Have a Nice Knight
by
James Hadley Chase


Also by James Hadley Chase

Believe This, You'll Believe Anything

Not Safe to Be Free

Cade this is for Real

Consider Yourself Dead

Trusted Like the Fox

Shock Treatment

But A Short Time to Live

the Doll's Bad News

My Laugh Comes Last

the Flesh of the Orchid

the Guilty Are Afraid

Just Another Sucker

the Soft Centre

Do Me A Favour-drop Dead

Knock, Knock!  Who's There?

So What Happens to Me?

The Wary Transgressor

the Sucker Punch

Come Easy, Go Easy

Hit and Run

Figure it Out for Yourself

Why Pick on Me?

A Paw in the Bottle

Believed Violent

A Can of Worms

An Ear to the Ground

You Can Say That Again

the Whiff of Money

Try this One for Size

More Deadly Than the Male

You've Got it Coming

the Fast Buck

Lay Her Among the Lilies

Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

Make the Corpse Walk

Safer Dead

And Published by Corgi Books

Have A Nice Night

     James Hadley Chase

     Corgi Books  A Division of Transworld Publishers Ltd

      One

     In a shabby, dimly lit bar on the waterfront of St.  Johns River,
Jacksonville, two men sat at a table and talked in low tones.  Apart
from these two and the fat, elderly harman, the bar was deserted.
     The man sitting to the left was Ed Haddon: the king of art
thieves: a brilliant operator who appeared to live an immaculate life 
of a wealthy retired business man, paying his taxes, moving to his 
various apartments in Fort Lauderdale, the South of France, Paris and 
London.  He was the master mind who planned, organized and directed a 
group of expert thieves who profitably did his bidding.
     Haddon could be mistaken for a senator or even a secretary of 
state.  He was tall, heavily built, with thick iron-grey hair, a 
florid, handsome face and the benign smile of a politician.  Behind 
this faigade was a razor-sharp brain and a ruthless, cunning mind.
     The man on the right was Lu Bradey: considered by the world's 
underworld as the best art thief in the business, He was slightly 
built, around thirty five years of age, with a black crewcut, sharp 
features and grey restless eyes.
     Apart from his expertise with any kind of lock, he was also a 
master of disguise.  His facial skin was like rubber: a few pads inside 
his mouth and his lean face turned to fat.  He made his own wigs.  When 
he wore a moustache or a beard, each hair was put into place, one at 
the time.  His thin body, by wearing padded clothes which he
constructed himself, transformed him into a man whose main interest in 
life was heavy eating.  Because of this remarkable talent for disguise, 
he had no police record, although the police of the world were 
searching for him.
     These two men who had worked together for a number of years, had 
been holding a post nwrtem on their last job: the stealing of the 
Catherine the Great's icon from the Washington museum.* Both of them 
had agreed the planning had been brilliant and the execution of the 
steal not to be faulted.  It was just one of those things that the 
planning, the organization and the thought hadn't paid Off.
     Taking his time, Haddon lit a cigar, and Bradey, recognizing the 
signs, waited expectantly.
     'I lost money on that steal, Lu,' Haddon said when he was 
satisfied the cigar was drawing well.  'Okay, so if s so much water 
under the bridge.  You lose one: you win one.
     Now, it,s time we made a profit .  . . right?, Bradey nodded.
     'You got something, Ed?' mp if I hadn't.  This one

     'I wouldn't be sitting in this du ave to get

     will be big, but it needs working on.  I will h together a good 
team.' He pointed his cigar at Bradey.
     'You head my list.  I need to know if you'll be available during 
the next three weeks.' Bradey gave a sly smile.
     ,I,I'll always available when you want me, Ed .
     'Yeah.' Haddon nodded.  'I guess that's right.  You know when I 
set up a deal, you make big money.  Now, pay attention.  When I was 
planning the icon steal, and because I had to work with that fag Claude 
Kendrick, I stayed for three days at the Spanish Bay Hotel, Paradise 
city.  It cost me plenty.  Now this hotel is very special.  it is 
easily the most expensive and deluxe hotel in the world, and that's 
saying a lot.  it doesn't have rooms, only suites.

