Have a Nice Night

by James Hadley Chase

  After opening fifteen boxes, Brady paused and flexed his fingers. He grinned at Bannion.

  'Like a dream!' he said softly. 'Boy! This is better than picking apples.'

  Bannion was aware of a far away stabbing pain. He was tense. Sweat beaded his face, but he managed a smile.

  Brady turned back to open more security boxes. Thirty minutes after the two men had entered the safe room, all the security boxes were emptied.

  'Okay,' Brady said, having replaced the empty boxes and shutting and relocking the safe door. 'Now for the Warrenton diamonds. Leave the case here. We'll come back the same way.'

  He looked at his watch. The time was 02.50. 'They should be in bed. Gun okay, Mike?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then let's go.' Brady pulled down the ladder that would take them to the roof.

  'I'll go first.'

  Silently, he climbed the ladder, pushed open the trap door and emerged out onto the roof, overlooking the penthouse terrace. Bannion, breathing heavily, forced himself to climb the ladder. The two men stood in the semi-darkness, looking down at the lighted terrace.

  Brady stiffened when he saw the living room lights were on.

  'Hold it!' he whispered. 'They're not in bed yet.'

  His whisper in the stillness and silence of the night carried to Anita who was standing in the shadows by the terrace door. With the swiftness of a lizard, she hid herself behind a big potted flowering shrub, kneeling down and staring up at the terrace roof. She saw two men, lit by the moonlight. The light reflected on their white shirts.

  Brady surveyed the dimly lit terrace.

  'Okay, Mike, we can't waste time. Let's see what's going on.'

  Silently, he lowered himself from the roof to the terrace, followed by Bannion. Brady motioned Bannion to remain where he was, then he silently moved to the entrance to the living room.

  Anita, crouching further into the shadows, watched him as he passed her within touching distance. He peered into the lighted living room, then he stiffened. He saw the back of a shabbily dressed man. He saw the back of the heads of Maria and Wilbur, sitting on the settee. He saw a powerfully built, bald and bearded man with a glittering stiletto knife in his hand, facing them.

  In the quiet of the night, he heard this bearded man say, 'So, Mr. Warrenton, you call your pa. Tell him to bring five million dollars in cash.' The deep voice rose a note. 'You hear me?'

  Brady understood the situation immediately. The Warrentons were being held for ransom. Shifting his gaze to a big mirror across the room, he could see the Warrentons, sitting side by side, a frontal exposure. He saw the woman was wearing her fabulous diamonds. He had to restrain himself from whistling Love Is The Sweetest Thing. This was going to be a pushover. He turned his head and beckoned to Bannion who came silently and joined him.

  'Take the fat one first,' Brady murmured. 'Then the bald guy.' His voice was just a whisper against Bannion's ear. 'Then the other two. Fast shooting, Mike.'

  Bannion drew the powerful air pistol from its holster. Still keeping in the shadows, holding the gun in both hands, his arms extended, his body in a crouch, he aimed at the back of Fuentes' fat neck.

  Wilbur was saying, 'I can't call my father at this hour.'

  Bannion squeezed the trigger. Wilbur's voice drowned the faint plop of the gun.

  Fuentes started, then rubbed the back of his neck. 'Goddam mosquito,' he muttered.

  'Call him!' Manuel barked as Bannion took aim and again squeezed the trigger. The tiny dart hit Manuel in the center of his forehead.

  'Hear me! Call him right now!' He rubbed his forehead thinking, as Fuentes had thought, that he had been bitten by a mosquito.

  Shifting his aim, Bannion shot the third dart into the back of Maria's neck, then again shifting his aim, shot the fourth dart into the back of Wilbur's neck. Both of them reacted, clapping their hands to their necks.

  Manuel's eyes widened as he saw Fuentes drop his gun, clutch at the back of the settee, then slide out of sight. Then he too felt consciousness leaving him. He took two staggering steps forward, then like a felled tree, he smashed down on an occasional table, and spread out on the floor. Wilbur and Maria also succumbed to the powerful drug and went limp on the settee.

  'Very nice,' Brady said. 'Beautiful shooting, Mike.'

