left. This couldn’t be Meridee Simpson, because his letter shouldn’t have reached its destination yet. He felt Nat move alongside him. She had his field glasses in her hand and was focusing them.

“This may be the answer to your request,” she said.

“Since when did a letter ever get out of Mexico so fast?”

She gave him a smug little smile. “I was smarter than that, Paul. It seemed to me that a letter was too small, so I opened it up and had it sent as a wire—yesterday while I was waiting for the plane to Mexico City.”

Knox didn’t know whether he liked this or not. There was no reason he shouldn’t, except that it was none of Nat’s business. He pulled that one back: it was her business. Nat was up to her neck in this. She had sold everything she owned in order to cut herself in on the game. Anything that affected the affair, small or large, was definitely her business.

Nat said, “Someone is coming from the plane. It is a woman, Paul. Paw-uhl!”

Knox took the glasses and held them to his eyes. He was surprised, irritated, but at the same time amused. He understood Nat’s exclamation of surprise. The boys in San Francisco had done themselves a real job. This was Meridee Simpson and—through the glasses at least—she looked enough like the Nat who had left here the day before to pass for her.

Nat said weakly, “I feel as if I’m looking at myself, Paul.”

Knox was putting the glasses back in their case. He was laughing; there was really nothing to laugh about—this was just one more headache. “Let’s go to the Viewhouse. I want to watch a few expressions when she comes sailing in.”

Nat looked at him with a tinge of awe in her glance. “What an organization!” she breathed. “If I had it, what I couldn’t do!”

They strolled through the midday heat and reached the lobby in time to see both Chuco and Silac puffing into the lobby, loaded with baggage.

Behind them strolled Meridee Simpson. Seeing her close up, Knox more than ever admired the techniques of the boys in San Francisco. Here was a close replica of the blonde showgirl who had left just the day before: there was the same amount fore and aft; there was the same mop of blonde hair, although worn a bit differently; there was the same perspective from too-tight clothing—this girl wore a clinging jersey dress—and the same facial configuration, due in good part to an excess of mascara and lipstick.

Meridee Simpson spoke in a voice that reflected the results of a poor course in theater speech. “A good room, boy. I came for the view. I want a view, if you please.” Turning, she surveyed the lobby, let her eyes rest briefly on Knox and Nat, and looked away with her nose elevated.

“Tell me, boy,” she said to Silac—making Knox happy, “are the guests here ladies and gentlemen?”

Silac bowed. “No spik English, plis.”

“Oh, hell!” She put her hand to her mouth; obviously she had not intended to reveal this portion of her vocabulary. She said quickly to Chuco, “You answer, boy.”

“The best,” he assured her. “The highest class.” Dropping his load of bags, he whipped behind the counter and presented her with a registration card. “If you please.”

She registered, tossed aside the pen and stood tapping one foot. “Are you the manager?”

“He’s taking his siesta,” he said. “This way, please,” and, with Silac puffing behind, led the way out of the lobby.

When Chuco came back, Knox ordered gin and tonic and led Nat into the lounge where they had a view of the water. Chuco brought the drinks, a fierce grin spreading under his bandito mustache.

“Meridee Simpson she calls herself. And the air she gave me, señor. Hah! She is that same
puta—
excuse me, madame.”

“She certainly could be the other one’s sister,” Knox said.

“Same dame,” Chuco said with such positiveness that Knox’s heart was gladdened. “Got some dough and fixed herself up—and then she snoots me. Hell—excuse, madame—all I did was pinch her. And after that trip out to the bus, you’d think …”

Knox coughed delicately. “Chuco,
amigo
, you talk too much.”

Chuco’s eyes were wide. “Ain’t the madame here your sidekick?”

Nat said sweetly, “I am. And you are very charming. You call yourself Chuco, yes? That is a nice name. I like it.” The French accent came as easily as though she had had it for years.

Chuco turned a strange color that Knox decided was a flush. “Anything I can get you, madame?”

“Later,” Nat murmured.

He wandered off, missed a divan by inches, and disappeared into the kitchen. Knox said, “That was a dirty trick.”

“Why? I like him.”

Knox said dryly, “Apparently. What did he mean, ‘After that trip out to the bus’?”

“Oh, that,” she said airily. “He was very kind to me the day he drove me to the bus. The least I could do was kiss him goodbye. His mustache tickled.”

Knox grunted; she was needling him.

Nat said, “Paul, what happened while I was gone? You’re getting edgy. Like you do when things seem about to break.”

“There was a shootfest last night.” He told her about it, leaving out only Adele Fisher’s change of appearance. When he was through, she said softly, “I think I’ll take a siesta on that,” and went off to her cabin.

