King Rat

There was only a thread of a moon. He waited until the latrine area was momentarily empty, then he slipped across the naked ground and under the wire and into the jungle. He kept low as he skirted the wire, avoiding the sentry that he knew was meandering the path between jungle and fence. It took him an hour to find the spot where he had hidden the money. He sat down and took the inches of notes and tied them around his thighs, and doubled his sarong around his waist. Now, instead of reaching the ground, the sarong was knee length, and the bulk of it helped to hide the untoward thickness of his legs.

He had to wait another hour just outside the latrine area before he could slip under the wire. He squatted down on the borehole in the darkness to catch his breath and wait until his heart was calmer. At length he picked up his bottle and left the latrine area.

“Hello, cobber,” Timsen said with a grin, coming out of the shadows. “Gorgeous night, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” Peter Marlowe said.

“Beaut of a night for a walk, right?”

“Oh?”

“Mind if I walks along with you?”

“No. Come along, Tim, I’m happy to have you. Then there won’t be any bloody hijackers. Right?”

“Right, mate. You’re a toff.”

“You’re not bad yourself, you old bastard.” Peter Marlowe slapped him on the back. “I never did thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, mate. My bloody oath,” Timsen chuckled, “you nearly had me fooled. I thought you was only going to take a pong.”

The King was grim when he saw Timsen, but at the same time he was not too grim, for the money was once more in his possession. He counted it and put it in the black box.

“Now all we need’s the ice.”

“Yus, mate.” Timsen cleared his throat. “If we catch the bushwhacker, before he comes ’ere or after he come ’ere, then I gets the price we agreed, right? If you buy the ring from him and we don’t catch him—then you’re the winner, right? Fair enough?”

“Sure,” the King said. “It’s a deal.”

“Good-oh! God help him if we catch him.” Timsen nodded to Peter Marlowe and walked out.

“Peter, take the bed,” the King said, sitting on the black box. “You look wrung out.”

“I thought I’d go on back.”

“Stick around. Might need someone I can trust.” The King was sweating, and the heat of the money from the black box seemed to be burning through the wood.

So Peter Marlowe lay on the bed, his heart still aching from the strain. He slept, but his mind was alert.

“Mate!”

The King jumped to the window. “Now?”

“’Urry.” The little man was vastly afraid and the white of his eyes caught the light as they darted back and forth. “C’mon ’urry.”

The King slammed the key into the lock and threw back the lid and took out the pile of ten thousand he had already counted and rushed back to the window. “Here. Ten grand. I’ve counted it. Where’s the diamond?”

“When I gets the money.”

“When I’ve got the diamond,” the King said, still holding tight to the notes.

The little man stared up belligerently and then opened his fist. The King stared at the diamond ring, examining it, not making a move to take it. Got to make sure, he told himself urgently. Got to make sure. Yes, it’s the one. I think it’s the one.

“Go on, mate,” grated the little man. “Take it!”

The King let go of the notes only when he had a firm grip on the ring, and the little man darted away. The King held his breath and bent down beside the light and examined the ring carefully.

“We’ve done it, Peter buddy,” he whispered, elated. “We’ve done it. We got the diamond and we’ve got the money.”

The stress of the last few days closing in on him, the King opened a little sack of coffee beans and made as though to bury the diamond deep within. Instead, he palmed the ring neatly. Even Peter Marlowe, the closest man to him, was fooled. As soon as he had locked the box he was overcome with a fit of coughing. No one saw him transfer the ring to his mouth. He felt around for the cup of cold coffee and drank it down, swallowing the stone. Now the diamond was safe. Very safe.

He sat on a chair waiting for the tension to pass. Oh yes, he told himself exultantly. You’ve done it.

A danger whistle cut the stillness.

Max slipped through the doorway. “Cops,” he said, and quickly joined the game of poker.

“Goddam!” The King forced his legs to move and he grabbed the stacks of money. He threw an inch at Peter Marlowe, stuffed an inch into his own pockets, and raced down the room to the poker table and gave each man a stack which they stuffed in their pockets. Then he dealt out the rest on the table and grabbed another seat and joined the game.

“Come on, for Chrissake, deal,” the King said.

“All right. All right,” Max said. “Five card.” He pushed out a hundred dollars. “Hundred to play.”

“Make it two,” Tex said, beaming.

“I’m in!”

They were all in and gloating and happy and Max dealt the first two cards and dealt himself an ace up. “I bet four hundred!”

“Your four and up four,” said Tex, who had a deuce face up and nothing in the hole.