     see Try this one for size

     EL

     r It gives a service that is out of this world, and only peop with 
more money than sense stay there, and let me t( you, Lu, there are 
still a lot of stupid jerks who do ha, more money than sense, so this 
hotel never, repeat nev has empty suites.' Bradey lifted his eyebrows.
     'You stayed there?' 'Correct.  I move in the rich stream.  That 
way, I pick ideas.  Okay, so it costs, but it often pays off.  So this 
ho has given me an idea.' Haddon puffed at his cigar, th flicked ash 
on.  the floor.  'The hotel is privately owned b Frenchman, jean Dulac, 
who knows his business.  He handsome, loads of charm and his rich 
clients adore hi His staff is hand-picked: some of them from France whe 
the best food, the best hotel service and the hotel de lu know-bow 
comes from.  I couldn't get a suite at the hotel stayed at one of a 
number of chalets in the grounds of t hotel: two bedrooms, living and 
so on: very deluxe.
     suites are booked up all the year around.  I was able wander 
around the hotel.  I had access to the lounges, t three restaurants, 
the svAmming-pool.' He regard Bradey.  'Very, very lush and stuffed 
with very, very ri men and women.' Bradey was listening attentively.
     'I don't need to tell you,' Haddon went on after a paus that when 
men become rich, their wives want to compe with other rich men's 
wives.  That's human nature.  Ap from clothes, mink coats and so on, 
class jewellery corn high on the competitive list.  If Mrs.  Snook 
wears diamond necklace, Mrs.  Pook nags her husband until s gets one.  
Then Mrs.  Snook adds ear-rings and bracelets outdo Mrs.  Pook who then 
demands ear-rings and bra lets.  These spoilt bitches, who have never 
earned a doll demand and get gems worth thousands.  Dinner at hotel is 
the time to see these women in the m restaurant, plastered with 
diamonds, emeralds, rubies, had dinner there, and I have never seen 
such a display gems in one big room.  I reckon on that particular ni 
these stupid, worthless women were wearing, between the lot of them, 
jewellery worth six or even seven million dollars.' Bradey sighed.
     'Very nice,' he said, 'So?' 'it occurred to me it 'Yes,' Haddon 
puffed at his cigar.
     would be a profitable idea to knock over the Spanish Bay Hotel.' 
'Six million?' Bradey asked, staring at Haddon.
     'Could be more, but let us say six.  I 'Interesting.' Bradey 
scratched his head while he thought.  'I can't see it at the moment, 
Ed.  Knock over the hotel?  What does that mean exactly?' 'Of course 
you can't see it,' Haddon said and smiled.
     'Smart as you are, Lu, you haven't my brains, that's why you and I 
work together so well.  You organize the steal.  I do the planning .  . 
. right?' Bradey nodded.
     ,so the take could be six,' he said, eyeing Haddon.
     'What's in it for me?' , I pay all the expenses.  Fair 'Two,' 
Haddon said.
     enough?' ' Bradey said, 'and when we get the loot, 'Very nice, 
who'll handle it?' Such was his faith in Haddon's planning, it didn't 
cross his mind to say if and not when.
     'There'll be an uproar, of course,' Haddon said.  'The Paradise 
City cops are effici6nt.  The squeal will come fast.
     They work well with the State Police and the Miami e Police.  
it'll be too risky to try to get the stuff out of t@ city.  I plan to 
dump the lot in Kendrick's laP.  I'll have to talk to him, but he's our 
best bet.' Bradey grimaced.
     'I hate that fat fag.' 'Never mind.  He's smart, and that's all we 
have to worry about.' 'Okay.' Bradey shrugged.  'What's this to be: a 
hold-up?
     t a hotel.  How's it going to be I don't dig that, Ed: no done?'
Haddon signalled to the fat harman to bring two more drinks.  He waited 
until the harman brought the drinks and had removed the empty glasses.
     'When I stayed at the hotel, Lu,' he said, after the two men had 
saluted and sipped their drink, 'I got talking to a fat old trout who 
was plastered with diamonds.  You'll always find some old woman whose 
husband has been happy to die to be rid of her, sitting in hotel 
lounges.  She was flattered I paid her attention.  She told me she came 
to the hotel for a month every year.  Every time she moved her fat body 
I could hear the rustle of dollar bills.  I spent an hour with her, 
hearing about her husband, a big-shot in oil, who had died five years 
back, about her children and her goddamn grandchildren.  She forced 
family photographs on me.  You know the menace: catch the eye of a 
lonely old woman and you're in for a session.  So, okay, I'm good at 
that.  After a while, I admired her diamonds.  At a guess, she had on 
around a hundred thousand worth.  She told me she had always insisted 
her husband gave her for their wedding anniversaries, a present in 
diamonds.  I asked her if she wasn't afraid that, in these days of 
snatch and grab, she would be robbed.  She told me she would never wear 
the rocks outside the hotel.  She said the security service given by 
the hotel was so good she never even thought of being robbed.  We kept 
talking so I can tell you something about this security service.  Every 
guest on arrival is given a security box with a scrambler lock.  Only 
the guest knows the number of the scrambler.
     When the guests go to bed, they put all their valuables into the 
boxes and two security guards take the boxes to the hotel safe.  Get 
the idea?' Bradey nodded.
     'Scrambler locks?' He smiled.  'No problem.  Scrambler locks to me 
are chick feed.' 'I guessed you would say that.  So when all these rich 
jerks go to bed, the hotel safe is stuffed with juicy boxes.
     That's as far as I have gone.  Until the icon flop, I didn't 
think of knocking over the hotel.  Now, I'm sure it will pay off@, 
Bradey thought, then asked, 'What's the hotel so& like?' 'That's for 
you to find out.  I don't even know where it is located.' 'Okay.  
Shouldn't be difficult.  Tell me about the security.  Got any info 
about that?' 'There are two house dicks prowling around in shifts.
     Both look competent.  Around nine p.m. two security guards, armed, 
come on duty and stay around until two a.m, They are young and tough.  
Life in the hotel quietens down around three a.m but stray guests do 
come back after a night out up to four a.m. I think the best time to 
bust the safe would be around three a.m. I can't tell you more.  You'll 
have to find out the details for yourself.' 'You mean for me to stay at 
the hotel?' 'No other way.  I took the chance of you being available 
and got one of my people to book, through a travel agent, one of the 
hotel's chalets.  That way the booking can't be traced.' Bradey nodded 
approvingly.
     'I've also paid a hefty deposit, so there'll be no problem.
     You move in next Monday under the name of Cornelius Vance,' 'Nice 
rich name.' 'I'll fix it for you to have a Rolls.  Remember this is a 
very rich background you'll be moving into.  I think you should be an 
old, very wealthy cripple in a wheel-chair with a male attendant.  
Don't get friendly with the other guests.  Tell the hotel people you 
want to keep to yourself.
     This is going to cost me around fifteen thousand bucks, Lu.  The 
chalet's rent without food, runs at eight hundred a day.  Don't drink.  
Eat simply or the bill will reach the sky.  Take your own drink mitli 
you.  Have snacks in the chalet for lunch, but you have to eat in the 
restaurant at night to see the loot, Are you with me?' Bradey nodded.
     'Your job is to locate the safe and open it.  w smooth operator 
who mill drive the Rolls and staff.  His job will be to locate the safe 
an mix d help the boxes when the time comes.  That's the ge-the Now, 
pill] it to pieces 'You say one @f the house dicks is on duty at 
'Yes.' 'Two armed security guards are also around?' 'They won't worry 
you, Lu.' Haddon smile were the first problem, Plus the house dick, I 
kn to solve.  This I have done.  They won't botbe yo r 'If You say so, 
Ed.  Then let's take a look at t attendant.  I like the idea of me 
being in a whe That way I'll be the last the cops will suspect un late. 
 I'll need a chauffeur to handle the boxes, but dig him b ' ny 
attendant.  A pretty, sexy, nurse f e"'g " more in0than a guy.  A 
pretty, sexy nurse in unifo wander around the hotel, chat up everyone 
and general photo we need.' 'You are referridg to your girl friend?' 
Haddon ' Yup.  She's so sexy, I get a hard on even thinkin her.  She's 
made to measure for this job,' Haddon shrugged.
     'I leave the details to you.  I'll take care of the cha You take 
care of the nurse.' 'She comes under expenses, Ed?' 'MY top for this 
job will be twenty grand a.
     includes everything.  ' 'Okay.  Now, about the security guads and 
the dick,' Haddon finished his drink.
     'Do you watch television?' 'I guess, Not often.  To me, by and 
large, tele stinks.' 'Ever watch the guy who captures wild animals?' 
'Yeah.  I've often 'bought tficy must lead a god nice life: tough, but 
away from it a]).  so .  . . P, 'Seen a tiger put to sleep by a drugged 
dart?'

     Bradey looked searchingly at Haddon.

     Yu a good P. rested.  I made inquiries through 'Got me inte ed 
down and picked up his friend of mine.' Haddon reach ked over at the 
briefcase and laid it on the table.  He loo sheet,looked harman who was 
busy reading a sporting around the deserted bar, then took from the 
briefcase what looked like a small air pistol.  This cost me, Lu, but 
it works.  it's loaded with six tiny darts loaded with the same 
knock-out mixture that the jungle gu@s use to knock out a . All you 
have to do is to aim tiger.  The gun is automatic , trigger and he's of 
the guards , squeeze the the gun at one asleep for at least six hours.
     BradeY ga.Ded.
     'I don't believe it.' Haddon smiled.
     Lu.  You should know by now I get thing 'Come on, organized.'

     'You mean you fire this gun and the guy hit goes to

     sleep?' 'That's it.  Are you good with a gun, Lu?' 'Not me.  I 
don't like guns.  I've never carried a gun and

     never will.'

     ,I'll fix it for you to have a man who's a dead shot.  He'll take 
care of the guards, drive the Rolls and help with handling the boxes.  
No problem.' anyone?  No 'You really mean this drug won't hurt

     after-effects?'

     'The guy goes to sleep, wakes up some six hours later

     and is fine.'

     'Well, what do you know?' Bradey looked admiringly at up with 
ideas, Ed.' Haddon.  'You certainly come your end organized.  suppose 
we 'I guess.  Now, you get on Saturday for lunch?
     meet at the Seaview Hotel, Miami.  I nal run I'll be sting there. 
 We can then have a ti on day through.  ' ou'll check in at the Spanish 
Bay Hotel M afternoon.  Okay?' 'Sure.' 'Right.' Haddon put the gun in 
his lap, concealing it by the table.  He signalled to the harman.  'To 
set your mind at rest, Lu, I'll give you a demonstration.' The fat 
harman came over and Haddon gave him a ten-dollar bill, telling him to 
keep the change.  He watched the harman walk back to the bar, raised 
the gun, took aim and squeezed the trigger.  There was a faint plopping 
sound.  The harman started, clapped his hand to the back of his neck 
and turned to stare at Haddon who was closing his briefcase, then the 
harman's knees buckled and he spread out on the floor.
     'Get the idea?' Haddon asked.  'Nice quick job, huh?' Goggle-eyed, 
Bradey stared at the unconscious harman.
     'Get the dart out of his neck, Lu,' Haddon -said, 'and let's go.' 
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Bradey crossed to the unconscious 
harman, located a tiny metal dart embedded in the harman's fat neck and 
withdrew it.
     'You're sure he'll be all right?' he asked as he gave Haddon the 
dart.
     'I'm sure.  Come on, let's get out of here before someone comes 
in.' The harman began to snore as the two men hurried out of the bar 
and into the hot, steamy sunshine.
     Ever since the age of fourteen, Maggie Schultz had been a menace 
to men.  Now, at the age of twenty-three, she was more deadly to men 
than a neutron bomb.  She was beautiful in every possible way: blonde, 
her body so perfectly built all the glossy photographers, all the porn 
movie merchants fought for her services.  She had climbed the ladder of 
whoredom, rung by rung, until she was now in the position to pick and 
choose.  She had met Lu Bradey, and for the first time in her life, she 
had fallen in love.  There were times when Bradey wondered what made 
this happen, knowing Maggie could have the pick of any man.  He had 
explained to her that he was in the antique furniture business and was 
constantly travelling, but if she liked to move into his West-side 
apartment N.Y.C. and to continue her fashion modelling and to sleep 
with rich jerks who paid off, it was okay with him.  Love was such a 
wonderful thing to Maggie, she agreed.
     Maggie had been a help with the icon attempted steal.
     Bradey decided he must now put his cards on the table and bring 
her into his thieving fold.  This could be tricky.
     Maggie was always happy to climb into any man's bed, but Bradey 
was a little doubtful if she would go along with thieving, During the 
flight from Jacksonville to New York, he pondered the problem.  He 
couldn't think of any girl who would play a sexy nurse as well as 
Maggie.  He decided, because she was so madly in love with him, with 
the right approach, he could talk her into co-operating.  Arriving at 
the airport, he went to a boutique and bought a giant cuddly panda.  He 
knew Maggie, apart from mink and diamonds, was crazy about pandas.
     He had already alerted her that he would be am'ving.
     Her squeals of excitement and pleasure over the telephone line had 
nearly split his eardrum.
     As he opened his apartment door, Maggie, stark naked, threw 
herself on him.  For some seconds, he was nearly strangled.  Then 
Maggie caught sight of the panda toy.
     'Oh, look!' she cried.  job, baby!  Is it for me?, 'What do you 
think this place is .  . . a nudist club?' he asked, grinning.
     She hugged the panda.
     job, darling!  You're so wonderful!  To think of this!  I adore 
it!  It's beautiful!' Bradey set down his suitcase.
     'Not as beautiful as you, honey.  Let's have some action, huh?' 
and he went into the bedroom.
     Half an hour later, Maggie was again cuddling the panda.  Bradey, 
feeling spent, lay on his back, thinking there was no woman he had ever 
slept with who co drain him as Maggie did.

