“Who gave it to you?” I asked Frankie.
He pointed out a Spanish boy that works around the docks who is just about gone with the con. This kid was standing at the lunch counter.
“Ask him to come over.”
The kid came over. He said two young fellows gave it to him about eleven o’clock. They asked him if he knew me and he said, Yes. Then he gave it to Frankie for me. They gave him a dollar to see that I got it. They were well dressed, he said.
“Politics,” Frankie said.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“They think you told the police you were meeting those boys here that morning.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Bad politics,” Frankie said. “Good thing you go.”
“Did they leave any message?” I asked the Spanish boy.
“No,” he said. “Just to give you that.”
“I’m going to leave now,” I said to Frankie.
“Bad politics,” Frankie said. “Very bad politics.”
I had all the papers in a bunch that the broker had given me and I paid the bill and walked out of that café and across the square and through the gate and I was plenty glad to come through the warehouse and get out on the dock. Those kids had me spooked all right. They were just dumb enough to think I’d tipped somebody off about that other lot. Those kids were like Pancho. When they were scared they got excited, and when they got excited they wanted to kill somebody.
I got on board and warmed up the engine. Frankie stood on the dock watching. He was smiling that funny deaf smile. I went back to him.
“Listen,” I said. “Don’t you get in any trouble about this.”
He couldn’t hear me. I had to yell it at him.
“Me good politics,” Frankie said. He cast her off.
CHAPTER THREE
I waved to Frankie, who’d thrown the bowline on board, and I headed her out of the slip and dropped down the channel with her. A British freighter was going out and I ran along beside her and passed her. She was loaded deep with sugar and her plates were rusty. A limey in an old blue sweater looked down at me from her stern as I went by her.
I went out the harbor and past the Morro and put her on the course for Key West; due north. I left the wheel and went forward and coiled up the bowline and then came back and held her on her course, spreading Havana out astern, and then dropping it off behind us as we brought the mountains up.
I dropped the Morro out of sight after a while and then the National Hotel and finally I could just see the dome of the Capitol. There wasn’t much current compared to the last day we had fished and there was only a light breeze. I saw a couple of smacks headed in toward Havana and they were coming from the westward, so I knew the current was light.
I cut the switch and killed the motor. There wasn’t any sense in wasting gas. I’d let her drift. When it got dark I could always pick up the light of the Morro or, if she drifted up too far, the lights of Cojimar, and steer in and run along to Bacuranao. I figured the way the current looked she would drift the twelve miles up to Bacuranao by dark and I’d see the lights of Baracoa.
Well, I killed the engine and climbed up forward to have a look around. All there was to see was the two smacks off to the westward headed in, and way back the dome of the Capitol standing up white out of the edge of the sea. There was some gulfweed on the stream and a few birds working, but not many. I sat up there awhile on top of the house and watched, but the only fish I saw were those little brown ones that use around the gulfweed. Brother, don’t let anybody tell you there isn’t plenty of water between Havana and Key West. I was just on the edge of it.
After a while I went down into the cockpit again, and there was Eddy.
“What’s the matter? What’s the matter with the engine?”
“She broke down.”
“Why haven’t you got the hatch up?”
“Oh, hell!” I said.
Do you know what he’d done? He’d come back again and slipped the forward hatch and gone down into the cabin and gone to sleep. He had two quarts with him. He’d gone into the first bodega he’d seen and bought it and come aboard. When I started out he woke up and went back to sleep again. When I stopped her out in the gulf and she began to roll a little with the swell it woke him up.
“I knew you’d carry me, Harry,” he said.
“Carry you to hell,” I said. “You aren’t even on the crew list. I’ve got a good mind to make you jump overboard now.”
“You’re an old joker, Harry,” he said. “Us conchs ought to stick together when we’re in trouble.”
“You,” I said, “with your mouth. Who’s going to trust your mouth when you’re hot?”
“I’m a good man, Harry. You put me to the test and see what a good man I am.”
“Get me the two quarts,” I told him. I was thinking of something else.
He brought them out and I took a drink from the open one and put them forward by the wheel. He stood there and I looked at him. I was sorry for him and for what I knew I’d have to do. Hell, I knew him when he was a good man.
“What’s the matter with her, Harry?”
“She’s all right.”
“What’s the matter, then? What are you looking at me like that for?”
“Brother,” I told him, and I was sorry for him, “you’re in plenty of trouble.”
“What do you mean, Harry?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I haven’t got it all figured out yet.”
We sat there awhile and I didn’t feel like talking to him any more. Once I knew it, it was hard to talk to him. Then I went below and got out the pump-gun and the Winchester 30-30 that I always had below in the cabin and hung them up in their cases from the top of the house where we hung the rods usually, right over the wheel where I could reach them.
I keep them in those full-length, clipped sheep’s wool cases with the wool inside soaked in oil. That’s the only way you can keep them from rusting on a boat.
I loosened up the pump and worked her a few times, and then filled her up and pumped one into the barrel. I put a shell in the chamber of the Winchester and filled up the magazine. I got out the Smith and Wesson thirty-eight special I had when I was on the police force up in Miami from under the mattress and cleaned and oiled it and filled it up and put it on my belt.
“What’s the matter?” Eddy said. “What the hell’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I told him.
“What’s all the damn guns for?”
“I always carry them on board,” I said. “To shoot birds that bother the baits or to shoot sharks, or for cruising along the keys.”
“What’s the matter, damn it?” said Eddy. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I told him. I sat there with the old thirty-eight flopping against my leg when she rolled, and I looked at him. I thought, there’s no sense to do it now. I’m going to need him now.
“We’re going to do a little job,” I said. “In at Bacuranao. I’ll tell you what to do when it’s time.”
I didn’t want to tell him too far ahead because he would get to worrying and get so spooked he wouldn’t be any use.
“You couldn’t have anybody better than me, Harry,” he said. “I’m the man for you. I’m with you on anything.”
I looked at him, tall and bleary and shaky, and I didn’t say anything.
“Listen, Harry. Would you give me just one?” he asked me. “I don’t want to get the shakes.”
I gave him one and we sat and waited for it to get dark. It was a fine sunset and there was a nice light breeze, and when the sun got pretty well down I started the engine and headed her in slow toward land.
CHAPTER FOUR
We lay offshore about a mile in the dark. The current had freshened up, with the sun down, and I noticed it running in. I could see the Morro light way down to the westward and the glow of Havana, and the lights opposite us were Rincõn and Baracoa. I headed her up against the current until I was past Bacuranao and nearly to Cojimar. Then I let her drift down. It was plenty dark but I could tell good where we were. I had all the lights out.
“What’s it going to be, Harry?” Eddy asked me. He was beginning to be spooked again.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’ve got me worried.” He was pretty close to the shakes and when he came near me he had a breath like a buzzard.
“What time is it?”
“I’ll go down and see,” he said. He came back up and said it was half-past nine.
“Are you hungry?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. “You know I couldn’t eat, Harry.”
“All right,” I told him. “You can have one.”
After he had it I asked him how
