Have a Nice Night

by James Hadley Chase

  'Have the Chicken Maryland,' Haddon said. 'It's good.'

  Brad said the Chicken Maryland was fine with him.

  Haddon ordered a Scotch on the rocks for Brady which arrived while the two men sat silently waiting.

  After Brady had sipped his drink, he said, 'You asked for action, Ed. You've got it.'

  'No more than I expected.' Haddon grinned. 'As partners, we're the best.'

  As the waiter was fussing around, providing bread rolls, butter and canapes, the two men relapsed into silence. It wasn't until the chicken was served and the waiter had gone, that Haddon said, 'You found out where the safe is?'

  Brady cut off a portion of chicken breast, dipped it into a bowl of chilli sauce and conveyed it to his mouth. He chewed, nodded, said, 'This is great!'

  Haddon had never known anyone as devoted to food as Brady. In spite of his leanness, Brady adored good cooking. Haddon contained his impatience. After five minutes while Brady ate as if he hadn't eaten for a week, Haddon repeated his question. 'The safe?'

  'Gimme a minute,' Brady said, cutting into the chicken thigh. 'You know something, Ed?' He was speaking with his mouth full. 'When I was a kid, I starved. I'm not kidding. If I got a bit of moldy bread once a day, I was lucky. My mum died of starvation. Food is the most beautiful thing in life!'

  Haddon lost patience. 'Lu! The goddam safe!' The rasp in his voice startled Brady who reluctantly laid down his fork.

  'Maggie got the dope. You'll never guess where the hotel safe is located. You would have thought it was somewhere behind the reception desk where most safes are, or even in the basement. Right?'

  Haddon snarled, 'Where is it?'

  'On the penthouse floor. How do you like that?'

  Haddon absorbed this information, then grinned. 'I love it. Tell me.'

  'Maggie got the reception clerk to bed. She spun him a yarn about her eccentric patient. Maggie really knows her business, and Previn was drained dry. So she fixed he should conduct me with Maggie to take a look at the safe. There's a special elevator up to the penthouse floor that leads right into the safe room. The Warrentons wouldn't even know the safe room is up there. What happens is this: every night, before the guests retire, they call the security guards and put their valuables into boxes. Each box is numbered and the guests get a receipt. The boxes are taken by this elevator to the safe. This service begins at 23.00 and goes to 02.00. After that time, the service packs up.

  'Previn -- the reception clerk -- panting to get Maggie into his bed again, gave me a look-see. This is strictly against hotel regulations, but Maggie sexed him with promises of yet another night. The safe looks tough, but that's my business. What the real problem is, once we bust the safe, is how to get all those boxes down from the penthouse floor and out of the hotel. This needs thought.'

  Haddon nodded. 'I'll give it thought, too.'

  He ate while he brooded, then he went on, 'I've seen Kendrick. He can handle the Warrenton diamonds. He offers five million. That means he will get six. Fair enough. But he's uneasy about the boxes. They will have to be opened and the lot valued. This will take time. The heat will be fierce. The first suspect will be Kendrick. I can see his angle. Maybe I'll have to find another fence for the boxes.'

  Brady grimaced. 'Maybe it would be better to forget the boxes and go for the Warrenton diamonds.'

  'If the safe had been anywhere else but on the penthouse floor, Lu, I would agree with you, but this is like a gift from the gods. All this needs is more thought. The Warrentons' diamonds, plus the contents of the boxes, will give us each something like eight million.'

  Brady considered this. Eight million! What couldn't he do with a sum like that!

  'Tell me about the safe room and this elevator,' Haddon went on, watching the greed lighting up in Brady's eyes.

  'The elevator is located on the top floor, then goes up, one floor, to the penthouse floor. The elevator door on the top floor is concealed by a door marked Service. Previn unlocked this door and Maggie pushed my chair into the cage. There is a lock, instead of a button, on the elevator. Previn had a key. Putting the key in the lock and turning the key, caused the elevator to rise up one floor and we moved into the safe room. This room has no windows nor doors, but I saw there was a trap door in the ceiling which was probably a way of escape, onto the roof, in case of fire.'

  Haddon finished his chicken. 'Okay, Lu, think about it. Did you get a look at one of the security boxes?'

  'Sure. Previn showed me one. The lock is for the birds.'

