The Mark of Cain

by William J. Coughlin

“But like Slick said, he is overdue,” Johnson protested. “It wouldn’t hurt anything to just take a walk up that way.”

  Cain stood up to ease the tension he felt clutching his back muscles. “It could hurt,” he answered. “He could have managed to get inside after closing. We could blow the whole thing if we start nosing around now.”

  “They might have grabbed him too.” Slick’s voice was a bit high with feeling. “Goddamn it, Cain, he could be in one hell of a lot of trouble. I’m with Johnson. I think we should go up there and have a look.”

  Cain shook his head. “If he is in trouble, it’s his business to get out of it.” He paused, letting the impact of his words sink in. “We will wait for a while. Soldier is competent. He’ll be along.”

  Eddy came out through the cabin hatchway. He looked at the three men sitting outside in the night. “Can’t find beer,” he said softly. “We out of beer?”

  “There’s a case under the bunk in the aft cabin,” Johnson said. “But it’s warm. Put it in the refrigerator for a while. I forgot about it.” He drained the last dregs from the beer can he held and then crushed the soft metal in his hand. “I need a walk. I’ll take a stroll toward the casino. It can’t hurt anything if just one of us takes a look, Cain.”

  “It could attract attention, and if Soldier is inside the place, it could screw up his whole operation.”

  Slick swore softly under his breath. “Cain, you ain’t going to pull another stunt like you did back in Maiduguri, are you? Soldier could be in a lot of trouble.” He could not see Cain’s eyes in the dark, but he knew they were staring at him.

  “If they jumped Soldier, he could be hurt and dying,” Slick continued. “Man, I like to play it safe and cautious too, but we do have to look out for each other.” He also paused for effect. “I don’t want this thing to turn out to be like what happened to Erick.”

  Cain was on him before Slick could move. He held Slick’s body jammed up against the cabin, the black man’s arms pinned so that he could not move. “One more crack like that, and I will kill you.” Cain’s voice was flat and deadly. Johnson was surprised at the menace in the soft words.

  “Let … let go of me …” Slick’s words were forced from clenched teeth. “Let me go … or I’ll kill … you.”

  Cain suddenly let go and jumped back, his manner relaxed but ready. “I’m sorry, Slick,” he said evenly. “I’m on edge.”

  The black man turned his back to them. His breathing was fast and excited. “You ever do that again to me, Cain, and I’ll carve you up like a turkey.” His voice shook with emotion. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

  He turned slowly, rubbing the arm that had been twisted. “Get this, Cain. I’m going ashore. I’m going to make sure Soldier is all right. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me like you did Erick.”

  Cain sighed. “Erick is dead. That’s all past, Slick.” He paused. “These people know you, but if you’re determined to go, I’ll go with you.”

  “I don’t want you along.”

  Cain stretched lazily, but he was ready for the black man’s attack if it came. “Whether you want me along or not, Slick, I’m going up there with you.”

  “Me too,” Johnson said.

  Eddy, who had returned from below, tried to shrink into the shadows of the cabin. He hoped they would not ask him to go. Cain and his violent friends frightened him, and he was never comfortable in their presence.

  “You stay with the boat, Johnson.” Cain’s tone was firm. “We have to have a man standing ready in the boat”—Cain continued before the other man could protest—“in case we have to get the hell out of here in a hurry. In fact you had better loosen the lines and have the engines turning, just in case.”

  “See, even you think Soldier is in trouble.” Slick’s voice still carried his resentment.

  Cain paused before answering. “I don’t think he’s in trouble, but he probably will be if we go up there.” He moved to the cabin. “We had better take pistols.”

  “And some grenades,” Slick added.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Cain said.

  “I’m taking grenades.” Slick’s tone carried a challenge.

  Cain realized that the flaring anger he felt was due to the tension. Slick was a good man, a professional. Nothing would be accomplished if he took him on; they had enough to do without fighting each other. “How about the cannon?” Cain asked. “Do you want to take that too?”

