Not My Thing Page 7

  ‘You mean the Sherman Jamison?’

  ‘Is there another?’

  Kling lay back, lit a cigarette and stared up at the ceiling. He remained motionless for some minutes, then he smiled.

  ‘So Jamison wants to get rid of his wife. Man! Is this a nice, tasty dish!’

  Lucan didn’t say anything. He waited.

  Kling thought, then he said, ‘You know this guy’s worth billions?’

  Lucan licked his dry lips.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Right. He and I are going to meet. This isn’t your thing, Lucky. This is between men. You’ve now got to fix I meet Jamison. You have to find out where he goes so I can meet him. Tell him I need information about his wife. Fix a meeting, then I’ll be there instead of you.’

  ‘It won’t work, Ernie. He’s too smart. He comes here, takes me in his car to a beach to talk. This guy is VIP and very dangerous.’

  ‘So, okay, he’s dangerous.’ Kling grinned. ‘I like dangerous guys. What’s he paying you, Lucky?’

  ‘I get a cut off yours,’ Lucan said uneasily. ‘He’s tight about money.’

  Kling smiled again.

  ‘So I pay you, huh?’

  ‘I thought ten per cent would be fair.’

  Kling burst out laughing.

  ‘You kill me! You’re so small-time, I’m almost sorry for you. Well, okay, you tell him I’ve got a perfect plan cooking, but I need information about his wife. Then fix another meeting. This time I’ll take over.’ He slid off the settee and walked to the table where he found paper and pencil. He wrote rapidly while Lucan, his heart thumping, watched him. Finally, Kling handed the sheet of paper to Lucan.

  ‘Those are the questions I want answered. Then tell him in two days’ time, you’ll tell him how I’ll get rid of his wife: a perfect job. Fix a meeting, then I’ll take over. Got it?’

  ‘I’d rather duck out of this, Ernie,’ Lucan said, taking the paper, folding it without reading what Kling had written and put it in his pocket. ‘Suppose you pay me off, and you handle Jamison? This isn’t my thing.’

  As he got to his feet, Kling patted his shoulder.

  ‘Relax, Lucky. You’re now in the big league. If you want thirty thousand bucks, you’ve got to earn it. Run away, and get things fixed. There’ll be no problems.’

  His hard hand still on Lucan’s shoulder, he steered him out of the cabin.

  ‘Bye now,’ he said, and shoved Lucan into the hot sunlight.

  Ng came from the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t trust that man, sir,’ he said quietly.

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Kling said. ‘But he’s money-greedy. Let’s go take a swim.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Changed into swimming-trunks, they walked together to the sea.

  ‘If Lucan gets tricky, we can always fix him, can’t we, kid?’

  Ng looked up at Kling with an adoring smile.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

  The killer and the youth ran into the sea.

  * * *

  Jamison, in the rented Mercedes, pulled up outside the Star Motel at exactly 11.00. He paid no attention to the tall, lean, grey-haired man who was lying on a sun-lounge chair outside a cabin some yards from Lucan’s cabin. He was unaware that Kling was studying him behind his black sun-goggles.

  Lucan hurried from his cabin and got into the Mercedes.

  ‘Good-morning, sir,’ he said, nervously.

  Jamison was in a sour mood. He had talked to Tarnia on the telephone, telling her he wanted to drive her to the Miami airport to catch her Rome flight, but she firmly refused.

  ‘No, Sherry. The less we are seen together, for the moment, the better. I’m still thinking of that dreadful man, Drysdale. How I wish he hadn’t seen us together.’

  ‘Come on, darling,’ Jamison said impatiently. ‘Forget him. He knows he dare not print a word about you or me. Well, all right, if I can’t see you off, I’ll be thinking of you every minute. I understand. And, my darling, when you return, I feel absolutely sure, you will be Mrs Sherman Jamison in six months’ time.’

  ‘When you say you are absolutely sure, I believe you,’ Tarnia said. ‘I’ll telephone you as soon as I arrive in Rome. I must go. I have so much yet to do. ‘Bye, darling,’ and she hung up.

