Leaving his bed of blankets, Maisky crawled to the entrance of the cave. He peered through the branches down into the glade. It was too dark to see anything, but he could hear voices although he was too far away to distinguish what was being said.
He lay on the cold, damp floor of the cave, listening. His body trembled with weakness. Who were these people? What were they doing down there? How long would they stay?
Tom finished his meal, then taking off his windcheater and his shoes, he got into his sleeping bag. Sheila was already in hers.
“Will you try not to snore?” she said. “It only wants you to snore to make this really perfect.”
“Just go to hell!” Tom said bitterly, then trying to make himself comfortable, he closed his eyes.
* * *
Sergeant Patrick O’Connor, known in the police force as Gutsey O’Connor, was sixty-one years of age. He had been in the Paradise City police force now for forty odd years. Six feet three, with an enormous belly that had earned him his nickname, a brick-red face and thinning, sandy hair, he was one of the less- liked sergeants attached to the force.
In another year, he planned to retire. He hadn’t done so badly during his service career. He had made a nice slice of money putting the bite on the prostitutes, the pimps, the pushers and the queers who lived in his district. For a $10 bill, he was always ready to look the other way, and although his graft was small over a period of forty years it had totalled up to a respectable sum.
When Beigler told him to take Patrolmen Mike Collon and Sam Wand and search five hundred bungalows in the hope of finding the missing Casino robbers, O’Connor stared at Beigler as if he couldn’t believe his ears, and when Beigler told him to go to the Armoury where he would be issued with tear-gas grenades and automatic weapons, Gutsey O’Connor’s red face turned a purplish white.
He had heard all about the Casino robbers. They were desperate, dangerous men — one of them was a Mafia killer!
O’Connor plodded down to the Armoury thinking that this was just his luck. In another year, he would be free of this kind of caper. He would own his own bungalow, his own car and he planned to grow roses. Now he might very easily get himself killed on this goddam assignment.
He found Mike Colon and Sam Wand waiting for him in the Armoury. Both these patrolmen were young and keen. Colon was big, dark and tough looking with a growing reputation for being smart, and with a number of arrests in his book. Wand was shorter, fair, with steel-grey eyes. He too was keen and ambitious. The kind of punks, O’Connor thought sourly, he would get landed with.
“Okay, fellas,” he said, “get your weapons and let’s go.” He drew an automatic rifle and ammunition from the Sergeant Armourer who grinned unfeelingly at him.
“Watch that big belly of yours, Gutsey,” he said. “You don’t want anyone to make a hole in it. I reckon there’d be enough gas out of that to light the City for a week.”
“Shut your trap!” O’Connor snarled. “All very well for you… you just hand out a gun. I’ve got to use it!”
He stamped out of the Armoury. Collon and Wand exchanged winks. They followed him to the waiting police car and they all piled on. Wand took the wheel.
“North Shore,” O’Connor said, “and snap it up.”
The time was a little after six o’clock when they reached the first row of bungalows that skirted the beach near the Casino. The three officers got out of the car.
“Okay, fellas, start working,” O’Connor said. “You know what to do. Find out who owns the place. If they’ve been there some time, skip the search. If they are renting the place, go over it. I’ll be right here, covering you.”
Wand stared at him.
“Doing what, Sarg?” he asked.
“You deaf? I’m here to cover you,” O’Connor barked. “Get moving!”
The two patrolmen looked at each other in disgust, then set off towards the bungalows. They were both aware of the danger of their assignment, but neither of them hesitated. They never had had any use for Gutsey, and this act of blatant cowardice set their seal of contempt on him.
“Good luck, Mike,” Wand said as he pushed open the wooden gate, leading to the first bungalow. “Watch it.”
“You, too,” Colon said, and moved farther down the lane to the adjacent bungalow.
The search progressed fairly swiftly and unsuccessfully. None of the people renting the bungalows objected to letting the police officers in. They had all heard about the Casino robbery, and were thrilled to be on the fringe of such a daring steal.
