by Jack Higgins
5
Whistle Up the Duppies
They came into Nassau in the early afternoon. As the Grace Abounding skirted the green shoals of Athol Island, a great white liner moved out of the wide harbour, her rails lined with tourists taking a last look at New Providence.
The waterfront was crowded with work boats from the out-islands carrying everything from vegetables and fish to passengers and poultry. It was more like a marketplace than anything else and thronged with colorfully dressed natives talking endlessly amongst themselves, arguing good-humouredly as they bargained.
They tied up at an old jetty on the other side of the harbour and worked their way along Bay Street, looking for Manny Johnson's boat. They found it within half an hour and Manning dropped down to the deck and looked into the cabin. It was empty. As he climbed back onto the wharf, Seth turned from a couple of fishermen who sat on the wall baiting their lines.
'Seems Manny went on the town in a big way last night. Tossed his money around like it was going out of style.'
'Probably flat on his back in some flea-pit sleeping it off,' Manning said.
'Never knew him to save his money when he could be drinking. Maybe had his sleep and started over again?'
'Could be. Start at the other end of Bay Street. I'll take this side. Try every joint you see. Somebody must know where he is.' Manny glanced at his watch. 'I'll meet you back here in a couple of hours.'
Seth moved into the crowd at once and Manning started to work his way along the waterfront, calling in all the bars. He was wasting his time. Manny Johnson seemed to have covered most of them on the previous night, but no one had any idea where he was now.
It was just after four o'clock when he returned to the boat. He was hot and tired and there was a dull persistent ache somewhere at the back of his head. He lit a cigarette and leaned on the parapet, looking out over the harbour, wondering if Seth was having any better luck. After a while he turned to look along the waterfront and saw Morrison crossing the street towards him.
There was a wide grin on the American's face. 'Say, I'd no idea you were coming over today.'
'Didn't know myself,' Manning said. 'Something came up.'
'Sorry about breaking our date this morning, but under the circumstances I didn't think you'd be interested. When Joe Howard said he was coming to Nassau I thought I'd go along for the ride. Never really had the chance to look the place over on my way in.'
'It's quite a town,' Manning said. 'Plenty of night life and a first-rate casino.'
'Sounds interesting,' Morrison wiped sweat from his face with a handkerchief. 'Too hot for comfort. What about a drink?'
Out of the corner of his eye Manning saw Seth emerge from the crowd and hesitate. 'No thanks. Got some business to attend to. Maybe some other time.'
He left the American standing there and joined Seth. 'Any luck?'
The big man nodded. 'Took some doing, but I finally made it. He's got a room in an hotel not far from here. What was Morrison after?'
'Wanted me to have a drink with him. I had to chop him off pretty short, but it can't be helped.'
It took them about five minutes to reach their destination, a seedy tenement used as an hotel by seamen. It wasn't the sort of establishment that kept a receptionist. They entered a dark and gloomy hall and mounted a flight of wooden stairs. Seth opened a door at the far end of the corridor and led the way in.
The stench was appalling and Manning stumbled across to the window and opened the shutters. For several moments he stood there enjoying the cool breeze from the harbour and then he turned and looked down at Manny Johnson.
He lay on his back, mouth opened and twisted to one side, the soiled and filthy sheets half covering him and draping down to the floor. Manning sat on the edge of the bed, pulled him upright and slapped him gently across the face.
When the old man opened his eyes, he gazed at him with a peculiar fixed stare, and then something seemed to click and a slow smile appeared on his face.
'Harry Manning. What the hell are you doing here?'
'No time to explain that now, Manny. I want information and I want it fast.' Manning gave him a cigarette and a light. 'You ran someone over from Spanish Cay last night. A man called Garcia.'
The old man rubbed a knuckle into his bloodshot eyes and nodded. 'That's right. What do you want him for? He owe you money?'
Manning ignored the question. 'Any idea where he went?'
'Search me. He paid up like a gent and hopped it.'
'Did he take a cab?'
