1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway

by James Hadley Chase

  Chapter Eight

  Her coffee finished, Carroll Lepski was looking impatiently at her watch when she saw Manuel, the Captain of Waiters, weaving his way around the tables and heading towards her. He arrived at her table and gave her that sad smile people wear when about to break bad news.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs. Lepski,’ he said, leaning over her, his voice low and confidential. ‘Your husband is in a little trouble. Don’t be alarmed. It happens now and then, although it’s the first time in this restaurant.’

  Carroll’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘Trouble? What do you mean? Is he hurt?’

  ‘No . . . no . . . no . . . certainly not. He’s just passed out. Maybe the heat . . . maybe a little too much Scotch.’

  Carroll started to her feet.

  ‘Are you telling me my husband is drunk?’

  ‘Well, you could say that.’ Seeing Carroll s eyes light up with anger, Manuel felt it safe to look superior. ‘I always say, Mrs. Lepski, some can take it . . . some can’t.’

  Blood rushed into Carroll’s face. She felt humiliated and furious.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘We’ve put him in his car, Mrs. Lepski. He’ll be fine by tomorrow morning. We’re sending someone with you. You’ll need help getting him to bed.’ Manuel showed her his teeth in a sympathetic smile. ‘Think nothing of it, Mrs. Lepski. These things happen . . . so sorry.’

  Carroll snatched up her bag and walked towards the exit, sure everyone in the restaurant was looking at her. By the time she got into the hot night air, she was in such a rage she was practically breathless.

  Manuel trotted behind her.

  ‘To your right, Mrs. Lepski,’ he said.

  Carroll stamped across the car park to where she could see Lepski’s Wildcat in the shadows. By the car stood the handsome man Lepski had spoken to and had called Mitchell. He stood back as she reached the car. She peered into the back seat where her husband sat, his head resting on the back of the seat, his eyes closed. Through the open car window came a strong smell of whisky.

  Carroll hesitated: a little alarmed. She had never seen her husband like this. How could he have got so drunk in such a short time?

  ‘Now don’t worry, Mrs. Lepski,’ Manuel said soothingly. ‘This happens all the time. Harry will drive after you and help you when you get home.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s all right?’ Carroll asked, a quaver in her voice.

  ‘He’s fine. A little headache perhaps tomorrow morning, but otherwise . . . fine.’ Manuel shifted impatiently. Why the hell didn’t she get in the car and take off? He had a restaurant full of people needing his attention.

  Suddenly, from the car, came a loud, strangled snore. To Carroll, this revolting sound was like a spark in a gunpowder factory. She got in the car, slammed the door and gunned the engine. As she began to drive out of the parking lot, Manuel signaled to Harry who got in Solo’s estate car and went after her.

  Harry was puzzled. He had been serving d inks when Manuel bad told him Solo wanted him. He had found Solo kneeling beside Lepski’s unconscious body.

  ‘Look at this!’ Solo had said, his voice despairing. ‘I tell him it’s all on the house and he disgraces my restaurant. Swell! He must have swam in the stuff.’

  Harry bent over the prone body. The stink of whisky made him wrinkle his nose.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘All right? He’s drunk!’ Solo said bitterly. ‘Now listen, Harry, his wife is in the restaurant. You take my car and help her . . . hey? Put him to bed. Soothe her. This is very bad for my business. Help me get him into the car.’

  While he pondered on all this, the Wildcat ahead of him was tearing along the highway. Harry had trouble in keeping up with it. The brake lights shone red as the Wildcat swung off the highway, raced down a narrow twisting road so fast Harry let it go. If this woman wanted to kill herself, she could do it. He wasn’t going to risk his neck on such a road.

  He lost sight of the Wildcat for several minutes, then picked up the taillights again on a strip of road leading to a housing estate. The Wildcat skidded to a halt before a two-storey house with a tiny lawn, a patio and a garage.

  Harry got out of the estate car as Carroll got out of the Wildcat.

  ‘I can’t tell you how ashamed I am!’ Carroll said as Harry came up to her.

