In the Hour Before Midnight Read Free Page B

hand.
    Burke swung, crouched for action, a tiger ready to spring, his own gun in one hand, Herrara’s in the other. Although I didn’t realise it then, it said a lot for his control that he didn’t shoot me as a reflex action.
    He gave me one brief glance and I thought he would smile. Instead, he opened the outside door, listened, then closed it again.
    â€œThe kind of place where people mind their own business,” I told him.
    He walked slowly to the desk. Gilberto crouchedagainst the wall clutching his chest, blood at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were open, but he was obviously in deep shock. Coimbra had gone very pale and held his right hand under his left arm as if trying to stop the bleeding. Burke touched him between the eyes with the barrel of his revolver.
    â€œFive thousand dollars.”
    Even then Coimbra hesitated and I put in quickly, “There’s a safe inside the walnut cabinet by the door.”
    Burke thumbed back the hammer of his revolver with an audible click and Coimbra said hastily, “The key is in the cigar box under the tray.”
    â€œGet it,” Burke told me. “Bring whatever you find.”
    There was certainly considerably more than five thousand dollars in the cash box I brought to the desk although I never did find out exactly how much. Burke took the lot, the neat packets of banknotes vanishing into the capacious pockets of his bush jacket.
    â€œOne must be prepared to take risks for quick returns, isn’t that what you said, Coimbra?”
    But Coimbra was past caring and fainted across the desk. Herrara still leaned against the wall, hands flat. Burke turned and hit him almost casually, striking with clenched fist at the base of theskull. Herrara went down with a groan.
    The Banker’s special was returned to its clip inside the crown of the bush hat and he replaced it on his head, adjusting the angle of the brim in the mirror. He turned to face me.
    â€œFirst rule in the bush,” he said. “Walk, don’t run. Remember that on the way out.”
    We left by the side entrance which was usually kept open for those clients who wanted direct access to the girls and didn’t welcome publicity. A Ford truck was parked just around the corner from the café, an African dozing behind the wheel. Burke told me to get in the back, spoke to the driver and joined me.
    As the truck started to move, I said, “Where to now?”
    â€œThe old army airstrip at Caruba. Do you know it?”
    â€œI’ve only been in town a couple of weeks. That job at the ‘Lights of Lisbon’ wasn’t intended to be my life’s work. I was just trying to raise the price of a ticket to Cape Town.”
    â€œAny special reason?”
    â€œA man has to have an aim in life.”
    He accepted it, looking quite serious and nodded. “That was good shooting back there. Where did you learn?”
    When I explained he was obviously surprised. At that time I didn’t realise how good I must have looked because it wasn’t until later that I learned that I acted instinctively like a real professional who always aims for the shooting hand with his first bullet, knowing that a dying man can still get off a shot at him.
    We moved out through the edge of town; there were no longer any street lamps and we were shrouded in darkness. After a while he asked if I had my passport.
    I reached for my wallet instinctively and nodded. “About all I have got.”
    And then, as if it had only just occurred to him, he said, “My name is Burke, by the way—Sean Burke.”
    â€œStacey Wyatt.” I hesitated. “Didn’t I hear Coimbra call you major?”
    â€œThat’s right. I was twenty years in the British Army—Paratroops. Left last year. I’ve just been granted a commission by the Katanga government.”
    â€œThe Congo?” I said.
    â€œI’m forming a special unit to help keep order. Coimbra was