1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts (13 page)

Bill whistled softly. We both knew that the Spanish Bay Hotel was the best, most expensive and most exclusive hotel on the east coast.

‘Does himself well. Are you going?’

‘I’m going,’ I said.

At a few minutes to five o’clock, I walked into the ornate lobby of the Spanish Bay Hotel.

There was the usual scene: old residents sitting, drinking tea and yakking. This was a place for only the rich. Two waiters moved around, pushing trolleys loaded with cream buns and fancy cakes. They were not short of customers.

She was waiting by the reception desk: tall, raven-black hair, green eyes: not a beauty, but so sensual, her vibes seemed to flick out of her like sparks. She was in white: a short coat and a beautifully tailored skirt. She looked a million dollars.

She lifted a hand with long, slender fingers and came towards me.

‘Mr. Wallace? I am Sandra. My other name doesn’t matter. I’m always known as Sandra.’

‘Hi, Sandra,’ I said, looking at her body. She had everything a man could desire. Big breasts, tiny waist, solid buttocks and long legs.

‘What’s all this about?’

‘Mr. Walinski wants to talk to you. Be careful with him, Mr. Wallace.’ She regarded me thoughtfully. ‘He’s not what he appears,’ then, turning, she led the way to the bank of elevators. We rode up to the sixth floor and walked down a long passage, then she paused at a door, inserted a key, then paused to look at me.

‘Be careful,’ she murmured, and opening the door, she stood aside and waved me into a big room with a vast terrace. It was all very deluxe.

I walked in.

‘Mr. Walinski, Mr. Wallace is here,’ Sandra said, raising her voice. ‘He’s on the terrace,’ she said to me.

So I walked across the big room and out onto the terrace that overlooked the beach, the palm trees, the bathers and the sea.

Joe Walinski was standing by the balcony rail. He turned and came towards me.

I was surprised. I was expecting to see a big, threatening thug of a man. Knowing that Walinski was a mafioso, knowing he was a blackmailer, I was thrown off balance by his appearance.

Smiling, was a short, thickset man who could be any one of the many big shot businessmen one sees down here on vacation. He was slightly overweight, balding, sun-tanned, immaculately dressed in a lightweight pale blue suit, a silk cream-coloured shirt, and some kind of club tie, his feet in Gucci slipons.

His round well-fed face was equipped with a short nose, a wide, almost lipless mouth and blue-grey eyes, set wide apart. He had a big dimple in his jutting chin. He oozed wealth and good humour.

‘Good of you to come, Mr. Wallace,’ he said, offering his hand.

I hesitated, then shook hands. He had a firm but not aggressive grip.

‘Let’s sit down. It looks as if we’re going to have more rain. This is the rainy season.’ He led the way to a table and chairs, covered with an awning, and waved me to one of the chairs.

We sat down, and I was aware he was sizing me up. Those blue-grey eyes were searching: eyes that never missed a thing.

‘Coffee, perhaps?’ he said. ‘It is a little early for a drink.’

‘Nothing, thank you.’

‘Perhaps tea?’

‘Nothing, thanks.’

He lifted his heavy shoulders.

‘Well then, let us talk. I am busy. You are busy. We mustn’t waste each other’s time.’

I waited.

He crossed one short leg over the other.

‘I want to tell you how sincerely sorry I am about Miss Suzy Long. I want you to believe that this devilish job was done without my knowledge. This was done by a man who happens to work for me. He was a mindless creature who would do anything for money. When I questioned him, he confessed he had received five thousand dollars to do this devilish job. He told me he had got the money from Hank Smedley who was acting for someone else. He didn’t know who. Under pressure, he said it was a private vendetta.’

I was listening. My mind switched back to the scene in the bank when Angela Thorsen had hissed at me:
I will make you sorry for this! God! You will be sorry!’
I saw again her frustrated expression. Was it she who had given Hank five thousand dollars to ruin Suzy’s face?

‘Mr. Wallace, you have settled accounts with Smedley. I have settled accounts with my man.’

Walinski paused and those grey-blue eyes suddenly became steel-blue eyes. ‘He is a thing of the past. I have an organisation that takes care of people like him: no fuss: finish. As for Smedley, I no longer employ him. If it will make you feel better, he too, can be a thing of the past. Would that please you?’

‘You mean you turn your thumb down and Hank will be dead?’ I said.

‘That’s crudely put, Mr. Wallace, but not to waste time, just tell me.’

‘Let him live.’