  Waving to Bannion to remain where he was, Brady moved into the living room. Swiftly, he removed the earrings, the collar and the two bracelets. He dropped them into a wash leather bag which he put in his pocket.

  'Come on, Mike,' he said, running out onto the terrace. 'Let's go. As I told you: smooth as cream.'

  The two men hoisted themselves up onto the roof and down into the safe room.

  Fifteen minutes later, the contents of the security boxes and the Warrenton diamonds were on their way to Claude Kendrick.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Bannion had removed his disguise and had changed into his chauffeur's uniform. Maggie lay on the settee, her eyes closed, moaning softly to herself. Brady, paying her no attention, put a call through to Haddon who was waiting.

  'Perfect, Ed,' he said. 'Worked like a charm. No problems.'

  'Well done,' Haddon said and hung up.

  Bannion came into the living room, carrying a suitcase. 'Lu, there's an early plane to Los Angeles. I must get it.' His white face and sunken eyes told their story. 'I can't wait. Okay?'

  'Sure,' Brady said, 'The porter will get you a taxi.'

  He went to Bannion. 'Don't worry, Mike. You've done a swell job. The money will go to the doctor. You have my word.'

  The two men shook hands, then Brady called the night porter for a taxi.

  Maggie sat up. 'You're going to see Chrissy, Mike?'

  'Yes.'

  'We'll miss you.' She slid off the settee and kissed him. 'Keep in touch. Lu, give him our telephone number.'

  Brady shook his head. 'No. If something happened to Bannion and the telephone number was found on him it could lead to trouble.'

  Bannion understood. 'That's okay,' he said. 'It's better this way.' He heard the sound of the approaching taxi. 'I'll get off.'

  He looked at Brady. 'Bye and so long.'

  He gave Maggie a gentle pat on her shoulder. 'It's been great knowing you,' he said, then nodding to Brady, he left the chalet.

  They listened to the sound of the taxi as it drove away.

  'Is something wrong?' Maggie asked. 'He looked so sad.'

  'Let's get some sleep,' Brady said curtly. 'Come on, Maggie! I'm tired if you're not.'

  'But, Lu, for him to go off like that! He looks so ill. There is something wrong, isn't there?'

  Brady put his arm around her and moved her towards the bedroom.

  'He's worried about his daughter. Everyone these days has worries. Let's get some sleep. I'm tired.'

  'You're tired!' Maggie snorted. 'That guy was like a sex-starved bull! Tired? I'm dead!'

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  From the terrace, Anita moved like a phantom to the doors of the penthouse living room. There she paused and looked at the bodies of Manuel and Fuentes lying as if dead. She looked at the inert bodies of the Warrentons on the settee.

  She had watched Brady and Bannion climb up on the penthouse roof and disappear. She had watched Bannion using some kind of gun that was practically noiseless, and here was the result!

  Cautiously, she entered the living room. On the floor by Fuentes, was a revolver. She snatched it up and backed away. Her unhinged mind worked slowly. It was more than five minutes before she accepted the fact that these two men who had brought disaster into her life, lay at her mercy.

  She approached Fuentes and kicked him savagely in the face. When he didn't react, she became relaxed, and a cruel, crazy smile lit up her face. She put down the gun and fingered the haft of her knife. A murderous surge ran through her to cut this man who had tempted Pedro: cut him to pieces. Then she paused and surveyed this deluxe room and at the lush carpet she had cleaned so many times. It was a bea
utiful carpet. How often, when she had been using a vacuum cleaner, had she wished to own such a carpet!

  She put the knife back into its sheaf, then catching hold of Fuentes' ankles, she dragged him out onto the terrace. She left him lying in a patch of moonlight and returned to the living room.

  She stood over Manuel, staring down at him. Had he lied to her? She felt sure he had, but, after his dramatic speech that his friend at the hospital had lied to him, she was unsure.

  Then she remembered the device that would explode the bombs. Kneeling, she searched Manuel's pockets. No device. So he had lied to her!

  She had a struggle to move Manuel's great body, but determination lent her strength. She was panting by the time she got Manuel lying by Fuentes' side.

  She stood over the two men lying unconscious at her feet.

