1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts (12 page)

I went back to my chair, lit a cigarette while Bill cleared the table. I was tempted to have a double Scotch, but refrained. This wasn’t the lime to get reckless on Scotch.

Finally at 21.00, I got to my feet.

‘I’ll get the bomb, Bill.’

‘Fine. I’ll come along. I’ve got nothing to do.’

Leaving Bill sitting in the parked car, I walked to Ali Hassan’s junk stall. In spite of the drizzle the tourists were still on the waterfront, most of them staring at the junk stalls. It was several minutes before Hassan, sitting under an awning, saw me. He got to his feet, spoke to his wife, then joined me.

‘You got it?’ I asked.

‘Yes. It’s a beautiful job, Mr. Doe. Worth every dollar you are paying for it.’

‘Let me have it, and I’ll give you the money.’

‘That’s as it should be. It is all ready. Now listen, Mr. Doe, there is no problem. There is a switch at the top. You turn that to the right and the bomb goes off in ten minutes. It is safe so long as you don’t touch the switch. You can even drop it. No problem.’

Moving into the deeper shadows, I took out my wallet and gave him the balance of the money we had agreed on. He counted the money, nodded and stowed the bills under his robe.

‘Just a minute, Mr. Doe.’ He waddled away, then returned carrying a plastic sack. This he gave me. ‘Turn the switch to the right, Mr. Doe, then take off. In ten minutes there will be a big bang and a lot of damage.’

‘Could be I will want something else,’ I said. ‘Something that could sink a hundred-foot yacht. You in the market?’

He put his hand under his robe and scratched himself.

‘That would come expensive, Mr. Doe. I could arrange it, but I would have to fix it with a Marine sergeant who comes very high.’

‘But you could arrange it?’

‘If the money is right, anything can be arranged.’

‘I could be seeing you again,’ I said, and leaving him, I returned to the car. I put the plastic sack on the back seat and slid under the driving wheel.

‘That it?’ Bill asked, turning to stare at the sack.

‘That’s it.’ I started the motor. ‘We’ll go home and wait.’

‘I’m not crazy about bombs,’ Bill said. ‘Is that thing safe?’

‘It’s OK,’ I told him. ‘Relax,’ and I drove back to my condominium. In the underground garage, I opened the plastic sack and took from it a black, square-shaped object. As Hassan had said, there was a small switch on the top of the box. Bill watched, his eyes goggling.

‘You push this switch to the right,’ I said, ‘and after ten minutes—boom!’ I returned the bomb to the sack, and leaving the car, we took the elevator up to my apartment.

‘We have a five-hour wait,’ I said. ‘Let’s have some coffee.’

‘Sure.’ Bill went into the kitchen.

I put the bomb on the table, then, lighting a cigarette, I sat down.

Bill came in with a jug of coffee, a cup and saucer.

‘I’m taking a nap, Dirk. Call me when you are ready to take off.’

When he had gone to his bedroom, I drank coffee, smoked cigarettes, paced the living room, constantly looking at my watch. My mind now was solely on the thought of making Hank Smedley’s life miserable as he had made my life miserable.

Finally, at 01.45, I roused Bill who was sleeping peacefully. I envied him.

‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘We’ll take a look at the scene.’

So with the plastic sack containing the bomb and the K.K.K. notice, we drove down to the waterfront. It had begun to rain again. The waterfront was more or less deserted. A few fishermen were leaving their boats. The tourists were in bed. There was no sign of the two waterfront cops.

I found easy parking within a hundred yards of the Black Cassette.

‘I’ll take a look, Bill,’ I said, and slid out of the car.

Leaving him, I walked past the club, hearing jazz. There was a side alley that I guessed led to the back of the club. Moving silently, I went down the alley and peered into a rear window of the club. It was a window which would offer no resistance. I saw a couple of blacks wandering around. The room looked like a makeshift kitchen.

One of the blacks was taking off his dirty apron as if preparing to go home. The other sat on a table, munching a hot dog.

I ducked away, then moved silently back to the car. I joined Bill.

‘There’s a rear window. No problem,’ I said.

We sat in silence and waited. By now the waterfront was quite deserted. Rain fell steadily. The only lights showing came from the Black Cassette.

As the hands of my watch crawled to 02.30, some of the lights in the club went out. There was a babble of voices, then some thirty-odd blacks, men and women, came out onto the sidewalk. They were all chattering like magpies. After a minute or so the group broke up.

There was a lot of shouting and waving, and they dispersed down the various alleys.

