Operation Whiplash

by Dan J. Marlowe

  I turned my head in the direction she was looking.

  Kaiser was sitting on his haunches beside the bed, watching us expectantly.

  Hazel slid from the bed in all her delightfully full-fleshed nudity and shooed the shepherd out of the bedroom. I heard her opening the outside door to let him out of the cabin. “Those brown eyes of his are just a bit too human,” she said when she returned and slithered into my arms.

  “Chicken!” I needled her.

  “I’m not the directress of a canine sexual training program,” she sniffed.

  But in the next twenty minutes she demonstrated more than satisfactorily that having an aversion to dog-observance was the sum total of her inhibitions.

  No one had to tell me just how lucky I was to be the beneficiary.

  It was really like coming home.

  eight

  An hour later we were in the kitchen-alcove again after a togetherness session in the shower. Hazel had lost none of her enthusiasm for frolicking under water. She was preparing ham and eggs while we both were already on our second cup of coffee. I don’t know why breakfast always smells so much better when someone else is making it. Kaiser, freshly readmitted to the cabin, was taking an eager interest in the activities near the stove.

  Hazel brought the plates to the table. Kaiser had the first bite from her plate after she sat down. “Earl,” she said with the directness so characteristic of her, “why don’t we just leave town? We’re together, aren’t we? What can we win by staying?”

  “A very good question,” I allowed. “If I knew anywhere we could skip to that syndicate tentacles couldn’t locate us, I’d second the motion. There’s another factor, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve got Jed involved. Although he’d probably tell you he involved himself. I asked him to leave town, but he refused. I don’t know whether it’s bravado, or whether he just doesn’t think the situation’s that serious. I’m here to tell you that it is. If we pulled out, the load might fall on Jed, and it’s the kind of load that could result in a six-foot pine box. Even if he didn’t know where we were, how could he convince anyone who questioned him?”

  Hazel nodded slowly. “That’s what really happened to Nate, wasn’t it, Earl?”

  I didn’t answer her. “How did you get here yesterday?” I tried another subject. “I didn’t see another car.”

  “I rode the bus and walked in from the highway. I wouldn’t have wanted to do it after dark.”

  “It’s a little rugged even in the daylight,” I acknowledged. Kaiser rubbed against my knee to remind me I wasn’t doing right by him. I gave him a piece of ham. Hazel had fixed me too much food, as usual. When I was satisfied, I set the plate down on the floor and Kaiser polished it off vigorously. “Would you be nervous about staying here alone for an hour or so?” I continued.

  “Hell, horseman, I stayed here alone before I ever knew you,” my redhead returned briskly.

  I didn’t point out that the situation had been different then. “Horseman” is Hazel’s pet name for me. We both go back a long way in monitoring the activities of thoroughbred racehorses.

  “I told Jed I’d keep him up to date on things,” I explained.

  “Give him my love.”

  “Sure,” I said. Mentally, I crossed my fingers. I doubted the wisdom of telling Jed that Hazel had showed up. What Jed didn’t know wouldn’t be a burden to him if Rubelli recovered more quickly than I expected from the problem in body-disposal with which I’d left him. But recover he would. I had to make another effort to convince Jed to stay out of sight for awhile.

  I went into the bedroom and dressed. Hazel was doing the dishes when I came out. I trailed my fingers lightly across the nape of her neck, then watched the goosebumps jump up on her arms. “I’ll leave Kaiser with you,” I said. “Keep him outside and he’ll be better than a siren to let you know if anyone’s coming. D’you want a gun? I’ve got a small one you can have.”

  “I’ve got a twelve-gauge in the back of the closet if the shells haven’t corroded,” Hazel replied. “It’ll sicken anyone who won’t listen to reason.”

  I checked the twelve-gauge. It and the shells were all right. “I won’t be long,” I promised.

  She snuggled up to me for a moment, and then I went to the door. Kaiser started to follow me, but I sent him back inside. I climbed into the car and drove out to the highway. I turned north there instead of south. If Colisimo had a lookout posted in town, I’d already been seen too many times with Jed for Jed’s good. I drove until I came to a scruffy-looking beer joint crowned with a dilapidated sign saying frenchie’s.

