1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts

by James Hadley Chase

  Sam, the barkeep, slid up.

  ‘Accept a corned beef sandwich, Mr. Wallace,’ he said. ‘You’ll like it. My pleasure, please, and Mr. Wallace, accept my sorrow.’

  I looked at Barney.

  ‘Yeah. The news is out. The acid job,’ Barney said, and shook his head. ‘Let me tell you, everyone who means anything down here is sorry. I am more than sorry.’ He cut a slice of meat and shoved it into his mouth. Munching, he went on, ‘Anything I can do?’

  Sam slid up to the table and placed a fat sandwich and a glass half filled with Scotch and ice before me.

  ‘My pleasure, Mr. Wallace,’ he said and slid away.

  I waited while Barney continued to feed his face. After a couple of more mouthfuls, he put down his knife and fork.

  ‘Mr. Wallace, you have done me a lot of good in the past. I don’t forget people who do things for me. Give me and Sam the pleasure to eat that sandwich. A guy works and thinks better when he has grub in his gut.’

  So I ate the sandwich, which could have been worse, and I drank the Scotch. I was feeling a lot more like myself as I lit a cigarette.

  Barney beamed at me.

  ‘OK, Mr. Wallace, I am at your service.’

  ‘Al, I’m going to fix those bastards who did the acid job, but first, I need information.’

  Barney nodded.

  ‘When I heard about it, I reckoned you’d start something. So OK, what information?’

  ‘Know anything about Lu Gerando?’

  Barney stiffened, and his little eyes popped wide open.

  ‘Gerando? Don’t tell me he’s mixed up in this, Mr. Wallace.’

  ‘He could be. What do you know about him?’

  ‘No good,’ Barney said. ‘He stooges for Joe Walinski, who owns a big yacht, and Gerando guards the yacht when Walinski is out of town, he drives Walinski’s car. A general stooge.’

  ‘Do you know if he is in any way connected with Hank Smedley?’

  ‘I guess so. I’ve seen them together.’ Barney sipped his beer. ‘They certainly know each other.’

  ‘Who is Joe Walinski?’

  Barney shifted uneasily on his chair.

  ‘Mr. Wallace, you are getting me into deep water. I don’t like talking about Walinski. It ain’t healthy.’ He was now looking worried.

  I waited.

  Barney made a signal to Sam who came rushing over with a plate of the ghastly sausages. He looked at me.

  ‘Can I get you something else, Mr. Wallace?’ he asked. ‘A nice cup of coffee or maybe another Scotch? It’s all on the house.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam. Nothing,’ I said, trying to keep the edge of impatience out of my voice.

  He took away the used plates and went back to the bar.

  Barney fed three of the sausages into his mouth, gulped, wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand, then regarded me.

  ‘Mr. Wallace, if I talk about Walinski and it gets known, I’m going to be found in the harbour with my throat cut.’

  ‘If you don’t tell anyone and I don’t tell anyone, who’s to know? Who is Joe Walinski?’

  He ate three more sausages, coughed, again wiped his eyes, then leaning forward, breathing hot pepper in my face, he said, ‘OK, Mr. Wallace, so I talk. I wouldn’t do it for any other man but for you . . .’

  ‘Who is Joe Walinski?’ I repeated, a snarl in my voice.

  ‘He is the collector for the east coast Mafia. He comes in his yacht every first of the month and stays a week. During that week he collects protection money, blackmail money, the casino’s payoff. That’s who Walinski is: as dangerous and as deadly as a dose of poison. Make no mistake about that, Mr. Wallace. All the waterfront cops know, but they say nothing. On the night of the first of each month, around three in the morning, people arrive at the yacht with their payoffs. The waterfront cops look the other way. No one goes near the yacht unless he or she is doing business with Walinski. No one!’

  ‘What’s the yacht called, Al?’

  ‘The Hermes. Just beyond the fish trawlers to the right.’

  ‘Is Hank Smedley one of Walinski’s collectors?’

  Barney tossed three more sausages into his mouth, munched, then nodded.

  I have never seen him look so worried. I decided it wasn’t fair to press him further so I got to my feet and offered him my hand. His grip was clammy, but sympathetic.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Wallace. Please don’t do anything crazy.’

