“Relax, partner,” I said to encourage him. “You won’t see me again. As soon as Solly gives me the loot, I’m shaking the dust off this city. Think what you and your buddies can do with all those millions, plus a big income for years.”
I knew I had him in such a squeeze, there could be no blow back, and there wasn’t. With an unsteady hand, he picked up a pen.
I watched him.
A million dollars.
I could hear the patter of feet as the dolls came chasing.
Then the scene turned sour. I saw Diaz stiffen and stare beyond me. I saw his face start to fall to pieces.
A kid’s voice said shrilly, “You killed my brothers, senor Diaz. Now, I kill you.”
I jerked around.
Joey was standing in the doorway. In his small, dirty hand, he held a .38 revolver. It was pointing at Diaz.
“No, Joey!” I yelled.
The bang of the gun shook the room.
My eyes shifted to Diaz. His face had exploded in a mess of blood. He sat there, the pen in his hand, the contract unsigned.
I moved fast. Jumping to my feet, I snatched up the contract, my statement and Selby’s receipt. I stuffed the papers in my pocket, then I spun around.
Joey smiled at me. It was the happy smile of a child who has been given a gift-wrapped parcel.
“No one kills my people, Mr. Anderson,” he said. “They die too.”
“Get the hell out of here!” I shouted at him.
“Yes, Mr. Anderson.” He smiled again and walked out of the room.
He didn’t get far. Three big Mexicans grabbed him and hustled him back into the office. One of them had snatched the gun from him.
The office became crowded. Three hustlers, who had pushed their way in, began to scream. Everyone was staring at what was left of Diaz.
I slid around them to the door.
Above the uproar, I heard Joey’s treble voice shouting in triumph: “I killed him! I killed him! Do you hear me, Tommy? Do you hear me Jimbo? I killed him!”
I fought my way out onto the street, slid into the Maser, and was driving away, as the cop sirens began to cut the air.
By the time I got back to my apartment, I was in a state of depression, and in a cold sweat of fear.
My foremost thought was whether the cops would get onto me.
As I paced the big living room, I told myself that no one at the Alameda knew me by name. The barkeep knew I had seen Diaz twice, and he knew I had been in Diaz’s office when Joey pulled the trigger. In the confusion, I had slid away. I was sure no one noticed me leaving, but would the cops start asking questions? Joey was caught.
It should be an open-and-shut case, but when the cops started questioning him, would he pull me into the mess?
Take it easy, baby, I said to myself. You were a good pal of Joey. He won’t give you away.
I poured myself a drink, tossed it back, then refilled the glass.
You hope, baby, he won’t give you away, I thought.
There’s nothing you can do about it, but hope.
What now?
Diaz was dead, but Nancy and Pofferi were very much alive. I thought of those two, with Josh Jones, hiding in Hamel’s house: three deadly, dangerous people. As much as I liked picking up a million dollars, I was not going to put the squeeze on them. It would be like fooling with nitroglycerin.
Bart, baby, I said to myself, kiss that million goodbye. Those three are out of your league. All you can now hope for is you don’t get the cops on your neck. If you have any I luck, you won’t. Then you return to the Agency, and you go on working for peanuts, and you look around for some doll who won’t be too expensive, and you’ll go on and on until the Colonel decides to retire you, and you will settle down on the state and wait for death.
I poured myself another drink.
Man was I depressed!
I sat there, thinking of nothing, drinking and getting high. The shadows began to creep across the carpet. In another six hours I would have to report for duty to guard an old nut.
Then the telephone bell rang. I poured another drink and let the bell ring.
Maybe Bertha had changed her mind. I didn’t want to be bothered with Bertha right now. She was the original pain in the ass. So let her ring.
After a while, the telephone bell slumped into silence.
In spite of my depression, I felt hungry. I weaved my way into the kitchen. I found nothing in the refrigerator except a bottle of Scotch.
I went back to my chair, sat down and closed my eyes.