Manny shook his head. 'He hired one of the kids who bum around the wharf to carry his bag.'
'Who was the kid?'
'You can't miss him. Hangs around the wharf all the time. Wears one of those American football jerseys some tourist gave him. Yellow thing with twenty-two in big letters on the back. Reaches to his knees.'
Manning turned enquiringly to Seth and he nodded. 'I know the boy.'
Manning got to his feet. 'Thanks Manny. At least you've given us something to go on.'
'My pleasure,' the old man said. 'Now if you'll kindly get to hell out of here, maybe I can get some sleep.'
They found the boy sitting on the wharf, a few yards away from Manny's boat, with a fishing line, a small black dog curled up beside him. He was perhaps twelve years old and the yellow football jersey he wore contrasted vividly with his ebony skin.
Seth grinned down at him. 'Doing any good?'
The boy shook his head. 'They looking the other way. This ain't my lucky day.'
'Maybe it could be.' Manning produced a pound note and folded it between his fingers.
The boy's eyes went very round. 'What you want, mister?'
'You know Mr Johnson from Spanish Cay?'
The boy nodded. 'That's his boat down there.'
'He brought in a passenger last night,' Manning said. 'He hired you to carry his bag. I want to know where he went.'
'For a pound?' Manning nodded and the boy grinned. 'Mister, that's easy.'
He handed his line and rod to another boy who sat on the edge of the wharf a few feet away. Then he got to his feet, nudged the dog with his toe and moved across Bay Street.
Manning and Seth had difficulty in keeping up with him as he trotted along the crowded pavement. He turned into a narrow alley and they followed him through a maze of back streets. Finally, he halted on the corner of a small square that was entirely surrounded by dilapitated clapboard houses.
He pointed to one in the far corner. 'That's it mister. That's where he went. He paid me off in the back yard. I think he must have been a Cuban. When the lady opened the door, she called him Juan.'
Manning gave him the pound and the boy spat on it and grinned. 'Anytime you want anything, just holler. I'm always down on the wharf there.'
He whistled to his dog and ran back the way they had come.
Manning turned to Seth. 'I want you to stay here. Give me ten minutes and then come looking.'
Seth frowned. 'Maybe it's time we called in the police, Harry. Let them handle it.'
Manning ignored him and moved across the square. The front door was boarded up and he followed a side passage that brought him into a back yard littered with empty tins and refuse of every description. He mounted four stone steps to the door and knocked.
Footsteps approached and it opened a few inches. A woman's voice said, 'Who is it?'
'I'm looking for Juan,' Manning said. 'Juan Garcia. I'm an old friend of his.'
There was the rattle of a chain and the door opened. 'You'd better come in,' she said and walked back along the corridor.
He closed the door and followed, wrinkling his nose at the stale smell compounded of cooking odours and urine. She opened the door, clicked on a light and led the way into a room. It was reasonably clean with a carpet on the floor and a double bed against the far wall.
She was a large, heavily built woman running dangerously to seed, the coffee-coloured skin and the thick lips an indication of her mixe
d blood. She was still handsome in a bold, coarse sort of way and a sudden smile of interest appeared on her face.
'I'm Juan's girl - Hannah. Anything I can do?'
There was an unmistakable invitation in her voice and Manning grinned. 'Not really.'
'Is it business?'
'You could call it that.'
'Well that's nice.' She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. 'Give me a cigarette and tell me all about it.'
She patted the bed beside her and Manning obliged. The gaudy housecoat she was wearing fell open when she crossed her knees revealing black stockings, the flesh bulging over the tops.
'I thought I knew most of Juan's friends. How come you've never been here before?'
'I move around a lot,' Manning said. 'Never in one place for long. Where did you say Juan has gone?'
She blew a cloud of smoke up towards the ceiling and leaned back against the pillow. 'I didn't. As a matter of fact, he's been out of town for a couple of weeks. He only arrived back last night.'
'What time did he go out this morning?'
