by Ray Connolly
“I hope you don’t mind if I interrupt you, ladies,” said Hardin, with a smile that would have won a war. “I need to have a chat with Michel.”
The two women climbed to their feet. “Not at all, James,” said the more forward of the two. She, too, had learned the importance of memorizing names.
“Michel sure has had a fascinating life,” said her companion.
“Perhaps I can buy you a drink this afternoon sometime,” said Hardin, anxious to be rid of them. Michel was looking at him with surly derision, the expression of the delinquent who knows he’s been caught but isn’t quite sure at what.
“That would be very nice, wouldn’t it, Linda?” came the reply.
Linda smiled. “Well, we’ll see you later then, Michel. Perhaps you’ll sing us some more of your songs.”
“I’m sure he’d love to,” said Hardin.
Still smiling, the two women wandered away.
“Well, this is indeed a rare pleasure, James,” said Michel, mimicking the intonation of the Paso Robles girls.
Hardin towered over him, staring down into the insolent face. “Let’s take a walk, shall we, Michel,” said Hardin. “Let’s take a walk along the beach. I think we have some talking to do.”
“We can talk here,” said Michel, slowly reaching for a cigarette and lighting it.
Hardin kept his voice steady. “Let’s go.”
Michel pulled himself to his feet. There was no reason why he should obey Hardin; after all, he had paid for his vacation. But Hardin had a way about him.
The two of them set off across the gardens, through the trees, and on toward the sea. Whenever anyone wanted a really private conversation in Club Village, the beach was the place. Only when standing on the open beach, with the sound of the Atlantic smothering all else, could you be sure of privacy.
“Show me your belt,” said Hardin simply once they were safely out of earshot.
They were standing along the edge of the ocean. “What would you do if I said ‘go take a fucking hike’?” asked Michel, without looking at Hardin.
Hardin grinned. “I’d grab you by the neck, take you into the sea, and push your head under until you came to your senses,” he said.
“You know, you think you’re a pretty tough guy,” said Michel.
“The belt,” Hardin insisted.
Michel shrugged and, unbuckling his belt, slid it out of his trousers and passed it over.
“Oh, very clever,” said Hardin as he undid the pockets. There was a trace of coke in one. He tasted it, and then smiled. “You know, Michel,” he said with a bonhomie he was not feeling, “I think you’re going to be very helpful to me.”
“Like fuck I am,” replied Michel.
Hardin didn’t even bother to look around to make sure that he wasn’t being observed. With one large hand he grabbed the French-Canadian by the neck and, hurling him across the beach, dragged him into the sea and forced his head under the water. Michel kicked maniacally with his hands and feet, but Hardin held on, counting slowly to ten. At last he released him. Michel staggered out of the sea, coughing and spluttering, holding his throat and gasping.
Hardin looked around the beach. It was so huge that the other guests were hardly more than colored specks. No one appeared to have noticed the fracas. Hardin advanced on Michel. Hardin now had the belt flung carelessly over his shoulder. Michel lay like a broken bird in the burning sand.
“Now,” said Hardin, “let’s have a little talk, shall we?”
Forty-One
Michel fed the unfortunate Matt Hillman up to Hardin with hardly a whimper. Half an hour after the conversation on the beach Michel was packing his bags under the eyes of two security guards, preparing to leave Elixir on the same flight as Piebald Jane, while Matt Hillman was sweating it out in Hardin’s office. By twelve o’clock Hardin had the information he wanted, and Hillman was showing him the loose floor board in the library.
“Lift the bags out,” said Hardin, standing over Hillman and blocking his escape route.
“For God’s sake, Brummer will kill me,” sniveled Hillman.
“If he doesn’t, I will,” said Hardin. “Lift them out.”
He had carefully made sure that Brummer was kept busy on an errand down at the marina while his questioning of Hillman had been taking place. He had had a series of lucky breaks by picking on the weaker links in the chain, but he knew that he would never have been so fortunate had he had to deal with Brummer. The Dutchman was a different proposition altogether. Hardin doubted if he would ever have found a way to break him. He had used a tried and tested method on Hillman. Once he had been apprised of the way the system worked, he had promised Hillman an airline flight out of the Bahamas if he cooperated and showed him where the dope was stored. When Hillman had realized he could be out of Elixir and back on his way to the States before Brummer realized what had happened he jumped at the opportunity. Hardin was giving him the chance he wanted to get out of the racket and away from his Colombian partners before there were any holes in his head. So it was that Hillman gratefully joined Piebald Jane and Michel on the one-o’clock flight out of Elixir.
Hardin didn’t doubt that were he to go through every single person’s belongings, he would find all kinds of illegal things in the village. But that was not his purpose. He believed in doing everything as quietly as possible. Getting the police involved would be unnecessary. The publicity would ruin the club.
When Brummer arrived back from the marina at three-fifteen Hardin was waiting for him, sitting in the room which Brummer had, until that morning, shared with Hillman.
Brummer sized up the situation in an instant. If he was shocked to find Hardin lounging on Hillman’s bed, and he must have been, he never for one moment betrayed his feelings.
