Like a Hole in the Head Page 2

  “Why sure, but there’s nothing to talk about. We’ll just be wasting each other’s time.”

  He walked off slowly towards the bungalow. I hesitated, then followed him.

  In nine days he must be as good a shot as you.

  The boy would not only never make a good shot, but worse, he hated the feel of a gun. I could tell by the way he handled my rifle and by the way he flinched every time he pulled the trigger. He had held the rifle so loosely, his shoulder must be one black bruise right now from the recoil.

  Seeing Savanto coming towards the bungalow, Lucy opened the front door, smiling at him. She had no idea what he had just said and she imagined I was about to sign up my first new pupil.

  As I joined him, she said : “Would you like a beer, Mr. Savanto? You must be thirsty.”

  He regarded her, the genial smile back in place and he lifted his hat.

  “That is very kind of you, Mrs. Benson : not now; perhaps later.”

  I stepped around him, opened the sitting-room door and waved him in. As he entered the room, I patted Lucy’s arm.

  “I won’t be long, honey. You get on with the painting.”

  She looked surprised, then nodded and went out into the sunshine. I moved into the room and shut the door, then crossed to the open window and looked out.

  Lucy had gone around to the back of the bungalow. The black Cadillac stood in the hot sun. The driver was smoking. Timoteo was sitting motionless, his hands resting on his knees.

  I turned around. Savanto had taken off his hat which he laid on the table. He lowered his bulk on to one of the upright chairs we had inherited from Nick Lewis. He looked around the room, slowly and with interest, then he looked at me.

  “You don’t have much money, Mr. Benson?”

  I lit a cigarette, taking my time, then as I flicked out the match flame, I said, “No, but why bring that up?”

  “You have something I can use. I have something you can use,” he said. “You have talent. I have money.”

  I pulled up a chair and sat astride it.

  “So?”

  "It is vitally important that my son becomes an expert shot in nine days, Mr. Benson. For this I am prepared to pay you six thousand dollars. Half down and half when I am satisfied.”

  Six thousand dollars!

  Immediately, I thought what we could do with a sum like that.

  Six thousand dollars!

  We could not only give this place the complete face-lift it so badly needed, we could even run to a spot on the local T.V. station. We could

  hire a barman. We could be in business!

  Then I remembered how Timoteo had handled the rifle. An expert shot? Not in five years!

  “Thanks for your confidence, Mr. Savanto,” I said. “I certainly could use money like that, but I must be honest with you. I don’t think your son will ever be a good shot. Sure, I could train him to shoot straight, but that’s all. He doesn’t like guns. Unless you really like guns, you just can’t be a good shot.”

  Savanto rubbed the hack of his neck and his eyes narrowed.

  “I think perhaps I will have one of your cigarettes, Mr. Benson. My doctor doesn’t like me to smoke, but sometimes the urge is too strong for me. A cigarette at the right time is soothing.”

  I gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. He inhaled and let the smoke drift down his nostrils while he stared at the top of the table and while I thought of what Lucy and I could do with six thousand dollars.

  Silence hung in the room along with our cigarette smoke. The ball was in his court so I waited.

  “Mr. Benson, I appreciate that you are being honest with me,” he said finally, “and this I like. I wouldn’t be happy if you said you could make Timoteo into a good shot the moment I mentioned six thousand dollars. I know my son’s limitations. However, he must become an expert shot in nine days. You told me you don’t perform miracles. In a normal situation I would accept this, but this isn’t a normal situation. The fact remains my son must become an expert shot in nine days.”

  I stared at him.

  “Why?”

  “There are important reasons. They need not concern you.” His snake’s eyes glittered. He paused to tap ash off his cigarette into the glass ash-tray on the table. “You talk of miracles, but this is the age of miracles. Before coming here, I made inquiries about you. I wouldn’t be here unless I was satisfied that you are the man I am looking for. Not only do you have a great shooting talent, but also you are very determined. During the years you served in Vietnam you spent long, dangerous and uncomfortable hours in the jungle, alone with your rifle. You killed eighty-two Vietcong… cold blooded, brilliant shooting. A man who can do that is the man I am looking for… a man who doesn’t admit defeat.” He paused to stub out his cigarette, then went on, “How much money do you want to make my son an expert shot, Mr. Benson?”

