James Hadley Chase - Like a Hole in the Head
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- Year:2000
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Like a Hole in the Head: summary, description and annotation
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Ex-army musketry trainer, Jay Benson and his wife Lucys dream of running a shooting school turns sour as the school heads towards certain closure. They need money - quickly, and a lot of it. At the eleventh hour Augusto Savanto, head of a vast corporation in Venezuela, walks into their lives with a proposition they can scarcely refuse - he will pay them $50,000 to turn his son into an expert marksman, in nine days. Desperate for money they accept the challenge but find themselves in a deadly game of ruthless vendettas and vengeful murder.
James Hadley Chase: author's other books
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James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Chase
James Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
James Hadley Chase
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C HAPTER F OUR
I was at the gallery a few minutes to nine o'clock and I didn't have to wait long. As the minute hand of my watch moved on to the hour, I saw Raimundo and Timoteo coming across the sand.
I watched them come. Raimundo walked with his usual swagger. Timoteo, his head bent, shuffled along, a step or two in the rear. He was wearing his sun goggles and his shirt was already sticking to him.
I had the rifle ready. I didn't know what to expect and I wasn't in a relaxed frame of mind. My jaw was sore and the bruise was turning black. I still couldn't believe a slob like Timoteo could have punched that hard.
When they were within ten yards of me, Raimundo said something to Timoteo who stopped short and stood like an ox waiting for the yoke. Raimundo joined me.
"Take him," he said. "He'll do what you tell him. Get him shooting, soldier. Don't chat him up. Just get him shooting."
I beckoned to Timoteo. I decided to treat him like an Army recruit : nothing personal and all business.
Without looking at me, he walked slowly and heavy-footed into the lean-to and stopped, looking helplessly at the distant targets.
"Get those goggles off !" I barked.
He flinched, but took them off. As he was about to put them in his shirt pocket, Raimundo moved forward.
"I'll have them."
Timoteo hesitated then handed them over. Raimundo took them, paused while he looked at Timoteo, then he dropped the goggles on the sand and trod on them. I wouldn't have done that, but I was glad it was done. The goggles were to this goon as a rag is to a kid who thumb-sucks.
"The rifle is loaded," I said. "Get shooting."
He took the rifle. There was a dumb, broken look on his face. I suddenly thought : suppose he turns the rifle on me or Raimundo? What a couple of jerks we'd look ! Seeing the way he stood, wavering, the rifle in his hinds, brought me out in a sudden cold sweat, but it was all right. I could see the thought had never entered his head. He turned and went to the shooting rest.
This was the first time he had looked through the telescopic sight. I saw his back stiffen as the target seemed to leap at him.
"Take your time," I said in my instructor's voice. "Get the cross wires on the bull. Don't pull the trigger; squeeze it." I gave him a couple of seconds to get ready. "Shoot when you want to."
Another couple of seconds crawled by, then the rifle banged.
Both Raimundo and I looked towards the target. He had hit the bull dead centre.
"Good shot," I said. "That's the way. Now keep on shooting." With that telescopic sight, unless you had Parkinson's disease, you couldn't fail to hit a bull, but with his next ten shots he only hit the bull twice.
I kept him at it : reloading for him, handing the rifle back without looking at him.
Raimundo sat on one of the benches and smoked. After the first shot, he didn't bother to look at the target, but he sat there and I knew his presence was keeping Timoteo shooting.
After an hour, and after he had scored ten bulls out of sixty shots, I said, "Okay... break it off." I turned to Raimundo.
"Take him for a walk. I want him back in an hour," and I walked out and headed towards the bungalow.
Lucy was busy scraping the paint off the front door. She paused in
her work and looked inquiringly up at me.
"He's taking time off," I said. "How are you getting on? I have an hour. I'll give a hand."
"It's all right. I like doing it." She stood up. "Do you want a beer?"
"It's too early." I moved to one of our crummy sling chairs on the verandah and sat down. She joined me.
"I didn't hear any shooting."
"He's using the silencer. He's shooting... not bad."
"But how is he?"
"He's okay. He's shooting. That's all we need worry about."
"Is that man with him?"
"Raimundo? Oh. sure. He's sitting in on the session. He's the oil that makes the goon function."
"Oh, Jay! Haven't you any heart? Can't you see this boy is frightened to death?" She wrung her hands. "Can't you see this awful man is terrifying him into shooting?"
I rubbed the back of my neck while I restrained my impatience.
"I couldn't talk him into shooting. You couldn't mother him into shooting. Okay, Raimundo is scaring him into shooting. He's got to shoot. I'm being paid fifty thousand dollars to get him to shoot so..."
She got up abruptly and went into the bungalow.
So we were going to start this all over again, I thought. I sat there for five minutes, feeling the ache in my jaw, then I got up, kicked the chair away and walked into the living-room.
She was sitting on a stool, facing the empty fireplace, her clenched fists against her face.
"Lucy, will you please try to be helpful," I said. "It's tough enough to have this nut in my hair without you going neurotic on me. This is important to us ! I'm trying to earn..."
"Oh, stop it !" Her voice was shrill and her eyes a little wild. "I'm not neurotic! You're just mad about money ! Can't you see...?"
"Lucy ! My bark stopped her dead. An Army voice when it is pitched right can stop a clock. "What's with it between you and this goon? Are you falling for him? Have you fallen for him?"
Her face crimson, her eyes shocked, she stared at me.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm asking you. What's all this protective stuff with this creep? What's he mean to you?"
"He's a human being! He's frightened ! I'm sorry for him. That's what he means to me!"
"Well, okay... just stay sorry for him, but nothing else. asked you, Lucy, to keep out of this. Please stop throwing spanners in the works ! I have enough to handle without you getting protective."
"Money means everything to you, doesn't it?"
"We're not talking about money ! We're talking about this goon !"
"To von, it's the same thing."
"I'm being paid to teach him to shoot. That's what I'm trying to do!"
"He doesn't want to shoot... he told me."
I held on to the explosion that was building up in me.
What he told you and what he is going to do are two different things. Will von please leave this to me?"
"Why don't you find out why he doesn't want to shoot? Why don't you start treating him like a human being? Why do you let a thug dictate to you and to him?" She jumped to her feet. "I can tell you! All you think about is the money you will make!"
"Is that something to be ashamed of?"
"I think it is."
I touched my aching jaw. It looked to me as if we were back on square A.
"I'm sorry you feel this way about it, Lucy," I said. "You've made your point. This is a job I'm going through with. I'm asking you to stick with it for another eight days." I didn't wait for her to make a come-back, I left her and returned to the shooting gallery.
I would have to get Timoteo shooting soon at moving targets. Nick Lewis had an antiquated machine which I had inherited. Sometimes it worked... sometimes it didn't. It was run by a small electric motor which turned cogs which turned a conveyor belt. Attached to the belt were six screw bolts. On the bolts you could fix decoy birds, targets, beer cans and so on. The motor could be speeded up if it felt like speeding up or it could take the targets along at a snail's pace.
I was working on the machine when Raimundo and Timoteo came in.
"We'll keep to target shooting for today," I said to Timoteo as I handed him the rifle. "Tomorrow, we'll try a moving target."
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