Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 2, April 1961

“Albert,” he said tightly, “why didn’t you say there were cops here?”

“What?” Albert grabbed the glasses and looked. “God, that’s something new. I swear, I don’t know.” He turned to Johnny, his face worried. “What does that mean? You can’t do the job?”

Johnny smiled grimly and took the glasses. “Means we have to be twice as careful, that’s all.”

A quarter-hour later, a young negro policeman left the little building and walked across the savannah. He wore a white pith helmet and a short-sleeved white jacket with corporal’s stripes on the sleeves. Near the unfinished schooner, he sat down on a fallen palm trunk, lit a cigaret and took off the helmet. Two of the workmen joined him and they talked, laughing often. The policeman unbuttoned his jacket.

“I think he’s the only one here,” said Johnny.

“How do you know?” asked Albert, who’d been breathing down his neck.

“No cop gets that friendly with the citizens unless he’s the only one in town.”

The corporal finished his cigaret and returned to his building. At five, he locked the door and walked down a sandy path toward the rear of the village. Johnny sighed. Now, if nothing happened to stir him up...

The sun dropped into the Caribbean. Darkness came like a blanket thrown over the island. Dim lights appeared in the rumshops and someone lit an oil lamp in the savannah.

Johnny watched the hotel, where Howard McLain and the creole woman sat playing cards across a bar of split bamboo. A Coleman lantern enclosed them in a cone of light. They didn’t talk; just laid down the cards and picked them up in pairs, counted the score and dealt again. The game, Johnny decided, was Concentration.

He hoped they’d go to bed before the moon came up. But he couldn’t wait much longer.

Albert came out with a plate of food and Johnny waved it away. He’d never been able to keep food on his stomach before a hit. I’ll get ulcers, he thought, if I stay in this business.

The two were still playing cards when the luminous dial of Johnny’s watch showed eight p.m. He went into the cabin and started pulling on his dark clothes. “I’ll swim to the hotel, Albert. Gotta make it before moonrise. Give me time to reach the beach, then go in and tie up at the jetty.”

“What? They’ll see me.”

“They’ve been seeing us, kid. Ten to one the cop’s got a description of the boat. If you stay out here, someone’s bound to remember we were here at the time of the killing. The cop’ll start looking for us. So you go in and mingle. Tell the people you’re working for an American businessman. Tell ’em I’m on board asleep, and we’re heading back to St. Vincent when I wake up.”

“Sounds good.”

“It stinks.” Johnny jerked off his shoes and socks. “Too damn many complications. I like to pick the time and the method. This time they did all that for me.”

The kid was silent as Johnny slid the cutlass into one of the black stockings. “Hey. How’ll you get back on the boat?”

“Swim. I’ll shed these clothes, so if I’m seen, I’ll just be taking a dip. Here. Tie this on.” He turned to let Albert tie the cutlass to his back. One thong went around his neck, the other around his waist. The blade lay flat along his spine.

“If it goes right,” said Johnny as he pulled the other stocking over his head, “we’ll be in St. Vincent before they find the body.”

“What about the guy’s wife?”

Johnny felt a twinge of annoyance. He didn’t want to think about the woman. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll be back in Trinidad before she catches her plane.”

He walked out on deck and eased himself over the side. In the water he paused, clinging to the splashboard. “We’ll make it, kid. Just keep doing as you’re told.”

He pushed off and swam toward the two dim squares of light which marked the hotel windows. After a minute, he noticed that the lights kept moving to the right. A powerful current was sweeping him toward the open sea. He altered course and aimed for a point halfway between the village and the hotel. He was not a strong swimmer and the clothes hampered his movement. He reached shore a hundred yards beyond the hotel, then dropped to the sand and drew in great gulps of air.

After a minute he untied the cutlass and walked toward the hotel, staying under the palms which fringed the beach. He could hear the launch moving toward the jetty. Albert was following orders.

He crept along the side of the hotel and found a window which gave him a view of the lobby. The pair were still playing cards. A sand crab scuttled across Johnny’s foot and he jumped. The cutlass ticked the building.

At the bar, McLain rolled his head. “Whazzat?”

“A manicou,” said the woman.

“Go look around the building.”

She closed her eyes a moment, then rose. Johnny crouched low as her bare feet slapped across the lobby. He reversed the cutlass and gripped it by the blade. He didn’t plan to kill the woman unless he had to.