Consider Yourself Dead

Two

Frost looked at his strap watch. The time was 01.15. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and yawned again. He should have gone to bed early the previous night, he told himself, instead of lying on the beach until midnight. He had another seven hours before Marvin relieved him. It had been a mistake to have eaten that excellent, but heavy meal of beef fillet cut in fine slices and done in some rich sauce. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk three bottles of beer.

The four colour TV monitors had a soporific effect. The pictures kept changing, showing various parts of the island, mostly dense foliage. A couple of times, he caught sight of a dog, but the rest was green and trees. He felt his head fall forward and he jerked himself upright.

If you want to keep this job, don’t go to sleep.

Well, he had been warned. Making an effort, he got to his feet and began to walk around the room. He told himself he had better not sit down again, but grimaced at the thought of pacing up and down for the next seven hours.

He paused and took in several deep breaths of the air-conditioned air. Then crossing over to the conditioner, he turned it fully on. The sudden blast of cold air cleared his head. He stood before the machine, breathing deeply, then with enough cold air in his lungs, he became alert.

Leaving the machine at maximum, he walked over to the gun rack and took down one of the automatic rifles. He checked the magazine. The rifle was ready for instant use. As he was balancing the weapon in his big hands, his sensitive ears, long trained in jungle fighting, picked up a faint sound.

He looked across the room at the door leading into the villa. He saw the door handle was turning.

Now fully alert, he moved swiftly and silently to one of the big lounging chairs, dropped on one knee, the rifle aimed at the door, his body half concealed by the chair.

The door edged open without sound.

‘Stay right where you are or you’ll get lead in your gut,’ Frost snarled in his cop voice.

There was a pause, then a voice said, ‘This is Mr. Amando.’

Frost grinned. Old Creepy had nearly caught him napping!

‘Push the door open and stay where you are,’ he snapped.

The door swung fully open. Standing in the doorway was a thin man of medium height, wearing a white tuxedo, a blood red bow tie and midnight blue trousers.

Frenzi Amando was nudging fifty years of age. He had a skull-like face, topped by thick sable-coloured hair. His parchment-like skin was tight over symmetrical features: high forehead, deepset black eyes, a long, pinched nose, an almost lipless mouth and an aggressive chin. Frost told himself he had never seen a more menacing character: something right out of a horror film.

Slowly, Frost lowered the rifle and stood up. If he wanted to keep this job, he reminded himself, he had to play the right cards.

‘Sorry about that, sir,’ he said. ‘But may I suggest you don’t creep up on me? I’m here to protect you and Miss Grandi.’

Amando regarded him for a long moment. His eyes reminded Frost of the eyes of a cobra: flat, glittering and deadly. Then he moved into the room.

‘You are Frost?’ The voice was soft with a hissing note.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You appear to be alert. That is what you are paid to be. In the future, you will not be so dramatic. Only I use this door, and no one else. Do you understand?’

Frost laid the rifle across the arms of the chair.

‘I react to sound, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trained that way. I will remember in the future if you wish to check on me, I won’t shoot.’

‘I found the last guard asleep.’

‘Then you have every right, sir, to check on me.’

Amando stared at Frost, his glittering black eyes suspicious.

‘You have been well recommended. This, of course, is your first guard duty.’ The thin lips curved into a sneering smile. ‘New brooms, as they say. Keep alert, Frost. From time to time, I will check, as I check on Marvin,’ and turning he left the room, shutting the door silently.

Frost blew out his cheeks. If this sonofabitch had crept in three minutes earlier, he would have caught him, napping. Picking up the rifle, he returned it to the rack. He was now fully awake.

So that was Old Creepy. He could now understand why Marvin had said Old Creepy spoilt the scene.

He lit a cigarette, dropped into the lounging chair and looked at the monitors. He watched a dog cock his leg against a tree.

He thought of the six nights ahead, sitting in this chair, staring at the monitors, not knowing if the door behind him would silently open, and he grimaced. Maybe he was not going to earn six hundred a week, and all found, as easily as he had thought.

After a while, he began to think of Marcia Goolden. He saw her again as she sat by his side in the dimly lit bar: blonde, grey-blue eyes, beautiful. See you in Paradise City. You and I could have fun together.

Had she meant it?

He got a hard on as his mind dwelt on her. He looked at his strap watch. The time was now 01.20.

She would be a night bird.

There was a telephone book on a shelf. It took him only a minute or so to find the number of the Spanish Bay hotel.

‘Give me reception,’ he said, when he had made contact.

After a moment’s delay, a smooth, quiet voice said, ‘Can I help you?’