  Jamison had replaced the telephone receiver thoughtfully. He was offering to make Tarnia one of the most important, richest women in the world, who would share his life, who would give him a son, who he loved. Yet, her voice had no happy lilt, no enthusiasm. All she was now thinking of was this gaddamn dress show!

  So he was in a sour mood when Lucan slid into the car by his side. He said nothing, staring ahead, driving fast, until they reached the beach. Then he stopped the car and turned to face Lucan.

  ‘Tell me!’ he barked.

  Lucan found he was terrified of this man who was staring at him with hard, ice-cold, probing eyes. God! he thought, how I wish I hadn’t got into this thing!

  ‘I’ve talked to Kling,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘He tells me there is no problem. First, he needs information about your wife, sir.’

  ‘What information?’ Jamison demanded.

  ‘He is a perfectionist, sir. When he does this kind of job, there are no blow-backs, but he needs a week at least to study the situation before deciding the best and safest way to do the job.’

  Jamison grunted.

  ‘Understood. So…?’

  ‘He needs to know if your wife has any boyfriends.’

  ‘She has not!’ Jamison snarled, wishing she had.

  ‘Has she friends she meets regularly?’

  ‘Not regularly, but she has a number of friends, like her, interested in music, who she meets from time to time.’

  ‘Does she have any set routine?’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘People often do the same thing regularly every day: like walking a dog, going to the club…’

  Jamison nodded.

  ‘She goes to Mass every morning at eight o’clock. She returns for breakfast, swims an hour, then returns to play her cello. Usually, she lunches at home. She is fond of riding. She takes her horse out onto the beach for an hour or so where friends join her. In the evening, she attends concerts or plays herself at concerts. That seems to be her life.’

  Jesus! Lucan thought as he scribbled the answers. What a dreary life!

  ‘Is she a good swimmer, sir?’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Rides well?’

  ‘Very well.’

  Lucan thought, then he said, ‘The hit could be when she came out of church. Would you object to that?’

  Jamison stared at him.

  ‘Why should I? She is near to God then, but I can’t see…’ He shrugged.

  What a man! Lucan thought. What a savage! What some men will contemplate to get their own way!

  ‘I want a decisive answer by tomorrow, Lucan. If I am not satisfied, then I will drop the project. Tomorrow, at your motel at eleven o’clock. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Lucan said, flinching away from this man whom he now regarded as a monster.

  Jamison grunted, started the engine and drove in silence back to the Star Motel. He pulled up, nodded, then, when Lucan got out of the car, he drove away.

  Kling, still lolling in the sun-lounge chair, got up and walked into his cabin. Lucan followed him.

  When the door was shut, Kling asked, ‘How did it go?’

  Lucan sat down and mopped his face.

  ‘What a swine that man is!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ernie, I could use a drink.’

  Ng appeared out of the kitchen, poured two big Scotches, handed one to Lucan and the other to Kling, then disappeared.

  ‘Take it easy, Lucan. Any creep who plans to have his wife murdered is a swine.’ Kling sat on the settee. ‘Don’t get worked up. Have you the facts I want?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lucan handed over his notes, then drank the Scotch greedily. ‘I’ll be glad to be shot of this! This i
s just not my thing.’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Kling said curtly. He studied what Lucan had written, then nodded to himself. ‘You know, Lucky, when people keep to a routine, it is dead easy. No problem here. When do you meet Mr Big again?’

  ‘He’s coming at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Okay. You take it easy, Lucky. When I need you, I’ll call you. From now on, for the next day or so, you’re out of the photo. Understand?’

  ‘If you say so.’ Lucan got to his feet. ‘I leave it to you, Ernie, but don’t forget this sonofabitch is dangerous.’

  Kling smiled.

  ‘So am I,’ he said, and smiled again.

  * * *

  Smyth had seen Shannon return from morning Mass, and he quickly prepared her simple breakfast.

  As he entered her living-room, to find her standing before the open French windows, he said, ‘Your breakfast is served, madam.’

  She turned and smiled at him.

  ‘Thank you, Smyth,’ and she came to the table.

  ‘I trust the concert was a great success, madam.’

  ‘I think it was or else people were very kind.’ She smiled again. ‘Playing before friends is very different from playing before a critical audience.’

