Double Doublecross (34 page)

“Perhaps he's not here yet,” Carl offered.

“Of course he's here. You heard the receptionist. He's registered but not here at the moment. Keep looking.”

To Rick's dismay, Phil Speed turned to him and spoke to him in a friendly voice.

“Can't win at these, you know. You just keep feeding them, and they keep eating the money.”

“Know what you mean,” Rick replied in a low croaking voice. “It's fun anyway.”

“It's fun if you don't mind losing money.”

Just then the bells went off. Someone had hit a jackpot.

“Lucky bastard,” Speed said in a gruff growl. “I never have any luck. How about you?”

“None,” Rick replied in a low voice.

Carl Regis turned to Speed. “I can't see him anywhere.”

“Keep looking,” Speed said.

“Looking for someone?” Rick said, pressing his luck.

“Yeah, a pal of mine. We'll meet up with him later.”

“Good luck!” said Rick starting to thread his way through the crowd with a faint smile on his face.

He walked briskly back to the motel realizing Carl had not kept his word and come alone, but then Rick never believed he would and it was obvious Speed was calling the shots for Carl. But Rick was going to change all that.

He went to bed that night and slept like a baby. In the morning he would start making his preparation for the exchange.

The next morning Rick showered, dressed for skiing and ate a hearty breakfast. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed Carl's number. A sleepy voice answered after several rings.

“Carl here,” he mumbled into the mouthpiece.

“Hi, Carl. Rick Jacobs here. Awake yet? Have a good night? No, of course you didn't,” Rick said answering his own questions.

“What do you want?”

“You broke the rules of the game, my friend. I told you
to come
alone
, but you didn't, did you? When I told you to come alone, I meant it. Get the message?”

There was a pause on the other end. How did Rick know he wasn't alone?

“Speed insisted on tagging along,” Carl said, looking across the room at Phil Speed who was just getting out of bed.

“Obey my instructions or forget it, okay? Tell your friend I don't want him around when I hand over the bag. Is that quite clear?”

“Sure! Sure!” Carl said quietly.

“Good! I'll call you with the instructions later this afternoon. Don't forget—come alone. I'll be watching you so be a good boy and do as you're told.” Rick rang off.

Carl stared into space for a moment. Phil Speed woke him from his mini trance.

“Well, what did he say?”

“He must have seen us last night. He's pissed. Said I should come alone for the pickup. He knows you're here,” Carl said uneasily.

“Don't worry. I'll keep well out of sight. Just play it cool, Carl. We'll soon be on Easy Street.”

Rick loaded up the Land Rover and made his way to his favorite ski resort at Squaw Valley. There was a light flurry of snow in the air and dark clouds were looming out of the northwest. Rick knew from past experience there was a storm on the way, targeting the area for late afternoon. Rick prepared the Land Rover for the rough weather ahead, putting on the chains and covering the windshield.

Midway through the afternoon the storm took hold and the air was filled with blizzard-like conditions. He stopped skiing, reached his car, stacked the skis and called Carl on the cell phone. Carl picked up the phone before the ring was completed.

“Listen carefully, Carl. I'll only say this once, so take notes. Ready?”

“Just a minute. I'll get a pencil…. Okay, I'm ready. Fire away!” Carl said excitedly.

“Go to the Squaw Valley Ski Resort parking lot. Make your way to the far floodlight opposite the gondola lift. Don't forget—come alone. When you get there, you'll receive further instructions where to go. If I see any sign of Speed, you'll never see any of the loot. Now get going. You should be here within twenty minutes—and hurry up. Within the next hour or two you'll be snowed in!” Rick said with authority and switched off.

Carl passed on the directions to Phil Speed who was waiting anxiously by the telephone.

“I'll keep out of sight, but I'll be close by. I don't want you taking off without me.”

“I wouldn't do that,” whined Carl Regis.

“When you get to the parking lot, I'll give you fifteen minutes—then I'm coming after you.”

Carl drove carefully to the resort parking lot. Phil Speed kept him in sight, but he stopped short of the lot and took up a position where he could see everything from the roadside. By now the snow was being blown in blizzard like conditions making visibility almost impossible.

