and three letters postmarked Havana, Cuba, and addressed in a feminine hand to Sr. Ernie Boyle. Under them was a photograph of a man and a girl at a table in a sidewalk cafe. There was something vaguely familiar about the man. I was just lifting it out for a closer look when I tensed up, listening. Somebody had come aboard. I heard his footsteps as he walked aft along the deck above me. I crossed to the lamp in two quick strides, and blew it out.
The beam of a flashlight probed downward from the deck, splashing against the steps of the companion ladder. I leaned back against the bunks on the starboard side. He came on down the ladder. I could see nothing but the big black shoes and the light, pointed downward. He stopped at the bottom, some twelve feet from where I was standing and started to raise the light. It swept along the bunks on the port side and then came abruptly to a stop when it hit the jimmied suitcase. I could hear his breath suck in. “Ladrones!” he said, and began to curse in Spanish. The light swung and splashed against my face.
I dived for him, but the light blinded me, and he was too far away. When I got there I met nothing but a fist, which crashed just under my ear, and the railing of the companion ladder. I plowed into the railing with my left shoulder and for a moment my whole arm went numb. I fell back against the bulkhead, straightened, and reached out for him. The light splashed against my face again, and at the same time the fist smashed against my jaw. I fell forward this time, grappling wildly with my arms, and caught him by the shirt. It tore. I swung and managed to hit him on the side of the face, but I was off balance and there was no power behind it. Then the light swung in a short, chopping arc, something smashed against my head, and I fell.
A whole ocean of pain was sloshing around in my head, and when I tried to move, something was holding me and somebody was tugging at my feet. I opened my eyes. There was light in the room now; the kerosene lamp was burning again. I was lying on my right side in one of the bunks with my arms twisted behind me. My hands were tied. I looked down at my feet.
He was a big Mexican or Cuban kid of twenty-two or so, dressed in a leather jacket and dungarees. He was muttering to himself in Spanish and tying my feet to the stanchion of the bunk. He had broad shoulders and a square and rather pleasant face, but when he looked at me his eyes were filled with nothing but anger and contempt.
“Ladron!” he spat at me.
“You speak English?” I asked.
He checked the knots in the line, and straightened. “Sure, I speak English, Jack. And how low can you get? Coming on a pot like this to steal from the crew.”
“I didn’t come here to steal,” I said.
”Of course not,” he said contemptuously, and turned away. He started up the companionway: “Where are you going?” I asked.
“Where else?” he said. “Out to the phone to call the cops.”
Thirteen
Listen,” I said quickly. “Wait a minute, will you? I tell you, I didn’t come here to steal anything.”
“You think I’m that stupid?” he asked. But he did pause.
“No,” I said. “I don’t. And if you’ll just think about it or a minute you’ll see I’m telling the truth. Why the hell would I waste time breaking the suitcase open? I’d just carry it off.”
He snorted. “Past the guard out there?”
“I’ve got a boat tied up alongside. I could have had all your suitcases off here thirty minutes ago if I’d wanted them.”
He made no reply. He went on up the ladder and I heard his footsteps going forward along the deck. Well, I’d tried. Then, miraculously, he was coming back. He stepped down the ladder and stood looking thoughtfully at me.
“So you don’t steal suitcases. Just work boats,” he said. “Go ahead and make me cry.”
“I’m going to put the boat back,” I said. “And I was going to leave the money here to pay for the suitcase—if I didn’t find what I was hoping to. The money’s in my left hip pocket.”
He lighted a cigarette. “And what was it you wanted?”
“I’m trying to find a man