  'Pedro, try to listen to me,' she said softly. 'You are now going to be revenged. You will now be able to sleep in peace. Wherever you are, I pray you will see what your wife who has never ceased to love you, will now do to these two animals as you would want me to do to them.'

  She drew the knife and knelt by Manuel's inert body. She looked with loathing at the bearded face.

  'You claim to be a man of truth,' she said softly. 'All our people trusted you. You promised me my husband. You lied about the bombs. You have no machine with you to explode the bombs. You persuaded me to take great risks to hide these so-called bombs. You didn't care! All you thought about was money, you man of truth.'

  On the dark horizon, a glimmer of light began to show. The sun was beginning to rise. In an hour or so, it would be dawn.

  'So I punish you, you man of untruth,' Anita whispered.

  She thumbed back Manuel's eyelid. Her hand steady, she gently inserted the point of her knife into Manuel's retina and turned the knife gently. Leaning over him, she did the same to his left eye.

  'Sightless, man of untruth, no one will come to you. No one will be betrayed by you as you have betrayed me. Live in your misery.'

  As blood began to ooze out of Manuel's eyes, she got to her feet and knelt by Fuentes.

  'If it wasn't for you,' she said, her voice harsh, 'Pedro would be alive now.'

  Holding the haft of the knife in both hands, she began to hack and stab the unconscious body with maniacal fury.

  The first rays of the sun began to light up the sky when she walked into the living room. She went into Wilbur's bathroom and washed the blood off her hands. She then washed the knife.

  She felt calmer, but not satisfied. Pedro could still not rest in peace until this detective who had shot him was dead. She paused to think. What was his name? For a long moment, she was frightened she had forgotten, then the name came clearly to her: Tom Lepski.

  But where was he? How could she find him? She didn't even know what he looked like! She thought again, then going into the living room, she found the local telephone book. It took her only a few minutes to locate Lepski's home address.

  Again, she paused to think. This detective wouldn't be as easy a target as Manuel and Fuentes. It would be dangerous to get close to him and use her knife. She ran to where she had left Fuentes' gun. Snatching it up, she left the penthouse and ran silently down the service stairs, down to the staff entrance, and out into the day, the start of yet another hot, humid day.

  Chapter 8

  At 07.30 Lepski was beginning his breakfast of three fried eggs and a quarter-inch thick ham, grilled crisp.

  Carroll sat opposite him and watched him munch with growing envy. Carroll was a weight watcher, and only allowed herself a cup of sugarless coffee for breakfast, but this morning, watching Lepski eat, she felt gnawing pangs of hunger. Being a woman of considerable willpower, she resisted the violent temptation of snatching Lepski's plate away and finishing up the ham and the remaining egg. However, she could not resist expressing her criticism.

  'Lepski! You eat too much!' she said as Lepski speared his third egg.

  'Yeah,' Lepski said. 'This is a great bit of ham.'

  'You're not listening. You don't need such a heavy breakfast. Look at me! I only drink coffee without sugar!'

  Lepski added more sugar to his coffee, then cut another piece of ham, then reached for another piece of toast.

  'I've got to have a good start for the day.' He conveyed the food into his mouth and munched. 'After all, baby, I have a heavy day's work. I've got to keep my strength up --'

  'You? Work! Let me tell you, Lepski, I know how you work! Most of the days you're sitting with your feet on your desk, reading the comics. When you're not doing that, you're propping up a bar making out you are a hot-shot detective. Work! You don't know the meaning of work. What about me? Me, who cleans the house, cooks your meals, washes your shirts? Me!'

  Lepski had heard all this before. He gave her his oily smile.

  'You're right, baby. I wouldn't know what I would do without you.'

  Carroll snorted. 'All men say that!' she snapped. 'It doesn't fool any of us. From now on for the sake of your health, you will only have one egg and a morsel of ham. You'll feel and look better for it.'

  Lepski widened his oily smile.

  'No, baby, I've a better idea. You have one egg and a morsel of ham and I'll have my usual breakfast.'

  Carroll was about to clash horns when the front door bell rang.

  'Now, who can that be?' she said, pushing back her chair.

  Lepski grabbed another piece of toast.

  'Go ahead, baby, satisfy your curiosity,' he said, slapping butter on the toast.

  'Why don't you go?' Carroll demanded. 'Do I have to do everything in this house?'