Time passed. I dreamed I was sitting in the Maser, waiting for an unfaithful wife to come out of a sleazy motel where she had been having it off with a Romeo: my future.
Then the front door bell rang, ringing persistently. I came awake with a jerk.
The cops?
I got to my feet. The short sleep had sobered me. I looked at my watch. The time was 23.05.
The bell rang again.
I smoothed down my hair, straightened my crumpled jacket and went into the lobby. My heart was thumping.
My brain revolved around possible lies when Lepski began to shoot questions at me.
The bell rang again.
I opened up.
Gloria Cort pushed by me and walked into the living room.
It only needed this, I thought. She’s after the ten thousand I promised her.
With dragging feet, I followed her into the living room.
“Now listen, baby . . .” I began.
“Shut your mouth!” she snapped. “You listen to me!”
She dropped onto the settee and regarded me with that expression some women can paste on their faces that set up the red light in any man’s mind.
“Have a drink?” I suggested.
“Listen! I’m quitting, but you need to know something before I go.”
She looked so tense, I left off reaching for the bottle and slumped into the nearest lounging chair.
“So, okay, I’m listening,” I said.
“That bug you gave me. I fixed it, as you said, in Alphonse’s office. I listened in. If it hadn’t been for that bug, I wouldn’t be here. I would have been fished out of the harbour with my brains on my face.”
I gaped at her.
“Now, look . . .”
“Listen! That sonofabitch Alphonso was planning to murder me! I listened to him telling that nigger to knock me on the head and toss me into the harbour!” She suddenly smiled. It was a smile a cobra might envy. “I beat him to it. He’s dead: I’m alive.”
I continued to gape at her.
“By giving me that bug, you saved my life, and you can save Nancy Hamel’s life too.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Nancy’s life?”
“For two nights I have been listening to Pofferi and Diaz talking. Here’s something I’ve only just found out: Nancy has a twin sister. They are identical twins. Nancy and Lucia. Get it?”
The last piece of this jigsaw puzzle dropped into place.
The two beds in the tent: the woman I saw leave the yacht with Pofferi and Jones. Lucia, not Nancy!
I was now alert and very sober.
“Keep talking,” I said.
“I heard them telling each other how clever they had been. Because Lucia was to replace Nancy, they got rid of Penny Highbee who would have spotted Lucia posing as Nancy. Then Lucia telephoned Nancy, asking her to come to the Alameda. Nancy would do anything for her sister. It was Nancy who financed the escape from Italy and hid those two on the island. When Nancy came, they locked her in a room. Lucia put on Nancy’s clothes and drove Pofferi, hidden in the trunk of Nancy’s car, to Hamel’s place. She had no trouble passing the barrier. The guard thought she was Nancy. Then leaving Pofferi in the house, she took off in the yacht with Jones to establish an alibi. When Pofferi murdered Hamel, Lucia returned. That old goat, Palmer thought she was Nancy. He handled the Fuzz and the press. Last night, Jones took Nancy to Hamel’s place. She was drugged. She, Lucia, Pofferi
and Jones are still there.”
“Jones took her in the trunk of his car?”
She nodded.
That made sense. Lucia, posing as Nancy, must have alerted O’Flagherty by telephone that Jones was coming.
There would be no problem at the barrier.
“Nancy and Lucia are identical twins?” I asked.
She made an impatient movement.
“They are like two peas in a pod. I caught a glimpse of Lucia. I wouldn’t have known the difference. Now, I’ll tell you something else. I heard Alphonso talking to that nigger about me. He said I could make trouble. As Russ’s ex I would want a share when they got their hands on Russ’s money. He told Jones to get rid of me: knock me on my head and dump me in the sea. My dear, sweet, boyfriend! Can you imagine?” She smiled, an icy, vicious smile. “So I fixed Alphonso before he fixed me.”
I stared at her.
“What’s that mean?”
“I knew Alphonso had had those two Indian kids murdered. So I found Joey and gave him one of Alphonso’s guns. All Joey wanted was a gun.” Again she smiled. “That kid did a real fixing job.”
