1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts

by James Hadley Chase

  She opened the door, and as I moved by her she said in a whisper, ‘Tonight. Eleven o’clock. The Three Crab Restaurant.’

  For a moment, I didn’t believe what she had said. I turned, but the door had shut in my face.

  I returned to my apartment just after 18.00.

  Bill was at my desk, still reading the Thorsen file. He left it reluctantly and joined me in a lounging chair with a stiff Scotch I made.

  In detail, I told him of my interview with Walinski. He listened.

  ‘It seems to me, Bill, this wasn’t the Mafia, but a private vendetta job, carried out by Hank and Minsky for five thousand dollars. Minsky is buried somewhere where he won’t be found, so we don’t have to worry about him. Now, Hank. . .’

  ‘Yes, Hank,’ Bill said nodding.

  ‘We’re going to call on him, and we are going to find out who hired him to do this acid job. I can guess it was Angela Thorsen, but I want to know for sure. When he sings, and if it is Angela, then we go after her.’

  Again Bill nodded.

  ‘How do we make a big ape like Hank sing?’

  ‘Can you put your hands on a blowtorch?’

  Bill grinned.

  ‘Oh, sure. Yes, that’s a good idea. We burn him a little, then he sings.’

  He brooded while he finished his drink.

  ‘How did Walinski strike you, Dirk?’

  ‘Dangerous: a snake. Not anyone to fool with.’ I went on to tell him about Sandra. He listened, popeyed.

  ‘You meeting her?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not? Know anything about the Three Crab?’

  Bill was always a mine of information about restaurants and clubs.

  ‘On the waterfront. Good. Expensive. Next to Solly Joel’s joint. You know that?’

  ‘Right. OK, Bill, see what you can do about a blowtorch. I’ll talk to Hank on the telephone.’

  ‘The janitor is certain to have one.’ He left the apartment, and I went to a closet and dug out two pairs of handcuffs. I got my .38 from its box, checked it was loaded and dropped it into my pocket. Then I got the telephone book and looked up Hank’s number.

  It took over a dozen rings before Hank snarled, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Mr. Smedley?’ I made my voice sound tough and hard. ‘This is police headquarters.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? So what? You found that fucker who bombed out my joint?’

  ‘That’s what we want to talk to you about, Mr. Smedley, Just a few questions. We are sending two detectives around to your place. OK!’

  ‘Yeah. Hurry it up. I’ve got to go out in an hour,’ and he hung up.

  Bill returned, carrying a blowtorch.

  ‘No problem. It’s new and works well,’ he said.

  ‘Right. Then let’s go.’

  ‘Look, Dirk, I want to take care of this ape. Will you give me the front seat?’

  ‘You’re just thirsting to see if your Sunday punch settles him.’

  ‘It will.’

  We reached Seagrove Road in ten minutes.

  We rode up to the top floor.

  ‘This is for me,’ Bill said.

  I stood aside, leaning against the wall, gun in hand. I watched Bill as he thumbed the bell push.

  There was a pause, then the door jerked open. Hank stood there. He was wearing tight-fitting jeans. The upper part of his body was naked. As he stood glaring down at Bill, I don’t think I’ve seen a finer built body of muscle apart from professional boxers.

  ‘You a cop?’ Hank snarled, then he stiffened. ‘I know you! Goddamn it! Get the hell out of here before I smear you!’

  Bill said something in a low voice which Hank couldn’t hear. He did what Bill wanted him to do. He leaned forward, thrusting his ape-like face at Bill. He made a perfect target.

  Bill’s fist, protected by his knuckle-duster, slammed against Hank’s jaw with a ‘thwack’ that made me wince.

  Hank’s eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, and he went down like a poleaxed bull.

  ‘Spaghetti,’ Bill said contemptuously.

  Together, we dragged the huge body into the living room. It took me only a few seconds to handcuff the thick wrists behind his muscular back, then handcuff his ankles together.

  Bill shut and locked the front door. We paused to look around.

  At one time, the living room was comfortable and well furnished, but now it was showing shabbiness and neglect. I went, gun in hand into the two bedrooms and the tiny kitchen, which was in a mess, and then checked out the bathroom, also messy. Hank was on his own.