  Slick snorted as he moved past him, hurrying below to get the arsenal they required.

  *

  San Bonaparte is a small island, and most of the transportation is by bicycle or foot. Only a few of the most wealthy residents own cars and then mostly only for show. Cars are seldom driven, and so the appearance of the Rolls moving through the deserted streets would have been a surprise at any time of day or night. But at that hour there was no one awake to see it. The car had come from the far crest of the island’s long hill, the section where the most elaborate villas were situated. The hill had been called “Pirates’ Hill” since antiquity. The big car rolled on majestically until it stopped in front of the closed casino.

  A tuxedo-clad man appeared from the shadows near the casino’s elaborate front door and raced down the steps to the car. He jerked the rear door open. “Sorry to call you back, Mr. Van Pelt,” he said. “Did they explain the situation to you?”

  The immense form of Van Pelt struggled out of the car’s door. The man helped him get to his feet. Van Pelt brushed at his wrinkled white suit. “We have a visitor, it seems.”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he cooperated?”

  “Not yet.”

  The big man’s rasping laugh echoed in the empty street. “I’m surprised at George,” he said. “He must be losing his touch.”

  The man helped Van Pelt up the steps, and they disappeared into the bowels of the gambling casino.

  “No trouble, eh?” Slick whispered to Cain. They were crouched down, concealed in the shadow thrown by the large fountain constructed in the middle of the street across from the casino entrance. “Did you hear that cat? They got Soldier inside.”

  “Maybe.” Cain’s whisper was barely audible.

  “Well, who the hell do you think they have: the queen of England?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Cain said. He peered around the corner of the fountain. He could see no sentries around the casino building. He studied the nearby rooftops and doorways. Nothing moved. The casino’s big double doors looked formidable: heavy wood, elaborately carved, doors fit for a fortress. Small glass inserts had been built into each door at eye level—peepholes—and Cain suspected a sentry would be stationed at the doors. He hoped it would be only one man.

  “Slick, I’ll hold your gun and grenades. I want you to wander up to the casino’s front door like you’re drunk. Reel around and stagger, that sort of thing.”

  Even in the dark Cain could see the distrust shining in the black man’s eyes. “I’ll keep my gun, man,” he said.

  “This is a job for a knife alone, Slick. Wander up close to that fancy door. Fall down at the base of it and start making vomiting sounds. My guess is that if there is anyone behind that door, he will come flying out to kick your ass away from there. That’s when you use your knife.”

  “What if there are two of them, or more?”

  Cain thought for a moment. Although they were not certain the man held inside was Soldier, it was a logical conclusion. For a moment doubt seized him. He wondered what he might do if they launched a war against the casino and then found that it had no connection with the pirates. Then he remembered the boy, Roberto, and Finzanno. He put all doubt out of his mind. These men were far from innocent.

  “If there are two or more,” Cain said softly, “I’ll burn them from here, and then you and I will hit that place like the James gang. But if there is only one, you take him silently and then we’ll slip into the joint and see if we can find Soldier. We’ll have a better ch
ance that way.”

  Slick unbuckled his gun belt, handing Cain his holstered .45 and the grenades attached to the belt. He opened the long blade of his clasp knife and slipped it into his pocket, still open.

  Slick stood up and stumbled around the fountain. He mumbled snatches of a song and wandered aimlessly in the direction of the casino front steps. Cain marveled as he watched. No one could doubt that Slick was anything other than a half-conscious, harmless drunk. Cain buckled Slick’s belt around his own waist. He extracted his own magnum pistol and waited.

  Slick kneeled on the bottom steps as if he were looking for something. Still singing, he half crawled up the stairs until he was near the base of the casino front doors. If anyone was looking out the peephole, all they could see was Slick’s back. He began to make long tortured retching sounds.

  One of the big doors moved, and a figure stepped out of the shadows. “Get out of here, you goddamned …” The words were snapped off as if by a switch. Slick seemed to be dancing with the man, a drunken couple fox trotting across the top of the steps, struggling against each other. Then the fight went out of Slick’s partner, and Slick let the man slip, rolling silently down the steps, leaving a dark trail behind him. Slick signaled to Cain.

