1978 - Consider Yourself Dead

by James Hadley Chase

‘Nice, huh?’

  Frost looked around. It was more than nice: it was luxe.

  ‘Just one thing to remember,’ Marvin said, his expression serious. ‘No women here, even if you could smuggle a woman in which you can’t.’

  Frost nodded, thinking what a hell of a waste of a luxe cabin.

  ‘I hear you,’ he said.

  ‘When you are on day shift, which will be next week, you clock off at 20.00, then your time’s your own, but you must be back here by 02.00, that’s danger time, but be back before, in case Old Creepy checks.’

  ‘How about transport?’

  ‘There’s a T.R.7 in the garage. We share it.’

  ‘So I drive back late and get chewed up by the dogs.’

  Marvin grinned.

  ‘No problem. You keep the car windows closed and drive straight into the garage. The door is electronically controlled. Maybe the dogs will bark around the car, but they have been trained not to enter the garage. When the door shuts, you get out, and there’s a door from the garage into your cabin.’

  ‘Quite a setup.’

  ‘I guess.’ Marvin shoved his hat to the back of his head. ‘Well, Mike, you’d better get your uniform, and then go to the cophouse for your pistol permit. Harris on Trueman Avenue will fit you out. He knows what you’ll want. Get back here around 19.00. We’ll have dinner together in the guardroom. You won’t complain about the food. You take what comes, but it’s always good. I guess that’s it. I’ll get back on the job. See you,’ and nodding, he left.

  Frost drove the VW to the outfitters and came away with three sets of uniform and an Australian style hat.

  Then he went to the policehouse and picked up his pistol permit, then he drove to the Sea Motel, settled his check, got a taxi and was driven back to the Grandi estate.

  He felt relaxed and happy. He thought of Marcia. She had done him a good turn. At six hundred a week and all found, on the face of it, the job appeared to be a beautiful steal.

  Long may it last, he thought as the taxi took him towards Paradise Largo. Man! Am I on the gravy train!

  Gravy train?

  He was to find out later how wrong he could be.

  Tough as he was, money conscious as he was, if he could have looked into a crystal ball and seen what was coming, he would have got the hell out of Paradise City on the first available plane.

  Two

  Frost looked at his strap watch. The time was 01.15. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and yawned again. He should have gone to bed early the previous night, he told himself, instead of lying on the beach until midnight. He had another seven hours before Marvin relieved him. It had been a mistake to have eaten that excellent, but heavy meal of beef fillet cut in fine slices and done in some rich sauce. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk three bottles of beer.

  The four colour TV monitors had a soporific effect. The pictures kept changing, showing various parts of the island, mostly dense foliage. A couple of times, he caught sight of a dog, but the rest was green and trees. He felt his head fall forward and he jerked himself upright.

  If you want to keep this job, don’t go to sleep.

  Well, he had been warned. Making an effort, he got to his feet and began to walk around the room. He told himself he had better not sit down again, but grimaced at the thought of pacing up and down for the next seven hours.

  He paused and took in several deep breaths of the air-conditioned air. Then crossing over to the conditioner, he turned it fully on. The sudden blast of cold air cleared his head. He stood before the machine, breathing deeply, then with enough cold air in his lungs, he became alert.

  Leaving the machine at maximum, he walked over to the gun rack and took down one of the automatic rifles.

  He checked the magazine. The rifle was ready for instant use. As he was balancing the weapon in his big hands, his sensitive ears, long trained in jungle fighting, picked up a faint sound.

  He looked across the room at the door leading into the villa. He saw the door handle was turning.

  Now fully alert, he moved swiftly and silently to one of the big lounging chairs, dropped on one knee, the rifle aimed at the door, his body half concealed by the chair.

  The door edged open without sound.

  ‘Stay right where you are or you’ll get lead in your gut,’ Frost snarled in his cop voice.

  There was a pause, then a voice said, ‘This is Mr. Amando.’

  Frost grinned. Old Creepy had nearly caught him napping!

  ‘Push the door open and stay where you are,’ he snapped.

  The door swung fully open. Standing in the doorway was a thin man of medium height, wearing a white tuxedo, a blood red bow tie and midnight blue trousers.

