MacDonald, John D – Travis McGee 18 – The Green Ripper

I held my hands out and looked at them, backs and fronts. “What do you mean? Oh, you mean like those old boys that go out in the freezing water off of Maine or someplace? They get those big paws like catcher’s mitts, and those busted twisted fingers. My daddy had hands like that from working the big nets. It’s all nylon now, and you have to wear tough gloves or cut yourself to ribbons. Besides, I haven’t been out working the nets for a long time now.”

“You seem to be in excellent shape, Mr. McGraw.”

“I’m not as good as I’d like to be. You know, the old wind. And the legs give out first. But I’ve always stayed in pretty good shape. Never had a beer belly.”

“And you have had combat experience?”

“As a grunt. I can do the BAR, mortars, flame, mines, whatever. I was in it fourteen months. Got to be a utility infielder.”

“Then you must have watched our little… patrol with a practiced eye. Would you have any comment?”

“I haven’t seen much. They’re trained down fine, physically. They move quick and they move well. They carry the weapons at the ready. But all the rest of it? I don’t know what they can do. They look good. What are they training up to do any- way?”

“Please sit down there, on the mattress, Mr. McGraw. Make yourself comfortable.” He hitched the straight chair closer and leaned over, forearms

The Green Ripper resting on his knees, long fingers dangling. ‘] will do you the courtesy of speaking to you with absolute frankness.”

“Something happened to my little girl?”

“Please. I wouldn’t know about that, nor even how I could find out. I am trying to tell you that if I were to follow my own rules, I would have my young associates take you out into the tall trees and blow your head off.”

“Why? Why the hell would you do that?”

“You came stumbling and bumbling in here through an entrance that should have been guarded. The young man responsible will be punished. But I am not taking pity on your innocence and your naive quest. I am thinking of sparing you only because I believe there is some specific use I can make of you.”

“Such as what?”

“Are you in any position to ask me that, right now?”

“I reckon not, if you don’t want me to, Mr. Persival.”

It was getting so dark I could hardly see his face. I could see a pale reflection of the after-dusk sky in his tinted glasses. He had a strange weight and force about him. Total confidence and a total im- partiality.

The distant engine started. The overhead bulb flickered, glowed, brightened. He stood up and stared down at me, then turned on his heel and left, leaving the door open. I walked out and stood with my thumbs hooked in my belt, looking at the faint glow in the western sky, above the sharp tips of the big pines far down the slope. I had the feeling I was being watched, and that it had been set up before Persival paid his call. I yawned and stretched, scratched myself, and slouched back into C Building, wondering if I should have pushed the money question a little harder. Would Tom McGraw have pushed it? Not when faced with the possibility of getting shot in the head.

I wondered when they were going to bring me something to eat, and if it would be the stew again.

Then I heard them all coming. They had flashlights and lanterns. I tightened up, and then heard laughter.

The sallow blonde arrived first, carrying a camp stool and a cooking pot and a flashlight. “We’re having a party, Brother Thomas! At your house!”

“So come right in, Sister Stella. Come right in,” I said.

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10 They filled the room. They brought stools and cush ions, a gasoline lantern, food, and wine. Nine of them and one of me. Plastic paper plates and genu ine forks. Paper cups and a big container of coffee. Jolly and smiling. I knew Chuck, the patrol leader, and three of his six soldiers Nena and Stella and the Oriental. I learned that the Oriental was Sammy. The other three were Haris, a slender blond Englishman the name pronounced to rhyme with police and Barry, a young black with a shaved head and dusty tan coloring, and Ahman, who looked like a young Turkish pirate. Persival was there, and also Alvor, one I had not seen be fore. He was chunky, with a broad gray heavy face, 149

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