     'Baby, how about a drink?' he asked.

     'Of course.' She slid off the bed, still bugging panda, and he 
watched her long beautiful back, her tig rounded buttocks, her long, 
slim legs as she darted oui the room, and he sighed with Content, It 
wasn't until they had returned from dining at exclusive and expensive 
restaurant and were seated si by side that Bradev began his sales talk.
     'How would you'like to stay a week in Paradise Cit he asked 
casually.
     Maggie's china blue eyes opened wide.
     'You mean that place lvbere all the gorgeous billionair live?' 
'That's it.' Maggie gave a squeal of delight and threw herself Bradey 
who firmly Pushed her away, 'Stop it, Maggie!  Do You want to come with 
me?' 'Try and stop me!  Paradise city!  The things I've heart Gorgeous 
hotels, palms, beaches, restaurants .  . .' 'Cool it, Maggie.  I'm 
going there to do a job.  If yo want to come, you'll have to help me.' 
'Of course I'll help You, honey.  I would 0 anything fc You!  You know 
that.  I love you like crazyi@ 'Maggie.  Now listen.  I'm not a dealer 
in antiques.' Maggie giggled.
     'I never thought you were, sweetheart, I was once ii bed with an 
antique dealer.  After be bad buffed an( Puffed, he never stopped 
talking about what be sold an( who to.  His pad was stuffed @the 
antiques.' Bradey Patted her band,

     'Smart girl.' He paused, then went on, 'I am a proles
     sional thief.' He waited for her reaction.  She blinked, then 
nodded.
     'You mean You steal from the rich and give to the poor?
     Like Robin Hood?  I saw a re-run of Errol Flynn as Ikobin Hood.  
He was groovy.'

     Bradey sighed.

     .n. I steal from the rich and put the 'Never mind Fly proceeds in 
my Rocket.  ded.
     Maggie considered this, then nod head exam-1 always thought Robin 
Hood needed his something, honey: there have ined.  Now, I'll tell you 
d fink has been screwing me been times when some rich al d or so from 
n'he went to sleep, I'd take a thousan and whe - So that makes me a 
thief too, doesn't it?' his wallet er the hurdle, now d with relief .  
He was ov Bradey sighe out what he wanted her to he had to instruct 
Maggie ah

     do.

     He took her over Haddon's plan to rob the Spanish Bay Hotel.  
Maggie listened, and from her intent expression, isfied that she was 
absorbing what he told Bradey was sat her.  ion in it for us, baby,' he 
'There's at least two mill y, we'll get married.' concluded.  'When I 
get the mane Mavyie sighed.

     'you-said that the last time, but you didn't get any

     money and we aren't mom'ed.  All I got was a trip to watch.' she 
kissed him gently Switzerland and a diamond , Switzerland and I adore 
'Don't think I'm moaning.  I loved my watch.' ,That job didn't jell,' 
Bradey said.  'This one will.' 'so what do I have to do?' 'I'm going 
to.the hotel as an old man in a wheel-chair.
     You're going to be my nurse and companion .  you will look a 
knock-out in a nurse's uniform.' Maggie's face lit up.
     ted to be a nurse!
     job, yes!  I'd love that!  I've always wan y do!  I

     Honest, honeyl I love helping rich old men.  I really

     mean it!' There Bradey contained his impatience with an effort.
     were times when he found Maggie a trial.
     'Your job is to find out where the safe is located.  You will have 
to chat up the staff and sex the hotel dicks.' Maggie clapped her 
hands.
     'That'll be no problem.' Looking at her, Bradey thought it would 
certainly not be a problem.  Maggie could sex George Washington out of 
his grave.
     'Well, baby, is it on?, 'Try and stop me!' Maggie cried and threw 
herself into his arms.
     Having spent twenty years in various U.S. prisons, Art Bannion, 
now fifty years of age, had accepted the adage that crime doesn't pay.
     Because of his association with many top criminals who had also 
been behind bars during his various incarcerations and becoming 
friendly with them, he had seen the opportunity of a new career which 
would help others and be profitable to himself.
     With the aid of his wife, he was now established as possibly the 
only casting agency for the underworld.  After all, he argued, in 
Hollywood they had casting agents to supply movie moguls with stars and 
bit-part players, so why not a casting agency to supply the right man 
or woman for a carefully planned crime?  For the past five years he had 
built up his agency, drawing first on the names of those who had been 
in prison with him and had been released, then collecting names of 
those who were in recoin ended as the up-and-coming younger criminal 
generation.  All his business was done by telephone.  He sat in a small 
office off Broadway N.Y.C. from 09.00 to 18.00, smoking, reading crime 
fiction and waiting for a call.  His wife, Beth, sat in a smaller 
office, knitting sweaters which Art did 't want, but had pressed on 
him.
     n When a call came, Beth would flick through the big card index 
with expert fingers and take the cards into Art's office and he would 
satisfy the client with the name and address of the man or woman who 
fitted the client's requirements.
      Art took ten percent of whatever the man or woman he supplied 
was paid.  This was a satisfactory arrangement for both the client and 
Art, and during the years, Art made a considerable amount of money, 
always in cash, and free from the grasping claws of the IRS.  His 
activities were hidden behind a plaque on the door that read: The 
World-wide Bible Reading Society.  He was bothered neither by visitors 
nor the police.
     This morning, Art Bannion, lean, balding, and with features a 
buzzard might envy, lolled in his desk chair, his feet on the desk, 
contemplating his past life.  From time to time when he was bored 
readin crime fiction and when the telephone remained silent, he would 
think of his mistakes and his life in various prisons, and even of his 
mother and father.
     His parents had been small-time farmers who were happy to slave on 
the land and earn, to Art's thinking, pea-nuts.  His brother, Mike, ten 
years younger than Art hadn't had Art's driving ambition.  Art had left 
home when he was seventeen, thirsting for money and the bright lights.  
After a year of semi-starvation in New York, he was t with two other 
men, trying to bust a bank safe, He cough went to prison for two years. 
 From then on, he never stopped trying for the fast buck, and did so 
badly, he was continually being picked up and thrown in the slammer@ 
When his parents died, his brother, Mike, joined tl, regular army and 
worked his way up to Musketry Sergeant which Art considered to be one 
of the lowest forms of animal life.  However, he was fond of his 
brother who never interfered, never criticized, always visited him when 
he was in prison and never attempted to change Art's way of life.  
There was a strong bond between the two men, and Art had a sneaking 
admiration for his brother which he kept to himself.
     When Art finally accepted the fact that crime didn't pay, he 
looked around, found and wedded Beth, a small, fat, easy-going woman of 
forty whose father was serving life for murder and whose mother ran a 
sleazy brothel in New Orleans.  Beth was happy to help Art run 
crime-casting agency and to have a well-furnished, c( fortable 
four-room apartment.
     Sitting at his desk, thinking about his past, Art turi his 
thoughts to his brother, and his face saddened.  m had had a real tough 
break: a break that Art wouldn't won his worst enemy.  When Mike had 
reached the rank as a ni, sergeant, he had married.  Art had onlysmheet 
wmike's No