  Frenzi Amando was nudging fifty years of age. He had a skull-like face, topped by thick sable-coloured hair. His parchment-like skin was tight over symmetrical features: high forehead, deepset black eyes, a long, pinched nose, an almost lipless mouth and an aggressive chin. Frost told himself he had never seen a more menacing character: something right out of a horror film.

  Slowly, Frost lowered the rifle and stood up. If he wanted to keep this job, he reminded himself, he had to play the right cards.

  ‘Sorry about that, sir,’ he said. ‘But may I suggest you don’t creep up on me? I’m here to protect you and Miss Grandi.’

  Amando regarded him for a long moment. His eyes reminded Frost of the eyes of a cobra: flat, glittering and deadly. Then he moved into the room.

  ‘You are Frost?’ The voice was soft with a hissing note.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You appear to be alert. That is what you are paid to be. In the future, you will not be so dramatic. Only I use this door, and no one else. Do you understand?’

  Frost laid the rifle across the arms of the chair.

  ‘I react to sound, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trained that way. I will remember in the future if you wish to check on me, I won’t shoot.’

  ‘I found the last guard asleep.’

  ‘Then you have every right, sir, to check on me.’

  Amando stared at Frost, his glittering black eyes suspicious.

  ‘You have been well recommended. This, of course, is your first guard duty.’ The thin lips curved into a sneering smile. ‘New brooms, as they say. Keep alert, Frost. From time to time, I will check, as I check on Marvin,’ and turning he left the room, shutting the door silently.

  Frost blew out his cheeks. If this sonofabitch had crept in three minutes earlier, he would have caught him, napping. Picking up the rifle, he returned it to the rack. He was now fully awake.

  So that was Old Creepy. He could now understand why Marvin had said Old Creepy spoilt the scene.

  He lit a cigarette, dropped into the lounging chair and looked at the monitors. He watched a dog cock his leg against a tree.

  He thought of the six nights ahead, sitting in this chair, staring at the monitors, not knowing if the door behind him would silently open, and he grimaced. Maybe he was not going to earn six hundred a week, and all found, as easily as he had thought.

  After a while, he began to think of Marcia Goolden.

  He saw her again as she sat by his side in the dimly lit bar: blonde, grey-blue eyes, beautiful. See you in Paradise City. You and I could have fun together.

  Had she meant it?

  He got a hard on as his mind dwelt on her. He looked at his strap watch. The time was now 01.20.

  She would be a night bird.

  There was a telephone book on a shelf. It took him only a minute or so to find the number of the Spanish Bay hotel.

  ‘Give me reception,’ he said, when he had made contact.

  After a moment’s delay, a smooth, quiet voice said, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Has Miss Goolden checked in yet?’ Frost asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Put me through.’

  A pause, then the smooth quiet voice said, ‘Who is this, please?’

  Frost hesitated. Would she remember him? He
thought for a brief moment, then thinking, What have I to lose? he said, ‘Mike Frost.’

  ‘Will you hold a moment, Mr. Frost? Miss Goolden may have retired.’

  Frost waited, aware he was breathing heavily, aware his hand, holding the telephone receiver, was clammy.

  Then her low, sensual voice came on the line.

  ‘Hi, honey! So you arrived!’

  Frost drew in a long, deep breath. From experience, he knew he had the green light.

  ‘Hi, baby! I’ve had you on my mind ever since we parted.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I bet! Did you see Joe?’

  ‘I saw him. I’m home and dry, thanks to you. When do I see you, baby?’

  ‘Joe fixed something for you?’

  ‘He sure did. When do I see you to say thank you?’

  She laughed.

  ‘How do you say thank you, Mike?’

  ‘Wait and see. Just give me the chance to see you. When?’

  ‘Man! You sound impatient! She laughed again. ‘I’m impatient too. Come here tomorrow at twelve midday. You know the time, you crazy man? I’m going to bed.’

  ‘I’ll share that bed with you in your dreams.’

  She laughed and hung up.

  Frost slowly replaced the telephone receiver. The prospects for tomorrow looked good.

  He settled down in the lounging chair, lit a cigarette, and waited impatiently for the moment when Marvin walked in to relieve him.

