1978 - Consider Yourself Dead Read online

  ‘I’ve got big ideas. I look around. You, and everyone around here, are loaded. Grandi! A goddam wop! It kills me to think a wop could have so much money.’

  ‘He worked for it, honey. I worked for what I’ve got. What you put in, you take out. If you want real money, begin to think what you can put in.’

  Frost scowled.

  ‘You sound just like my jerk of a father. He was always yakking about putting in and taking out. He put in, sweating his stupid guts out fourteen hours a day, but he never took out.’ Frost clenched his fists as he thought back into the past. ‘My father! Now there was the original pea brain! Don’t feed me this crap about putting in and taking out. That’s strictly for the birds!’

  The waiter came and removed the plates. Frost sat back and looked around the lush room. This was his scene!

  This must be his future background if he could only find the key to the fast buck. His mind floated around his ambitions: to own a villa like Grandi’s, to own a big motor cruiser, a Lamborghini, to snap his fingers to have a doll drop on her back, and to have big money to spend.

  The coffee was served.

  Frost was so wrapped up in his futile dream of wealth that he wasn’t aware that Marcia was studying him searchingly.

  ‘A nickel for your thoughts,’ she said.

  Frost smiled crookedly.

  ‘This joint! All these slobs with money. What I wouldn’t do to be one of them!’

  ‘I told you, honey: this is the city of the fast buck,’ Marcia said. ‘You’ve only just arrived. Be patient.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘I have a call to make,’ and before he could get to his feet, she was already walking away, waving to people who waved languidly back.

  The wine waiter appeared.

  ‘A cognac, sir?’

  ‘Go peddle your swill someplace else,’ Frost snarled.

  He felt so frustrated he had the urge to get away from this lush room with all these stinking rich around him, but he restrained himself. He had come here for one purpose: to get this blonde, sensational woman on a bed.

  He was finishing his coffee when Marcia joined him.

  ‘Let’s go now and look at my etchings,’ she said, and looking up, Frost saw the hot desire in her grey-green eyes.

  As he pushed back his chair, feeling a wave of lust run through him, he wasn’t to know the intimate corner table at which they had sat was bugged and every word of their conversation was now on tape.

  * * *

  Their explosive union was over.

  Frost lay on the king size bed, staring up at his reflection in the mirror that covered the ceiling. This was an angle of his body he had never seen before, and he felt a male pride in his muscles, his tanned lean body, the length of his legs and his handsomeness. In the past, he had had countless women, but, apart from a coloured airhostess who he still remembered with awe, he couldn’t recall any other woman being so technically expert and as satisfying as Marcia.

  She was, of course, a pro. She knew all the tricks, but unless he was kidding himself, he thought he had really turned her on. But had he? Being cynical, and always suspicious of women, he reminded himself she just might have been putting on an act.

  He listened to the sound of the shower in the bathroom across the room, then he looked at his strap watch. The time was 16.15. He still had some hours before he reported for another night’s stint at the Grandi villa.

  Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked around the big room that was immediately above the restaurant. He thought die room must be soundproofed as he heard no sound from below. To his right was a big window that overlooked the swimming pool and the colourful garden.

  Marcia had told him the window was of one-way glass. He could stand naked before it, looking out, and no one below could see him.

  The big room reeked of wealth. The white lamb’s-wool carpet, the almost silent air conditioner, the mirrors, wall-to-wall, and on the ceiling, the elaborate cocktail bar, the soft swing music coming from concealed speakers, and the rest of the trappings created a de luxe nest for men who could afford to pay the money Frost longed to have.

  Marcia came from the bathroom. She was naked. Frost felt a little catch at his throat. She was really something to look at, he thought, and lust stirred in him as he sat up and swung his feet to the carpet.

  ‘Honey, you must go now,’ Marcia said, slipping into frilly panties. ‘I have to get back to work.’

  ‘Okay.’ Frost stood up.

