Hit Them Where it Hurts

Six

It was just after 23.00 when I rang on my front-door bell. There was a delay as Bill regarded me through the spy-hole, then he opened up.

‘No problems, Bill?’ I asked, as he relocked the front door.

‘I’ve settled in.’ He moved into the living room. On the table was the Thorsen file. ‘I’ve been going over this, Dirk, over and over, because pretty soon we’ve got to squeeze something out of it. Something or somebody’s got to give.’

I sank into an easy chair.

‘Let me shoot off my mouth, Bill,’ I said, then went on to tell him about my talk with Josh Smedley.

‘The Mafia are active,’ I concluded. ‘Well, OK. We expected this. They’ve put the fear of God into Mrs Thorsen. No news of Terry.’ I paused to light a cigarette. ‘Now, Hank. I intend to make his life a misery.’ I went on to tell Bill about the bomb. ‘It’ll wreck the club. I am going to wreck his car. I want him to feel life is on top of him. Then I’m going to wreck his home. Now, Bill, the big point is I don’t want Hank to get the idea that it is me after him. If he does, he’ll run to his Mafia pals and scream for protection, and we could be in trouble.’

I got to my feet and went into the kitchen. I found a small piece of cardboard. On it I wrote with a felt pen the following:

I returned to the living room and showed Bill the notice.

‘This will be tacked on the door of the club. It should divert Hank’s thinking that it is me after him. I’ll do the same with the car. This way we’ll gain some breathing-space.’

‘I see that,’ Bill said, nodding.

‘Of course, sooner or later, the Mafia thugs will realise it is me hitting them, and then they’ll hit back. We have to be ready for that. So once we really get started, we must go underground. I know a place where we can live. It’ll mean leaving here. OK with you Bill?’

‘If you say so, it’s fine with me.’

I got to my feet.

‘I’m going to bed. You keep out of this bomb job, Bill. I’m doing this on my own.’

‘Not a chance,’ Bill said. ‘Where you go, I go too. OK, let’s go to bed.’

‘I don’t want you. This is a one-man job.’

‘Two men are always better than one,’ Bill said and went off to his bedroom.

I had a quick shower, then got into bed. I put my hand on the empty pillow where Suzy’s lovely head so often rested. I thought of her getting acid sprayed in her face, her awful pain and rushing into the street where that truck smashed her to pieces. I didn’t sleep that night. I lay and thought of those times we had had together, how she had done so much for me, added so much richness to my life.

It wasn’t until the sun began to come through the rain-cloudy sky, that I finally fell asleep, but only for an hour. I dreamed of Hank, this massive ape of a man, and I woke up, sweating, and seeing the time, I got up, shaved, showered and dressed.

Bill was already up. He had coffee on the table and rounds of toast and jam. We sat opposite each other.

We ate in silence for several minutes, then he said, ‘OK, Dirk, when you have fixed Hank, what’s the next move?’

I shook my head.

‘I don’t know. I’ve got this slob on my mind, and I can’t think of anything else.’

‘I can understand that,’ he said, ‘but isn’t there something I can do?’

‘God knows!’ I said impatiently. ‘You joined me. You’ll have to put up with me!’

Bill finished his coffee.

‘OK. So I’ll go out and take a look at the scene. Let’s have lunch here. What are you going to do?’

‘I’ll be waiting for tonight,’ I said, shoving my coffee cup away from me. ‘You do what you like.’

‘Can I take the car?’

‘Oh, sure. I’ll be here. I have nothing to do, but to wait until that dump of his closes at 3 a.m.’

‘Try and take it easy, Dirk.’ Then getting to his feet, he left the apartment.

I took time washing the coffee cups and clearing the table. I moved like a zombie. I was like a man with an inflamed, festering boil that had to be lanced. The boil was Hank Smedley. I sat in the living room, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and thinking always of Suzy. The hours dragged. It wasn’t until 13.00 that Bill returned.