  I moved uneasily.

  “No amount of money can make him that in nine days. Maybe in six months, I might do something with him, but nine days… no! Money doesn’t come into it. I told you… he hasn’t any talent.”

  He studied me.

  “Of course money comes into it. I have learned over the years that money will buy anything… providing there is enough of it. You are already thinking what you could do with six thousand dollars. With that amount of money you would be able to make a modest living out of this school. And yet six thousand dollars isn’t a big enough sum to convince you that you can perform a miracle.” He took from the inside pocket of his jacket a long white envelope. “I have here, Mr. Benson, two bearer bonds. I find them more convenient to carry around than a lot of cash. Each bond is worth twenty-five thousand dollars.” He tossed the envelope across the table. “Look at them. Satisfy yourself that they are what I say they are.”

  My hands were unsteady as I took the bonds from the envelope and examined them. I had never seen a bearer bond before so I had no idea if they were genuine or not, but they looked genuine.

  “I am now offering you fifty thousand dollars to perform a miracle, Mr. Benson.”

  I put the bonds down on the table. My hands had turned clammy and my heart was thumping.

  “You can’t be serious.” My voice was husky.

  “I am, Mr. Benson. Make my son an expert shot in nine days and these bonds are yours.”

  To gain a moment of time, I said, “I don’t know anything about bonds. These could be just pieces of paper.”

  Savanto smiled.

  “So you see, I am right when I said enough money buys anything. You now want to know if these bonds are forgeries. You no longer tell me that you can’t perform a miracle.” He leaned forward, tapping the bonds with his finger nail. “These are genuine, but don’t take my word for it. Let us go to your bank and see what they have to say. Let us ask them if they will convert these two pieces of paper into fifty thousand dollars cash.”

  I got up and moved to the window. The little room felt suffocatingly hot. I stared out of the window at the black Cadillac and at the beanpole sitting motionless in the back seat.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “Okay… so they are genuine.”

  Again he smiled at me.

  “That is good for there is little time to waste. I will now return to the Imperial Hotel where I am staying.” He glanced at his watch. “It is just after five o’clock. Please telephone me at seven o’clock this evening and tell me whether or not you will perform a miracle for fifty thousand dollars.”

  He put the bonds in his pocket and stood up.

  “Just a moment,” I said, annoyed with myself at sounding so breathless. “I have to know why your son has to shoot so well and what his target will be. Unless I know, I can’t hope to prepare him. You talk about an expert shot, but there are all kinds of experts. I must know, Mr. Savanto.”

  He thought for a long moment. He had picked up his hat and was

  staring into it.

  “So I will tell you. I made a foolish bet with an old friend of mi
ne for a very large sum of money. My friend is an excellent shot and always boasting about what he can do with a rifle. Foolishly I said that anyone could become a good shot with training.” He regarded me sharply with his flat snake’s eyes. “Even I, Mr. Benson, when I have had too much to drink, can be stupid. My friend betted me that my son couldn’t kill a fast- moving animal with a rifle after nine days’ tuition. I was drunk and angry and I accepted the bet. Now, I must win.”

  “What animal?” I asked.

  “A monkey swinging in a tree : a deer in flight : a hare running from a dog… I don’t know… something like that. My friend has the choice, but it must be a clean, certain kill.”

  I wiped my sweating hands on the back of my jeans.

  “How much did you bet, Mr. Savanto?”

  He showed his gold-capped teeth in a smile.

  “You are very curious, but I will tell you. I bet half a million dollars. Although I am a rich man, I can’t afford to lose that amount of money.” His smile became fixed. “Nor do I intend to.”