  She was now in slacks and a T-shirt. As she ran a comb through her silky blonde hair, she said, ‘Go down to the pool, Mike. I want you to have a ball here.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m going to see a lot of you, honey.’ She reached in her handbag, then taking out what looked like a credit card, she came over to him. ‘Take this, honey.’

  Frost took the card and regarded it suspiciously.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘You flash it around honey, and everything here is for free. It’s a member’s card, only you don’t get a check.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Frost demanded aggressively. ‘I pay my way,’ but he held on to the card, staring at it, seeing his name printed on it.

  ‘It’s a tax deductible gimmick,’ Marcia explained. ‘You’re not the only one. How else do you imagine we can run a place on this scale? Take it, and don’t get on your high horse. I do something for you, you do something for me,’ and her hand went down on his crotch for a brief moment, then she moved away, smiling at him.

  Frost grinned at her. He again stared at the card.

  ‘You really mean this card takes care of the check?’

  ‘That’s what I said. Get dressed, Mike, and get the hell out of here!’ There was now a snap in her voice. ‘Go down and have a ball. I’ve got work to do!’

  ‘Yeah . . . sure.’ He scrambled into his clothes. ‘You mean I can go down there and act like one of those slobs?’

  She laughed.

  ‘That’s what I mean. See you tomorrow. We’ll have a repeat performance. Same time at the Spanish Bay. Okay?’

  Frost grabbed her and kissed her.

  ‘You bet it’s okay.’

  He walked down the stairs, leading to the vast terrace and the pool, clutching the credit card she had given him.

  Marcia watched him go, then she shut the door and turned the key. She leaned against the door and drew in a long, deep breath.

  One of the narrow mirrors on the wall, facing her, suddenly slid aside, and a man moved into the room. This man was Marcia’s uncle: the only man she really feared. His name was Lu Silk. By profession he was a killer, hiring himself out to the highest bidder. Providing you had the right introduction, and you were rich enough, anyone who was putting pressure on you, was being a continual nuisance, who was fooling around with your wife or your girlfriend was quickly dead after you contacted Silk. Silk was a professional. His killings never came back to him.

  He had a sinister appearance: hatchet-faced, with a glass right eye and a white scar running down his left cheek. It was the glass eye that terrified Marcia. When he spoke to her, she found herself staring with horror at the glass eye and never at his live one.

  Silk was around forty-six years of age, tall, thin and dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. His grey-black hair was slightly receding. Around his sinewy left wrist was a heavy gold bracelet: around his right wrist was a black-faced quartz watch.

  For the past two years, Silk had worked exclusively for Herman Radnitz who was perhaps the most evil and powerful force behind the world’s political scene. Silk was on a retaining salary of four thousand dollars a month.

  At a moment’s notice, he had to make himself available to wipe out a nuisance who was bothering Radnitz. When the killing had been expertly accomplished, a large sum of money was paid into Silk’s Swiss banking account. This arrangement had suited Silk well enough, but for the past two months, he had been idle. Radnitz was in Peking, and was then moving to Delhi. He had told Silk to take a vacation.
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  This vacation of unknown duration worried Silk. He was a high spender, and a compulsive, unlucky gambler.

  For some time now, he had been thinking of ways and means to break away from Radnitz. He was getting the impression that Radnitz was going to use his killing talents less and less. It was time, Silk told himself, to make provision for his future.

  He had an arrangement with Marcia that, when she entertained a client for lunch or dinner, a tape recording of the conversation should be made available to him. Over the past week the various conversations he had listened to had given him food for thought. Several possibilities had alerted his active mind: a chance for blackmail, a chance to make a quick profit on the stock market, a chance for extortion, but, after thought, he had decided the risk involved didn’t justify the gain. Sooner or later, he told himself, something important would turn up. He aimed for the Big One that would put him on the gravy train for the rest of his days: nothing but the Big One would satisfy him.

  When listening to the conversation between Marcia and Frost, he thumped his fist into his palm. Here, at last, he thought, could be the Big One.

  Ever since Carlo Grandi had rented the island villa on Paradise Largo, Silk, knowing this villa had been rented as a sanctuary for Grandi’s daughter, had considered the possibilities of kidnapping the girl. The ransom, he knew, would be enormous. He was sure Grandi would pay at least twenty million dollars to get his daughter back.