     e

     Mary, once, but he had approved.
     attractive girl who mad Mike more than happy.  Mi broke the news 
of his we dding when visiting Art, prison, some six years ago.wweith a 
beaming smile, he b' told Art that be and Mary re planning on a big 
ram' Art forced himself to look Pleased, but he thought anyo wanting 
children should have his head examined.  Mi bad been transferred to 
California, and the brothers h; lost touch for some years.  Art bad 
vaguely wondered he Mike was getting on, but he was no letter writer, 
and I was fully occupied building up his agency.
     Now, two weeks ago, he had had a telephone call frol Mike asking 
if they could meet.
     There was a note i Mike's voice that alerted Art that something 
was won@ He had told Mike to come to his apartment, but Mike ha said he 
wanted to talk to Art alone.
     'That's no problem,' Art had said.  'Beth can go see friend.  
Something up?'

     'That's what I want to talk to You about,' Mike had saic

     'See you then at your place at seven tonight,' and he ha, hung up.
     Thinking back on the meting, Art grimaced.  When hi had opened the 
front door of his apart the ring on the bell, he was confronment in 
answer t4
     ted by a man ht scarcely recognized as his brother.  The last time 
he ha( seen Mike he had envied his physique and that look th( Army 
gives to its regulars, Mike was a shadow of his olc' self: thin, his 
face drawn feel.
     exuding from him that Art could almost '

     , his eyes sunk n and despair

     The two men had sat down in the quiet of Art's  hal sletched 
living-room ,n(I Art had Met it, short curt thers bad@t those six 
years the brO sentences.  Ve, a baby girl arrived'- a Mongol'

     A year after his rftarria job to be 'with the- baby, named

     Mary had y had to ,i,v,en ap her Chrissy, and tended her with 
loving care.  They living and make do on Mike's reduce their standards 
of Army pay.  'ran sorry.  Mongol baby?
     'Jesus!' Art bad exclaimedWhat the hell's that?' d child', Mike 
had told him.  'A 'A mentally retarde er learn to write and ,darling, 
affectionate kid who will IIOV burden, only talk with difficulty- Never 
mind.  it was our and we were both crazy about her-' 'SO .  . - ?, d 
the Mike stared Into space for a long moment an despair that sat with 
bin' deepened.
     Mary was killed by a hit-and-run three weeks ago.' Art sat 
forward, staring at ftis brother.
     . vct killed?' he jerked out'You mean your wife 'Yes.' ikel Why 
didn't you tell me?' 'For God's sake, M Mike shrugged.
     ,I'm telling you now@ the something.  I cculd 'But why now?  I 
could have do I have been with You- For (;his sake .  . . Mike said 'No 
one could have done anything for rft,' have no quietly - , had to sort 
it out for myself.  Now.  I wife and Chrissy on my hands.  I've put 
her in a home near ,ad, my barracks so I can see her 'Weeke , I got rid 
of my e in barracks.  This home is good for little house.  I now liv 
,ChTissy, but it costs.  I've managed so far.' How 'You want mane - y . 
 Mike?  I can give you some much do you want?  I'll do what I can.  aid 
'Not the kind of money I need, Art,' Mike s 'what's that yneali?' krt 
asked.  'I could lei(I you @l mn it!  I call give you the money.
     couple of grand.  Da need at least fifty thousand " Mike said.
     Art gaped at him.
     'You crazy?  What the hell do you want all r?, lo .
     'It's to take care of Chrissy.  I've talked to who runs the home.  
He's a good guy.  He tells has a malformation of her heart.  It's the 
usua mongols.  She won't live for more than fiftee give her the best 
attention, and I know she w best attention at this home, it's going to 
cost ri dollars, and that will take care of her for the short life,' ' 
'But Mike!  You're earning!  I'll chip in.  Yo to bad all this money at 
once.  You can pa month by month,' Mike nodded.
     'That's what I thought, but I'll be dead in or six months@, Art 
stiffened.  Looking at his brother, seel face and the sunken eyes, he 
felt a chill crawl 'Dead?  Don't talk crap!  You're good for What are 
you talking about?' Mike stared at the whisky in his glass moment, then 
looked straight at his brother.
     'I have a terminal cancer,' he said quietly.
     Art closed his eyes.  He felt the blood drai face.
     There was a long silence, then Mike said, two years, I have had 
odd pains.  They come a didn't tell Mary.  I thought it was nothing.
     People have pains, and it is nothing, but they When I lost Man 
and these pains got worried about Chrissy, so I talked to the for me to 
see a specialist at Northport, Long I why I'm here.  I saw him a couple 
of days ago me I had around six months to live, I'll hay hospital in a 
couple of months, and I won' out.' 'Godl I'm sor-ryl' Art said, 'This 
quack could  forget it.  Let's talk business, Art.' Mike 'He isn't.  
Now, -you told me what your looked straight at his brother.
     nv men to Pull a crime.  There is no way I racket is: findi us and 
dollars, but I've got to do just thatcan raise fifty tho nths to live.

     at I do as I have only a few 'no

     I don't care wh ay ri@ grand?  For Chrissy, can you get me a job 
that'll p - you do?' I'll even go to murder.  What caned his sweating 
Art took out his handkerchief and rnoPP face.  w, Mike.  I see your 
reasoning, but fifty 'I don't kno ce.  You're an amateur.  You grand 
for a job is pretty scar work have no police record.  MY People 
wouldn't want to

     with you.  A job that Pays that big is kept in the family SO to

     speaking note in his voice.
     'Skip that, Art,' Mike said, a grot 11
     'I'm relying on you.  Whatever the job is, I'll do it, and I' do 
it well.  I have a month's sick leave.  I'll stay here until the 
Mirador Hotel.' He got to you find something, I'm at anything-that pays 
fifty his feet.  'Anything-repeat an Okay?' grand.  Think about it, 
Art.  I'm relying on you.
     Art nodded.  I can't promise anything.' 'I'll do what I can, but 
Mike stared at him.  'he said.  'In your bad days, I stayed 'I'm 
relying on you, on to stay with me .  So long for with you.  Now, I 
expect y now,' and he left.  t, but his regulars would have Art had 
done his bes nothing to do with an amateur, and this morning, he sat at 
his desk, at his wits' end to find a job that would pay his brother 
fifty thousand dollars.  He wondered if he should sell stock, but he 
knew Beth wouldn't stand for that.  He on with her and she had been had 
discussed the sitliati t 'Dotty brats should be smothered a 
unsympathetic.  'One thing you don't do, Art, you birth,' she had said. 
 y to Mike.  Is that don't sell stock and give our mane

     ianderstood?'

