How could she want a man who wasn’t dangerous? How could the slightest pressure of his fingertips make her yearn to rip off his windbreaker and make love to him in the middle of the courtyard, in the rain?
She must, Melanie thought, be suffering the aftereffects of her head injury, or maybe of staying on an island where time had no meaning. She no longer even knew whether it was day or night. Nothing seemed real except Hal, and he was the most counterfeit person she’d ever met.
They reached the lobby, where they found Chet squatting behind the front desk, fiddling with the dials on a two-way radio and listening to staticky babble. “The lightning fried a few connections but I’ve sort of got it fixed,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the junk that passes for tools around here. Ever try using a wrench that used to be a nutcracker?”
“Transmutation is the specialty of cons,” said Hal. “The last true alchemists are found in prisons.”
“Who should I call?” asked the eager young man. “Just say the word, Mr. Iceman!”
Hal crouched beside him. “Honesty compels me to inform you that there have been certain revelations about me.”
“Honesty compels me to inform you that the rooms are bugged,” said Chet.
“You heard the whole thing?” Melanie couldn’t believe it.
“In its entirety,” admitted the youth.
This raised a disturbing possibility. “Is my bedroom tapped, too?” she asked.
“Only the single rooms and the front rooms of the suites seem to be rigged.” The young man indicated a row of switches.
“I presume you also know that your grandfather is no longer in need of medical assistance?” Hal said.
“Yeah.” The young man sighed. “I’m sorry I went off the deep end. When I saw him choking, I jumped to conclusions. He was already mad at me for blowing the business deal. Now I guess he’ll disown me for sure.”
“If he does, he is a great fool,” said Hal. “And I have never taken your grandfather for a chump.”
In the Iceman’s face, Melanie saw a longing to be forgiven, as Chet would be. But she also saw resignation that their relationships with Grampa were in no way comparable.
She thought about her own father, and the fact that he now played with Wendy’s children as he had never played with her. She was surprised to feel a prick of envy. It made her sympathize with Hal, although she was trying hard not to.
“So, who do we call?” Chet asked. “Don’t we need to turn Rita over to somebody? And Cha Cha too.”
Hal straightened. “Rita must face the music,” he said. “But I think Cha Cha has suffered fit punishment. Besides, to call in the Coast Guard would only punish the innocent.”
“You mean, Drop Dead?” Chet said. “After all, he’s the one who owns the island.”
“He’s not exactly innocent,” Melanie said.
“He has committed no crime,” corrected Hal. “Recently.”
“You think we can get the passengers ashore and Rita into jail without people finding out about this secret island?” she asked. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“It will take a lot of effort.” Hal’s clear brown eyes fixed on her. “And the cooperation of the press.”
She cringed. Never before had Melanie landed an exclusive story of such juicy proportions. How could she give it up, merely in the name of preserving this oddball sanctuary?
Yet, in a world where the Internet blurred the differences between Tahiti and Cleveland, while deep in the rain forests the monkeys played Donkey Kong video games, did she really want to disturb this last piece of uncharted territory?
“I’ve spent months researching Rita and the way she’s been ripping people off around the world,” she said. “I’m going to do everything in my power to get that story published. But I could fudge a little on the exact location of the shipwreck.”
“Some rocks off the coast,” suggested Chet.
“Passing fishermen snatching the passengers and crew to safety,” Hal mused.
“Then leaving before they could be interviewed,” Melanie added.
“You think everyone will cooperate?” asked the young man, plucking nervously at the radio.
“We have won a concession from the press,” said Hal. “Now it is the turn of Grampa Orion’s gang, who, after all, have the most to gain by assisting in this collusion.”
“Would Rita keep her yap shut?” Melanie asked. “I mean, her mouth?”
“If we make it worth her while,” Hal murmured with the distinctive low intonation used by gangsters when their trigger fingers feel itchy. “I must present my case to the gang.”
“You’re going back to Grampa’s room?” Chet asked. “You’re going to face those guys again?”