‘Has Miss Goolden checked in yet?’ Frost asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Put me through.’

A pause, then the smooth quiet voice said, ‘Who is this, please?’

Frost hesitated. Would she remember him? He thought for a brief moment, then thinking, What have I to lose? he said, ‘Mike Frost.’

‘Will you hold a moment, Mr. Frost? Miss Goolden may have retired.’

Frost waited, aware he was breathing heavily, aware his hand, holding the telephone receiver, was clammy.

Then her low, sensual voice came on the line.

‘Hi, honey! So you arrived!’

Frost drew in a long, deep breath. From experience, he knew he had the green light.

‘Hi, baby! I’ve had you on my mind ever since we parted.’

She laughed.

‘I bet! Did you see Joe?’

‘I saw him. I’m home and dry, thanks to you. When do I see you, baby?’

‘Joe fixed something for you?’

‘He sure did. When do I see you to say thank you?’

She laughed.

‘How do you say thank you, Mike?’

‘Wait and see. Just give me the chance to see you. When?’

‘Man! You sound impatient! She laughed again. ‘I’m impatient too. Come here tomorrow at twelve midday. You know the time, you crazy man? I’m going to bed.’

‘I’ll share that bed with you in your dreams.’

She laughed and hung up.

Frost slowly replaced the telephone receiver. The prospects for tomorrow looked good.

He settled down in the lounging chair, lit a cigarette, and waited impatiently for the moment when Marvin walked in to relieve him.

The doorman of the Spanish Bay hotel, a coloured giant, resplendent in a pale blue tunic, white trousers and a black top hat, advanced with dignity as Frost slowed the T.R.7 to a standstill.

The doorman lifted his hat and regarded Frost with an inquiring lift of black eyebrows.

‘Shall I take the car, sir?’ he asked.

Then Frost saw Marcia Goolden coming down the hotel steps.

‘Just picking up a fare,’ he said, and got out of the car as Marcia joined him.

She looked sensational, Frost thought. She was wearing white slacks and a skimpy red halter that scarcely contained her heavy breasts. Her corn-coloured hair fell in silky waves around her deeply tanned shoulders.

‘Hi, Mike!’ she exclaimed as the doorman lifted his hat and bowed to her. ‘I’ll drive,’ and before Frost could stop her, she slid into the driving seat. ‘We’re going to a dump that’s not easy to find,’ she went on as Frost settled into the bucket seat beside her. She sent the car shooting down the hotel drive, braked as she reached the boulevard, then forced the car into the traffic. ‘This is terrific!’ she said. ‘I’m thrilled Joe has fixed you.’

‘Not without your influence.’

Marcia laughed.

‘You had trouble with that Spanish bitch? I’m not surprised.’ She weaved the car through the traffic, and once or twice Frost flinched. They escaped two collisions by the margin of a coat of paint. She waved gaily to the stunned-looking drivers as she sped on. ‘She’s Joe’s screw, but he’s so busy making money, she doesn’t get enough.’ She whipped the car off the highway and went storming along a dusty dirt road that abruptly opened on to a wide stretch of tarmac, fronting a long two-storey building, very lush, with dark blue and gold sun awnings. On the roof ran the legend: The Ace of Spades. There were tables dotted around under sun umbrellas, and immaculately dressed waiters in red coats, serving drinks. ‘This is my work shop,’ she said as she swung the car into a parking bay. ‘We can eat well here, then you can say thank you,’ and she regarded him with merry, laughing eyes.

As she led him into the restaurant, a fat, smiling Maître d’, bowed to her. His black eyes ran over Frost, then he gave him a little bow. With his right hand held high, he conducted them along the aisle between the tables. As Frost followed Marcia’s swinging hips, he glanced round. This was some joint, he thought. In the centre of the vast room there was a playing fountain, the cascade of water kept changing colours. In the big pool, containing the fountain, was a tiny island on which stood a grand piano. A thickset, coloured man played immaculate swing: gently and softly. Frost regarded the people at the tables: fat, thin, all bronzed, all in sun dress: women in bikinis or halters and slacks: the men, hairy chested, in shorts. Some of them raised languid hands, some holding fat cigars, as Marcia progressed towards a table away from the pool. She waved, twitched her hips, and reaching the table, she sat down in a blue and gold armchair. Frost, slightly dazed by the opulence of the room, dropped into a chair at her side.

The Maître d’ flicked his fingers and the wine waiter appeared.

What the hell is this going to cost me? Frost thought uneasily and mentally fingered his billfold.