     A week had passed since his brother's visit.  Art had heard 
nothing from him, but the memory of those sunken eyes and the look of 
despair haunted him.
     Interrupting his dismal thoughts, Beth put her head around his 
office door.
     'Ed Haddon on the line, Art,' she said.
     Art stiffened to attention.  Haddon was his most profitable 
client.  He had supplied Haddon with many top-class thieves, and Haddon 
paid generously.
     Picking up the receiver, he said, 'Hi, Mr.  Haddonl Good to hear 
from you.  Something I can do?' 'I wouldn't be telephoning just to bear 
your voice,' Haddon snapped.  'I want a man: good appearance, a dead 
shot, able to handle -a Rolls Royce and act the part of a chauffeur.' 
Art drew in a long deep breath.  This looked custommade for Mike.
     'No problem, Mr.  Haddon.  I've got just the man.
     What's the job?' 'A big one.  It'll pay around sixty thousand.' 
Art closed his eyes.  This was too good to be true.
     'No problem, Mr.  Haddon.' 'Who's your man?, 'My brother.  He's a 
top-class shot and needs the money.  You can rely on him.' 'what's his 
police record look like?' 'He hasn't one, Mr.  Haddon.  Right now he is 
a Musketry instructor in the Army.  He looks good, talks well and is a 
certain shot.' So anxious was Art to get his brother fixed, he went on, 
'I will guarantee him, Mr.
     Haddon.' The moment he had said this, he regretted it.
     How did he know that Mike would deliver to Haddon's satisfaction?  
Haddon was ruthless.  So far, Art had given him more than satisfaction, 
but he knew for sure, one slip and Haddon would deal with him no 
longer.  Haddon's account with Art was the guts of his agency.  If 
Haddon dropped him, so would all his other clients drop him.  He broke 
out into a cold sweat, but he had shot off his mouth, and there was no 
retreat.
      Haddon said, 'That's fine with me.  If you guarantee your 
brother, that's good enough for me.  Okay, tell him to report to 
Cornelius Vance at the Seaview Hotel, Miami at ten o'clock Sunday 
twenty-third.' 'How about the gun?' 'Vance will give him that, and 
Bannion, there is no violence.  No one gets killed, but this man has to 
be a dead shot.' 'When's the pay-off, Mr.  Haddon?' 'When the job's 
done.  It'll take around a couple of months.  This is a big one, 
Bannion.  You screw it up, and you'll be out of business,' and Haddon 
hung up.
     Beth stormed into the office.
     'I was listening,' she said, her face cherry red.  'You gone out 
of your mind?  That pin-head of a soldier?  We have dozens of dead 
shots on the cards.  Why pick on him a goddamn amateur?' Art glared at 
her.
     'He's my brother.  He needs help.  Go away!' When Beth, grumbling, 
had gone, Art dialled the Mirador Hotel number and asked to speak to 
Mr.  Mike Bannion.  He expected his brother would be out on this mild 
sunny morning, but Mike came on the line immediately.
     Art thought: The poor bastard has been sitting in his dreary hotel 
room, waiting for me to call.  Well, I've good news for him.
     When Art had told him the news, Mike said with a catch in his 
voice, 'I knew I could rely on you, Art, more than thanks.  I won't let 
you down, I'll get going right away, but I need money.' 'That's okay, 
Mike.  I'll send you three thousand in cash to your hotel.  Don't skimp 
on the chauffeur's uniform.  It has to be convincing.  My client is 
important.' There was a long pause, then Mike said, 'No one gets 
killed?' 'That's what the man said.' 'Okay, Art, and thanks again.  You 
can rely on me,' ai Mike hung up, Art sat back in his chair wondering 
if be shou consider himself a Saint or a sucker.

      Two

     Anita Certes entered the second bathroom of the penthouse suite of 
the Spanish Bay Hotel, bracing herself for what she knew she would 
find.
     The penthouse suite, the most luxurious and most expensive suite 
in the hotel had been taken by Wilbur Warrenton, the son of Silas 
Warrenton, a Texas oil billionaire.  just married to Maria Gomey, a 
South American, whose father owned a number of silver mines, Wilbur had 
decided that Paradise City would be the place to spend their honeymoon, 
and Maria, difficult to please, had agreed.
     At the age of twenty-nine, Wilbur had not, as yet, joined the 
Texas Oil Corporation over which his father r(,i ned.  He had had a 
Harvard education, taking a Niaster's degree in economics, had spent a 
year in the Army as Major (Tanks), had travelled the world in one of 
his father's yachts, had met Maria, fallen in love and married.  When 
the honeymoon ended, he was to become one of the ten vice-presidents of 
his father's vast oil kingdom.
     His father, Silas Warrenton, a tough oil-man, had no love for 
anyone except his son.  Silas's wife had died a few years after 
Wilbur's birth, and Silas, who had been deeply in love, had transferred 
this love to his son.  When Wilbur told his father that he wanted to 
marry and had introduced Maria, Silas had stared thoughtfully at her.  
Her dark complexion, her slim, sensual body, her big sex), eyes and 
her hard mouth gave him doubts, but he knew of' her father with his 
billions, so be mentally shrugged.  If this piece was what his son 
wanted to marry, he would raise no objection.  After all, he told 
himself, she was worth screwing and divorce was easy.  So he gave her a 
crooked smile, patted her shoulder and said, 'I want grandchildren, my 
dear.  Don't disappoint me.' Maria thought he was the most horrible, 
vulgar old man alive.  Even when Wilbur had hinted he too would like, 
children, she had stared bleakly at him.
     'Later.  Let's be happy and free while we are young.
     Children always bring trouble.' Anita Certes was one of the many 
bedroom maids employed by the Spanish Bay Hotel.  At the age of 
twenty-three, she was squatty built, dark-complexioned, hair like a 
raven's wing and a Cuban.  She had been working at the hotel for the 
past twelve months.  Her jol) was to clean the bathrooms, change the 
bed linen daily, dust and clean.
     Anita had 'done' Wilbur's bathroom.  That was no problem.  He even 
folded his bath towels, and there was no mess, but Maria's bathroom 
made Anita boil with suppressed fury.
     What a goddamn slut this rich, spoilt woman was!  Anita thought as 
she surveyed the mess she was now faced with to clear up.
     Sodden towels lay on the floor.  (Did she take the towels into the 
bath with her?  Anita wondered.) Face powder and eyelash black 
splattered the mirrors.  A trodden lipstick smeared the floor tiles.  
The toilet hadn't been flushed.
     The rich!  Anita thought as she gathered up the sodden towels.  
Even if she was worth millions as this bitch was, she would never dream 
of leaving a bathroom in this disgusting state.
     As she worked, her mind shifted to her husband, Pedro.  They had 
been married for two years.  They had come, on Pedro's urging, to 
Florida in the hope of bettering their economic condition which had 
been hard in Havana.  Anita had been lucky to have got the cleaning job 
at the Spanish Bay Hotel, but Pedro could find only occasional work, 
street cleaning, which paid little, To her, Pedro was the most handsome 
man alive.  She loved him fiercely and Possessively: 
adoricnognsttbainst scloimm,dark man, accepting his bad tempers, his 
plaints, giving him everything she earned.  They lived in a one-room 
walk-up in Seacomb which was on the outskirts of Paradise City and 
where the workers lived.  She was so in love with Pedro it didn't occur 
to her that he was a wastrel.  After a few days with a brush and cart, 
street cleaning, he had given up.  His one thought was to return to his 
father's small sugar cane farm although a year ago his One thought was 
to leave it.  Anita, litsotebniengpattoiebnits complaints, had kissed 
him, telling him

     Something good for him would turn up.  cutt,

     Ing sugar cane was no way to live.  She would work harder and she 
would provide.  Pedro had smiled, Okay, so they would wait.
     While she worked, clearing up the mess in the bathroom, she 
wondered what Pedro was doing.  He told her he would be walking the 
streets, trying to find a job, but she wondered.  At the end of each 
week, he bad spent all the money she had earned.  Often, there wasn't 
money enough to buy more rice, and he had complained.  Anita, adoring 
him, promised to work harder.
     While she worked, making Maria Warrenton's bathroom immaculate, 
Pedro Certes was sitting in a shabby bar in Seacomb.  With him was 
Roberto Fuentes.  Both men were drinking beer.
     Fuentes a Cuban, had lived in Seacomb for the past three years.  A 
short, over-fat man with glittering hard eyes, he had carved out a 
small living on the waterfront, cleaning and helping to service the 
many yachts of the rich.