‘I’ve got two steaks,’ he said, and went into the kitchen.

Food didn’t interest me. I heard the grill sizzling. I lit another cigarette.

Bill came in, laid the table and dished up the steaks. We ate them with coarse brown bread. I played with my food. My mind was too obsessed with Suzy and Hank.

‘I went down to the waterfront,’ Bill said as he finished his steak. ‘I talked around. Hank’s club shuts at two thirty. Everyone leaves. The place will be deserted.’

‘Nice work, Bill,’ I said, pushing my half-finished steak from me. ‘Fine. I’ll go down there at two and case the joint. I’ve got to get in, and there are those two waterfront cops to watch out for.’

‘We’ll go down there, Dirk,’ Bill said firmly.

I shrugged.

‘If you want to. Yes, OK, you’ll be helpful.’

‘Jesus!’ Bill exclaimed, staring at me. ‘You are in a mental mess, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve got to fix this black bastard. I want to kill him, but I’m not starting on murder. So, I’ll make his life a misery.’

‘I know. You told me. You are going to blow the Black Cassette to hell. Fine. So, when you have made Hank’s life a misery, what are you going to do?’

‘There’s time to think about that,’ I said. ‘See you, Bill,’ and I left the apartment.

Soft rain was falling. I walked, not noticing the rain. I walked for hours. The streets of Paradise City were almost deserted. As I walked my thoughts churned with pictures of Suzy and Hank. I kept seeing in my mind Suzy leaving her apartment block: a car stopping, a request for directions, then the acid. Some thug had handled the acid. Hank had driven the car.

I paused outside police headquarters, hesitated, then went in. I asked to speak to Sergeant Joe Beigler. Charlie Tanner, the desk sergeant, regarded me with sympathy.

‘I’m sorry, Dirk, about your trouble,’ he said. ‘Go right on up. Joe’ll see you.’

Beigler heaved himself out of his desk chair and gave me a double-fisted handshake. He was trying to express sympathy. I needed sympathy like lemon juice on an open wound.

‘Any news, Joe?’ I asked, putting my hands on his desk and leaning forward.

‘A little — not much,’ Beigler said, dropping back into his chair. ‘We came on a witness who lives in a condo above where it happened. He saw the whole thing, and got the number of the car — stolen. Both men wore gloves — no fingerprints. The driver was black. That’s as far as we’ve got, but we’re still investigating.’

‘He’s sure the driver was black?’

‘He swears to that.’

‘If that’s the best you can do, I won’t waste your time.’ Turning, I left him and walked out into the drizzle of rain. At least, I was now certain that Hank was involved.

I walked down a side street and arrived on the waterfront. After a couple of minutes, I slowed my pace as I came upon the Black Cassette. Outside the place was the Olds that once had belonged to Terry Thorsen: a nice car. I moved more slowly. The time now was 16.30. Hank would be preparing for the evening’s shindig. I kept on and took a long look at Joe Walinski’s luxury yacht. As there were other tourists, done up in their plastic macs, also staring at the yacht, I paused and joined them.

The man I knew as Lu Gerando was pacing the deck. He stared down at the tourists and sneered at them. After Hank, I thought, this yacht would go. I would have to have a limpet mine. Ali Hassan would supply that. He would supply anything if the money was big enough.

I had walked far enough. I took a taxi home.

Bill was out. I had more hours to kill. I sat down and forced myself to relax. Action tonight, I kept thinking. Hitting back.

Bill returned soon after 20.00. I let him in and he was carrying a plastic sack in one hand and a duffel bag in the other.

‘Let’s eat,’ he said, dropping the two bags. ‘I’m starving.’

He went to the kitchen, and I returned to my chair. I wasn’t hungry: only hungry for revenge.

A few minutes later, Bill appeared with hamburgers, heated up. He set the table and sat down.

‘Come on, Dirk, for God’s sake!’ he said sharply. ‘You’ll be a nut-case if you don’t watch out.’