  'If there were twenty boxes in that safe, how long would it take you to open all of them?'

  'Half an hour,' Brady replied promptly.

  'So, suppose, after you have grabbed the Warrentons' diamonds, you get into the safe room, open the safe, open the boxes, empty their contents into a sack, close the boxes, put them back and relock the safe. Suppose you did that?'

  Brady turned this suggestion over in his mind. 'It'll need thought and organizing, Ed, but it's an idea. Give me a day or so to think about it, will you?'

  'I'll have to talk to Kendrick again,' Haddon said. 'Yes, the night after tomorrow. We'll get this finalized. Right?'

  'The night after tomorrow, here,' Brady said, then, 'How about some of that apple pie I had the other night? It was good.'

  Chapter 5

  As the sun, like a crimson rim of fire, slid into the sea and dusk settled over the waterfront, Manuel Torres walked towards his fishing vessel. He carried a canvas sack over his shoulder. His bald head resembled an orange in the light of the fading sunset. He paused now and then to exchange greetings with other Cubans who were aimlessly waiting for the time when they could return to their shacks, hoping their wives would provide some sort of meal.

  There was a cold, gloomy expression on Manuel's face as he walked the gang plank onto his vessel. Carefully, he laid down the canvas sack, then pulled in the gang plank. As he had approached his vessel, his eyes darted to right and left. There were no signs of watching detectives, nor even a cop.

  He whistled to alert Fuentes that he was back, then picking up the sack, he walked the deck to the forward cabin which was in darkness. He had warned Fuentes not to put on the lights. He had been away some six hours, and he felt sorry for Fuentes, sitting in the growing darkness, alone, but at least he had left him food.

  He entered the cabin, closed the door, then turned on the light. Fuentes, lying on the bunk, sat up.

  'You have taken your time!' he snarled. 'Do you imagine I like it, lying here, waiting and waiting?'

  'My friend,' Manuel said quietly, 'you have no need to wait and wait. You are not a prisoner. You have only to get up and walk away. No one, except the cops, will stop you.'

  Deflated, Fuentes lay back on the hard mattress. 'I'm worked up. It is no fun being cooped up in this hot cabin for hours. Forget it, Manuel. I know you are doing your best for me, and I'm grateful.'

  Manuel began to unpack the canvas sack. 'Tonight, we will eat well,' he said. 'Pasta, chicken, cheese.'

  Fuentes was studying Manuel's face, lit by the overhead lamp. Manuel's dark, brooding expression alarmed him. 'Is there something wrong?' he asked. He got off the bunk and approached the table on which Manuel was laying out a pack of spaghetti, cans of tomato and chilli sauces and a plump chicken.

  'We eat first,' Manuel said. 'I am hungry.' Although he hadn't emptied the sack, he pulled the strings, closing the sack and placed it carefully in a locker.

  'You have something else there?' Fuentes asked.

  'The bombs,' Manuel said. 'But first we eat.'

  He moved into the small galley. After putting a saucepan of water on the gas ring, then turning on the electric grill, he opened the cans. He put the chicken on the rotor spit. His movements were methodical, his expression remained gloomy.

  Fuentes stood in the doorway of the galley, nervously watching Manuel. He hadn't seen this man so thoughtful nor so gloomy before, and his nervousness increased.

  'Is there trouble?' he asked
after some minutes.

  'We eat. Then we talk,' Manuel said, putting the spaghetti into the now boiling water.

  Fuentes returned to the cabin and set knives and forks. He then sat on the bunk and waited.

  Forty minutes later, the two men sat at the table, each with half a grilled chicken and a bowl of spaghetti, smothered in chilli and tomato sauces. Manuel wolfed down the food. His face was still set in a gloomy mask.

  Fuentes, uneasy, ate slowly. He kept looking at Manuel, then away. Finally, he exploded, 'Manuel, my friend! What has happened? Tell me for the love of God!'

  'He is going to die,' Manuel said, finishing the last of the chicken.

  Fuentes stiffened. 'You mean Pedro?'

  'Who else? I have talked to my friend at the hospital. There is now no hope. It is a matter of time. Pedro could survive for a week, even two weeks, but he is a dead man already.'

  Fuentes, who thought only of himself, relaxed. 'So we don't need the bombs?' He had a horror of being connected with bombs. 'So we have less problems?'