“Jesus!” I said.
“Now, I’m leaving for Frisco. I have always known where that snake Alphonso kept his smuggling cache. I have it. I haven’t a care in the world.”
I pointed like a gun dog.
“How much did you get?”
“Plenty.” She gave a hard laugh. “That’s not your business. I’ve come here because those jerks are going to murder Nancy after she has been forced to sign a batch of cheques. They haven’t the know-how to forge her signature. When they have the signed cheques, she goes into the sea.”
I was scarcely listening. I was wondering how much loot she had filched from Diaz.
“Baby, I have a great idea,” I said, giving her my sexy smile. “How about us going away together? What’s wrong with us setting up a beautiful partnership?”
She gave me a look that would curdle milk.
“Did you hear what I said? They will kill that ninny as soon as they have forced her to sign a batch of cheques! Do you want her death on your conscience?”
“Look, baby, how much loot did you get from Diaz?”
She swept out of the chair.
“Is that all you can think about — money?”
I blinked at her.
“What else is there to think about except a doll like you?”
“If I didn’t want to tangle with the Fuzz, I’d tell them myself. You won’t sleep with yourself if you let them kill that girl!”
“I don’t want to sleep with myself! I want to sleep with you, baby. How much did you get?”
She glared at me.
“I thought I had seen every creep in the world, but you take the Oscar.”
She stamped out, slamming the door.
I blew out my cheeks, then lit a cigarette. I listened to her car roar away.
Baby, I said to myself, you just can’t win. I sat for a while, being sorry for myself, then my mind switched to Nancy.
If you let them kill that girl.
Well, okay, I would have to do something, but I was not going to the cops. Then I thought of Lu Coldwell. He could handle this and keep me covered. The FBI always protected their informers.
I hunted up Coldwell’s home number and dialled. After a wait, Coldwell came on the line.
“Lu, this is Bart Anderson,” I said. “Come to my place, pronto! It’s an emergency.”
“For God’s sake!” Coldwell said crossly. “I was going to bed. What’s so urgent?”
“Not over the phone, Lu. Get your ass over here fast! It’s to do with an Italian,” and I hung up.
I looked at my watch. The time was 23.45. I called the Herschenheimer house. Carl answered.
“This is Bart,” I said. “I’ll be late: maybe an hour. Stick around until I arrive with a bottle of Scotch,” and I hung up before he began to squeal.
It took Coldwell twenty minutes to come ringing on my doorbell. I let him in.
“What’s all this?” he demanded.
I told him the information I was about to give him came from an informer. Before I talked, I wanted his guarantee I was kept under cover.
“I could lose my job, Lu. I came on this thing when I should have been working for the Agency. If you don’t give me your word to keep me covered, I’m not talking.”
“Pofferi?”
“Yes. I know where he is right now, but no cover, no talk.”
“You’re covered. Where is he?”
I waved him to a chair, then sitting down myself, I told him the story. I was careful to keep myself out of it, saying my informer had been the guy who had discovered Pofferi on the island. Watching Coldwell, as I talked, I could see he didn’t believe me, but he had said he would cover me, and when Coldwell said anything like that, I could rely on him.
When I had finished, he sat back and stared at me.
“You are sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Pofferi and his wife, Lucia, are in Hamel’s house right now. They have Nancy there. When the estate is settled, they will force Nancy to sign a batch of cheques, then they will murder her. They will then bleed the estate white and take off. They have Hamel’s yacht. It’s not far to Cuba. From there, they will move the money to Italy.”
He thought for some moments, then he nodded.
“I’ll get it organized. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you under cover. I’ll talk to Terrell. I’ll need some of his men to stake out the house until we are ready to move in.”
“You have all the time in the world,” I said. “They’ll stay still until the estate is settled. They couldn’t have a safer hideout.”
“Yeah. We’ll move in tomorrow.”
“Watch it, Lu. Those three are dangerous. You’ll have a shootout.”