'Around ten.' She shrugged. 'I went down to the market for food. When I returned, he'd gone. Left a message to say he'd be back this evening.'
Manning shook his head. 'I don't think so.'
She frowned. 'What are you trying to say, mister?'
'He's run out on you,' Manning said.
She sat up, her eyes sparkling angrily. 'You don't know what you're talking about!'
'Where did he go?'
'He didn't say.'
'But you've got a good idea?'
She stretched with a sigh of pleasure, arms extended, her breasts pushing hard against the thin material of her housecoat, and got to her feet. 'Care for a drink?'
He nodded and she crossed to a cupboard, took out a bottle of gin and two glasses and filled them. She came back to the bed and gave him one.
'He's been acting funny for about a month now. Kept hinting he had some big deal lined up that would put us on easy street for the rest of our lives, but he wouldn't tell me what it was all about.'
'Did you ever find out?'
She drank some of her gin and shook her head. 'No, but I followed him a couple of times. He always went to the same place.'
'And where was that?'
'Why should I tell you?'
He took out his wallet and produced a five pound note. She grabbed it quickly and pushed it down into the deep valley between her breasts, her face creasing into a smile.
'A fortune teller called Mother Diamond. Lives in a house in Grant Street down near the harbour.'
'And you never found out why he went there?'
She shook her head. 'I couldn't very well tell him I'd been following him. He'd have slit my ears.'
Manning finished his gin and stood up. 'Thanks for the drink, but I've got to be moving.'
She leaned back against the pillows and gazed at him fixedly. 'What's your hurry? Juan won't be back for a couple of hours.'
'If I were you, I shouldn't bank on that,' he said and closed the door gently as her mouth went slack with astonishment.
Dusk was beginning to fall as he went across the square. He turned into the side street and Seth moved out of a doorway.
'Do any good, Harry?'
Manning nodded. 'I think so. Ever hear of a fortune teller called Mother Diamond?'
Seth glanced at him sharply. 'Sure, everybody knows her. She mixed up in this?'
'I'm not sure, but it looks like it. Know where her place is?'
'Not far from the waterfront.' Seth appeared to hesitate and went on, 'She's bad trouble, that woman, Harry. Don't pay to meddle with her. Lots of people found that out.'
Manning lit a cigarette and grinned. 'Afraid she might put a hex on me?'
There was sweat on the man's face and all at once, his eyes seemed very white. 'They say she can whistle up the duppies, Harry. They say she can bring the drowned men out of the sea.'
Manning was aware of a sudden irrational coldness as if somewhere, someone had walked on his grave, but he managed to force a smile.
'Let's go and find out.'
It was almost dark when they reached Grant Street. The house was detached and surrounded by a six-foot board fence painted white. Manning opened the gate and they walked along a brick path and paused at the bottom of a flight of rickety wooden steps.
He turned to Seth. 'You stay here and keep out of sight. If you hear a disturbance, kick in the door.'
Seth merged into the darkness without a word and Manning mounted the steps and knocked on the door. After a few moments, steps shuffled along the corridor and he could see a shadowy figure through the cracked frosted glass window. The door clicked open and an old woman looked out at him.
A scarlet bandana was tied around her head like a turban and her wrinkled skin was the colour of leather, long jet earrings hanging on either side of her face. The eyes were the most disturbing feature, absolutely black and yet contained a weird luminosity.
'Mother Diamond?'
'What do you want?' Her voice was strangely lifeless.
'I wonder if you could spare me a few moments?'
'You wish to consult the stars?'
'That's right. I was told you could help me.'
She nodded at once. 'Come in.'
The hall was gloomy and filled with a smell of incense that caught at the back of the throat in a curiously unpleasant manner. She pulled back a heavy velvet drape and opened the door.
The room was sparsely furnished, the only light a single lamp on a small table. He took a chair and she sat opposite, several books at her elbow and a pad of blank paper in front of her.
'Give me the date of your birth, the place and time. The time is most important.'