  Harry looked at her. The headlights of the two cars gave enough light for both to see each other.

  ‘Ashamed?’ He smiled. ‘What’s there to be ashamed of?’

  ‘I could kill him!’

  Harry went to the Wildcat, took hold of Lepski, dragged him out of the car and hoisted him across his broad shoulders.

  Carroll opened the front door and led Harry with his burden into the small hall, up the stairs and into the small bedroom they reserved for their guests.

  ‘Dump him in there!’ she said, then leaving the room she went down the stairs and into the living room. She turned on the lights and stood for a long moment while she fought down her fury. Okay, she thought, so Lepski gets drunk. Okay, what’s good for him, is good enough for me!

  She went to the liquor cabinet, seized a bottle of gin, poured a treble into a glass, added a dash of soda, then shutting her eyes, swallowed the drink in two stomach-heaving gulps. The room reeled around her and she clutched hold of the liquor cabinet, rattling the bottles and the glasses. Then she drew in a long, slow breath and unsteadily, made her way to the settee. She collapsed on it, not sure if she was going to be sick.

  By the time Harry had got Lepski into bed and had come down the stairs, Carroll had again visited the liquor cabinet and she was now so drunk she couldn’t stand.

  What a beautiful man! she thought, watching Harry as he came into the room. I’m going to bed with him! I’m going to be unfaithful for the first time in my married life! He’s going to tear off all my clothes and I’m going to scream with ecstasy!

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mrs. Lepski,’ Harry said. ‘Just let him sleep it off.’

  ‘Worry about him? That’s a laugh! That’s the last thing I’m going to do! Have a drink, Harry . . . can I call you Harry?’

  Harry looked at her sharply and realised how drunk she was.

  ‘Call me anything you like.’

  ‘Harry . . . I like Harry . . . have a drink.’

  ‘No, thanks. I have to get back. This is a busy night for us.’

  She giggled.

  ‘Let’s make it a busy night for us . . . you and me. Come here, Harry.’ She lay back on the settee, her dress riding up, her knees spread as she beckoned.

  Harry flicked up the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. Then silently, he went into the hall, out into the night and to his car.

  Terrified at what she was doing, her body shrinking while she waited for his hands to rip her dress from her, Carroll lay still, her heart hammering, her eyes fast shut.

  It was only when she heard his car start up and drive away that she realised he had gone.

  From the guest room upstairs came a loud, resonant snore.

  Burying her face in a cushion, Carroll burst into tears.

  * * *

  Harry came awake.

  He looked through the uncurtained window of his cabin at the grey light of the dawn. He peered at his strap watch. The time was 05.30. Getting out of bed, he walked into the kitchenette and plugged in the coffee percolator. Then he went into the shower room, stripped off and stood under the cold water that brought him awake. He dried himself, shaved, then went into the kitchenette and unplugged the percolator. Carrying a cup of strong black coffee into his bedroom, he set the cup down and dressed. Then he sipped the coffee, checked his watch and saw he still had fifteen minutes before he had to get to the boathouse. He leaned back, the coffee cup in his hand and thought of the previous evening.

  He couldn’t believe Lepski had been drunk. The obvious solution to the Lepski puzzle was that someone - probably Solo - had sapped Lepski and had knocked him cold. Why had this
happened? Harry wondered. When he had left Lepski’s residence, he had driven back to the restaurant. Solo had been too busy serving late dinners to talk to him. It wasn’t until 01.00 that the restaurant closed and then Solo had gone to bed, still giving Harry no chance of talking to him.

  Harry had had a brief moment with Nina before going to his cabin. She had looked at him with burning eyes.

  ‘I’ll be at the boathouse at six,’ she had said and Harry had nodded.

  As he walked towards his cabin, Randy had joined him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Randy had asked. ‘What happened to Lepski?’

  Harry went into Randy’s cabin and sat on the bed. He waited until Randy had pulled the curtains and shut the door, then he said, ‘You want to know what happened to Lepski. I don’t know for sure, but I can make a guess. I think Solo sapped him, poured whisky over him and made out he was drunk. I took him home, put him to bed and soothed his wife.’