It would, Melanie realized, be both easier and safer for Hal to summon the Coast Guard. Yet his allegiance to his friends ran deep.
“You, Chet, will monitor the room, and should there be an unfortunate outcome, call in the seagoing gendarmes,” said Hal.
“You bet” The young man’s ears wiggled uncomfortably, but resolution shone from his face.
“Be sure to take your gun,” Melanie said.
Hal patted the bulge in his jacket, then removed it and handed it to Chet. “It was one thing to draw it in selfdefense. Now I am returning voluntarily. To do so at gunpoint would be a hostile act. You keep it.”
Chet stared at the weapon. “I wouldn’t know how to fire it.”
“You will not need to,” said Hal. “It is not loaded.”
He had saved them by bluffing, Melanie realized with a start. But this time, when he went back, there would be no bluff. He was going to stare death in the face.
In that moment, she realized that she desperately wanted to make love to Hal one more time. To be scooped off her feet, and held in his arms, and tossed and flipped like pizza dough in the hands of a master chef.
She wasn’t sure she wanted a man for a lifetime. But she needed that moment of belonging to Hal, that intense excitement with a core of tenderness, more than she had ever needed anything.
Just once more, she told herself. Then, surely, her mind would clear, her independence would reassert itself and she could go her merry way.
However, while she was making this discovery, Hal departed. Knowing the speed with which he operated, she supposed that by now he had already reached Grampa’s room.
Without another word, Melanie left Chet manning the radio and went after him.
HAL WALKED into Grampa’s room with his hands held in front of him, palms outward, to signify that he came in peace.
He hoped he wouldn’t leave in pieces.
“You have a lot of nerve,” said Grampa, not without appreciation.
The faces of Drop Dead, Rita, Cha Cha, Bone Crusher and the Swamp Fox formed a rogues’ gallery as they fixed their attention on him. It occurred to Hal that he had spent years avoiding this moment when he would find himself figuratively naked in front of his friends.
To his surprise, losing the respect of this bunch did not bother him very much. It did not compare to how he felt about the near certainty of losing Melanie.
Still, he would not dishonor himself by betraying his former pals for his own convenience. “If you wish to save the island, you will listen to me.”
“We don’t need no help,” snarled Drop Dead. “This ain’t the worst storm I ever seen. The island ain’t gonna sink.”
“In case you have not assessed the situation,” said Hal, “our friends Rita and Cha Cha have brought into our midst a large group of the noncriminal element. What exactly were you planning to do with them?”
Drop Dead scratched his head. Bone Crusher cracked his knuckles.
“You raise an interesting point,” said the Swamp Fox.
“It was not part of the plan to crash my ship into the lighthouse!” protested Cha Cha.
“The lighthouse?” said Drop Dead. “Somethin’ happened to my lighthouse?”
“It’s toast,” said th
e Swamp Fox.
The gargoyle blanched. He began to sway and, had he not been sitting on the bed, he might have toppled.
“If I were not a gentleman,” rumbled Grampa, “I would pound you on the chest and blow my foul breath into your mouth like you did to me. However, under the circumstances, I extend my sympathies.”
“My Albert Payson Terhune dog novels—gone to the briny!” cried Drop Dead. “Where’m I gonna find another copy of Collie to the Rescue?”
“Dog novels schmog novels.” Grampa waved a hand.
“No, wait.” Rita frowned. “Is he cryin’? I hate to see an old geezer cry.”
Considering that this came from a woman who rarely saw her own three-year-old son, Hal was not inclined to take her concern as anything but a ploy. “I will make inquiries among rare-book dealers, if you like,” he said. “First, we must deal with the passengers and crew.”
“I would like to see you make them disappear,” said the Swamp Fox.
“That will not be possible,” Hal said. “However, now that their valuables have been returned, it might be feasible to secure their cooperation.”
“Cooperation?” said Grampa.
Having finished performing calisthenics on his knuckles, Bone Crusher proceeded to wrestle loud pops from his wrists. “I gotta admit, the lug seems to know how to motivate people. Like they talk about at them business seminars I go to.”
