1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘You’re too clever for me, Mr. Lepski,’ Solo said, shaking his head. ‘It’s true Baldy and I were a little friendly one time, but I haven’t seen him now for more than two years.’

  Lepski again shrugged.

  ‘Okay, okay. Can you tell me anything new you’ve heard about him since you last saw him?’

  Solo reached for another sausage.

  ‘Well, Mr. Lepski, I do hear things from time to time. As you know the boys call on me to do little jobs, but I always say no. I don’t need little jobs anymore.’ He dipped the sausage into a bowl of chili sauce on the counter. ‘I do hear things. I did hear Riccard had pulled a big job in Vero Beach. No details. I didn’t want to hear. I’m not interested anymore.’

  ‘You kidding? Vero Beach?’ Lepski stared at him. ‘What sort of job?’

  ‘I don’t know. Frankly, Mr. Lepski, I didn’t believe it. There is nothing big in Vero Beach.’

  ‘Except it is a good place for a smuggling run,’ Lepski said.

  ‘Of course, there’s that, but Baldy was a peterman. He wasn't a smuggler when I knew him.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he hasn’t turned smuggler. When was he supposed to have pulled this job?’

  ‘Two months ago so I heard.’

  Harry was listening to all this with growing interest. He half turned so his back was to Lepski and he occupied himself with another sausage.

  ‘Look, Solo, I want help,’ Lepski said. ‘This could be my break. If I don’t get a promotion soon my wife threatens to cut off my food. There’s a rumour going around that Riccard has been knocked off. I know he’s vanished. He was in this City on Tuesday. One of my boys recognised him as he left the airport. I’ve got a bunch of meatheads working under me and this meathead didn’t report that Riccard had arrived. He let him drive off in a taxi without following him or even alerting headquarters. When a punk like Riccard hits this City, a red light goes up or it should go up, but I didn’t know anything about it until my meathead started shooting the breeze the next day and mentioned Riccard was in town. I took a long chance and checked all the hire car agencies. Riccard would have to have a car and as he arrived without one, I guessed he’d hire one. Hertz of Vero Beach report that a man answering to Riccard’s description hired a Mustang in the name of Joel Blach of Cleveland. We checked Cleveland: no Joel Blach at the address given. So I took a photo of Baldy over to Hertz and they positively identified him as Blach. Now Riccard and the Mustang have vanished.’

  Solo looked sad.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Lepski, but I can’t help you. I know nothing about Riccard since two years ago except what I’ve told you. He didn’t come to see me. I’ve told what I’ve heard . . . that’s all. Very sorry.’

  Lepski stared fixedly into Solo’s blank eyes.

  ‘Okay, but watch it, Solo. You’ve kept your nose clean for five years. Keep it that way.’ He shouldered his way through the crowd at the bar and made his way out into the sunlit street.

  Solo finished his coffee. He looked blandly at Harry. ‘We go, hey?’

  They left the saloon and made their way to the estate car.

  Solo slid his great bulk under the driving wheel, started the engine and edged the car out of the parking lot.

  When they were on the highway, Solo said, ‘That Lepski is a very ambitious cop: smart, but very ambitious. I don’t help him much. Randy told you about me, hey?’

  ‘Yes, he mentioned something,’ Harry said cautiously.

  ‘A reformed peterman . . . that’s what he told you, hey?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  Solo grinned.

  ‘And that’s correct. It suits me to live the way I do. The cops watch me all the time. Maybe I could do a job that would let me retire, but I don’t want to retire nor do I want to spend the rest of my life in a cell. I talk to you because you are like my son. For me, it is a very bad thing that my son is in the Army. Nina is a very lovely girl, but girls don’t understand. Sam did.’

  ‘Understand . . . what?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Ambition. Girls don’t understand that an ambitious man has an urge to prove himself: like the urge you get when you look at a pretty woman. Okay, there are times when I get the urge again. When some stupid hunkhead comes to me with a beautiful proposition, but no idea how to handle it. Sometimes, I’m very tempted, Harry, but I think of my business and Nina. If anything happened to me she wouldn’t be able to run my business, then what would happen to her?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Harry paused, then asked, ‘Who is Baldy Riccard?’

