'Course I do! I know all the boats.'
'Right. Go there, fast. Tell Mr. Torres that the cops have been here, asking for Mrs. Certes. Tell him they are watching our place. Understand?'
The boy nodded and leaving the building, passing Jacoby with a sly grin, he ran towards the waterfront.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maria Warrenton had left her bathroom in such a mess, Anita was late leaving the hotel. As she began the long walk back to Seacomb, Manuel's battered Lincoln pulled up beside her. 'Get in, Anita,' he said.
Anita opened the passenger door and scrambled in. 'It's not Pedro? He's not worse?' she asked, her voice trembling.
'No, he is okay.' Manuel shifted into gear and drove down a side road that led to the waterfront. 'You mustn't go home. The cops are asking for you.'
Anita gasped, covering her face with her hands. 'The cops?'
'Yes. Now don't get upset,' Manuel said. 'You must stay on my boat until it is time for you to go to the hotel to work. You must keep off the streets. I understand the cops haven't a description of you. They questioned your janitor and he told them nothing, but it will be safer for you to stay on my boat a little while, then we can arrange what we have to do tonight.'
'But how did they find my address?' Anita asked. 'Pedro would never have given it to them.'
This Manuel didn't believe. He felt sure the cops had talked to Pedro, and although he was dying, they had got his name and address out of him.
'Pedro? No, certainly not! Some informer. Even with our people, there are informers,' Manuel said. 'Don't worry about it. All will be well.' He pulled up near his fishing vessel. 'Now, we will make final plans.'
In the forward cabin, they found Fuentes lying on the bunk. He sat up, staring at Anita. 'What's she doing here?' he demanded.
'It is unfortunate,' Manuel said quietly, sitting at the table. 'The cops are looking for her. She will stay here until she goes to work.'
Fuentes began to speak, but Manuel silenced him with a wave of his hand.
'Sit down, Anita.' When she sat at the table, he went on, 'What time tonight should we begin the operation?'
'Twelve thirty,' Anita said without hesitation. 'Everyone will be away from the suites. The hotel detective begins patrolling the corridors at one o'clock. The staff will be busy finishing in the kitchens. That is the time.'
'What time do you finish your work?'
'Just after ten o'clock. Give me a piece of paper and a pencil. I'll draw you a plan how to get to the staff entrance.' Manuel produced paper and pencil and watched Anita draw the plan. While she was doing this, he glanced at Fuentes and gave him a nod to tell him Anita knew what she was about.
She passed him the paper. 'You see?'
Manuel studied the plan for some moments, then he nodded. 'So we come by the back, that is Ranch Road. We come down by the golf course, then down a little path leading to the staff entrance?'
'Yes.'
'Are there any problems?'
'No, but be careful not to be seen.'
'Then what happens?'
'At exactly twelve thirty, I will open the staff door. You must be there to come in immediately. There will be no one about. I will take you to the basement elevator and we go up to the top floor. The penthouse suite where the Warrentons are has a private elevator. We walk up the stairs and I will unlock their door.'
'Suppose they are in?'
'They are never there until well after one thirty. I will relock the door and we will go out onto the terrace and wait for them. The rest I leave to you.'
Manuel thought about this, aware that Fuentes was watching him. Finally, he said, 'It sounds good.'
'Manuel,' Anita said quietly. 'It is understood that my husband comes with us.'
There was a long pause. Fuentes ran his fingers through his long, greasy hair. Manuel stared down at the scarred table, then he looked up and stared directly at Anita.
'Yes,' he said. 'That has always been understood. Pedro is recovering, but, Anita, by coming with us on my boat, he could have a relapse. He is still very sick.'
Anita stiffened. 'If you don't promise that he comes with us, I do not open the staff door,' she said firmly.
'I understand your feelings. You are a fine woman, but let us look more closely at the problem,' Manuel said, giving her a forced sympathetic smile. 'We have all we need to put on the pressure: two bombs and the Warrentons, but your husband is still very sick, In two weeks, he could travel without causing a relapse, but now that the cops are looking for you, we can't wait two weeks. Our plan must begin tonight. I will now go to the hospital and talk to my friend and find out if Pedro can be moved. If he says he can, then there is no problem, but if he tells me it would be dangerous for Pedro to take a sea voyage, then I have another suggestion to make to you.'