  I was the only customer when I went inside. Surprisingly, Frenchie’s had Andeker on draft. I ordered a glass, then went to the pay telephone. “Morning, tiger,” I greeted Jed when he answered his office phone. “Can you spare twenty minutes from the marts of commerce? I’m at a tavern north of town called Frenchie’s.”

  “I know it,” he answered. “Let me make a couple of phone calls and I’ll be right with you. Any news?”

  “Come and hear it,” I said noncommittally.

  I picked up my Andeker and went over and sat down near a window overlooking the highway and Frenchie’s parking lot. If Jed was being followed, I wanted to know it. He showed up in twenty minutes, brisk as usual. None of the drivers going past looked as though they were taking an interest in Jed. At my signal, the bartender brought two more Andekers to our table and carried away my empty glass.

  I thought Jed’s appraisal of me was more searching than usual. “So what happened last night?” he asked.

  “I scared Robin into leaving the area. We won’t have to be concerned about her any longer.”

  “You scared Robin into leaving the area?” he repeated. Then he shook his sandy head. “Sometimes I wonder about you, man.” He took a newspaper clipping from his shirt pocket and shoved it across the table for me. It was only a short paragraph. It said: An unidentified brunette woman in her late twenties was found dead at the rear of the Barbarossa Restaurant after midnight last night. Police were still questioning nearby residents at an early hour this morning.

  “Poor staff work,” I commented, pushing the clipping back to him. “They should have removed her from the premises altogether.”

  “How can you sit there so calmly—” Jed began excitedly.

  “Jed,” I stopped him. “You sound as though you’re talking about human beings.”

  “What about you!” he blurted.

  “Fill out the tag. I’ll wear it.”

  He swallowed hard. “Okay, okay,” he mumbled. “Just don’t tell me about it.” His face was pale. “What you did last night.”

  “You may have noticed that I wasn’t.”

  He was trying to rally. “What are you going to do now?”

  “It depends. I keep coming back to the fact that when Colisimo was in the jug, everything stayed cool around here. It only heated up when he got out. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t make a try at getting him grassed again.”

  “Grassed? You mean jailed again? How the hell would you do that?”

  “There’s the Deakin warehouse in Tampa,” I pointed out. “Whatever honest business he has, Colisimo is bound to have something illegitimate going for him, too. If I can get a line on it, I can torpedo him with the Tampa police.”

  “That’d be a switch, you working with the police,” Jed said. I sat and watched a tide of red rush up from under his collar and stain his pale cheeks crimson. “Hell, I didn’t mean that,” he said miserably. He swallowed again. “You mean you’re—you’re actually going to that Tampa warehouse?”

  “Tonight,” I affirmed.

  “I’ve driven past it and it looks like a fortress,” Jed warned.

  “I’ll take a look, anyway. Where is it?”

  “I’ve got a map in my car,” Jed sighed.

  I watched through the window while he got the map from the glove compartment of his car. Jed was a nice clean-cut Ameri
can boy who expected people to be as naïve and nice as he was. He couldn’t cope when they weren’t. A stint as deputy sheriff in the sleepy Southern county still hadn’t fully prepared him for the junglelike nature of the world. With Colisimo and his ilk, a reaction could be too late. Action was what was needed.

  Jed returned to the table, map in hand. He shoved the beer glasses aside and spread out the map. He put a finger on the location of the Deakin Trucking Company warehouse. “It’s in the old part of town, right on the bay,” he explained.

  I nodded. It wasn’t too far away from where I’d been the previous night. “That’s a good location for someone like Colisimo,” I said. “Truck delivery; water delivery; he could have almost anything going for him. Okay, Jed. Thanks for the help.”

  “You’ll let me know how you make out?” he asked wistfully.

  He thought he’d hurt my feelings. “Sure I will,” I tried to reassure him.

  We went out to our cars. I had already started my engine when Jed snapped his fingers and came over and thrust his head in the open window. “Casey Deakin died this morning,” he said quietly.