  Cain returned the gun and grenades to Slick at the entrance. They eased themselves past the door and into the darkened interior of the deserted gambling casino. Nothing moved. Small night-lights lent a ghostly appearance to the gambling tables.

  At the sound of approaching voices Cain and Soldier ducked behind a large crap table.

  “You won’t get anything out of him,” Van Pelt was speaking to two companions. They passed by on the other side of the crap table. “I know the type,” he continued. “You saw the scars on that fellow. He has been worked over before, and by experts.” Van Pelt’s humorless laugh echoed in the empty casino. “Even George won’t get this one to talk.”

  “But if he does?”

  “I will be up at the villa. Should he have anything important to say, send someone up. But only if it is important. I don’t wish to be disturbed unnecessarily. I’m hosting a small reception for the princess tonight. And it would be most rude for a host to desert his guests twice in one evening. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Van Pelt.” The other man paused briefly. “And if our guest dies?”

  Van Pelt’s wheezing laugh again resounded through the dark rooms. “If he dies, get rid of him in the usual way.” He paused, as if thinking. “As a matter of fact let George have his fun for another hour or so, and if the man is still alive after that, kill him and dispose of him.” He snorted, as if amused by the prospect. “You had better let George do that. You know how much he enjoys that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, Mr. Van Pelt,” both men answered in unison.

  The three men were approaching the casino’s front door. Cain knew in a moment they would discover the dead sentry’s body.

  Cain tapped Slick’s shoulder. “Come on,” he whispered. He ran to the office hallway. There was light under one of the doors. “I’ll go in first,” Cain said. “Follow and cover me. But this has to be fast. Those other people will be coming back from the front door as soon as they hear the noise, so we’ll have to time this thing just right. We hit the room first, then turn and defend. Got it?”

  Even in the dimness Cain could see the hunter like anticipation on Slick’s face.

  Cain threw open the door and burst into the room, his pistol held before him.

  The thin man, who was running a blade down Soldier’s naked arm, stared at him, his mouth open in shock. The man on the desk reacted instantly, reaching inside his coat. Cain shot him through the head. The man toppled off the desk and fell, lifeless, to the carpeted floor.

  The thin man dropped the knife and backed away, his hands held up, palms forward in a signal of surrender.

  “Here they come,” Slick said, steadying his .45 against the doorjamb. The big automatic roared as he pulled the trigger. Cain moved slowly toward the door, his eye on the thin man.

  Slick fired again and frowned as a bullet whined by in the hallway, the answering shot echoing in the empty gambling club. Slick shook his head as if in apology and sighted the pistol again. He snapped off two quick shots. He waited a moment before lowering the gun. “I got them,” he said to Cain. “I didn’t see the fat man, but I got the rest of them.” He fell silent as he saw Soldier.

  Soldier was tied to a chair, his head slumped against his chest. Blood oozed from dozens of slashes on his face, chest, and arms. Cain pointed the magnum’s large muzzle at the thin man’s midsection.

  “Come on, Cain, waste him and let’s get out of here.” Slick spoke from the doorway where he maintained a watch over the darkened casino. “The fat man got away. He’s probably rounding up his army of goons right now. We have to move!”

  Cain gently lifted Soldier’s head. The big man’s eyes were open, but they seemed to be out of focus, seeing something very far away.

  “Soldier,” Cain said softly. “Soldier, it’s Cain.”

  The big man gave no indication that he had heard. “Soldier!” Cain shouted near his ear, his tone commanding. The massive head jerked up, the eyes blinking, and then fully alert.

  Keeping the pistol pointed at the thin man, Cain stooped and picked up the bloody knife on the carpet. He quickly cut the ropes from Soldier’s feet and hands.

  Soldier stood up. He flexed his hands and arms, stretching to ease his cramped back. If the many cuts on his body caused him any pain, he gave no indication. His eyes were on the terrified thin man who stood trembling against the wall.