  Manuel stared at him. His little eyes were like black olives. 'My friend, you are not thinking. You seem to have forgotten what we are planning to do, you, Anita and me.'

  Fuentes stared at him. 'You are wrong! I know well what we plan to do! We get into the penthouse of the hotel, hold these two rich people for ransom and leave for Havana with five million dollars. Why do you say I am not thinking?'

  'How do we get into the penthouse?'

  Fuentes flung up his hands in a gesture of impatience. 'This has been arranged. Anita has a duplicate passkey. She will get us into the penthouse. Why are you saying I am not thinking?'

  'Now, you are not only not thinking, my friend, but you are not remembering,' Manuel said, cutting himself a piece of cheese. 'You have forgotten Anita promised to get us into the penthouse on one condition.' He leaned forward, staring at Fuentes. 'Pedro is to be released and travel with us to Havana.'

  Fuentes ran his fingers through his long, greasy hair. 'But you tell me he is dying.'

  'Now, my friend, you are beginning to see the problem. Yes, Pedro will be dead in a week or so. Anita loves this man. She is ready to do anything to get him back with her.' Manuel cut himself another piece of cheese. 'Women need understanding. I understand them. Money means nothing to her. Her life is bound up with Pedro. I have given my word to her that if she gets us into the penthouse, her man will be released and will go with us to Havana. I have done everything possible to make Pedro's release certain. I have two bombs that will create such pressure, Pedro will be released.'

  He shut his eyes and Fuentes could see he was in torment. There was a long silence while Fuentes watched Manuel with growing impatience, but this big man scared him, so he kept silent.

  'I gave my word to Anita,' Manuel went on, staring down at his big hands, resting on the table. 'I promised her I would get her husband released if she would get us into the penthouse. That was the bargain.'

  'I know,' Fuentes said, 'but Pedro is dying.'

  'Yes. That is without doubt. So there is no bargain between Anita and myself.'

  Fuentes clutched his head in his hands. 'Are you telling me we are going to lose five million dollars because this stupid woman who is so besotted with this useless creep, won't get us into the penthouse if she knows the bastard is dying?' Fuentes shouted.

  'That is what I am telling you. A man like you wouldn't understand. I am known as a man of truth.' Manuel paused, staring into space, then he went on. 'Five million dollars are involved. It is said every man has his price.' Manuel wiped the sweat off his face. 'Five million dollars! I have suffered hours to come to a decision. Five million dollars! With that kind of money many doors that have stayed locked to me will open.'

  'You are forgetting my share,' Fuentes said sharply.

  Manuel's black, olive-like eyes were expressionless as he nodded. 'Yes. You get a million. So four million dollars!'

  'What is your decision?' Fuentes asked, the muscles in his fat face twitching.

  'I will have to lie to her. To lie to her reduces me in my own eyes. To have to lie to one of my people is an act of shame.' Manuel clenched his fists. 'You think only of money. That I can understand. You are a poor man. This lie that I will be forced to tell her will make a hole in my heart.'

  With an effort, Fuentes kept control of himself. He wanted to scream at Manuel to stop acting like a goddam ham. Who cared about Anita? What was she, anyway? A nothing, like her creep of a husband! But he restrained himself and remained silent. No one screamed at Manuel without his fist smashing into their faces.

  'The bombs?' he asked, after a long silence. 'Will they be necessary now?'

  'Of course. We will have to act out the lie. She is not stupid. I will have to lie to her with the greatest care.' He got to his feet. 'Go to bed, my friend. In half an hour, I meet Anita. We mustn't waste any more time. If Pedro dies tomorrow or the day after, Anita might learn of his death, then there will be no five millions. She must get us into the penthouse by the night after next.'

  'We will need guns,' Fuentes said.

  'All that is arranged. Everything is arranged except for Anita's part in the operation.'

  Half an hour later, Manuel left his fishing vessel and walked along the waterfront, carrying the canvas sack that contained the two bombs. He reached Anita's walk-up apartment, climbed the stairs and knocked on her door.

  Anita jerked the door open. In the harsh overhead light, Manuel thought she looked ill. There were dark patches under her eyes and she seemed to have shrunk.

  'Good news,' Manuel said as he moved into the little living room.