Around eight o’clock, the two patrolmen had covered forty of the bungalows, and it was now growing dark. Gutsey O’Connor was sitting in the police car, resting his feet and dozing. He was no longer taking any interest in the search, being convinced it was now just routine and the wanted men weren’t hiding in his district.
But Wand and Callon didn’t relax. They knew that any moment they might turn up these three men and then there would be a battle. Young and as tough as they were, the strain was beginning to tell.
The final bungalow in the long row yielded nothing and they returned to the police car.
“How long do we keep this shindig up?” Wand demanded as O’Connor jerked awake.
“We’d better drive to the South end now,” O’Connor said, trying to sound alert. “The Chief didn’t say anything about knocking off.”
“Sure you wouldn’t like to help out, Sarg?” Wand asked sarcastically. “One more man on the job, and we’d get done that much quicker.”
“I give the orders around here,” O’Connor snapped. “Get in and let’s go.”
They drove farther down the beach road, past a big clump of palm trees until they came within sight of another long row of bungalows.
Without knowing it, they were now within five hundred yards of Maisky’s bungalow. The two patrolmen, their automatic rifles carried at the alert, walked along the sandy road, split up and began rapping on doors again.
At this moment, Mish Collins pushed aside his plate and released a soft belch. That, he told himself, was one of the best meals he had eaten for a long time. Looking across at Lolita who had prepared the meal, there was genuine admiration in his eyes.
“That was swell,” he said. Then to Chandler, “Boy! You certainly can pick them!”
Chandler laid down his knife and fork and grinned.
“She’s something very special.” He patted Lolita’s hand. “That was terrific, baby… and I mean terrific.”
“You men… if a woman can cook, you’re just mush.” Lolita got to her feet. “Sit still. I’ll take care of the dishes,” and rapidly clearing the table, she carried the dishes into the kitchen.
“This is about our one lucky break,” Mish said, lighting a cigarette. He tossed the pack to Chandler. “I really thought she was going to walk out on us.”
Chandler got to his feet and moved over to the open window. It was growing dark now. He could see the moon coming up behind the palm trees, making the sea glitter. He drew the curtains and turned on the light.
“I told you. She and I have an understanding.”
“Do you think we are safe here,” Jess?”
Chandler sat in an easy chair. He let smoke drift down his nostrils.
“Could be. I don’t know. We should work out something, Mish. If the cops did come here, there’s a good hide in the roof. If something started, we could leave Lolita to handle it and you and me get up in the roof.”
“Think her nerve would hold?”
“Sure.”
Mish got to his feet.
“I’m going to grab me some air.”
“Watch it.”
Mish grinned.
“Relax, Jess. I know what I’m doing.”
When he had left the bungalow, Chandler walked into the kitchen where Lolita was finishing the washing up.
“Anything I can do?” he asked.
“It’s done.” She took off her apron and came over to him. She leaned hard against
him as he put his arms around her. “Where’s Mish?”
“He’s taking the air.” Chandler’s hands slid down her back and cupped her buttocks. “Let’s go to bed, baby.” He pulled her close to him.
“I was only waiting for you to say that.”
They kissed, then, his arm around her, he led her out of the kitchen, down the passage and into the main bedroom. As he was about to close the door, he heard Mish come in. Mish’s movements were hurried. Chandler stiffened. He raised his hand to Lolita, and then stepped into the passage.
“There’s a police car down the road,” Mish said tensely. “They are checking all the bungalows. They’ll be here in half an hour… automatic weapons.”
Lolita came to the door, zipping up her dress.
“What is it?”
“The cops… they’re checking the bungalows,” Chandler said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Mish pointed to the trap door in the ceiling.
“We’ll get up there.”
“Put the radio on,” Chandler said to Lolita. “When they come…”
She was surprisingly calm: a lot calmer than Mish and Chandler.
“I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll handle it, Jess. Just get up there and leave it to me.”