Then four big black men, who I guessed were the staff, came out and hurried to a car parked not far from where we were parked.

They scrambled in and drove away.

Just after 03.00, Hank Smedley appeared.

There was no mistaking his giant, ape-like figure. He and a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a white jacket paused for a moment while Hank locked the door of the club. Then they walked rapidly to Hank’s Olds, got in and drove away.

‘Who’s the guy wearing the hat?’ Bill asked. ‘He’s white.’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ I said. ‘Come on, Bill, we have a job to do.’

We left the car. Bill had taken a short jemmy from the duffel bag. I carried the bomb.

It took Bill less than a minute to open the window into the smelly kitchen. I had brought a powerful flashlight with me. I switched it on, then motioned Bill to give me the bomb. ‘I’ll fix this. You go and fix the K.K.K. notice on the door.’

I found my way into the big room where the blacks danced. I put the bomb on the bar counter. Then, gun in hand, I checked the whole place to be sure no one was sleeping there—no one was.

Satisfied, I returned to the bar and pushed the switch on the bomb to the right. Then I returned fast to the kitchen, climbed through the window and joined Bill in the car.

‘Think we are far enough away?’ Bill asked, an anxious note in his voice.

‘I want to see it,’ I said, gripping the steering wheel, my eyes on the club, thinking this was the first step towards avenging Suzy, and I felt good.

The hands of the car’s dashboard clock crawled on. Ten minutes passed.

Bill moved uneasily.

‘It could be a goddamn dud!’ he muttered as the hands of the clock reached fifteen minutes past.

‘Quiet! Wait!’ I snapped.

I had scarcely stopped speaking when the bomb exploded. The noise and the blast rocked us and rocked the car.

The front windows of the club flew onto the waterfront. There was a tearing sound as the club’s roof collapsed. I saw the front door sagging, holding the K.K.K. notice. There was more noise: more sound of the club falling apart.

This was good enough for me. I started the car’s motor and drove off the waterfront before the cops and firemen arrived.

I had done what I wanted to do. The Black Cassette was permanently out of business. The realisation of this was like a great weight lifted off my back.

‘Some bomb,’ Bill said. ‘Now what?’

‘You know where Hank lives?’

‘Sure.’

‘So we go there and wreck his car.’

He directed me to Seagrove Road.

‘That’s his pad. On the right.’

I parked, then both of us, armed with short-handled club hammers, walked down to the underground garage.

It took us less than ten minutes to reduce Hank’s car to scrap. While I smashed the windows and windscreen, Bill fixed the engine.

There was noise, but at 04.15, who paid attention to noise? We stabbed the tyres, then using my felt pencil I wrote on the only undented door panel: K.K.K.

Then we retreated to my car.

‘Satisfied?’ Bill asked as I started the motor.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ll sleep. Thanks Bill.’

I headed back to my apartment.

For the first time since Suzy died, I slept dreamlessly. By the time I got out of bed, shaved, showered and dressed, it was 11.15.

Bill had a brunch ready, and while we ate he regarded me searchingly.

‘I think you are over the hump, Dirk,’ he said, cutting into his third egg.

‘I guess so,’ I said. ‘Hank drove the car, but I’ve got to find the acid sprayer. I’ve got to fix him too.’

‘So, OK, we’ll fix him,’ Bill said. ‘We’ll ask around.’

After the meal I drove with Bill to the waterfront. Parking was tight, but finally I found a slot, then together we walked by the junk stalls, the fishing trawlers and finally reached what remained of the Black Cassette.

There was a crowd of tourists, gaping. They were held back by the two waterfront cops. I spotted Detective Tom Lepski talking to a fireman.

‘ Stay here,’ I said to Bill, and shoved my way through the crowd.

One of the waterfront cops started towards me.

‘Hi, Tom!’ I called, then as Lepski waved to me the cop pulled back. I joined Lepski.

‘Take a look,’ he said, waving to the broken entrance of the club. ‘Something for the record.’

I had a hard time to conceal my satisfaction as I peered through the sagging doorway. The bomb had done a great job.

‘Looks like a bomb,’ I said.

‘Damn right. Something that’s never happened in this city. The mayor is laying eggs.’ Lepski grinned. ‘It was time someone fixed this club. Well, whoever it was, certainly fixed it.’

‘I guess that’s right,’ I said, aware Lepski was regarding me thoughtfully.

