by Bill WENHAM
“What now?” he asked, as soon as I said ‘Hi, Chief’.
“I just got the postcard the Butler promised,” I told him.
“Took him long enough, didn’t it?” he growled.
“Blame the U.S. Postal Service, Chief, but at least we know now where he is.”
“And where’s that? What did the card say?”
I read it out to him. It just read, ‘Grab your swimsuits and come on down. Look forward to killing some time with you.’ It was signed ‘Butler’.
“He didn’t give you his address, surely?” the Chief asked.
“Well, hardly, Chief, but at least we know what city he’s in now. We can assume he’s either in or near Jacksonville and we can stop searching for him here for a while. So, what do you think, should we go after him?” I asked.
There was a momentarily silence at the other end of the phone and then he said, “What the hell are you asking me for? You two don’t work here any more, do you? As a matter of fact, just who are you guys anyway?”
I could hear the smile creeping into his voice as he added, “I’m really sorry I screwed things up for you, Sandy, but, yeah, you go get him, with my blessing. You don’t need to contact me again unless you’ve either nailed the bastard or you guys desperately need my help with something, okay?”
“Thanks, Chief,” I said, “and by the way, I’ll need to change cars. He obviously already knows too much about this one.”
“Don’t tell me all your bloody troubles, just go ahead and do it and Sandy…” He paused.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Good luck, and be careful, both of you, no Ferraris, okay, and look after Ellie.”
I was doubly shocked. He had actually apologized to me for being wrong and this was the first time I’d ever heard him call Ellie by her first name.
“Thanks, Chief,” I said, “And don’t worry, I’ll wake you when it’s all over.”
“Don’t be so bloody cheeky, son, and you watch both your asses, not just hers, okay?”
I grinned as I hung up the phone.
“What did he say?” Ellie asked.
“He told me I should watch your ass,” I said.
She smiled and said, “I wouldn’t have thought you needed someone to tell you that. You seem to be doing quite well on your own.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“I just want to point out something to you, Romeo. Bathrooms have mirrors. And bathroom mirrors reflect the lecherous leers of males in the bedroom,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
“Its okay, Lover, I don’t mind at all, but please try to spare a few glances for the rest of my back at the same time, if you can. That’s what partners do.”
“I know exactly what partners do, young lady,” I leered at her, “And if you’d like to tarry a while, I’ll show you!”
She laughed.
“You’re just impossible, you know that? And what else are we going to be up to today?”
“Well, we have to take the Jeep back and swap it for something else. Something the Butler won’t recognize the moment we drive up, and by the way, how do you look in a Bikini?”
“What kind of a question is that, Lieutenant?” she asked indignantly. “You should know what I look like by now, either in or out of a Bikini.”
“Well, I was just thinking, Hon, if you haven’t got a nice one, you’d better get one today.” I paused and leered at her again. “Because we’re off to Florida in the morning.”
As I looked at her, I thought the smile on her face right at that moment would rival any sunshine we might find in Jacksonville.
Later, when we got to the Chrysler dealership, because Ellie had absolutely insisted we ‘tarry a while’ first, we found the Chief had already called them to clear the change.
We were very happy with the original Jeep and we decided to merely trade it in for one of a different color. Once again, she choose the color and I got to choose her Bikini. It seemed like a pretty fair trade to me and I won on both counts. In any case I was only following orders, wasn’t I? I suppose the Bikini was rather brief but after all, I’d had firm instructions from my boss to watch her ass, and what better way was there to do it?
We set out early the next morning, traveling on the I95 and with two overnight stops planned along the way. That way it would hopefully be an easy and stress free run, especially with both of us sharing the driving.
Our route plan included a full day and night in Washington and an afternoon and overnight at Myrtle Beach. The following day, if all went well we should arrive in Jacksonville just in time for lunch.
I’d called the Chief briefly once more before we left and we agreed Ellie and I would take our accrued vacation time for part of the trip. I wanted us to arrive at our destination as relaxed as possible. There was no telling what might happen once we got there.
Jacksonville was a big place and somehow we had to find two guys, whose identities we didn’t know, in the city somewhere. I was guessing both of them would be there but there was no way of knowing for sure.
I had no option really other than to assume that somehow the Butler would make the first contact upon our arrival. It was his game and he’d want to play it his way. I also realized whether we’d changed Jeeps or not, the Butler would soon know what we were driving, if he didn’t know already.
The only positive thing about it was that at least we could safely assume that the new Jeep had no electronic bugs in it.
But I should know by now that it never pays to assume, shouldn’t I?
Chapter Seventeen
Stavencer nursed a coffee at an airport coffee shop table. They’d agreed to meet there but, as usual, the plane was late. The bloody planes were always late and always oversold as well. Why airlines even bothered to publish a schedule if they’d no intention of keeping to it was beyond him, he thought angrily.
The person he was meeting was actually due in yesterday, but after several posted delays, it was announced the flight had been cancelled. Bad weather up North, he was told and not a hope in hell of getting another flight that day. Everything else up there was either now cancelled or oversold and awaiting cancellation. Now there’s a surprise, he told himself.