Knox had a nap for himself and when he awoke, he called Adele Fisher and invited her to dinner with Madame LeGage and him.

“I saw her,” Adele commented. “And the other one. Where do you get them?”

“I wish I knew,” Knox said. “Dinner at seven-thirty then?”

“Love it.”

Knox went in to shower, and sang lustily under the spray.

Knox stared out the windows at the island, watching the last of the evening light fade from the sea and the sky and darkness absorb the island.

Two days, he thought irritably. For two days nothing had happened. And yet there was more feeling of something about to happen in the air now than there had been since his arrival. But it was just a feeling—an intangible he could not come to grips with. With the arrival of so many persons—Meridee, Nat, and the man Chuco had not liked—so suddenly, something should have been precipitated. But the man had gone to the island and not returned. Meridee Simpson had not made any sign that it was time for Knox to contact her. And Nat …

Nat was playing coy. Ever since she had seen the metamorphosis of Adele Fisher, she had made a great show of being jealous. Knox amused himself by having dinner with them together. Tonight would be the third time. Meanwhile, he knew, Nat spent her time in her cabin, thinking of twenty million dollars in gold.

Silac was getting restless, too. He just might give up trying to find out all the ramifications of this affair and blow the whistle on it.

Knox said, “Hell,” and went in to shower before dinner. He was putting studs in his shirt when there was a knock on the door. It was Chuco and he had a plain white envelope in his hand. There was no address, just Knox’s name written in a fine copperplate hand.

Knox said, “Things are too quiet here, Chuco. Have you noticed it?”

Momentarily Chuco’s eyes were sharp. Then he grinned. “I learn nothing, I am sorry. Every night I go to see Manuelita on the island, but there it is quiet, too. Peaceful.”

As peaceful as sitting on a time bomb, Knox thought. He said, “That new man who went out there. Who is he?”

“He registered here as John Smith. But there I hear them refer to him as Hans Kurath. And Manuelita tells me he is just come from Cuba.”

Knox nearly dropped the envelope. “Is he in this?”

“I cannot learn anything more, señor.”

Knox gave him a bill. “Thanks, Chuco. We’ll just have to wait.” He opened the envelope, read the short note inside, and whistled softly. The door was closing and he called Chuco back.

“Did anyone else get one of these?”

“Si, Forrest brought them. One for you and one for each of the ladies and the Señor Gomez.”

“None of the fishermen?”

“No, señor.”

Knox returned to the bedroom to finish his dressing. He had the feeling that the waiting was over. Something was about to pop. He could think of no other reason why he should be invited—along with the others—to a party on the island.

He was tying his tie when he thought of Meridee Simpson. She should be briefed before they put their respective heads in a noose. So far, she had done nothing but lift her nose every time their paths crossed.

It was dark outside now, and shrugging into his dinner jacket, he went out and down the path to her door. He rapped sharply.

She answered the door, opening it cautiously and peering out through the crack. She said nothing, just looked at him. He said, “Didn’t Mike tell you to contact me?”

“Oh, you’re the one.” She stepped back. Knox slipped in and shut the door. She was wearing an amazing gown, so low in front and so high in the back that it looked as though she might have put it on in reverse. There was no doubting the genuineness of her figure.

“I’m the one,” he said. “Didn’t he tell you what to do?”

“Of course. He said to do absolutely nothing until someone contacted me.”

“Can I see your identity before we go further?”

“My what? Oh.” Taking an evening bag from the coffee table, she worried the insides a bit and came up with a card. It read that her name was Meridee Simpson and she was a guest of the Republica de Mexico.

“Not that,” Knox said impatiently. “Your World Circle card.”

“My
what?
What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded. “I’ve got my Equity card, if that’s what you mean. And I’m paid up to date.”

Knox did not need to digest this to understand it. The way she had used the word “contact” made him suspect. He tried to recall his letter to San Francisco. He had described Nat in disguise, mentioned that she was a showgirl, and asked for a replica. The fault, he realized, was partly his own. He had not specifically asked for an operative, simply assuming that Mike would have sense enough to send him one. Or maybe on such short notice this was the best Mike could manage.

She was staring at him. “Don’t you think I’m the goods, mister? Mike said you might not. Here.”

She dug in her purse once more and handed him an envelope. “He said to give you this.”

Knox opened the envelope and removed a folded sheet of notepaper. His thumb went over the corner, seeking the embossed seal that would tell him it was a genuine communication. The seal was there. He read quickly. Mike had used one of the simpler codes and Knox translated as he read:

“Sorry, but this is the best I could do so fast. Showgirl in the broad sense of the term. Okay, loyal, but not too long on brains. Don’t say more than you have to. Luck.”

