Josh Prescott, the Spanish Bay Hotel house detective, was preparing for his night's duty. He had showered, shaved and was now dressing. His mind had been continually thinking of this fantastic, glamorous nurse. He had been with dozens of girls, but none of them compared with her. They had a date this night. The thought of once more getting her into the shrubbery sent his blood pressure soaring.
As he adjusted his tie, his front door bell rang. Lepski barged in. 'Hi, Josh!'
'What do you want?' Prescott demanded. 'I'm getting ready to go on duty.'
'So what?' Lepski sat down. 'A Cuban woman who works at the hotel, Anita Certes. Mean anything to you?'
'Sure. She does the cleaning, part time. What about her?'
'You've read about this fink who shot to death the rent collector at Fish Road?'
Prescott nodded.
'Anita Certes is the killer's wife. I want to talk to her.'
'These goddam Cubans are always in trouble.'
'You're right. I'm always saying that. This woman works from eight to ten. Right?'
'Yeah.'
'So I come to the hotel and talk to her, huh?'
Prescott thought for a moment, then shook his head. 'She services the Warrentons' penthouse, Tom. My boss would go out of his skull if the penthouse wasn't serviced. Look, to handle this right, wait until she comes off duty. I'll fix it to have her in my office just after ten. Then you can talk to her.'
Lepski, knowing Dulac's power in the city, shrugged. 'Okay, Josh. I'll be in your office just before ten.'
'I'll have her for you,' Prescott promised.
The time now was 18.30. Lepski was hungry. Carroll had told him she was preparing a new dish, but had refused to tell him what it was. When Carroll wasn't spending hours on the telephone or going to coffee parties, yakking with her girl friends, she studied cook books. She was always finding some new complicated dish which invariably ended in disaster. Lepski lived in the hope that one day she would produce a meal that they could eat, instead of falling back on cold cuts from the refrigerator.
As he opened his front door, the fumes of burning assailed him and the sound of Carroll's cursing singed his ears. With what he hoped was a loving, understanding smile which, in fact, made him look like a man who had escaped from a horror movie, he walked into the smoke filled kitchen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anita and Fuentes waited more than three hours before Manuel returned to his vessel. Those three hours were the worst hours Fuentes had ever experienced. The cabin was stifling hot. He smoked continuously, moved restlessly, muttered to himself, and was always aware that this woman, sitting like a stone image, hated him.
From time to time, he glanced uneasily at her. She remained staring down at her clenched fists, her thick, black hair falling forward, half screening her face.
When he heard Manuel's thudding footfalls on the deck, he drew in a gasp of relief. Then, and only then, did Anita move. She lifted her head and stared at the cabin door, but her face was still like stone.
Manuel came in and shut the door. He went immediately to the table and sat down opposite Anita.
'Good news!' he said. Turning to where Fuentes was sitting up on the bunk, he went on, 'Get me a drink, my friend.'
Fuentes got a bottle of rum from a locker and poured a heavy shot into a glass.
'Anita, I regret being so long,' Manuel said. 'My friend at the hospital was busy. I had to wait.'
'Pedro?' Anita asked, huskily.
'Yes . . . Pedro.' Manuel took the glass from Fuentes and drank the raw rum, sighed, and put the glass on the table.
'Finally, I talked to my friend. I explained the situation. I asked him if Pedro could take a sea trip. He said if things were properly arranged, Pedro could come with us. Pedro is now sitting up. He is taking food, but things will have to be properly arranged.'
Fuentes sat on the bunk, rubbing his sweating face, knowing that Manuel was lying, but he was lying convincingly.
'What things?' Anita demanded.
'My friend tells me Pedro must be taken from the hospital to my boat in an ambulance. Once on board, you will be able to take care of him. There is no question of him being brought to the hotel. He must be spared the least exertion.'
Anita looked down at her clenched fists while she thought.
Fuentes felt sweat running down his face. This goddam bitch of a woman! he thought. She stands between me and a million dollars!
Manuel also watched Anita, thinking she held the key to five million dollars. Had he convinced her with his lies?
Anita looked up. 'Will the police let him come to the boat?' she asked.
'What else can they do? We have them by the short hairs,' Manuel said. 'It is foolproof. We will have Warrenton. We have two bombs. I will explain to Dulac that I can destroy his hotel from my boat if Pedro isn't put on board.'