  ‘OK, Bill, don’t let’s waste time on this jerk,’ I said. ‘Get some water and get him to the surface.’

  Bill went into the kitchen, found a bucket, half filled it with water and sloshed the water in Hank’s unconscious face. He then pumped up the blowtorch and got it going. There was a hiss, and a blue-yellow flame came through the vent holes.

  Hank stirred, opened his eyes, shook his head, moaned and closed his eyes. I kicked him solidly in the ribs, making him groan as he struggled to sit up. With my foot on his forehead, I slammed him back on the soaking wet carpet.

  He snarled at me the way a jungle cat, trapped, will snarl at the hunter.

  ‘Who paid you five thousand to acid-job my girl?’ I demanded.

  He wrestled with the handcuffs, but that got him nowhere. They were the kind that became tighter the more you wrestled.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he mumbled.

  I looked at Bill.

  ‘Let him have a flick of heat,’ I said.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Bill said and ran the blue-yellow flame with a quick motion over Hank’s naked chest. Hank screamed. He seemed to fall to pieces. The snarl and the hate went. Now deep fear took over.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ he gasped. ‘OK, I’ll tell you. Just don’t do that again.’

  ‘Who?’ I demanded, squatting by his side.

  ‘Angie. Keep that flame away from me!’

  ‘Tell me!’

  Bill moved forward and waved the hissing flame near Hank’s face. He squealed. Sweat poured off him.

  ‘Tell me!’ I shouted at him.

  ‘Angie came to me. She was crazy mad that you stopped her getting Terry’s money. Crazy mad! I’m telling you! She scared me! It was her idea about the acid. When she offered five big ones, I talked to Hula who arranges anything. So we did it. I didn’t mean for her to get killed. I swear I didn’t. I thought it would be a little bit of skin peeling. I swear I didn’t think she would run into the road and get smashed up by a truck. I swear it!’

  I looked at him with loathing.

  ‘Did you get the money?’

  ‘Sure thing. When Angie says she’ll pay, she pays. I got half. Hula got the other half.’

  ‘Where’s Hula?’

  ‘I dunno. He had a call last night. He said he had to go out on business. He hasn’t come back.’

  ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  ‘I don’t ask Hula questions,’ Hank said, eyeing the blowtorch. ‘No one in their right skulls asks Hula questions. I dunno where he is.’

  I could have told him, but decided not to.

  ‘OK, Hank, we’re making progress,’ I said. ‘Now Angie. She’s been paying you ten thousand a month, hasn’t she?’

  He shook his head as Bill shifted the flame of the blowlamp.

  ‘Not to me. Look, this is how it works. Hula comes to me. He wants to use my club as a drop. He pays me five hundred a week to use my club. So, OK, I go along with that. He owns this pad. He lets me use it. I don’t know a thing. I swear it!’

  ‘Keep talking,’ I said.

  Bill moved a little closer so Hank could feel the heat of the flame. He cringed away.

  ‘People come to my club and give me envelopes. Angie gives me a wallet. I put everything in a bag. I don’t ask questions. On the first of the month, Hula comes and I give him the bag, and that’s it.’

  ‘Why is Angie being blackmailed?’

  ‘I dunno
. I swear I don’t! It’s Hula who digs up the dirt about people. I don’t ask questions. I don’t want to know. I guess Hula has something on Angie. Something so hot, she is paying out all this dough. She ain’t right in the head. She’s a real nutcase. She’s always been a nutcase.’

  I studied him and decided he was telling the truth. A brutal, ruthless man like Minsky wouldn’t tell a birdbrain like Hank anything.

  I was suddenly sick of him, sick of the room, sick of the atmosphere.

  ‘OK, Bill,’ I said. ‘Unlock him.’

  Bill turned off the blowtorch, then removed the handcuffs while I, gun in hand, watched.

  Hank sat up, rubbed his wrists and stared up at me.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ I said, ‘there’s no place now for you in this city. I talked to Hula’s boss. Hula’s feeding the worms. You won’t see him again. You have twelve hours to get out of this city. If I see you again, you will get a bullet in each kneecap and you won’t be able to walk again. Get lost! Understand?’