  ‘The second best peterman in the business. I’m the first.’ Solo punched himself on his chest. ‘He and I once worked together. That was when I was caught. It taught me a lesson, Harry. Never work with anyone: never trust anyone if the deal is illegal. Baldy’s getting too old for the racket now. It’s time he retired like me. I wouldn’t trust his judgment and that’s very important.’

  ‘Did he want you to do a job?’ Harry made his voice casual and he stared through the windshield, his expression indifferent.

  ‘No, not a job. He was very mysterious, very excited. He . . .’ Solo paused abruptly and looked sharply at Harry. ‘I’m talking too much. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You told me you don’t help Lepski much. From that, I guessed Baldy did come to see you on Tuesday last.’

  Solo grinned a little sheepishly.

  ‘Very smart: you would make a good cop, Harry. Yes, you’re right, but it wouldn’t do to tell Lepski. Yes, he came. He wanted to borrow my boat.’ Solo grimaced. ‘Go hire a boat if you want one, I told him, but you don’t have mine. I had to save a lot of money to buy that boat. I told him, go hire one for yourself. But he said he hadn’t any money and he would pay me five grand at the end of the month if I’d let him have the boat that night. I laughed at him. Five grand! Did he think I was crazy? Besides, he was scared. He was so jumpy he was like a flea on a hot plate. Why should I lend him my boat when he was like that? He would hole her or capsize her.’ Solo stroked his thick moustache. ‘Now he’s vanished. Maybe if I had let him have my boat that too would have vanished.’ He put his heavy hand on Harry’s knee. ‘You keep quiet about this, hey?’

  ‘Sure,’ Harry said.

  They drove a mile or so in silence, then Solo said as if speaking his thoughts aloud, ‘I think Baldy’s dead. I think someone bad was after him. You don’t often smell fear on a man, but I smelt it on Baldy.’

  Harry thought of the charred, blackened foot and the terror in the dead eyes. He shifted uneasily.

  ‘Baldy was a funny guy: very vain,’ Solo went on. ‘He spent lots of good money on wigs. He hated being called Baldy. They nearly drove him out of his mind when he was serving his stretch . . . we were in the same jail together. Even the Warden called him Baldy.’ Solo shook his head. ‘I was sorry for him in spite of his stupidity. When we were working on the peter, he took a glove off to put his wig straight and he left a fingerprint. That’s how we got caught . . . his wig!’ Solo’s great belly shook a little as he laughed. ‘Imagine!’ He eased up on the gas pedal, slowing the car. ‘Here we are . . . Hammerson’s: very good friend of mine. I’ll leave you here. You order all the timber you want. Hammerson will tell you where you get the rest of the stuff. I like this high dive idea, Harry . . . very smart.’

  He pulled up and Harry got out of the car.

  ‘There’s a bus passing in half an hour,’ Solo said through the open car window. ‘Get you back in time for lunch. And Harry, no more talk about Baldy, hey? You never know. The cops are always watching. You be careful if you run into Lepski: very smart, very ambitious. We say nothing more, hey?’

  Harry watched the estate car speed away, then his expression thoughtful, he walked into the big timber yard.

  Chapter Four

  It was siesta time.

  On the beach, in front of the Dominico Restaurant, there were some thirty men and women lying under sun umbrellas, sleeping off their lunch. They were all shapes and sizes: all as skimpily d
ressed as decency would allow.

  A silence hung over the restaurant which an hour ago had been a hive of activity. Somewhere at the back of the restaurant a faint rumbling sound announced that Solo Dominico was sleeping. The mid-afternoon sun blazed down on the sand and the sea and a soft, hot wind dried the oil and sweat of the sunbathing addicts.

  Harry sat in the shade of a spider orchid tree, scooping up hot sand and letting it run through his fingers as he talked Beside him, Randy lay on his back, his eyes hidden behind sun goggles, listening.

  Harry had thought over what Lepski had said and what Solo had told him about Baldy Riccard. After some hesitation, he decided that Randy should be told. Harry came to this decision because he and Randy faced the risk of having Baldy’s murder pinned on them. Randy had to be told.

