1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts (15 page)

‘It’s in the book. One more thing, Sandra, do you know why Angela Thorsen is being blackmailed?’

‘No, I don’t. Minsky keeps the records. All J.W. is interested in is getting the money.’

‘You mean to tell me that J.W. has no idea of the names and the sins of the people from whom he gets a million and half each month?’

‘Why should he? He relies entirely on Minsky. He doesn’t want to bother with details. He’s running a big drug ring, and that keeps him busy. He leaves the blackmail racket to Minsky.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I must go. J.W. will be back soon.’ She regarded me.

‘I can rely on you, Dirk?’

‘You can.’

‘I have a charge account here. Give me five minutes,’ and she started to move to the door, then paused. ‘When you have found Minsky, don’t kill him.’ Her green eyes flashed, and again her face became as if carved out of stone.

‘That is going to be my pleasure,’ and with a wave of her hand, she left me.

When I left the Three Crab the time was pushing 01.00. There was nothing I could do until tomorrow morning. I drove home. Bill had already gone to bed, so I went to bed myself. I dozed fitfully, my mind busy with the facts Sandra had given me, but finally I slept.

Over a 10.00 brunch, I told Bill what I had learned.

Stirring his coffee, he looked questioningly at me.

‘So what now?’ he asked.

‘I am going to fix Minsky,’ I said. ‘Then I’m going to fix Angie. I want you to keep with Angie. I want to find out a lot more about her than I know now. Stick with her, Bill. Find out what she does. Where she goes. She just can’t stay in the little cottage. I want to know who she meets, who she contacts. OK?’

‘Sure, but what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to the Breakers condo to talk to the janitor. Maybe Minsky is holed up with Dolly. Whatever he’s doing, wherever, I’m concentrating on Minsky.’ I finished my coffee. ‘OK, Bill, you stick with Angie. See you tonight,’ and I left him to drive to the Breakers.

The time was now 11.00. I found the janitor in the basement, supporting himself on his broom handle and staring into space. His pig-like face brightened when he saw me.

‘Ah, you again,’ he said. ‘Did you find Zeigler?’

‘No. I’m looking for someone else. Have you seen a short, thickset man who wears a white coat and a broad-brimmed hat?’

He leaned more heavily on his broom handle.

‘I see a lot of people coming in and out of this dump.’

‘I’m not interested in a lot of people: a short, thickset man who wears a white coat and a broad-brimmed hat.’

‘Maybe,’ he said and stared at me for a long moment. ‘I could have seen him.’

I took out my wallet and produced a ten-dollar bill.

‘This help your memory?’

He snapped the bill out of my fingers, kissed it and put it in his dirty sweatshirt pocket.

‘Yeah. He’s Dolly’s pimp. Comes here from time to time. I guess he collects money from her.’ He moved the brush aimlessly in a sweeping movement. ‘I ain’t supposed to talk about people, living here, mister. They wouldn’t like it.’

‘They won’t know about it if you don’t tell them.’

He scratched his hairy arm.

‘I guess you’re right.’

‘Give me a description of this man.’

‘No, mister. He wouldn’t like that. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with him.’

I produced another ten-dollar bill, folded it and raised my eyebrows.

He stared at the bill.

‘That for me?’

‘Could be. I want a description of this man.’

He thought, then nodded.

‘Like you said. Short, tough looking. I only saw him twice, and that was enough. His face looked as if someone had trodden on it when he was a kid: flat nose, sloping forehead: a face that would scare anyone.’ Again he eyed the bill I was holding.

‘That
is
for me?’

‘His hair? Dark or blond?’

‘I wouldn’t know. He’s one of these freaks who shaves his head. I guess that’s why he wears a hat. He’s as bald as an egg.’

He continued to eye the bill I was holding.

‘Shaved off his eyebrows too.’

At last! I thought, I now had something to work on. I gave him the bill.

‘How often does he come here?’

The janitor shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t often have the time to be in the lobby. He was here last night. I was putting the trashcans out when I saw him come in. For all I know he could be still with his whore.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘See you later,’ and I left him.

I climbed the stairs to Dolly Gilbert’s apartment. I approached silently and cautiously.

Hanging on her door handle was a notice: DO NOT DISTURB.

I moved to the door, and with my ear pressed against the door panel, I listened. Faintly, I could hear voices: a man’s voice, then a woman’s voice. I guessed they were in the bedroom. I walked down the stairs, then out onto the street to where I had parked my car.

