Have a Nice Night (18 page)

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From the plastic sack, Manuel produced two .38 revolvers which he laid on the table. 'Time moves,' he said. 'We mustn't be late. Be careful with this gun,' and he pushed one of the revolvers over to Fuentes. 'It is loaded. Remember, there is to be no shooting. This job can be handled without police interference.' He stared steadily at Fuentes. 'You understand? We only shoot if things go badly wrong.'

Fuentes licked his dry lips as he took the gun. 'I understand.'

'It may take three or four days before old man Warrenton comes up with the ransom,' Manuel went on. 'I will have to talk to Dulac. All of us will need food while we wait. He won't want his kitchens destroyed, so he will cooperate. You and I will take it in turns to sleep. The Warrentons will have to be bound. Anita will also have to be bound and gagged. It won't be easy, my friend, but to earn five million dollars can never be easy.'

'One million for me, and four for you,' Fuentes said quickly.

'Yes. That is correct.' Manuel smiled, but watching closely, Fuentes saw the smile didn't reach the black, stone-like eyes.

'If we have to stay in the penthouse for three or four days, these people will have to be fed. They will have to relieve themselves,' Fuentes said.

'Food will be provided by the hotel. There will be toilets in the penthouse.'

'When Anita recovers from the tap,' Fuentes said, 'she will be dangerous. Is it wise to release her hands?'

'That is something we will deal with when we are all together in the penthouse,' Manuel said. 'Don't worry about trifles. You must leave all the details to me, my friend.'

Fuentes shrugged. 'I am nervous about her. She is dangerous.'

Manuel smiled again: an evil smile. 'I am even more dangerous, my friend.'

The two men stared at each other, Fuentes felt a cold chill of fear run down his sweating back.

The sound of the telephone bell made both men start. Manuel got up, crossed to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

'Torres,' he said, then listened while Fuentes fingered the gun, thinking: with this gun, he could handle Manuel. The feel of the cold butt gave him confidence.

Manuel said, 'Thank you, my friend. In a little while you will be rewarded,' and he hung up. He turned and smiled at Fuentes. 'If one has patience, most problems solve themselves,' he said. 'We now have no problem with Anita. My friend at the hospital tells me Pedro died half an hour ago.'

Fuentes stiffened. 'He's dead?' His face lit up. 'Good news!' he thought, while Manuel watched him. 'When she knows, she might not let us into the penthouse.'

'She won't know. She is already at the hotel, waiting for us. When we get into the penthouse, I will tell her Pedro had a relapse and has died. There is nothing she can do about it. We will be in the penthouse. The cops are looking for her. She will have to come with us. I will even give her some money.'

'She may think you are lying,' Fuentes said uneasily. 'Suppose she thinks Pedro hasn't died. She could be dangerous.'

Manuel went to a locker and took from it a tiny radio transistor which he put in his pocket. 'I don't even have to tell her myself. It will be on the news. You and I will be as surprised as she will be.' He put the revolver and a handful of cartridges in his other pocket. 'If she becomes hysterical, I will give her a little tap. Luck is going our way, my friend. Now we will go to the hotel.'

Manuel went first, then Fuentes followed him. They crossed the crowded quay to Manuel's car. As Manuel started the car's engine, he patted Fuentes on his arm.

'All is going well," he said. 'Soon, my friend, we will be rich.'

As Manuel drove off the quay, Fuentes fingered his gun.

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At 21.45, Lepski, with Max Jacoby at his side, drove to the side entrance of the Spanish Bay Hotel. Both men were in a sour mood. Carroll had expected to be taken out that evening. Lepski, who never remembered anniversaries, even his wedding anniversary, had forgotten this day was the anniversary of their first trip to Europe. Although the trip had been a disaster, Carroll had said firmly she wanted to be taken to some decent restaurant and remember the few good times they had had. Lepski who scarcely ever listened to Carroll's chatter had muttered this was fine, and had immediately forgotten the arrangement.

He had rushed into his home, expecting his dinner, and was astonished to find Carroll in the bath.

'Hey, baby!' he bawled. 'What's for dinner?'

'We are eating out, Lepski,' Carroll said coldly, glaring at him. 'We have a date.'

Lepski closed his eyes. He now remembered something about a celebration.