  * * *

  The doorman of the Spanish Bay hotel, a coloured giant, resplendent in a pale blue tunic, white trousers and a black top hat, advanced with dignity as Frost slowed the T.R.7 to a standstill.

  The doorman lifted his hat and regarded Frost with an inquiring lift of black eyebrows.

  ‘Shall I take the car, sir?’ he asked.

  Then Frost saw Marcia Goolden coming down the hotel steps.

  ‘Just picking up a fare,’ he said, and got out of the car as Marcia joined him.

  She looked sensational, Frost thought. She was wearing white slacks and a skimpy red halter that scarcely contained her heavy breasts. Her corn-coloured hair fell in silky waves around her deeply tanned shoulders.

  ‘Hi, Mike!’ she exclaimed as the doorman lifted his hat and bowed to her. ‘I’ll drive,’ and before Frost could stop her, she slid into the driving seat. ‘We’re going to a dump that’s not easy to find,’ she went on as Frost settled into the bucket seat beside her. She sent the car shooting down the hotel drive, braked as she reached the boulevard, then forced the car into the traffic. ‘This is terrific!’ she said. ‘I’m thrilled Joe has fixed you.’

  ‘Not without your influence.’

  Marcia laughed.

  ‘You had trouble with that Spanish bitch? I’m not surprised.’ She weaved the car through the traffic, and once or twice Frost flinched. They escaped two collisions by the margin of a coat of paint. She waved gaily to the stunned-looking drivers as she sped on. ‘She’s Joe’s screw, but he’s so busy making money, she doesn’t get enough.’

  She whipped the car off the highway and went storming along a dusty dirt road that abruptly opened on to a wide stretch of tarmac, fronting a long two-storey building, very lush, with dark blue and gold sun awnings. On the roof ran the legend: The Ace of Spades. There were tables dotted around under sun umbrellas, and immaculately dressed waiters in red coats, serving drinks. ‘This is my work shop,’ she said as she swung the car into a parking bay. ‘We can eat well here, then you can say thank you,’ and she regarded him with merry, laughing eyes.

  As she led him into the restaurant, a fat, smiling Maître d’, bowed to her. His black eyes ran over Frost, then he gave him a little bow. With his right hand held high, he conducted them along the aisle between the tables. As Frost followed Marcia’s swinging hips, he glanced round.

  This was some joint, he thought. In the centre of the vast room there was a playing fountain, the cascade of water kept changing colours. In the big pool, containing the fountain, was a tiny island on which stood a grand piano. A thickset, coloured man played immaculate swing: gently and softly. Frost regarded the people at the tables: fat, thin, all bronzed, all in sun dress: women in bikinis or halters and slacks: the men, hairy chested, in shorts. Some of them raised languid hands, some holding fat cigars, as Marcia progressed towards a table away from the pool. She waved, twitched her hips, and reaching the table, she sat down in a blue and gold armchair. Frost, slightly dazed by the opulence of the room, dropped into a chair at her side.

  The Maître d’ flicked his fingers and the wine waiter appeared.

  What the hell is this going to cost me? Frost thought uneasily and mentally fingered his billfold.

  ‘Gin or whisky?’ Marcia asked him.

  ‘Whatever you have,’ Frost said.

  ‘Martini gin,’ Marcia said, smiling at the wine waiter. ‘The usual, Freddy.’

  The wine waiter bowed and went away.

  ‘Relax, honey,’ Marcia said, laying a cool hand on Frost’s wrist. ‘I own this dump. Everything is for free.’

  Frost gaped at her.

  ‘You own this place? You must be kidding!’

  She giggled.

  ‘Fact . . . it’s a story. Let’s eat. I’m starving.’ She patted his wrist. ‘Let me order, honey. I check the menu every day. Okay?’

  ‘Go ahead. You really mean . . .’

  The Maître d’ moved forward.

  ‘Gaston, we’ll have the prawn salad with the trimmings, the duck in that tricky brandy and cherry sauce and coffee.’ She looked at Frost. ‘Sounds right? You can have anything else if you don’t like duck.’

  ‘Sounds fine.’

  The Maître d’ went away.

  ‘You really mean you own this place?’ Frost said, staring around.

  She nodded, sipped her martini, then sat back.

