Get a Load of This

by James Hadley Chase

The woman opened her eyes. “What is it?” she said. Her voice was unsteady, as if she were out of breath. “What is it?” She looked across at the window.

The boy smiled at her too. The shock of seeing him there with the gun was so great that the blood even went away from her lips. She looked as if she were going to die.

The boy squeezed the trigger gently. He would have liked to delay the shooting longer, because these two did really look very ridiculous, but any moment the guards might come. The gun went off with a sharp crack just as the General began to move away from the woman. The heavy bullet smashed the side of his skull. He flopped on the woman, pinning her flat.

The boy leant further into the room. She had seen him. It wouldn’t be safe to leave her. She made no attempt to move. She lay still, the blood from the General’s wound running on to her cheek and neck. It was all so horrible for her that she wanted to die. There wasn’t much to aim at, but the boy didn’t have to fire a third time.

It was a great pity that he had to wait to kill the woman, because the guard, turning out on the first shot, saw him; and although the boy managed to get away, they knew who to look for and it made it very difficult for the boy to get down to the harbour where a boat waited to take him across the Straits.

By nightfall the search had intensified. They had no intentions of letting him get away. He had spent the evening hidden in a back room of an outlying farmhouse. The farmer asked no questions because revolution was constantly rearing its head, and General de Babar had deserved to die.

Under cover of darkness, the boy made his way down to the waterfront. He had still three hours before the boat that was coming for him would get in. The journey was very trying because of the heat and the soldiers who were looking for him. He was fortunate to see the soldiers first, but it meant crouching in dark shadows for a long time, and then running very hard when they went away.

So he was glad to sit down in a little cafe overlooking the waterfront, near the harbour. He sat at the table, very tense, and tried to control his laboured breathing. Such was his outward calmness, that no one, looking at him now, would believe that not five hours ago he had killed one of Cuba’s most important generals and politicians. He looked tired, certainly, and he looked hot and untidy, but he managed to control the shivering fear that possessed him, and the furtive feeling that at any moment the soldiers would burst in and shoot him.

A waiter came over to him and asked him what he wanted. The boy, fearing that the waiter might read the hunted look in his eyes, did not look up. He ordered beer.

While he waited for the waiter to bring it, he looked round the dim room. There were only two other people, besides the waiter and the barman, in the room—a sailor and his woman companion.