  As I stood hesitating, he went on, “And you can’t afford to lose ten per cent of that kind of money either.” He stared at me for a long moment. “Then at seven this evening, Mr. Benson.”

  He left the room and started off across the hot sand towards the Cadillac. I watched him go. Halfway to the Cadillac, he paused, turned and raised his hat. He was saluting Lucy.

  Fifty thousand dollars!

  The thought of owning such a sum turned me hot with a frightening, terrible desire.

  Fifty thousand dollars for a miracle ! So I was going to perform a miracle !

  * * *

  I heard the front door open, then Lucy came in.

  “Any luck, Jay? What was it all about?”

  The sight of her brought me sharply down to earth. In those few moments as Savanto was driving away and Lucy was coming for news, my mind had been ablaze with the thoughts of becoming rich.

  “Get me a beer, honey,” I said, “and I’ll tell you.”

  “There’s only one… Shouldn’t we keep it?”

  “Get it!”

  I didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but I was pretty worked up and I wanted the beer because my mouth was dry and my throat constricted.

  “Of course.”

  She gave me a startled look and then ran off to the kitchen. I walked out of the bungalow and sat down on the sand under the shade of the palm trees.

  Fifty thousand dollars ! I kept thinking. God ! It can’t be possible! I scooped up a handful of dry sand and let it run through my fingers. Fifty thousand dollars !

  Lucy came from the bungalow, carrying a glass of beer. She came to me, gave it to me and then sat down beside me.

  I drank until the glass was empty, then I found a cigarette and lit it.

  Lucy watched me.

  “Your hands are shaking,” she said, her expression worried. “What is it, Jay?”

  I told her.

  She didn’t interrupt, but sat still, her hands clasping her knees, looking at me and listening.

  “That’s it,” I said, and we looked at each other.

  “I just don’t believe it, Jay.”

  “He showed me the two bonds… Each are worth twenty-five thousand dollars… I can believe that ! ”

  “Jay ! Think a moment ! No one would pay that sum of money without a good reason. I don’t believe it.”

  “I’d pay that sum of money to save half a million. Don’t you call that a good reason?”

  “You don’t believe he made that bet, do you?”

  I felt blood rising to my face.

  “Why not ! Rich men make big bets… He said he was drunk at the time.”

  “I don’t believe it !”

  “Don’t keep saying that ! I’ve seen the money !” I found I was shouting at her. “You don’t know anything about this ! Don’t keep saying you don’t believe it!”

  She flinched away from me.

  “I’m sorry, Jay.”

  I pulled myself together and gave her a wry grin.

  “I’m sorry too. All that money ! Think what we can do with it ! Just think! We can turn this place into a dude ranch. We can have staff… a swimming pool… we can’t miss! I’ve always thought with enough capital…”

  “Can you teach this man to shoot?”

  I stared at her. Those words brought me down to earth. I got up and walked away from her, stopping a few yards from where she sat. She was right, of course. Could I teach this beanpole to shoot?

  I knew I couldn’t teach him to shoot for six thousand dollars, but for fifty thousand… a miracle, I had said. This is the age of miracles, Savanto had said.

  I looked at Lucy.

  “This is a chance in a lifetime. I’ll teach him to shoot if it’s the last thing I do. Let me think about this. I have only an hour and a half before I telephone Savanto. If I say yes, I’ve got to know what I have to do. I’ve got to convince him and I’ve got to convince myself I can do it. Let me work it out.”

  As I started across the sand to the shooting gallery, Lucy said, “Jay…”

  I paused, frowning at her. My mind was already busy. What is it?”

  “Are you sure we should get mixed up in this? I — I have a feeling… I…”

  “This is something you have to leave to me,” I said. “Never mind how you feel, honey… this is a chance in a lifetime.”

  I sat in the gallery and smoked cigarettes and thought. I sat there until it was close on 19.00 and by then I had convinced myself that I could earn Savanto’s money. I had been one of the top range instructors in the Army, and God knows, I had had dozens of dopes through my hands who didn’t know one end of the rifle from the other. Somehow, with patience, by shouting at them, by cursing them, by laughing with them, I had turned them into respectable riflemen, but a respectable rifleman is miles away from an expert shot. I knew that, but the thought of all that money lessened the problem.