  ‘Well, that’s it,’ he concluded. ‘Whoever killed him was after this key and they didn’t get it. I’ve got it.’

  ‘Throw it away,’ Randy said without hesitation. ‘This is something that happened We’re in the clear now: let’s stay that way.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’ Harry clasped his knees as he sat forward. ‘The body was planted on us. If it is ever found, there will be a murder hunt. Right now, the police think he’s been knocked off. They don’t know, of course, but they suspect it, so they are already alert Lepski is a smart cop. If he finds the Mustang, he’ll start digging and he could come up with us. We are not in the clear. I want to find out what is in this left luggage locker.’

  ‘I still say throw the key away.’

  ‘The rumour goes that Baldy pulled a big job,’ Harry went on, ignoring Randy’s interruption. ‘He was a top class safe breaker. The picture I get of all this is he was hired to open a safe. When he got his hands on the contents, he did a double cross and hid the take in this left luggage locker. The people he was working for caught up with him and put pressure on him to talk. He didn’t, and while under pressure, he died. There could be a whale of a lot of money in that locker, Randy. If it’s there, we cash in.’

  Randy sat up abruptly. He looked questioningly at Harry.

  ‘I don’t get it. What do you mean?’

  Harry continued to stare across the hot white sand.

  ‘All the police know is that Baldy is said to have pulled a big job. They don’t know what the job was. If it had been any legitimate steal it would have been reported. Baldy’s job hasn’t been reported so that must mean it is illegal money: a hijack if you like: money or something valuable owned by criminals so they can’t go to the police and complain. That kind of money is anyone’s money.’

  Randy was tense with interest now.

  ‘You mean if we find money in the locker we can grab it?’

  ‘I don’t see why not . . . findings keeping.’ He looked at Randy. ‘You still want me to throw away the key?’

  ‘Not if it’s worth money. You really think there’s money in the locker?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I do know there’s something valuable in there. It would have to be a great deal of money for me, personally, to let someone burn my foot the way Baldy’s foot was burned and not turn the key in. So if it isn’t money, it’s something worth a lot of money.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Randy dug his fingers into the sand. His thin face was puzzled. ‘Harry, I don’t dig you. You didn’t have to tell me all this. You didn’t have to tell me you found the key. You could have opened the locker, taken the money or whatever it is in the locker and said nothing to me about it. Why are you cutting me in?’

  Harry studied him.

  ‘If the police ever get on to us, we could land up in the chair. It seemed to me that as we are both in the same jam, we should also split what we get out of it.’

  Randy shook his head in wonderment.

  ‘You’re an odd ball, Harry . . . but thanks.’ He thought for a moment, then his face brightened. ‘Gee! Do you really think we’re going to be rich, Harry?’

  Harry shrugged.

  ‘Don’t bet on it.’ His eyes became suddenly alert as he saw Nina come out of the restaurant. She was wearing a red bikini and carrying a towel. Harry’s’ heart gave a little jolt as he watched her run across the sand. The movement of her breasts and the roll of her hips sent a savage stab of desire through him.

  ‘Eyes off, Harry,’ Randy said quietly, watching him. ‘I told you: she’s for nobody, unless you want to tangle with Solo.’

  Harry got to his feet. He turned his back on Nina as she ran into the sea.

  ‘Tell him I’ve borrowed the Buick,’ he said. ‘I’m ordering the rails for the high dive.’

  ‘Is it anywhere near the airport?’ Randy asked.

  ‘Not all that far.’

  ‘I dig . . . I’ll tell him.’

  Harry returned to his cabin, changed into a short-sleeved shirt and slacks, then walked to the car park. As he was getting into the estate car, he paused.

  Standing in the opposite row under the palm-thatched roof of the car park was a white Mercedes SL 180. Not a car that is seen every day, Harry thought, and he hesitated. His mind went to the white Mercedes which he was now sure had picked up the woman who had been driving the Mustang. A coincidence? More than likely, but the Army had trained him too well now to accept nothing but facts.

  He looked up and down the long double row of cars and saw no one, then he crossed to the Mercedes. The windows were down and he had no trouble leaning in to examine the licence tag. It was made out to: Emmanuel Carlos, 1279 Pine Tree Boulevard, Paradise City.

