Too late. Something crashed into the side of his head and bright lights danced gaily inside his skull.
He fell and rolled frantically across the soft sand.
As he scrambled to his feet he saw his attacker, a husky, powerfully built man. A blackjack dangled loosely from a hand.
Before he could rise a knee struck him on the jaw. He sank to the ground.
The man was on him, pinning him to the sand.
Farrell's nostrils were filled with the man's acrid body odor.
A knife glittered in the starlight as it was pressed gently against his throat.
"Tell me where the money is," the man ordered. "It'll save time."
Too stunned to speak, Farrell nodded at his coat pocket.
The man removed the money and counted rapidly, somehow managing to keep the knife in his hand while he flipped the bills.