“She won't give it to me,” Harry said. “I can't ask her for it.”
Borg shrugged.
“Please yourself,” he said. “It's fifty grand or the wrench goes to the cops. I want the dough by tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow night! Harry thought. That would give him twenty-four hours to think of a plan to get out of this jam.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Then what happens?”
Borg's eyes went sleepy.
“You get the wrench back. That's what happens.”
“How do I know you won't double cross me?” Harry said, watching Borg closely.
Borg smiled.
“You don't. You've got to trust me the way Delaney had to trust you.”
That was another way of saying that when he had got the money, Borg would kill him, Harry thought. Well, maybe two could play that game.
“I don't part with the money until I get the wrench,” he said.
“That's okay—I don't part with the wrench until you hand over the dough—so that makes two of us,” Borg returned. “We'll meet tomorrow night at ten o'clock. You bring the dough and I'll bring the wrench.”
“We meet here?”
Borg shook his head.
“No, we don't meet here. We'll meet on the beach where you planted the girl.” His little pig's eyes searched Harry's white face. “Then if you want to double cross me or I want to double cross you, there'll be no one to see what happens.”
Harry stiffened. Out on that lonely beach, miles from anywhere, he would have only his wits to save him. He was now certain Borg intended to murder him.
“And if I were you,” Borg went on, “I wouldn't try a double cross. Let me show you something, palsy.” He lifted his right hand. “Watch.”
Harry was aware of a movement, but it was too quick to follow.
A .38 automatic appeared in Borg's hand as if he had plucked it out of the air.
“See what I mean?” Borg said and grinned. “I'm full of tricks like that. There've been guys who have thought they would be smart. They got up to all kinds of ideas, but something always went wrong at the last moment. So watch your step, palsy. Don't try to be smart with me.” He slid the gun into its holster and stood up. “Tomorrow night at ten. If you don't show up, I'll send the wrench to the cops. And it's got to be fifty grand or nothing. Get all that?”
Harry nodded.
“Yes.”
“Don't try to fade away,” Borg said as he opened the cabin door. “The cops will find you even if I don't. Remember what she said, palsy? You're on a hook, and you can't wriggle off it. This time it isn't her hook; it's mine.” He stepped out into the gathering dusk and walked across the grass to his cabin.
Harry went to the window. He watched Borg disappear into his cabin, then he pulled down the blind, turned on the light and went over to the table on which stood the bottle of whisky. He poured himself out a stiff shot, drank it, recharged his glass and then sat down in the armchair.
This was the showdown, he told himself. If he could beat Borg, he was in the clear. He had no doubts of Borg's intentions. As soon as he handed over the fifty thousand dollars, Borg would kill him. Harry was sure now that Borg wanted to return to Delaney with the fifty thousand and the news that he had got rid of Glorie and himself. That meant Harry should be safe until after he had parted with the money. Borg wasn't likely to ambush him, to shoot him on sight, unless he was sure he had the money with him. As soon as the money had exchanged hands and Borg had checked it, then Harry was as good as dead.
If he was to defeat Borg, he would have to do it either before the money was handed over or while it was in the act of being handed over. After it had been handed over, he was sure he wouldn't be able to cope with Borg's efficiency as a killer. It was only while Borg was uncertain that he was going to get the money that he would be off his guard, and that was the only possible moment to beat him.
For a long time, Harry sat staring at the opposite wall while he thought of a way to outfox Borg. Finally he came to a decision. It would be a gamble that might or might not come off, but it was a reasonable risk, and Harry could think of no other alternative plan. He knew he couldn't hope to match Borg's speed with a gun. His one chance was to take Borg by surprise. It was only by surprise that he could hope to save his life.
By the time he had reached his decision, it was just after nine o'clock. Darkness had fallen. He turned off the light and crossed the room to look out of the window. There was no light showing in Borg's cabin, but Harry was sure the fat killer, although out of sight, was at the window, alert and waiting.
At least, he thought, he didn't have to go out to the beach and dig up Glorie's body. He was sure that Borg would follow him now wherever he went and there was no point in attempting to change her burial place.
He went outside, got into his car and drove it into the garage a few yards from his cabin. He turned off the car lights, then opened the glove compartment and took out the .45. The cool feel of the gun butt gave him a little confidence. He slid the gun into his hip pocket, knowing that Borg couldn't possibly see what he was doing. He got out of the car, closed the garage doors and walked across to the brightly lighted restaurant.
As he pushed open the swing doors, he knew Borg could see him outlined against the bright light from the overhead sign.
He didn't mind that. Up to a point he wanted Borg to know what he was doing.
The restaurant was nearly empty. Only four couples still lingered over their meal. No one paid any attention to him as he walked to the far end of the room, out of sight of the uncurtained windows, and sat down at a corner table.
A waiter, a sullen, bored expression on his face, came over and gave Harry the menu card. Harry ordered a fillet of steak, french fried potatoes and a salad. As the waiter moved away, Harry stopped him.
“While the steak's being fixed, I'd like you to do me a favour,” he said, taking out two five-dollar bills. He slid them across the table towards the waiter. “That's for the trouble I may cause you.”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter snapped up the bills and stowed them away. He was suddenly anxious to please. He bent over Harry with a deferential air. “What can I do for you?”
“I want five pieces of wood: three measuring twelve by six and two measuring three by six. Think you can get them for me?”
The waiter looked startled,
“Well, I don't know. Maybe our carpenter can fix it if he hasn't gone home. I'll ask him.”
Harry took another five-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to the waiter.
“Give that to the carpenter. I wouldn't want him to work for nothing. I also want a dozen half-inch nails, a hammer, a drill and a fretsaw. Okay?”
The waiter looked at Harry as if he thought he was crazy.
“You want to buy the tools?”
“No, just to borrow them. I’ll let you have them back tomorrow.”
“You want five pieces of wood, three measuring twelve inches by six, and two three by six, a hammer, a drill, twelve half-inch nails and a fretsaw. Is that right?” the waiter said.
“That's right, and I'd like about a foot of thick copper wire.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the waiter said and went away to the kitchens.
Harry lit a cigarette and stared across the room at a dark, sexy-looking girl who was talking to a thin man with Latin eyes and high cheekbones. Harry didn't see the girl, but his steady stare in her direction so disconcerted her that she shifted her chair around so her back was turned to him.
After a twenty-minute wait, the waiter came back with Harry's steak. He said he had talked to the carpenter who would have the pieces of wood ready for Harry by the time he had finished his dinner.