‘Gin or whisky?’ Marcia asked him.

‘Whatever you have,’ Frost said.

‘Martini gin,’ Marcia said, smiling at the wine waiter. ‘The usual, Freddy.’

The wine waiter bowed and went away.

‘Relax, honey,’ Marcia said, laying a cool hand on Frost’s wrist. ‘I own this dump. Everything is for free.’

Frost gaped at her.

‘You own this place? You must be kidding!’

She giggled.

‘Fact... it’s a story. Let’s eat. I’m starving.’ She patted his wrist. ‘Let me order, honey. I check the menu every day. Okay?’

‘Go ahead. You really mean...’

The Maître d’ moved forward.

‘Gaston, we’ll have the prawn salad with the trimmings, the duck in that tricky brandy and cherry sauce and coffee.’ She looked at Frost. ‘Sounds right? You can have anything else if you don’t like duck.’

‘Sounds fine.’

The Maître d’ went away.

‘You really mean you own this place?’ Frost said, staring around.

She nodded, sipped her martini, then sat back.

‘It’s a story, honey. Three years ago, I worked Miami. I had a pad on the second floor in a quiet side street. I was doing all right, making around two grand a week. One night, a guy propositioned me.’ She laughed. ‘This guy was really kinky. He said he would be outside my complex every Sunday morning at nine o’clock. All he wanted me to do was to show myself at the window and wave him away. That’s all he wanted. For that, he left five hundred bucks in my mailbox. The longer I kept him waiting before I waved him away, the better he liked it. This went on for eighteen months. It used to half kill me, dragging myself out of bed at nine in the morning, but the bread was sweet. Then one day, he wasn’t there. You know, after all that time, I missed the freak. Then his attorney wrote, telling me his client had died and had left me this joint Now can you believe that?’

‘You mean this freak actually left you this setup in his will?’

Marcia nodded.

‘That’s what he did.’

Looking around the lush restaurant, envy gnawed at Frost.

‘There are times when I wish I’d been born a woman!’

Marcia laughed.

The prawns were served, and they began eating.

‘You... born a woman? Don’t kid yourself, honey. To be a successful career girl, you have to take a lot. Girls always get the shitty end of the stick.’ She grimaced. ‘Okay, I’ve been lucky, but I’ve earned my luck. I’m twenty-five. In another five years, I plan to retire. I own this place. I’m learning to run it. Then...’ She paused to heave a sigh. ‘No more freaks. No more filthy old men. No more being scared of a sick with a knife.’ She looked at him, her eyes serious. ‘Don’t ever wish you were born a girl.’

Frost thought about this, but he wasn’t convinced. To own a lush joint like this! Again envy gnawed at him.

‘Now tell me about your job,’ Marcia said.

Six hundred a week! he thought, and this hooker must earn thousands! He ate. The big prawns were succulent, but envy had dried his mouth.

The wine waiter poured a chilled Chablis, then moved away.

‘Well, it’s not much,’ Frost said. ‘I got myself a job guarding a wop’s daughter.’

‘A wop? Who?’

‘Carlo Grandi. He’s supposed to be a big shot in Italy. He’s scared his daughter will be snatched.’

‘Carlo Grandi?’ Her voice shot up a note. ‘A big shot? Honey! He is Italy’s Big Shot. You really mean Joe’s fixed you to work for Grandi?’

‘Yeah, but what’s so hot about that? Okay, Grandi has quite a place and he seems loaded, but the job’s only worth six hundred a week.’

Marcia conveyed a prawn to her mouth.

‘You have yourself a job, honey!’

‘You think so? Six a week? You must be making thousands.’

She regarded him thoughtfully.

‘What so wrong about six hundred a week?’

‘I’ve got ambitions.’ He continued to eat. Then after a pause, he went on, ‘I want to live like these slobs,’ and he waved a hand to take in the whole of the restaurant. ‘I want real money, not a crappy six hundred a week.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ She finished the prawn salad and leaned back in her chair. ‘But, honey, use your head. You have your foot in the door. You’ve started right. Tell me about the job. What do you do?’

Frost told her. He was still telling her when the duck was served.

‘Have you met Grandi’s daughter?’ Marcia asked as they began to eat.

‘Not yet. Marvin tells me she has hot pants.’ Frost grinned. ‘That’s something I could take care of for her.’

‘Not with Amando around.’

Startled, Frost stared at her.

‘You know about him?’

‘Honey, I know everyone around here. It’s my business. I have a date with that creep every first Saturday of the month.’ Marcia pulled a face. ‘There’s a cold fish: strictly an in and out job: nothing fancy: just letting off steam, but he pays.’