  Urged on by the thought of owning so many millions, Silk had discussed the possibilities with two men who worked with him, and who were also on Radnitz’s payroll.

  These two men, Mitch Goble and Ross Umney, were experts at setting up an operation. Silk had told them to take a long look at Grandi’s place, and to estimate the chances of snatching the girl.

  After a few days, they came to Silk and told him to forget the idea. No one, they said, was going to snatch Grandi’s daughter, not, at least, as the present setup stood.

  They explained about the security of the island, the dogs, and particularly about Marvin.

  ‘If this fink could be approached,’ Goble said, ‘there’s a good chance, but no way. Marvin can’t be bought. I’ve gone into his background in depth. He’s one hundred percent straight ex-cop, and no one, repeat no one, will bend him. No dice, Lu, skip the idea.’

  So regretfully, Silk had put the idea out of his mind.

  When Goble said there was no way, he meant just that.

  Silk had learned to trust Goble’s judgment. A couple of times in the past he had brushed Goble’s advice aside, and each time, he had nearly run into disaster. Now, he knew better.

  So okay, he thought regretfully, Grandi’s daughter stays safe.

  But listening to the conversation between Marcia and Frost, he realised that the chance to pick up around twenty million dollars was no longer a pipe dream.

  When Marcia had excused herself to Frost to make a telephone call, she had contacted Silk. He had told her to give Frost the V.I.P. treatment.

  ‘Sink your hooks into this guy,’ Silk had said. ‘I need him.’

  As Silk moved into the room, Marcia gave him a scared, hesitant smile.

  ‘Was it okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Okay, so far,’ Silk said. ‘Get this into your head, chick, we need this guy, so keep him hot. I’ll handle the rest of the scene. Your job is to keep him hot.’

  Marcia nodded. When Silk gave instructions, she always obeyed.

  ‘You’re a smart chick,’ Silk said as he sat on the arm of a chair. ‘You’re asking yourself why we need this guy. I’ll spell it out to you. In a few months this joint is going to fold. You don’t understand figures, but I do. Your overheads are far too high. That black boy playing the piano is fine, but he eats your profits. Your wage bill is also eating into your profits. I looked at your balance sheet for last month. You’re already in the red. Did you look at it?’

  ‘Charlie showed it to me. I thought next month . . .’

  ‘There could be no next month. Do you want to keep this joint?’

  Marcia’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘Keep it? It’s my future!’

  ‘What it now needs is a big shot in the arm, and Frost can give it, and he can give it to me too, so keep him hot.’

  ‘How can he? He’s worth nothing.’

  ‘You keep him hot. I’ll handle the rest of the scene.’ He stared at her, his glass eye glittering in the sunlight, then he reached for the telephone.

  ‘Give me Mr. Umney,’ he told the operator on the club switchboard.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He waited.

  Then Umney came on the line.

  ‘Hi, there, Lu!’

  Silk began to talk.

  * * *

  ‘Hi, there, Mr. Frost!’

  Frost, who had been standing in the shade, watching the clients disporting themselves in the vast swimming pool, looked around.

  A heavily built, jovial looking man had come up to him. His fleshy face, with a wide, friendly smile, exuded charm. Tall, muscular, around thirty-six years of age, dark and sun-tanned, wearing only white slacks, Ross Umney conveyed a bonhomie that was slightly overpowering.

  It was said of Umney, and with reason, that he could charm a rat out of its hole, a lollypop from a child, a big chunk of money from a shrewd businessman, and even the platinum dental plate from a dowager.

  Umney was considered by the Paradise City’s criminal fraternity as the best con man in the game. Behind his jovial, smiling face and his charm lurked a ruthless, vicious mind intent only on conning some sucker out of his/her money.

  Silk, who was top of his profession as a hired killer, regarded Umney as a big asset. Without Umney to set up an operation, Silk’s various assignments would have been next to impossible.