Rick watched Carl park his car close to the floodlight. There was no sign of Speed following him. He waited a full minute then called Carl.

“Listen carefully. Walk to the base of the light. By the way, there's a rifle pointing at the middle of that green parka you're wearing—so no funny business, got that?” Rick said, bluffing about the rifle.

Carl cringed at the thought of being a target and walked slowly to the light.

“I'm there.”

“I know you are. It's no good looking around you. You can't see me. Now do as I say or you're dead. The bag is behind the lamp—only the handle is showing. Wait! I haven't finished yet. When I tell you, just throw the cell phone out of reach into the snow. Just one more thing, not all of the money is there. You'll get the rest later when I feel I can trust you. Now throw the phone away and get the bag,” Rick commanded.

Carl threw the phone into a snowdrift, walked behind the lamp and retrieved the bag. He hurried to his car, opened the door and then opened the bag in one swift movement. There were bundles of money filling it to the brim. He took a bundle of bills and thumbed through them.

He reached further into the bag and fingered a lower bundle. They were phony packages! What would Phil Speed say? He reached for his cell phone and remembered he had thrown it away. The car door opened. Phil Speed was there.

“Phil, I—” Carl never finished the sentence.

Phil Speed reached in and grabbed the bag. Two shots were fired and Carl Regis lurched sideways with a gurgle, clutching his abdomen.

“Pay off time, you jerk! This will pay for the trouble you caused me.”

Reaching into the bag, he grabbed a bundle of money, flipped through the bills, grinned to himself and took
another bundle from the bag. He flipped through it, smiled to himself, pocketed the money and tossed the bag onto the back seat of his car.

Phil Speed had watched through the flurrying snow the whole sequence of Carl's movements from his vantage point on the road. He had jumped in his car and driven quickly to the spot as soon as Carl had the bag in the car. Visibility was almost down to zero as Phil Speed drove slowly out of the parking lot behind the many late diehard skiers making their way home.

Rick was too far away to see Carl when he retrieved the bag. He could barely see Carl's car. He decided to wait ten minutes and let him drive off first. After that, he'd follow Carl at a discreet distance to where he would meet up with Speed.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rick could still see Carl's car through the wall of snow being kicked up by the wind. He started his car and slowly made his way to where Carl's car was parked. The parking lot was practically empty by now, and Rick knew something was wrong. Reaching the car, he opened the passenger side door and found Carl in a crouched position, coughing and choking on his own blood.

“Double-crossed me,” he gasped.

“Don't move. I'll get help,” Rick said with urgency.

Carl caught hold of Rick's sleeve and thrust a card into his hand.

“Call Fennel! He wants the bastard!” croaked Carl. He coughed and breathed out a rasping rattle and slumped forward.

‘Poor devil,' Rick thought, ‘I double-crossed him and now Speed has double-crossed him again. A real double-double cross.'

Rick drove to a pay phone, called for an ambulance and headed for the interstate before the storm closed the freeway. When he was on the onramp, he joined the slow procession of vehicles heading west. He switched on his cell phone to alert Sara of the situation and to watch out for Speed who was on the loose. Nothing happened. The batteries were dead. Slowly he crawled along with the rest of the traffic waiting for an opportunity to reach a pay phone.

A rest area came into view. Rick pulled off and drove through the drifting snow to the outdoor phone realizing his move to put on chains beforehand had been smart. He picked up the receiver. It came away in his hand. It had been vandalized. Cursing, he jumped into the Land Rover and joined the convoy once again. He looked at his watch. it was two and a half hours since he left Carl.

The traffic was moving slowly. He passed two paramedic trucks and an ambulance on the hard shoulder with California Highway Patrol lights flickering on top of their patrol cars. Rubbernecks were gaping at the scene as they slowly crept pass the turmoil, and Rick began to get impatient.

One hour later he was almost to the stretch of highway below the snowline. He peeled off the road at the first off ramp and searched for a payphone. Lifting the receiver, he listened for the dial tone and dialed Sara's number. No answer.

