This lad, Drysdale reminded himself, was the son of one of the influential men in the city. Even kids get to hear things, so he waddled over to the fat boy’s table.
‘Hello, Freddy,’ he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘That looks good.’
‘It is good,’ the fat boy mumbled, and forked more spaghetti into his eager mouth.
‘Don’t you usually eat at home, Freddy?’ Drysdale asked casually. ‘Are you celebrating or something?’
‘I sure am.’ The fat boy smirked. ‘The Chief of Police gave me ten bucks so I thought I’d give me a decent meal instead of the junk my mum gives me.’
Drysdale became immediately alert.
‘Is that right? Now why did the Chief of Police give you ten bucks?’
‘That’s a secret, Mr Drysdale.’ The fat boy looked sly. ‘I had some information, and he parted with the money.’
‘He’s a nice, kind man,’ Drysdale said, his smile oily. ‘But ten dollars isn’t a fortune. I also buy secrets, Freddy. Do you want to do a deal?’
The fat boy finished his spaghetti and sat back with a calculating expression on his face.
‘That depends, Mr Drysdale,’ he said after a moment of thought. ‘I could sell you my secret for three hundred dollars.’
‘Like father, like son,’ Drydale sighed. ‘This must be a big secret.’
‘It sure is. It’s the biggest and the most sensational secret you’ve ever heard.’
At this moment an elderly waitress arrived and took Drysdale’s order for grilled sardines on toast. She removed the fat boy’s plate and slapped down the chicken drumsticks, the curry sauce and a pile of French fried.
‘You have a healthy appetite,’ Drysdale said wistfully. ‘It’s great to be young. I’d go to one hundred bucks, but I would want to know what the secret is about.’
‘Three hundred, Mr Drysdale,’ the fat boy said firmly as he piled the French fried onto his plate. ‘I’ll tell you this. It is to do with Mr Sherman Jamison.’
Drysdale reacted as if he had been stung by a wasp.
‘Mr Jamison?’
‘That’s right.’ The fat boy cut off a bit of chicken, smothered it in curry sauce and conveyed it to his mouth. He nodded his approval. ‘This is good.’
‘What about Mr Jamison?’ Drysdale asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Well, not exactly him, but Mrs Jamison.’
‘You went to the Chief of Police and told him about this, Freddy?’
‘That’s right. I felt I should. I was reporting a major crime.’
Drysdale began to breathe heavily.
‘What major crime?’
The fat boy attacked the pile of French fried.
‘It’s a secret. The Chief told me to keep my mouth shut, but for three hundred dollars my mouth need not remain shut.’
Drysdale didn’t hesitate. After all, this wasn’t his money. His editor expected him to spend money to get news. He took out his wallet and produced three one-hundred-dollar bills which he folded.
‘So, Freddy, tell me the secret.’
The fat boy eyed the money, then attacked another drumstick.
‘Not until I have the money in my pocket,’ he said, his mouth full. ‘My old man told me always to get the money first. My old man is smart.’
‘Look, Freddy, if you’re conning me…’
‘Aw, forget it! I’ll tell you something, Mr Drysdale. I’m fat and look stupid, but I ain’t! I could get a thousand dollars just by getting on the phone and talking to the Washington Post, but I don’t want to be bothered. Do you want to do a deal?’
Drysdale pushed the folded bills across the table. The fat boy snapped them up and stowed them away in his pocket.
‘What about Mrs Jamison?’ Drysdale demanded.
‘Let me finish this first. My old man says it’s rude to talk with one’s mouth full,’ the fat boy said as he began to gnaw at the chicken leg. ‘This is good.’
Drysdale contained his impatience with an effort, but he felt his blood pressure rising. He sat back, trying to keep calm.
Finally the boy finished his meal and released a sigh of content.
‘Man! That was good!’ he exclaimed.
The waitress arrived bringing a plate containing six grilled sardines on two rounds of toast and slapped the plate before Drysdale.
‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’ the fat boy asked.
‘Never mind, Freddy, tell me the secret,’ Drysdale snarled.
The fat boy leaned forward and, in a whisper, told Drysdale what he had told Chief of Police Terrell.
