1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway (8 page)

‘Sure: buses run every half hour: the last bus back is two o’clock.’

‘I wouldn’t be as late as that.’ Harry noted Solo wasn’t offering his car. ‘Well, I’ll get along.’

He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the beach.

There was a lot of work to do, and he was soon on easy terms with the two coloured boys whose names were Charlie and Mike. Between the three of them, they painted the pedal boats, oiled the mechanism and set up umbrella socks which was heavy work and made Harry sweat, but he enjoyed it all.

Just before 19.00 hours, he went for a swim, towing out one of the rafts. He spent ten minutes doing some fancy diving and he wished there was a high dive board so he could extend himself.

He decided he would talk to Solo about this. It could be an attraction.

He dried off, put on his shirt and slacks and went around to the kitchen. Although he was only five minutes late, Nina had already finished and was leaving the table as he came in. She went past him without looking at him. Manuel too had finished and was heading back to the restaurant.

Solo was at the big stove preparing a sauce. He was wearing a white coverall and a chef’s hat and he looked very professional.

There was, he told Harry, a party of eight in for an early dinner.

Joe put a thick steak with french fries down in front of Harry, giving him a wide grin of welcome.

‘You want beer, boss?’

‘Lots of it, please.’ To Solo, Harry asked, ‘Randy not eating?’

‘He eats in the bar nights.’ Solo sniffed at the sauce and nodded approvingly. ‘Had a good day, hey? Lots of sun and air?’

‘Fine.’ Harry went on to talk about the high dive board.

As Solo continued to stir the sauce, he listened attentively.

‘Could you fix it, Harry?’

‘Sure. I found the right place. Coral foundation and lots of sea. We would want timber, some coconut matting, some steel rails, some cement and we’re in business. If you like the idea I could give exhibitions at night. With a few spotlights, we could give the customers a show.’

Solo tasted the sauce, grunted his satisfaction, then gestured to Joe to serve the dish. He came over and sat down beside Harry.

‘What do you mean . . . exhibition?’

‘Fancy, trick diving. I’m out of practice, but it’ll come back.’

Solo beamed.

‘That’s a great idea. Okay, Harry. You come into market with me tomorrow. When I’m through, I’ll drop you off at Hammerson’s timber yard. You tell him what you want and he’ll send it out Then you get the bus back, hey?’

‘Okay.’

After dinner, Harry, equipped with sheets of paper, a ruler and pencil, went back to his cabin. He made a rough sketch of the diving board. By the time he had figured out how much timber he would need and finished a neat sketch, it was close on 22.00 hours.

He decided to have one more swim before turning in. In the warm, still water, he had a good view of the lighted restaurant. There were about a dozen people dining and four or five in the bar. He could see Randy in a white coat, busy mixing drinks. Manuel, very dressy with his red sash, was moving from table to table, showing his teeth, pouring wine and snapping his fingers at the waiters.

But Harry scarcely looked either at Randy or Manuel. He was looking for Nina. Then he saw her. She was wearing a white pyjama suit with a gold link chain around her slim waist. Her black glossy hair hung loose and the brilliants in her earrings flashed in the lamplight when she moved her head, tossing back her hair.

She was standing on the veranda and looking in his direction, but he doubted if she could see him. He watched her until she abruptly turned away and entered the bar where she began talking to a man in a white tuxedo, a drink in his hand.

Harry drew in a long, deep breath, then swam swiftly and silently to the shore.

* * *

Solo Dominico made his last purchase as the clock in the market tower struck ten.

‘Okay . . . that’s it,’ he said as Harry hoisted a heavy carton of selected cheeses onto his shoulder. ‘We go now and have coffee. Then I drop you off at Hammerson’s for the timber.’

Harry nodded and made his way through the crowd of restaurant and hotel buyers who were still surrounding the cheese stalls. He put the carton into the estate car, closed and locked the door. Then he joined Solo who led him down a side street to a cafe-bar.

The big room was crowded. Everyone appeared to know Solo and he spent some minutes pausing at tables, introducing Harry, grinning widely and making jokes. Finally, they reached the counter and Solo ordered two mugs of coffee.

‘Try some of these,’ he said, pushing a bowl loaded with dark, crisp looking sausages. ‘Speciality of the house: pork soaked in rum. Very good after a morning’s work.’ He eyed Harry. ‘You enjoyed the work, hey?’

Harry nodded. He had enjoyed working with Solo. During the fifteen-mile drive out, he had talked about Vietnam, answering Solo’s many questions. When they had reached the market, he had watched and listened to Solo’s buying technique and quickly realised Solo knew his business just that shade better than the seller did.

