Judas Journey. Lee Roberts
that it would wipe out the savings accounts he and Pete had in a Pittsburgh bank. He looked at Pete. “What do you say?”
“Let’s go,” Pete breathed, his dark eyes shining.
Simpson said, “I cannot promise you anything, except that the mahogany is there.”
“We understand,” Ramsey said. He and Pete had nothing much to lose, he thought, except their savings and a few months’ time. But money could always be earned again, and time meant nothing to them. He lifted his glass in a silent toast. Simpson and Pete joined him.
“Then it’s agreed,” Simpson said. “We’ll place the project on a business-like basis. I propose that we organize a legal partnership, pool our resources, purchase the necessary supplies and equipment and cross the Border. I have maps which I will show you. Time is important. Others may discover the mahogany, and the rainy season is just ending there. It will begin again in May or June, but we should be back long before then. I have a car which will take us to the jumping-off place. Then it will be a hard journey on foot through wild and treacherous country, but at the end will be the—the rainbow.” He smiled half shyly and his glasses glinted in the light.
“How soon can we leave?” Pete asked eagerly.
“We’ll see.” Simpson pursed his lips, got paper and the stub of pencil. “It will take a little time to get ready.” He began to write. “We’ll need food, medical supplies, guns, ammunition, machetes, netting, surveying instruments . . .”
Two hours later, after they’d eaten dinner, Ramsey left Simpson and Pete in Simpson’s room poring over maps and talking about supplies. He changed his mind about going to bed and went instead to the Jungle Tavern, where he sat alone in a corner and watched Sara Colvin dance. At one o’clock, after her last dance, he walked to her apartment building and stood in the shadow of the hedge. He smoked and wondered irritably what he was doing there. At one-thirty a black Jaguar pulled up to the curb and stopped. A man and a woman got out, and Ramsey saw that the woman was Sara Colvin. The man was tall and hatless and wore a loose topcoat over a tuxedo. They walked to the door and stood talking in low tones. Then Ramsey heard her say, “Good night, Blake. Thank you.”
The man said something, went back to the Jaguar and drove away. Ramsey moved quickly up behind the girl as she entered the foyer. She heard his step and turned. He saw the startled recognition in her eyes, and he felt suddenly awkward and ill at ease. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello.” Her voice and her eyes were cool.
“I’m sorry—about last night.”
Her eyes softened. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “It was nice of you to wait here to tell me—Rackwell. Is not that your name?”
“Yes, but call me Rack.”
“I have thought about you today,” she said, “and I have decided that perhaps you were not to blame. We were strangers to each other and I permitted you to walk home with me, and naturally you . . .” She lowered her gaze and fingered a button of her coat. He could not see the faintly mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“Naturally,” he said, and he thought dismally that she really shouldn’t blame him. It had been her mistake, too. What kind of a woman did she think he was looking for, a man like him? He turned away and said shortly, “I won’t bother you any more.”
Behind him she laughed softly, a pleasant sound. “Now you are being—noble, but I accept your apology.”
He paused and turned.
“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?” she asked. “The one you did not get last night?”
He felt that she was mocking him and he said stiffly, “No, thanks.”
She smiled. “Of course you do, and you’re welcome—now. Please come in.” She turned and entered the building.
Dumbly he followed her and stood silently as the elevator took them up. As she unlocked her apartment door, he said, “Who was the man who brought you home?”
“Just my employer,” she said over her shoulder. “Blake Bowen. He owns the Jungle Tavern.” She opened the door and he followed her inside.
Her apartment was small, but very neat and attractively furnished. She made Bourbon highballs and talked to him about his work, about Mexico, and he relaxed and suddenly realized that he was enjoying himself. She played some Mexican records and told him more about her life south of the Border. It was after two o’clock in the morning when he stood up, thinking of the job starting at seven. “Thanks,” he said, as he opened the door.
She said gently, “I have enjoyed it.” She paused, her lips parted a little. “Would—would you like to kiss me good night?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Is it safe? You won’t get angry?”
She shook her small head. “One does not get angry because of a kiss given in—in friendship.”
He lowered his head, not touching her with his hands. Her lips were warm and soft, and for an instant he thought of her near-nakedness in the blue spotlight as she danced. She drew away and smiled. “Good night—Rack.”
“Can I see you again?”
“If you like.”
“I like,” he said. “I guess we kind of got off on the wrong foot last night.”
“It is forgotten,” she said gravely.
“Tomorrow night?”
“All right,” she said, “but you go to work so early in the morning, and you need your sleep.”
“Hell,” he said, “I can rig a well with my eyes shut.” He snapped his fingers. “Who cares about sleep?”
“Why not an early meeting?” she asked. “For dinner? I do not report for work until nearly nine o’clock.”
“Fine. I’ll pick you up around six. Here?”
“I will be ready.”
He wanted to kiss her again. He was fairly certain that he could, but he did not want to press his luck. He stepped back and she softly closed the door. He heard the lock click, and he smiled a little grimly. It takes all kinds, he thought, as he went down the hall. He knew quite a bit about women and their tactics, but this was something a little different.
He whistled softly as he walked to the Gulf Hotel.
CHAPTER 4
THE NEXT EVENING, on a sudden impulse he could not explain, Ramsey took Sara Colvin to the Gulf Hotel for dinner with Pete and Nevil Simpson. Being previously warned by Ramsey, neither man made any mention of the planned expedition into Mexico. They both were very polite to Sara, and Ramsey saw that her quiet friendly manner pleased them. He had an odd new feeling of pride in her.
Afterward, at the rear entrance to the Jungle Tavern, she said, “I enjoyed meeting your friends, Rack.”
“I could see they liked you.”
“I am glad,” she said soberly. “I want your friends to like me.”
“What about me?”
“I want you to like me, too.” She lowered her gaze. “But I know you do—otherwise you would not have wanted me to dine with your friends.”
“I’ll wait for you tonight,” he said.
“It will be late, and you must get your sleep. . . .”
It sounded strange to him. Nobody had ever cared if he got enough sleep, not since his mother died. He gazed at Sara Colvin and remembered his pride in her as she had talked to Pete and Simpson. “I’ll get some sleep now, and meet you at one,” he said.
She reached up and kissed him lightly, and then slipped through the door and was gone.
Pete