She stared steadily at him. 'But can you do this?'
'Yes. The man who made the bombs owes me his life. He told me the bombs can be exploded by this device he has given me within a radius of two miles.'
Still, Anita continued to stare steadily at him. 'Show me this device.'
Manuel moved uneasily, but looking at her, seeing her hard stare, he got to his feet, went to a locker and took out a black box.
'This is the device,' he said. 'See: there are two buttons. I press the top one and the little bomb explodes. I press the bottom button and the big bomb explodes. I take this device with me.'
Anita stared at the black box which was the size of a packet of cigarettes. 'It will work?'
'Yes. It will work.'
She relaxed, and sitting back, she smiled at Manuel. 'Then Pedro and I will sail to Havana together sometime tonight?'
'Yes.'
She reached out her hand and put it on his. 'My good friend. It is truly said that you are a man of truth and a friend of my people. Thank you.'
The touch of her hand was like a searing hot iron, but Manuel managed not to flinch. Five million dollars! Who the hell wanted to be known as a man of truth when there was so much money to gain?
'So it is understood,' he said, moving his hands to scratch his beard. 'You open the doors, we kidnap the Warrentons, get the money, and you have Pedro.'
'It is understood,' Anita said, looking directly at him. 'I want a gun.'
'I have only two guns,' Manuel said, after a pause. 'One for me and the other for Fuentes. He and you will share the gun when you take it in turns to watch the Warrentons.'
Anita sat still. Under the cover of the table, her hand went to the handle of the knife, hidden by her black sweat shirt. She wouldn't need a gun if anything went wrong. A knife was silent. Her eyes shifted to Fuentes who was staring at her. This man she hated and distrusted.
'I know nothing about guns. Show me the gun I may have to use.'
Manuel went to a locker and took out a plastic sack. From it he produced a .38 revolver.
'There's nothing to it,' he said, handing the gun to Anita. 'It is not loaded. You hold the gun in both hands, aim and pull the trigger. It is important to hold the gun in both hands.'
Anita examined the gun thoughtfully while both men watched her, then she turned away, held the gun in both hands and pulled the trigger. The snap of the firing-pin made her start.
'Yes,' she said and handed the gun back to Manuel. 'I understand.'
Manuel put the gun back into the plastic sack and the sack into the locker.
'Let us eat,' he said. 'We may have to stay in the penthouse for two or three days. It is wise to eat.'
While he was preparing a meal of fish stew, Anita remained at the table, looking down at her hands. Fuentes got off the bunk and went to the doorway of the galley. He had had enough of Anita's brooding expression.
Manuel winked at him, then pressed his thick fingers to his lips, signalling to Fuentes not to talk.
The meal was eaten in silence. As Anita was washing the dishes, the telephone bell rang. Manuel picked up the receiver, grunted 'Torres,' then listened. Finally, he said, 'Thank you. You have done well. I take care of my friends,' and he hung up.
Fuentes could see that Manuel was now worried. His heavy featured face was set, and as he sat down at the table, he rubbed his bald, sweating head.
Anita came from the galley.
'Bad news,' Manuel said.
Anita stiffened, losing color. 'Pedro?'
'No. Don't I keep telling you Pedro is all right?' Manuel snapped. 'Don't keep thinking of him!'
'I have nothing else to think about except my husband. What is the bad news?'
'The cops have found out you are working at the hotel.'
Anita flinched, then sat down at the table. 'What will happen?'
'I don't know. Maybe the police will be waiting for you. They will question you. They will talk to your boss. It is a dangerous situation.'
Anita thought, while Manuel and Fuentes watched her, both men fearing that, after all, this great sum of money wouldn't materialize.
Anita looked up. Manuel marvelled at her calm expression. 'It will be all right,' she said. 'The hotel is short of staff. I am the only one who knows how to service the penthouse. For tonight, the hotel can't do without me. I am sure the questioning will come after I have done my work, and then it will be too late.' She got to her feet. 'I will go now. I am not afraid of the police. At exactly twelve thirty tonight, I will open the staff door. I give you my word.'
Manuel stared at her and relaxed. 'You are a fine, courageous woman,' he said. 'We will be there at exactly twelve thirty.'
'It is understood in a day or so, we will sail for Havana with Pedro?'
'It is understood,' Manuel said with a false smile.
