They continued to make small talk, aware of the stranger watching and listening, discussing their food. The abalone was kind of sweet, not like anything they had ever eaten. Sort of a nutty taste, although that could be from the slivers of almonds that had been cooked with it. Both Millie and Harry ate with appetite.
The young man had finished his sandwich and was pouring a second glass of beer. He was, quite obviously, trying to prolong his observation of the Bensons.
Millie seldom ate dessert, but Harry selected a strawberry tart from the chromium cart the waiter wheeled up for their inspection. Harry demolished the tart as Millie sipped coffee.
That was when the young man spoke. “Excuse me, sir...”
Both the Bensons turned to face him.
“Yes, young man?” Harry was smiling, enjoying the strawberries in their rich custard filling.
“You folks are strangers in town, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” Millie answered. “Arrived last weekend.”
Harry nodded. “Out here on vacation. Looking around in case we decide to move out to stay. I’m retired and the wife an’ I are gettin’ a mite old for Chicago winters.”
“Don’t blame you.” The young man smiled at Millie. “Did you drive all the way from Chicago?”
“Oh, no!” Millie answered. “We’ve got a new Cadillac, but we never take it on long trips. We Hew out. From here we’re goin’ down to Mexico for a week. Suppose you’ve been there?”
“Many times!”
Millie saw that he had good, white teeth, a nice smile.
“Would you folks mind if I join you?”
“Please!” Harry moved over so that he could sit with them.
The young man rose, picking up his unfinished glass of beer, and brought it to their table. He sat at the end of the circular leather seat, next to Harry, facing Millie. “Maybe I could drive you folks somewhere. My car’s in that parking lot across the street. You can’t see anything without a car.”
“We’ve sure found that out!” Harry agreed. “Been riding all day
in taxis. Getting tired of them.”
“Where’d you plan to go next?”
“Well...” Millie hesitated. “Thought we’d see some of these homes I’ve read about—in Beverly Hills, where the movie stars live.” “I’ve nothing to do for the next hour. Why don’t you let me show you around?”
“Couldn’t impose on you, young man!” Harry exclaimed, although
from his tone of voice you could tell that he might be persuaded. “We’ll find another taxi.”
“Nonsense! I insist.”
“Must say that’s real kind.” Millie smiled, obviously eager to accept the stranger’s offer.
“My name’s Kingsley. Dave Kingsley.”
“And I...” Millie glanced at Harry as she talked. “I’m Mrs. Harris and this is Mr. Harris.”
“Glad to know you. Let me pay my check and then I’ll pick up the car.”
“Let me pay that.” Harry snatched the slip of paper from the table. “Not a word! I insist. It’s nothing.”
“In that case, I’ll get the car.”
“We’ll be right out. Soon as I find our waitress.”
Kingsley got to his feet, still smiling. “I’ll wait outside.” He headed for the entrance.
“See where he goes,” Harry whispered.
Millie turned and watched Kingsley cross the street toward the parking lot.
The waitress appeared and gave Harry their check. He left a tip as he got to his feet.
Millie rose, her eyes on the parking lot, and followed her husband to the cashier’s desk. As Harry paid the bill she saw a convertible leave the parking lot and swing around to park in front of the restaurant. “He’s driving a green convertible,” she whispered as they went toward the door. “Looks new.”
Outside, Kingsley was standing beside his car parked at the curb, smiling and holding the door open.
“Think we can all sit in front. Lots of room.”
“What a lovely car!” Millie slid in first, followed by Harry.
Kingsley closed the door and circled the car to sit at the wheel.
“Where exactly are we?” Millie asked. “I’m completely lost.”
“This is the heart of Beverly Hills, you might say. All the best shops.”
The car crept through heavy traffic but, after a few blocks, turned into a side street and, before long, was rolling through broad residential streets lined with trees where handsome mansions stood in elaborately landscaped gardens.
“This used to be Jack Benny’s home,” Kingsley motioned toward an attractive house. “And this next one is where Lucille Ball lives...” The Bensons peered from side to side as each famous star’s residence was pointed out.