  'Could be the mail man, baby, with a big, fat present for you,' Lepski said, slapping marmalade on his toast.

  With an exasperated sigh, Carroll got up, walked down the passage and jerked open the front door.

  To her startled surprise, she found herself confronted by a short, squat Cuban woman, dressed in black slacks and a black sweat shirt.

  'Yes?' Carroll said. 'What is it?'

  'I want to speak to Mr. Lepski,' Anita said. Her right hand, hidden behind her back, gripped the .38 revolver that Fuentes had dropped.

  'My husband is having breakfast,' Carroll said stiffly. 'He doesn't like to be disturbed. Who are you?'

  Anita regarded this good looking woman standing before her. In her unhinged mind she wondered if this woman would suffer, as she was suffering, to lose her husband.

  'I am Anita Certes,' she said. 'Mr. Lepski wants to talk to me about my husband.'

  'You should have gone to the station house,' Carroll said. 'Stay here. I'll ask him.'

  Lepski had wiped his plate clean. He was finishing his third cup of coffee when Carroll came into the living room.

  'There's a Cuban woman,' Carroll said. 'She wants to talk to you. Her name is Anita Certes.'

  Lepski sprang up, kicking his chair away.

  'For the love of Mike!' he exploded. 'We've been hunting for this woman!'

  Pushing Carroll aside, he stormed down the corridor to face Anita who was standing motionless.

  'Are you Tom Lepski?' she asked.

  A sudden feeling of chill ran through Lepski as he looked into the black, stony eyes. From experience, he knew when someone was dangerous and this woman was. He realized that his gun was in the bedroom.

  'Are you the man who shot my husband?' Anita asked.

  'Let's talk about it, huh?' Lepski said, gently.

  He realized by her expression and by her wild eyes that this woman facing him was out of her mind.

  'Come on in.'

  Then be saw the gun in Anita's hand, pointing at him.

  Carroll, standing behind him, also saw the gun.

  'Die then,' Anita said softly and pulled the trigger.

  Lepski felt a thump against his heart. He started back, caught his heel on the carpet and fell heavily. His head slammed against the floor.

  Anita stood over him and fired three more shots, then she turned and ran down the pat
h and onto the street.

  She wasn't to know that the gun Manuel had given Fuentes had been loaded with blanks. Manuel had distrusted Fuentes as Fuentes had distrusted him.

  Seeing Lepski spread out on the floor, hearing the bang of gun fire, Carroll closed her eyes. She wasn't the fainting type. For a long moment, she remained motionless, then pulling herself together, she moved forward and knelt by Lepski's side.

  This awful woman had killed him!

  Cradling his head in her arms, she began to kiss him. Lepski stirred, then his arms went around her.

  'More,' he said. 'Much more.'

  Carroll released him. 'I thought you were dead!'

  'I thought so too.'

  Lepski sat up and began to rub the back of his head.

  'Am I dead?'

  Carroll looked at his shirt.

  'There's no blood. Don't talk stupid. Of course, you're not dead!'

  A little fearfully, Lepski surveyed his shirt front that showed black powder burns. Then he opened his shirt and surveyed his chest. Then with a snarl, he jumped to his feet.

  'Which way did she go?' he bawled.

  'How do I know? Oh, Tom, my love, I really thought you were dead!'

  'That makes two of us.'

  Lepski rushed into the bedroom, grabbed up his revolver and snapped it in the holster on his belt, then he rushed back down the corridor.

  Carroll caught hold of his arm as he headed for the street.

  'Don't go out there! She's dangerous! No, Tom! Please!'

  Lepski disentangled his arm.

  'Baby, this is police work,' he said with a heroic smile that was just short of being corny. 'Look, call Beigler. Get the boys down here, okay?'

  'Oh, Tom! If anything should happen to you!' There were tears in Carroll's eyes.

  Lepski loved it. He kissed her.

  'Three eggs tomorrow?'

  'Four if you want them. Do be careful!'

  'Call Beigler.'

  Then bracing himself, Lepski, his hand on his gun butt, strode down the short drive onto the deserted street. Here he paused and looked to right and left. This crazy woman could not have gone far, but in which direction?