Crime of Their Life (8 page)

Liddell fumbled through his pockets, brought out a pack of cigarettes, held one out to her. She stuck it between her lips, accepted a light, waited until he had lit one for himself.

“The cruise director was right, wasn’t he, Mr. Liddell—”

“Johnny.”

The redhead inclined her head. “Okay, Johnny. You did know my husband from some place, didn’t you?”

Liddell took a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaled in twin streams from his nostrils. The wind caught the smoke, whipped it away. “That what your husband says?”

Rita shook her head. “He wouldn’t discuss it. Said you just looked like someone he once knew. That’s all it was. Just a resemblance to someone.” She took the cigarette from her mouth, let smoke escape from half-parted lips. “I don’t think he was telling me the truth.” She studied the carmined stain on the end of the cigarette for a moment, brought her eyes up to his face. “Was he?”

“I’ve never seen Peter Keen before and I never heard the name,” Liddell hedged. “Incidentally, where is your husband?”

The redhead shrugged, with spectacular effect on the décolleté of her dress. “He’s a gin fiend. Plays every night from right after dinner until bedtime.” She pouted. “I’m a gin rummy widow.”

Liddell shook his head. “No accounting for tastes.” He let his eyes roam from the top of her head to her feet and back with appropriate stops on the way. “I couldn’t keep my mind on the game knowing something like you was waiting for me at home.”

She dimpled at the compliment. “Just for that, I’m going to let you buy me a drink.” She took a last drag at the cigarette, flipped it out into the water. She tucked her arm under his. “That is, if you’d like to?”

“Best offer I’ve had today. But that Piccadilly Bar is jammed. You can cut the smoke with a knife. How about having a drink of some of my private stock? I picked it up in Barbados.”

The redhead frowned slightly. “In your cabin?” She considered for a moment, shook her head. “You have no idea how these stewards gossip. I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to be seen going into your cabin.” She hesitated for a moment, turned the full power of the slanted eyes on him. “I don’t think there’d be quite as much talk if you were seen going into mine, though. Especially at this hour. And we did some shopping in Barbados, too.”

“You talked me into it.” He dropped his butt over the railing, let the redhead lead him toward the forward companionway.

The Keens had a cabin de luxe on the lower promenade deck. The redhead opened the door, led the way in. The sitting room was comfortably furnished with a sofa, a couple of small tables and some upholstered chairs. The entrance to the bedroom beyond was curtained.

Maurie Handel sat in one of the chairs, facing the door. He held a .45 in his hand that was aimed at a spot a few inches above Liddell’s belt buckle. Wordlessly, he waved Johnny in with the muzzle of the gun.

The redhead waited until Liddell was in the room, closed and bolted the door after him. She walked over to a table against the wall that held some liquor, made herself a drink, turned, leaned her hips against the edge of the table.

“Do you always greet your wife’s guests with a .45?” Liddell asked amiably. “I was invited in for a shot. I didn’t know it was going to be a shot in the head.”

“Very funny,” Handel conceded. “So the boys found out I was on this boat and they flew you down to look me over, to make sure it was the right guy, huh? But you got to report back to them before they’ll know whether or not it pays them to meet the boat. And maybe you won’t be in any condition to report.”

“You’re scaring me to death, Maurie,” Liddell said. “You know I never bird dogged a pigeon for a hit in my life. And I’m not going to start dirtying my hands with something like you.” He ignored the gun in the man’s hand, walked over to the table with the liquor. “How about that drink you promised me, doll?”

The redhead chewed at her lower lip, looked nervously from Liddell to her husband and back. “Is he right? Is that why you’re on board? To set him up for the organization?”

Liddell reached out, caught the scotch bottle by the neck, spilled some into a glass. He dropped some ice into it, swirled the liquor over the ice. “What do you think?” Handel was on his feet, the cords in his neck showing. “Turn around, Liddell. Unless you want to get it in the back.” There was a shrill note of desperation in the disbarred lawyer’s voice. “I didn’t get you in here so you could get cozy with my wife. I brought you here because if it’s either you or me, I intend to walk away from it.”

Liddell turned, studied the man’s face. There was a faint twitch under his left eye, a thin film of perspiration glistened on his upper lip. “You always do, don’t you, counselor?” He took a long swallow from the glass. “That why you’re so scared?”