“You attend business seminars?” asked Cha Cha.
“We gotta keep up wit’ progress.” There was a defensive note in Bone Crusher’s voice. “Otherwise we would still be killin’ people with stone axes.”
“In order to persuade the passengers and crew not to squeal on us,” Hal said, “we must first agree to turn Rita over to the proper authorities.”
“Hey!” said Rita. “They got their doodads back, didn’t they?”
Grampa glanced at her dismissively. “Considering that you wrecked a ship and a lighthouse, not to mention sending the passengers’ luggage to Davy Jones’s locker, you got a lot to answer for.”
“I believe,” said Hal, “that if we offer to repay these innocent victims for their losses, and give them free annual vacations at our Las Vegas establishments, they might be persuaded to keep their lips buttoned. But we will have to win their trust first.”
“You mean, like, be nice to them?” sniffed Drop Dead. “Only a galoot would suggest such a thing!”
“Or a straight arrow,” grumbled the Swamp Fox. “By the way, I have been wondering. If you did not ice anybody, how do we know you even run a crooked establishment?”
Hal saw that it was time to come clean. “I do not,” he said. “I design computer software with both business and gaming applications.”
Bone Crusher’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Tell us at least you don’t pay no taxes.”
“I am afraid I do,” said Hal. “Look, it is no skin from my nose if we blow the lid off Paraiso, since you lugs will never allow me to set foot on its shores again. Do we make nice with the passengers or not?”
“Maybe,” said Rita, “somebody oughta just shoot him.”
“In which case, young Chet, who is at this very moment listening to us courtesy of Drop Dead’s one-way intercom, will call the Coast Guard,” said Hal. “And then it will be not only Cha Cha’s boat that is sunk.”
The entire room held its breath. They knew he had them.
“What about the snoop?” asked Grampa. “That girl.”
Hal heard a movement behind him. As he shifted to a defensive position, he saw that it was Melanie.
“‘That girl’ is going to keep this place a secret,” she said. “I’ve got more than enough dope on Rita and her shenanigans to fill half a dozen stories.”
“You mean she done more than this?” asked Bone Crusher.
“Lots more,” said Melanie.
Rita tried on several expressions. Innocence. Defensiveness. Spite. Then gave it up and burst into tears.
Drop Dead patted her hand. “Since you was sympathetic to me, I got a soft spot for you. Also, wit’ your criminal history, once they let you outta the slammer, you can have a job on the island. As it happens, we got open the position of hostess.”
“Me?” said Rita. “Ya know, I always kinda wanted to work at a resort.”
“Can she bring her kid?” Melanie said. “The poor little tyke’s in a boarding school.”
“No, he ain’t” Rita sighed. “My ex-husband has custody. I told a fib to impress Hal.”
“I always said a dame could make a saphead outta the Iceman.” Bone Crusher chortled.
“The Iceman ain’t no saphead. I mean, he isn’t one,” said Melanie. “He’s smarter than the whole lot of you.”
She stood there, fearlessly facing down a roomful of thugs. Hal knew in that moment that he would not let this woman go without employing every persuasive means in his power.
He had thickheadedly spent the past twenty years trying to earn the friendship of unworthy men and women. As soon as the immediate crisis was past, he knew he must make one final, desperate attempt to win the love of this worthy dame.
He would get only one roll of the dice, and he’d better make it a good one.
THE FACT THAT no one had been shot yet boded well, Melanie thought. Although she loved danger, she preferred it pain free.
In fact, now that she found herself mano-a-mano with a roomful of crooks, she was forced to reassess her craving for perilous assignments. Perhaps there was a limit beyond which even the foolhardy should not go.
After several long and thunderous beats of the heart, she saw heads start to nod. It appeared the gangsters agreed with her assessment of Hal.
“The Iceman makes sense,” rasped Drop Dead. “I don’t want no government agents turning Paraiso into someplace for sissies.”
