The Big Bite Read Online Free Page B

of the Gulf of Mexico, was a dazzling white stucco building. It clung to the hillside, so new that the dirt pushed about by the bulldozers was still raw. A few dusty palms drooped over the largest part. On second look, Knox saw that it was actually a separate building, connected to others behind and above it by roofed walkways, and so set that although it was two stories, the line of buildings above it did not have their views obscured.
    “Some joint,” the boy said admiringly. “When they get a paved road in here, this place will really jump. The boss is planning a bigger dance floor and casino, a real dock, a breakwater, the works.”
    Knox looked down at the stubby pier on the beach in front of the motel and decided that the landscape couldn’t be more thoroughly desecrated than it was now; it didn’t really matter what else was built.
    “You sound like a real native,” he observed, drawing the car under a portico.
    “I am, for a fact,” the boy said. “But I was raised in L.A.” Opening his door, he stepped out with a graceful movement. “This is better. More dough.”
    “And no place to spend it,” Knox remarked.
    “I got ways. But I’m saving my dough,” he said with the chatty frankness of youth. “Maybe I’ll go to Mexico City some day.” Drawing Knox’s two suitcases from the rear seat of the car, he started forward. Knox followed into a pleasantly dim lobby. It was thoroughly air-conditioned here and more than cool. The lobby had a tile floor with potted palms set about on it. In the center of the room was a fountain decorated by a bosomy nymph, the whole affair set in a lily pond. Knox stared at the nymph in fascination. In Italy he had seen all kinds of fountains but never one with such fine anatomical detail in places usually covered. Twin streams of water arched gracefully up and fell with a tinkle into the water below.
    “That’s Pepita,” the boy said. “Something, ain’t she?”
    She was, Knox agreed, something. He stepped around the fountain to find a registration desk of standard type. There was no one behind it.
    The boy set down the cases and ducked under a section of the counter. He came up on the other side and politely handed Knox a pen and registration card. “A regular cabin, sir?”
    “How many kinds are there?”
    “The regular, sir, for one or two persons, and the large for three or more—up to six. Also we have one that holds eight.”
    “A regular will do,” Knox said. He signed carefully, remembering that his car was licensed in California: “Paul Knox, San Francisco, California, U.S.A.” Where he was asked for his profession or business, he scribbled, “Consultant.”
    The boy looked the card over. “Oh, Frisco. Good town if you got dough. I remember a dame there …” He sighed and his finger went down on the word “consultant.”
    What does that cover?” He had his grin but his eyes were sharp.
    “Sins,” Knox said. “People want various kinds of information. I supply it.” He added, “Mostly about money—investments.”
    The boy lost interest. Taking a key from the box behind him, he slapped his hand down on a bell. “Take the gentleman to cabin three, Chuco,” he directed.
    Ducking under the counter, he picked up Knox’s bags.
    Knox followed him. “What else do you do besides play room clerk, bellhop, and shill?”
    “Wait table, sweep the floor. There aren’t many guests and we’re short handed. But wait till we get the road built.”
    Knox trailed along down a cool corridor, outside into heat slightly ameliorated by the cover over the walkway, and into one of the first row of cabins. As they went, Chuco said, “Dining room and casino upstairs.”
    From the view window of the cabin, there was a sweeping vista, including a small piece of the town and, Knox was sure, half the Gulf between here and Cuba. But what interested him most was the bead he could draw on Horsetail Island. He was glad he had brought powerful glasses.
    The cabin was