“They’re not scaring me.” He hit his chest with the side of his hand. “They’re not scaring me even a little bit. So they sent you to make sure they got the right guy. So what? There are still four stops on this cruise and they can’t cover them all.”

Liddell finished the drink, set his glass down on the table. “You’re not scared? Then how come you’re shaking yourself apart?” He dropped his eye to the whitened knuckle on the trigger. “That why you killed Harry Landers? Because you found out he was a private eye and you figured he was sent to finger you?”

Maurie Handel’s jaw went slack, he stared at Liddell. “The guy who went over the side? That was an accident. He got washed over during a storm—”

The redhead dropped her glass. “He was a private detective?” She stared at Handel with stricken eyes. “Look, mister, I told you I’d stick with you through thick and thin. But if you’re mixed up in a murder, that scratches everything. Little Rita wants no part of a ride on the thunderbolt. A stool pigeon saving his skin I can stomach, but a killer, pardon me!”

As Handel started to blurt a denial, Liddell moved in. The disbarred lawyer tried to swing the gun back into firing position, Liddell caught him a crippling blow on the wrist with the side of his hand. Handel screamed his rage, tried to bring his knee up in Liddell’s groin. Johnny caught him under the arms, lifted him and threw him into the chair he had just vacated. The chair went over backward, spilled Handel onto the floor, a tangle of arms and legs.

Liddell walked over to where the gun lay on the floor, picked it up. He weighed it in the palm of his hand.

“Nice iron,” he grunted. He examined the serial number. “You could get in a lot of trouble carrying a piece like this.”

Handel was on his hands and knees, staring up at him. The carefully combed hair hung lankly over his face, beads of perspiration glistened at his hairline, along his jowls. ‘I’ve got a license for it.”

Liddell looked up, grinned bleakly. “So it’s registered in your name. Convenient, huh?”

Panic widened the lawyer’s eyes until the whites showed. “What do you mean?”

“If I was doing a job for the organization, look how nice and neat it would be. You got shot with your own gun and when they found out who you really were it would make a lot of sense that you did the Dutch because you were afraid the boys were catching up with you.”

“No, don’t, Liddell!” Handel crawled over to him on all fours, caught his leg. The perspiration was streaming down his face. “Give me a break, Liddell. You can have everything I’ve got. Money, her, anything. But don’t kill me. Don’t!”

The redhead stared at the man on his knees, loathing in her eyes. “You trying to use me to buy your own lousy life?” She walked over, put the flat of her foot against his shoulder, toppled him on his side. “I hope he does kill you. If you don’t die of fright first.”

Handel lay prone on the floor, sobbing. Liddell shook his head, stepped across the prostrate man, walked to a porthole. He threw the .45 out.

When he turned around, the redhead was staring at him with narrowed eyes, parted lips. “Then you weren’t sent here to set him up?” Her voice was low, sultry.

Liddell shook his head. “I had no idea he was on board. When I recognized him, I couldn’t care less. He called for the showdown, not me.”

The girl looked down to where her husband was cowering on the floor. “He made you a bargain, Liddell. We always keep our bargains, my husband and me.” She tossed the white sweater onto a chair, reached up and yanked at the zipper of her gown. The skin tight dress peeled away from her body, verified his guess that she wore little under it. Slowly she pushed it down over her hips, stepped out of it. On the floor, Handel groaned, shook his head. “Don’t, Rita. Don’t do it. I—I was only talking—”

The redhead ignored him, stared at Liddell, wet her gleaming lips with the pointed tip of a pink tongue. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic band of the wispy pants she wore, rolled them down. When she had kicked the panties aside, she straightened up.

Her legs were long, sensuously shaped. Full rounded thighs swelled into high-set hips, converged into the narrow waist he had admired earlier in the evening. Her breasts were full and high, their pink tips straining upward.

As she stood there, she raised her hands slowly from her sides, loosened her hair, let it cascade down over her shoulders.

“All right, Liddell. He’s being so generous. Be my guest.” The man on the floor moaned. “For God’s sake, no!”

“What’s the matter? It was okay when you thought it might save your hide.” She turned back to Liddell. “You get nervous with an audience or something?”

