1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway (9 page)

He pulled up and Harry got out of the car.

‘There’s a bus passing in half an hour,’ Solo said through the open car window. ‘Get you back in time for lunch. And Harry, no more talk about Baldy, hey? You never know. The cops are always watching. You be careful if you run into Lepski: very smart, very ambitious. We say nothing more, hey?’

Harry watched the estate car speed away, then his expression thoughtful, he walked into the big timber yard.

Chapter Four

I
t was siesta time.

On the beach, in front of the Dominico Restaurant, there were some thirty men and women lying under sun umbrellas, sleeping off their lunch. They were all shapes and sizes: all as skimpily dressed as decency would allow.

A silence hung over the restaurant which an hour ago had been a hive of activity. Somewhere at the back of the restaurant a faint rumbling sound announced that Solo Dominico was sleeping. The mid-afternoon sun blazed down on the sand and the sea and a soft, hot wind dried the oil and sweat of the sunbathing addicts.

Harry sat in the shade of a spider orchid tree, scooping up hot sand and letting it run through his fingers as he talked Beside him, Randy lay on his back, his eyes hidden behind sun goggles, listening.

Harry had thought over what Lepski had said and what Solo had told him about Baldy Riccard. After some hesitation, he decided that Randy should be told. Harry came to this decision because he and Randy faced the risk of having Baldy’s murder pinned on them. Randy had to be told.

‘Well, that’s it,’ he concluded. ‘Whoever killed him was after this key and they didn’t get it. I’ve got it.’

‘Throw it away,’ Randy said without hesitation. ‘This is something that happened We’re in the clear now: let’s stay that way.’

‘It’s not that easy.’ Harry clasped his knees as he sat forward. ‘The body was planted on us. If it is ever found, there will be a murder hunt. Right now, the police think he’s been knocked off. They don’t know, of course, but they suspect it, so they are already alert Lepski is a smart cop. If he finds the Mustang, he’ll start digging and he could come up with us. We are not in the clear. I want to find out what is in this left luggage locker.’

‘I still say throw the key away.’

‘The rumour goes that Baldy pulled a big job,’ Harry went on, ignoring Randy’s interruption. ‘He was a top class safe breaker. The picture I get of all this is he was hired to open a safe. When he got his hands on the contents, he did a double cross and hid the take in this left luggage locker. The people he was working for caught up with him and put pressure on him to talk. He didn’t, and while under pressure, he died. There could be a whale of a lot of money in that locker, Randy. If it’s there, we cash in.’

Randy sat up abruptly. He looked questioningly at Harry.

‘I don’t get it. What do you mean?’

Harry continued to stare across the hot white sand.

‘All the police know is that Baldy is said to have pulled a big job. They don’t know what the job was. If it had been any legitimate steal it would have been reported. Baldy’s job hasn’t been reported so that must mean it is illegal money: a hijack if you like: money or something valuable owned by criminals so they can’t go to the police and complain. That kind of money is anyone’s money.’

Randy was tense with interest now.

‘You mean if we find money in the locker we can grab it?’

‘I don’t see why not . . . findings keeping.’ He looked at Randy. ‘You still want me to throw away the key?’

‘Not if it’s worth money. You really think there’s money in the locker?’

‘I don’t know, but I do know there’s something valuable in there. It would have to be a great deal of money for me, personally, to let someone burn my foot the way Baldy’s foot was burned and not turn the key in. So if it isn’t money, it’s something worth a lot of money.’

‘That’s right.’ Randy dug his fingers into the sand. His thin face was puzzled. ‘Harry, I don’t dig you. You didn’t have to tell me all this. You didn’t have to tell me you found the key. You could have opened the locker, taken the money or whatever it is in the locker and said nothing to me about it. Why are you cutting me in?’

Harry studied him.

‘If the police ever get on to us, we could land up in the chair. It seemed to me that as we are both in the same jam, we should also split what we get out of it.’

Randy shook his head in wonderment.

‘You’re an odd ball, Harry . . . but thanks.’ He thought for a moment, then his face brightened. ‘Gee! Do you really think we’re going to be rich, Harry?’

Harry shrugged.