For a brief moment, Drysdale went into shock. The wife of Sherman Jamison kidnapped! This was the biggest news, the biggest scoop that had ever dropped into his lap! This kid made sense, but he must check out his story. Before going into action, he must talk to Terrell!
Shoving back his chair, Drysdale blundered to his feet. He paused only long enough to pay for his untouched meal, then scrambled into his car and headed for Police headquarters.
The fat boy shrugged. Then he regarded the sardines. Pity to waste food, he thought. Pushing aside his empty plate, he reached forward to pick up the plate of sardines and began to eat contentedly.
This had been a rewarding evening, he thought.
* * *
Chief of Police Terrell replaced the telephone receiver and looked first at Beigler, then at Lepski. He grimaced.
‘Mr Jamison confirms that his wife has been kidnapped,’ he said, ‘and in very forceful language told me to keep out of it. He’s had the usual threat not to contact the police.’
‘Did he say how much the ransom is to be?’ Beigler asked.
‘No. Naturally, he wants his wife back alive, and a man of his wealth wouldn’t give a damn how much he has to pay.’ Terrell thought for a long moment. ‘Jamison carries a lot of clout. I think it would be unwise for us to start anything, but we must alert the FBI.’ He looked at Beigler. ‘Will you contact Howard Jackson and put him in the photo? Tell him we’re doing nothing for the moment, but will want his help once Mrs Jamison is returned safely.’
Beigler nodded, got to his feet and hurried from Terrell’s office to his own desk.
‘Okay, Tom,’ Terrell said. ‘You may as well get off home. I don’t think anything will develop for tonight.’
‘You staying, Chief?’ Lepski asked.
‘I guess so.’
‘Right. I’ll stick around also.’
Lepski left the office and sat at his desk. He remembered Carroll. Snatching up the telephone, he asked Charlie Tanner how Carroll had reacted.
Tanner gave a whimpering moan.
‘I swear to God, Tom, I’m never going to relay messages for you again! I’m still trying to recover.’
‘Thanks, Charlie,’ Lepski said with a crafty grin. ‘You’re a real pal,’ and he hung up.
Ten minutes later, the telephone bell sounded on Terrell’s desk.
‘Charlie here, Chief,’ Tanner said. ‘I have Syd Drysdale asking for you.’
Terrell grimaced. He knew Drysdale only too well.
‘What’s he want?’
‘To see you, Chief. He says it’s an emergency.’
Terrell stiffened. Was it possible that Drysdale had got wind of the kidnapping?
‘Okay, send him up.’
Breathing heavily, Drysdale came into Terrell’s office.
‘Stairs don’t agree with me,’ he gasped. ‘I guess I eat too much.’ He slumped into a chair by Terrell’s desk. ‘How are you, Chief? You are working late.’
Terrell regarded him, his face expressionless.
‘I’ve got a work load. What is it, Syd?’
‘I understand that Mrs Sherman Jamison was kidnapped this morning,’ Drysdale said with his oily smile.
So that fat little creep had shot off his mouth! Terrell thought. He knew it would be a waste of time to fence with a man of Drysdale’s experience.
‘That’s correct, Syd. Jamison has had a ransom
note. The usual death threat if he contacts the police. He has told me in no uncertain terms to keep out of it. So I will ask you also to keep out of it.’
Drysdale nodded.
‘Yeah. Jamison carries too much clout. I don’t want to drop in the shit with him. When this breaks, Chief, I want your promise that I get the exclusive scoop. I also want to be kept au fait with how you are handling it. I take it Jackson of the FBI will be brought into this when Mrs Jamison is returned.’
‘Of course. Now, Syd, I can’t make any promises,’ Terrell said. ‘As soon as the news breaks, the press of the world will jump on the band-wagon.’
Drysdale scratched his fat nose.
‘I’ll give you a quid pro quo. You hold off the wolf-pack until I file my story, and I’ll give you a lead to who the kidnapper is.’
Terrell stared at him.
‘You know who the kidnapper is?’