It was now four hours since he had left Carl. This was not good news. He dialed again—still no reply. The only thing to do was to make a beeline for home and hope nothing was wrong. He could make it within the hour if he put the pedal down.

P
hil Speed looked at his watch. It was a little after eight o'clock. Darkness had fallen, and he was well below the snowline. He estimated he would be with Sara within the hour. Now that he had the money, it was his plan to pick her up and head for the border before Rick Jacobs arrived on the scene.

Eventually he arrived at the house and slowly backed his car up the driveway with his car facing the road for a fast getaway if it was necessary. He approached the door and rang the bell, stepping aside out of the peephole line of vision.

Inside the house Sara heard the bell. She hurried to the door and opened it in one swift motion, expecting to see Rick. Phil Speed immediately pushed the door wide open and grabbed Sara by the arm.

“Get your things. We're leaving right away. Hurry up! We don't have much time!” he growled.

“Where's Carl?”

“Sleeping peacefully.”

“What do you mean? You've killed him, haven't you!” Sara exclaimed in a horrified voice.

“So what! He asked for it. I took a hell of a beating on account of him. Now get your things and let's haul ass!”

“What about your shadows? Won't they spot you?”

“They're both in the land of slumber with Carl. Now come on! I want to be out of here before Jacobs arrives.”

Sara stared at him with fear in her eyes. He was crazy! Then she realized she had just become a witness to his confession of murder.

“I don't want to go with you, Phil. Don't worry, I won't say anything—just leave me alone.”

His hand moved swiftly as he slapped her hard across the face, sending her flying across the kitchen where she lay trembling with fear. If she didn't do as he said, she would be dead within minutes. If she went with him, it would only be just a matter of time before he either dumped her or killed her.

“Okay, Phil. Let me throw a few things together. I won't be a minute.”

“What d' you need?”

“Toiletries, makeup, woman's things and a few clothes.”

“Right—but make it quick! I haven't got all day.”

Sara got slowly to her feet and staggered towards the bedroom. Somehow she had to find a way out of this situation. Her mind raced as she packed a suitcase with a few clothes. Going into the bathroom, she started to load her toilet bag with perfumes, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and hairspray. She briefly combed her hair and gave it a quick spray from the aerosol can.

“Come on, move it!” shouted Phil Speed from the kitchen where he had fixed himself a sandwich.

“Coming! Coming!” Sara shouted back.

She picked up the case and toilet bag. With the hair spray
in her hand, she moved into the kitchen where Speed was finishing his sandwich. Slowly she put the case on the floor and walked cautiously over to him.

“Where are we going?” Sara inquired.

“None of your business,” he shot back at her.

“I'd like to know, Phil. After all, we are going together,” Sara said.

“Mexican border, maybe. Haven't made up my mind yet.”

Sara gave him a winning smile as she moved closer to him. Suddenly, in one swift motion, she brought the hairspray up and aimed it at his face, pressing down on the nozzle. He gave a shriek of pain as he tumbled backwards, his right hand reaching for the sink, his left hand covering his eyes.

Sara ran to the sliding glass door leading to the patio at the rear of the house. Opening it, she stumbled into the pouring rain and raced to the middle of the large lawn. Quickly she looked around trying to decide her next move. She needed a place to hide. Her dark windbreaker and jeans were saturated, but she hardly noticed her condition. Behind her, she could hear Speed screaming, cursing and stumbling around the kitchen.

She glanced over her shoulder. She could see him with a towel clutched to his face. Suddenly he stopped and headed blindly for the sliding glass door leading to the rear patio.

Sara moved forward quickly, aiming for the tall laurel hedge running round the perimeter of the large yard. Her left foot slipped as she moved forward and she crashed onto the sodden grass. She rolled over onto her back, lifted her head and looked for Phil Speed. He was still groping around on the patio, wiping his eyes with the towel. The hedge was just twenty feet away. Hastily, she crawled on her hands and knees and thrust herself through the hedge, feeling the
branches scratch her hands and face.