‘He’s right out of a horror film.’

‘You can say that again.’ She smiled at him. ‘How about Marvin, the other guard? Do you jell with him?’

Frost shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t know yet. It’s early days. From what I’ve seen of him he is a dedicated cop: a guy without ambition.’ He ate, then said, ‘This duck is fantastic.’

‘All the food here is fantastic.’ She paused to look directly at him. ‘Honey, you shouldn’t gripe. Sitting in a chair, just watching, getting well fed and well paid, isn’t something to gripe about, is it?’

‘I’ve got big ideas. I look around. You, and everyone around here, are loaded. Grandi! A goddam wop! It kills me to think a wop could have so much money.’

‘He worked for it, honey. I worked for what I’ve got. What you put in, you take out. If you want real money, begin to think what you can put in.’

Frost scowled.

‘You sound just like my jerk of a father. He was always yakking about putting in and taking out. He put in, sweating his stupid guts out fourteen hours a day, but he never took out.’ Frost clenched his fists as he thought back into the past. ‘My father! Now there was the original pea brain! Don’t feed me this crap about putting in and taking out. That’s strictly for the birds!’

The waiter came and removed the plates. Frost sat back and looked around the lush room. This was his scene! This must be his future background if he could only find the key to the fast buck. His mind floated around his ambitions: to own a villa like Grandi’s, to own a big motor cruiser, a Lamborghini, to snap his fingers to have a doll drop on her back, and to have big money to spend.

The coffee was served.

Frost was so wrapped up in his futile dream of wealth that he wasn’t aware that Marcia was studying him searchingly.

‘A nickel for your thoughts,’ she said.

Frost smiled crookedly.

‘This joint! All these slobs with money. What I wouldn’t do to be one of them!’

‘I told you, honey: this is the city of the fast buck,’ Marcia said. ‘You’ve only just arrived. Be patient.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘I have a call to make,’ and before he could get to his feet, she was already walking away, waving to people who waved languidly back.

The wine waiter appeared.

‘A cognac, sir?’

‘Go peddle your swill someplace else,’ Frost snarled. He felt so frustrated he had the urge to get away from this lush room with all these stinking rich around him, but he restrained himself. He had come here for one purpose: to get this blonde, sensational woman on a bed.

He was finishing his coffee when Marcia joined him.

‘Let’s go now and look at my etchings,’ she said, and looking up, Frost saw the hot desire in her grey-green eyes.

As he pushed back his chair, feeling a wave of lust run through him, he wasn’t to know the intimate corner table at which they had sat was bugged and every word of their conversation was now on tape.

Their explosive union was over.

Frost lay on the king size bed, staring up at his reflection in the mirror that covered the ceiling. This was an angle of his body he had never seen before, and he felt a male pride in his muscles, his tanned lean body, the length of his legs and his handsomeness. In the past, he had had countless women, but, apart from a coloured air hostess who he still remembered with awe, he couldn’t recall any other woman being so technically expert and as satisfying as Marcia.

She was, of course, a pro. She knew all the tricks, but unless he was kidding himself, he thought he had really turned her on. But had he? Being cynical, and always suspicious of women, he reminded himself she just might have been putting on an act.

He listened to the sound of the shower in the bathroom across the room, then he looked at his strap watch. The time was 16.15. He still had some hours before he reported for another night’s stint at the Grandi villa.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked around the big room that was immediately above the restaurant. He thought die room must be soundproofed as he heard no sound from below. To his right was a big window that overlooked the swimming pool and the colourful garden. Marcia had told him the window was of one-way glass. He could stand naked before it, looking out, and no one below could see him.

The big room reeked of wealth. The white lamb’s-wool carpet, the almost silent air conditioner, the mirrors, wall-to-wall, and on the ceiling, the elaborate cocktail bar, the soft swing music coming from concealed speakers, and the rest of the trappings created a de luxe nest for men who could afford to pay the money Frost longed to have.

Marcia came from the bathroom. She was naked. Frost felt a little catch at his throat. She was really something to look at, he thought, and lust stirred in him as he sat up and swung his feet to the carpet.

‘Honey, you must go now,’ Marcia said, slipping into frilly panties. ‘I have to get back to work.’

‘Okay.’ Frost stood up.

She was now in slacks and a T-shirt. As she ran a comb through her silky blonde hair, she said, ‘Go down to the pool, Mike. I want you to have a ball here.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m going to see a lot of you, honey.’ She reached in her handbag, then taking out what looked like a credit card, she came over to him. ‘Take this, honey.’

