Juggernaut

It was a fair warning and I wasn't particularly surprised nodded my thanks and crossed to the Land Rover. Zimmerman seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It did. As I opened the door an object rolled off the seat and smashed at my feet. It was my bottle of Scotch, and it was quite empty.

'Russ did this, Harry?'

'I'm afraid so.'

He'd left the bottle where I'd find it; it was a direct challenge. There would have been just enough in it to put an edge on his appetite for supper, or for a brawl.

'Where is he?'

'Neil, Russ is one tough guy to tangle with. Be careful.'

I said, 'He's not going to hurt me. I'm going to straighten your buddy out.'

'Hell, he's not my buddy,' Zimmerman said, and there was an edge to his normally placid voice. 'We just work together. I've seen this before and I don't have a taste for it. He's having a game of poker with some of your guys.'

I picked up the pieces of glass and ditched ail but the largest which had the label still attached, and closed the car door. Zimmerman added, 'Watch his left. He has a sneaky curve punch there.'

'Thanks.'

I knew where to find Burns. One of the lamps leading from the generator cable had been looped over a tree so that the light shone on the ground below. Five men were sitting playing cards, using a suitcase as a table. I didn't notice who they were; I had eyes only for Burns. He played a hand casually but I knew he'd seen me arrive and his back had stiffened.

I stopped just outside the circle of light and said, 'Burns, come here. I want you.'

He looked up and shaded his eyes. 'Why, it's our top man,' he said. 'What can I do for you, Mannix?'

Cards went down all round the circle. I said, 'Come over here.'

'Sure. Why not?' He uncoiled his lean length from the ground.

I watched him come. He was younger, taller, heavier and probably faster than I was, so I'd have to get in first. It's a stupid man who starts a fight without reckoning the odds. Burns knew that too; he was spoiling for a fight, as Zimmerman had warned me, and he had set up the time and place. It was years since I'd done much fighting except with words, while he was probably well in practice.

I was aware of figures forming the inevitable spectators' ring, but I couldn't afford to take my eyes off Burns. Witnesses were in any case going to be more on my side than on his, so long as I could hold my own.

I

I held up the bottle shard. 'Did you drink my whisky?'

'Sure I drank it. What's wrong with borrowing a little booze? It was good stuff while it lasted.'

I controlled my anger, and was so intent that when the interruption came I couldn't quite credit it. A hand came over my shoulder and took the broken glass from me. 'Do you mind if I have a look at that?' a voice said.

McGrath stepped out beside me and peered at the label. Everyone else stood motionless.

'I've seen this before. Isn't it the bottle you were keeping for medical emergencies, now?'

Then without warning the hand not holding the shard connected with Burns just at the angle of his jaw and the Texan grunted, staggered and dropped as though poleaxed. Only afterwards did I see the cosh.

I grabbed McGrath by the arm. 'God damn it, McGrath, I told you not to go off half-cocked!'

He said so that only I could hear, 'You couldn't have whipped this bucko and we both know it. He'd take you to pieces. I've had my eye on him; he's dangerous.' Coming from McGrath that was a ludicrous statement. 'Now if I don't defuse him he'll come looking for both of us and he might have a gun by then. He has to be made harmless. That OK with you?'

'Christ, no! I don't want him killed,' I said.

'I wouldn't kill him. I said made harmless. Now, have I your leave?'

I didn't have much choice. 'Don't hurt him,' I said.

'Not really hurt, no,' McGrath said. He pushed his way through the knot of men who had gathered round Burns. They made way instantly, though none faster than Jones and Bob Pitman. Neither Wingstead nor Kemp were present.

McGrath took Burns by his shirtfront, hauled him to his feet and shook him. 'Are you all right, Texas?' he asked.

Burns' eyes looked fogged. He put a hand up to his jaw and mumbled, 'You son of a bitch – you busted it!'

'Not at all,' said McGrath, 'Or you couldn't be saying so. I didn't hit you all that hard, did I now? And I don't think that's the language for someone in your position to be using.'

The hand that had held the cosh came up again and this time there was a knife in it. McGrath was a walking armoury. He pressed the sharp edge against Burns' throat and a ribbon of blood trickled down. He pushed Burns until the Texan's back was against a truck.

'Now listen,' McGrath said in a matter-of-fact voice, 'You can have your throat cut fast, slow or not at all. Take your pick.'

Burns choked. 'Not – not at all.'

'Well, then, you can answer a couple of questions, and if you give the right answers you get a prize, your life. Here comes the first question. Are you ready?'

'Yes,' whispered Burns.

McGrath said, 'Right, this is it. Name one boss in this camp.'

'Y-you.'