I picked at the hamburger.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Around and about. Now, look, Dirk, let’s get Hank fixed first. Maybe, when we’ve fixed him, you’ll be able to listen and make some sense. OK?’

‘What’s in the duffel bag?’

‘All we’ll need to break into Hank’s club, and all we’ll need to smash up his car.’

I nodded and suddenly found I was hungry. I ate the hamburger.

‘I’ve talked to Beigler. The cops are getting nowhere, but they have found a witness who swears the driver was black.’

‘We more or less knew that,’ Bill said, his mouth full. He darted into the kitchen and came back with two more hamburgers. We ate them, and I kept looking at my watch. The time now was 20.35. God! I thought, how time drags!

I went back to my chair, lit a cigarette while Bill cleared the table. I was tempted to have a double Scotch, but refrained. This wasn’t the lime to get reckless on Scotch.

Finally at 21.00, I got to my feet.

‘I’ll get the bomb, Bill.’

‘Fine. I’ll come along. I’ve got nothing to do.’

Leaving Bill sitting in the parked car, I walked to Ali Hassan’s junk stall. In spite of the drizzle the tourists were still on the waterfront, most of them staring at the junk stalls. It was several minutes before Hassan, sitting under an awning, saw me. He got to his feet, spoke to his wife, then joined me.

‘You got it?’ I asked.

‘Yes. It’s a beautiful job, Mr Doe. Worth every dollar you are paying for it.’

‘Let me have it, and I’ll give you the money.’

‘That’s as it should be. It is all ready. Now listen, Mr Doe, there is no problem. There is a switch at the top. You turn that to the right and the bomb goes off in ten minutes. It is safe so long as you don’t touch the switch. You can even drop it. No problem.’

Moving into the deeper shadows, I took out my wallet and gave him the balance of the money we had agreed on. He counted the money, nodded and stowed the bills under his robe.

‘Just a minute, Mr Doe.’ He waddled away, then returned carrying a plastic sack. This he gave me. ‘Turn the switch to the right, Mr Doe, then take off. In ten minutes there will be a big bang and a lot of damage.’

‘Could be I will want something else,’ I said. ‘Something that could sink a hundred-foot yacht. You in the market?’

He put his hand under his robe and scratched himself.

‘That would come expensive, Mr Doe. I could arrange it, but I would have to fix it with a Marine sergeant who comes very high.’

‘But you could arrange it?’

‘If the money is right, anything can be arranged.’

‘I could be seeing you again,’ I said, and leaving him, I returned to the car. I put the plastic sack on the back seat and slid under the driving wheel.

‘That it?’ Bill asked, turning to stare at the sack.

‘That’s it.’ I started the motor. ‘We’ll go home and wait.’

‘I’m not crazy about bombs,’ Bill said. ‘Is that thing safe?’

‘It’s OK,’ I told him. ‘Relax,’ and I drove back to my condominium. In the underground garage, I opened the plastic sack and took from it a black, square-shaped object. As Hassan had said, there was a small switch on the top of the box. Bill watched, his eyes goggling.

‘You push this switch to the right,’ I said, ‘and after ten minutes — boom!’ I returned the bomb to the sack, and leaving the car, we took the elevator up to my apartment.

‘We have a five-hour wait,’ I said. ‘Let’s have some coffee.’

‘Sure.’ Bill went into the kitchen.

I put the bomb on the table, then, lighting a cigarette, I sat down.

Bill came in with a jug of coffee, a cup and saucer.

‘I’m taking a nap, Dirk. Call me when you are ready to take off.’

When he had gone to his bedroom, I drank coffee, smoked cigarettes, paced the living room, constantly looking at my watch. My mind now was solely on the thought of making Hank Smedley’s life miserable as he had made my life miserable.

Finally, at 01.45, I roused Bill who was sleeping peacefully. I envied him.

‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘We’ll take a look at the scene.’