Frost took the card and regarded it suspiciously.

‘What’s this?’

‘You flash it around honey, and everything here is for free. It’s a member’s card, only you don’t get a check.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Frost demanded aggressively. ‘I pay my way,’ but he held on to the card, staring at it, seeing his name printed on it.

‘It’s a tax deductible gimmick,’ Marcia explained. ‘You’re not the only one. How else do you imagine we can run a place on this scale? Take it, and don’t get on your high horse. I do something for you, you do something for me,’ and her hand went down on his crotch for a brief moment, then she moved away, smiling at him.

Frost grinned at her. He again stared at the card.

‘You really mean this card takes care of the check?’

‘That’s what I said. Get dressed, Mike, and get the hell out of here!’ There was now a snap in her voice. ‘Go down and have a ball. I’ve got work to do!’

‘Yeah... sure.’ He scrambled into his clothes. ‘You mean I can go down there and act like one of those slobs?’

She laughed.

‘That’s what I mean. See you tomorrow. We’ll have a repeat performance. Same time at the Spanish Bay. Okay?’

Frost grabbed her and kissed her.

‘You bet it’s okay.’

He walked down the stairs, leading to the vast terrace and the pool, clutching the credit card she had given him.

Marcia watched him go, then she shut the door and turned the key. She leaned against the door and drew in a long, deep breath.

One of the narrow mirrors on the wall, facing her, suddenly slid aside, and a man moved into the room. This man was Marcia’s uncle: the only man she really feared. His name was Lu Silk. By profession he was a killer, hiring himself out to the highest bidder. Providing you had the right introduction, and you were rich enough, anyone who was putting pressure on you, was being a continual nuisance, who was fooling around with your wife or your girlfriend was quickly dead after you contacted Silk. Silk was a professional. His killings never came back to him.

He had a sinister appearance: hatchet-faced, with a glass right eye and a white scar running down his left cheek. It was the glass eye that terrified Marcia. When he spoke to her, she found herself staring with horror at the glass eye and never at his live one.

Silk was around forty-six years of age, tall, thin and dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. His grey-black hair was slightly receding. Around his sinewy left wrist was a heavy gold bracelet: around his right wrist was a black-faced quartz watch.

For the past two years, Silk had worked exclusively for Herman Radnitz who was perhaps the most evil and powerful force behind the world’s political scene. Silk was on a retaining salary of four thousand dollars a month. At a moment’s notice, he had to make himself available to wipe out a nuisance who was bothering Radnitz. When the killing had been expertly accomplished, a large sum of money was paid into Silk’s Swiss banking account. This arrangement had suited Silk well enough, but for the past two months, he had been idle. Radnitz was in Peking, and was then moving to Delhi. He had told Silk to take a vacation.

This vacation of unknown duration worried Silk. He was a high spender, and a compulsive, unlucky gambler. For some time now, he had been thinking of ways and means to break away from Radnitz. He was getting the impression that Radnitz was going to use his killing talents less and less. It was time, Silk told himself, to make provision for his future.

He had an arrangement with Marcia that, when she entertained a client for lunch or dinner, a tape recording of the conversation should be made available to him. Over the past week the various conversations he had listened to had given him food for thought. Several possibilities had alerted his active mind: a chance for blackmail, a chance to make a quick profit on the stock market, a chance for extortion, but, after thought, he had decided the risk involved didn’t justify the gain. Sooner or later, he told himself, something important would turn up. He aimed for the Big One that would put him on the gravy train for the rest of his days: nothing but the Big One would satisfy him.

When listening to the conversation between Marcia and Frost, he thumped his fist into his palm. Here, at last, he thought, could be the Big One.

Ever since Carlo Grandi had rented the island villa on Paradise Largo, Silk, knowing this villa had been rented as a sanctuary for Grandi’s daughter, had considered the possibilities of kidnapping the girl. The ransom, he knew, would be enormous. He was sure Grandi would pay at least twenty million dollars to get his daughter back.

Urged on by the thought of owning so many millions, Silk had discussed the possibilities with two men who worked with him, and who were also on Radnitz’s payroll.

These two men, Mitch Goble and Ross Umney, were experts at setting up an operation. Silk had told them to take a long look at Grandi’s place, and to estimate the chances of snatching the girl.

After a few days, they came to Silk and told him to forget the idea. No one, they said, was going to snatch Grandi’s daughter, not, at least, as the present setup stood. They explained about the security of the island, the dogs, and particularly about Marvin.

