'How does the old guy travel?' asked Sidewalk. He drew on a thin cheroot. 'Does he stay in his chair?'
'Good question,' nodded Ossie. 'He has a special ramp so the carriage can be wheeled on to the deck of the boat, and the saloon and his cabin have been designed so that he can run the chair right through. There is also a special kind of rack on the deck and another on the roof of the cabin. The wheels of the carriage can be locked into either of these so that on a fine day he can sit out in the sun.'
'Why is the p-p-poor man in this chair?' asked Katy, her habitual kindness surfacing. 'We won't do him any harm, will we? Carrying him off like this?'
'Our information,' put in Gabby, 'is that there's nothing at all wrong with him. He's elderly but he's strong.'
'He's just a lazy old bum,' put in Bruce.'The others looked sharply at him and he bit his lip. 'I mean ... devil,' he said. The elderly folk nodded, acknowledging the apology, and returned their attention to Ossie and the map.
'Look,' he said. 'We'll take any further questions later. Just now I want to go on to what happens once we get the cruiser to sea. Using Mr Cyril M. Hoffner as our hostage we will see to it that the crew head south, then south-west, down along the Florida Keys to this point here.' He indicated an inlet on the map. 'That's Dove Key, a small island at present unoccupied, although there are a couple of vacation houses on it. It has a good dock and we can get the boat in there easily. It should be safe there for maybe twenty-four hours before
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the coastguard or anyone else takes an interest. By that time we - and Mr Hoffner - will be safely back in South Miami Beach.'
Back here?' asked Ari speaking for them all. 'Jeez, what's the use of sailing all the way down there, just to come back here?’
'Exactly, thai's the idea, Ari. Katy and Lou will take two cars down to the Keys and they will wait for us on the Intra-Ocean Highway at Marathon, just along the coast here from Dove Key. Marathon is one of the few places along the coast where it is possible to hide an automobile. The rest of the highway is too narrow - just a road going from island to island with no turnings. But Marathon is a fatter kind of place. We can have the cars waiting there without making people suspicious. The road itself passes directly through Dove Key so that won't be any problem. We get Cyril M. from the cruiser, immobilize the crew and our pal Landers, then we drive back to Miami. When the coastguard, or whoever it is, finds the boat it will be concluded that we've gone somewhere further down the Keys, probably to Key West, and that that's where we've got him hidden away. But we will be right back here where we started, with Mr Hoffner a guest right in this hotel.'
'He's not coming in my room,' said Molly Mandy immediately and firmly. 'There's no man spending the night in my room. My late Melford wouldn't like that at all.' She paused. 'No man of seventy-three anyway.'
'He's going to stay in Brace's room,' smiled Ossie. He watched Brace's eyebrows shooting up.
'Shit and corruption, why me?' protested the young man. 'There's no goddamn room in there as it is! God, I have to go outside to scratch.' He looked pleadingly at Ossie and Gabby. 'There's just no room for a wheeled chair,' he mumbled. 'Honest.'
'Okay, we'll take a rain check on that,' agreed Ossie. 'Maybe he could go in the bathroom at Katy's.' He smiled at Katy.
T would do my best,' said the old chorus girl. I s-s-surely would. But it w-w-would be pretty difficult when I wanted to use the bathroom.'
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'I don't agree with it,' said Lou solidly. He glowered at Ossie and flexed his fingers.
Gabby said firmly: 'Here we are, right on schedule again. Getting nowhere. For the present never mind where we'll keep him. Let's plan how we're going to get him.'
Her grandmother raised a frail, compelling hand. 'I would like to ask one, little-bitty question, dear,' she said gently. 'How much are we going to ask for him, this rich Mr Cyril M. Hoffner? I don't think we ought to be too greedy.'
'A million dollars,' said Ossie as convincingly as he could.
'But we'll settle for a hundred bucks and trading stamps,' grumbled Sidewalk. 'If things go like they always do.'
'Okay, okay,' conceded Gabby. 'So it hasn't worked out so far. But this time it will. I just know it.' She paused and regarded them carefully. 'We want a million dollars,' she said.
At seven in the evening it was what they called the Happy Hour in the Sweetheart Bar. A bulging black man loomed over the piano, producing some mellifluous sounds both from the keyboard and from his throat, the latter an amazingly high pitch coming from such a deep source.