'Look, honey,' he said in his most wheedling voice, 'I've got police business. I'll be out for a couple of hours. I've got to interview the wife of this rent killer. How about some dinner?'

He received a soapy sponge right in his face.

He and Jacoby ate a burger snack while Lepski listened to Jacoby moan that he had had to stand up a blonde who appeared willing for action. Neither men talked as Lepski drove to the Spanish Bay Hotel.

Parking the car, Lepski led the way to Josh Prescott's office which they found in darkness. Turning on the light, they took chairs, lit cigarettes and waited.

They sat in sullen silence. Anxiously, Lepski tried to think how he could placate Carroll when he returned home. When Carroll was frustrated, she could be more than difficult. Maybe, after he had talked to this goddam Cuban, he would buy a big bouquet of flowers from the flower shop in the hotel which remained open long after midnight. Getting a bouquet of choice flowers from the Spanish Bay Hotel surely would sweeten Carroll. Then he thought what the bouquet would cost, and he flinched. Well, maybe not a bouquet. He'd buy a single rose, nicely packed in a gift box.

Jacoby was thinking gloomily that his blonde date had many men friends. He might lose her for good. Brooding so deeply on their troubles, the two detectives lost count of time. Suddenly, Lepski who had run out of cigarettes, glanced at his watch. The time now was 22.30. He started to his feet.

'What's going on?' he exclaimed. 'Josh said he would have the woman here at ten o'clock. It's now half past.'

'Maybe he's held up or something,' Jacoby offered. 'If you want a cigarette have one of mine.'

'I'm going to look for him,' Lepski said. 'You stay here in case he shows up.'

He made his way to the night porter's desk. There were a number of men and women in evening dress in the lobby, about to enter the restaurant. Lepski, feeling self-conscious, slid around them and arrived at the night porter's desk.

'Seen Prescott?' he asked, flashing his shield.

The night porter, thin and elderly, regarded him as if he were a big, hairy spider.

'No doubt Mr. Prescott is on patrol,' he said stiffly.

'Yeah, but where? I want to talk to him: police business.' Lepski said.

'If he's patrolling,' the night porter said, 'he could be anywhere.'

Lepski loosened his tie. 'Well, if you see him, tell him Detective Lepski is in his office.'

'If I see him,' retorted the night porter, who had no time for hotel dicks nor cops. 'He could be anywhere.'

Fuming, Lepski stamped back to Prescott's office.

Jacoby was lighting yet another cigarette.

'The fink's on patrol,' Lepski snarled. 'I'll have one of those!'

It wasn't until after 23.15 that Prescott, his mind still on Maggie, his eyes continually on the hour hand of his watch, decided to look in at his office for a snort of Scotch and a new packet of cigarettes. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Lepski and Jacoby glaring at him. Then with a sense of shock, he remembered Anita Certes. He wasn't a tough ex-cop for nothing. Hitching on a wide smile, he entered the office.

'Hi, boys , he said. 'Sorry about this. A foul-up. I had a special job escorting the Warrentons to the Casino. One of those things.'

'Where's the Cuban woman?' Lepski snarled.

'I guess she's home by now.'

Lepski got to his feet. He released a noise a clap of thunder might have envied.

'Home? What do you mean? You promised to have her here at ten o'clock. We've been sitting on our asses for goddam hours, waiting!'

'I told you it was a foul-up. I had this job to do. She's home by now.'

'How do you know?' Lepski bawled.

'She comes here at eight. She leaves at ten. It is now eleven thirty,' Prescott said. 'And listen, Lepski, you don't bawl at me. You may be the hot shot away from this hotel, but I'm the hot shot here. If you want to talk to her, go to her home.'

'How do I know she's at home?' Lepski demanded.

'Go and find out!' Prescott snapped. 'Where else should she be?'

'She could have dropped dead in the penthouse.'

'So could Mickey Mouse. I tell you she's gone home!'

Jacoby got to his feet. 'Come on, Tom, let's go and see.'

Lepski snorted. 'If she isn't there, Prescott, I'll be back, and I'll start something that'll put years on your life!'

'You start something in this hotel,' Prescott said, glaring at Lepski, 'and I'll fix it so Mr. Dulac, the mayor, and your chief get you back in uniform. Now, piss off!'

