As I drove through the traffic congested streets, I thought that in the early hours of tomorrow morning the Black Cassette would no longer be in business.
So, OK, this was revenge, but whatever I did wouldn’t bring Suzy’s bright face again on my pillow.
Six
It was just after 23.00 when I rang on my front-door bell. There was a delay as Bill regarded me through the spy-hole, then he opened up.
‘No problems, Bill?’ I asked, as he relocked the front door.
‘I’ve settled in.’ He moved into the living room. On the table was the Thorsen file. ‘I’ve been going over this, Dirk, over and over, because pretty soon we’ve got to squeeze something out of it. Something or somebody’s got to give.’
I sank into an easy chair.
‘Let me shoot off my mouth, Bill,’ I said, then went on to tell him about my talk with Josh Smedley.
‘The Mafia are active,’ I concluded. ‘Well, OK. We expected this. They’ve put the fear of God into Mrs Thorsen. No news of Terry.’ I paused to light a cigarette. ‘Now, Hank. I intend to make his life a misery.’ I went on to tell Bill about the bomb. ‘It’ll wreck the club. I am going to wreck his car. I want him to feel life is on top of him. Then I’m going to wreck his home. Now, Bill, the big point is I don’t want Hank to get the idea that it is me after him. If he does, he’ll run to his Mafia pals and scream for protection, and we could be in trouble.’
I got to my feet and went into the kitchen. I found a small piece of cardboard. On it I wrote with a felt pen the following:
BLACKS NOT WANTED HERE: K.K.K.
I returned to the living room and showed Bill the notice.
‘This will be tacked on the door of the club. It should divert Hank’s thinking that it is me after him. I’ll do the same with the car. This way we’ll gain some breathing-space.’
‘I see that,’ Bill said, nodding.
‘Of course, sooner or later, the Mafia thugs will realise it is me hitting them, and then they’ll hit back. We have to be ready for that. So once we really get started, we must go underground. I know a place where we can live. It’ll mean leaving here. OK with you Bill?’
‘If you say so, it’s fine with me.’
I got to my feet.
‘I’m going to bed. You keep out of this bomb job, Bill. I’m doing this on my own.’
‘Not a chance,’ Bill said. ‘Where you go, I go too. OK, let’s go to bed.’
‘I don’t want you. This is a one-man job.’
‘Two men are always better than one,’ Bill said and went off to his bedroom.
I had a quick shower, then got into bed. I put my hand on the empty pillow where Suzy’s lovely head so often rested. I thought of her getting acid sprayed in her face, her awful pain and rushing into the street where that truck smashed her to pieces. I didn’t sleep that night. I lay and thought of those times we had had together, how she had done so much for me, added so much richness to my life.
It wasn’t until the sun began to come through the rain-cloudy sky, that I finally fell asleep, but only for an hour. I dreamed of Hank, this massive ape of a man, and I woke up, sweating, and seeing the time, I got up, shaved, showered and dressed.
Bill was already up. He had coffee on the table and rounds of toast and jam. We sat opposite each other.
We ate in silence for several minutes, then he said, ‘OK, Dirk, when you have fixed Hank, what’s the next move?’
I shook my head.
‘I don’t know. I’ve got this slob on my mind, and I can’t think of anything else.’
‘I can understand that,’ he said, ‘but isn’t there something I can do?’
‘God knows!’ I said impatiently. ‘You joined me. You’ll have to put up with me!’
Bill finished his coffee.
‘OK. So I’ll go out and take a look at the scene. Let’s have lunch here. What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll be waiting for tonight,’ I said, shoving my coffee cup away from me. ‘You do what you like.’
‘Can I take the car?’
‘Oh, sure. I’ll be here. I have nothing to do, but to wait until that dump of his closes at 3 a.m.’
‘Try and take it easy, Dirk.’ Then getting to his feet, he left the apartment.
I took time washing the coffee cups and clearing the table. I moved like a zombie. I was like a man with an inflamed, festering boil that had to be lanced. The boil was Hank Smedley. I sat in the living room, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and thinking always of Suzy. The hours dragged. It wasn’t until 13.00 that Bill returned.
‘I’ve got two steaks,’ he said, and went into the kitchen.
Food didn’t interest me. I heard the grill sizzling. I lit another cigarette.
Bill came in, laid the table and dished up the steaks. We ate them with coarse brown bread. I played with my food. My mind was too obsessed with Suzy and Hank.
‘I went down to the waterfront,’ Bill said as he finished his steak. ‘I talked around. Hank’s club shuts at two thirty. Everyone leaves. The place will be deserted.’
‘Nice work, Bill,’ I said, pushing my half-finished steak from me. ‘Fine. I’ll go down there at two and case the joint. I’ve got to get in, and there are those two waterfront cops to watch out for.’
‘We’ll go down there, Dirk,’ Bill said firmly.
I shrugged.
‘If you want to. Yes, OK, you’ll be helpful.’
‘Jesus!’ Bill exclaimed, staring at me. ‘You are in a mental mess, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve got to fix this black bastard. I want to kill him, but I’m not starting on murder. So, I’ll make his life a misery.’
‘I know. You told me. You are going to blow the Black Cassette to hell. Fine. So, when you have made Hank’s life a misery, what are you going to do?’
‘There’s time to think about that,’ I said. ‘See you, Bill,’ and I left the apartment.
Soft rain was falling. I walked, not noticing the rain. I walked for hours. The streets of Paradise City were almost deserted. As I walked my thoughts churned with pictures of Suzy and Hank. I kept seeing in my mind Suzy leaving her apartment block: a car stopping, a request for directions, then the acid. Some thug had handled the acid. Hank had driven the car.
I paused outside police headquarters, hesitated, then went in. I asked to speak to Sergeant Joe Beigler. Charlie Tanner, the desk sergeant, regarded me with sympathy.
‘I’m sorry, Dirk, about your trouble,’ he said. ‘Go right on up. Joe’ll see you.’
Beigler heaved himself out of his desk chair and gave me a double-fisted handshake. He was trying to express sympathy. I needed sympathy like lemon juice on an open wound.
‘Any news, Joe?’ I asked, putting my hands on his desk and leaning forward.
‘A little — not much,’ Beigler said, dropping back into his chair. ‘We came on a witness who lives in a condo above where it happened. He saw the whole thing, and got the number of the car — stolen. Both men wore gloves — no fingerprints. The driver was black. That’s as far as we’ve got, but we’re still investigating.’
‘He’s sure the driver was black?’
‘He swears to that.’
‘If that’s the best you can do, I won’t waste your time.’ Turning, I left him and walked out into the drizzle of rain. At least, I was now certain that Hank was involved.
I walked down a side street and arrived on the waterfront. After a couple of minutes, I slowed my pace as I came upon the Black Cassette. Outside the place was the Olds that once had belonged to Terry Thorsen: a nice car. I moved more slowly. The time now was 16.30. Hank would be preparing for the evening’s shindig. I kept on and took a long look at Joe Walinski’s luxury yacht. As there were other tourists, done up in their plastic macs, also staring at the yacht, I paused and joined them.