He told her and looked over her shoulder at the shadows crawling out of the corners, pushing against the light thrown out by the lamp. He wondered what his next move should be, but decided to wait till she gave him an opening.
She consulted several books, making notes on the pad, and finally nodded. 'Do you believe in the powers of the supernatural?'
'Would I be here if I didn't?'
'You are ambidextrous?'
For the moment, he was completely thrown off balance. 'How the hell did you know that?'
'Many born under the sign of Scorpio are.' She looked at the notes again. 'Life for you is often a battleground.'
'You can say that again.'
She nodded calmly. 'Mars, Sun and Neptune in conjunction on the mid-heaven will result in a certain sharpness of tongue and temper. You are often your own worst enemy.'
In spite of himself, Manning laughed harshly. 'I think that's bloody marvellous.'
The old woman looked across, eyes glinting in the lamplight. 'You find something humorous in what I say?'
'Something like that.'
She carefully piled her books on top of each other. 'Who did you say recommended you to come here?'
'I didn't,' Manning said, 'But since you ask, it was Juan Garcia.'
Her eyes regarded him unwinkingly. 'I know no one of that name.'
'Well, how about taking a look into your crystal ball? You might see him skulking around in some dark corner.'
'I think you'd better leave,' she said calmly.
'You're making a big mistake.'
A slight breeze touched the back of his neck and the door creaked. A voice said, 'It is you who has made the mistake, Mr Manning.'
The man who had advanced into the lamplight was wearing a white linen suit and his face was shaded by a Panama hat. The eyes were cold and hard and as full of menace as the .38 automatic in his right hand.
'Surprise, surprise,' Manning said softly. 'Juan Garcia, I presume?'
The other shook his head and for a brief moment, his teeth gleamed whitely. 'I'm afraid not, senor. My name is Pelota. At this very moment, poor Juan is on the high seas bound for Cuba and what he fondly believes to be his just reward for his little exploit on Spanish Cay.' He sighed heavily
. 'You have a saying in English. One get's one's reward in heaven.'
'Is that where Garcia's going to get his?' Manning said.
Pelota shook his head. 'He will not need to go that far, my friend. We have a little paradise here on earth called the Isle of Tears.'
Mother Diamond cut in sharply. 'Enough of this nonsense. This man is dangerous. I won't have him in my house. It was not in our agreement.'
Pelota's eyes flickered towards her angrily and Manning seized the lamp from the table, pulled it from its socket and plunged the room into darkness. As he jumped for the shelter of a horsehair sofa, Pelota fired twice, orange flame momentarily lighting the room.
Manning scrambled to one knee and Pelota cried, 'Better come out, Manning. You haven't a chance.'
At that moment, the door was kicked open, a great shaft of light flooding in from the corridor, picking Pelota out of the dark. He turned in alarm. As he started to raise his automatic, a bullet caught him in the centre of the forehead, lifting him back against the old woman.
As Manning got to his feet, the main light was switched on. Morrison was standing in the doorway, a revolver in one hand, Viner and Joe Howard at his shoulder.
6
The Man from CIA
When Manning came out of the commissioner's office, he found Seth and Viner sitting on a bench in the waiting room. The black man had a dressing taped to one side of his head and looked strained and ill.
He forced a smile. 'Everything okay, Harry?'
Manning nodded. 'How do you feel?'
'Not too good. Never saw what hit me. Do you think they'll get anything out of him?'
'Pelota?' Manning shook his head. 'The hospital rang through a few minutes ago. He's dead. The Commissioner and Morrison are discussing it now.'
'I still haven't been able to work out where Morrison fits into all this,' Viner said. 'Who is he, anyway?'
'Central Intelligence Agency,' Manning said. 'Apparently they've been expecting trouble in these parts for some time. They sent him down here to see what he could turn up.'
'I thought there was something special about him when I found him at police headquarters with Joe Howard.' Viner grinned wryly. 'Forgive me, Harry, but it seemed the sensible thing to do with you apparently running headlong into trouble. I hired a launch and followed you over.'
