Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [38]
She looked surprised. 'I thought you must have given him a job to do in the engine-room. I haven't seen him for ages.'
Hagen sighed wearily and stood up. What a crew, he thought. A girl, a deserter and a rum-soaked old has-been. He cursed savagely and went along to the engine-room. He found O'Hara huddled against the bottom of the ladder, dead to the world. The stink of rum was appalling and there were two empty bottles lying at the old man's feet. Hagen lifted him like a sack of potatoes and pushed him up through the hatch on to the deck. Rose looked concerned. 'Is he sick?' she said anxiously.
'He's sick all right,' Hagen said. He threw a bucket on a line overboard and doused the old man with sea water. After a few moments he seemed to be coming round. 'Watch him for a minute, angel,' Hagen said and slipped down into the engine-room. He had the overdeveloped cunning of the habitual drunk to overcome, but long practice in dealing with O'Hara now came to his aid. He checked all the unlikely places and finally found an oil drum that sounded hollow. He pulled off the lid and discovered a large cardboard box lined with bottles.
He carried the heavy box up the ladder and dropped it down by the stern rail. He lifted a couple of bottles out and examined them. A cheap rot-gut masquerading under a fancy name and guaranteed to produce cirrhosis of the liver in half the usual time. He began to drop the bottles overboard one by one. O'Hara came to his senses enough to realize what was happening and struggled to his feet. 'No, lad! Not that! Not all of them.'
Hagen turned and said coldly: 'I warned you about this. Now you'll have to suffer. I'll keep two bottles and you'll have a swig when I say so. The rest goes over.' He handed two bottles to Rose and then lifted the box and dropped it overboard.
O'Hara jumped at his back, screaming something unintelligible, his gnarled old fingers clawing at Hagen's throat. Hagen swung round and jerked the old man away. He slapped him several times across the face. 'Now less of it and pull yourself together,' he said.
O'Hara was blubbering like a baby and when Hagen released his grip on his shirt front he slid to the deck, his body shaking convulsively. Rose dropped to her knees and put an arm around him. She looked up at Hagen, pain on her face. 'Was that necessary? He's an old man you know.'
As Hagen tried to think of a suitable reply the engines were cut and the boat began to slow down. Mason's voice rang through the unaccustomed stillness. 'Yes, he's an old man, Hagen. Why don't you try someone a little nearer your own age?'
The challenge was unmistakable. He looked big and competent and very sure of himself with the sun glinting in his fair hair. Hagen waved a hand invitingly at the open deck between them and Mason moved forward, lightly, like a cat poised for action. He looked supremely confident.
Hagen pulled off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow and stood waiting. He felt curiously detached from the affair. The challenge had to be met, he realized that. The success of everything depended on it. It wasn't a chivalrous action on Mason's part in defence of an old man. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to destroy Hagen that he had seized on as it presented itself.
The man looked like a boxer and as he approached he lifted his balled fists and assumed a classic pose. Hagen had no fear. He almost welcomed the fight. This was something concrete to deal with, not abstract. As Mason swung the first punch, Hagen grabbed his wrist and twisted in one of his favourite Judo throws. The next moment he found himself flying through the air to land with terrible force on the deck. His throw had been expertly countered.
Mason stood back, a smile on his face, and flexed his hands. 'Get up, you bastard,' he said. 'I'm just beginning to enjoy myself.'