So with the plastic sack containing the bomb and the K.K.K. notice, we drove down to the waterfront. It had begun to rain again. The waterfront was more or less deserted. A few fishermen were leaving their boats. The tourists were in bed. There was no sign of the two waterfront cops.

I found easy parking within a hundred yards of the Black Cassette.

‘I’ll take a look, Bill,’ I said, and slid out of the car.

Leaving him, I walked past the club, hearing jazz. There was a side alley that I guessed led to the back of the club. Moving silently, I went down the alley and peered into a rear window of the club. It was a window which would offer no resistance. I saw a couple of blacks wandering around. The room looked like a makeshift kitchen.

One of the blacks was taking off his dirty apron as if preparing to go home. The other sat on a table, munching a hot dog.

I ducked away, then moved silently back to the car. I joined Bill.

‘There’s a rear window. No problem,’ I said.

We sat in silence and waited. By now the waterfront was quite deserted. Rain fell steadily. The only lights showing came from the Black Cassette.

As the hands of my watch crawled to 02.30, some of the lights in the club went out. There was a babble of voices, then some thirty-odd blacks, men and women, came out onto the sidewalk. They were all chattering like magpies. After a minute or so the group broke up. There was a lot of shouting and waving, and they dispersed down the various alleys.

Then four big black men, who I guessed were the staff, came out and hurried to a car parked not far from where we were parked. They scrambled in and drove away.

Just after 03.00, Hank Smedley appeared. There was no mistaking his giant, ape-like figure. He and a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a white jacket paused for a moment while Hank locked the door of the club. Then they walked rapidly to Hank’s Olds, got in and drove away.

‘Who’s the guy wearing the hat?’ Bill asked. ‘He’s white.’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ I said. ‘Come on, Bill, we have a job to do.’

We left the car. Bill had taken a short jemmy from the duffel bag. I carried the bomb.

It took Bill less than a minute to open the window into the smelly kitchen. I had brought a powerful flashlight with me. I switched it on, then motioned Bill to give me the bomb. ‘I’ll fix this. You go and fix the K.K.K. notice on the door.’

I found my way into the big room where the blacks danced. I put the bomb on the bar counter. Then, gun in hand, I checked the whole place to be sure no one was sleeping there — no one was.

Satisfied, I returned to the bar and pushed the switch on the bomb to the right. Then I returned fast to the kitchen, climbed through the window and joined Bill in the car.

‘Think we are far enough away?’ Bill asked, an anxious note in his voice.

‘I want to see it,’ I said, gripping the steering wheel, my eyes on the club, thinking this was the first step towards avenging Suzy, and I felt good.

The hands of the car’s dashboard clock crawled on. Ten minutes passed.

Bill moved uneasily.

‘It could be a goddamn dud!’ he muttered as the hands of the clock reached fifteen minutes past.

‘Quiet! Wait!’ I snapped.

I had scarcely stopped speaking when the bomb exploded. The noise and the blast rocked us and rocked the car.

The front windows of the club flew onto the waterfront. There was a tearing sound as the club’s roof collapsed. I saw the front door sagging, holding the K.K.K. notice. There was more noise: more sound of the club falling apart.

This was good enough for me. I started the car’s motor and drove off the waterfront before the cops and firemen arrived.

I had done what I wanted to do. The Black Cassette was permanently out of business. The realisation of this was like a great weight lifted off my back.

‘Some bomb,’ Bill said. ‘Now what?’

‘You know where Hank lives?’

‘Sure.’

‘So we go there and wreck his car.’

He directed me to Seagrove Road.

‘That’s his pad. On the right.’

I parked, then both of us, armed with short-handled club hammers, walked down to the underground garage.

It took us less than ten minutes to reduce Hank’s car to scrap. While I smashed the windows and windscreen, Bill fixed the engine. There was noise, but at 04.15, who paid attention to noise? We stabbed the tyres, then using my felt pencil I wrote on the only undented door panel: K.K.K.

Then we retreated to my car.

‘Satisfied?’ Bill asked as I started the motor.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ll sleep. Thanks Bill.’