     He liked Pedro and listened to Pedro's constant corn
     plaints.  This evening, he had decided that Pedro was ripe for a 
job that could make Fuentes some three thousand dollars.  Fuentes 
believed that risks were not for him.  If a man could pick up some 
three thousand dollars and find someone to take the risk, the idea was 
worth considering.
     Speaking in a low voice, he said, 'Pedro.  How would you like to 
pick up a thousand dollars?' Pedro twiddled his glass of warming beer, 
then looked at Fuentes.  that 'Why talk this way?  A thousand dollars?  
With money I could take my wife and myself back to my father's farm.  
What are you saying?' Fuentes smiled.  His smile was like the 
flickering tongue of a snake.
     'It can be arranged.  it depends on you.  A thousand dollars!  
Nice, huh?' Pedro nodded.
     'More than nice.  Keep talking.' 'You know where my room is on 
Coral Street?  The big block of walk-ups?' 'I know it.' 'There are 
seventy tenants in this block.  Each of them pay sixty dollars a week 
rent.  That makes a take of forty-two hundred dollars.  Right?' 'So 
what?' Pedro asked.
     'You and I could grab that dough.  To you, it'll be as easy as 
screwing your wife.' Pedro's eyes narrowed.  A thousand easy dollars!
     'Keep talking,' he said.  'You've got me interested.' 'Living in 
this block is Abe Levi.  He works for the people who own the block.  
He's their rent collector as well as the janitor.  Every Friday he goes 
from flat to flat and collects the rent money: forty-two hundred 
dollars, He goes back to his flat, writes the amounts up, then the 
following morning takes the money to the rental office.
     He's been doing this for years.  I've watched him.  Now Levi is a 
creep without spine.  if you waved a gun in his face, he would faint.  
He is fat and old.  All we have to do is to walk in while he's counting 
the dough, wave a gun in his face and we have got forty-two hundred 
dollars.  I tell you, Pedro, it's as easy and simple as that.' Pedro's 
eyes sparkled.
     'I like it,' he said, 'So tomorrow?' 'Yes.' Fuentes gave his 
snake's smile.  'But you have to handle Levi.  If I walked in, he would 
recognize me, but You, waving the gun, he wouldn't know.  I stay 
outside, you do the business .  . . right?' Pedro's eyes lost their 
sparkle.  He thought, then shook his head.
     'So you don't take a risk, but I do .  . . right?' 'There is no 
risk.' Fuentes leaned forward and patted Pedro's arm.  'You walk in, 
wave the gun, Levi faints, you collect the money, and we're both 
happy.' 'For this, I want two thousand,' Pedro said firmly.
     Fuentes grimaced.
     'Because we are friends, I am offering you the chance to make 
money.  I can get anyone to do this job.  It's so easy.
     No.  Two thousand is out.' 'Fifteen hundred or you find someone 
else.' Fuentes hesitated, then gave his snake's smile.
     'Agreed.' He leaned forward, 'Let's talk about it.' When Anita 
climbed the five flights of stairs and entered her one-room home, she 
found Pedro lying on the bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a 
contented smile on his face.
     Anita was off-duty until 20.  00 when she returned to the hotel to 
once again clean the penthouse suite, The time now was 17.00, and she 
was feeling tired and depressed, but seeing Pedro so relaxed, she 
brightened.
     'You have found a job!' she exclaimed.  'I can see it on your 
face!' ' Saturday we return to Havana,' Pedro said.  'I'll have the 
money for the flight, and enough for us to help my father.' Anita 
stared at him.
     'But that is not possible!'  'it is.' He put his hand under the 
pillow and produced the .38 revolver Fuentes had given him.  'with 
this, anything is possible.' Anita sat down abruptly, feeling faint, 
For sometime she suspected that Pedro would be , driven to do now, 
something desperate.
     , Darling, please!  You mustn't!' Pedro pushed the gun under the 
pillow.
     'I have had enough.' His thin face turned vicious.  'I v must have 
money to return home.  Fuentes and I ha e discussed this.  There is no 
risk.  Saturday, I go.  If You want to stay, then stay.  I'm going home 
with fifteen hundred dollars.  That is final.' 'There is always a 
risk,' Anita said, her voice trembling.
     'Not this time.  Saturday we leave.  Now get me something to eat.' 
Anita had made friends with the third chef at the Spanish Bay Hotel.  
She allowed him, from time to time, to put his hand up her skirt for a 
gentle feel, and, in return, he gave her leftovers: bits of good steak, 
bits of chicken and sometimes even a slice of fruit tart.  As she sat, 
staring at Pedro, she nursed the plastic sack the chef had given her, 
and Pedro was looking hungrily at the sack.
     He hadn't eaten all day.
     'You really mean you are going to steal, my darling?
     she asked.
     'You heard!  Get me something to eatl' She got slowly to her feet 
and walked unsteadily into the tiny kitchen.
     Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski liked Fridays.  Unless there was 
some emergency, and in Paradise City, this was rare, he could sign off 
and return home for the week-end.
     Okay, there was Carroll his wife, to nag him to do the lawn, but 
he was away from household chores and cut the detectives' room and even 
household chores were minor to sitting around waiting for crime.
     He looked at'his watch.  Another ten minutes, and he would be off. 
 Carroll had told him there would be a chicken and ham pie for dinner.  
Lepski liked his food, and chicken and ham pie was one of his special 
favourites.
     Max Jacoby, 2nd Grade detective, was thumping out a stolen car 
report.  He and Lepski worked well together.
     'Chicken and ham pie!' Lepski exclaimed.  'Man!  I dig that piel' 
Jacoby paused in his typing.
     'There are times when I envy you, Tom,'he said.  'To be married to 
a great girl like Carroll!  When I sign off, I'll be going to Fung-U 
for a take-home dinner .  . . ugh!' Lepski looked smug.
     'It's time you got married, Max.  That junk food is not for me.  
Carroll would flip her lid to think of me eating that kind of swill.' 
'I guess.' Jacoby sighed and resumed his typing.
     The telephone on Lepski's desk came alive.  He snatched up the 
receiver and bellowed.  'Detective Lepski!  What do you want?' 'Lepski! 
 Do you have to be so common and shout like that?' Lepski groaned, 
recognizing his wife's voice.
     job, it's you, honey,.' he said, lowering his voice.
     'Yes, it's me,'Carroll said.  'Really, Tom, you should try to be 
more refined when answering the telephone.' 'Okay.' Lepski loosened his 
tie.  'I'll be home in twenty minutes.  How's the pie looking?' 'That's 
why I'm calling.  I had Mavis here.  She was telling me about her 
husband.  Really, Tom, the way that man behaves!  I just sat listening, 
speechless.' Lepski shifted restlessly in his chair.
     'Okay, feed me the details when I get home.  How's the pie 
looking?' There was a pause, then Carroll said , A little trouble.
     When Mavis was telling me about Joe, I sort of forgot the pie was 
in the oven.  The things that man does to her!  You can't believe it!  
I was absolutely speechless!' Lepski began to drum his fingers on his 
desk.
     'You forgot the goddamn pie was in the oven?' 'Don't swear, 
Lepski.  It's vulgar.' Lepski picked up a pencil and snapped it in two. 
 Jacoby stopped typing and sat back to listen.
     'What's happened to the pie?' Lepski bawled.
     'I wish you wouldn't shout.  I'm calling to tell you to stop off 
at Fung-U's take-home shop and bring us something to eat,' Carroll 
said.  'Otherwise, we'll have nothing,' and she hung up.
     Lepski slammed down the receiver and glared at Jacoby who quickly 
resumed his typing.  Snorting, Lepski stormed out of the detectives' 
room.
     As he reached the charge room, about to sign off, Sergeant Joe 
Beigler appeared.
     Beigler, a big, fleshy, freckle-faced man, was in charge of 
headquarters while Chief of Police Fred Terrell was absent.
     'I have a job for you, Tom,' he said.
     Lepski glared at him.
     'I'm signing off!' 'You'll love this one, Tom.  I could give it to 
Max, but I've decided you were the boy.' 'Give it to Max.  I've got to 
buy dinner!  Carroll's burned my goddamn chicken and ham pie!' 'If I 
gave it to Max, you'd never forgive me,' Beigler said, grinning.
     'So what's the goddamn job?' Lepski demanded, getting interested.
     'A complaint has just come in about the G-String Club,' Beigler 
said.  'A Mrs.  Abrahams took her husband there last night.  She says 
the girls there weren't wearing their G-strings.' Lepski's eyes popped 
wide open.
     'You mean they were going around starkers?' 'That's what Mrs.  
Abrahams says.  Can't have that, Tom.