‘Don’t bet on it.’ His eyes became suddenly alert as he saw Nina come out of the restaurant. She was wearing a red bikini and carrying a towel. Harry’s’ heart gave a little jolt as he watched her run across the sand. The movement of her breasts and the roll of her hips sent a savage stab of desire through him.

‘Eyes off, Harry,’ Randy said quietly, watching him. ‘I told you: she’s for nobody, unless you want to tangle with Solo.’

Harry got to his feet. He turned his back on Nina as she ran into the sea.

‘Tell him I’ve borrowed the Buick,’ he said. ‘I’m ordering the rails for the high dive.’

‘Is it anywhere near the airport?’ Randy asked.

‘Not all that far.’

‘I dig . . . I’ll tell him.’

Harry returned to his cabin, changed into a short-sleeved shirt and slacks, then walked to the car park. As he was getting into the estate car, he paused.

Standing in the opposite row under the palm-thatched roof of the car park was a white Mercedes SL 180. Not a car that is seen every day, Harry thought, and he hesitated. His mind went to the white Mercedes which he was now sure had picked up the woman who had been driving the Mustang. A coincidence? More than likely, but the Army had trained him too well now to accept nothing but facts.

He looked up and down the long double row of cars and saw no one, then he crossed to the Mercedes. The windows were down and he had no trouble leaning in to examine the licence tag. It was made out to: Emmanuel Carlos, 1279 Pine Tree Boulevard, Paradise City.

This told him nothing. He stepped away from the car, again looked to right and left, again hesitated. The sight of the car alerted and disturbed him. Of course, he told himself, there must be a number of white Mercedes SL 180 in the district, but his mind refused to dismiss the car.

He walked rapidly down the long shaded aisle and into the barroom.

Joe was washing glasses and humming to himself. His black shining face lit up when he saw Harry.

‘Want a drink, boss?’ he asked.

‘I’ll have a Coke, thank you.’ Harry sat on a stool, leaning his elbows on the counter. The bar was deserted. Through the big windows, he could see the beach and the bodies under the sun umbrellas.

Joe poured the Coke, added ice and pushed the glass towards Harry.

‘Would you know Mr. Emmanual Carlos?’ Harry asked after taking a long drink.

‘Mr. Carlos? Sure, boss.’ Joe rolled his eyes. ‘One of our best customers. He comes here regularly three, four times a week. Lots of money: he’s a very important gentleman. He’s out there now with Mrs. Carlos.’

Harry’s suspicions began to subside.

‘What’s he do, Joe?’

‘Do?’ Joe looked blank. ‘I don’t reckon he does anything. His father left him a whale of a lot of money.’

‘What did his father do?’

Joe took a box of cigars from under the counter and laid it before Harry.

‘That’s his father. Carlos Havana Cigars.’

Harry stared at the ornate label on the box and examined the coloured photograph of the bearded man in a frock coat.

‘I thought we had given up importing Havana cigars, Joe.’

‘That’s right. This is now under the counter stuff. Mr. Dominico has a big stock. We sell only to the customers we know.’

‘You say Mr. Carlos is here now?’

‘Sure. He came in here only a few minutes ago to use the phone. He’s out there now with Mrs. Carlos . . . the fourth umbrella to the right.’

Harry went to the window and looked out onto the beach.

He could see a man and a woman lying under an umbrella. The man, heavily built, was in swim trunks, lying on his side, his back to Harry. The woman, wearing a sharkskin white bathing suit, lay on her back. Most of her face was concealed by enormous sun goggles. Her hair was brick red and her skin was tanned to a nut brown, even shade. She had small thrusting breasts and a flat stomach which was more than the other women had who lay around her.

Harry studied them for a long moment, then shrugged.

‘See you, Joe,’ he said and left the bar.

By the time he had placed an order for the chromium handrails for the high dive board, it was 16.00 hours. He hurried to the estate car and headed for the airport. He had trouble in finding parking space. Finally leaving the car, he entered the bustling reception lobby. It took him some minutes to locate the left luggage locker section, then he walked down the long alley, looking for locker No. 388.

When he found it, he paused to look right and left. A fat, middle-aged woman, some way down the alley was struggling to get a bag out of a locker. Coming down the alley was a thickset man in a creased lightweight suit. He carried a grip and was looking impatiently for a vacant locker. Neither of these people alerted Harry’s suspicions. He took the key from his pocket, sank it into the lock and opened the locker door.