They were eating their third sausage apiece and Harry was explaining to Solo the kind of terrain he had fought over when a tall, wiry looking man with a suntanned, lined face and clear ice blue eyes came up to the counter.

‘Hi, Solo, how are they hanging?’ he demanded, offering his hand.

Solo beamed and shook hands.

‘What are you doing here, Mr. Lepski? You won’t find bad men in this market.’

‘Who are you kidding? You know as well as I do they’re all chiselers and would cut their mothers’ throats for a dime.’ The cold eyes swept over Harry with a probing stare that told Harry this was a police officer, ‘Harry, meet Detective Tom Lepski of the City squad: very smart boy,’ Solo said. ‘Mr. Lepski, this is Harry Mitchell, my new lifeguard.’

‘Is that right?’ Lepski regarded Harry. ‘Can you swim? The last punk Solo hired as a lifeguard couldn’t even paddle.’

‘You’ll be safe with me,’ Harry said quietly. ‘I’ll rescue, you if you need rescuing.’

Solo laughed, slapping his great thigh.

‘Very good! Sure, Mr. Lepski you come out one day and have a little fun at my place: all free . . . nothing but the best. You swim. Harry will rescue you, hey?’

Lepski gave a wintry smile.

‘I might at that.’ He picked up a sausage and began to nibble it. ‘When did you last see Baldy Riccard, Solo?’

Solo’s little eyes opened wide.

‘Riccard? I haven’t seen him in years. You interested in Baldy, Mr. Lepski?’

‘I had it that Baldy was here on Tuesday and he called on you, Solo.’

Solo shook his head emphatically.

‘A mistake Mr. Lepski. It must be two years since I last saw Riccard.’

Lepski stared thoughtfully at Solo, grimaced, then shrugged.

‘Well, okay. If you say so. Baldy was here for three days. So he didn’t come to see you? Why didn’t he?’

‘How should I know?’ Solo looked blank. ‘Riccard and me were never close. Why should he even know I am in Paradise City?’

‘I heard it different. I heard you and he were very close. Since every hood in the country knows where to find you, why shouldn’t Baldy?’

‘You’re too clever for me, Mr. Lepski,’ Solo said, shaking his head. ‘It’s true Baldy and I were a little friendly one time, but I haven’t seen him now for more than two years.’

Lepski again shrugged.

‘Okay, okay. Can you tell me anything new you’ve heard about him since you last saw him?’

Solo reached for another sausage.

‘Well, Mr. Lepski, I do hear things from time to time. As you know the boys call on me to do little jobs, but I always say no. I don’t need little jobs anymore.’ He dipped the sausage into a bowl of chili sauce on the counter. ‘I do hear things. I did hear Riccard had pulled a big job in Vero Beach. No details. I didn’t want to hear. I’m not interested anymore.’

‘You kidding? Vero Beach?’ Lepski stared at him. ‘What sort of job?’

‘I don’t know. Frankly, Mr. Lepski, I didn’t believe it. There is nothing big in Vero Beach.’

‘Except it is a good place for a smuggling run,’ Lepski said.

‘Of course, there’s that, but Baldy was a peterman. He wasn't a smuggler when I knew him.’

‘That doesn’t mean he hasn’t turned smuggler. When was he supposed to have pulled this job?’

‘Two months ago so I heard.’

Harry was listening to all this with growing interest. He half turned so his back was to Lepski and he occupied himself with another sausage.

‘Look, Solo, I want help,’ Lepski said. ‘This could be my break. If I don’t get a promotion soon my wife threatens to cut off my food. There’s a rumour going around that Riccard has been knocked off. I know he’s vanished. He was in this City on Tuesday. One of my boys recognised him as he left the airport. I’ve got a bunch of meatheads working under me and this meathead didn’t report that Riccard had arrived. He let him drive off in a taxi without following him or even alerting headquarters. When a punk like Riccard hits this City, a red light goes up or it should go up, but I didn’t know anything about it until my meathead started shooting the breeze the next day and mentioned Riccard was in town. I took a long chance and checked all the hire car agencies. Riccard would have to have a car and as he arrived without one, I guessed he’d hire one. Hertz of Vero Beach report that a man answering to Riccard’s description hired a Mustang in the name of Joel Blach of Cleveland. We checked Cleveland: no Joel Blach at the address given. So I took a photo of Baldy over to Hertz and they positively identified him as Blach. Now Riccard and the Mustang have vanished.’