The Swamp Fox squinted until his eyes nearly vanished into pouches. Finally, he said, “A man that could hoodwink the lot of us for fifteen years is hardly a lightweight. Also, he has made more money than us crooks, when the laws of gangster economics say it can’t be done.”
“I’m willing to try things his way.” Cha Cha rubbed his palms together. “I vote yes.”
“Ditto,” said Bone Crusher. Grampa gave a tight nod.
Melanie’s knees received an infusion of gelatin at the sudden release from tension. She stumbled, and came up against the reassuringly hard form of Hal.
Standing behind her, he caught her by the shoulders. His warm breath tickled her neck and she felt herself enveloped by his strength.
Definitely, they needed a rematch. What else could cure this feverish rush of her hormones?
Beneath her rump, she felt his masculinity awaken. So he, too, was having these thoughts in spite of his studied indifference. Or was that simply the way men were built, to respond to a woman no matter what?
A ripple of movement ran through the assembled gangsters, and Melanie saw them staring past her at the doorway. She turned, but Hal was blocking her way, and she couldn’t at first see who was there.
“Uh, fellas?” came Chet’s quavery voice.
“We are getting matters straightened out” Hal moved aside, and Melanie glimpsed the young man’s flushed face. “I think we will be all right.”
“Uh, no, we won’t!” Chet’s hands flailed in agitation. “I’ve been monitoring the radio. The Coast Guard picked up some kind of automated distress signal from the Jolly Roger and they’re on their way.”
11
“THEY SAY that into each life some rain must fall,” observed Grampa into the horrified silence that followed his grandson’s pronouncement. “It is my contention that we have had more than enough rain, both figurative and literal, and I would request that the great Capo in the sky should cease and desist.”
That, Hal reflected, was as close to a prayer as the gangster chief ever was likely to utter. Despite his own reverence for the Divinity, however, Hal believed it was incumbent on mankind to put up umbrellas rather than pray for an end to precipit
ation.
“Is the automatic signal still ratting on us?” he asked Chet.
The young man shook his head. “It was cut off after a few minutes.”
“So perhaps the gendarmes do not yet have an exact fix,” he mused.
“No, but I’ve been monitoring their radio. They’re convinced there’s a whole cruise ship full of people in trouble,” Chet said. “As soon as the weather lets up, they’re going to send out a helicopter.”
“Then we had better arrange for them to find their passengers,” said Hal. “Call the ferryboat captain and tell him that he must arrive immediately. He will receive a bonus of ten thousand dollars for each boatload he takes ashore within an hour.”
Chet gave a quick nod and vamoosed. He was a most resourceful young man, Hal reflected. As for Grampa’s opinion, one could tell nothing from the old man’s poker face.
“Do you really think we can keep the Coast Guard from finding the island?” Melanie asked. “I don’t see how they can miss it.”
“The lug what lost Paraiso to me said a juncture of the earth’s magnetic fields bollixes up radio waves,” said Drop Dead.
“Kind of like a Bermuda Triangle of the Pacific,” explained the Swamp Fox.
“Also,” noted Drop Dead, “I use a jamming device.”
“Does this mean it is time to make nice with the passengers?” inquired Cha Cha.
“That is exactly what it means,” said Hal. “We will need to coordinate their stories with ours. Fortunately, the passengers are in the habit of following the lead of Noreen Pushkoshky, and she is squarely in our corner, unless—” he fixed Drop Dead with a quelling look “—a certain person wishes to renew animosities of the past.”
“I am calling off the contract,” said the island’s owner.
“You are not offended by my unorthodox method of removing Yes Yes Nanette?” Hal asked.
The gargoyle shrugged. “There ain’t such a big difference between sending her to Hades and sending her to L.A., anyway.”
Bone Crusher, who had removed his shoes, the better to crack his toe knuckles, spoke over a series of minor detonations. “Ya know,” he said, “I been thinking about the way you iced them targets. Who else has figured out how to recycle people? I take my hat off to youse.”
Kidnapped / I Got You Babe Page 13