  This told him nothing. He stepped away from the car, again looked to right and left, again hesitated. The sight of the car alerted and disturbed him. Of course, he told himself, there must be a number of white Mercedes SL 180 in the district, but his mind refused to dismiss the car.

  He walked rapidly down the long shaded aisle and into the barroom.

  Joe was washing glasses and humming to himself. His black shining face lit up when he saw Harry.

  ‘Want a drink, boss?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll have a Coke, thank you.’ Harry sat on a stool, leaning his elbows on the counter. The bar was deserted. Through the big windows, he could see the beach and the bodies under the sun umbrellas.

  Joe poured the Coke, added ice and pushed the glass towards Harry.

  ‘Would you know Mr. Emmanual Carlos?’ Harry asked after taking a long drink.

  ‘Mr. Carlos? Sure, boss.’ Joe rolled his eyes. ‘One of our best customers. He comes here regularly three, four times a week. Lots of money: he’s a very important gentleman. He’s out there now with Mrs. Carlos.’

  Harry’s suspicions began to subside.

  ‘What’s he do, Joe?’

  ‘Do?’ Joe looked blank. ‘I don’t reckon he does anything. His father left him a whale of a lot of money.’

  ‘What did his father do?’

  Joe took a box of cigars from under the counter and laid it before Harry.

  ‘That’s his father. Carlos Havana Cigars.’

  Harry stared at the ornate label on the box and examined the coloured photograph of the bearded man in a frock coat.

  ‘I thought we had given up importing Havana cigars, Joe.’

  ‘That’s right. This is now under the counter stuff. Mr. Dominico has a big stock. We sell only to the customers we know.’

  ‘You say Mr. Carlos is here now?’

  ‘Sure. He came in here only a few minutes ago to use the phone. He’s out there now with Mrs. Carlos . . . the fourth umbrella to the right.’

  Harry went to the window and looked out onto the beach.

  He could see a man and a woman lying under an umbrella. The man, heavily built, was in swim trunks, lying on his side, his back to Harry. The woman, wearing a sharkskin white bathing suit, lay on her back. Most of her face was concealed by enormous sun goggles. Her hair was brick red and her skin was tanned to a nut brown, even shade. She had small thrusting breasts and a flat stomach which was more than the other women had who lay around her.

&
nbsp; Harry studied them for a long moment, then shrugged.

  ‘See you, Joe,’ he said and left the bar.

  By the time he had placed an order for the chromium handrails for the high dive board, it was 16.00 hours. He hurried to the estate car and headed for the airport. He had trouble in finding parking space. Finally leaving the car, he entered the bustling reception lobby. It took him some minutes to locate the left luggage locker section, then he walked down the long alley, looking for locker No. 388.

  When he found it, he paused to look right and left. A fat, middle-aged woman, some way down the alley was struggling to get a bag out of a locker. Coming down the alley was a thickset man in a creased lightweight suit. He carried a grip and was looking impatiently for a vacant locker. Neither of these people alerted Harry’s suspicions. He took the key from his pocket, sank it into the lock and opened the locker door.

  Lying on the floor of the locker was a white plastic, much travelled sui case, showing cuts and scars. Painted along its side was a broad red band: the kind of band people put on their cases for quick and easy identification.

  Harry pulled the suitcase out of the locker and lowered it to the ground. Its weight was disappointing: it was no heavier than any average suitcase packed for a long weekend. It told Harry that there was no great fortune of money inside.

  Leaving the key in the lock, he shut the locker door, then picking up the suitcase, he walked, without hurrying, towards the reception lobby.

  Swarms of travellers swirled and eddied around him. A girl’s strident voice broke through the chatter and the sound of shuffling feet to announce the departure of Flight 507 for New York. Children, laughing, screaming and frazzling, added to the pandemonium of departure.

  Harry kept on, avoiding people, side stepping children, intent on getting back to his cabin to examine the suitcase.

  ‘Hey you!’

  There was a snap of authority in the voice that was like a blow.

  Harry looked to his left, still moving, but when he saw Detective Lepski signalling to him, he stopped abruptly.