  Umney had a remarkable ability to finger closely guarded, near inaccessible men whom Radnitz wanted out of the way. Umney was able to gather essential data without creating suspicion, and this data he passed on to Mitch Goble who was Silk’s technical expert. Goble in his turn, would assess the data, then pass judgment. If he gave the green light, Silk would then, and only then, move into action.

  Umney had been relaxing in his air-conditioned room, above the kitchens of the restaurant, when Silk’s telephone call came through. He listened to what Silk had to say, then said, ‘Can do - will do,’ and he went in search of Frost. Finding him, Umney switched on his charm.

  ‘Hi, there, Mr. Frost!’

  As he offered his hand, Umney regarded Frost, thinking: ‘This cookie is no push over. Softly, softly. He will need handling.’

  Puzzled, and a little suspicious, Frost shook the extended hand.

  ‘I’m Ross Umney,’ Umney went on, exuding charm.

  ‘I’m the official host around here. My job is to keep everyone happy. Marcia told me to take care of you . . . this is my pleasure. You know something, Mr. Frost?’ He paused and beamed, then went on, ‘Or may I call you Mike?’

  Still suspicious, but relaxing to Umney’s charm, Frost nodded.

  ‘Fine . . . Mike. As I was saying, when Marcia gives one of her special friends the V.I.P. treatment, I give him the V.I.P. treatment or else . . .’ He laughed. ‘That’s my job. What can I do for you? You name it, you’ll get it. How about a swim in the pool? There’s a boutique here to fit you out. Do you want company? We have a load of hostesses. They are all willing, and you can take your pick. Would you dig our massage parlour? We have two Jap babes who really know their business. We have a movie here. You say the word, and I can fix it for a private show. Our movies are so hot we have to use an asbestos screen.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe you like fishing? We have a trout pool. Maybe you like golf? We have a driving range. We have a car shuttle service down to the sea. Maybe you’d like to take one of our babes for a fast ride in a speedboat? Water skiing? Skin diving? You name it, Mike, you get it.’

  While Frost was staring at this smiling, jovial man, unable to believe that he was being offered all these trappings of
the rich, a short, fat man came up.

  ‘How about my boat, Ross?’ he demanded, a peevish frown on his face. ‘You said you’d fix it.’

  ‘Hi, there, Mr. Bernstein. It’s all fixed. Did you ask at the desk?’

  ‘Didn’t know I had to. Where the hell is the car?’

  Umney pointed.

  ‘The green Caddy, Mr. Bernstein. Joe’s waiting . . . no problem.’

  The fat man grunted and walked off.

  Umney sighed, smiling at Frost.

  ‘That’s Bernstein. He’s worth millions. You know, Mike, this is a hell of a job. None of these rich creeps is ever satisfied. Now . . . you . . . what can I fix for you?’

  None of the suggestions Umney had offered appealed to Frost. Some other time, he might give the massage parlour a twirl. He had heard of Jap girls, but Marcia had so drained him, any form of exercise was strictly out.

  ‘Nothing right now, Ross,’ he said. ‘Thanks all the same. I guess I’ll get moving . . . some other time, huh?’

  Umney looked alarmed.

  ‘Hey! You can’t walk out on us, Mike! Marcia would have my balls.’ He laughed. ‘Are you interested in shooting?’

  Frost regarded him.

  ‘That’s one thing I’m tops at . . . why?’

  ‘Excuse me for asking, but are you really good?’

  ‘That’s what I said. Why?’

  ‘We have a guy here who thinks he’s a male Annie Oakley,’ Umney said. ‘He drives me nuts. He’s offering a thousand bucks to anyone who can outshoot him with a .38 at twenty yards. I can’t find any takers. Do you think you could take a grand off him?’

  Frost hesitated. He had been the best shot with a handgun and a rifle while in the Army, but that had been some time ago. A thousand bucks?

  ‘Who’s this guy?’

  ‘A club member. He practically lives in the shooting range. I could fix up a match right now. If you’re as good as you say, it’d be an easy way of picking up a grand.’