“I hope you’re making yourself at home,” said Brummer, hurling himself into the one easy chair in the room while his eyes raced around the room, ending up on the two large bags of cocaine lying alongside Hardin on the bed.
“Hillman had a plane to catch,” said Hardin. “He asked me to make his apologies to you.” Hardin had purposely let Hillman have a head start on Brummer. To have allowed Brummer to get close to Hillman after he had so easily blurted out the truth about their operation would in all likelihood have led to violence.
“Tell me about Pagett,” said Hardin. “Did he know what you were into?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Brummer.
Hardin had guessed right. Brummer was not the kind of man who was ever going to do a deal. He decided to level with him. “Listen, I’m not going to turn you over to the Coast Guard or police or anyone. We both know that I couldn’t afford the bad publicity for the village. The Bahamian government might even decide to close us down. Certainly, they’d begin to interfere a great deal in our affairs. So let’s forget all about that. You’re leaving here this evening. But since we have some hours to kill, I might as well start learning something about what’s been going on here. Okay?”
“How did you find out?” asked Brummer, not bothering to deny anything, but not confirming anything either.
“Does it matter? I did.”
“How much did Hillman tell you?”
“Enough to make me certain that neither of you two were involved in Pagett’s death.”
“Would he have told you if we had been?”
Hardin smiled. “You know Hillman, Brummer. He’s a squealer. If there had been anything to tell it would have come pouring out.”
“What are you going to do with the bags?” asked Brummer.
“Well, I can’t toot all that by myself, and I’m not about to start dealing, so I think I’ll have to find some way of disposing of it.”
“Have you any idea how many hundreds of thousands of dollars that stuff is worth in the States?” asked Brummer.
Hardin nodded. “I’ve a pretty good idea, and with inflation the way it is these days I don’t doubt it’s increasing in value while we’re sitting here.
But tell me about Pagett. I know he wasn’t involved, and I know that you two guys didn’t kill him. Neither of you left the village on the day he went missing. I checked that out. But I have to know how much he knew.”
Brummer shook his head. “Pagett didn’t know anything. He was a good guy. He kept his nose out of things that didn’t concern him.”
“But he was killed,” said Hardin.
“Well, he’s dead, for sure,” said Brummer, helping himself to a panatella from his top pocket, “but I heard the sharks got him.”
“I think maybe someone got to him first.”
Brummer shook his head. “Why? No one had any reason at all to kill Pagett. Do you have any evidence for thinking that?”
“None at all,” said Hardin. “I was hoping you might have some ideas. It just seems so unlikely for an experienced boatsman to go down on a perfect day.”
“Let me tell you, Hardin. So long as Pagett was here I was running a good business and a lot of people were doing okay. He was good news for everyone. You’re the one who’s heading for trouble.”
“Not from you, I’m not,” said Hardin.
“How did you get Hillman to talk?” asked Brummer after a moment.
“I panicked him. He was scared of the cops.”
Brummer swore quietly. “Goddamn stupid faggot. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.”
“You make much money?” asked Hardin.
Brummer shrugged. “Some. Not enough. It’s in a safe place. Not here, if you’re wondering. I banked it.”
“If you take my advice,” said Hardin, “you’ll get the hell out of this part of the world as quickly as possible. When your friends find out that you’ve fallen down on your part of the trade they’ll come after you with dum dum bullets.”
“Did you tell Hillman that?”
Hardin nodded.
“Why do you care so much about our welfare?”
“I don’t. I just don’t want your corpse turning up in Nassau Harbor. It’s bad for business.”
Brummer guffawed. “You know, you’re a pretty cool guy. What has Club Village ever done for you that you’re so worried about business?”
“It’s nothing to do with the club,” said Hardin. “To me it’s all about trying to do the best you can in the situation in which you find yourself. I happen to have been sent here to clean out Elixir as quietly as possible. That’s what I’m doing. If I don’t, I’ll feel I’ve failed, that I’ve lost, in a way. I’ve never been a good loser.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Brummer pointed to the two bags.
Hardin checked h watch. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he said. “You’ve plenty of time. You aren’t leaving until eight.”
Standing, Hardin picked up the bags, one under each arm, and walked out of the room. Brummer followed him along the balcony, down the steps, and out into the main concourse area and across toward the pool. The sun had now gone behind some heavy rain clouds, and the pool was empty other than for a group of snorklers who were practicing. Hardin walked to the diving board, climbed the steps, and tiptoed along the springboard. When he reached the end he sat down, his legs straddling the board. Brummer watched him warily.
“If you see your Colombian friends again I want you to tell them what I did. Okay?” said Hardin. Taking a penknife from his pocket, he slit the first of the bags wide open, holding it high over the pool and allowing the five pounds of white powder to fall into the water. He did the same with the other bag, as people began edging toward the pool, watching.
Brummer watched in disbelief. “Holy shit, man,” he moaned. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve just signed your own death warrant.”
Hardin sauntered slowly back along the spring plank, carrying the two empty bags in his hands. The waters of the pool now bore no trace of the valuable treasure they had just consumed. “I don’t think so, Brummer,” he said. “You’re the guy who let them down. You’ll be the one they want to get even with. I was just doing my job. If I were you, I’d keep my head well down for a long time. Because if you don’t, the odds are that you won’t be living very long. Now you might as well go and pack your things. You and Hillman are both going to be wanted men. You failed to deliver. You’d better start running.”