I headed back to my apartment.

For the first time since Suzy died, I slept dreamlessly. By the time I got out of bed, shaved, showered and dressed, it was 11.15.

Bill had a brunch ready, and while we ate he regarded me searchingly.

‘I think you are over the hump, Dirk,’ he said, cutting into his third egg.

‘I guess so,’ I said. ‘Hank drove the car, but I’ve got to find the acid sprayer. I’ve got to fix him too.’

‘So, OK, we’ll fix him,’ Bill said. ‘We’ll ask around.’

After the meal I drove with Bill to the waterfront. Parking was tight, but finally I found a slot, then together we walked by the junk stalls, the fishing trawlers and finally reached what remained of the Black Cassette.

There was a crowd of tourists, gaping. They were held back by the two waterfront cops. I spotted Detective Tom Lepski talking to a fireman.

‘ Stay here,’ I said to Bill, and shoved my way through the crowd.

One of the waterfront cops started towards me.

‘Hi, Tom!’ I called, then as Lepski waved to me the cop pulled back. I joined Lepski.

‘Take a look,’ he said, waving to the broken entrance of the club. ‘Something for the record.’

I had a hard time to conceal my satisfaction as I peered through the sagging doorway. The bomb had done a great job.

‘Looks like a bomb,’ I said.

‘Damn right. Something that’s never happened in this city. The mayor is laying eggs.’ Lepski grinned. ‘It was time someone fixed this club. Well, whoever it was, certainly fixed it.’

‘I guess that’s right,’ I said, aware Lepski was regarding me thoughtfully.

‘Yeah. There’s a Ku-Klux-Klan notice on the door, but that doesn’t wash with me nor anyone else. Someone who hated Smedley did the job,’ Lepski said.

I nodded.

‘You may be right, Tom. Have you seen Smedley?’

‘Oh, sure.’ Lepski shrugged. ‘I’ve got no time for that spade. Someone smashed up his car. We reckon it’s the same guy who let off the bomb. Smedley is out of his mind, yelling for us to find the guy.’ He shrugged. ‘OK, it’s our job to look around, but we’re not going to sweat. Smedley had it coming.’ Again the hard cop stare. ‘I hear you have quit the agency, Dirk.’

‘That’s right. Suzy’s death has taken the stuffing out of me. Maybe, I’ll return to the agency in time. How are your investigations getting on about Suzy, Tom?’

‘We’re still digging. We’ve found another witness, and from her, we have a description of the guy who used the acid: not much of a description, but maybe it’ll help. He was broad-shouldered, wearing a white jacket and a broad-brimmed hat. We are looking for someone to match that description.’

My face expressionless, I nodded.

I remembered the man who had come out with Hank from the club, wearing a white jacket and a broad-brimmed hat. They had gone off together.

Lepski was still regarding me.

‘Look, Dirk, Hank’s been fixed. We don’t want any more trouble. This is a very sensitive zone. The news is being broadcast that a bomb has gone off. Bombs scare the rich to hell. Already hotels are getting cancellations for next month. We don’t want any more bombs. You read me, Dirk?’

‘Why tell me, Tom? You’d better tell the bomber if he will listen.’

Lepski shrugged.

‘Play it your way,’ he said, ‘but I’m telling you if another bomb goes off, we’ll throw the book at the bomber. He’ll go away for fifteen years.’

‘You tell him that,’ I said. ‘Well, be seeing you, Tom,’ and I moved back into the crowd.

I signalled to Bill to stay where he was, then walked along the waterfront to the Neptune Tavern. I found Al Barney, sitting on his bollard, talking to two young, goggle-eyed tourists. I waited. Finally they took photographs of him, and the man produced a ten-dollar bill. Al snapped it up, waved to them as they walked away.

‘Tourist trade prospering, Al?’ I said as I came up to him.