  I nodded and went over to Sam.

  ‘Can’t I pay?’

  ‘Mr. Wallace, I am sorry, like Mr. Barney is. No, nothing to pay and good luck.’

  I walked out into the dark, humid night and along the quay. The tourists had returned to their hotels for dinner. Only a few late fishermen were scattered around, talking. The two waterfront cops were standing, staring aimlessly at the trawlers. I regarded them closely. These two men were aware of Walinski’s racket, and I was sure they had a payoff to keep their mouths shut. They were big over-fat men, swinging nightsticks: tough and stupid looking.

  Keeping to the shadows, I walked along until I came to the yacht Hermes. It was a hundred-footer with cabin accommodation: a nice, luxury job.

  I paused under the shadow of a palm tree.

  I could vaguely see a man sitting on the deck.

  The red glow of his cigarette was a splinter of light in the darkness. No lights showed in or on the yacht.

  I guessed Lu Gerando was keeping guard.

  I had a lot to think about. Turning, I walked back to where I had parked my car. I passed the Black Cassette. Lights showed behind the dirty, thin curtains that shielded the windows.

  I could hear strident dance music.

  I kept on, got in my car and drove back to my home.

  I spent a sleepless night, thinking of Suzy thinking of those wonderful moments we had together, and what we had planned for the future.

  At 04.00, I couldn’t stand my thoughts any longer. I threw two sleeping pills into my mouth and finally sparked out.

  I walked into Glenda Kerry’s office at 11.30.

  ‘You’re late, Dirk. The colonel has been asking for you.’ She stared at me, ‘Something wrong? You don’t look well.’

  ‘The colonel ready to see me?’ I demanded curtly.

  Again she stared at me, then waved to the colonel’s office door.

  ‘He’s free,’ she said.

  Parnell was sitting at his desk. He was a giant of a man, on the wrong side of 60. His fleshy, sun-tanned face, small piercing blue eyes and the rattrap of a mouth stamped him as a veteran soldier, and don’t-let-us-forget-it.

  ‘Morning, Dirk,’ he said, regarding me as I walked into the big room with bay windows that overlooked the harbour. ‘Sit down.’

  I sat in a chair, facing him.

  ‘I’ve read through the Thorsen file. It looked interesting, and you have done an excellent job. Well, Mrs. Thorsen has pulled out, so we forget it. I’ve a nice job lined up for you and Anderson.’

  ‘Not for me, Colonel,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m quitting.’

  He lifted his big hands and let them drop on his desk.

  ‘I was fearing you would say that, Dirk. I had hoped you could have shifted your mind to other things. I know about Suzy. I am as sorry as hell. I go along with your thinking. If I were in the unhappy position as you are, and this happened to someone I loved, I would go after those bastards.’

  ‘That’s what I am going to do,’ I said.

  ‘Right. You are suspended from work for four weeks. You will be paid as usual. Anderson can hold down your job until you return. OK?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I appreciate this, Colonel, but I am quitting. I am going to start a war that you won’t want to know about. I could even end up in the City’s morgue or in jail so you must not be involved in any way.’ I got to my feet, then seeing the fat Thorsen file on his desk, I went on, ‘One last favour, Colonel.’ I picked up the file. ‘I want this.’

  ‘You t
hink the Thorsen case has something to do with the acid job?’

  ‘I am sure it has. Not all the facts are in this file. You don’t want to know about them. Thanks, Colonel. It’s been great working for you. I’m sorry it has to end this way.’

  He got to his feet and thrust out his hand.

  ‘If you get out of this mess, Dirk, you will always have a job with me.’

  As I shook his hand I said, ‘I don’t think I will get out of this mess. I’m going to hit them where it hurts.’

  ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Dirk.’

  ‘I’m going to hit them where it hurts, and sooner or later they will hit back. I’ll let you have my resignation, and I’ll tell Bill to take over the job you want fixing.’

  Leaving him looking worried, I returned to my office where Bill was sitting at his desk.

  We looked at each other as I sat at my desk, opposite his.

