I kept at it as long as I could stand up, riding out with the riptide and waiting for the next big one to throw me back at the beach.
It was getting dark when I quit and the bugs were coming out, millions of diseased little gnats, impossible to see. I felt a thick black taste in my mouth as I stumbled toward my car.
Twenty
Monday was a crucial day and the tension was waiting for me when I woke up. I had overslept again and it was almost noon. After a quick breakfast, I hurried down to the paper.
When I got there I found Moberg on the front steps, reading a notice tacked to the door. It was long and complicated, saying in essence that the paper had been sold into receivership and all claims against the former owners would be duly considered by Stein Enterprises of Miami, Florida.
Moberg finished reading it and turned to me. This is unconscionable, he said. We should break in and loot the place. I need money, all I have is ten dollars. Then, before I could stop him, he kicked the glass out of the door. Come on, he said, starting through the hole. I know where he keeps the petty cash.
Suddenly, a bell began ringing and I jerked him backward. You crazy bastard, I said. You’ve triggered the alarm. We have to get away from this place before the cops get here.
We raced up to Al’s and found the others huddled around a big patio table and jabbering feverishly. Drizzling rain forced them to hunch closely as they plotted the murder of Lotterman.
That swine, said Moberg. He could have paid us Friday. He has plenty of money, I’ve seen it.
Sala laughed. Hitler had plenty of money, but he never paid his bills.
Schwartz shook his head sadly. I wish I could get into the office. I have to make some calls. He nodded meaningfully. Long calls — like Paris, Kenya, and Tokyo.
Why Tokyo? said Moberg. You can get killed there.
You mean you can get killed there, Schwartz replied. I mind my own business.
Moberg shook his head. I have friends in Tokyo. You’ll never make friends — you’re too stupid.
You dirty little lush! Schwartz exclaimed, suddenly standing up. One more word out of you and I’ll punch your face!
Moberg laughed easily. You’re cracking up, Schwartz. I’d advise you to take a bath.
Schwartz took a quick step around the table and swung like he was throwing a baseball. Moberg could have dodged, if he’d had any reflexes, but he just sat there and let himself be bashed off his chair.
It was a tough show and Schwartz was obviously pleased with himself. That’ll teach you, he muttered, starting for the door. See you fellows later, he called back to us. I can’t stand being around that lush.
Moberg grinned and spit at him. I’ll be back in a while, he told us. I have to see a woman in Rio Piedras — I need money.
Sala watched him go, shaking his head sadly. I’ve seen a lot of creeps in my time, but that one takes the cake.
Nonsense, I said. Moberg is your friend. Never forget that.
Later that night we went to a garden party given by the Rum League and the San Juan Chamber of Commerce, to honor the spirit of American scholarship. The house was white stucco, ornate and sprawling, with a big garden in back. About a hundred people were there, most of them dressed formally. On one side of the garden was a long bar and I hurried toward it Donovan was there, drinking heavily. He opened his coat discreetly and showed me a butcher knife tucked into his belt Look at this, he said. We’re ready.
Ready? I thought. Ready for what? Slitting Lotterman’s throat? The garden was full of rich celebrities and visiting students. I noticed Yeamon standing off from the crowd with his arm around an exceptionally pretty girl. They were sharing a pint of gin and laughing harshly. Yeamon was wearing black nylon gloves, which I took as an ominous sign. Jesus, I thought, these bastards have gone through the looking glass. I wanted no part of it