     IL

     You'd better talk to Harry.  If the mayor gets to hear of this, 
he'll slam the club shut.' 'Wouldn't want that to happen,' Lepski said.
     'Just warn him, huh?' 'You bet.  No G-strings?  What's one old 
bag's poison, is another man's meat,' Lepski said, his eyes 
glistening.  'Do me a favour, Joe.  Call Carroll.  Tell her I won't be 
home.
     Tell her I'm on a smash and grab.' 'Leave it to me,' Beigler said, 
knowing Carroll.  'I'll make out You're being a hero.' 'Don't overdo 
it, Joe.  Carroll is tricky.  just say I've been called out on a smash 
and grab.  Right?' 'Leave it to me, Tom Harry Atkin, the owner of the 
G-string Club, Was a good friend of the police.  His club, situated on 
a side street off Seacomb's main street was well patronized.
     When the rich felt in the mood to slum, they spent most of the 
night at the club, eating excellent sea food, served by gorgeous girls 
who were topless and with G-strings.
     His was a thriving business.
     From time to time, when Lepski was in the district, he would drop 
in and shoot the breeze with Harry, have a couple of free drinks, 
admire the girls then go about his business.  This was something he 
didn't mention to Carroll, knowing she wouldn't approve.
     Around 19.45, he arrived at the club, walked down the stairs into 
the big room where three blacks were polishing and cleaning, ready for 
the night's entertainment.
     Harry Atkin, a short, fat man with fiery red hair, was behind the 
bar, reading the e vening paper.  He looked up and his smile was wide 
when he saw Lepski.
     'Hi, Tom!  Haven't seen You in weeks.  How are they hanging?' 
Lepski climbed onto a stool, shook Harry's hand and pushed his hat to 
the back of his head.
     'Fine,' he said 'And you?' 'Couldn't be better.  There's going to 
be a big crowd h(re tonight.  Had a big crowd last night,' He reached 
for a ottle of Cutty Sark, knowing this was Lepski's favourite pple, 
and poured a big drink, added ice and pushed the glass across the 
counter.
     'Harry,' Lepski said, after a long pull at the drink, 'There's 
been a complaint.' Harry nodded.
     'I was waiting for it, Tom.  just one of those things.  That old 
bag, Mrs.  Abrahams, huh?' 'That's the one.  What's going on, Harry?  
She complains the chicks weren't wearing their G-strings.' Lepski 
leered.  'I'd like to have been there, but you can't do that sort of 
thing.  It'll get you a bad name.' 'She's lying.  l'It tell you what 
happened.  We had a couple of rich drunks, sitting at an adjacent table 
where this old bag was, plus her creep of a husband.  Lu-Lu was serving 
fish soup, and she was bending over with her arse in the air.' Lepski 
who had seen Lu-Lu and thought she had the sexiest bottom of all the 
girls in the club, nodded.
     'So one of the drunks snipped Lu-Lu's G-string and the goddamn 
thing fell into the old bag's soup!' Harry burst out laughing.  'It was 
the damnedest thing, with the old bag having hysterics, her husband 
getting a hard on for the first time in years, and Lu-Lu clutching her 
pussy.
     The two drunks had a real ball.  In fact, everyone in the joint 
loved it, except the old bag.' Also laughing, Lepski mopped his eyes.
     'I love it!  I'd give my right arm to have been there.' 'Yeah.  I 
got Lu-Lu out of sight, tried to pour oil on the old bag, but she 
grabbed her husband and left, shouting she was going to complain to the 
mayor.' 'Okay, Harry, relax.  I'll put in a report.  Don't worry your 
brains.  When I tell the boys back at headquarters, they'll split their 
sides.  No other girl lost her G-string?' 'I'll have you know, Tom, my 
girls are respectable, Harry said, looking serious.  'The last thing 
they are going to lose is their G-strings.' Lepski laughed.
     'For God's sake, Harry, what else have they to lose?' He finished 
his drink, looked at his watch, saw it was now after 20.00, and 
remembered he had to buy dinner.  'Do me a favour, Harry.  Carroll has 
burned the pie we were going to have.  How about one of your pizzas?' 
'Wouldn't think of it.  For you, Tom, I'll fix' a real meal.
     How about chicken in mushroom and white wine sauce?
     All your good lady will have to do is to put it in the oven for 
twenty minutes.' Lepski's eyes glistened.
     'Sounds great.' 'Okay.  Help yourself to another drink.  I'll fix 
it with Charlie.' As Harry hurried off, Lepski reached for the bottle 
of Cutty Sark.  There were times when police work paid off, he thought. 
 A cool hand took him by the wrist.
     'Let me do that for you, Mr.  Lepski.' Looking up, Lepski was 
confronted'by a pair of small breasts with shell-pink nipples and found 
a girl wearing only a G-string and black, high-heeled shoes, smiling at 
him.
     'I'm Marian,' the girl said, fluttering long eye lashes.
     'You heard about Lu-Lu?  Wasn't that terrible?' Lepski opened and 
shut his mouth, but no words came.
     His eyes feasted on this gorgeous little body right by his side.
     Smiling, Marian poured the drink, added ice and placed the glass 
in his hand.
     'Mr.  Lepski,' she said, sitting on a high stool by his side.  'I 
think, and so do all the girls, you are the most handsome cop in the 
City.  You know?' I-epski beamed.  Police work!  he thought.  Who 
wouldn't be a cop?
      Across the narrow street, opposite the G-String Club was a 
highrise of one or two-room apartments, strictly for the workers .
     Abe Levi hated Fridays.  This rent-collecting drag was slowly 
killing him, There was always some whining excuse not to pay, and he 
always had to turn tough which was against his nature.  The Syndicate 
who owned the highrise bad told him there was to be no credit.  If the 
jerks couldn't find the rent, out they went.  It hurt Abe to deliver 
the message.  He wanted to be on good terms with the tenants, but 
threatening them made this impossible.
     'Look,' he would say, 'don't blame me.  Pay or you're out.  That's 
what the boss says.  It's nothing to do with me.' Squeezing the rent 
from go many tenants took time, and when he had visited the last 
apartment, collected the rent with a struggle, it was well after 20.00, 
He was anxious to return to his ground-floor two-room apartment and 
have supper.
     Abe Levi was a thick-set Jew with a mop of grey hair and a bushy 
beard.  Life hadn't been easy for him.  When young, he had helped his 
father sell fruit from a barrow.
     Later, he had married a girl who had slaved in a clothing factory. 
 When his parents died, he had given up the fruit barrow.  A friend had 
got him this rent-collecting job.  It was a lot better than tramping 
the streets, pushing a heavy barrow.  His wife had died two years ago.  
There were no children.  Abe spent his lonely nights watching 
television, and once a week, he went to the Jewish club where he was 
always welcomed.
     As he got into the elevator, he thought sadly of his wife, Hannah. 
 She always had a hot meal waiting for him.  This night, he would eat a 
bit of soused fish, but there would be a good TV serial on which he was 
following.
     Carrying the heavy rent bag, now stuffed with bills and coins, he 
left the elevator and walked down the long dark passage to his front 
door.  Two of the passage lights were out.  This, he would have to fix, 
he thought wearily before he ate.  It was his responsibility to keep 
the highrise in order.
     Reaching his apartment door, he fumbled with his key, unlocked the 
door and entered his living-room.  His hand groped for the light 
switch, pressed it, but he remained in darkness.  He groaned to 
himself.  A goddamn fuse had blown!  That meant a trip down to the 
basement.
     Abe was a careful man.  He was always prepared for an emergency.  
He kept a powerful flashlight on a small table just inside his 
living-room.  As he groped for it, he received a violent shove between 
his shoulder blades that sent him staggering into the darkness.  His 
thighs hit the arm of his TV chair and he toppled and went sprawling, 
but even failing so heavily, he held onto the rent bag.
     Pedro Certes, breathing fast, his heart pounding, had been 