‘Yeah. There’s a Ku-Klux-Klan notice on the door, but that doesn’t wash with me nor anyone else. Someone who hated Smedley did the job,’ Lepski said.

I nodded.

‘You may be right, Tom. Have you seen Smedley?’

‘Oh, sure.’ Lepski shrugged. ‘I’ve got no time for that spade. Someone smashed up his car. We reckon it’s the same guy who let off the bomb. Smedley is out of his mind, yelling for us to find the guy.’ He shrugged. ‘OK, it’s our job to look around, but we’re not going to sweat. Smedley had it coming.’ Again the hard cop stare. ‘I hear you have quit the agency, Dirk.’

‘That’s right. Suzy’s death has taken the stuffing out of me. Maybe, I’ll return to the agency in time. How are your investigations getting on about Suzy, Tom?’

‘We’re still digging. We’ve found another witness, and from her, we have a description of the guy who used the acid: not much of a description, but maybe it’ll help. He was broad-shouldered, wearing a white jacket and a broad-brimmed hat. We are looking for someone to match that description.’

My face expressionless, I nodded.

I remembered the man who had come out with Hank from the club, wearing a white jacket and a broad-brimmed hat. They had gone off together.

Lepski was still regarding me.

‘Look, Dirk, Hank’s been fixed. We don’t want any more trouble. This is a very sensitive zone. The news is being broadcast that a bomb has gone off. Bombs scare the rich to hell. Already hotels are getting cancellations for next month. We don’t want any more bombs. You read me, Dirk?’

‘Why tell me, Tom? You’d better tell the bomber if he will listen.’

Lepski shrugged.

‘Play it your way,’ he said, ‘but I’m telling you if another bomb goes off, we’ll throw the book at the bomber. He’ll go away for fifteen years.’

‘You tell him that,’ I said. ‘Well, be seeing you, Tom,’ and I moved back into the crowd.

I signalled to Bill to stay where he was, then walked along the waterfront to the Neptune Tavern. I found Al Barney, sitting on his bollard, talking to two young, goggle-eyed tourists. I waited. Finally they took photographs of him, and the man produced a ten-dollar bill. Al snapped it up, waved to them as they walked away.

‘Tourist trade prospering, Al?’ I said as I came up to him.

‘Ah, Mr. Wallace. Well, it comes and it goes.’

He put the bill in his dirty sweatshirt pocket.

‘Next month will be the time.’ He regarded me with his small shark-like eyes. ‘Some bomb,’ he went on. ‘That puts paid to Smedley.’

‘Al, do you know anything about a broad-shouldered man who wears a white jacket and a wide-brimmed hat?’

Barney grimaced.

‘Hula Minsky,’ he said. ‘Keep clear of him, Mr. Wallace.’

‘Who is he?’

Barney looked furtively around then, lowering his voice, said, ‘One of Walinski’s thugs. Poison.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘You don’t want to find him, Mr. Wallace. Like I said—poison.’

‘Where do I find him, Al?’ I repeated.

‘When he’s here, he shacks up with Hank Smedley. He comes down here before the first of the month to collect the payoffs.’

‘Thanks, Al,’ I said, and giving him a pat on his fat shoulder, I walked back to where Bill was waiting.

‘The cops are pretty sure I let off the bomb,’ I concluded after telling him what I had been doing. ‘Lepski gave me a straight warning, but they have no proof.’

Bill shrugged.

‘The cops always have theories.’ He slid into the passenger’s seat. ‘Hula Minsky—some name. What are you going to do with him?’

‘Bust him. I’m going to bust him so hard, he’ll go around in a wheelchair for life.’ I started the car motor.

‘When?’

‘Tonight. Around seven, we’ll stake out Hank’s apartment and wait.’

‘That could be tough.’

‘So, OK, it’ll be tough.’

‘You handle Minsky. I’ll handle Hank,’ Bill said. ‘I’m thirsting to hit that black.’

‘That’s the idea, Bill.’

Back in my apartment, Bill moved around the living room restlessly while I lit a cigarette and brooded.

The telephone bell rang. I reached and picked up the receiver.

‘Mr. Wallace?’ A woman’s voice.

‘Correct. Who is this?’

‘I am Mr. Walinski’s secretary,’ the voice told me: a hard, metallic voice of a woman who could be of any age. ‘Mr. Walinski would like to talk to you. Will you come to the Spanish Bay Hotel at five o’clock. I will be waiting for you in the lobby and will take you to Mr. Walinski’s suite.’

The phone clicked off before I could say a word. I put down the receiver and told Bill.