1971 - Want to Stay Alive Read Free Page A

have the money on me,” and he crossed the hall and walked out into the sunlight.
    Chuck returned to the room, his face red with fury. He found a filthy towel in his rucksack as Meg said, “Do you think he’ll let us go with him?”
    “How the hell do I know?” Chuck snarled and left the room.
    He caught up with Poke who led the way through the undergrowth to the canal.
    Chuck thought: I’ll take him when we’ve stripped off. I don’t want any blood on me: a knee in the groin, then the knife.
    They reached the canal. The water sparkled in the sunlight. On the far side, Chuck could see Highway 27 that led to Miami. At this early hour there was no passing traffic.
    He pulled off his grimy shirt and flexed his muscles. Poke wandered away from him. He took off his clothes and moved to the edge of the canal.
    Looking at him, Chuck saw he was wearing a plastic moneybelt around his slim waist. The belt looked bulky and Chuck’s eyes narrowed, then he felt sudden apprehension as his eyes moved over Poke’s body. He had never seen such a build. Flat muscles rippled with every movement. This was a body that seemed to be made of flexible steel and Chuck suddenly lost confidence in his own strength. Maybe this Indian wouldn’t be so easy to take. His hand went to his hip pocket and his fingers closed on the handle of his knife.
    He watched Poke dive into the canal and begin to swim with powerful strokes towards the far side. Turning his back, Chuck took from his pocket a thick elastic band which he slipped onto his wrist. He fastened the knife to his wrist by sliding it under the band. Then taking off his trousers and kicking off his shoes, he dived into the water. He was a clumsy swimmer and not at home in the water. He saw Poke had turned on his back and was floating.
    He heaved himself through the water towards him. A powerful stab upwards would finish the job, but he had to get that belt off before he let the body sink.
    He was now within a few yards of Poke. He trod water.
    “Pretty good, huh?” he said, his voice husky.
    Poke nodded.
    Chuck made a stroke to bring himself closer. The gap between the two men closed, then suddenly Poke sank out of sight. Where he had just been was now a ripple of water.
    Cursing to himself, Chuck waited, his eyes searching the surface of the canal. He felt steel like fingers grip his ankles and he was dragged down, water filling his mouth and nostrils. He kicked out wildly, thrashing around, felt the grip slacken and the fingers leave his ankles. He came to the surface, spluttering and gasping. When he had shaken the water out of his eyes, he saw Poke swimming away from him. The knife that had been strapped to his wrist was gone!
    Chuck started for the bank, frustrated rage swamping caution, but Poke easily beat him to it. He was already on the bank as Chuck scrambled out of the water.
    With a bellow of rage, Chuck went for the Indian like a charging bull, his head down, his thick fingers hooked and groping. Poke weaved aside and as Chuck blundered by him, he kicked Chuck’s legs from under him, bringing him down with a body shattering thud.
    Then Poke was on him. His knee slammed into his chest and Chuck saw his own knife in the Indian’s hand. The razor sharp, glittering blade touched Chuck’s throat.
    Chuck cringed. He looked into the guttering black eyes and with terror he thought his life was about to be wiped out.
    Poke regarded him, the point of the knife pricking Chuck’s skin.
    “You were going to kill me?” he asked softly. “Don’t lie! Tell me!”
    “I wanted the money,” Chuck gasped.
    “You want money badly enough to kill?”
    They looked at each other, then Poke stood up and moved back. Chuck struggled to his feet. He was shaking and sweat ran from his face.
    “You want my money?” Poke said. “You’re welcome to it if you can get it.”
    He tapped the plastic belt. “Two hundred and twenty dollars.” He looked at the knife, then holding it by the blade, he