1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway (6 page)

Randy gnawed at his knuckles.

‘So what do we do?’

‘I want to know more about this guy.’

Harry ground out his cigarette and stood up.

He left Randy and walked to the caravan. Drawing a deep breath, he climbed in and pulled the blanket right off the body. He stood staring for a long moment, feeling his mouth turn dry and the muscles in his stomach contract.

The dead man’s left foot had been stripped of its sock and shoe. The flesh was charred and black. It was a stomach turning sight, and Harry hurriedly picked up the blanket and covered the foot.

He hesitated for a moment, then catching hold of the body, he half dragged, half carried it out into the daylight and laid it on the sand.

From where he sat, Randy watched in horror.

Harry went quickly through the dead man’s pockets, but found nothing. All the pockets had been emptied and checking further he found the tailor’s label in the inside pocket of the jacket had been ripped out.

He covered the body with the blanket, lit another cigarette and then joined Randy.

‘He’s been tortured. Someone put his foot in a fire and held it there. Otherwise he isn’t touched except for a bruise on his face. My guess is he had a heart attack while they were burning him. Maybe they didn’t mean to kill him. They must have been after information. From the look of his foot, he wouldn’t talk, but of course he could have done before he died. I guess when they found they had a dead body on their hands they dreamed up this idea of planting it on some hippy hitchhiker who would automatically be in bad with the police.’

Randy licked his dry lips.

‘Like me.’

‘Yeah . . . like you.’

‘W-what are we going to do then?’

‘Get rid of him,’ Harry said. ‘There’s nothing else we can do. We’re in a jam so we’re going to bury him. Then we dump the caravan somewhere from here. Then we dump the car somewhere from where we dump the caravan. That way we stand a chance of covering our trail. Make no mistake about it, if the police do catch up with us, they will hang this on us and they could make it stick. Now come on, let’s start digging.’

He chose a sand dune a few yards off. Between them they scooped out a shallow hole big enough to take the body.

‘We’ll shift the sand from the dune down on top of him,’ Harry said, surveying the hole, ‘and make it one continuous dune. Give me a hand with him.’

Randy shuddered and backed away.

‘I couldn’t touch him! I’d throw up!’

Harry looked at his wristwatch. The time was 06.05 hours. Time was getting on. They had still to get rid of the car and the caravan. He went over to the body, caught hold of it by its right foot and dragged it across the sand to the grave.

Randy turned away and closed his eyes.

Harry rolled the body into the grave with his foot. The head banged against the side of the hollow as the body slid in. Then something happened that brought Harry out in a cold sweat.

The thick, heavily dyed thatch of brown hair on the dead man’s head came away like a disarranged hat while the head, now completely bald and looking blue white in the rays of the sun sank into its pillow of sand.

For some seconds Harry remained motionless, fighting the saliva that rushed to his mouth, then he realised that the dead man had been wearing a wig that had completely deceived Harry into thinking it was a head of real hair.

He walked around the grave and with a grimace, picked up the wig between finger and thumb. He was about to toss it into the grave when he paused. He saw a small object strapped to the inside of the wig with a piece of adhesive plaster. He ripped away the plaster and found beneath it a bright steel key. Embossed on its shaft was the wording: Paradise City Airport. Locker 388.

His eyes narrowed. Was this what the killers had been looking for? The reason why they had so savagely tortured the dead man?

He dropped the wig into the grave and the key into his pocket.

‘Come on, Randy!’ he said sharply. ‘Let’s get him buried.’

Chapter Three

T
he Dominico Restaurant was ideally situated before a small bay guarded from the open sea by a series of sand banks. It was built under the shade of palms, cypress and spider orchid trees which formed a protection against the wind and the sun.

The restaurant was a long single storey building of hardwood with a palm-thatched roof and had direct access to the carefully raked sand leading in a gentle slope to the sea. Part of it was closed behind glass and air-conditioned: the rest was open for those who liked the heat and preferred the night breezes to eating in the cooler temperature rooms.

The beach had its own bar, its mattresses and sun umbrellas, neatly set out with enough space between each umbrella to give reasonable privacy.

Coming upon the restaurant from down a broad sandy road, Harry paused, surprised by its elegance, its style and its atmosphere of opulent luxury.