‘I don’t know, but I can make a very close and sound guess. I just want your promise to get me the exclusive. After all, what have you got to work on? Suppose Jamison pays the ransom? Suppose he gets his wife back? The kidnapper will vanish. You have no lead to him, but I am pretty sure I have.’
Terrell hesitated. No threats of withholding evidence would bother Drysdale.
‘Okay, Syd, you get your exclusive. Who do you think pulled the kidnapping?’
‘Word of honour?’ Drysdale asked, his little eyes probing.
‘You’ll get your exclusive. Now tell me!’
Drysdale beamed. He leaned forward and said quietly, ‘I’m willing to bet my Sunday lunch that the man who fixed the kidnapping is Lucky Lucan.’
8
Kling strode into his cabin at the Star Motel, slamming and locking the door behind him.
He found Ng Vee standing by the kitchen stove, stirring a saucepan of savoury-smelling food.
That smells great,’ Kling said. ‘I’m starving! What is it?’
‘Curried beef, rice and green peppers, sir,’ Ng said, not looking at Kling. ‘It’ll be ready in five minutes.’
‘Great!’ Kling moved out of the kitchen. ‘We’ll talk as we eat.’
He turned on the TV set. He was feeling triumphant. In ten days’ time, he would be worth five million dollars! He had certainly handled this sonofabitch Jamison beautifully. He stared for a moment at a busty girl screaming into a mike and, grimacing, he switched off the set.
The table was laid. He nodded. This kid certainly was a find! He never seemed to put a foot wrong, and his cooking was out of this world.
Kling took his place at the table and began to nibble bread.
Five million dollars!
He would be able to kiss the Mafia bosses goodbye. He would no longer have to plan to knock off some pest. With five million dollars, he would be able to live as he had so often dreamed of living.
Ng came in and set a big dish of the curried beef and a side plate of fried bananas and rice before Kling.
‘Terrific, kid!’ Kling said, as he began to pile the food on his plate. ‘Man! I’m starving!’
He didn’t notice that Ng only helped himself to a token portion of the food. Nor did he notice that Ng only toyed with his food while he ate ferociously.
After ten minutes or so, Kling, his hunger slightly appeased, grinned at Ng.
‘How did it go, kid? How did she behave?’
His face expressionless, Ng said, ‘No problem, sir.’
Kling gave his short, barking laugh.
‘Come the day, kid, when you say there is a problem. Then I’ll really get worried.’ He shovelled more food into his mouth. ‘This is top-class,’ he went on. ‘What happened when she surfaced?’
Ng moved his food around with his fork.
‘She was very calm, sir,’ he said. ‘I explained that she had been kidnapped. There was no trouble. She accepted the situation.’
Kling continued to eat.
‘You’ve done a great job, kid. Now, I’ll tell you something. I’ve talked to Jamison. In ten days, he’s going to part with five million dollars. I had him in a squeeze. There was nothing else he could do. So, in ten days’ time, I’ll be worth five million dollars! And, as you’re always saying, with no problems. How do you like that, kid?’
‘I am glad for you, sir,’ Ng said. He felt if he put any more food in his mouth, he would throw up. ‘What will happen to Mrs Jamison?’
‘I’ll tell you what I’m going to do when I get this money,’ Kling said, ignoring Ng’s question. ‘I’m going to charter a big yacht, and I’m going to drift around the world.’ Kling’s smile widened. ‘I want you to come with me. Get it?’
Ng bowed politely.
‘Thank you, sir.’ He got to his feet and began to gather up the dishes. ‘I have an ice with fruit, sir, if you would like it.’
Kling shoved back his chair and stood up.
‘No. I’ve had enough. A great meal, kid. You know what I’m going to do now? I’m going to town to celebrate earning five million bucks! I’m going to find a red head, well stuffed into her dress, and I’m going to screw her until she yells blue murder!’
Ng continued to collect the dishes.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said.
‘Hey, kid! Let’s go together. It’s time you had a girl,’ Kling said. ‘Come on! Leave that junk. Let’s you and me paint the town red.’
‘Thank you, sir, but please excuse me. I would rather watch TV if you don’t mind.’