The place was redolent with widows. They sat around, in their vivid, unsuitable gowns; pastel predators, their hair and faces of many hues, eyeing each other and any male who entered the bar whether escorting a lady or not. Bruce had been sitting for half an hour alone, observing the movements around in the hotel, and had already been on the end of many widows' winks, knowing nudges, and the blunt offer of a free vacation in Honolulu if he cared to take it in the company of a lady with ice-blue hair, several years older than his mother.
Gabby and Ossie appeared immediately on seven. 'We've secured the boat,' said Ossie quietly to Bruce. 'It'll be ready to sail in ten minutes from now.'
'Now we've got to get the man,' said Bruce. 'The quicker the better. These old women are monsters, man.'
At seven-five precisely Cyril M. Hoffner, wheeled by the mountainous Landers, appeared on the main concourse of the De Luxe Mon Desir's lobby. The hoary millionaire wore his
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customary sour expression, enhanced by the extreme lighting of the surroundings. He looked grey and belligerent as the blunt-faced servant pushed him towards the Dow Jones Averages.
Bruce left the bar with a tentative farewell wave to the clutch of widows. 'A whole month in Honolulu!' the one who had made the promise called shamelessly after him. 'All for free.' He shuddered when he thought of the cost. He began to walk towards the door. The pale-blue haired lady lapsed into a sulk and barked at the barman for another rye and dry.
Bruce's eyes followed the slow progress of Mr Hoffner over the large concourse of the lobby. The place was placid, the clerks at their reception desk around the corner, the shops now closed, the guests changing for dinner. Bruce saw Ossie and Gabby leave their bar stools and stroll towards the corner where the tape machine clacked out its fortunes. He eyed the small side door to the garden. He moved closer behind Landers.
Gabby made her move then. She approached seductively and confronted Cyril M. Hoffner with a smile and a gun.
'Please Mr Hoffner,' she said, 'make no sound. I don't want to have to use this.'
To her consternation an enormous grin slashed across his face. 'God, oh God,' he breathed delightedly. 'Don't tell me I'm being hi-jacked.'
'You are,' said Ossie from behind, his Russian pistol pushed into the massive ribs of Landers. The expression on the great face scarcely changed. 'Please don't cause any trouble.'
'Goddamn it,' said Mr Hoffner, enormously pleased, 'I don't fucking well intend to. It's not every day a guy gets hijacked in his wheeled chair. Shit almighty - I'll be all over the papers.'
Bruce on the other side of Landers felt a chill sensation enter his stomach. Why didn't things ever work out right?
The crew of the Marilyn Monroe VII consisted of three brothers known to their friends as Ding, Dong and Belle. When their employer was wheeled on to the deck via the special ramp, they were lined up against the wall of the saloon,
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rigid with enjoyable horror, covered by guns held in the hands of hooded figures.
'We resisted, Mr Hoffner, we resisted,' Ding called out as Ossie manoeuvred the old man's chair aboard. They had crossed the six lane highway without trouble, two younger people kindly pushing an old invalid across the road, with Landers like an out-size doctor in attendance. There had been no difficulty, in fact Cyril M. Hoffner had chortled enthusiastically all the way from the hotel. Ossie was glad when they reached the deck.
'Resisted?' echoed Mr Hoffner glaring at Ding. 'If you did, son, it's the first goddamn time ever.'
Dong, who was the tallest and darkest of the three brothers, eyed Ossie speculatively. 'I ought to warn you that this is piracy,' he whispered primly. 'For this you can be put in irons.' 'Gee, can you?' said his brother Belle, his eyes shining. 'Gee, you don't say.'
'Is this vessel ready for sea?' asked Gabby glancing at the hooded figures of Sidewalk, Ari the Greek and Molly.
'We've wound the clockwork up,' volunteered Ding. 'Why have these guys got masks on and you don't?'
'They're real ugly,' said Ossie. 'We thought they might scare you. Now let's get this show on the road. Start the engine. Come on, get going.'
'Sure, get going,' said Mr Hoffner enthusiastically. 'Otherwise we'll be caught.'