  ‘You have my job, Bill,’ I said. ‘The colonel will be calling you. I am quitting.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Bill said quietly.

  I stared at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You quit—I quit. Just that simple.’

  ‘Why should you quit, you idiot? Look, Bill, I don’t need complications. You take over, and I quit.’

  ‘When a lovely girl like Suzy gets a face full of acid, and she’s my best friend’s girl,’ Bill said, his voice low, ‘I go with him. OK, Dirk, you may not want me, but you won’t get rid of me. We quit together, and together we go after these bastards.’

  ‘No!’

  He held up his hand.

  ‘I know. We both could land up in the morgue, but, we will have done a lot of damage by then. Write your resignation, and let me see how it is done. Then I’ll write mine. Then we go back to your pad and plan a campaign.’

  ‘No, Bill! It’s terrific of you, but . . .’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Bill shouted. ‘You heard me! We either work together or apart, and if I have to, I’ll go after these bastards on my own.’

  I stared at him, feeling an emotional surge go through me. I knew I could more than do with him. I knew as a loner I would have less chance to survive.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘So, OK, we’re in this together.’

  I pulled my typewriter towards me and thumped out my resignation, then I ripped out the paper and gave it to Bill. He then thumped out his resignation.

  ‘I’ll go see the colonel,’ he said.

  ‘Take the two resignations with you.’

  Bill came around his desk and put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Between us, Dirk, we’ll fix them,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t know what you are walking into, Bill. Maybe we had better talk first before you see the colonel.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what I’m walking into,’ Bill said and grinned. ‘I’ll be back,’ and he left the office.

  While Bill was seeing the colonel, I cleared my desk. I had a holdall in one of the closets, and I packed the stuff I wanted, plus the Thorsen file, plus the half-finished bottle of Scotch.

  When Bill returned, he gave me a wide grin.

  ‘No problem. The colonel flipped, but he went along with my thinking. He’s rooting for us, Dirk. So OK, if we both get out of this mess, our jobs will be waiting.’

  ‘Want to clear your desk?’

  ‘Scarcely anything to clear. I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.’

  ‘You’re always hungry. Sit down. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Dirk, when a guy is hungry as I am, he can’t concentrate. Let’s go eat and talk, huh?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘OK. We’ll go along and say goodbye to Glenda, then we’ll go to Lucino’s.’

  Although it was after 19.30, Glenda was still at her desk.

  ‘We want to say goodbye Glenda,’ I said, as Bill and I paused in the doorway.

  ‘Come in, Dirk.’ She got to her feet. ‘I want to tell you how shocked and sorry I am. I want to tell you to go after these brutes. If I were in your place, I would do what you are doing.’

  She pushed two envelopes across the desk.

  ‘Those are your month’s salaries. Don’t argue. It’s the colonel’s wish.’

  ‘He’s a great guy,’ I said, and took the envelopes. ‘Well, let’s hope we’ll be seeing you again.’

  ‘Of course! One more thing, Dirk, if you want information, if you think we can be helpful, unofficially, call me. OK?’

  ‘Thanks, Glenda.’

  We all shook hands, then Bill and I walked to the elevator.

  I drove to Lucino’s restaurant. As soon as Lucino saw me, he came rushing from behind the bar.

  ‘Our special VIP table, Mr. Wallace,’ he said, shaking hands.

  He led us to a table, tucked into a corner away from the other tables. At this hour there were few people waiting to be served.

  As we sat down Lucino looked sorrowfully at me.

  ‘Mr. Wallace. I heard. I’m sorry. There is nothing more I can say except I grieve for you.’

  I saw there were tears in his eyes. I leaned forward and patted his arm.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You are a good friend.’

  ‘Now, Mr. Wallace, I intend to prepare something very special for you. Give me the pleasure, and Mr. Wallace, this is on the house. I need to express my deep-felt sympathy. Please don’t say no. Leave it to me.’

  I felt a wave of emotion run through me, but I controlled it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  Lucino rushed away to the kitchen. I could hear him shouting to his two chefs.

  Bill sat back.

  ‘You certainly have good friends, Dirk,’ he said. ‘Man! Am I starving!’

  In minutes, a waiter placed platters of stone crabs and a basket of crispy bread before us.