‘Ah, Mr Wallace. Well, it comes and it goes.’ He put the bill in his dirty sweatshirt pocket. ‘Next month will be the time.’ He regarded me with his small shark-like eyes. ‘Some bomb,’ he went on. ‘That puts paid to Smedley.’

‘Al, do you know anything about a broad-shouldered man who wears a white jacket and a wide-brimmed hat?’

Barney grimaced.

‘Hula Minsky,’ he said. ‘Keep clear of him, Mr Wallace.’

‘Who is he?’

Barney looked furtively around then, lowering his voice, said, ‘One of Walinski’s thugs. Poison.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘You don’t want to find him, Mr Wallace. Like I said — poison.’

‘Where do I find him, Al?’ I repeated.

‘When he’s here, he shacks up with Hank Smedley. He comes down here before the first of the month to collect the payoffs.’

‘Thanks, Al,’ I said, and giving him a pat on his fat shoulder, I walked back to where Bill was waiting.

‘The cops are pretty sure I let off the bomb,’ I concluded after telling him what I had been doing. ‘Lepski gave me a straight warning, but they have no proof.’

Bill shrugged.

‘The cops always have theories.’ He slid into the passenger’s seat. ‘Hula Minsky — some name. What are you going to do with him?’

‘Bust him. I’m going to bust him so hard, he’ll go around in a wheelchair for life.’ I started the car motor.

‘When?’

‘Tonight. Around seven, we’ll stake out Hank’s apartment and wait.’

‘That could be tough.’

‘So, OK, it’ll be tough.’

‘You handle Minsky. I’ll handle Hank,’ Bill said. ‘I’m thirsting to hit that black.’

‘That’s the idea, Bill.’

Back in my apartment, Bill moved around the living room restlessly while I lit a cigarette and brooded.

The telephone bell rang. I reached and picked up the receiver.

‘Mr Wallace?’ A woman’s voice.

‘Correct. Who is this?’

‘I am Mr Walinski’s secretary,’ the voice told me: a hard, metallic voice of a woman who could be of any age. ‘Mr Walinski would like to talk to you. Will you come to the Spanish Bay Hotel at five o’clock. I will be waiting for you in the lobby and will take you to Mr Walinski’s suite.’

The phone clicked off before I could say a word. I put down the receiver and told Bill.

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 slip-ons.

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 pole-axed 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!’

‘Keep talking,’ I said.

Bill moved a little closer so Hank could feel the heat of the flame. He cringed away.

‘People come to my club and give me envelopes. Angie gives me a wallet. I put everything in a bag. I don’t ask questions. On the first of the month, Hula comes and I give him the bag, and that’s it.’

‘Why is Angie being blackmailed?’

‘I dunno. I swear I don’t! It’s Hula who digs up the dirt about people. I don’t ask questions. I don’t want to know. I guess Hula has something on Angie. Something so hot, she is paying out all this dough. She ain’t right in the head. She’s a real nut-case. She’s always been a nut-case.’

I studied him and decided he was telling the truth. A brutal, ruthless man like Minsky wouldn’t tell a birdbrain like Hank anything.

I was suddenly sick of him, sick of the room, sick of the atmosphere.

‘OK, Bill,’ I said. ‘Unlock him.’

Bill turned off the blowtorch, then removed the handcuffs while I, gun in hand, watched.

Hank sat up, rubbed his wrists and stared up at me.

‘Listen carefully,’ I said, ‘there’s no place now for you in this city. I talked to Hula’s boss. Hula’s feeding the worms. You won’t see him again. You have twelve hours to get out of this city. If I see you again, you will get a bullet in each kneecap and you won’t be able to walk again. Get lost! Understand?’

He continued to stare, shaking his head in bewilderment.

‘I don’t know where to go,’ he muttered. ‘I ain’t got any money.’

‘I won’t tell you twice. If you’re not out of this city in twelve hours, you won’t walk again.’ I turned. ‘Come on, Bill. The sight of this shit sickens me.’

We took the elevator down to the street level and walked out into the humid rain.