  I left the gallery and crossed the sand to the bungalow where Lucy was still painting the window frames. She looked at me, her eyes troubled.

  “Have you decided?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m going ahead. I’ll talk to him now. I’ll need your help, honey. I’ll go into the details after I’ve talked to him.”

  I went into the bungalow. I looked up the number of the Imperial Hotel and after a delay, Savanto came on the line.

  “This is Jay Benson,” I said. “One thing I want to know before I commit myself… . Just how co-operative will your son be?”

  “Co-operative?” I heard the surprised note in Savanto’s voice. “Of course he will be co-operative. He understands the situation. You will find him most willing to learn.”

  “That’s not what I mean. If I take him on, he’s got to be more than willing. He’s got to work at it, and I mean work. When do you have to put up?”

  “September 27th.”

  I thought for a moment. That would give me nine clear days, starting from tomorrow.

  “Okay. From tomorrow at 06.00 until the evening of the 26th, he’s mine… body and soul. He will stay here with me. He will do nothing but shoot, eat, sleep and shoot. He doesn’t leave this range for a second. He will do everything I tell him to do and he won’t argue, no matter what I tell him he is to do. I have a spare bedroom he can have. Until the evening of the 26th, he belongs to me… I’ll repeat that… he belongs to me. Unless he agrees to these terms, it won’t work.”

  There was a pause on the line. I could hear Savanto’s breathing. Then he said, “It sounds as if you are thirsty for my money, Mr. Benson.”

  “I am, but I intend to give you value for your money.”

  “I think you will. All right… my son will be with you at 06.00 tomorrow.”

  “How about my terms?”

  “That is all right. I will explain everything to him. He knows how important it is.”

  “I don’t want any mistake, Mr. Savanto. When he comes here, he is mine. Is that understood?”


  “I will tell him.”

  “That’s not good enough. I want your guarantee. He’s mine or we forget it.”

  Again there was a long pause, then he said, “You have my guarantee.”

  I drew in a long slow breath.

  “Fine. Now I want some money. I’ll have to buy a lot of ammunition. I must buy him a gun. He has to have a gun to fit him. He can’t shoot with my rifle. His arms are too long.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. I have bought him a gun : it is a Weston & Lees. I had it made for him. He will bring it with him.”

  Weston & Lees were the top gunsmiths in New York. To buy a madeto-measure gun from them costs around $5,000. He was right. If Weston & Lees had built a gun for his son I had nothing to worry about on that score.

  “Okay. I want an advance payment of five hundred dollars,” I said.

  “Do you, Mr. Benson? Why?”

  “I am closing the school. I am getting rid of my pupils. I have bills to settle. We have to eat. I don’t want anything on my mind except your son.”

  “That is reasonable. Very well, Mr. Benson, you shall have five hundred dollars if it will make you happy.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “And you think you can make my son a good shot?”

  “You said this is the age of miracles. I’ve thought about it. Now, I believe in miracles.”

  “Good.” Again a long pause, then he said, “I would like to have a final word with you, Mr. Benson. Have you a car?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then would you come to my hotel tonight… at ten o’clock?” He wheezed a little and then went on, “I would like to finalise our arrangement. I will have the money for you.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Benson,” and he hung up.

  Lucy was in the kitchen, cutting sandwiches. In our present state of economy, we had agreed that sandwiches were about the cheapest food we could live on. The previous day, I had bagged four pigeons and Lucy had spit-cooked them. With their breasts cut very fine plus a touch of Tabasco and a sliced pickle they made an acceptable sandwich.

  I propped up the kitchen doorway.

  “We have to have Mr. Savanto’s son here, honey,” I said. “For the next nine days, I’ve got to live with him eighteen hours a day. Is it okay to put him up in the spare bedroom?”