‘If this fink could be approached,’ Goble said, ‘there’s a good chance, but no way. Marvin can’t be bought. I’ve gone into his background in depth. He’s one hundred percent straight ex-cop, and no one, repeat no one, will bend him. No dice, Lu, skip the idea.’

So regretfully, Silk had put the idea out of his mind. When Goble said there was no way, he meant just that. Silk had learned to trust Goble’s judgment. A couple of times in the past he had brushed Goble’s advice aside, and each time, he had nearly run into disaster. Now, he knew better.

So okay, he thought regretfully, Grandi’s daughter stays safe.

But listening to the conversation between Marcia and Frost, he realised that the chance to pick up around twenty million dollars was no longer a pipe dream.

When Marcia had excused herself to Frost to make a telephone call, she had contacted Silk. He had told her to give Frost the V.I.P. treatment.

‘Sink your hooks into this guy,’ Silk had said. ‘I need him.’

As Silk moved into the room, Marcia gave him a scared, hesitant smile.

‘Was it okay?’ she asked.

‘Okay, so far,’ Silk said. ‘Get this into your head, chick, we need this guy, so keep him hot. I’ll handle the rest of the scene. Your job is to keep him hot.’

Marcia nodded. When Silk gave instructions, she always obeyed.

‘You’re a smart chick,’ Silk said as he sat on the arm of a chair. ‘You’re asking yourself why we need this guy. I’ll spell it out to you. In a few months this joint is going to fold. You don’t understand figures, but I do. Your overheads are far too high. That black boy playing the piano is fine, but he eats your profits. Your wage bill is also eating into your profits. I looked at your balance sheet for last month. You’re already in the red. Did you look at it?’

‘Charlie showed it to me. I thought next month...’

‘There could be no next month. Do you want to keep this joint?’

Marcia’s eyes opened wide.

‘Keep it? It’s my future!’

‘What it now needs is a big shot in the arm, and Frost can give it, and he can give it to me too, so keep him hot.’

‘How can he? He’s worth nothing.’

‘You keep him hot. I’ll handle the rest of the scene.’ He stared at her, his glass eye glittering in the sunlight, then he reached for the telephone.

‘Give me Mr. Umney,’ he told the operator on the club switchboard.

‘Yes, sir.’

He waited.

Then Umney came on the line.

‘Hi, there, Lu!’

Silk began to talk.

‘Hi, there, Mr. Frost!’

Frost, who had been standing in the shade, watching the clients disporting themselves in the vast swimming pool, looked around.

A heavily built, jovial looking man had come up to him. His fleshy face, with a wide, friendly smile, exuded charm. Tall, muscular, around thirty-six years of age, dark and sun-tanned, wearing only white slacks, Ross Umney conveyed a bonhomie that was slightly overpowering.

It was said of Umney, and with reason, that he could charm a rat out of its hole, a lollypop from a child, a big chunk of money from a shrewd businessman, and even the platinum dental plate from a dowager.

Umney was considered by the Paradise City’s criminal fraternity as the best con man in the game. Behind his jovial, smiling face and his charm lurked a ruthless, vicious mind intent only on conning some sucker out of his/her money.

Silk, who was top of his profession as a hired killer, regarded Umney as a big asset. Without Umney to set up an operation, Silk’s various assignments would have been next to impossible.

Umney had a remarkable ability to finger closely guarded, near inaccessible men whom Radnitz wanted out of the way. Umney was able to gather essential data without creating suspicion, and this data he passed on to Mitch Goble who was Silk’s technical expert. Goble in his turn, would assess the data, then pass judgment. If he gave the green light, Silk would then, and only then, move into action.

Umney had been relaxing in his air-conditioned room, above the kitchens of the restaurant, when Silk’s telephone call came through. He listened to what Silk had to say, then said, ‘Can do — will do,’ and he went in search of Frost. Finding him, Umney switched on his charm.

‘Hi, there, Mr. Frost!’

As he offered his hand, Umney regarded Frost, thinking: ‘This cookie is no push over. Softly, softly. He will need handling.’

Puzzled, and a little suspicious, Frost shook the extended hand.

‘I’m Ross Umney,’ Umney went on, exuding charm. ‘I’m the official host around here. My job is to keep everyone happy. Marcia told me to take care of you... this is my pleasure. You know something, Mr. Frost?’ He paused and beamed, then went on, ‘Or may I call you Mike?’

Still suspicious, but relaxing to Umney’s charm, Frost nodded.