‘There it is,’ Randy said, a touch of pride in his voice. ‘Right now, you’re seeing it at its best: not a client in sight. In another week, it’ll be smothered with great tits, fat bottoms and inflated bellies. Then it doesn’t look so hot.’ He glanced at his watch. The time was just after 08.00 hours. ‘Solo could be at the market, but come on. Manuel will be here.’

They walked over to the building and into the shade of the veranda’s roof. As they paused amid the unset tables, a giant of a man came from the restaurant and out onto the veranda. His small, black eyes swept over Harry and then to Randy. His face lit up with a wide smile of welcome.

‘Randy . . . you small sonofabitch! So at last you arrive!’ An immense hairy hand engulfed Randy’s hand, pumped enthusiastically and the other hand descended on Randy’s back with an exploding report that made Randy stagger.

Harry guessed this was Solo Dominico, the owner of the restaurant.

During the brief welcome, he scrutinised Solo closely.

Wearing a white singlet and white cotton trousers, some six foot three in height and built like a gorilla, Dominico gave the impression of massive strength and authority. His swarthy complexion, his drooping black moustache, and his alert piercing eyes added to his picturesque appearance.

‘You all set to work?’ Dominico was demanding. ‘You going to sing and play the box again?’

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ Randy said, rescuing his hand and shaking his numbed fingers ‘Solo, meet Harry Mitchell: ex-top sergeant, Paratroops, three years in Vietnam and an

Olympic swimmer, I told you about him. He’s looking for a job.’

Dominico turned to Harry. The two men looked directly at each other.

‘Vietnam, hey? You met my son: Sam Dominico: 3rd Company, Marines?’

‘No, I didn’t meet him, but I know of the 3rd Company: a fine outfit,’ Harry said.

‘You bet the Paratroopers are a fine outfit too.’ Dominico extended his hand. ‘You want a job? Can you swim?’

Harry shook hands. The grip that enfolded his fingers was firm and hard but not challenging. He had been prepared to squeeze back.

‘Swim? I told you!’ Randy said impatiently. ‘He nearly won a gold medal. Of course he can swim!’

‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ Dominico was still staring at Harry. ‘You want a lifeguard job? It pays thirty a week and all found. You want it?’

‘I’m looking for some sun and air,’ Harry said. ‘I’m not fussy what I do. If you want a lifeguard, I’ll be a lifeguard. Randy said there were chores . . . so okay, I’ll do chores.’

Dominico studied him then smiled.

‘So you’re hired. I’ve got to go to the market. I’m late now.’

He turned to Randy. ‘You take your old cabin. Harry can have the one next door. Show him . . . fix him up.’ He turned to Harry again. ‘This week is easy. The season starts next week. You just relax, get to know us, look around, have sun and air. Next week you start work. Okay, hey?’

‘Okay.’

Dominico was regarding Harry in an odd, quizzing way. Suddenly he reached forward and squeezed Harry’s right bicep.

‘Big man,’ he said, half to himself. ‘You carry a punch, Harry.’

‘I guess.’

‘You a fighting man?’

‘When I have to.’

‘So am I.’

Harry only just saw the punch coming, short, fast and deadly.

Instinctively, he weaved slightly, slipping the punch aimed at his chest so that Dominico’s fist scraped between his ribs and his arm and instinctively, he sank a short arm jab into Dominico’s massive side. It felt as if his fist had slammed against the door of a safe.

Dominico staggered, blinked and gulped.

They looked at each other, then Dominico grinned.

‘Smart boy: you don’t take a punch, but you can give one. That’s very smart. Can you take a punch, Harry?’

‘If I have to.’

Dominico laughed. He patted Harry’s shoulder.

‘I’m going to like you. You make yourself at home. We talk about Vietnam, hey? My son writes a very bad letter: like me. You tell me what goes on out there, hey?’

‘Sure,’ Harry said.

The fist came from nowhere, but Harry was watching for it. He shifted his head, letting the punch slide past his ear, a punch that could have knocked him cold. Again his jolting right slammed into the massive chest, and again Dominico staggered, blinked and gulped.

‘Very smart boy,’ he said as soon as he could speak. There was a rueful, admiring expression in his eyes. ‘We are going to be big friends. That’s a lovely punch.’ He regarded Harry, his head on one side ‘Beautiful avoiding action. You ever thought of turning pro?’