‘You have a forgiving nature, Mr. Wallace. If someone had done to my girl what those two did to yours, I wouldn’t be forgiving.’

‘Let him live,’ I said. ‘I will make his life a misery.’

He nodded.

‘I am sure you will.’

Sandra came out with a tray of coffee things, set the tray on the table, poured two cups of black coffee and then went away.

She was so electrifyingly sensual, I had to make a considerable effort not to turn in my chair and watch her cross the terrace.

I became aware Walinski was watching me.

‘She’s a useful girl,’ he said with his good-humoured smile. ‘Her father once worked for me. When he died, I took her on as my secretary. She is quite indispensable now.’

I said nothing.

He sipped his coffee. I didn’t touch mine.

‘Well now, Mr. Wallace, let us conclude this meeting,’ he said. ‘I hope you are satisfied. I want you to be satisfied. My man is no more. I leave Smedley’s future in your hands. Now, Mr. Wallace, I realise that by destroying Smedley’s club you took a quick revenge. However, when a bomb goes off in this tranquil city, it causes a ripple of fear among the rich who come here. I don’t want any more bombs. My business is with the rich. If they think there will be more bombs, they will go elsewhere, and that’s bad for my business. You are an intelligent man. You will understand what I am saying, but at the same time, you could be tempted to start more trouble. I ask you not to do that.’ He smiled. I was beginning to hate his wide, good-humoured smile. To me, it was like a rattlesnake smiling. ‘As you probably know, I am part of a vast organisation which operates in every country in the world.’

He finished his coffee and set down his cup.

‘So I advise you not to cause any more trouble in this city. But if you do, you will regret the impulse. Is that understood?’

I got to my feet.

‘I hear you, Mr. Walinski,’ and turning, I walked across the terrace and into the big living room.

Sandra was waiting and moved to the door.

She paused, her hand on the door handle and we looked at each other. No woman I had ever seen compared to her. She wasn’t a woman I could love as I had loved Suzy. She was apart from all other women I had known. Those green eyes were compelling: dangerous, fascinating eyes. Then there was her sensuality, her body, and the complete, cold confidence so few women have.

She opened the door, and as I moved by her she said in a whisper, ‘Tonight. Eleven o’clock. The Three Crab Restaurant.’

For a moment, I didn’t believe what she had said. I turned, but the door had shut in my face.

I returned to my apartment just after 18.00.

Bill was at my desk, still reading the Thorsen file. He left it reluctantly and joined me in a lounging chair with a stiff Scotch I made.

In detail, I told him of my interview with Walinski. He listened.

‘It seems to me, Bill, this wasn’t the Mafia, but a private vendetta job, carried out by Hank and Minsky for five thousand dollars. Minsky is buried somewhere where he won’t be found, so we don’t have to worry about him. Now, Hank. . .’

‘Yes, Hank,’ Bill said nodding.

‘We’re going to call on him, and we are going to find out who hired him to do this acid job. I can guess it was Angela Thorsen, but I want to know for sure. When he sings, and if it is Angela, then we go after her.’

Again Bill nodded.

‘How do we make a big ape like Hank sing?’

‘Can you put your hands on a blowtorch?’

Bill grinned.

‘Oh, sure. Yes, that’s a good idea. We burn him a little, then he sings.’

He brooded while he finished his drink.

‘How did Walinski strike you, Dirk?’

‘Dangerous: a snake. Not anyone to fool with.’ I went on to tell him about Sandra. He listened, popeyed.

‘You meeting her?’ he asked.

‘Why not? Know anything about the Three Crab?’

Bill was always a mine of information about restaurants and clubs.

‘On the waterfront. Good. Expensive. Next to Solly Joel’s joint. You know that?’

‘Right. OK, Bill, see what you can do about a blowtorch. I’ll talk to Hank on the telephone.’

‘The janitor is certain to have one.’ He left the apartment, and I went to a closet and dug out two pairs of handcuffs. I got my .38 from its box, checked it was loaded and dropped it into my pocket. Then I got the telephone book and looked up Hank’s number.

It took over a dozen rings before Hank snarled, ‘Who is it?’

‘Mr. Smedley?’ I made my voice sound tough and hard. ‘This is police headquarters.’

‘Oh, yeah? So what? You found that fucker who bombed out my joint?’

‘That’s what we want to talk to you about, Mr. Smedley, Just a few questions. We are sending two detectives around to your place. OK!’

‘Yeah. Hurry it up. I’ve got to go out in an hour,’ and he hung up.