I got in the car, lit a cigarette and prepared myself for a long wait. I had nothing else to do, and I was used to waiting.

I waited for two long boring hours, then as my watch showed 13.40, I saw Dolly come out with a short, thickset man following her. Dolly was wearing a paper thin imitation leopard coat and head scarf. I scarcely looked at her. My attention was riveted on the man.

Wearing a black sports cap with a long peak, a black windcheater and white slacks, I had no doubt that this was Hula Minsky. His hairless, brutal face was frightening. His broad shoulders, short thick legs, gave him the appearance of a savage gorilla.

Looking at him, knowing he was responsible for Suzy’s death, I had to control myself not to pull out my gun and kill him.

He walked with Dolly a few yards, then stopped by a dark green Caddy, unlocked the driver’s door and slid under the wheel. He let Dolly in on the off-side.

I started my car engine, waited until he had pulled out, then moved after him. He drove onto the lower end of Ocean Boulevard, then turned down a side street and pulled up outside an Italian restaurant. The doorman came fast across the sidewalk to open the car door.

He saluted as Minsky got out. I drove slowly by. I watched in my driving mirror. Minsky and Dolly entered the restaurant.

I found parking at the end of the street and walked back on the other side of the street.

I came on a sandwich bar and entered. I sat on a stool by the counter where I had a good view of the restaurant opposite. I ate two beef and pickle sandwiches and then ordered coffee.

An hour later, and after I had had three more coffees, I saw Dolly come out and walk away, heading back to the Breakers. I paid my check, then wandered out into the street. Passing the Caddy, I made a note of its number plate, then walked to where I had parked my car. I got in and waited, watching my driving mirror.

I had a half-hour wait before Minsky appeared. With him was a tall, thin man wearing dark glasses. He had on an open neck shirt and jeans. His hair was long, reaching to his shoulders, He had on a black straw hat, pulled well down, screening his face.

The two men got in the Caddy. Minsky at the wheel, drove by me as I started my car engine. I waited until he reached the end of the street, then I drove after him.

At the end of the street, turning right, I came onto Seaview Avenue which was congested with traffic. No driver would give way to me, and after sitting, cursing, for over four minutes I realised I had lost Minksy. The lights changed and there was a break in the traffic. I drove onto Seaview Avenue, then cut to the Neptune Tavern. Spotting Al Barney, sitting on his bollard, nursing a can of beer, I parked right by him.

When he saw me, his fat face brightened. I slid out of my car.

‘This is a quickie, Al,’ I said, and stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into his dirty sweatshirt pocket. ‘A tall, thin man, long black hair, wears a black straw hat and sun goggles. Who is he?’

Barney flinched.

‘Poison. Keep clear of him, Mr. Wallace. Sol Harmas. He handles Walinski’s yacht.’

‘Where do I find him?’

Barney looked furtively to right and left.

‘You’re going to be the death of me, Mr. Wallace,’ he muttered. ‘He owns the last bungalow on the Seaview Avenue. When he’s not on the yacht, he’s there.’

‘Thanks, Al,’ I said, got back into my car and drove towards Seaview Avenue. I had a long wait before I got onto the avenue. Cars were crawling towards the beach: girls in bikinis, boys in swim trunks, all car radios blasting pop. I finally drove slowly with them to the far end of the avenue which gave onto sand, palm trees and the sea.

As I crawled by, I took a long look at the last bungalow before the beach took over.

The bungalow was more like a ranch house.

Maybe five bedrooms and a big living room.

It was protected by a high wire fence, and at the entrance gates two tough looking men in white drill, guns on their hips, stood, chewing gum.

I pulled into a parking bay and waited until the boys and girls ran screaming and yelling towards the sea.

When there was a lull, I drove back slowly, again passing Sol Harmas’ pad. This time, near the entrance to the place, I saw another man in white drill, leaning against a tree with a police dog at his feet.

I drove on, fairly certain that Hula Minsky was holed up in this heavily guarded place. To get at him, I thought, as I drove against the traffic, I would have to wait until he came out.

Finally, away from the traffic, I pulled up beside a call box and put a call through to the Spanish Bay Hotel. I asked to speak to Miss Sandra Willis.

‘A moment, sir,’ the girl said.

There was clicking, then Sandra came on the line.

‘Who is this, please?’

‘Can you talk?’ I said.