Anita sat motionless, staring at Manuel. He felt uneasiness run through him. Her big black eyes were probing and hard. 'What other suggestion?' Her voice was low and harsh.
'That we need not discuss for the moment.' Manuel got to his feet. 'I will now go to the hospital and talk to my friend. I am hoping there will be no alternative. I will be back in an hour.'
'I will wait,' Anita said, 'but it is understood that unless Pedro comes with us, I open no doors.'
'It is understood,' and Manuel left the cabin, crossed the gang plank, got in his car and drove away.
Fuentes stared at Anita, his eyes glistening with hate. He longed to pull out his knife and slit her throat. A million dollars, if he was lucky, was within his reach, but this woman could foul up the whole operation.
Anita didn't look at him. She stared down at her clenched fists.
'Manuel is a man of truth,' Fuentes said. 'You must do what he says. You must be reasonable.'
Anita looked up. The expression in her eyes made Fuentes flinch. 'You did this! It was you who persuaded my husband to do this dreadful thing! You gave him the gun! Don't speak to me! May God punish you!'
Fuentes had nothing to say. He lay back on the bunk and stared up at the roof of the cabin. This woman was dangerous, he thought. What lie would Manuel find to tell her?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Lepski told Sergeant Joe Beigler that he now had the name of the rent killer and it was important to locate the killer's wife, Beigler, sipping coffee, said Lepski had done a smart job. However, when Lepski said he wanted two men down to Fish Road to stake out the apartment block and to relieve Jacoby, Beigler stared at Lepski as if he had asked for a ton of gold.
'I haven't two men to spare,' Beigler said, after a long pause.
'That's your headache. I want the joint staked out. I can't find out where this woman works, so the best thing is to catch her when she returns from work,' Lepski said patiently, as if explaining to an idiot child.
Beigler drank more coffee. 'You know what I'd do if I were a smart Detective 1st Grade?' he asked. 'I might add that I am not a smart Detective 1st Grade, but a very smart sergeant. Now, if I wanted to know where some Cuban woman worked, know what I would do?'
Lepski loosened his tie. When Beigler became patronizing, Lepski's blood pressure rushed up. 'I'll buy it,' he snarled.
Beigler sat back, a smug smile on his freckled face. 'Being a very smart sergeant, and being in charge of this cop house while the chief is away, I would go down to the City Hall and inquire at the Aliens and Immigration office, where they keep records of every Cuban working in our city and where they work.'
Lepski gaped at him. 'How the hell should I know that?'
'You wouldn't, but I do know these things being a very smart . . .'
But Lepski had already rushed away. He flung himself into his car and drove to the City Hall. At the back of the City Hall, he found the Alien and Immigration office with a long queue of shabby looking Cuban refugees waiting to register.
Lepski had no time for Cubans. He bulldozed his way into the big office where Cuban men and women were being interviewed. Shoving his way to th
e head of the queue, he was confronted by a young woman sitting behind a long counter, completing a card. The plaque before her told him she was Miss Hepplewaite.
He regarded her and decided she was a smarty pants, good looking and efficient.
'Miss Hepplewaite?' He flashed his shield. 'Detective Lepski.'
She didn't look up, but continued to complete the card. Lepski wasn't to know that she had had an argument with a cop for a parking infringement that morning and had been given a ticket. Right at this moment, Miss Hepplewaite, a girl of exceptionally strong character, hated all cops.
Lepski waited, drumming his fingers on the counter. When she had completed the card, she looked up, her grey-blue eyes stony. 'I am dealing with Cubans,' she said. 'Who did you say you were?'
Lepski loosened his tie. 'Detective Lepski, City police,' he said in his cop voice and again flashed his shield.
'What am I supposed to do?' she asked. 'Kneel down and worship you?'
A real smarty pants, Lepski thought, controlling himself. 'Police business, Miss Hepplewaite. I want to find out where Anita Certes of twenty seven Fish Road, Seacomb, works.'