“Mighty good of you, young man,” Harry said. “Taking the time to show us around. I’m sure you must have other things to do.”
“Yes!” Millie agreed. “We shouldn’t keep you.”
“Not at all. I want to drive you up one of our canyons. Show you the view from the top of the hills.”
“That sounds marvelous!”
“Only I’ll have to make a phone call, tell my office I won’t be in until later. I can phone from that drugstore. Won’t take a minute.” He eased the convertible into a parking lot behind a row of shops and went into the corner drugstore.
The Bensons sat without talking; alert and expectant.
Kingsley returned quickly and took his place at the wheel again. “That’s done! Now there’s no need for me to get back to the office. Good to take an afternoon off. Thought we’d drive through Bel Air before we go up into the hills...”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Kingsley.” Millie clutched her bag, peering from side to side, as they drove through another residential section with tall palm trees. Their guide once again pointed out which mansions belonged to stars.
After half an hour of this they came to another business area. Kingsley swerved his convertible into a filling station. “Better get some was before we head into the hills.”
“Let me pay for this.” Harry reached into his pocket.
“Wouldn’t think of it!” Kingsley turned toward the approaching attendant.
As Kingsley gave his order to the man, the Bensons looked around the gas station. Two other cars were at the pumps. Several uniformed attendants were busy. They both noticed a young man in a black leather outfit, off to one side, hunched on a motorcycle. Couldn’t see his face because he had goggles over his eyes, and a leather hood covered his hair, ears and chin. Only the tip of his nose and his mouth were visible. He seemed to be watching the convertible but, realizing that they had seen him, he looked away. He jammed his boot down on the starter and roared around the edge of the gas station, skirting the sidewalk, shot out into the street mid sped away.
Kingsley paid for the gas and headed his convertible out onto the street, turning off Sunset into a rural-looking road that curved between heavily wooded hills. “This is one of our famous canyons,” he explained. “Big estates here. Texas millionaires and movie producers. I’ll take you up to the top and show you the view. Can see the whole city—downtown to City Hall and, in the other direction, out to Catalina. That’s if it’s clear, not too much smog.”
They were aware, as he talked, that the road was taking them higher and higher; through some areas that were in deep shadow, al most like twilight, then out again, higher up, into golden sunlight.
Millie glanced at her wristwatch. “My! It’s almost six-thirty. We shouldn’t have kept you this late, Mr. Kingsley.”
“Nonsense! I don’t have to he home until after seven.”
As they approached the top of the canyon, the Bensons heard the sound of a motorcycle behind them.
Millie nudged Harry.
The motorcycle didn’t come into view, but the sound was there, following them.
Kingsley gave no indication that he had noticed.
The Bensons remained silent as the convertible
turned out of the canyon, at the top, onto a road that followed the curving crests of the hills. Private estates with elaborate gardens were on one side, a view of the distant city on the other, glimpsed through a heavy yellow haze. They noticed several new developments on lower levels, where the earth had been stripped bare. The workmen had departed for the day, leaving their bulldozers and tractors behind.
“That’s the San Fernando Valley,” Kingsley explained. “Afraid you’re not going to see much through this smog.” He eased the convertible down a sloping lane that led to a rustic house, low and rambling, in an overgrown garden, on a narrow promontory of land.
“Isn’t this a private road?” Harry asked.
“Don’t worry. House is for sale. Been vacant for months. I’ll park here and you folks can see what there is of the view.” He stopped the convertible at the end of the lane, near the rim of a canyon. “We can get out and walk to the edge.”
Harry opened the door and eased himself from the car, turning to help Millie. As he did so he observed that Kingsley had left his key in the ignition.
Kingsley led them close to the canyon’s rim. The Bensons saw that there was a drop of at least thirty feet into a wild area of jagged rocks and gnarled underbrush.
The sound of the motorcycle was much closer.
They realized that there was no other house in sight. Nobody could see them here. The Bensons looked around as the roar of the motorcycle came hurtling toward them.