He grinned wolfishly.
“That’ll save the expense of a trial.”
When he had gone, I went down to the garage and got into the Maser.
As I drove fast to Paradise Largo, I thought of Nancy Hamel. A bright idea came into my fertile mind. When she was free and inherited all those lovely millions, I could go to her, explain how I had saved her life, give her my respectful smile and hint she should reward me.
That, I thought, was the least she could do.
CHAPTER NINE
I sat up in the tree and looked down at the ranch house. There was a light behind the curtain windows of the living room. From time to time, a shadow passed: Pofferi, then Jones. The rest of the house was in darkness. There was no action, but I waited until the light went out and a light went on in two of the bedrooms. I waited until those lights went out, then I climbed down and walked to the cottage.
While I watched, I had been using my brains. I decided that my first idea about going to Nancy, after she had been rescued and claiming that I had saved her, and how about some financial reward, was hasty thinking. I reminded myself that I had already tried to put the squeeze on her.
She would be hostile when the time came for me to give her my respectful smile.
Bart, baby, I said to myself, you’ll have to find a different approach. You need help to swing this. You need to give this a lot more thought.
I settled on the couch in the living room of the cottage, ate the beef sandwiches Jarvis had left me, and I worked at it until my brain began to creak. Around 02.15, I had a workable solution. I took a long look at this solution, decided it would hold together, patted myself on the back, then I went to sleep.
I woke as the sun came through the curtains. The time was 07.30. I roused myself, took a shower, shaved, dressed, then stepped out into the warm air, looking hopefully for Jarvis to bring breakfast.
When he did arrive, I was looking like an alert guard who had been on the job throughout the night.
I asked after the old nut.
“He is still very upset, Mr. Anderson,” Jarvis said as he placed the loaded tray on the table. “I am keeping him under sedation.”
<
br /> “Best thing,” I said as I sat down. There were pancakes, sausages, grilled ham and a pile of scrambled eggs.
Jarvis sat by my side as I ate. He talked of his friend, Washington Smith. I listened and did a lot of sad head wagging, but the recital didn’t stop me eating.
“It is something I can’t understand,” Jarvis said. “People who are rich enough to employ servants are unpredictable. To be dismissed after fifteen years’ service! It is quite shameful.”
I said it was, finished the coffee, then patted his arm.
“I can’t see that happening to you, Mr. Jarvis.”
“I trust not, but Mr. Herschenheimer is also unpredictable.”
Taking the tray, he left me. I went down to the tree, climbed it and surveyed the ranch house. Josh Jones was standing in the doorway of the front door, smoking.
Around his waist, cowboy style, was a gun belt from which dangled a mean-looking .45. Hidden in the foliage of the tree, I watched him. He remained there, breathing in the warm air, motionless and menacing. I told myself that Coldwell and his men wouldn’t have a picnic when they moved in.
After a while, he stepped back and closed the front door. I waited, but there was no further action. I wondered what was happening to Nancy. Maybe, like the old nut, she was under sedation.
When it was 11.30, I returned to the cottage and waited for Carl to relieve me. As soon as he arrived, I got in the Maser and headed for Mel Palmer’s office.
Palmer’s secretary was a sexy-looking doll with Venetian red hair and a bust line that would” make a brigade of guards misstep. She eyed me the way she would eye a roach in her soup.
“Mr. Palmer,” I said, giving her my sexy smile. “Bart Anderson.”
“Have you an appointment, Mr. Anderson?” Cool and distant as the moon.
“Just tell him. I don’t need an appointment.”
She hesitated, then rising from behind her desk, she went into an inner office. She was a tail-wagger: a condition that always makes me horny.
She stood in the doorway and jerked her head.
“Mr. Palmer will see you.”
As I passed her, my right hand strayed, but that had happened to her countless times, and my hand encountered nothing.
Palmer, dwelling behind a big cigar, regarded me doubtfully.
1979 - A Can of Worms Page 16
