Believed Violent (9 page)

“On your way, Cheapie,” he snarled. “Don’t think we can’t put you under the wraps for years.”

The other man was leading Nona towards the Buick.

Terrified, she was saying, “I don’t understand. What is it? Why am I wanted?”

“Look, sister, if anyone told me anything, I would be happy,” the man at her side said in a bored flat voice. “But no one ever does. They want you. I’m told to pick you up . . . so I pick you up.”

They reached the car and Nona got into the front seat. She looked back at Lu-Lu who was watching. Lu-Lu waved to her. The other man joined them, got in the back seat, and the Buick went fast down the dusty road.

Once out of sight of the prison and away from the following bus, the man, sitting at the back, leaned forward and his big, sweaty hands closed around Nona’s throat. Powerful fingers dug cruelly into her windpipe. She reared back, but she was helpless in his grip. For a long moment, her legs thrashed, making the driver swerve and curse, then as the grip tightened, she went limp. The man on the back seat, put his hands under her armpits and dragged her over the seat into the back of the car. Working quickly, while the car raced down the long, deserted road, he strapped her hands and ankles together with strips of adhesive tape. Then he forced a rolled up handkerchief into her mouth and strapped on yet another strip of tape to keep the handkerchief in place. He shoved her to the floor of the car, then threw a rug over her.

“Hurry it up, pal,” he said anxiously.

These two men, working for Lindsey’s Detective Agency, were uneasy. They knew the penalty for kidnapping, but they were being well paid. Their one thought was to finish the job quickly.

A mile or so before the branch road met the highway, the black Thunderbird was waiting. The Buick skidded to a stop and the two men bundled Nona’s unconscious body from the back of their car to the floor of the Thunderbird.

“Any trouble?” Silk asked, the sunlight reflecting on his glass eye.

“No.”

Then get lost, pronto.” Silk nodded to Keegan who sent the Thunderbird racing to the highway.

Half an hour later, the car began to climb into the foothills that lay some thirty miles behind Paradise City. Satisfied there was no car following, Silk said, “I’d better take a look at her. We don’t want her to croak.”

“You can say that again.” Keegan pulled up.

Silk got out of the car and got into the back seat. He dragged Nona’s unconscious body up on to the seat and took out the gag.

Keegan watched.

“Pretty nice,” he said, his eyes running over the girl’s limp body. “That a frame I could dig for.”

“Show me any woman’s frame you can’t dig for,” Silk said with contempt. “Get moving!”

Grinning, Keegan set the car in motion. In a cloud of dust, they continued on into the foothills.

Silk lit a cigarette. Women meant nothing to him. When he was seventeen years of age, he had married a tramp, four years older than himself. He had discovered with dismay that with her, he was impotent. The marriage had broken up after two weeks. Disillusioned, still seeking an outlet for his frustrated sexual desires, he had gone with a number of prostitutes, a sordid, expensive and unsatisfactory experience. This kind of life went on for some years, then in a sudden frenzy of frustration, he had strangled one of the girls he had gone with. Since then, he had put women out of his mind. But he had discovered an immense satisfaction in his first killing. From time to time over the years while working as a Number’s collector, he would find a girl, use her and kill her. Then he heard through the underworld that Lindsey was looking for a professional killer. The two men had met: terms had been arranged. There was a man Lindsey had been instructed to silence. Lindsey gave Silk his first assignment with him.

The victim was to be a C.I.A. Agent who had collected enough evidence to put Herman Radnitz behind bars for the rest of his life. This man had been working on his own without consulting his superiors. He wanted all the credit, and Lindsey, learning of this, knew the Agent had to be immediately silenced.

Very sure of himself, Silk underrated the assignment. He imagined all he had to do was to go to this man’s apartment, ring on the front doorbell and shoot him with a silenced gun as he opened the door.

But it didn’t work out that way. He went to the apartment and rang the bell, but the door was opened by the Agent’s wife. This threw Silk off his stride. He entered the lobby and the Agent, waiting behind the door screwed the barrel of his gun against the back of Silk’s neck. Silk dropped his gun. The Agent had walked him into the sitting-room and had lined him up against the wall and told his wife to call the police.