‘Fine... Mike. As I was saying, when Marcia gives one of her special friends the V.I.P. treatment, I give him the V.I.P. treatment or else...’ He laughed. ‘That’s my job. What can I do for you? You name it, you’ll get it. How about a swim in the pool? There’s a boutique here to fit you out. Do you want company? We have a load of hostesses. They are all willing, and you can take your pick. Would you dig our massage parlour? We have two Jap babes who really know their business. We have a movie here. You say the word, and I can fix it for a private show. Our movies are so hot we have to use an asbestos screen.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe you like fishing? We have a trout pool. Maybe you like golf? We have a driving range. We have a car shuttle service down to the sea. Maybe you’d like to take one of our babes for a fast ride in a speedboat? Water skiing? Skin diving? You name it, Mike, you get it.’

While Frost was staring at this smiling, jovial man, unable to believe that he was being offered all these trappings of the rich, a short, fat man came up.

‘How about my boat, Ross?’ he demanded, a peevish frown on his face. ‘You said you’d fix it.’

‘Hi, there, Mr. Bernstein. It’s all fixed. Did you ask at the desk?’

‘Didn’t know I had to. Where the hell is the car?’

Umney pointed.

‘The green Caddy, Mr. Bernstein. Joe’s waiting... no problem.’

The fat man grunted and walked off.

Umney sighed, smiling at Frost.

‘That’s Bernstein. He’s worth millions. You know, Mike, this is a hell of a job. None of these rich creeps is ever satisfied. Now... you... what can I fix for you?’

None of the suggestions Umney had offered appealed to Frost. Some other time, he might give the massage parlour a twirl. He had heard of Jap girls, but Marcia had so drained him, any form of exercise was strictly out.

‘Nothing right now, Ross,’ he said. ‘Thanks all the same. I guess I’ll get moving... some other time, huh?’

Umney looked alarmed.

‘Hey! You can’t walk out on us, Mike! Marcia would have my balls.’ He laughed. ‘Are you interested in shooting?’

Frost regarded him.

‘That’s one thing I’m tops at... why?’

‘Excuse me for asking, but are you really good?’

‘That’s what I said. Why?’

‘We have a guy here who thinks he’s a male Annie Oakley,’ Umney said. ‘He drives me nuts. He’s offering a thousand bucks to anyone who can outshoot him with a .38 at twenty yards. I can’t find any takers. Do you think you could take a grand off him?’

Frost hesitated. He had been the best shot with a handgun and a rifle while in the Army, but that had been some time ago. A thousand bucks?

‘Who’s this guy?’

‘A club member. He practically lives in the shooting range. I could fix up a match right now. If you’re as good as you say, it’d be an easy way of picking up a grand.’

‘And an easy way of losing it,’ Frost said cautiously. ‘What age guy is he?’

‘He’s an oldie... around fifty, and he has only one eye.’

‘Fifty and one eye?’ Frost grinned. ‘Sure, I’ll take him on.’

‘Here’s what we do, Mike. We wouldn’t want you to lose a grand. You’ll be doing us a favour by taking him on. You beat him and the grand is yours. He beats you and we pick up the tab... what do you say?’

Frost grinned again.

‘What have I to lose?’

‘Let’s go down to the range. He’ll be there right now.’

They found Lu Silk in the well-equipped basement shooting range, talking to Moses, the coloured attendant, who kept the range clean, changed the targets and acted as scorer when there was a shooting match on. There were no other sportsmen. Silk had had the range closed to other clients. He wanted Frost on his own.

Umney made introductions, and Silk offered what seemed a flabby hand which Frost shook.

Among Silk’s many talents was the ability to convey the impression that he was a little feeble, and edging into premature senility. Frost regarded him searchingly, and was completely taken in by Silk’s act. He decided this was going to be a pushover, and, he began to wonder what he would do with the thousand dollars he was going to pick up.

Umney was saying, ‘Mike’s a good shot, Mr. Silk. He would like a match.’

Silk nodded, then looking at Frost, he said, ‘Have you got a thousand, sonny? I don’t take on a match with a piker.’

Frost bristled.

‘Are you calling me a piker?’ he snarled, his face flushing.

Silk appeared to shrink a little.

‘Forget it... just so long as you have the money.’

‘I’ve got the money,’ Frost snapped, ‘and another thing... don’t call me ‘sonny’, or I’ll start calling you grandpa... right?’

Umney said hastily, ‘Now, gentlemen...’

Silk retreated a step.

‘Sure... sure, Mr. Frost. Forget it... suppose we start shooting?’

Moses came over with a long leather case containing six .38 police specials.