Bruce took the chair and propelled it deeper into the saloon, the wheels running between the special guide rails. He bent and pushed over two steel clips which held the rims and kept the chair stable. 'What are you going to do with me?' inquired the hostage with beaming interest. 'Throw me to the sharks?' 'It depends,' said Bruce ominously. Mr Hoffner grinned. The engine of the boat growled and then roared like a dog disturbed in the night. They all felt the vessel vibrate. 'We're asking a million bucks for you,' said Bruce, he hoped coolly. He went to the cabin hatch and stood watching the traffic curling along Collins Avenue.
The vessel eased from the mooring, Ding calling playfully: 'Cast off for'ard,' and 'Cast off behind.
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Cyril M. Hoffner laughed at Bruce until he coughed. 'Jesus Christ,' he said. 'A million! Who are you going to get to pay that kind of dough?'
'Your family,' said Bruce, trying to sound confident. 'Your business associates.'
'Boy, have you got it wrong,' gurgled the old man. 'My family! Christ, they'd give a million bucks to see me rubbed out.' He laughed outright. 'And my business associates, they'd pay two million!' He looked around them. 'I guess you just got yourself a liability,' he said. 'A real lulu.'
'We'll see,' put in Gabby with more sureness than she felt. 'I think you'll be worth something to somebody.'
'My momma liked me, but she ain't in a position to pay because she's dead,' reflected the old man. "There may be a few others who want to keep me alive for reasons of their own.' He shook his head. 'But a million bucks. No way. Maybe five hundred, stretching to a thousand, but not a million.'
Gabby eyed Ossie and they went out on to the deck together. It was cool on the waterway with the cruiser going easily between the high buildings and streaming highway on one side and the low-slung houses of the more expensive people of Miami Beach on the other.
'Is he kidding?' asked Gabby.
'He's kidding,' said Ossie, attempting to sound convincing. 'He's just a wily old bastard who works out a situation like lightning. That's how he became who he is. No, he's worth ransom money. Maybe not a million. But money.'
The daylight was running away from Miami Beach now, going quickly from the shore and over the block buildings of the main city across the lagoons. Lights mixed with stars and the sea was glowing with its own peculiar iridescence. Later there would be a moon.
The Marilyn Monroe VII grunted eagerly towards the passage to the open ocean as though enjoying her role in the adventure. Ossie felt Gabby's shoulder but after touching his hand in return she whispered. 'Cut it out, we're working.'
Belle was at the wheel with the hooded Sidewalk alongside him.
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'Which way, Mystery Man?' asked Belle lightly.
'Out through the ocean channel,' answered Sidewalk pointing to the water junction ahead. Belle rang to ease the vessel's speed.
'Never been kidnapped before,' said Belle conversationally. 'When it happened I'd always kinda hoped it would be an Arab.'
'We used to rub out guys like you in the old days in New York,' muttered Sidewalk, finding it difficult to cope with the situation. 'Beat 'em up and rub 'em out.'
'Why ever did they stop?' sighed Belle. 'Must be heaven. Incidentally, I love your spats.'
'Shut your mouth and drive the boat,' returned Sidewalk. He could already feel the large easing of the open sea. He felt his stomach give a warning lurch.
Belle felt the first wave too. 'Beautiful,' he said. 'Just beautiful. Sure looks like we're heading for a fun sea tonight.'
Below in the saloon Cyril M. Hoffner felt the hunting movement of the boat also. He grinned with anticipation. Molly Mandy and Ari were sitting one each side of him. Even through their hoods he could see their consternation. 'Going to blow a little, I guess,' he said easily. 'Maybe even more than a little.'
Ossie climbed back into the saloon. 'Where are we heading, son?' inquired Mr Hoffner. His mood appeared to become more buoyant with each rise of the bow.
'Towards the Keys,' said Ossie. There was no harm in telling him now.
'Ah, then we'll really be in for some excitement,' confirmed the captive with patent relish. 'When the wind's coming up from Dry Tortugas it whoops around them Keys. And I can feel it coming up. We'll be rattling like a trashcan soon.'
'The boat is safe. I suppose?' The inquiry came from beneath the hood of Molly Mandy.
The hostage blinked in surprise. He bent forward and intently examined Molly through her eye-holes. 'Jeez, a woman,' he breathed. He leaned closer so that his eye-ball was almost on hers. 'I'm right, I know I'm right. It's an old gal. This gets better and better.'
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'Mr Hoffner,' said Gabby coming from the hatch. 'Please sit still. And button up.'
'Don't get excited with me, young lady,' the captive replied affably enough. 'You're going to need me before the night is out.'