She regarded him with hostile eyes. 'Why?'
Lepski's blood pressure rose. He longed to haul her across the counter and smack her bottom. 'Police business,' he repeated. 'You don't have to worry your head about why, baby.'
'Don't call me baby! I could report you for being insulting!'
Lepski had had enough of this. 'Yeah, and I could arrest you for obstruction, baby. I'm dealing with a murder case. Do you want to come down to headquarters so we can sort it all out?'
Miss Hepplewaite regarded Lepski's lean, hard face and decided also enough was enough. He looked as if he would do what he was threatening. The last thing Miss Hepplewaite wanted was to be taken to police headquarters. She surrendered reluctantly. 'What name was it?'
Lepski gave her his hard, cop smile. 'Anita Certes, twenty seven Fish Road, Seacomb.'
'You understand we have many . . .' Miss Hepplewaite began, trying to bolster up her diminishing dignity.
'Anita Certes, twenty seven Fish Road, Seacomb,' Lepski barked.
'I'll see.' Furious with herself for being cowed by this cop, Miss Hepplewaite stamped over to the files. She deliberately took her time, while Lepski drummed on the counter and the Cubans stared and listened. Finally, she returned with a card.
'This woman works part time at the Spanish Bay Hotel,' she said. 'Her hours are from ten o'clock to one o'clock and again at eight o'clock in the evening. She is a cleaner.'
Lepski gave her his leering smile. 'Thanks, baby. Keep your legs crossed,' and he left.
A small, thin Cuban, half way down the queue, whispered to his friend ahead of him, 'Hold my place,' and leaving, he went in search of a public telephone. He was a good friend of Anita Certes. There was only one man who could relay the news that Anita was being hunted by the police. He called Manuel Torres.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Josh Prescott, the Spanish Bay Hotel house detective, was preparing for his night's duty. He had showered, shaved and was now dressing. His mind had been continually thinking of this fantastic, glamorous nurse. He had been with dozens of girls, but none of them compared with her. They had a date this night. The thought of once more getting her into the shrubbery sent his blood pressure soaring.
As he adjusted his tie, his front door bell rang. Lepski barged in. 'Hi, Josh!'
'What do you want?' Prescott demanded. 'I'm getting ready to go on duty.'
'So what?' Lepski sat down. 'A Cuban woman who works at the hotel, Anita Certes. Mean anything to you?'
'Sure. She does the cleaning, part time. What about her?'
'You've read about this fink who shot to death the rent collector at Fish Road?'
Prescott nodded.
'Anita Certes is the killer's wife. I want to talk to her.'
'These goddam Cubans are always in trouble.'
'You're right. I'm always saying that. This woman works from eight to ten. Right?'
'Yeah.'
'So I come to the hotel and talk to her, huh?'
Prescott thought for a moment, then shook his head. 'She services the Warrentons' penthouse, Tom. My boss would go out of his skull if the penthouse wasn't serviced. Look, to handle this right, wait until she comes off duty. I'll fix it to have her in my office just after ten. Then you can talk to her.'
Lepski, knowing Dulac's power in the city, shrugged. 'Okay, Josh. I'll be in your office just before ten.'
'I'll have her for you,' Prescott promised.
The time now was 18.30. Lepski was hungry. Carroll had told him she was preparing a new dish, but had refused to tell him what it was. When Carroll wasn't spending hours on the telephone or going to coffee parties, yakking with her girl friends, she studied cook books. She was always finding some new complicated dish which invariably ended in disaster. Lepski lived in the hope that one day she would produce a meal that they could eat, instead of falling back on cold cuts from the refrigerator.
As he opened his front door, the fumes of burning assailed him and the sound of Carroll's cursing singed his ears. With what he hoped was a loving, understanding smile which, in fact, made him look like a man who had escaped from a horror movie, he walked into the smoke filled kitchen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anita and Fuentes waited more than three hours before Manuel returned to his vessel. Those three hours were the worst hours Fuentes had ever experienced. The cabin was stifling hot. He smoked continuously, moved restlessly, muttered to himself, and was always aware that this woman, sitting like a stone image, hated him.