  Anita's eyes lit up as she closed the door. 'Pedro?'

  'Yes, Pedro.' Manuel placed the canvas sack on the table. His thick lips moved into a false smile. 'I have just come from the hospital. My friend there tells me Pedro has recovered consciousness, and his fever has abated. In another two days, it will be safe to move him.'

  Anita stared at him. 'I can't believe it!' she whispered. 'He was so ill. In two days? No, it can't be possible!'

  'Antibiotics work miracles,' Manuel said, trying to avoid Anita's searching stare. 'My friend at the hospital tells me the cops are already trying to question your husband. He is a fine lad, Anita! You should be proud of him! He refuses to tell them anything. Even now, they don't know who he is. He's protecting you.'

  Anita's face crumpled. She turned away and ran into the tiny bedroom. Listening to her sobs, Manuel closed his eyes. Would four million dollars ever erase this moment when he could no longer call himself a man of truth?

  He waited, sweat on his face, then as the sound of her sobs ceased, he moved silently to the door and peered into the bedroom. Anita was on her knees, her head bowed in prayer, thanking God for this miracle, and Manuel, grimacing, turned away.

  Ten minutes later, Anita came from the bedroom, looking a different woman. She had bathed her eyes, combed her hair, and her hard expression told Manuel she was now the woman he needed to get them into the penthouse.

  'God has answered my prayers,' she said, catching hold of Manuel's right hand in both of hers. 'I have never ceased to pray. God has listened to me! Now, we must get Pedro home! In two days, you say he can travel?'

  'Yes, but there are a number of things to arrange in these two days,' Manuel said. 'First the bombs.' He went to the table and opened the sack, producing a black box the size and shape of a cigarette packet. 'This is the little bomb. You must conceal it in the hotel lobby.' He took another black box from the sack. This box was four times the size of the first box and wrapped in cellophane. He laid the box carefully on the table. 'This is the big bomb that will destroy the kitchens. I hope we don't have to use it.' Then he took a small box from the sack. 'This is the detonator. You see these two buttons. I press the top button and the small bomb explodes. I press the second button and the big bomb explodes. I will have this with me. You will have the two bombs.'

  Anita moved forward and stared at the two
boxes on the table. Manuel watched her. Her hard, determined expression gave him confidence.

  'I will hide these bombs,' she said. 'You can rely on me.'

  'Good,' Manuel said. 'Tomorrow night, Fuentes and I will come here at midnight. Then we three will go to the hotel. You are still sure you can get us into the penthouse?'

  'I am sure,' Anita said.

  'Then tomorrow night, here, at midnight.' Manuel moved to the door.

  She put her hand on his arm. 'I trust you. You are a good man. I don't trust Fuentes, but you . . .' She stared directly at him. 'Our people say you are a man of truth. I do this only for Pedro.'

  Manuel moved out into the corridor. 'All will be well,' he said, hating himself, but now only thinking what four million dollars would mean to his future. 'Tomorrow night,' and he walked down the corridor and down the stairs while Anita watched him.

  She closed and locked the door, then she went across the room, opened a drawer and took from it a stabbing knife that Pedro kept, explaining to her that there were times when a man had to protect himself. She pulled the knife from its sheaf. She thought of Josh Prescott, the hotel's night detective. He was the menace. He was the only one to prevent her hiding the bombs. She regarded the glittering blade. For Pedro, she would do anything, even take a life.

  She changed into a black sweat shirt and black trousers. She fastened the knife to her belt and pulled the sweat shirt down to conceal the knife. Then she put the two bombs in a plastic sack. The time now was 01.15. Leaving her room, she began the long walk to the Spanish Bay Hotel.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Every man has a weakness, and Josh Prescott, the night detective at the Spanish Bay Hotel, was no exception. He was a man of fixed routine. He was also a man who was over fond of women. Even he admitted that he was oversexed.

  Mike Bannion, knowing this man was dangerous, had studied his routine. At 01.00, Prescott patrolled the corridors of the hotel. At 01.40, he walked around the hotel lobby and the empty restaurants. At 02.00, he visited the kitchens. At 02.45 he patrolled the hotel grounds and the swimming pool. He was so punctual, Mike could set a watch by this routine. This was Prescott's weakness. Bannion had passed this information on to Brady.