  I sat there considering the implications. “I doubt they intended that to happen,” I said. “It will mean a change in the warrant. I wonder if Rubelli isn’t a liability to Colisimo now? Well—” I punched Jed on the arm. “Don’t go anywhere alone at night. Better still, take a vacation.”

  Jed gave me a jaunty wave intended to indicate his lack of concern, but I had seen his eyes. He was out of his league, and he knew it. He went back to his car. I waited and let him drive off first. I followed him for four miles until I was sure no one was tailing him. I drove to a spot at the edge of town where I’d seen a Goodwill Industries sign in the window.

  I pawed through the racks on the sidewalk and inside and eventually selected a maroon-colored knit seaman’s cap, a dark-blue turtleneck sweater, and a pair of black slacks. The fit wasn’t perfect in any instance, but the clothing would do. One of the numerous boxes scattered about contained shoes. After rummaging through it, I found a pair of canvas deck shoes with thick, spongy soles. They were a size too large, but an extra pair of socks would help to make up the difference.

  I bee-lined it for the cabin where Kaiser greeted me as enthusiastically as he had the night before, hind quarters wriggling ecstatically, tail thrashing the bushes. I was still thinking about Jed’s unpleasant news concerning Casey Deakin. The ex-trucker’s death had removed the ability of Rubelli and his cohorts to move freely around Hudson.

  “You weren’t gone long,” Hazel said approvingly when I entered the cabin.

  “I’ll be running down to Tampa tonight to look over a trucking warehouse that Colisimo operates,” I said.

  “I’ll go with you,” she replied instantly.

  I was of two minds about that. It was risky. I wasn’t keen about leaving her alone in the cabin, though. Without a car, it was impossible for her to get away from the place with any speed. If we became separated again, we’d lose everything we’d gained. And if I parked far enough away from the Deakin Trucking Company warehouse in Tampa, there would be little chance of her being discovered even if something happened to me.

  “We’ll all go,” I said finally.

  “All?”

  “Kaiser, too.”

  “Wonderful!” Hazel enthused. “What’s in the warehouse?”

  “I’ll make you a riddle. I’m betting it’s something very small or quite large.”

  “Very small would be dope,” Hazel guessed.

  “Bullseye.”

  “And very large would be—would be—”

  “Elephants,” I supplied. “Correct the first time.”

  I dodged her punch aimed at my ribs.

  We lazed around the balance of the day. Hazel took a sunbath down near the creek. I sat with her, but remained fully dressed. I have to be careful of too much sun because of my extensive plastic surgery. Hazel, clad in her pelt, stretched out prone on a blanket and promptly fell asleep. I had to wake her once to get her to turn over. If the big girl gets sunburned, it’s a lot of sunburn.

  We had sandwiches and beer after sundown. I never eat too heavily before nighttime activity. There was no tension; the atmosphere was relaxed. Hazel has the best nerves of any woman I’ve ever known. It’s just one of the things I admire about her.

  I started to get ready around nine o’clock. I put on my “new” turtleneck sweater, black slacks, and canvas deck shoes. I removed my wig and covered my burn-and-stitches scarred pate with the maroon-colored knit seaman’s cap. “Put on your best threads,” I told Hazel. If she were questioned for any reason, the better she looked the less trouble she’d have.

  She came out of the bedroom looking like a fashion model ready to take part in the Easter parade. “What’d that outfit set you back?” I queried her.

  “You didn’t think I’d be in Miami and not do any shopping did you?” she smiled.

  We went out to thé car, Kaiser trotting along beside us. I gave Hazel the keys, and she got under the wheel without comment. She’s a really good driver, but more reckless than I am. Kaiser sat in the middle, and I sat on the outside. I carried my attaché case with its wigs and facial makeup on my lap.

  Hazel drove through a dark and quiet-looking Hudson. A few miles south she stopped at an all-night service station and topped off the Ford’s tank with premium gasoline. The young, gangly-framed attendant seemed hesitant about putting his hand into the car with the change so close to Kaiser’s sharp-toothed grin.