“This could turn into a jam, baby,” Chandler said. He had a sudden spasm of conscience. He had no right to ask her to do this for him. “Maybe you had better go. You still have time…”
“Get up there and be quiet. I’ll handle it.”
He pulled her against him.
“You won’t regret this. When we do get out of this mess, you and I…”
She smiled up at him.
“I know, Jess.”
Mish brought a step ladder from the kitchen. He opened the trap door and hauled himself into the hot space between the roof and the ceiling.
Chandler kissed Lolita, then he climbed up into the roof. Looking down at her, he said, “You are going to handle this beautifully, and I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said and carried the step ladder back into the kitchen.
Chandler let down the trap door, then he took his gun from his hip pocket and snicked back the safety catch.
“Remember, Jess,” Mish said out of the darkness. “It’s us or them. I’m not going back to jail.”
It was after ten o’clock when Wand and Colon walked around the thick, high clump of tropical shrubs and palm trees and came suddenly on Maisky’s bungalow.
Both men came to an abrupt standstill, their sweating hands gripping their automatic rifles, turning their knuckles white.
They stared at the isolated bungalow, seeing a light coming through the curtains of one of the windows.
“If they are anywhere,” Colon said, “this could be it.” ’
Both men were now so jumpy after their four hours of continual checking that they both hesitated. Every door they had knocked on, they had expected to be received by a blast of gunfire. They were now in a demoralised state.
“Look, Mike,” Wand said, “I’ve had enough of this. Let’s get Gutsey to handle this one.”
“Yeah.”
They turned and moving around the palm trees out on to the beach, they signalled to O’Connor who was sitting in the police car, the glowing end of his cigarette showing through the windscreen.
They had to signal three times before O’Connor, cursing under his breath, started the car and drove up to them.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded, glaring at them through the open window of the car.
“There’s a lone bungalow just around the trees,” Wand said. “We think you should handle it, Sarg.”
“What the hell do you mean?” O’Connor exploded. “I’m covering you, ain’t I? You go ahead. Hear me? That’s an order.”
“They could be there,” Wand said. “You’re coming with us, Sarg, or I will turn in a report to the Chief.”
O’Connor glared at him. “About what?”
“That you sat in the car on your fat fanny and let us handle the search. And I’ll do it, Gutsey, even if I get thrown off the force!”
“You call me that again and I’ll knock your goddam teeth out!”
“Fine, Gutsey… try and do it,” Wand said quickly.
O’Connor wiped the sweat off his face. He got out of the car. He was four inches taller than Wand and three times as heavy. He doubled his thick fingers into an enormous fist.
Collon said softly, “You hit him, Sarg, and I’ll hit you.”
O’Connor regarded Collon’s big frame; he was built like a heavyweight champion, and he was young and very tough.
“You two are in real trouble,” O’Connor snarled. “Okay, we’ll go back to headquarters. I’m putting you both on a charge.”
“Fine. The Chief will love it,” Wand said. “We arrive at the one place these hoods could be hiding, and you chicken out and bring us back on a charge. Okay, Sarg, if that’s the way you want it, let’s go back to headquarters. I bet you’ll kiss your pension goodbye.”
O’Connor glared at him, hesitated, then cursed.
“You wait until I get you two back to headquarters.”
“Do you check this bungalow or do we go back?” Wand asked.
Again O’Connor hesitated, but he knew he was trapped. Muttering under his breath, he began walking slowly across the sand until he came within sight of the isolated bungalow. He stopped abruptly. He now saw what these two jerks meant. This was just the place where the wanted men might be. He stared at the light coming through one of the curtained windows, and sweat ran down his fat face.
“You going ahead, Sarg?” Wand asked politely, “or are we staying here the rest of the night?”
O’Connor turned.
“You two guys go ahead. I’ll cover you,” he said.
“Not us, Sarg. You go ahead. We’ll cover you,” Wand said.
“Think they’re in there?” O’Connor said, hesitating.
“You find out, Sarg.”