  “Let’s go, Soldier,” Cain said. “This place will be crawling with people in a minute or two.”

  “I’ll need only a minute,” Soldier’s voice was flat, almost without emotion.

  “Hurry it up.” Cain stepped out into the hallway and followed Slick as the black man moved cautiously toward the front of the casino. The door was still open, and they could see nothing in the street beyond, although they knew that meant nothing. A hundred guns might be waiting for them, hidden in the night shadows and aimed at the doorway.

  A cry of terrified pain came from behind them, followed by a short dying shriek. Soldier came from the hallway. He picked up a pistol held in the hand of one of the men Slick had shot, then wiped a rag against his bleeding body.

  The street was quiet and apparently deserted. The Rolls had been driven away. Soldier pushed past Cain and Slick, stepping out and stopping on the top step, his pistol swinging to and fro like a radar antenna. It was his gesture of appreciation.

  No shots greeted him.

  Cain, Slick, and Soldier ran down the steps and into the protective darkness of the empty streets leading to the harbor. Only the sound of their pounding feet and labored breathing broke the silence of the night.

  They ran until they reached the dock. Cain signaled them to stop. “They may … have … got to … the boat,” he panted. “Be careful.”

  They advanced cautiously down the empty dock until they saw Johnson wave from his perch on top of the boat’s cabin.

  They scrambled aboard.

  “What happened?” Johnson’s eyes were riveted on the blood-smeared Soldier.

  “Plenty,” Cain snapped. “Let’s get this thing out of here, and fast.”

  Slick disappeared below and came back with two machine guns, handing one to Cain. Johnson backed the big boat out of the slip. Disregarding the signs against excessive speed in the harbor, he pushed the big boat forward until it was throwing a high wake, bobbing the boats docked behind them. They reared through the harbor mouth at full speed.

  “That was easy,” Slick said as the cooler air of the open sea washed over them.

  “Too easy,” Cain said.

  “What do you mean, too easy?” Slick said “Did you see what they did to Soldier?”

  Cain nodded. “I saw. But there was no pursuit, and that seems strange.”

  “They didn�
��t have time, man. We moved pretty fast.”

  Cain looked at the island fast disappearing behind them. “Maybe, but it still seems strange to me. The fact that they made no attempt to take us when they had Soldier is odd. Hell, they probably could have arranged for the local police to lock us up without risking a thing. They could have kept us on ice and out of their hair.”

  “You worry too much.”

  Cain squinted at the distance between themselves and the island. There was no sign of any pursuing boats. “You know, Slick, it bothers me. It’s as if they are very sure of themselves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s as if they aren’t coming after us because they feel they can take us any time they choose.”

  The island of San Bonaparte became smaller as they increased their distance.

  NINE

  Cain came awake slowly. His first conscious awareness was the sound of Soldier’s deep rhythmic breathing. Cain opened his eyes. Red light streamed in through the small porthole, splashing the dark cabin with an aura of crimson. He looked across at the other bunk. Soldier lay on his back, one arm against his side and the other stretched out above his head. He was sleeping soundly. The penicillin salve they had applied over the long cuts on his skin had dried, and he now looked as if someone had baked long red welts across his heavy muscles and thick face.

  Cain marveled at Soldier’s ability to sleep. The cuts on his body produced the kind of aching pain that would rob most men of any chance of rest. Yet Soldier possessed some sort of mental capability to rise above pain. He had had one small whiskey after they had treated the wounds, smiled at them, and then closed his eyes in peaceful slumber. Cain envied the big man’s faculty for pain tolerance.

  Quietly Cain eased his legs over the bunk and stood up. He picked up his shoes and tiptoed out of the sleeping cabin. Everything on the boat was quiet; nothing else stirred. He climbed up the short steps to the main cabin and found Slick watching him. The black man’s face showed his fatigue. He held a machine gun cradled in his arms like an infant.

  “You have another hour before it’s your shift.” Slick’s voice was as tired as his eyes.