“Okay,” he said.
“Don’t slip up on this,” Moe said, his voice suddenly harsh. “Yuh don’t make more than one mistake in this outfit. She’s got to be hit. That’s orders, and if yuh can’t do it, I can.”
“I said okay,” Pete returned curtly.
“It’d better be okay.” Moe got to his feet. “I’ll be around, Pete. Yuh ain’t got much time; use it or I will.”
Pete looked back over his shoulder and watched the broad-shouldered, squat figure walk across the sand, picking his way over recumbent bodies, by-passing children building castles in the sand, stepping past fat matrons in one-piece swim-suits, and their fatter husbands, lolling in deck-chairs.
Pete watched him until, melting into the crowded background, he lost sight of him. But he knew he wouldn’t be far away, and he would be watching every move from now on.
Pete sat in the hot sun, sweat on his face and fear clutching at his heart. He faced up to the fact at last that he wasn’t going to kill Frances. He realized he had made up his mind about that when he had first seen her. He knew Moe would have struck her down as she came out on to the landing, and would have got away. He could have done the same thing, but that friendly smiling look in her eyes had saved her. He had to face up to the fact now, and he knew what it would mean. He was deliberately throwing his own life away. No one in the organization ever disobeyed an order and survived. Several of them had kicked against the organization’s discipline: three of them had actually got out of town before the organization had realized they had gone. One of them reached New York, another Miami, and the third one had got as far as Milan, Italy, before the long arm of the organization had struck.
But Pete wasn’t thinking of himself. This girl was too young, too lovely and too kind to the, he thought, digging his fingers into the sand as he tried to think how to save her. If he delayed much longer, Moe might strike himself. He had the nerve to walk up to Frances, stab her on this crowded beach and then shoot his way out. Moe might do it, unless he was satisfied he was going ahead with the job.
The only safe thing he could do was to warn Frances, and then tackle Moe himself. If he killed Moe, Frances would have an hour or so to get out of town and hide herself somewhere before the organization realized she had slipped through their fingers.
He would have to be very careful how he tackled Moe. Already Moe was suspicious. Moe was very fast with a gun: faster than he ever could hope to be. He would have to lull his suspicions somehow, and then go for him at the right moment.