With the cold, reckless courage that was to stand him in good stead in future years, Silk threw himself at the Agent, a stabbing knife in his hand. As he drove the knife into the Agent’s chest, he was blinded by the gun flash. The bullet smashed against his cheekbone, tearing out his left eye. Bleeding, half stunned and half blind, Silk managed to knife the woman who was desperately trying to telephone the police. Somehow; he got out of the apartment, somehow, he got into his car. This was something he never talked about nor wanted to remember.

Later, after he had recovered from his wound, he became Lindsey’s head assassin.

But Lindsey knew Silk couldn’t operate efficiently on his own. It was expecting too much. He had to be provided with an assistant. Lindsey looked around and discovered Chet Keegan. This young man had no police record. He seemed to Lindsey to be promising material.

Lindsey had run into Keegan in a cellar club in New York. At that time, Keegan was a pimp, living on the earnings of several Call-girls. Lindsey had enough knowledge of human viciousness to know that Keegan would do anything for money. He arranged a meeting between Silk and Keegan, and then had listened to Silk’s report.

“Yeah . . . this boy is good,” Silk had said. “I can train him. Give him to me. He’s what we’re looking for.”

Silk and Keegan made an ideal combination. Both of them had good appearances. They always dressed well. They could mix in any strata of society. Neither of them had any human feelings. Both of them were greedy for money. There was nothing they wouldn’t do so long as their bank balances increased. The only difference between the two men was their sexual outlook. Silk was now completely indifferent to women. Keegan lived for women. Silk accepted this fact although it bored him. What Keegan did in his spare time was no business of his, but when on the job, he made it plain to Keegan that he must lay off women. Vicious as he was, Keegan accepted the fact that Silk was his boss. Silk was a dedicated killer who got a kick out of killing and was one hundred per cent dangerous.

Another half hour’s fast drive brought them to a high hill, surrounded by desert. At the foot of the hill was an opening to a tunnel that led to a series of caves. This was the hideout Lindsey had chosen and had equipped.

Keegan drove the Thunderbird down the long tunnel, his headlights picking out the way, then the car slid to a stop as it entered the first big cave.

Three men, wearing jeans and sweat shirts, came up to the car. Silk and Keegan got out.

“Here she is, Jim,” Silk said to a big, heavily built man with a hard, fleshy face. “Take her to her quarters.”

“I’ll do it,” Keegan said. “It’ll be a pleasure.”

“Take her,” Silk said to the big man, ignoring Keegan, “and listen. Keep your hands off her. If I catch you mauling her, I’ll kill you . . . understand?”

“Okay, Mr. Silk.” Jim said. “She’s my mother.”

He reached into the car and picked Nona off the back seat. Carrying her carefully, he walked away into the darkness.

Keegan watched, then sneered.

“What you want, Lu, is a shot of hormones. You should catch up with your living.”

The single glittering eye regarded Keegan. The scarred face could have been carved out of stone.

“One of these days, little boy,” Silk said softly, “you’ll flap too much with your mouth.”

He walked away down the tunnel.

Keegan tried to grin, but it didn’t come off. He hated to admit it, but Silk, even when he was in a friendly mood, made him uneasy. He began to take three suitcases from the Thunderbird. He tried to whistle, but found, to his irritation, his lips were dry.

The Crab and Lobster
restaurant was a modest building that faced the oily waters of the commercial harbour where the sponge-diving boats tied up for the night. The restaurant had the advantage of four private rooms where one could eat decently, talk in private and come and go without being seen.

Soon after ten p.m., Lindsey parked his Cadillac on the waterfront, then walked to the restaurant. The owner, a fat, cheerful Greek, showed him immediately to one of the private rooms. Lindsey ordered a lobster sandwich and a lime juice and soda. He walked on to the small, screened balcony and looked down at the activity going on below him. A sponge trawler was edging its way into the harbour. A number of fishermen were lounging against the bollards, talking. Several girls, wearing bikinis, were hopefully displaying their bodies in search of trade.

Lindsey had eaten his sandwich and was lighting a cigar when Silk and Keegan joined him. They came out on to the balcony and sat in basket chairs.

Lindsey asked in his quiet, cultured voice, “Well? How is it building?”

“It moves,” Silk said. “We have the girl . . . no trouble. Lewis will be here any minute. Chet collects Dr. Kuntz tomorrow.”

“I don’t want the girl interfered with,” Lindsey said, staring down at the harbour. “I am relying on you, Silk, to see she is left alone.”

“That’s okay,” Silk said. “I’ve told them.”

