see. Mr. McGee, I am going to arrange an appointment for you with a man whose job it is to listen to people's troubles and problems.
Or I could undo the umbilical cords that affix the Busted Flush to the slip, and head down around the peninsula and somewhere up the other side. Find a place where I could anchor out, and use the dinghy for shoreside supplies, live small and careful. And longer.
Or close up the Flush and fly to Cairns up there at the top end of Australia. Summer there, and the fishing is good. Walk over to the aquarium at feeding time and study the dwarf crocodiles and think about Jornalero's associates. Sample the brawny Australian beach lassies who can windsurf all day without tiring a single muscle.
Hang around and let them keep trying.
When I walked out to the Flush I found a man sitting on the finger pier, legs dangling, staring at the Flush and tapping cigar ashes into the water. He looked fat, but from the way he carne to his feet, all in one motion, I knew he was in better shape than he looked. He wore a blue work shirt and khaki pants, a Greek seaman's cap and thick leather sandals. He was short and broad with a square jaw, no neck, a deep red sunburn, small brown eyes, deep-set, white eyebrows and lashes.
I was a good ten inches taller than he. He tilted his head and looked up at me and said, barely moving his lips, "Three four nine one two three eight. In ten minutes. Now point to something over near the motel."
I did as asked. He thanked me, touched his cap and went trudging away. I called that number ten minutes later.
"Hello?"
"This is McGee."
"Trav, how the hell are you? Tommy T. told me to look you up when I got here."
"How is old Tom?"
"He's fine. You going to be aboard about eight? I want to just stop on by and say hello."
"I'll be right here."
"Great! See you." Whoever he was, he was careful.
Even though my security system indicated nobody had been aboard, I checked the whole houseboat carefully. And when I was through I put on snorkel and fins and took the big underwater light and checked the hull and all the adjacent pilings. I came up shivering and took a hot shower. And then there was nothing to do but cook something and wait for the man in the Greek hat.
Ten
I LEFT one dim fantail light on. He tapped at the door at three minutes past eight. Same careful fellow. Or maybe not careful enough. I opened the door and he said, "My name is Browder."
"McGee," I said, and stuck my hand out. He took it and I pulled him in and held tight as Meyer slid in behind him, closed the door with one hand and jabbed him once in the back with the barrel of my Colt Diamondback and then moved back away from him to what I had told Meyer is a safe and appropriate distance.
"Browder, the man behind you is not very familiar with firearms. The revolver is cocked. There is a shell in the chamber. His finger is on the trigger. If you do anything quick and funny, it might twitch."
"Nothing quick. Nothing funny. Believe me." After I had tied him to a stanchion with a length of braided nylon line, Meyer was able to take a deep breath again. I emptied his pockets and put everything on the table. He had a silver money clip in the shape of a dollar sign, worn from long use, with four hundred and twenty dollars in it. He had some crumpled ones and some change in the same pocket as a Swiss Army knife with a cracked red handle. I patted him down and found an ankle holster with a little two-shot derringer in it, two rounds of.22 Magnum hollowpoints. He stood as patiently as a horse being groomed.
"Going to do it with the derringer?" I asked him.
"It wouldn't look like an accident, would it?"
"Why does it have to be an accident anyway?"
"I'll give you a number and you dial it and let me say something into it. They will get a voiceprint, okay? Then they'll clear me."
I had to retie him where the phone would reach. He said the phone was manned twenty-four hours a day. I wasn't familiar with the area code. It
Or I could undo the umbilical cords that affix the Busted Flush to the slip, and head down around the peninsula and somewhere up the other side. Find a place where I could anchor out, and use the dinghy for shoreside supplies, live small and careful. And longer.
Or close up the Flush and fly to Cairns up there at the top end of Australia. Summer there, and the fishing is good. Walk over to the aquarium at feeding time and study the dwarf crocodiles and think about Jornalero's associates. Sample the brawny Australian beach lassies who can windsurf all day without tiring a single muscle.
Hang around and let them keep trying.
When I walked out to the Flush I found a man sitting on the finger pier, legs dangling, staring at the Flush and tapping cigar ashes into the water. He looked fat, but from the way he carne to his feet, all in one motion, I knew he was in better shape than he looked. He wore a blue work shirt and khaki pants, a Greek seaman's cap and thick leather sandals. He was short and broad with a square jaw, no neck, a deep red sunburn, small brown eyes, deep-set, white eyebrows and lashes.
I was a good ten inches taller than he. He tilted his head and looked up at me and said, barely moving his lips, "Three four nine one two three eight. In ten minutes. Now point to something over near the motel."
I did as asked. He thanked me, touched his cap and went trudging away. I called that number ten minutes later.
"Hello?"
"This is McGee."
"Trav, how the hell are you? Tommy T. told me to look you up when I got here."
"How is old Tom?"
"He's fine. You going to be aboard about eight? I want to just stop on by and say hello."
"I'll be right here."
"Great! See you." Whoever he was, he was careful.
Even though my security system indicated nobody had been aboard, I checked the whole houseboat carefully. And when I was through I put on snorkel and fins and took the big underwater light and checked the hull and all the adjacent pilings. I came up shivering and took a hot shower. And then there was nothing to do but cook something and wait for the man in the Greek hat.
Ten
I LEFT one dim fantail light on. He tapped at the door at three minutes past eight. Same careful fellow. Or maybe not careful enough. I opened the door and he said, "My name is Browder."
"McGee," I said, and stuck my hand out. He took it and I pulled him in and held tight as Meyer slid in behind him, closed the door with one hand and jabbed him once in the back with the barrel of my Colt Diamondback and then moved back away from him to what I had told Meyer is a safe and appropriate distance.
"Browder, the man behind you is not very familiar with firearms. The revolver is cocked. There is a shell in the chamber. His finger is on the trigger. If you do anything quick and funny, it might twitch."
"Nothing quick. Nothing funny. Believe me." After I had tied him to a stanchion with a length of braided nylon line, Meyer was able to take a deep breath again. I emptied his pockets and put everything on the table. He had a silver money clip in the shape of a dollar sign, worn from long use, with four hundred and twenty dollars in it. He had some crumpled ones and some change in the same pocket as a Swiss Army knife with a cracked red handle. I patted him down and found an ankle holster with a little two-shot derringer in it, two rounds of.22 Magnum hollowpoints. He stood as patiently as a horse being groomed.
"Going to do it with the derringer?" I asked him.
"It wouldn't look like an accident, would it?"
"Why does it have to be an accident anyway?"
"I'll give you a number and you dial it and let me say something into it. They will get a voiceprint, okay? Then they'll clear me."
I had to retie him where the phone would reach. He said the phone was manned twenty-four hours a day. I wasn't familiar with the area code. It
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