She stopped by the car and faced him.
“Please get a taxi back,” she said. He could see her lips were trembling and there were tears in her eyes. “I would rather you didn't come with me.”
“That's okay,” he said. “Look, Joan, I'm sorry about this. I am in a jam, but it's not what you're thinking. You may as well know the truth now. I've lied to you because I didn't want to lose you. But now it doesn't matter because I see I have already lost you. Glorie's dead. You guessed that, didn't you?”
She went very white, and for a moment he thought she was going to faint, but he was careful not to touch her.
“I'm mixed up with a mob of killers,” he went on tonelessly.
“It was my fault, and I'm making no excuses. Glorie and I pulled a robbery together. You've read about it. I was the guy who took the diamonds from the Moonbeam aircraft. That's how I got the fifty thousand dollars. Up to then I hadn't been worth a nickel, and I would never have been worth a nickel if I hadn't pulled this job. I double crossed the mob, and one of them is tailing me. He killed Glorie out on the beach near Collier City. He now plans to kill me. If I have any luck, I may beat him to it, but maybe I won't have the luck. I may be dead by tomorrow, but I want you to know that I love you: you're the only woman I have ever known who has meant anything to me. Although we haven't known each other very long, the few hours I've spent with you have been the happiest I've ever known.”
“Please don't tell me anymore,” she said huskily. “I don't want to be involved in this. What a fool I've been to have had anything to do with you!”
She got into the car and started the engine.
He stepped back, his face pallid.
“So long, Joan. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this to you, but I loved you and I still love you. I'd be glad if you wished me luck. I'll need it.”
She engaged gear and, without looking at him, she drove quickly away.
He stood staring after her, knowing the one precious thing in his life had gone now for good.
Borg, sitting in his car across the way, under the shade of the trees, inserted his thick finger into his ear and poked around absently. His fat, cruel face showed his surprised interest.
II
Harry remained at the club house until past two o'clock.
When Joan had driven away, he had walked back to the terrace and had sat staring blankly across the fairway, his mind numb and his thoughts bitter.
But he didn't blame Joan for leaving him. She had done the sensible thing, he told himself. A girl in her position couldn't be expected to associate with him now she knew the truth. He admired her courage to break away. He knew she loved him, and her decision couldn't have been an easy one. As he sat thinking about her, he suddenly realized what Glorie must have suffered during her life. He now realized what it meant to lose someone precious to him, and this had happened to Glorie not once, but several times.
Glorie was dead. He might be dead himself by tonight. He was surprised to find that he didn't care much whether he was or not. He knew he would have to kill Borg to save his own life, and he wondered if it wouldn't be better to let Borg go ahead and finish things for him instead of living out the rest of his life with Borg's murder on his conscience.
What was he going to do if he did succeed in killing Borg? He had about fifty thousand dollars which was quite a piece of money.
His enthusiasm to start an air-taxi business had gone now. He would have to think of something else to do. Perhaps his original plan to go to Europe, to have a look around in London, Paris and Rome might offer a solution. If he did kill Borg, he would be safer in Europe where he could lose himself.
After an hour of continuous brooding, he worked off his bitter mood and decided there was no point in weakly throwing up the sponge. There were plenty of other women in the world, he told himself. He still had a chance of happiness if he could only rid himself of Borg.
He went into the clubhouse and asked the steward to get him a taxi. While he waited, he had a sandwich and a whisky, and, when the taxi arrived, he told the driver to take him to his bank.
Borg, who had been dozing in his car, saw the taxi arrive. He followed it from the golf course to the centre of the town. He watched Harry go to his bank and come out with his brief case bulging. He saw Harry speak to the taxi driver and then walk down the road a few yards to the National Californian Bank.
The taxi crawled after him and parked outside.
Knowing that Borg was tailing him, Harry had to make a pretence of drawing the ten thousand dollars he was supposed to be getting from Joan. He spent some minutes talking to the bank teller about opening an account, then, when he thought he had been in the bank long enough to allay Borg's suspicions, he told the bank teller he would come back later and went out on to the street again. He told the taxi driver to take him to the parking lot where he had left his car.
All the time Borg's car kept behind him. Borg made no attempt to keep out of sight.
As Harry was paying off his taxi outside the parking lot, Borg pulled up by him and leaned out of the window. The two men looked at each other. Neither of them spoke until the taxi had driven away, then Borg said, “You've had a busy day, palsy.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, his grip tightening on the briefcase.
Although he felt reasonably safe with the promenade crowded with people, he didn't intend to take any chances with Borg and he wished he hadn't left his gun in the cabin.
“Did you get the dough?” Borg asked, his hard little eyes going to the brief case.
“Yes, I got it.”
“Did she part, palsy?”
“Yes.”
“Was that her bank you've just come from?”
“That's right.”
Borg nodded. He seemed satisfied.
“She didn't look too happy, did she? Didn't she like giving you the dough, palsy?”
“She wasn't overjoyed,” Harry said, his voice tight and hard.
“Well, never mind, it's in a good cause. See you tonight at ten. Don't try anything funny, will you?”
“That goes for you too,” Harry said and, turning his back, he walked over to his car.
Borg looked after him, his little eyes sleepy, then he set the car in motion and drove away. By the time Harry had manoeuvred his car out of the packed parking lot, Borg was out of sight.
Harry returned to the motel. He went over to the office and asked the manager to put his brief case in his safe. As he walked over to his cabin, he saw Borg's car was parked outside Borg's cabin, and he guessed the fat killer was at his window, watching from behind the curtain.
Harry entered his cabin, shut and locked the door, then he unlocked the drawer in his chest where he had put the gun and box. He satisfied himself that nothing had been disturbed, relocking the drawer. He collected his swimming trunks and a towel and, leaving the cabin, he went down on to the beach.
He spent the next two hours swimming and lazing on the sand, determined to keep his mind empty and refusing to let himself think of what lay ahead of him. On his way back to the motel, he stopped in at a bar and spent half an hour over two whiskies and the evening paper. It was just after seven o'clock by the time he got back to his cabin. He noticed Borg's car had gone. He entered his cabin, shaved, showered and changed into a dark lounge suit. Then he went over to the restaurant, taking with him the tools he had borrowed, carefully wrapped in the napkin in case Borg happened to be still watching him. He had dinner, then he walked over to the manager's office and collected his brief case.
By then it was half-past eight, and growing dusk. He locked himself in the cabin, turned on the light and pulled down the blind. He took the box, containing the gun, from the drawer and set it on the table. He was now aware of a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Up to this moment he had managed to keep his mind clear of what was to happen within the next two hours. But, as he looked at the gun in the box, the full force of his predicament hit him. He was going out to the beach alone where Borg would be waiting for him. One of them would survive the meeting; one of them would die. Borg had everything in his favour. He was an expert killer. All Harry had in his favour was the element of surprise and the hope that Borg wouldn't kill him until he was sure Harry had brought money with him.