  I had experimented with the turtleneck sweater, wearing its bottom-edge both inside and outside my belt. I’d finally decided on letting it hang outside because it better concealed the slight bulge at my waist which was my holster-held automatic. My right-hand pants pocket bulged, too. It was carrying two extra clips of 9mm. Parabellum cartridges. And the reloaded derringer in its spectacles-case holster was again riding my shinbone.

  It was thirty minutes before midnight when we crossed the Courtney Campbell Causeway. This time I motioned for Hazel to turn south on Memorial Highway just before we reached the International Airport. I directed her south again on West Shore Boulevard. The warehouse was almost at Port Tampa, not too far from MacDill Air Force Base.

  On West Shore Boulevard we kept running into shreds of salt-flavored fog tainted with the odor of rotting seaweed. Hazel turned on the windshield wipers to clear the glass of the droplets of mist and fog. Traffic was at a minimum. I estimated it at a car a mile.

  Someone with a literary bent of mind had named the dockside streets near Port Tampa. The Deakin Trucking Company warehouse was on Melville St., around the corner from Coleridge St., which in turn led off from West Shore Boulevard. The old commercial area showed itself sadly run-down in the headlights.

  I had Hazel make a right turn onto Coleridge and another onto Melville. There was no mistaking the Deakin warehouse. Jed’s description of it as fortresslike was accurate. The building was a three-story, all-brick affair covering a quarter of a block. It had an appearance of neglect.

  A battered-looking sign on the face of the building cinched identification beyond doubt.

  Hazel glanced at me as we rolled slowly past the massive building. I didn’t say anything, and she kept on going. A good many windows on the two lower floors had been boarded up. The ground-floor brickwork was faded and chipped. The unboarded windows had star-splashes in the wire-reinforced glass from vandals’ markmanship with pellet guns or well-aimed half-bricks ripped free from the building itself. At the far end of the building a rusted fire escape hung precariously above a passageway between the warehouse building and a fenced automobile wrecking yard next to it.

  “Drive back out onto the boulevard,” I told Hazel when we came to the end of the block. Once there, I had her turn away from the direction of Deakin’s warehouse, back in the direction we’d come, until a lighted restaurant appeared in the thickening fog. “Okay,” I said, and Hazel stopped the car. “I’ll get out here. Give me two h
ours, and I don’t mean a hundred twenty-one minutes. If I’m not back, you call Jed and the pair of you make tracks out of Hudson.”

  “You’ll be back,” she said confidently, and leaned over to kiss me. “But be careful, y’hear?”

  “That’s my intention on both counts,” I said, and climbed out of the Ford.

  I started back toward the warehouse. The looks of the neighborhood made me glad I’d brought Hazel along. Even Kaiser might have had difficulty protecting the Ford from the wharfside street gangs who could strip a car down to the chassis in minutes. With the pair of them in the Ford, I was assured of transportation back to Hudson other than walking.

  If I made it back to the Ford.

  A black-and-white, mist-bedewed police cruiser rolled through a lighted intersection ahead of me, and I stepped into a shadowed doorway. It was no time for me to be answering police questions directed at people who had no business in the area. I was overqualified in that category.

  The cruiser disappeared, and I turned corners until I was again approaching the warehouse, this time from the side next to the automobile wrecking yard. Just beyond the alley, facing the street, an overhead garage door was raised suddenly, and a strong glare of light illuminated the street. The building wasn’t unoccupied as I’d hoped.

  The door remained open, and I moved toward it slowly. The front of the warehouse looked as though it should have been the rear. A loading dock stretched along two-thirds of the front, and a series of large sliding doors, all closed, led from the platform to the building’s interior. At the far end of the dock was a glassed-in cubicle that appeared to be either a dispatcher’s office or a sheltered employee’s entrance.

  I crept silently along the building wall until I was able to see partway into the illuminated area in the otherwise darkened building. One look was enough to disclose that this was the warehouse’s tractor-and-trailer maintenance shop. In the huge space beyond the opened door, it seemed there was at least one of every kind of truck in the world: low-boys and cattle rigs, reefers, open-tops, and tankers, five-axle jobs, screw-tractors, cab-over-engines, Whites, Macks, and Kenworths. And a night maintenance crew was busily working on some of them.