Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [26]
The old man lay on his back, mouth open and twisted to one side. The soiled, filthy sheets had draped on to the floor and he was wearing only the singlet Hagen had left on him when putting him to bed. Hagen threw a sheet over the old man's nakedness and sat down in the only chair the room could boast and lit a cigarette. He gently fanned himself with his panama and looked at O'Hara with a mixture of disgust and pity. He had known him for a long time. The old man was a slave to rum. Some men had a woman, Hagen reflected. A beautiful, evil woman who could not be resisted. O'Hara just had the rum but the result was the same.
He wondered if he could ever sink to such a level and then his thoughts were interrupted by a long, shuddering sigh and O'Hara rolled over on to his back. Hagen leaned forward and saw that his eyes were open and regarding him with a peculiar fixed stare. The old man rubbed his knuckles into his bloodshot eyes and then heaved himself up until his back rested against the end of the bed. There was the same look of vague puzzlement and Hagen realized that O'Hara didn't recognize him.
A quiet space in time while a fly droned against the ceiling and the street sounds came faintly as from a great distance and then something clicked and a smile flickered around his mouth. 'Mark!' he croaked. Hagen unscrewed the cap of the rum bottle and filled a dirty glass that stood on the floor. The hand that reached for the glass trembled and the blue veins bulged through transparent, parchment skin. The glass tilted and a quarter of a pint gurgled down his throat. He reached for the bottle and Hagen passed it to him and watched him refill the glass and empty it again. He gave a long sigh of relief and lay back against the bed-head and, miraculously, ten years seemed to have dropped from his face. Hagen lit a cigarette and pushed it into the old man's mouth. For a moment they looked at each other and then an impudent grin appeared on O'Hara's face.
'You old bastard,' Hagen said in mock anger. 'You're incorrigible.'
'Well now, and why the harsh words, me darlin', and after you saving me from the "Gin-Trap" again?' He was referring to the special block in the city jail where they made alcoholics take the cure the hard way.
'You worthless old devil,' Hagen told him. 'If I didn't need you for a job I'd have left you to rot.'
The rheumy old eyes sparked. 'Is there much in it for me?' he said shrewdly.
Hagen walked over to the window. 'This could be a very tough one,' he said. 'Just about the toughest ever.'
'And how tough would that be?'
'I'd say about six to four against us getting out of Red China alive.'
The rum gurgled. 'Is that all? Sure now, at my age I'm past caring very much one way or the other. I wouldn't be missed and that's a fact.'
Hagen swung round. 'Listen to me, you old reprobate. If you can stay sober for a couple of days we won't die. You'll have enough money to go back to Kilkenny or Downpatrick or wherever the hell you started out from. You'll be able to die in bed like a gentleman.'
O'Hara's eyes blazed with excitement. 'You wouldn't kid me, would you, lad?' He gazed at Hagen in awe and the empty glass slipped from his nerveless hand. 'You wouldn't kid an old man?'
Hagen threw a couple of banknotes on the bed. 'Get yourself cleaned up. Have a steam-bath or something. Taper off on the liquor and get to bed early tonight. Tomorrow morning I want you to go to Charlie Beale's beach-house. You'll find the boat moored there. Check the engines.'
'You can rely on me, lad.' His voice trembled with excitement.
As Hagen opened the door a thought struck him. 'Whatever you do keep your mouth shut. Understand?' The old man winked and placed a finger against his nose and Hagen grinned as he closed the shattered door.
His next call was at his hotel. There was no one behind the desk and he went up to his room and started to pack his