‘Jesus!’ Kling exclaimed. ‘What a character you are!’
‘Yes, sir. May I ask what will happen to Mrs Jamison?’
As Kling lit a cigarette, his face turned ruthless.
‘What do you think, kid? Let me spell it out. I am a professional killer. When someone comes to me and tells me he wants someone rubbed out because he or she is a nuisance, and if this guy gives me the money I ask for, then I do the job. I’ve worked for years with the Mafia. They know I can be relied on. They don’t give a damn if I do an occasional private job, but they would give a damn if the word got out that I hadn’t delivered. So, you ask what will happen to this woman? So, I’ll tell you. She’s going to be rubbed out, and you and I will go on a world cruise.’
Holding the dishes, Ng stood motionless, looking like an ivory statue.
He asked, in a low, flat voice, ‘How will you kill her, sir?’
Kling shrugged impatiently.
‘I have ten days to think about that… nothing messy.’ He looked thoughtfully at Ng. ‘Suppose you do your blood-vessel trick? How about it, kid?’
Ng shivered.
‘I have never killed a woman, sir.’
Kling grinned.
‘There’s always a first time. Think about it,’ and with a wave of his hand he unlocked the cabin door and went out into the hot, humid darkness to his car.
* * *
Half an hour later, the dishes washed and put away and the kitchen once more spick and span, Ng walked into the living-room and sat down.
She is going to be rubbed out.
Kling’s words burned in Ng’s brain.
He sat huddled up, his clenched fists gripped between his knees, and he kept thinking of those words. A sick horror engulfed him. This lovely, gentle woman would be ruthlessly killed. He thought of Kling: a man who had saved him from starvation and raised his mother from utter poverty, who had taken care of him and had treated him as a loyal partner.
A little moan of agony escaped from Ng’s tightly closed lips.
How could he save the life of this lovely woman without being disloyal to his master? After what Kling had done for him and his mother, it would be unthinkable for him to be disloyal!
Ten days!
At least there was time to think and perhaps plan. Ng forced himself to relax. Surely in ten days, some solution would arrive.
Sitting back in the big lounging-chair, his mind shifted to those two wonderful hours he had spent with Shannon Jamison.
The memory was so vivid, it was as if he were watching a movie
.
Again, he saw her, lying, unconscious on the bed. He had waited, then finally he saw her stir, then slowly open her eyes. He watched her puzzled expression as she looked up at the quilted, white ceiling. Then she lifted her head and looked directly at him.
He smiled at her, willing kindness and love into his smile.
He saw her stiffen, close her eyes as if absorbing a shock, then those beautiful eyes opened, and she half sat up.
‘It’s all right, ma’am,’ he said softly. ‘You have nothing to fear.’
Shannon stared at this slightly built Vietnamese. She felt she was dreaming.
‘Who are you?’ she forced herself to ask.
‘It it all right, ma’am. Please don’t be alarmed.’
She looked hurriedly around the big, well furnished room without windows, then back to him.
‘Where am I? What’s happening?’
‘Ma’am, you have been kidnapped. I am here to look after you. Please, you have nothing to worry about.’
‘Kidnapped?’
Shannon swung her long legs off the bed and sat up. She possessed considerable strength of character. She refused to let herself panic and forced herself to remain calm.
‘Are you telling me that I have been kidnapped?’
Ng nodded.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She looked around the room: ‘Where am I?’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t tell you that.’
She took a long steady look at Ng. She saw he was a Vietnamese, and she was quick to see he was regarding her the way a spaniel dog regards his mistress. This expression gave her confidence.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
Ng hesitated, then said, ‘Call me Kim, ma’am. Would you like coffee? You have only to ask and I will do anything to please you.’
She felt this odd-looking youth was on her side, so she forced a smile.
‘Thank you, Kim. Yes, I would like a cup of coffee.’
Ng moved swiftly into the kitchen and heated up the prepared coffee while Shannon got to her feet, found the bathroom and shut herself in. Her toilet finished, she returned to the bedroom.
Kidnapped!
This must mean that Sherman would have to pay ransom, then she would be free again. Then a thought struck her.
Not My Thing Page 13