  Randy’s eyes bulged.

  ‘You’re kidding! Solo would sap a cop!’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Harry said quietly. ‘That’s the way I see it.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Maybe Lepski saw something . . . I don’t know.’ Harry paused and stared at Randy. ‘Look, this is the right moment for you to take off.’

  Randy gaped.

  ‘What do you mean . . . take off? You said I should stay right here and bluff it out!’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Situations change. I know I said that, but now, it’s different. When Lepski surfaces and gets to a telephone, this place is going to be smothered with cops. You won’t stand a chance. Take my tip, Randy, get out now.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning early I’m going to Sheldon Island with Nina.’

  ‘With Nina?’ Randy’s voice rose. ‘You crazy?’

  ‘Randy, this is major league. You are way out of your depth. Pack up and get out,’ Harry said. ‘You’re a nice little guy. I don’t want you to get into trouble. Fade away.’

  ‘Fade away?’ Randy exclaimed. ‘You told me you could never get away from the cops. Now you’re telling me to fade away. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you talk sense?’

  Harry felt in his shirt pocket for his pack of Camels while he stared thoughtfully at Randy.

  ‘I need some sleep, Randy. Get out of here. Do I have to spell it out? Beat it!’ He stood up and started towards the door. Randy put himself between Harry and the door.

  ‘Now, wait a minute!’ he said. ‘Just what is all this? You’ve got to tell me! This Baldy thing! You said we could make money out of it!’

  ‘There’s a chance, Randy, but not for you. You do what I say . . . get out,’ Harry said patiently.

  ‘You really mean you’re going to Sheldon with Nina?’

  ‘Yes . . . don’t shout.’

  ‘I warned you!’ Randy began to shake. ‘Solo will find out and he’ll kill you, Harry! Listen to me! I like you. You saved my life! I owe you something! Don’t go to Sheldon with Nina!’

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘You want to tangle with Solo for God’s sake? He’ll kill you, Harry! He’s mean. It won’t be a fair fight. I know Solo!’

  Harry shoved Randy aside, opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. He paused.

  ‘Get out, Randy, Don’t worry about me.’

  Thinking about all this, Harry glanced at his watch. It was time to leave. He knelt by his bed, levered up the floorboard and took from the hole Baldy’s automatic and the box of cartridges. He put them in a beach bag, put in his swim trunks and two packs of cigarettes and then left the cabin.

  He wondered if Randy had gone. He looked at Randy’s cabin, seeing the drawn curtains. He didn’t want to be involved with Randy any longer. He had warned him. If he hadn’t gone then it was Randy’s funeral.

  He walked quickly down to the boathouse which was screened by shrubs and palm trees.

  Nina was there, waiting.

  Solo’s boat was a twenty-four footer with a cabin aft and powered by twin screws. As soon as Nina saw him coming across the sand, she waved, then swung the engine. As he came aboard, the launch moved from its moorings and began to bounce and bump over the waves as it headed out to sea.

  Nina was wearing a bikini. She smiled at him as he joined her in the cockpit.

  ‘Did you have coffee, Harry?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She again smiled at him.

  ‘You will love Sheldon. You and I and the birds!’ She caught hold of his hand. ‘I’ve been waiting . . . waiting . . . I thought today would never come!’

  Harry felt the power of the engines as the boat cut through the sea. He looked towards the cabin.

  ‘Some boat,’ he said.

  ‘It’s good enough,’ Nina looked sharply at him as he began to climb out of the cockpit. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Taking a look.’

  He moved along the deck until he reached the cabin which was big enough to take four berths. Curtains were drawn across the portholes and when he tried the door, he found it was locked. He frowned, stared at the door for some moments, then returned to the cockpit.

  ‘The cabin’s all locked.’

  ‘I know. Dad keeps stuff in there. It’s always locked. I never use it.’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . stuff.’ She smiled, but he saw her eyes had turned hard.

  He sat on the bench seat beside her.

  ‘Tell me about Sheldon. Do you go there often?’

