I left the car and walked along the waterfront which was crowded with tourists, gaping at the various characters coming off the fishing boats.
The time was 21.30. The air was hot and humid, but, at least, there was no sign of rain.
I walked to the Neptune Tavern. There were a few fishermen at the tables, eating. This wasn’t a tourist haunt. Across the room Al Barney, in his special corner, was eating, a beer at his elbow.
He put down his knife and fork as I sat down at his table. His fat face wore a mournful look.
‘I was hoping to see you, Mr Wallace,’ he said. ‘Have something on the house.’
Sam, the barkeep, slid up.
‘Accept a corned beef sandwich, Mr Wallace,’ he said. ‘You’ll like it. My pleasure, please, and Mr Wallace, accept my sorrow.’
I looked at Barney.
‘Yeah. The news is out. The acid job,’ Barney said, and shook his head. ‘Let me tell you, everyone who means anything down here is sorry. I am more than sorry.’ He cut a slice of meat and shoved it into his mouth. Munching, he went on, ‘Anything I can do?’
Sam slid up to the table and placed a fat sandwich and a glass half filled with Scotch and ice before me.
‘My pleasure, Mr Wallace,’ he said and slid away.
I waited while Barney continued to feed his face. After a couple of more mouthfuls, he put down his knife and fork.
‘Mr Wallace, you have done me a lot of good in the past. I don’t forget people who do things for me. Give me and Sam the pleasure to eat that sandwich. A guy works and thinks better when he has grub in his gut.’
So I ate the sandwich, which could have been worse, and I drank the Scotch. I was feeling a lot more like myself as I lit a cigarette.
Barney beamed at me.
‘OK, Mr Wallace, I am at your service.’
‘Al, I’m going to fix those bastards who did the acid job, but first, I need information.’
Barney nodded.
‘When I heard about it, I reckoned you’d start something. So OK, what information?’
‘Know anything about Lu Gerando?’
Barney stiffened, and his little eyes popped wide open.
‘Gerando? Don’t tell me he’s mixed up in this, Mr Wallace.’
‘He could be. What do you know about him?’
‘No good,’ Barney said. ‘He stooges for Joe Walinski, who owns a big yacht, and Gerando guards the yacht when Walinski is out of town, he drives Walinski’s car. A general stooge.’
‘Do you know if he is in any way connected with Hank Smedley?’
‘I guess so. I’ve seen them together.’ Barney sipped his beer. ‘They certainly know each other.’
‘Who is Joe Walinski?’
Barney shifted uneasily on his chair.
‘Mr Wallace, you are getting me into deep water. I don’t like talking about Walinski. It ain’t healthy.’ He was now looking worried.
I waited.
Barney made a signal to Sam who came rushing over with a plate of the ghastly sausages. He looked at me.
‘Can I get you something else, Mr Wallace?’ he asked. ‘A nice cup of coffee or maybe another Scotch? It’s all on the house.’
‘Thanks, Sam. Nothing,’ I said, trying to keep the edge of impatience out of my voice.
He took away the used plates and went back to the bar.
Barney fed three of the sausages into his mouth, gulped, wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand, then regarded me.
‘Mr Wallace, if I talk about Walinski and it gets known, I’m going to be found in the harbour with my throat cut.’
‘If you don’t tell anyone and I don’t tell anyone, who’s to know? Who is Joe Walinski?’
He ate three more sausages, coughed, again wiped his eyes, then leaning forward, breathing hot pepper in my face, he said, ‘OK, Mr Wallace, so I talk. I wouldn’t do it for any other man but for you...’
‘Who is Joe Walinski?’ I repeated, a snarl in my voice.
‘He is the collector for the east coast Mafia. He comes in his yacht every first of the month and stays a week. During that week he collects protection money, blackmail money, the casino’s payoff. That’s who Walinski is: as dangerous and as deadly as a dose of poison. Make no mistake about that, Mr Wallace. All the waterfront cops know, but they say nothing. On the night of the first of each month, around three in the morning, people arrive at the yacht with their payoffs. The waterfront cops look the other way. No one goes near the yacht unless he or she is doing business with Walinski. No one!’
‘What’s the yacht called, Al?’
‘The Hermes. Just beyond the fish trawlers to the right.’
‘Is Hank Smedley one of Walinski’s collectors?’
Barney tossed three more sausages into his mouth, munched, then nodded.
I have never seen him look so worried. I decided it wasn’t fair to press him further so I got to my feet and offered him my hand. His grip was clammy, but sympathetic.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Wallace. Please don’t do anything crazy.’
I nodded and went over to Sam.
‘Can’t I pay?’
‘Mr Wallace, I am sorry, like Mr Barney is. No, nothing to pay and good luck.’
I walked out into the dark, humid night and along the quay. The tourists had returned to their hotels for dinner. Only a few late fishermen were scattered around, talking. The two waterfront cops were standing, staring aimlessly at the trawlers. I regarded them closely. These two men were aware of Walinski’s racket, and I was sure they had a payoff to keep their mouths shut. They were big over-fat men, swinging nightsticks: tough and stupid looking.
Keeping to the shadows, I walked along until I came to the yacht Hermes. It was a hundred-footer with cabin accommodation: a nice, luxury job.
I paused under the shadow of a palm tree. I could vaguely see a man sitting on the deck. The red glow of his cigarette was a splinter of light in the darkness. No lights showed in or on the yacht.
I guessed Lu Gerando was keeping guard.
I had a lot to think about. Turning, I walked back to where I had parked my car. I passed the Black Cassette. Lights showed behind the dirty, thin curtains that shielded the windows. I could hear strident dance music.
I kept on, got in my car and drove back to my home.
I spent a sleepless night, thinking of Suzy thinking of those wonderful moments we had together, and what we had planned for the future.
At 04.00, I couldn’t stand my thoughts any longer. I threw two sleeping pills into my mouth and finally sparked out.
I walked into Glenda Kerry’s office at 11.30.
‘You’re late, Dirk. The colonel has been asking for you.’ She stared at me, ‘Something wrong? You don’t look well.’
‘The colonel ready to see me?’ I demanded curtly.
Again she stared at me, then waved to the colonel’s office door.
‘He’s free,’ she said.
Parnell was sitting at his desk. He was a giant of a man, on the wrong side of 60. His fleshy, sun-tanned face, small piercing blue eyes and the rattrap of a mouth stamped him as a veteran soldier, and don’t-let-us-forget-it.
‘Morning, Dirk,’ he said, regarding me as I walked into the big room with bay windows that overlooked the harbour. ‘Sit down.’
I sat in a chair, facing him.
‘I’ve read through the Thorsen file. It looked interesting, and you have done an excellent job. Well, Mrs Thorsen has pulled out, so we forget it. I’ve a nice job lined up for you and Anderson.’
‘Not for me, Colonel,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m quitting.’
He lifted his big hands and let them drop on his desk.
‘I was fearing you would say that, Dirk. I had hoped you could have shifted your mind to other things. I know about Suzy. I am as sorry as hell. I go along with your thinking. If I were in the unhappy position as you are, and this happened to someone I loved, I would go after those bastards.’