‘Mr. Dominico,’ Harry said quietly, looking directly into the black little eyes. ‘I want a job from you. I shouldn’t have hit you, but when anyone throws a punch at me, I hit back by instinct. I’m sorry.’

Dominico’s eyes opened wide.

‘Sorry? You don’t have to be sorry. I like a good punch. It shakes up my liver and that’s good for me. But I’ll tell you something if you weren’t so fast, that punch of mine would have put you away for a week.’

‘Is that right?’ Harry was very serious. ‘I’ll be glad to be a friend of yours, Mr. Dominico, but don’t throw any more punches at me. They make me nervous. I might not pull my punch the next time.’

Dominico lost his smile. His little eyes became quizzing.

‘So you pulled your punch, hey?’

‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ Harry said.

This time Dominico’s punch nearly caught Harry. It scraped his chin as he shifted his head. The counter punch caught Dominico on the side of his jaw, flung him back against a table, smashed the table and laid him flat on his back. He lay there like a stranded whale, his eyes sightless, his great arms flung wide.

‘Judas!’ Randy gasped. ‘Are you crazy?’ He started forward, his eyes popping, but Harry caught hold of his arm.

‘Leave him alone. He’s all right,’ he said. ‘He likes a good punch. You heard him say so.’

Life came back into Dominico’s eyes. He stared up at Harry, screwed up his eyes, getting Harry into focus, then he grinned: not much of a grin, but a grin. He held out his enormous hand and Harry caught hold of it and hauled him to his feet.

‘The best goddamn punch I’ve ever taken.’ Dominico rubbed his jaw, his grin now very set. ‘Okay, Harry, no more games. You and me are going to be great friends. What did I say? Thirty bucks? For that punch I make it forty, and the best food: nothing but the best. You make yourself at home. Look after him, Randy.’ A little unsteadily, he lumbered away across the sand to where a Buick Estate Wagon was parked.

There was a long moment of silence as both Harry and Randy watched him get into the car and drive away, then Randy said awkwardly, ‘I’ll show you your pad.’ He didn’t look at Harry. His thin face revealed he was shocked and upset by what had happened.

‘No! Get him out of here!’

A girl whom Harry guessed was Nina Dominico had appeared in the doorway of the restaurant. The sight of her gave him a little jolt inside: as if he had touched a bare electric wire and had received a shock.

He remembered what Randy had said: Nina is pretty special. You have to see her to understand just how special she is. Well, he thought, Randy hadn’t been exaggerating. Probably twenty-two or three years of age, she was of average height but looked taller because of her slim build: a compact full-breasted body and long, tapering legs. Her hair, black as a raven’s wing, reached to her shoulders and was parted in the middle, forming a frame for her face that had a wild sensual beauty that moved Harry as he had never been moved before. Right at this moment, Nina Dominico was in a flaming rage and he thought her tigerish expression and her flashing black eyes made her the most exciting woman he had ever seen.

‘I don’t like your friend, Randy!’ she said, her voice shaking with the fury that boiled out of her. ‘Take him away! The sight of him sickens me!’

Harry’s face tightened and the colour of his eyes changed from blue to steel grey.

‘What’s the trouble, Miss Dominico?’ he asked quietly.

‘You!’ She moved from the doorway and planted herself in front of him. He looked down at her. She was wearing a scarlet halter that emphasised the fullness of her breasts and white stretch pants that set off the solid curve of her small hips and the length of her legs. ‘Why don’t you hit someone your own age, you cowardly thug?’

‘Are you telling me your father can’t look after himself?’

Harry was very aware of her creamy flawless skin.

‘When a guy looks for trouble the way your father looks for it, sooner or later, he is certain to find it. I’m sorry you are upset. I would be even more sorry if I had been a dummy and let him land a punch on me.’

‘If you imagine you’re getting a job here, you have another thing coming!’ she cried. ‘I won’t have you here. Get out and stay out!’

Harry’s face remained expressionless.

‘I don’t take orders from little girls. Your father has hired me. If he tells me to go, I’ll go, but not on your say-so.’

She swung her hand in a wild, vicious slap but Harry had no trouble in swaying out of range. The violence of her unconnecting swing made her stagger forward and thud against him. He felt for a brief moment the swell of her breasts against his chest before she jumped back. She stood panting and glaring at him and shaking with fury.