  ‘About once a month.’

  ‘I heard someone talking about the island. He said something about the Funnel. Does that mean anything to you?’ Harry was being very casual.

  ‘It is a funnel between the rocks. The tide is very tricky around the island. Once every three months the tide drops and you can get through the funnel . . . a passage that leads to a marvelous grotto. The walls are phosphorescent. I’ve been in there twice. You have to be very careful. The tide can change and then you could be trapped in there for three months!’

  Harry lit a cigarette. He was remembering the note he had found in Baldy’s suitcase.

  The Funnel Sheldon. It. 07.45. May 27.

  ‘When the tide is right, can a boat this size get into the grotto?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been in it in this boat. I don’t stay long. Just in and out.’

  ‘You mean the tide can change that fast?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s been known to change in an hour. The sea comes in fast. That’s why tourists never visit the grotto.’

  ‘So we can’t visit it today.’

  ‘Not by boat.’ She regarded him. ‘Do you want to see it?’

  ‘Sure . . . when is the tide due to change?’

  ‘Another week . . . it won’t be next Sunday . . . probably on Wednesday when we’ll be working. But if you really want to see it, we can swim in.’

  ‘We can?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Have you ever done it?’

  ‘Oh, no. I couldn’t do it on my own. It’s tricky.’ She put her warm hand on his arm. ‘But with you, I’d be all right. You’re a top class swimmer. Olympic standard.’

  ‘I can swim. What’s so tricky about it?’

  ‘There’s a long swim under water and the current is fierce.’ She paused, then went on, ‘There are two aqualungs in that locker.’ She pointed. ‘We could make it if you’d help me.’

  Harry looked thoughtful.

  ‘No . . . better not. Maybe I’ll go on my own, but not with you. I don’t want an accident.’

  She made an impatient movement.

  ‘I want to go! I’m a good swimmer, Harry . . . honest! If we clipped a cord to each other and I got into trouble, you could help me.’

  ‘You mean it’s that tough?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! I thought you were a top swimmer!’

  ‘I can swim.’ He thought for a moment while she watched hi
m. ‘Well, okay, we can’t come to much grief if we use aqualungs.’

  He shifted along the bench seat to the locker she had indicated, opened it and took out the aqualung equipment.

  ‘Do you want some coffee now, Harry?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He checked the equipment, satisfied himself both lungs were in good order, then turning, accepted the plastic cup of coffee she held out to him.

  ‘There’s a length of nylon cord somewhere in the locker,’ Nina said, ‘and a couple of belts.’

  Harry finished his coffee, turned and hunted in the deep locker. There was a lot of junk wedged in at the back. From this junk he pulled out a plastic bag. Through the plastic he could see a pair of anti-glare driving goggles, a black cotton shirt and a woman’s white headscarf.

  His broad back was turned to Nina so she couldn’t see what he was doing.

  ‘Have you found it Harry?’

  He pushed the plastic bag back among the junk. Then he saw the coil of nylon rope His face expressionless, he turned, holding up the coil.

  ‘This it?’

  ‘Yes. You take the wheel. I’ll find the belts.’

  ‘It’s okay . . . I’ve got them.’ He pulled two belts fitted with metal loops from the junk.

  He was seeing the woman with the Mustang, hidden behind anti-glare goggles, concealing her hair with a white headscarf, tucked into a black cotton shirt. He shut the locker door, turned and lit a cigarette He remembered what Joe, the barman, had said: You have no friends here, Mr. Harry except me and Randy. No friends . . . I mean that and there’s trouble coming for you.

  ‘What’s the matter, Harry?’ Nina asked sharply.

  ‘Nothing.’ He looked at her. ‘Why should there be?’

  ‘You looked far away.’

  ‘I guess I’m a faraway type.’

  ‘What were you thinking about just now?’

  Harry drew on his cigarette and released the smoke down his nostrils.

  ‘Do you share your thoughts with anyone, Nina?’

  She frowned.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘But not often?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Then we’re alike’ He finished his coffee. ‘Want a cigarette?’