  ‘Yes, madam. I understand that. I would have liked to have attended.’

  ‘I know.’ She waited until he had poured the coffee, then she went on, ‘There was a tape, Smyth. I got a copy for you.’ She waved to her desk. ‘Take it, and, when you have time, do listen. I value your opinion.’

  His face lit up.

  ‘You couldn’t be kinder, madam. Thank you.’

  He found the tape, bowed and withdrew.

  At least, one, real faithful friend, Shannon thought. She spent some time sipping coffee and thinking, feeling in a depressed mood. Friends? she thought. Not real friends. The people she mixed with were so obviously aware that she was the wife of this powerful rich tycoon. They were, of course, music-lovers, but if she had been plain Mrs Joe Doe would they bother to come to the concert hall to hear her play? She thought not. Plain Mrs Doe would be just another amateur cellist. Then she thought of Jay and Meg Wilbur. They were true friends. She recalled their warm congratulations last night. She had known from the pleasure on their faces how much her music had meant to them. Yes, her real friends!

  She needed so badly to talk about Sherman, and who better than Meg who, she knew, would move cautiously, consult Jay, then give sound advice.

  Shannon got to her feet and walked over to the French windows. If she left Sherman, half her way of life would come to an end, but the remaining half could be much more alive. She would no longer be the Mrs Sherman Jamison with servants, two luxury homes, no money problems, and with a captive audience to listen to her cello playing. If she separated from Sherman, the snobs would drift away. Although Sherman would have to provide for her, her present life-style would come to an end.

  Would she mind? she asked herself.

  She felt she needed to talk to Meg before making up her mind. This was a weakness, she told herself. She should be able to decide for herself, but this would be an enormous step.

  Still thinking, she undressed and walked, naked, into the bathroom and looked at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Her reflection gave her confidence. God! If only I could have children! she thought. My body is good enough to keep any man attentive, but not Sherman.

  Bitterly, she turned away, put on her swim-suit and went down for her morning swim.

  * * *

  At 07.50, the following morning, Ernie Kling did something he had never done before in his evil life.

  Dressed in a dark grey suit, wearing dark sun-goggles, he mounted the steps that led to the Church of the Blessed Virgin, entered the big church and took a seat where he could observe and not be seen.

  An altar boy was lighting candles. A concealed organ was playing Bach. Incense hung in the air. There were already a number of people sitting in the front pews: mostly elderly women with a scattering of elderly men.

  Kling regarded the scene with cynical eyes. He waited patiently, like a coiled snake. Then he saw Shannon Jamison come down the aisle. He recognized her from Lucan’s description and eyed her. Some woman! he thought. He liked her tall, upright figure and the way she moved. With her was a bulky man with flaming red hair who saw her to her seat in a pew, then took a seat away from her.

  Kling sat through the service, observing the fat, pleasant-looking priest who officiated. He watched Shannon go up to the altar rails and again nodded his approval.

  The service over, Kling still remained seated. He watched the congregation leave, pausing at the doorway of the church to shake hands with the priest. He watched Shannon’s smile as she paused for a moment to say something to the priest before moving on. He watched the red-haired bulky man grip the priest’s hand firmly and say something, then hurry after Shannon.

  Kling got to his feet and walked towards the priest as he turned.

  ‘Fine service, Father,’ he said. The priest regarded him.

  ‘This must be your first visit, my friend,’ he said. ‘I am good at remembering faces.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m on vacation,’ Kling said. ‘I like to attend church when I can. I don’t often get the chance. It’s good to see you have such an attendance. These days…’ He shrugged.

  ‘We have our faithful,’ the priest said. ‘I wish more of the young would come. We have a better attendance on Sunday.’

  ‘I seem to recognize that gentleman with the red hair,’ Kling said.

  ‘Mr O’Neil. He is the Irish representative to the United Nations. He is here for a brief vacation, and attends Mass every morning. A fine man.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kling nodded. ‘I have seen his photograph in the papers. Well, Father, have a nice day.’ He shook hands. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

  ‘God go with you, my friend,’ the priest said.