Bill returned, carrying a blowtorch.

‘No problem. It’s new and works well,’ he said.

‘Right. Then let’s go.’

‘Look, Dirk, I want to take care of this ape. Will you give me the front seat?’

‘You’re just thirsting to see if your Sunday punch settles him.’

‘It will.’

We reached Seagrove Road in ten minutes.

We rode up to the top floor.

‘This is for me,’ Bill said.

I stood aside, leaning against the wall, gun in hand. I watched Bill as he thumbed the bell push.

There was a pause, then the door jerked open. Hank stood there. He was wearing tight-fitting jeans. The upper part of his body was naked. As he stood glaring down at Bill, I don’t think I’ve seen a finer built body of muscle apart from professional boxers.

‘You a cop?’ Hank snarled, then he stiffened. ‘I know you! Goddamn it! Get the hell out of here before I smear you!’

Bill said something in a low voice which Hank couldn’t hear. He did what Bill wanted him to do. He leaned forward, thrusting his ape-like face at Bill. He made a perfect target.

Bill’s fist, protected by his knuckle-duster, slammed against Hank’s jaw with a ‘thwack’ that made me wince.

Hank’s eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, and he went down like a poleaxed bull.

‘Spaghetti,’ Bill said contemptuously.

Together, we dragged the huge body into the living room. It took me only a few seconds to handcuff the thick wrists behind his muscular back, then handcuff his ankles together.

Bill shut and locked the front door. We paused to look around.

At one time, the living room was comfortable and well furnished, but now it was showing shabbiness and neglect. I went, gun in hand into the two bedrooms and the tiny kitchen, which was in a mess, and then checked out the bathroom, also messy. Hank was on his own.

‘OK, Bill, don’t let’s waste time on this jerk,’ I said. ‘Get some water and get him to the surface.’

Bill went into the kitchen, found a bucket, half filled it with water and sloshed the water in Hank’s unconscious face. He then pumped up the blowtorch and got it going. There was a hiss, and a blue-yellow flame came through the vent holes.

Hank stirred, opened his eyes, shook his head, moaned and closed his eyes. I kicked him solidly in the ribs, making him groan as he struggled to sit up. With my foot on his forehead, I slammed him back on the soaking wet carpet.

He snarled at me the way a jungle cat, trapped, will snarl at the hunter.

‘Who paid you five thousand to acid-job my girl?’ I demanded.

He wrestled with the handcuffs, but that got him nowhere. They were the kind that became tighter the more you wrestled.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he mumbled.

I looked at Bill.

‘Let him have a flick of heat,’ I said.

‘My pleasure,’ Bill said and ran the blue-yellow flame with a quick motion over Hank’s naked chest. Hank screamed. He seemed to fall to pieces. The snarl and the hate went. Now deep fear took over.

‘Don’t do it!’ he gasped. ‘OK, I’ll tell you. Just don’t do that again.’

‘Who?’ I demanded, squatting by his side.

‘Angie. Keep that flame away from me!’

‘Tell me!’

Bill moved forward and waved the hissing flame near Hank’s face. He squealed. Sweat poured off him.

‘Tell me!’ I shouted at him.

‘Angie came to me. She was crazy mad that you stopped her getting Terry’s money. Crazy mad! I’m telling you! She scared me! It was her idea about the acid. When she offered five big ones, I talked to Hula who arranges anything. So we did it. I didn’t mean for her to get killed. I swear I didn’t. I thought it would be a little bit of skin peeling. I swear I didn’t think she would run into the road and get smashed up by a truck. I swear it!’

I looked at him with loathing.

‘Did you get the money?’

‘Sure thing. When Angie says she’ll pay, she pays. I got half. Hula got the other half.’

‘Where’s Hula?’

‘I dunno. He had a call last night. He said he had to go out on business. He hasn’t come back.’

‘Did he say where he was going?’

‘I don’t ask Hula questions,’ Hank said, eyeing the blowtorch. ‘No one in their right skulls asks Hula questions. I dunno where he is.’

I could have told him, but decided not to.

‘OK, Hank, we’re making progress,’ I said. ‘Now Angie. She’s been paying you ten thousand a month, hasn’t she?’

He shook his head as Bill shifted the flame of the blowlamp.

‘Not to me. Look, this is how it works. Hula comes to me. He wants to use my club as a drop. He pays me five hundred a week to use my club. So, OK, I go along with that. He owns this pad. He lets me use it. I don’t know a thing. I swear it!’