‘Quickly. He’s on the terrace.’

‘Can we meet?’

‘Six o’clock. The Three Crab.’ Then her voice hardened. ‘I am sorry, you have the wrong number,’ and she hung up.

I assumed Walinski had come into the room.

I returned to my car and did some thinking, then I drove to police headquarters.

I found Tom Lepski at his desk, scowling at a flimsy he was holding. Two other detectives were at their desks, hammering out reports.

‘Hi, Tom!’ I said and smiled at him. I pulled up a chair and sat, facing him. ‘Busy?’

He gave me his hard, cop stare.

‘Where were you last night around midnight?’

‘If you must know I was stuffing my gut with a girlfriend.’

‘Who? What’s her name?’

‘Come on, Tom,’ I said. ‘You know you can’t ask a question like that. Why do you want to know where I was?’

He snorted.

‘Just come in.’ He shook the flimsy. ‘Miami police report that they have fished the body of Hank Smedley out of the harbour. He’s been shot through the back of his head.’

I felt a wave of satisfaction run through me: one down, now two to go: Angela and Minsky.

I put on my surprised expression.

‘I wonder who did that?’

‘Anyone but you, huh?’

‘That’s correct,’ I said. ‘Well, that ape is no loss. I looked in for information, Tom. First, have you found anything further about the acid job?’

He looked away from me.

‘A dead-end. I’m sorry, Dirk. You know what we know, then nothing.’

‘Know anything about Sol Harmas?’

‘You mean who captains Joe Walinski’s yacht?’

‘That’s him.’

‘No record. What’s he to you?’

‘Tom, I’m not leaving this acid job alone. Suzy was my future wife. I’m collecting information, and when I have something concrete, I’ll come to you.’

He nodded.

‘Give us some evidence, and we’ll go into action.’

‘Harmas?’

‘Lives in style. Has guards. We have nothing to pin on him.’

‘Next question. What do you know about Hula Minsky?’

Lepski stiffened, staring at me.

‘What’s that bastard to do with you?’

‘I am certain he was the one who used the acid spray. The description fits him, and he let Smedley run his apartment. The two of them fixed Suzy.’

‘Proof?’ Lepski demanded, leaning forward.

‘Not yet, but I’ll get it, then you’ll get it.’

He shook his head.

‘Look, Dirk, you don’t know what you are walking into Minsky is really dangerous. I know how you feel about Suzy. You’re probably right that Minsky did the acid job. That’s his style, but he’s smart. You won’t pin anything on him. Why not forget it? Smedley is dead. So, OK, you are more or less even. Keep out of this for crissake.’

‘You do know that hundreds of citizens in this city are being blackmailed? Maybe you don’t know the take is over a million and a half a month.’

He gaped at me.

‘We know about the blackmail racket. As big as that? How do you know?’

‘I have informers, Tom, They talk to me when they wouldn’t talk to you. Now, listen. On the first of every month, the blackmail victims pay up. The big shots pay their money to Smedley. The small fry go to Walinski’s yacht around three in the morning. Their money is collected there. At that hour, the waterfront is deserted except for the two waterfront cops who are in Mafia pay. Get rid of those two, and replace them with two sharp cops with the authority to question anyone wanting to go aboard Walinski’s yacht. Could pay dividends, Tom.’

‘Smedley’s joint doesn’t now exist. So what?’

‘There’ll be a new drop. I’ll let you know where it is.’

Lepski took his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair, then replaced his hat.

‘I’ll have to talk to the chief.’

‘That’s what I want you to do. Let’s have some action. The first of the month—another seven days.’ I shoved back my chair and stood up.

Lepski stared at me.

‘Leave Minsky alone,’ he said. ‘He’s too big for you, and almost too big for us to handle.’ Lowering his voice, he went on, ‘There are many big shots in this city who would rather pay out than have their dirty lives exposed Remember that!’

‘As if I didn’t know. Tell me, Tom, are your people doing anything to crack this blackmail racket?’

‘A well-organised blackmail racket.’ Lepski said quietly, ‘is the hardest nut to crack. We do know Walinski handles it, but that doesn’t mean a thing. We need three or four victims to complain to us, and then, and only then, can we start some action. Suppose we strike lucky? Suppose we get three or four men to admit they have done something bad, and are being blackmailed? They won’t, of course, but if they did, they would be fished out of the harbour like Smedley before we could get them to court.’