  Stupid, fat old fool, Kling thought as he ran down the steps to where he had parked his car. He then drove to the beach where Jamison and Lucan held their talks. At that hour the beach was deserted. Kling walked around, found what he hoped to find and then drove back to the Star Motel.

  At 10.30, Lucan came to Kling’s cabin. Kling could see he was in a nervous state.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Lucky, relax,’ he said. ‘Hey, kid, give this guy a stiff drink.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ng said, and quickly produced a double Scotch and soda.

  ‘Now, Lucky, this is going to be dead easy,’ Kling said, lighting a cigarette. ‘No problems for you. All you have to do is to go with Jamison to the beach. I’ll be there. When Jamison pulls up, you slide out of the car, fast. I’ll take your place. You head for a big clump of shrubs on your right. The kid will be there, and will take you to where we’ve hidden my car. I’ll talk to Jamison and sell him my idea. From what you tell me, he’ll fall for it.’

  Lucan lost colour.

  ‘I don’t like this, Ernie. Jamison warned me he would fix me if I played tricky. With his clout, he will fix me!’

  Kling grinned.

  ‘He can’t, Lucky. Use what brains you have. What can he do to you? We have him in a squeeze. He knows that if he tries to put the heat on you, you can tell the press he tried to hire you to murder his wife. So okay, he’ll deny it. He might threaten to sue, but he won’t. Once the press get on to this that he wanted to get rid of his wife so badly he’ll pay someone to murder her, he’ll never dare get rid of her. So he’s stuck with her for life unless he plays along with us. Get it?’

  Wiping his sweating face, Lucan nodded.

  ‘I hadn’t thought about that. But, Ernie, this is not my thing. I wish I hadn’t listened to that sonofabitch.’

  ‘Oh, pipe down! Do you or don’t you want to pick up an easy thirty thousand?’

  Lucan gulped down the Scotch. His greed overcame his caution.

  ‘Well, okay, Ernie. I’m relying on you.’

  ‘So, do just what I�
�ve told you,’ Kling said. ‘I’ll handle the rest.’ He got to his feet. ‘The kid and I are now going to the beach meeting-place. Just leave it to me.’

  When Kling and Ng had driven away, Lucan returned to his cabin. He had another stiff Scotch, then, feeling fortified, and almost reckless, he walked out into the hot sunshine to wait for Jamison to arrive.

  5

  With Lucan, sitting at his side, Jamison drove towards the beach meeting-place.

  Jamison had to restrain himself from asking the vital question: had this professional killer come up with a perfect plan to get rid of Shannon? If he had! His life would be entirely altered. He would have Tarnia, but even more important to him, he would have a son!

  He could smell whisky on Lucan’s breath. He could see he was unnerved. A gigolo! What could one expect?

  He said nothing while he drove, staring ahead, driving carefully. Let this wet gigolo sweat! he thought grimly. If he doesn’t deliver, I’ll fix him! There are many ways of fixing a gigolo like him. Jamison’s fingers tightened on the driving-wheel. If this gigolo didn’t deliver, he would hire some thug to smash his handsome face: stamp on him: grind a heel. If he didn’t deliver!

  He drove the car down the sandy lane leading to the beach, then pulled up.

  Now! he thought. Will this be the end of Shannon?

  Lucan was waiting for this moment. He was still feeling reckless. As the car stopped and Jamison reached for the ignition key to turn off the engine, Lucan opened the door of the passenger’s seat, was out, slightly staggering, and had run frantically to a clump of bushes to his right as Kling had indicated.

  For a brief moment, Jamison sat still, then he swung round in his seat to find himself looking at a tall, lean grey-haired man who had appeared from nowhere and had slid into Lucan’s seat.

  Jamison’s nerves jumped and he felt his heart give a little flutter at the sight of this man with his cool, evil smile and his glittering snake-like eyes.

  ‘Morning, Mr Jamison,’ the man said, in a soft, low voice. ‘I’m Ernie Kling. We have business together… right?’

  Jamison sat motionless, but his mind worked swiftly. So Lucan and this killer knew who he was. Well, all right, he couldn’t have hoped to remain anonymous for long.