The black-leather figure, crouched low on his machine, sped down the lane and came to a screeching halt behind Kingsley’s convertible.
“What is this?” Harry asked.
“Now, folks! Don’t get excited.” Kingsley smiled as he faced them. “We aren’t going to hurt you unless you force us.”
The ominous leather figure lifted his motorcycle onto its rest and swaggered arrogantly toward them.
“Just hand over your wallet, Mr. Harris,” Kingsley ordered. “And that camera.”
“You mean this is a stickup?” Harry’s voice quavered, his eyes held by the menacing figure of the cyclist.
“That’s right!” Kingsley turned to Millie. “Your jewelry, Mrs. Harris. All your rings. I like diamonds myself, so I noticed yours are real. And that fancy watch you’re wearing. Everything you’ve got in your bag. Won’t do you any good to yell. Nobody around to hear you. Nearest house is in that next canyon.”
Harry glanced at Millie as he moved back, away from Kingsley, toward the edge of the lane. “Looks as though there’s nothing we can do.”
“That’s right, Mr. Harris. Just give me everything you’ve got. Both of you. All money and valuables.” He faced them, the cyclist beside him, from the strip of grass edging the other side of the lane. “We’ll leave you here, you and Mrs. Harris. By the time you climb to the top of the hill for help, we’ll be far away.”
As Kingsley talked, Harry took a quick look at the convertible and saw that the numbers on the license plate were hidden under smudges of dirt.
“Let’s start with you, Mrs. Harris,” Kingsley continued. “Everything you’ve got in your bag. Just drop it on the ground. My friend, here, will pick it up.”
Benson looked at his wife and nodded. “Okay, honey. Let Mr. Kingsley have what’s in your purse.”
“Yes, dear. Whatever you say.” She held up the white leather bag with her left hand and snapped the catch open.
Harry turned to watch the others again. Kingsley was still smiling. Harry kept his eyes on them while Millie pretended to search in her purse for the money. He saw Kingsley’s smile turn to openmouthed surprise and the black-leather figure stiffen with shock. Without looking, he knew that Millie had the revolver in her hand.
“What’re you doing?” Kingsley demanded.
There was the sharp crack of a shot, echoing through the canyons. The cyclist screamed and stumbled back, clutching his arm.
Kingsley started toward the convertible. Another shot. Kingsley stopped short.
“One more step, Mr. Kingsley, and you’ll get it in the leg,” Harry warned. “My wife’s a crack shot. That one was only a warning. Get away from that car. Back to the end of this lane, both of you. Step on it!” he commanded the two youths.
The two men moved together toward the edge of the canyon, but their eyes stayed on Millie’s revolver.
“That’s it! Stand right there. Just turn around and look down into that valley.”
“You’re not going to shoot us in the back!” Kingsley was whining now, genuinely frightened.
“Wouldn’t do a thing like that! Just stand perfectly still.” He reached into Millie’s handbag and brought out a roll of adhesive tape. “My wife has all sorts of things in this purse of hers. Everything we might need for an emergency. Things you wouldn’t believe!” He unrolled the first strip of adhesive, already cut to a convenient length. “Drop your wristwatches at your feet.” He waited until the two expensive watches were on the grass. “Now hold your arms behind you, Mr. Kingsley. Both arms. Hands close together.”
“What’re you going to do?”
Kingsley started to look around.
Another shot from Millie’s revolver.
Kingsley instantly thrust his hands in back of him.
“That’s more like it.” Harry wrapped the strip of adhesive around both wrists, pulling it tight, neatly and expertly; around and around. Next he nudged the black-leather figure. “Hands in back.”
He saw that blood was seeping through a small gap in the leather sleeve, as he repeated the wrist-binding operation with another strip of adhesive.
“What is this?” the cyclist protested, turning to Kingsley. “You said they were suckers.”
“I was wrong.”
Harry pulled a third strip of adhesive from the metal roll and sealed the cyclist’s mouth with it. Another strip covered Kingsley’s lips.