“I must have her co-operation,” Lindsey went on. “The whole plan hangs on her.”

“Yeah . . . yeah,” Silk said impatiently. “I’ve got the photo.”

There came a tap on the door. Silk slid to his feet, his hand inside his jacket, his fingers closing on the butt of his .38 automatic. He went quickly to the door. Keegan was already on his feet, moving out of sight behind the doorway on to the terrace, gun in hand.

Lindsey, remaining where he was, watched these two killers with satisfaction. Their movements were so quick, so silent, so smooth that even he was impressed.

Fred Lewis came into the dimly lit room.

Their guns out of sight, Silk and Keegan brought the bewildered man out on to the terrace. Keegan went back and locked the door. Silk shoved a chair towards Lewis and told him to sit down.

It was dark out on the terrace. Lewis couldn’t see Lindsey clearly. He just saw a tall, thin man in a basket chair, his hands folded in his lap, his face in the shadows. Near him stood another tall, thin man and this man scared him. He sensed a threat and when a third man joined them, more slightly built, but still menacing, his fear increased.

“Well, Lewis, you know my terms,” Lindsey said quietly. “I am offering you ten thousand dollars and I want your help. Paul Forrester is one of your personal patients, I believe?”

The discussion between the four men lasted an hour. Finally, arrangements were made and Lewis, white-faced and unnerved, but determined, left. Lindsey got to his feet and stretched.

“There must be no loose ends to this operation,” he said, staring out to sea. “As soon as Forrester is missing, there will be an intensive inquiry. That young man could crack. He is expendable . . . you understand?”

“Sure,” Silk said. “How about his girl-friend?”

Not turning, Lindsey said, “She is another loose end. If she ran into an accident, I wouldn’t check to find out what happened to the money we are paying her. I would have thought someone could use ten thousand dollars if she can’t claim it.”

Silk and Keegan exchanged glances, then the two men left the terrace and went down the stairs to the Thunderbird.

Nona Jacey opened her eyes and stared around her. Her hand went to her aching throat, then she struggled up. She found herself on a camp bed in what seemed to be a small, shadowy cave. The dim light cast shadows on the sandy floor. Terrified, she started to her feet, then a girl said out of the shadows, “Take it easy, babe. How do you feel?”

Nona peered at the girl who came forward. Sheila Latimer’s beauty did much to help control Nona’s jumping nerves.

“Where am I?” she said, speaking with difficulty. “Who ― who are you?”

“Sit down, honey,” Sheila said and came further into the light. “I’m sorry about all this. I can imagine just how you are feeling. Take the weight off your feet. You’re all right. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

Nona sat limply on the bed and Sheila joined her.

“Do you want a drink? Want anything ― coffee? You’ve only to say,” Sheila went on. “Gee! That creep certainly treated you rough. Your poor throat’s all bruised and swollen.”

“Who are you? Where am I?” Nona demanded, staring at the blonde girl beside her.

“I’ll give it to you straight, honey,” Sheila said. “You’ve been kidnapped. I’m the sucker who has to look after you. Call me Sheila. You’re quite safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’ll be with you all the time. You don’t have to be scared. You’re in a cave ― you can see that. You have a job to do. This is big time, honey. The guys who are handling this are tough. I’ve been around with one of them for some time . . . honey, is he tough! So long as you do what they want, you’ll be fine. Try to get away, try to cut tricky and you’re heading for a terrible time. Please, honey, listen to me. I thought I could handle this creep, but I found out different. Don’t make my mistake. Take a look . . .” She pulled up her skirt to show her thighs riddled with needle shots. “I’m a junkie. I must have a daily fix. That’s what they’ll turn you into if you don’t co-operate. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do now to get my regular fix. I don’t want you to have to go through this, honey. He ties you to a bed and gives you the needle and after a while you are fixed. After that, you don’t care.” She smiled brightly at Nona who was staring at her in horror. “As I don’t care.” She paused, then went on, “Some time tomorrow, they are getting Paul Forrester out of the asylum. From what they tell me, you got along well with him when you worked for him. Your job is to persuade him to crack a code. I don’t understand what all that’s about, but it is Big Time. You two get together, you do your stuff, he cracks the code and then you’ll be as free as the air. See? It’s that simple. You have nothing to worry about, honey. Now, how about a nice cup of coffee?