Lying on the floor of the locker was a white plastic, much travelled sui case, showing cuts and scars. Painted along its side was a broad red band: the kind of band people put on their cases for quick and easy identification.

Harry pulled the suitcase out of the locker and lowered it to the ground. Its weight was disappointing: it was no heavier than any average suitcase packed for a long weekend. It told Harry that there was no great fortune of money inside.

Leaving the key in the lock, he shut the locker door, then picking up the suitcase, he walked, without hurrying, towards the reception lobby.

Swarms of travellers swirled and eddied around him. A girl’s strident voice broke through the chatter and the sound of shuffling feet to announce the departure of Flight 507 for New York. Children, laughing, screaming and frazzling, added to the pandemonium of departure.

Harry kept on, avoiding people, side stepping children, intent on getting back to his cabin to examine the suitcase.

‘Hey you!’

There was a snap of authority in the voice that was like a blow.

Harry looked to his left, still moving, but when he saw Detective Lepski signalling to him, he stopped abruptly.

The suitcase he was carrying suddenly seemed to him to be red hot. He waited, watching Lepski push his way unceremoniously through the crowd.

Lepski planted himself in front of Harry: his ice blue eyes probing.

‘Remember me?’ he demanded in a tough cop voice.

Harry met the stare without flinching.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Detective Lepski . . . the officer who wondered if I could swim.’

‘That’s me.’ Lepski paused, a little thrown out of his stride by Harry s apparent unconcern. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘If it’s any of your business, I’m collecting my bag,’ Harry said.

‘That your bag?’ Lepski stared at the white plastic suitcase in Harry’s hand, scowling at it.

‘Sure. I left it here last night. Now I’m working for Solo I need my things. Any other questions?’

Lepski bristled ‘Don’t get smart Mitchell! I don’t like smart guys in this City.’

‘You don’t? Who do you like? Dummies?’

Lepski’s tanned face darkened.

‘I said don’t get smart! Where are you from?’

Harry took from his shirt pocket the plastic folder containing his papers and offered them ‘If you’re that curious, Mr. Lepski, go ahead and have yourself a ball.’

Lepski took the papers, read, taking his time, then he carefully folded the papers, returned them to their plastic cover and handed it back.

‘Paratrooper, huh?’ He regarded Harry now with a respectful expression ‘Okay, Sergeant, excuse me. You’re welcome here. We get a lot of bums through this City. It’s one of my jobs to put a rocket under their tails. No hard feelings?’ and he offered his hand.

Harry shook hands.

‘No hard feelings.’

‘You staying long, Sergeant?’

‘A couple of months. I have a job waiting for me in New York. I came here for some sun and air.’

‘You’ve come to the right place.’ Lepski scratched the end of his nose, then asked, ‘Did Solo tell you Baldy Riccard called on him, Sergeant?’

Harry’s face remained expressionless.

‘No, Mr. Lepski. He said nothing like that.’

‘Didn’t he say anything about me after I left him?’

‘Oh sure. He said you were a very smart cop and a very ambitious one.’

Lepski looked pleased.

‘He’s a smart old coot. One of these days I’ll come out to his place and bring my wife.’

‘He’ll be pleased.’

‘You think so?’ Lepski laughed. ‘I wouldn’t bet on that. Well so long: happy vacation,’ and he walked away, shoving through the crowd to the exit.

Harry drew in a deep breath. He was aware he was sweating.

He crossed the reception lobby, then leaving the airport, he made his way to the car park.

He put the suitcase on the passenger’s seat of the car, got in, started the engine and drove the car out of the parking lot.

Because the unexpected meeting with Lepski had shaken him a little, his instincts for trouble were alerted. There had been long hours when he had taken a patrol through the jungle that this instinct had saved him whereas it hadn’t saved some of his men who followed him and who had allowed their alertness to become slack. Harry’s instinct for danger was highly developed and even now, after three months from the jungle, it still functioned.

As he swung the car around so that it headed for the airport exit, he spotted a dusty green and white Chevrolet back out fast, squeal to a stop, swing around and come after him. In his driving mirror, Harry saw the driver was a squat, dark complexioned man, wearing a panama hat pulled well down to half conceal his features.