He slipped the roll of adhesive into his pocket and began to search the two men, dropping each item he found into Millie’s open handbag: a thick wallet, expensive tie clip and diamond ring from Kingsley; less from the cyclist—a cheap wallet and, from around his neck, some kind of antique medallion on a gold chain that Harry unfastened skillfully. Last of all he scooped up the two heavy wristwatches from the grass.
Millie returned the revolver to her bag and snapped it shut.
“All right!” Harry ordered. “Stand there. Don’t make a move!” He hinged forward, both hands thrust out, and pushed Kingsley over the edge of the canyon.
The cyclist tried to escape but Harry caught him, twisted his arm, shoving him toward the canyon and, without any qualms, over the rim.
For a moment the Bensons could hear the two bodies rolling down, rocks crashing, dry underbrush snapping. Then there was silence.
Harry turned and went behind the car to the motorcycle. He lifted it from its rest and rolled the heavy machine to the edge of the canyon. With one tremendous shove he sent it after the men.
He turned, smiling, and took Millie’s arm as they started back to the convertible. They got in, Harry at the wheel. “Check how much money we got, honey.”
Millie brought out the two wallets and went through them quickly; three hundred and ten in Kingsley’s wallet, only fifteen in the other. “Three hundred and twenty-five bucks. Not a bad haul. And his name is Hanson, Charles Albert Hanson...”
“That diamond ring’s worth at least five hundred. The watches another couple of hundred. That’s better than we did in Acapulco or Panama. We’ll get rid of the jewelry when we reach the Orient. Should bring a better price than in New York.” He leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek before he turned the ignition key, backed the convertible into the drive beside the vacant house and started up the sloping lane to the top of the hill. “I’ll park on a side street in Hollywood and leave the key in the ignition. Someone will steal the car in half an hour. Be sure and wipe your side of the car clean,” Harry reminded her. “Anything you touched.”
“Don’t I always?”
“I’ll take care of this side. Steering wheel. Door handle...” He slowed the convertible as it reached the road at the top of the lane. No sign of any traffic. He turned the car back in the direction they had come, along the crests of the hills, toward a spectacular sunset.
“Isn’t that lovely!” Millie exclaimed. “So peaceful...”
* * * *
Louis Bonnard, in a clean white mess jacket, stood with some of the other stewards at the ship’s rail, watching the passengers come aboard after their day ashore.
The hidden speakers were now blaring “San Francisco” because that would be their next port of call before starting across the Pacific to Honolulu.
He saw that some of the passengers, as usual, had been drinking too much; laughing and stumbling; wives helping their husbands up the gangplank.
The first to return were always the ones in the chartered buses. Anyone who missed his bus had to hire a taxi to get back to the ship.
The rich people in their black limousines would be the last to return. Some would arrive just before the cruise ship sailed. One man had been left behind at Panama and had to take a plane to Acapulco. Didn’t matter, of course, if you were rich.
All the passengers would go to their cabins, freshen up and change their clothes, then hurry to the bon voyage party that was already going strong in the nightclub, the dining rooms and bars. They would eat and drink until they couldn’t hold any more. He would, as usual, have to help some of them to their cabins and put them to bed.
He watched as each of his charges climbed the gangplank, curious to see what condition they were in. It was his responsibility, if any didn’t return before sailing time, to report their absence to the purser.
Mr. and Mrs. Benson were coming up the gangplank, smiling and happy-looking. They must have had a pleasant day ashore. No criminal types had bothered them in this port. He would worry about them when they reached the Orient.
Benson noticed him and nudged his wife, and both of them waved.
One day soon, while the Bensons were ashore, he would look into the secret compartment in that large suitcase they had brought aboard in New York, with their other luggage. He had noticed it several days ago, when he moved the bags for the maid to clean. He’d felt something shift inside but, later, when he opened the bag it was empty. That was when he noticed an extra thickness of leather at the bottom. There had been no time to look for the hidden opening.
The Cutthroats and Criminals Megapack Page 2