Liddell grinned at her. “It would be a pleasure under any other circumstances. But I’ll take a rain check on it this time.” He walked across the cabin, watched while the redhead hightailed it through the curtain into the bedroom section beyond. He looked back at the man on the floor. “Me, I’d rather face one of the organization’s guns than what you’ve got staring you in the face, Maurie.”

He unbolted the door, stepped out into the corridor, closed the cabin door behind him. He fumbled in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, stuck one in the comer of his mouth. From behind the closed door, he could hear the shrill voice of the redhead. He grinned glumly, shook his head and headed for the elevator to take him to the Piccadilly Bar on the deck above.

Fran Eldridge was whirling around the floor in the arms of the broad-shouldered crew cut type as Johnny Liddell walked into the Piccadilly. Her extreme décolletage served only to reveal the pitiful boniness of her back and upper chest. The mousy hair sticking out at wild angles, the protruding teeth, were wreathed in a smile of pure delight. Crew Cut was leading her through the intricacies of the dance with a far-away expression, and Liddell could almost hear the clicking of the meter, ticking off the time he was investing building up a rental fee.

Liddell was heading for the bar when he was waved down by Carson Eldridge from a rear table. He walked over, accepted an invitation to join his party.

“I’m sure you know Robin Lewis,” the white-haired man introduced the woman at his left.

“I’m one of her most loyal fans.” Liddell smiled.

“Which means one of two things—you either have a wonderful memory or you watch the late late shows.” The actress grinned.

“And you’ve probably read Lewis Herrick’s new book,” Eldridge introduced the other man at the table.

Lewis Herrick was thin, esthetic looking. His hair was a thick brown mane, brushed upward from his face, his eyes were heavy lidded, half closed. He eyed Liddell with no show of interest.

“Mr. Liddell just joined our cruise at Barbados. He’s in—” He managed to look blank. “What line did you say you were in, Liddell?”

Liddell smiled easily. “A little of this, a little of that. I keep my eyes open for an interesting situation and take a piece of the action.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Robin Lewis murmured. “Spend much time down here on the islands?”

“No. Matter of fact, I feel pretty much like a paleface among this crowd. I had expected to spend some time in Barbados lining up my deal, but it didn’t work out that way. I have some friends with the line operating the
Queen
so I pulled a few strings to have her pick me up.” He grinned ruefully. “I gather the captain didn’t approve of my using my connections.”

Herrick snorted. “Fussy little man.” He raked his long, thin fingers through the high pompadour. “Takes himself very seriously. It’s all pretty much of a bore. He doesn’t make a statement. He issues a pronunciamento.”

The actress laughed. Her smile lit up her face, seemed to erase the network of lines. “The ship’s captain’s a dear compared to that captain of industry we’ve got at the table.” She turned to Liddell. “We’ve heard the story of his climb to success in different versions at every meal since we sailed. I don’t know how much longer the captain’s going to put up with him monopolizing the conversation.”

“Name’s McDowell,” Eldridge told Liddell. “Big in Texas oil.”

“A bloody bore.” Herrick bobbed his head. He reached for his drink, lifted it to his lips. “Whole table’s pretty much of an intellectual wasteland other than Carson here and Robin. Weren’t for them, I’d be taking my meals in my cabin.”

The music had ended, the couples on the dance floor were wandering in the direction of their tables. Eldridge turned in his chair, watched with a frown while Crew Cut and Fran took their places at a table for two near the dance floor.

“Fran looks very lovely tonight,” Robin Lewis told him. “She seems to be enjoying herself with that boy.”

Eldridge shook his head. He looked up at the waiter who had materialized next to the table. “Same for us. You take a scotch, don’t you, Liddell?”

Liddell nodded, the waiter glided off.

“You’re a woman, Robin. What can I do with Fran?” The actress studied the animated face of the girl across the room, pursed her lips. “She seems to be doing all right.”

The white-haired man snorted. “I can’t go through life hiring escorts for her and I won’t have her hanging around my neck like an albatross. Is it too late to slap on a little polish and brighten her up a bit?”

“How old is Fran, Carson?” Robin wanted to know.

“Nineteen, almost twenty.” He shook his head. “I know it should have been done years ago instead of letting her grow up wearing jeans and breeding horses. I guess I’ve been too busy to pay any attention to the kid.” He looked over to where Fran was drinking in every word her escort said. “I’d like to try to make it up to her now if it isn’t too late.”