  ‘It’s a story, honey. Three years ago, I worked Miami. I had a pad on the second floor in a quiet side street. I was doing all right, making around two grand a week. One night, a guy propositioned me.’ She laughed. ‘This guy was really kinky. He said he would be outside my complex every Sunday morning at nine o’clock. All he wanted me to do was to show myself at the window and wave him away. That’s all he wanted. For that, he left five hundred bucks in my mailbox. The longer I kept him waiting before I waved him away, the better he liked it. This went on for eighteen months. It used to half kill me, dragging myself out of bed at nine in the morning, but the bread was sweet. Then one day, he wasn’t there. You know, after all that time, I missed the freak. Then his attorney wrote, telling me his client had died and had left me this joint Now can you believe that?’

  ‘You mean this freak actually left you this setup in his will?’

  Marcia nodded.

  ‘That’s what he did.’

  Looking around the lush restaurant, envy gnawed at Frost.

  ‘There are times when I wish I’d been born a woman!’

  Marcia laughed.

  The prawns were served, and they began eating.

  ‘You . . . born a woman? Don’t kid yourself, honey. To be a successful career girl, you have to take a lot. Girls always get the shitty end of the stick.’ She grimaced.

  ‘Okay, I’ve been lucky, but I’ve earned my luck. I’m twenty-five. In another five years, I plan to retire. I own this place. I’m learning to run it. Then . . .’ She paused to heave a sigh. ‘No more freaks. No more filthy old men. No more being scared of a sick with a knife.’ She looked at him, her eyes serious. ‘Don’t ever wish you were born a girl.’

  Frost thought about this, but he wasn’t convinced. To own a lush joint like this! Again envy gnawed at him.

  ‘Now tell me about your job,’ Marcia said.

  Six hundred a week! he thought, and this hooker must earn thousands! He ate. The big prawns were succulent, but envy had dried his mouth.

  The wine waiter poured a chilled Chablis, then moved away.

  ‘Well, it’s not much,’ Frost said. ‘I got
myself a job guarding a wop’s daughter.’

  ‘A wop? Who?’

  ‘Carlo Grandi. He’s supposed to be a big shot in Italy. He’s scared his daughter will be snatched.’

  ‘Carlo Grandi?’ Her voice shot up a note. ‘A big shot? Honey! He is Italy’s Big Shot. You really mean Joe’s fixed you to work for Grandi?’

  ‘Yeah, but what’s so hot about that? Okay, Grandi has quite a place and he seems loaded, but the job’s only worth six hundred a week.’

  Marcia conveyed a prawn to her mouth.

  ‘You have yourself a job, honey!’

  ‘You think so? Six a week? You must be making thousands.’

  She regarded him thoughtfully.

  ‘What so wrong about six hundred a week?’

  ‘I’ve got ambitions.’ He continued to eat. Then after a pause, he went on, ‘I want to live like these slobs,’ and he waved a hand to take in the whole of the restaurant. ‘I want real money, not a crappy six hundred a week.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ She finished the prawn salad and leaned back in her chair. ‘But, honey, use your head. You have your foot in the door. You’ve started right. Tell me about the job. What do you do?’

  Frost told her. He was still telling her when the duck was served.

  ‘Have you met Grandi’s daughter?’ Marcia asked as they began to eat.

  ‘Not yet. Marvin tells me she has hot pants.’ Frost grinned. ‘That’s something I could take care of for her.’

  ‘Not with Amando around.’

  Startled, Frost stared at her.

  ‘You know about him?’

  ‘Honey, I know everyone around here. It’s my business. I have a date with that creep every first Saturday of the month.’ Marcia pulled a face. ‘There’s a cold fish: strictly an in and out job: nothing fancy: just letting off steam, but he pays.’

  ‘He’s right out of a horror film.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ She smiled at him. ‘How about Marvin, the other guard? Do you jell with him?’

  Frost shrugged.

  ‘I wouldn’t know yet. It’s early days. From what I’ve seen of him he is a dedicated cop: a guy without ambition.’ He ate, then said, ‘This duck is fantastic.’

  ‘All the food here is fantastic.’ She paused to look directly at him. ‘Honey, you shouldn’t gripe. Sitting in a chair, just watching, getting well fed and well paid, isn’t something to gripe about, is it?’