  He continued to stare, shaking his head in bewilderment.

  ‘I don’t know where to go,’ he muttered. ‘I ain’t got any money.’

  ‘I won’t tell you twice. If you’re not out of this city in twelve hours, you won’t walk again.’

  I turned. ‘Come on, Bill. The sight of this shit sickens me.’

  We took the elevator down to the street level and walked out into the humid rain.

  CHAPTER 7

  From the outside, the Three Crab Restaurant didn’t look inspiring. It had a tatty, weather-beaten air with its bleached wooden front and its narrow glass door, screened by a red curtain: not an enticement to tourists.

  When I pushed open the door, I found myself in a tiny lobby with a Vietnamese acting as a hatcheck girl. She gave me a welcoming smile.

  ‘You have a reservation, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘I am expected.’

  ‘Would you be Mr. Wallace?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  She pressed a bell push on the counter.

  ‘Just one moment sir.’

  A short, fat man, wearing a grey alpaca coat, white shirt with a string tie and black trousers, materialised.

  ‘Mr. Wallace?’

  ‘Correct,’ I said.

  ‘Miss Sandra Willis is expecting you, Mr. Wallace.’ I got a flashing smile, revealing white capped teeth. ‘Please to follow me.’

  He opened a door, and the sound of voices, the clatter of dishes, startled me. I followed him into a vast room, crowded with tables and packed with people. Some of the men wore white tuxedos. All the women were dressed to kill.

  Waiters were moving swiftly and efficiently, changing plates, serving dishes.

  ‘You have quite a business here,’ I said as he led me by a packed bar and to a flight of stairs.

  He turned and gave me his flashing, toothy smile.

  ‘I don’t complain.’

  He led me up the stairs, reached a door, tapped and threw the door open, bowing me in.

  ‘Mr. Wallace, Miss Willis.’

  She was sitting at a table, laid for dinner in a small, but well furnished, air conditioned room. She waved to me and motioned me to sit at the table. She was wearing a dark red dress, and her black hair was caught back by a band of pearls. She looked terrific, and caught her sexual vibes as I sat, facing her.

  ‘Let’s eat, Wally,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Two seconds, Miss Willis,’ the man in the alpaca coat said and vanished.

  She regarded me.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said, ‘but first I must eat. I haven’t had a thing since last night. J.W. is very exacting.’

  ‘J.W.? Walinski?’

  ‘Who else?’

  There was a tap on the door, and a waiter who looked Mexican hurried in. He put a plate of a dozen oysters Rockefeller before Sandra and the same for me. He then poured a chilled white wine and, bowing, he left us.

  The oysters were excellent. As I speared my fifth I said, ‘You seem at home here, Sandra.’

  ‘I come here most nights. When a woman is usually on her own, it is wise to eat privately, and where she is known.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought you were often alone.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘My working hours are impossible. It is only that J.W. decided to go to the casino, I am eating now.’

  ‘You want to talk to me?’

  ‘Yes, but not yet.’

  By now we had finished the oysters and I heard a bell ring. I guessed she had pressed a hidden bell push on the floor.

  Almost immediately, the waiter appeared and cleared the plates, then yet another waiter appeared, pushing a hotplate trolley.

  ‘You don’t object to seafood?’ she asked me.

  ‘I don’t object to any food.’

  The waiter served from a big dish. He placed before Sandra half a grilled shelled lobster, fried clams and king-sized prawns, stuffed with crabmeat. He served rice with a scattering of red peppers over which he poured a thick, creamy sauce tinted pink by lobster coral.

  He did the same for me.

  ‘Some dinner,’ I said.

  It wasn’t until we had eaten a second helping that she relaxed, leaning back in her chair and regarding me.

  ‘Coffee,’ she told the waiter as he cleared the dishes. ‘A cigarette, please, Dirk.’

  I gave her a cigarette from my pack, lit hers and mine.

  ‘That’s a lot better,’ she said, and smiled at me. ‘Now we can talk.’

  The waiter returned with a pot of coffee, poured, then went away.