Brummer didn’t wait to argue. Hardin was right. With out a word he headed back to his room. He was on his way back to Holland, grateful to have escaped the situation so easily.
Hardin watched him go. At the edge of the pool groups of CVs were watching him, open-mouthed. Now they all would know just how serious he was about keeping dope out of the village.
Cassandra was sorry to see Jane leave the village, although not exactly surprised.
“Your lunatic friend is in love with some corpse who took an overdose in a Paris toilet,” Jane explained when she met Cassandra by the pool immediately after her interview with Hardin. “He’s become a screaming necrophiliac because he doesn’t think he did enough to save the dear girl from her wicked ways. Jesus, you should have heard him.”
“So?” Cassandra had asked.
“So he’s giving me a one-way ticket to Palookaville.”
“To where?”
“Palookaville … that was one of my old man’s favorite sayings. It’s been nice knowing you, Cass. We’d have made a great team here, you know that?”
“I’m sorry, Jane.”
“Forget it. All these palm trees give me the creeps, anyway.”
“I’ll help you pack.”
“That’s okay. Hey, Cass, next time you’re in New York, look me up, okay?”
“I promise.”
“And one last thing: If you ever do get that crazy dictator in the sack, fuck him once for me. Okay?”
“I can’t promise.”
“See you, then,” said Jane, and with a quick kiss she walked off back to their room to gather her belongings.
She was going to miss Jane, thought Cassandra, but it was only later that afternoon when she returned to her room that she realized just how sorrowful was the parting. Two of her prettiest Zandra Rhodes dresses were missing from the closet, and lying on her bed was a note scrawled in lipstick on a yard-long length of toilet tissue. It read, “Hope you don’t mind, Cass, but I’m borrowing a couple of your dresses. You’ll never wear them here. They’re a bit big for me, but I can pin them up. I’m leaving you two of my bikinis in return, as I won’t be needing them for a while. Thanks. Love, Jane. P.S. Club Village sucks.”
But despite this, despite everything, Cassandra found it impossible to stay mad at Jane. At least while Jane had been with her she had not been disturbed by faces at the window. She would miss her during the rest of her stay at Elixir.
For her part, Jane left Elixir without any particular regrets. She was sorry that she had not been given the chance to apologize to Arrowsmith, but, on consideration, she thought it was probably for the best.
She met Michel and Hillman on the airstrip. Michel was particularly upset and hardly spoke, but she detected a sense of relief in Hillman.
By the time they arrived at Nassau an hour later, the three of them were quite friendly. And, prompted by Jane’s encouragements, Michel disappeared into the men’s washroom just a couple of paces behind a very rich dude who had made several deliberate passes at him across the bar. Michel returned five minutes later with a fresh supply of coke, enough for several toots each.
“It’s good to have friends, isn’t it?” said Jane to Hillman as they waited for the five-o’clock flight back to New York.
“That’s what Club Village is all about, isn’t it? Making new friends …” said Hillman, delivering the first funny line he had spoken in his entire life.
Six months later Hillman was found with his throat cut, on a houseboat in San Francisco Bay. He hadn’t run far enough from his Colombian connections.
Piebald Jane developed a career in soft porn movies, and bought a tenth share in a house in Taos.
Michel worked as a singer in a Pa
ris bar. Willem Brummer was last heard of fighting as a mercenary with the South African Army in Namibia.
You meet all kinds of interesting people in Club Village.
Part V
Forty-Two
Despite her prettiness Karen Sorensen was not an immediate romantic lead in Elixir. She was a shy girl, and was virtually overwhelmed with the hit-and-run tactics of most of her contemporaries in the village. She was from Colorado and had arrived alone and exhausted on the Sunday evening, feeling immediately that she was an outsider.
Twenty years old, five feet, six inches tall, with long slender legs, a delicate, almost shining complexion, and dark brown hair which she wore in pigtails, she was definitely eye-catching. But she was not that easy to get to know.
Naturally enough, all the male CVs had immediately noted her arrival and begun to buzz around her hungrily. But, since she was so obviously not interested, she was left to her own devices. She was a real bore, it was quickly decided.
Karen’s roommate was hardly more sympathetic. She had been paired with a divorcée from Stuttgart called Ingrid who had gone to Elixir looking for a good time, and Karen’s apparent puritanism was, at best, an imposition and, at worst, a distinct impediment to her romantic adventures.
So, although she enjoyed the tennis and swimming, Karen disliked the social side of Club Village, and was beginning to resent the fifteen hundred dollars she had invested in her vacation. Then, during a ballet lesson, she met Sacha.
At first she thought that he was just another CV trying to hit on her for an easy lay, and when he complimented her on her dancing she smiled haughtily and turned an arched shoulder toward him. But the polite, almost apologetic way with which this beautiful young man moved humbly aside for her at the end of the lesson was devastating in its attraction, and she found herself giving the nearest thing to a come-on smile she ever allowed herself.