Anita looked directly at him. 'I trust you,' she said. 'You take all the money. I only want Pedro.'
When she had gone, there was a long, uneasy silence, then Fuentes said, 'This woman frightens me. She is dangerous. She mustn't be given a gun.'
Manuel shook his head. 'There is no question of that.' He pulled from his hip pocket what looked like a black sausage. This object he laid on the table. 'I have thought deeply about this since I left you. Pedro is dying. There is no other solution. I regret it, but we must keep the cops out of this affair. Anita will expect me to threaten the hotel owner to persuade the mayor to release her husband. She will stand by me while I talk to Dulac. If I do this, Dulac will alert the police. This is something we must avoid. I am sure, without Pedro, we will get the money. That I am truly sure of, but Anita must be neutralized.'
He picked up the sausage shaped object. 'A little tap on her head with this and she will no longer be a problem. She won't be damaged. I know well how to strike with a sand-bag.'
He took from his pocket a roll of adhesive tape. 'As soon as she gets us into the penthouse, I will give her a little tap. We bind and gag her and take her out onto the terrace. Regretfully, there is no other way. When we get the money, we will release her. If she accepts the fact that Pedro is as good as dead and can't come with us, but she agrees to come with us, then I will give her some money. If she is stupid, then, regretfully, I will give her another tap and we leave her. By then, we will have the money and Warrenton as hostage. What can she do or the cops do? There is no other solution.'
Sweat began to run down Fuentes' face. He stared with alarm at the black sand-bag Manuel was holding. He thought of the time when he, Manuel and Warrenton, as hostage, would be on the boat, heading for Havana.
I know well how to strike with a sand-bag.
Was that going to happen to him, then the sharks?
Manuel was regarding him. 'What is in your mind, my friend?' he asked.
My friend? This man of non-truth calling me friend, Fuentes thought.
'I am thinking of the money,' he said, forcing a smile. 'I was thinking what it would mean to me to own a million dollars.'
'Yes,' Manuel said quietly, 'but first we must get the money. Isn't that right, my friend?'
Into Fuentes' sluggish mind came a thought. He would have a gun. He would never take his eyes off Manuel during the voyage to Havana. When they were approaching the harbor lights, he would shoot Manuel. He had enough experience with boats to bring the boat into the harbor. There would be five million dollars on board! He would then shoot Warrenton, dock the boat and disappear with this enormous ransom! This would have to be thought about, but there was time. Five million dollars!
His face lit up as he said, 'Yes, you are right. First, we must get the money.'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ed Haddon was sitting at the corner table at the seafood restaurant as Brady joined him. The maitre d' hovered.
'Have the curried prawns,' Haddon said. 'They're good.'
Brady said curried prawns were fine with him. Haddon ordered another dry martini for himself and a Scotch on the rocks for Brady.
As soon as the maitre d' had left them, Haddon looked inquiringly at Brady. 'What's the news?'
'We do the job tonight,' Brady said. 'It looks a cert. First, the safe, then the Warrentons' diamonds. So then what happens?'
'You have your end completely tied up?'
'I told you: it's a cert.'
'I have my end tied up too,' Haddon said. 'Lu, we're heading fast for the big deal.'
Two waiters arrived and served the curried prawns. Haddon could see by Brady's expression as he surveyed his plate, that further business talk would be so much waste of time. The two men ate in silence. Every now and then, Brady made a loud humming noise of appreciation. Finally, finished, he sat back, mopped his mouth with his napkin and smiled.
'That, Ed, was devilish good.'
'Can you now turn your greedy mind to business?' Haddon asked.
'Let's have the apple pie,' Brady said. 'I'm a sucker for apple pie.'
Haddon shrugged. He ordered two apple pies. While they waited, Brady picked his teeth and hummed under his breath. Haddon contained his impatience with an effort. It wasn't until coffee and brandy had been served that Brady became receptive.
'As I told you, I have my end tied up," Haddon said. 'I've talked to Kendrick. He'll handle the whole deal. Now that I know you'll do the job tonight, I'll alert him to have his fag at your chalet at two o'clock. You get the stuff and return to your chalet. Kendrick's fag will take the loot, and that's the end of your problem. Kendrick tells me he will stash the stuff away where no one will find it. When the heat dies down, he will sell the stuff. It may take a couple of months before we get the money, but no longer.'