While this fracas was going on, Anita Certes, who had been continually looking at her watch, moved restlessly on the lid of the toilet seat Would it never get to twelve thirty? She began to pray again. She prayed, waited and prayed again. She could hear the noise from the kitchens gradually dying down. She heard the night staff begin to leave. Finally, at a minute before twelve thirty, she moved out of the women's rest room. She looked up and down the corridor, listened, then at exactly twelve thirty, she ran swiftly to the staff door, unlocked it and opened it. She found Manuel and Fuentes waiting. She beckoned them in, then led them to the elevator. The three of them entered as the door swished open. Anita pressed the top floor button. As the elevator ascended, she looked at Manuel.

'Pedro?'

'No news,' Manuel lied. 'I tried to get my friend at the hospital, but he had gone home. Don't worry. All will be well.'

'I have been praying,' Anita said, looking trustingly at Manuel. 'I feel in my heart all will be well.'

'Yes,' Manuel said, hating himself. 'Your prayers will be answered.'

Reaching the top floor, Anita first checked the empty corridor, then led the two men up a flight of stairs to the door leading to the penthouse suite. It took her only a moment to unlock the door with her duplicate passkey. The three of them entered the spacious living room, dimly lit by the lamps from the terrace. Anita closed and locked the door.

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It was while Lepski was driving furiously to Seacomb that the news of Pedro Certes' death came over the car radio.

'So the creep's dead,' Jacoby said. 'Look, Tom, do we need to talk to his wife? What's the point?'

'You've got your blonde date still on your mind?' Lepski asked, easing his speed.

'Well, I might just catch her. She keeps late hours, and it's my day off tomorrow. I can sleep late. What do you expect from this Cuban? What's your thinking?'

'She might give us a line on Fuentes.'

'So what? He's in Havana. We can't get at him. For the love of Mike, let's go home. It's getting on for midnight. Who cares about a goddamn Cuban woman?' Jacoby said. 'The killer's dead. That closes the case. We have plenty of other work to do without bothering about a small time killer who is now dead.'

Lepski pulled to the kerb. 'Yeah. I guess you're right. Okay, let's go home. I'll drop you off. Good luck, Max. I hope you make your date.'

'That makes two of us,' Jacoby said.

When Lepski left Jacoby at his apartment block, he headed for home. It wasn't until he had garaged his car that he remembered he had forgotten to buy Carroll a rose. Feeling like a man going to his execution, he entered his home, locked the front door, then, removing his shoes, stole to the bedroom, hoping Carroll would be asleep. But, of course, she wasn't. She was sitting up in bed, waiting for him.

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Anita said, a little breathlessly, 'Don't put on the lights.'

'No. We can see well enough from the lights on the terrace,' Manuel said, as he looked around. 'How the rich live!' The thought flashed through his mind that he too could have a penthouse like this when he had five million dollars. 'Well, we must sit and wait.'

He sat down in one of the big lounging chairs as Fuentes, uneasy, went out onto the terrace. He was astonished at the size of the terrace, the large pots of flowers, the lounging chairs, tables and the cocktail bar.

'What is the time?' Manuel said, then peered at his watch in the semi-darkness. 'Ah! It is nearing news time. I have put money on a horse, Anita. I feel this is my lucky day.' He took from his pocket the tiny transistor. 'Do you ever back the horses?'

'I have no money for such things,' Anita said curtly. 'You are not going to turn that on? Someone might hear it.'

'No one will hear it,' Manuel said. 'I have to know if my horse has won,' and he switched on the transistor, adjusting the control so the sound was low but distinct.

Fuentes came to the doorway, his back to the moonlit terrace. Sweat was running down his face. Would this stupid woman begin to scream when she learned her creep of a husband had died? Would Manuel be able to control her? Once again, he fingered his gun.

The radio announcer first began with the local news. Anita sat motionless. Manuel wished he could see her face, but the light in the big room was too dim. He could only see her silhouette as she sat, her hands gripped between her knees.

Then came the announcement he was waiting for. He stiffened, leaning forward so he could spring on Anita if she began to scream. Fuentes also moved forward.

The announcement was brief: 'Pedro Certes, killer of a rent collector in Seacomb, having been shot by Detective Tom Lepski while trying to escape with three thousand dollars, has died after briefly returning to consciousness.'

The announcer then began to give the racing news, but Manuel switched off. He dropped the transistor on the floor and looked hard at Anita, waiting for the first sign of hysterics.