As he sat there brooding about another day wasted waiting around at the airport, a pleasant looking and plump young woman approached his table.
She was holding a pen and a scrap of paper in her hand, both of which she pushed towards him as she reached the table.
“Aren’t you…?” she began.
“No, I’m not,” he snapped at her, and immediately regretted it and corrected himself. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I’m just angry at the delays but I shouldn’t take it out on you, should I?”
She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes behind her glasses.
“I’m always being mistaken for him. I suppose I should be pleased and flattered really, shouldn’t I?” he said.
“Well, you certainly look like him.”
“Yes, I suppose I do, but if you were to check our wallets and our bank balances, you’d soon see who was who. Anyway, don’t just stand there. I really didn’t mean to offend you so why don’t you just sit yourself down and let me make amends by buying you a coffee or something? I think there’s still enough in my wallet to handle that.”
She hesitated just for a moment. Even if he wasn’t Milo van Creste, the famous stage actor, he was still damned good looking, so why not?
“Thank you,” she said as she sat down at the table opposite him and put the pen and paper back into her handbag.
“How do you take it?” Stavencer asked her.
“Pardon?’ she said, startled out of her reverie.
“Your coffee. How do you take it?” he asked pleasantly, a slight smile playing around his lips.
“Oh, just black, please,” she answered. Man, but he sure is good looking, whoever he is, and I can’t believe he wants to buy me a coffee!
As Staven
cer walked back over to the counter, the woman glanced out at the concourse. A moment later, all thoughts of the good looking stranger were completely gone from her mind as she grabbed her bag and struggled to her feet.
A tall, slim man, with a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard was approaching the coffee shop, dragging a wheeled suitcase along behind him.
As she rushed up to him, stopping him in his tracks, she thrust out her pen and paper at him, waving it in front of his face.
“You’re him!” she blurted. “I just know you are. I’ve seen dozens of your shows.”
The man glanced around to see if anyone was taking any notice of this exchange and satisfied they weren’t, he said, “And just who is it that you think you are accosting, young woman?”
“I don’t just think, sir, and I can’t be wrong twice in five minutes either, can I? I know who you are. You are the great Shakespearean actor, Milo Van Creste. I think you’re better than Olivier, Branagh or any of them.”
The man smiled and looked over her shoulder.
He could see Stavencer now standing at a table, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. Stavencer nodded faintly at him.
“Well, my dear, it’s a fair cop, as they say. You’ve got me, so why don’t you come over and join my friend and me for a cup of coffee. I’m just dying for a good one after that awful airline stuff.”
“Your friend?” the woman said, surprised.
“Behind you, in the coffee shop,” Van Creste said.
The young woman turned and saw Stavencer had placed the cup of coffee he’d gone for at her place at the table.
“Make it another one, will you please, Ralph. This young lady will be joining us.” Van Creste called.
“This one is for her; I’ll get a couple more for us.”
“Ralph? Did you call him Ralph? I thought he was you when I met him just now. You guys look an awful lot alike you know.” Then a thought hit her. “He’s not Ralph Stavencer, is he?” she gasped.
“The very one. Right the first time, young lady. Now let’s just sit ourselves down and make some proper introductions, shall we?”
He took her elbow with his free hand and led her back to the table, dragging his suitcase with the other. The woman was shaking like a leaf and couldn’t believe her luck. Here she was, little Betsy Campbell from the Bronx, having coffee with two of the country’s greatest stage actors.
Van Creste courteously held her chair for her as she sat herself back down, and placing her bag back on the table.
Stavencer came back with two more coffees and set them down on the table.
“Finally made it, eh, Milo. How was the flight?”
“I’d actually rather have a dozen teeth pulled, without anesthetic even, than to go through that lot again, but, hey, where are my manners? We have this delightful young lady here with us and I haven’t even asked her name yet. You two have already met, I assume?” he said, addressing Betsy Campbell.
“Yes, indeed we have,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I’m Betsy Campbell, on holiday down here from New York. I was here to meet my sister. She’s with the New York police, you know, the NYPD, like on the TV, but I’ve missed her. Oh, I guess that almost rhymes, doesn’t it. Missed her sister.” she said with a nervous giggle.
“How very appropriate,” Van Creste murmured and both men smiled at her but she was so enthralled with her experience, she didn’t notice either Van Creste’s words or the satisfied look that passed between them. They’d wanted to be here in Jacksonville incognito and here was this stupid woman totally screwing it up for them already and Emilio had only just arrived! This thing though, properly handled, could work out perfectly for them.
Stavencer nodded imperceptibly, anticipating Van Creste’s unspoken question.
“I was wondering, my dear, since you seem to be such a big fan of ours, whether you would consider doing us the honor of joining us for dinner. It is perhaps a little early for dinner but we could have a few drinks and discuss the theater. Ralph and I have a wealth of theatrical stories to regale you with. Would you consider joining us?” Van Creste asked in a persuasive voice.
“Oh, my God! You can’t be serious!” Betsy Campbell stammered. “Dinner with both of you. That would be the highest point of my entire life!”