  I waited, looking at her. She was too good to be true, I told myself. She had everything most women would envy and a saint would be unable to resist, but her glittering green eyes, as hard as emeralds, warned me this woman was very dangerous.

  ‘So what do we talk about?’ I asked, sipping my coffee.

  ‘You are the first man I have met in this God-forsaken city who has guts. I need a man with guts.’

  ‘What makes you think I have guts?’

  ‘A man who can bomb a stinking hole like the Black Cassette and scare an ape like Smedley so he quits the city has guts.’

  ‘How do you know he’s quit the city?’

  ‘Half an hour ago, he telephoned. He wanted to talk to J.W. I recognised his voice so I told him J.W. was tied up and what did he want? He said you had tortured him into telling you that Angela Thorsen had hired him to do the acid job, and he had to quit. Could J.W. give him money?’ She paused, then went on, ‘I told him to go to hell, and hung up. I got one of the boys to check. Smedley has gone, heading for Miami.’

  I sat waiting, knowing there was a lot more to come.

  ‘I haven’t told J.W. what Smedley told me about Angela Thorsen,’ she went on. ‘She is valuable to him. If he knew she was behind the acid job, he would be sure you were going to fix her. You wouldn’t last ten minutes.’

  ‘All the same, I am fixing her,’ I said.

  ‘To understand this scene, Dirk,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘I am going to wise you up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I told you: I need a man of guts. Now I have found you, I don’t want you blown away in your hunt for revenge. You can’t buck the organisation. Now, listen! J.W. is the top shot in Florida. His job is to collect money for the organisation. Florida is a gold mine. Anyone with money has a secret, and there are thousands of them who pay blackmail. The big stores, the casino, the top hotels pay protection money. J.W. lives at the Spanish Bay Hotel for nothing. The hotel doesn’t want staff trouble. J.W. has only to raise a finger and the staff will walk out. The monthly take is big: around a million and a half. J.W. is responsible for keeping to this figure or increasing it. This makes him vulnerable. The organisation would replace him if he began to slip. This is I the reason why he is anxious to have no trouble in this city. He gets ten thousand from the Thorsen girl. If you start trouble for her, J.W. will be ten thousand short. I know the organi
sation is getting dissatisfied with his work. They want a bigger increase. He is living on a tightrope. Let me tell you, Dirk, the only reason he hasn’t had you blown away is that you are too well known here, and are friends with the cops. He doesn’t want any publicity. You with me?’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this, Sandra?’ I asked. ‘I understood you worked for J.W., and he seems to think a lot of you.’

  Her smile was evil and bitter.

  ‘I’ll come to that. The only reason J.W. wanted to see you was to con you into believing how sorry he was about the acid job. You accepted his story that Minsky was dead and buried. J.W. is a most convincing liar. Minsky is his right hand. It is Minsky, with his team of ferrets, who dig up the dirt for blackmail. Without Minsky, J.W. would be lost. He would no more think of getting rid of Minsky than you would cutting off one of your arms. Minsky is alive and working. Smedley is a birdbrain and useless to the organisation. When he arrives in Miami, he will disappear. Minsky is an expert at making unwanted people disappear.’

  I leaned forward.

  ‘Are you telling me this sonofabitch who sprayed acid in my girl’s face is alive?’

  She nodded.

  ‘That’s what I am telling you.’

  I drew in a deep breath, feeling cold rage run through me.

  ‘Where do I find him?’

  ‘You won’t. You don’t even know what he looks like.’

  ‘He’s short, broad-shouldered, wears a white coat and a broad-brimmed hat.’

  ‘So what?’ Her expression was cynical. ‘He takes off his hat and white coat, puts on a grey coat and doesn’t wear a hat. How many hundreds of short, broad-shouldered men walk about this city? You won’t ever find him unless I help you.’

  I stared at her.

  ‘Why should you help me?’

  Her face turned to stone and her green eyes narrowed.

  ‘Because he murdered my father.’ The words came in a hissing whisper.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So J.W. could replace him. My father ran the Florida racket brilliantly. I was his secretary. We were very close.’ She leaned back and motioned to me to give her another cigarette.

  ‘You are a mafioso?’