Ossie saw that Gabby already had spray on her face. She wiped it away. He could feel an unpleasant sheen of sweat on his forehead. The cabin was moving irregularly in the growling sea.
'If it gets real exciting will you let me go to the top?' requested Mr Hoffner like a boy. Ossie and Gabby stared at him.
'The top?' said Ossie. 'You mean on deck?'
'No. On the top of the cabin. On the roof. I always go to the roof if it blows,' he said eagerly. 'The crew think I'm crazy, but boy I love it. It's been the most exciting thing I've ever known. Until now anyway.'
'Maybe, maybe,' answered Ossie vaguely. He too felt the situation was taking on the only too familiar feel of failure. By now the victim should have been cowed and writing begging letters to his relatives. Instead Mr Hoffner was the only happy man in the cabin. The Marilyn Monroe VII rolled and added a lurch. Ossie moved prudently towards the door.
'Aw, come on son,' pleaded the captive. 'Just get me out on to the cabin roof now. Before it gets too bad for you to stand. I tell you what, I'll write a good ransom note for you then, I promise. To my nephew in Philadelphia - the one that likes me, I think. Is that a deal?'
Ossie looked at the old man strangely. Then he glanced sideways at Gabby. 'I'm going to take a look at the sea,' he said. 'There's no way we're going to put you out there and see you washed overboard. We need you, Mr Hoffner. We need you.'
'Like hell you need me,' the old man grinned. The contortion sat strangely on his face as if it were unaccustomed to being there. 'Sure son,' he ruminated. 'I'm the most important person on this vessel. Don't think I don't know that. You guys are going to look goddamn stupid without your hostage.'
Gabby and Ossie nodded together. 'We could have used
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somebody smart like you on our side,' acknowledged Gabby. 'Okay, we'll get you on the deck if we can.'
Mr Hoffner pushed his grin even further. 'You've got to humour me,' he said with relish. 'Just keep on with the humouring.'
Gabby and Ossie went carefully out on to the deck. The moon had now cleared the horizon and was peering down at the sea as though searching for something it had lost. A sailor would have categorized the conditions as fair, with medium swell. The Marilyn Monroe VII was running up one side of the liquid hills and down the other, the bright moon ligh
ting the oily flanks, the waves and the refined whiteness of the vessel's decks. Gabby held Ossie's arm, too tightly for it to be a mere romantic touch. 'Jesus,' she breathed. 'How far have we got to go like this?'
'Seventy miles,' he answered. 'Maybe it will calm soon. I don't care for it either.'
'Bruce is all yellow down there,' said Gabby nodding at the cabin. 'I can't tell with the others because of the hoods. But I bet they don't look any better without them. What are we going to do, Ossie?'
'Get me to the deck!' The voice, like an answer, came from the saloon. They looked back to see the extended neck of Mr Hoffner jutting out like that of a strangely wheeled tortoise. 'I want to be up top!' he shouted. I want to rule the sea!'
'Okay, okay, Mr Hoffner,' Ossie replied. His stomach seemed to be rising to his neck. 'You win.'
'I already know that!' the hostage called back triumphantly. 'Now do as I say or I won't be a good victim.' They heard him laugh wildly at his joke. 'The crew know how to put me up there.'
He put his fingers into the sides of his mouth and blew a shrieking whistle. Ding and Dong appeared obediently. 'Mr Hoffner wants to go up top,' said Ding flashing his eyelashes at Ossie. 'Is that all right, sailor?'
'Get him up,' growled Ossie.
With accustomed ease they manoeuvred the wheeled chair on to the deck, deftly fixed it to a lift platform and while
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Gabby and Ossie watched, astonished, raised it to the level of the cabin roof. It was all done as if the ship were becalmed. Ossie watched with reluctant admiration while they slotted the wheeled chair into the retaining fitting on the cabin roof. Ding hurried below and reappeared with a reefer jacket which he proceeded to put on his employer. Then Dong, as though taking part in some well-rehearsed ritual, leapt lightly from the roof, using a vertical stanchion to swing himself round and down, and brought up from the cabin an unopened bottle of Scotch whisky. He and his brother strapped Mr Hoffner firmly into his invalid chair, placed the bottle of Scotch in his hands and, smartly saluting, jumped down to the deck again.
That Old Gang Of Mine Page 13