  I knew it would be a waste of time to talk to Bill until he had taken the edge off his appetite, so we ate in silence. The waiter produced a bottle of chilled white wine and poured.

  I ate little. I had too much on my mind. Food didn’t interest me. When I saw Bill had finished his crab claws, I dropped half my portion onto his plate. He looked at me, nodded and dived in.

  Finally, when he had finished and sat back with a sigh of content, I said, ‘Can you concentrate now?’

  ‘What’s to follow?’ he asked as the waiter arrived and cleared the platters.

  ‘God knows!’ I said impatiently. ‘Now listen, Bill. I have been saving money, and we will need money. Neither of us will be earning anything. How are you fixed for money?’

  He gave me a happy grin.

  ‘No problem. I’ve stashed away twenty-five big ones. What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours. OK?’

  The waiter arrived with two more platters on which lay juicy steaks and half a lobster and a big bowl of french fries.

  ‘Oh!’ Bill exclaimed. ‘Now this is like a real meal!’

  We ate. A lime pie followed, then a big jug of coffee.

  I refused the pie, and with growing impatience watched Bill eat.

  Finally, he sat back and patted his stomach.

  ‘The best,’ he said. ‘The very best!’

  ‘Now, will you shut up and listen?’ I said.

  I told him what I had learned from Al Barney.

  ‘We’re going to get mixed up with the Mafia. You still have time to pull out. I must warn you this is going to be a very dangerous ride.’

  Bill sipped his coffee.

  ‘The Mafia, huh?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I wondered about the acid job. It smelt to me of the Mafia. Fine. Together we take them. Just tell me what you want me to do.’

  ‘You really mean this, Bill? We both could finish up dead. You realise this?’

  For a long moment, Bill looked thoughtful, then he grinned at me and shrugged.

  ‘So what? You can only die once. Together, we’ll take them. What’s the first move?’

  ‘As we’ll b
e working together, it would be a good idea for you to move into my spare room. Shut up your pad, and we’ll be together. OK?’

  Bill nodded.

  ‘Fine with me.’

  ‘Right. Go pack whatever you want and move in.’ I put the keys of my apartment on the table. ‘I’ll be with you in a couple of hours.’

  ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. You move in. I’ll be seeing you.’

  I shook hands with Lucino, thanked him for the dinner, then went out into the humid night air. Getting into my car, I drove to the Thorsens’ residence. As I had hoped, the place was in darkness, except for a light showing in Josh Smedley’s room.

  I parked the car outside the gates and walked up the drive. I had to tug the front door bell chain three times before the door was opened, and Josh gazed at me with drink-glazed eyes.

  ‘It’s Mr. Wallace?’ he said, peering. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Wallace, Mrs. Thorsen isn’t in. She’s at the opera. So sorry.’

  I shoved my way in, sending him staggering back.

  ‘It’s you I want to see, Josh,’ I said. ‘It’s time we talked.’

  He looked defeated as only a man full of Scotch can look when faced with trouble.

  ‘I don’t think . . .’ he began to mumble, but I caught his arm and steered him down the corridor and into his room. There was a bottle of Scotch and a glass on the table. Josh seemed thankful to flop into his easy chair.

  I sloshed more Scotch into his glass, then sat down, facing him.

  ‘Josh, it’s time you faced up to the facts,’ I said, giving him my cop stare. ‘Your son, Hank, is in real trouble.’

  With a trembling hand, he picked up his glass, but didn’t drink.

  ‘I guess that’s right, Mr. Wallace.’

  ‘Do you know he’s mixed up with the Mafia?’

  He made a soft moaning noise, then nodded.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Wallace. I’ve known it for some time. I’ve talked to him, but Hank is difficult. He just laughs at me. Yes, I know. He’s heading for trouble.’

  ‘No, Josh, he is not heading for trouble; he is in trouble. Do you know Angie is also mixed up with the Mafia?’

  ‘Miss Thorsen?’ He nodded and sipped his drink. ‘I guess so from what I hear. She’s just one of Hank’s customers. I know that.’

  ‘Blackmail customers?’

  He shivered, then nodded.