Slowly, O’Connor began to walk forward. His fat legs were shaky. The other two followed him. He reached the wooden gate that guarded the short path to the bungalow. Here, he paused.
“I’ll go around the back,” Collon said and moved off into the darkness.
When he had gone, O’Connor said, “Look, Sam, I’m an old man. You go ahead. I swear I’ll cover you.”
“Not me, Sarg. I’m a young man. I’ve got a lot longer to live than you have. They could give you a medal.”
Livid, O’Connor turned on him.
“Listen, you jerk, I’ll make your life a misery! You’re refusing to obey an order. You hear me! Go… knock on that door!”
“I’d rather lead a life of misery than have a dead one,” Wand said. “You knock on the door. We’ve already knocked on a hundred doors. You try it for size, Sarg.”
Then the door opened and a girl came out into the moonlight. The light from the hall lit up her silhouette. She was wearing a short, white dress, and the light showed her legs up to her crotch through the dress.
O’Connor drew in a long breath of relief. Scarcely believing his luck, he walked up the path as the girl came towards him.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked. “It’s the police, isn’t it?”
O’Connor reached her and stared down at her. Some bim! he thought. There I was, scared crap silly, and look what comes out of the goddam place!
Wand was close on his heels. The two policemen regarded the girl as she looked from one to the other.
“You live here?” O’Connor asked, pushing his peaked cap to the back of his head and wiping the sweat off his forehead with a grubby handkerchief.
“Of course.” She gave him a dazzling smile.
“Been here long?”
“A couple of weeks… I rent the place. What is it, Sarg?”
“Aw, forget it,” O’Connor said and grinned. “We’re just checking. Didn’t mean to scare you, Miss.”
“Do you mind if we look insi
de?” Wand said quietly. He was staring at the girl, wondering where he had seen her before. He had seen her. He was sure of that, but where? “You are alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone,” Lolita said. “Go ahead… take a look. What are you looking for?”
As Wand started forward, O’Connor grabbed his arm.
“Stop leaning your weight on everything,” he growled. “We don’t have to worry the little lady. Come on, we still have work to do.”
Hearing voices, Collon came around from the back of the bungalow.
“Come on… come on…” O’Connor said impatiently. He was so relieved that he had escaped trouble, he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Leave her be,” and giving the girl a salute, he started off down the path.
Wand was still staring at Lolita. Then he suddenly remembered where he had seen her. She had been singing and playing a guitar in a restaurant near the harbour. His quick mind told him a girl like her couldn’t afford to pay the rent of a bungalow in this district.
She was smiling at him.
“Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah… I’m coming in. You lead the way.”
She turned and moved into the bungalow, swaying her hips. “Some chick,” Collon said admiringly.
“Watch it,” Wand said out of the corner of his mouth. “This could be it.” He snapped off the safety catch of his rifle. Collon stared at him and seeing his white, set face, he felt a prickle of excitement run up his spine.
O’Connor had reached the gate. He turned and looked back up the path.
“Come on, you jerks!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”
Wand moved into the bungalow. Colon, aware now that Wand was more than suspicious, followed him closely, his thumb snapping back the safety catch on his rifle.
“Stay right here,” Wand said softly, “and cover me. Watch it!”
He walked into the living-room. The first thing he noticed was an ashtray on the table loaded with cigarette butts: only a few of them had lipstick smears.
Lolita turned off the radio. She seemed completely at ease and her smile was inviting.
“Go ahead… look around. Can I get you boys a drink?”
“No thanks,” Wand said. He moved past her into the kitchen. He saw three plates in the drying rack, three knives and forks lying on the draining board, and his skin prickled. He opened the refrigerator and looked at the vast stock of food. He knew then that somewhere in this bungalow were the wanted men. Walking as if on eggshells, his rifle pushed forward, his finger on the trigger, he opened the three doors, one after the other, that led into the bedrooms. In the main bedroom, hanging over the back of a chair, he saw a man’s red and blue tie.
Well Now, My Pretty… Page 12