Solo looked sad.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Lepski, but I can’t help you. I know nothing about Riccard since two years ago except what I’ve told you. He didn’t come to see me. I’ve told what I’ve heard . . . that’s all. Very sorry.’

Lepski stared fixedly into Solo’s blank eyes.

‘Okay, but watch it, Solo. You’ve kept your nose clean for five years. Keep it that way.’ He shouldered his way through the crowd at the bar and made his way out into the sunlit street.

Solo finished his coffee. He looked blandly at Harry. ‘We go, hey?’

They left the saloon and made their way to the estate car.

Solo slid his great bulk under the driving wheel, started the engine and edged the car out of the parking lot.

When they were on the highway, Solo said, ‘That Lepski is a very ambitious cop: smart, but very ambitious. I don’t help him much. Randy told you about me, hey?’

‘Yes, he mentioned something,’ Harry said cautiously.

‘A reformed peterman . . . that’s what he told you, hey?’

‘That’s it.’

Solo grinned.

‘And that’s correct. It suits me to live the way I do. The cops watch me all the time. Maybe I could do a job that would let me retire, but I don’t want to retire nor do I want to spend the rest of my life in a cell. I talk to you because you are like my son. For me, it is a very bad thing that my son is in the Army. Nina is a very lovely girl, but girls don’t understand. Sam did.’

‘Understand . . . what?’ Harry asked.

‘Ambition. Girls don’t understand that an ambitious man has an urge to prove himself: like the urge you get when you look at a pretty woman. Okay, there are times when I get the urge again. When some stupid hunkhead comes to me with a beautiful proposition, but no idea how to handle it. Sometimes, I’m very tempted, Harry, but I think of my business and Nina. If anything happened to me she wouldn’t be able to run my business, then what would happen to her?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry paused, then asked, ‘Who is Baldy Riccard?’

‘The second best peterman in the business. I’m the first.’ Solo punched himself on his chest. ‘He and I once worked together. That was when I was caught. It taught me a lesson, Harry. Never work with anyone: never trust anyone if the deal is illegal. Baldy’s getting too old for the racket now. It’s time he retired like me. I wouldn’t trust his judgment and that’s very important.’

‘Did he want you to do a job?’ Harry made his voice casual and he stared through the windshield, his expression indifferent.

‘No, not a job. He was very mysterious, very excited. He . . .’ Solo paused abruptly and looked sharply at Harry. ‘I’m talking too much. Why do you ask?’

‘You told me you don’t help Lepski much. From that, I guessed Baldy did come to see you on Tuesday last.’

Solo grinned a little sheepishly.

‘Very smart: you would make a good cop, Harry. Yes, you’re right, but it wouldn’t do to tell Lepski. Yes, he came. He wanted to borrow my boat.’ Solo grimaced. ‘Go hire a boat if you want one, I told him, but you don’t have mine. I had to save a lot of money to buy that boat. I told him, go hire one for yourself. But he said he hadn’t any money and he would pay me five grand at the end of the month if I’d let him have the boat that night. I laughed at him. Five grand! Did he think I was crazy? Besides, he was scared. He was so jumpy he was like a flea on a hot plate. Why should I lend him my boat when he was like that? He would hole her or capsize her.’ Solo stroked his thick moustache. ‘Now he’s vanished. Maybe if I had let him have my boat that too would have vanished.’ He put his heavy hand on Harry’s knee. ‘You keep quiet about this, hey?’

‘Sure,’ Harry said.

They drove a mile or so in silence, then Solo said as if speaking his thoughts aloud, ‘I think Baldy’s dead. I think someone bad was after him. You don’t often smell fear on a man, but I smelt it on Baldy.’

Harry thought of the charred, blackened foot and the terror in the dead eyes. He shifted uneasily.

‘Baldy was a funny guy: very vain,’ Solo went on. ‘He spent lots of good money on wigs. He hated being called Baldy. They nearly drove him out of his mind when he was serving his stretch . . . we were in the same jail together. Even the Warden called him Baldy.’ Solo shook his head. ‘I was sorry for him in spite of his stupidity. When we were working on the peter, he took a glove off to put his wig straight and he left a fingerprint. That’s how we got caught . . . his wig!’ Solo’s great belly shook a little as he laughed. ‘Imagine!’ He eased up on the gas pedal, slowing the car. ‘Here we are . . . Hammerson’s: very good friend of mine. I’ll leave you here. You order all the timber you want. Hammerson will tell you where you get the rest of the stuff. I like this high dive idea, Harry . . . very smart.’