From time to time, he glanced uneasily at her. She remained staring down at her clenched fists, her thick, black hair falling forward, half screening her face.
When he heard Manuel's thudding footfalls on the deck, he drew in a gasp of relief. Then, and only then, did Anita move. She lifted her head and stared at the cabin door, but her face was still like stone.
Manuel came in and shut the door. He went immediately to the table and sat down opposite Anita.
'Good news!' he said. Turning to where Fuentes was sitting up on the bunk, he went on, 'Get me a drink, my friend.'
Fuentes got a bottle of rum from a locker and poured a heavy shot into a glass.
'Anita, I regret being so long,' Manuel said. 'My friend at the hospital was busy. I had to wait.'
'Pedro?' Anita asked, huskily.
'Yes . . . Pedro.' Manuel took the glass from Fuentes and drank the raw rum, sighed, and put the glass on the table.
'Finally, I talked to my friend. I explained the situation. I asked him if Pedro could take a sea trip. He said if things were properly arranged, Pedro could come with us. Pedro is now sitting up. He is taking food, but things will have to be properly arranged.'
Fuentes sat on the bunk, rubbing his sweating face, knowing that Manuel was lying, but he was lying convincingly.
'What things?' Anita demanded.
'My friend tells me Pedro must be taken from the hospital to my boat in an ambulance. Once on board, you will be able to take care of him. There is no question of him being brought to the hotel. He must be spared the least exertion.'
Anita looked down at her clenched fists while she thought.
Fuentes felt sweat running down his face. This goddam bitch of a woman! he thought. She stands between me and a million dollars!
Manuel also watched Anita, thinking she held the key to five million dollars. Had he convinced her with his lies?
Anita looked up. 'Will the police let him come to the boat?' she asked.
'What else can they do? We have them by the short hairs,' Manuel said. 'It is foolproof. We will have Warrenton. We have two bombs. I will explain to Dulac that I can destroy his hotel from my boat if Pedro isn't put on board.'
She stared steadily at him. 'But can you do this?'
'Yes. The man who made the bombs owes me his life. He told me the bomb
s can be exploded by this device he has given me within a radius of two miles.'
Still, Anita continued to stare steadily at him. 'Show me this device.'
Manuel moved uneasily, but looking at her, seeing her hard stare, he got to his feet, went to a locker and took out a black box.
'This is the device,' he said. 'See: there are two buttons. I press the top one and the little bomb explodes. I press the bottom button and the big bomb explodes. I take this device with me.'
Anita stared at the black box which was the size of a packet of cigarettes. 'It will work?'
'Yes. It will work.'
She relaxed, and sitting back, she smiled at Manuel. 'Then Pedro and I will sail to Havana together sometime tonight?'
'Yes.'
She reached out her hand and put it on his. 'My good friend. It is truly said that you are a man of truth and a friend of my people. Thank you.'
The touch of her hand was like a searing hot iron, but Manuel managed not to flinch. Five million dollars! Who the hell wanted to be known as a man of truth when there was so much money to gain?
'So it is understood,' he said, moving his hands to scratch his beard. 'You open the doors, we kidnap the Warrentons, get the money, and you have Pedro.'
'It is understood,' Anita said, looking directly at him. 'I want a gun.'
'I have only two guns,' Manuel said, after a pause. 'One for me and the other for Fuentes. He and you will share the gun when you take it in turns to watch the Warrentons.'
Anita sat still. Under the cover of the table, her hand went to the handle of the knife, hidden by her black sweat shirt. She wouldn't need a gun if anything went wrong. A knife was silent. Her eyes shifted to Fuentes who was staring at her. This man she hated and distrusted.
'I know nothing about guns. Show me the gun I may have to use.'
Manuel went to a locker and took out a plastic sack. From it he produced a .38 revolver.
'There's nothing to it,' he said, handing the gun to Anita. 'It is not loaded. You hold the gun in both hands, aim and pull the trigger. It is important to hold the gun in both hands.'
Anita examined the gun thoughtfully while both men watched her, then she turned away, held the gun in both hands and pulled the trigger. The snap of the firing-pin made her start.
Have a Nice Night Page 12
