The Killer Touch Read Free

put strength in his leg, or just to sit at the top of the island’s lone hill and think. What about? Well, think about reaching the age of twenty-eight and deciding you’ve picked the wrong career. That would keep him busy for his entire month of sick leave. He wondered if he should’ve sent Joss a wire … but then she’d told him once that nobody came during the summer. He’d probably have the whole square mile of the island to himself.
    The boy returned and said the captain wanted to see him. Burt planted his bamboo cane and rose. He was slightly less than six feet tall, heavy-set in a hard-muscled way which made him look average. He used the cane no more than necessary to steady himself on the rolling deck.
    The wheelhouse swarmed with girls in bright-colored dresses. It was a mark of status for a girl to ride with the skipper, and Captain O’Ryan was notoriously free with his favor. He was a blue-black Negro who walked softly, talked slowly, and had a barrel-chested build.
    He grinned as Burt entered. “Mister March. I din’ recognize you when you board. Man, you pale, lose weight.” He gripped his jaw to indicate hollow cheeks.
    Burt held up his cane. “Had a little accident, so they handed me an extra vacation.”
    â€œSo you rest with Miss Joss, eh? If she leave you be. Maybe I stop off one day when the sea calm down, bring some rum.” O’Ryan looked at the deck, dipping and swaying below, then raised his eyes to the southeastern horizon. “I think a hurricane trying to work up.” He looked sideways at Burt. “You never been in one of our hurricanes?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAh, man, they come rare and small, but hard, hard.” He grinned as though looking forward to it. “Well, we get you close and see if Miss Joss will pick you up. You give her something for me?”
    â€œSure,” said Burt, then frowned as O’Ryan drew a smart, olive-green leather purse from beneath the binnacle. “That doesn’t belong to Joss.”
    â€œNo, a lady left it on my ship three days ago. She staying now with Joss.”
    A twinkle in O’Ryan’s eye gave new significance to the expensive look of the purse and the seductive scent which rose from it. Burt suspected that if O’Ryan fulfilled his promise to stop on the island, it wouldn’t be to visit Burt.
    â€œPretty lady, huh?”
    â€œPretty, yes, but—” O’Ryan frowned. “Her eyes move about like butterflies, never still.” He shrugged and turned back to the wheel as the schooner approached a cluster of islands. “But you all that way, man, you live too fast up there.”
    Back on deck, Burt sat on his coil of rope and dangled the purse thoughtfully between his knees. He felt an irritating urge to peer inside and learn something more about the girl. If he dropped it, perhaps it would spring open …
    Put it away, March. You’re off-duty. Forget it.
    He set it on the deck between his feet, then braced himself as the schooner heeled over abruptly. They were negotiating the swift frothy channel between two islands. Ten yards away a black jagged rock thrust up from the sea, bird droppings melting down its side like cake frosting. The schooner dipped, then soared sickeningly. It poised for a second, tilted, slid into the trough. There was a shuddering thump against the hull. A wall of white water plumed up and arched overhead. Burt put his head between his knees and felt the water drum against his back. Another swoop, a dip, and another shower, smaller than the first, the schooner righted itself and entered smooth water. Burt settled back and looked at the people sprawled on the streaming deck. A few of the girls were rising to their knees, throwing their dripping hair off their foreheads and, with a total lack of self-consciousness, raising their dresses and wringing out the water. Burt felt his feet squishing inside his white