Knox burned the paper and the envelope in her ash tray. She watched him wide-eyed, gave a shake to her torso that settled her bosom a little into the dress and went to stand in front of him.

“Say, what have I got into?”

“What did you expect to get into?”

She shook her head helplessly. “When I get offered fifty bucks a day, expenses, and a chance to lie in the sun and not have to fight off guys on the make, I guess I shouldn’t ask questions. Only—well, I want to know if I have to protect myself in the clinches.”

Knox gave her a cigarette, waved her to the divan and then sat in the chair opposite. “The answer is yes,” he said. “Nothing dangerous for you,” he added hastily. “Just keep in the background at the party tonight.”

“Oh, I thought maybe I was supposed to put on my act. Isn’t that why I was invited?”

There was something about Meridee Simpson that Knox liked. She had a frank, forthright manner and obviously no exaggerated opinion of herself.

“Just what is your act?”

“Burlesque,” she said. “I do mostly club dates when I can get them. Ever since I made up my own act, I get quite a few. I peel doing a Highland fling—in kilts to bagpipe accompaniment.”

“My Lord,” Knox whispered. “To bagpipes.”

She nodded. “There aren’t many good bagpipers around, so I usually bring my own music.” Rising, she went to the desk and took a folder of EP records from the top. “Want a demonstration?”

“Not before dinner,” Knox said.

She seemed disappointed. “I ought to do something to earn that fifty a day. Maybe if I took the records and my costume to the party …”

The thought of her performing at Natasha’s “party” entranced Knox. He grinned. “Sure, bring them along. You never know.”

She returned to the divan. “I’m an artist,” she said. “When I do a good job, put on a performance that has them climbing the walls, I get satisfaction out of it—like a guy who writes a book or makes up a song or paints a picture. Here.” She put her hand to her bosom.

“I understand.” Knox was wondering just how much to tell this girl. She would have to know something. He said, “You were invited because they can’t figure out what you’re doing here.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The crew on the island,” Knox said. “And maybe some on this side, too. I’m not sure yet. But the party could get rough. If it does, just tell the truth. That you live in San Francisco and that I hired you out of a theatrical agency. You haven’t been told why.”

She grinned wickedly. “I saw that outfit at the casino last night. Snobs. If they get nosy, I’ll tell them what I do for a living. That always gets a rise out of snobs.”

“Yes,” Knox said. “If they want to know what you were doing here four days ago—”

“Hell, four days ago I wasn’t here.”

“Four days ago,” Knox said, “a girl who looked like a low-grade version of you was in La Cruz.” He told her about it.

She had a shrewd look in her eyes. “So?”

“So because she spent the night with me, she became suspect.”

“And you sent to Mike for a double to throw them off the scent.” She nodded. “How much do I look like her?”

“No one except Chuco really got a look at her and he tells me you and she are the same girl. He drove her out to the bus.”

“Ah,” she said, “that’s why he thinks he can neck me every time he comes in here. He keeps telling me I liked the way his mustache tickled before.”

Knox began to wonder what Mike meant about her lack of brains. He said, “You have the idea.”

She said, “This French LeGage dame must have something to do with it.”

“How did she get into this?”

She said, “If you didn’t have someone here who could be that girl come back—disguised or undisguised—you wouldn’t need me to throw them off, would you? And since she arrived the day I did, and is about the same height …” She stopped and shook her head. “But how did a scrawny one like that ever look like me? It won’t wash, will it?”

“It washes,” Knox said. “She has a foundation—a lulu.”

“Gee. No foolin’?” she said admiringly. “So if they ask where I was four days ago, I say …”

“Tell them the truth and stick to it.”

She was examining her nails. “What if it gets really rough? Do I spill about Madame LeGage?”

“Not unless you have to,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll get that hard with you. They may not bother you at all except to put Forrest or Tiber on you to do some pumping. Let them pump.”

“Forrest—that’s the sleek one.” She shivered. “The guy gave me the creeps the way he ate me up at the casino last night. I liked that Tiber better—a big brute, but I think I could handle him.”

Knox grinned. “Make a play for Tiber then. Maybe he’ll tell you something.”

She was still looking at her nails. “About what?” She looked up. “I’m not just curious, mister. If I can’t peel for my fifty bucks, I should do something useful.”

Knox said, “Somebody’s trying to start a revolution. If they do, it will embarrass a lot of governments and put a sticky crew right in our own backyard.”

“Oh. Like that Guatemala deal a ways back?”

“Yes, like that.”

She nodded. “That gives me something to go on.”

Knox got up to go to dinner. He said, “See you on board the cruiser then. And thanks.” He left, feeling very good about Meridee Simpson.