Both men thought, almost simultaneously, Yes, it would be, you stupid little woman. It will be the high point of your life. It will also be the end of it!
Van Creste turned to Stavencer.
“Have you booked me in somewhere nice, my friend?”
“Most certainly, Milo. A very nice hotel right across from the Jacksonville beach, with a great seafood restaurant within walking distance.”
“Do you like seafood, young lady?” Stavencer inquired, turning to the woman. “We can go somewhere else if you prefer something different.”
“Oh, no, don’t change it, please. I just love seafood, love it, love it!” Betsy burbled happily.
“Then let’s away, shall we?” Van Creste said, helping her to her feet. The fresh coffees were ignored as the three of them made their way out to the parking lot.
As the two men stood courteously back to allow the woman to exit from the terminal first, Stavencer said, “Did you get it done?”
“Of course I got it done,” Van Creste replied scornfully. “Don’t I always?”
Once they were all outside, Stavencer took the woman’s arm and escorted her to his car. She was positively glowing.
“And whereabouts are you staying, Betty,” he asked.
“It’s Betsy, actually, and I am just a little north of you. At Neptune Beach.”
“Ah, nice spot, that,” Van Creste said. “You’ll want to call your sister to tell her you’ve been delayed then, won’t you?”
“Oh, no, no. That’s okay. It’s not me that’s delayed. It’s her. When I said I missed her, I meant she had missed her flight out of New York. She wasn’t on it when it arrived. I know she won’t be able to get another one today, what with the weather up there and all. I’ll call her later on tonight to find out what she’s doing.”
When Betsy Campbell, plump, happy autograph hunter, got into the car of two homicidal psychopaths, she didn’t know she wouldn’t be doing anything at all later that evening. In fact, she wouldn’t be doing anything ever again. She would be too busy being murdered.
Her sister identified her body, laid out with her hands clasping a white silk rose across her ample bosom, when she arrived in Jacksonville two days later.
With the abrupt departure of Betsy Campbell from this world, the two murderous brothers hoped to remain completely incognito for the remainder of their stay in Jacksonville. Milo Van Creste, a.k.a. Emilio Cervantes, had stayed behind when his brother had driven down to Florida. The Butler had waited until Raphael’s, or Ralph Stavencer’s, as he was now known, postcard was delivered to Spicer.
After that, it was a very simple matter to tail him and the girl to the dealership. It was an even simpler matter to place a locating bug in the new Jeep. It had been programmed to become active when it came within range of Raphael’s GPS receiver in Jacksonville. This would mean as soon as Spicer and the girl got within range, the brothers would be able to pinpoint their quarry’s location immediately.
When Raphael had made the trip down to Florida by car, he’d brought all the necessary supplies, weapons and explosives with him. Since he was driving he didn’t have to worry about airport security, customs or any of those other nuisances, and with his job completed, all Emilio had to do was to catch a plane to Florida. But with the northern weather the way it was, it was not as easy as he’d thought that it would be.
The next day Emilio came storming into the trailer.
“Shit!” he screamed, as he slapped a copy of the Jacksonville paper down on the rickety kitchen table.
“What?” his brother asked.
“What! What! That’s what! Look at it, for Christ’s sake, Just look at it!”
Raphael picked up the paper. Right in
front of him, where Emilio had folded the paper, his brother’s face stared back at him. It was a photo, taken at the airport, of both of them sitting in the coffee shop. The caption read:
‘Is Northern culture coming to Jacksonville, perhaps?’
The small article beneath the photo said the two well known Shakespearean actors were seen together, accompanied by an unknown female, at Jacksonville airport yesterday. Speculation abounds that they may be bringing one of their usually sold out shows to Florida.
‘Shakespeare-by-the-Sea – Florida style! Hamlet in tee-shirts and swimsuits - maybe?’, the article asked.
Even if the two actors were to perform in the buff, the female reporter said, the performances would still be sold out. Even more so, and quicker, if that were the case.
Fortunately, if anything about this disaster could be considered to be fortunate, the photo had been taken with a telephoto lens, by an obviously amateur photographer, from somewhere across the concourse. The somewhat blurred and grainy image showed Van Creste full face and Stavencer in profile. The fortunate part of it was it only showed the back of the head of their latest victim, and it was printed in black and white.
Raphael hadn’t rented a hotel room at the beach at all either. He had leased, on a handshake and a few bucks in cash, a grungy looking trailer in an equally rundown park. He’d also leased, under the same arrangement, a thirty year old Pontiac sedan, that ran okay, but was held together mainly by its paint and body filler. Their own car was now safely ensconced in the long term parking area at the airport.
Their appearances were changing dramatically daily. Gone was Emilio’s neat Van Dyke beard and Raphael’s clean shaven look. They both sported a day’s stubble which would be added to as each day passed. At the moment, it was accentuated by applied grime and stage makeup. In scruffy, faded ball caps, sunglasses, dirty denim shirts, boots and torn jeans, it was unlikely either of them would warrant a second glance from anyone, except in disgust. They fitted in perfectly with their new environment, always making sure there was an abundance of empty beer cans littered around the outside of their new home.