‘Take your pick, Mr. Frost,’ Silk said. ‘I have my own gun.’

Frost took his time. He examined each of the six guns. Finally he selected one of them that sat well in his hand.

Moses ambled down the range and set up two targets.

‘We toss for the first shot... best out of five,’ Silk said, and promptly won the toss. This suited Frost. He wanted to judge just how good this one eyed fink thought he was.

Silk took up his position. Watching, Frost decided he had an old-fashioned stance. His feet were spread wide and he extended his shooting arm, the gun pointing like a finger. His left hand hung by his side. Strictly for the birds, Frost thought.

The gun exploded into sound.

Moses peered, then pressing a button signalled ‘Outer 25.’

Silk muttered under his breath and then stepped aside. Grinning, Frost swung up his gun, holding it in both hands, right leg forward, a perfect balance. He fired.

Moses signalled ‘Inner 50.’

Should have been a bull, Frost thought. The gun throws to the left.

Silk fired.

‘Inner 50.’

Frost aimed a trifle to the right.

‘Bull 100.’

They shot three more times. Silk failed to score a bull. Frost scored a bull, an outer and an inner.

Moses computed the scores. Frost 340. Silk 225.

His hatchet face expressionless, Silk took out his wallet and produced two five hundred dollar bills.

‘You’re quite a shot, Mr. Frost,’ he said, then as he was about to give the bills to Frost, he paused. ‘Suppose we try again? Five thousand evens. Give us both an incentive, huh?’

Frost hesitated.

Silk went on, ‘I’m getting to be an old man. I need a leak. I’ll be right back,’ and he walked away to the toilets.

Frost grinned. This was taking a dummy out of a baby’s mouth. Now he had the feel of the gun, he was sure there would be no problem.

Umney said, ‘Don’t risk it, Mike. You’ve won your grand. Forget it.’

‘This guy isn’t with the scene,’ Frost said. ‘Of course, I’ll take him.’

‘Look Mike, you’ll be on your own. If he beats you, I can’t ask Marcia to finance you for five grand. Forget it.’

‘I can’t lose, Ross. I’ve already taken a grand off him. I’d be out of my mind not to take five more off him. I’ve got this fink taped.’

‘Okay,’ Umney said. ‘You have a point.’

Somewhere in the range, a telephone bell rang. Moses ambled away, and while Umney was lighting a cigarette, Moses called, ‘You’re wanted upstairs, boss. Mr. Seigler.’

‘I’ll be right back,’ Umney said. ‘Good shooting.’

As he hurried to the elevator, Silk came from the toilets.

‘Well, Mr. Frost, do we have a match?’

Frost nodded.

‘Five evens?’

‘Sure.’

‘Sure.’

While they were talking, Moses was cleaning the guns and loading them.

‘Where did you learn to shoot?’ Silk asked.

‘The Army.’

‘Fine training.’ He accepted his gun from Moses. ‘You have the first honour. Suppose you have your five shots? I’ll follow you... right?’

‘Sure.’ Frost took the gun, balanced it in his hand and waited for Moses to put up two new targets. When he got the green light, he steadied himself. Five thousand! A dummy from a baby! He took his time, aimed fired, aimed fired, paused, then fired three more times. Then he stood back. He heard Moses whistle, then the figures came up on the board: 452.

Beat that, you old fink, Frost thought. The five thousand was as good as in his pocket.

Silk wandered up, the gun slack in his hand.

‘Damn good shooting, Mr. Frost. Well... let’s see what grandpa can do.’ Suddenly, his thin body seemed to come alive, his feet spread, his arm came up and five shots hammered out: bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!

Frost gaped. This old fink must be out of his mind! He hadn’t even taken aim. He wouldn’t be even near the target at that speed.

Then as figures appeared on the board he saw 500, a chill ran down his spine.

‘Let Mr. Frost see my target,’ Silk said.

Moses came running up, grinning and thrust the target into Frost’s hand. The bull had been completely cut away. He stood staring at the target. He had been conned! He had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the world, and he was in the hole for four thousand dollars!

‘That’s shooting too, Mr. Frost,’ Silk said with a wintery smile. ‘No immediate rush. I’ll keep the grand I owe you and you give a cheque to Mr. Umney for four thousand. He’ll give it to me.’ He walked over to the elevator, leaving Frost alone with Moses who continued to grin.

‘That Mr. Silk sure is a big conner, boss,’ he said. ‘He sure makes a lot of bread down here.’

Frost stared sightlessly at the negro, then dropping the target, he walked slowly over to the elevator and stood waiting until the engaged signal flashed off.