waiting.  He had unscrewed a lamp in the passage, put a bit of tin foil 
around the end of the bulb and rescrewed the lamp, fusing Abe's 
apartment and the passage lights.
     He was feeling very confident.  Fuentes had said the Jew was 
without spine, and would faint at the sight of a gun.  Pedro had 
brought with him not only the gun Fuentes had given him, but also a 
flashlight.
     'Stay still!' he barked, snapping on the flashlight, letting the 
beam take in the gun in his hand while it lit up Abe who was struggling 
to sit up.  'Throw the bag to me!' Abe had been rent collecting for a 
long time.  He had never experienced a hold-up.  A cop had warned him, 
'Abe, there's always a first time.  Your people want you to carry a 
gun.  Here's your permit, and here s the gun.  I show you how to handle 
it.' And the cop was a good teacher.  Never believing he would need the 
gun, Abe told himself that if a hold-up did happen and the thief got 
away with the rent money, he would not only lose his job, but also his 
home.  His boss had spelt it out: 'Deliver or you're out.' So Abe took 
the gun talk seriously, He had never fired the gun, but he knew what to 
do: safety catch off, both hands on the gun and squeeze the trigger.
      'The bag!' Hurry!, Pedro snarled out of the darkness.
     g up, clutching the bag and By now, Abe was sittin staring at the 
bright light, seeing nothing of the man shouting at him.
     ushed the bag in the direction of 'Take it,' he said, and p the 
voice.  The bag, heavy, travelled only a couple of feet across the 
coarse, worn carpet.
     Pedro stared at the bag, feeling a surge of triumph run through 
him.  Tomorrow, Anita and he would be on a plane, going home.  How 
happy his father would be to see him again!  His mind moved like 
quicksilver.  It had been arranged that as soon as he got the money, he 
would dart up to the first floor where Fuentes had a one-room 
apartment.  The Jew, scared witless, would imagine he had rushed out of 
the building, and when the cops were called, they would be scouring the 
streets for a man carrying a brown bag.  Then another thought dropped 
into pedro's mind.  Suppose he didn't go to Fuentes' apartment, but ran 
into the street?  Suppose he kept all the He would have to money?  
Forty-two hundred dollars!
     silence the Jew.  A knock on the head!  That was it!  Then he 
would walk out, go home, and there was nothing Fuentes could do about 
it.
     As he moved towards the bag, quivering with excitement, he took 
his eyes off Abe, sending the beam of his flashlight directly on the 
bag.  Abe's hand crept inside his jacket.  His fingers closed over the 
butt of the gun.  He drew the gun as Pedro snatched up the bag.
     Abe's thumb drew back the safety catch, lifted the gun and 
squeezed the trigger.  The flash and the bang in the darkness made both 
men rear back.  Pedro felt a seering hot something cross his cheek, 
then he felt his cheek turn wet.  He jerked up his gun, and in panic, 
squeezed the trigger .  'the light of his flashlight centred on Abe who 
was struggling to his feet.  Pedro felt the gun jerk in his hand, heard 
the bang, then with terror, saw a splodge of blood appear in the middle 
of Abe's forehead, saw Abe jerk and fall back.
     Pedro, stunned by the noise of the two shots, stood motionless, 
scarcely breatbidg, knowing he had killed the Jew.
     Into his mind, came the terrifying thought that he had killed a 
man!  You pull a gun trigger and a man diesl Ice-cold panic seized him. 
 He thought only of himself.  If he was caught, he would spend the rest 
of his days behind bars: a caged animal!  There would be no Anita, no 
welcoming father, no hot sun on the sugar cane farm.
     He heard voices.  Doors slammed open.  A woman screamed.
     Fuentes!  He must get to him!  Snatching up the bag in his left 
hand, holding the gun in his right hand, aware of blood dripping down 
his face, he moved out of Abe's apartment, trying to control his panic.
     Fuentes, waiting at his half open door heard the two shots and he 
cringed.  He beard'doors opening.  He saw a number of the first-floor 
tenants come crowding out onto the upper corridor.
     The goddamn fool had screwed up the job!  Pray the Lord, he hadn't 
killed the Jew!  He joined the group of people who were staring down 
the staircase well, talking loud, a woman wailing.  He saw Pedro, blood 
on his face, staring up at him, and he stepped back.
     Pedro looked up at the frightened faces, staring down at him, and 
he knew this was no way of escape.  Still holding the brown leather 
bag, he ran to the entrance of the street.
     Lepski was accepting the big carton which Harry put on the bar.
     'There's the chicken, Tom, plus noodles.  Have a lovely meal.' 
Lepski beamed.
     'Man!  Will this stand Carroll on her earl Thanks a million.' As 
Marian slid off the stool, he patted her rump.
     Then he heard pistol shots.
     Instantly, Lepski became all-cop.  He was off his stool and 
darting to the exit.  He had his gun in his hand as he reached the 
street.
     Already the sound of the shots bad caused a commotion.  Cars with 
screaming tyres, were pulling up.  People were gaping, stopping and 
staring at the entrance of the highrise.
     At this moment, Pedro came out onto the street.  The sight of 
blood streaming down his face and the gun in his hand made the crowd 
scatter.  Women began to scream, some men dived to the sidewalk.
     Lepski looked across the street and saw Pedro as he began to run.  
Lepski, moving fast, dodging around the stopped cars, went after him.
     Pedro heard the hammering sound of pursuing feet.
     His eyes, wide with terror, he glanced around and saw Lepski, 
weaving through the scattering crowd, after him.
     He knew instinctively that this man, chasing him, was a cop: he 
saw the gun in the man's hand.  Half out of his mind with terror, he 
swivelled around and fired at Lepski.
     A black woman, rushing to a doorway for shelter took Pedro's 
bullet through her brain.
     Lepski bawled: 'Stop or you're dead!' Pedro swerved and began to 
dart across the street.
     Holding his gun in both hands, his feet spread apart, Lepski 
squeezed off a shot.
     Pedro felt the slam of the bullet which pitched him forward.  He 
dropped the worn brown leather bag and the gun Fuentes had lent him 
slid out of his hand.  He folded down, pain raging through him.
     A patrol car screamed to a halt.  Two cops joined Lepski.
     They approached Pedro cautiously, then one of the cops said, 'The 
sonofabitch is still alive.' Fuentes had rushed back to his apartment, 
slammed the door shut and rushed to the window.  Leaning out, he was in 
time to see Lepski shoot Pedro.  He saw the brown leather bag, 
containing forty-two hundred dollars, drop by Pedro's fallen body, then 
he saw his gun lying a yard away.
     The gun!
     Fuentes didn't give a damn about Pedro.  He only hoped he was 
dead, but the gun He must have been out of his mind to have lent his 
gun to Pedro!  As soon as the cops had checked the gun, it would be 
traced to him.  At one time, he had acted as night watchman on a luxury 
yacht, and the owner had insisted he had a gun, and had fixed it with 
the police.
     Fascinated by the gun, Fuentes had wanted to keep it.
     When the owner of the yacht had sailed for the Bahamas, Fuentes 
had told him he had accidentally dropped the gun overboard.  The owner 
had shrugged, told him to report the loss to the police and had sailed. 
 This Fuentes hadn't done.  The gun permit ran for another eight 
months, by then, with the money Pedro was supposed to steal, Fuentes 
would be back in Havana, and to hell with the cops!
     But now .  . .
     It would take the cops only a few hours to check out the gun, then 
they would come after him.
     Sweating, he watched the scene below.  More patrol cars arrived.  
An ambulance, its siren wailing, also arrived.
     Panic-stricken, Fuentes turned from the window.  He had to get 
away before the whole highrise was searched!
     Rushing to his closet, he threw his few clothes into a battered 
suitcase.  Where to go?  He thought of Manuel Torres, his best friend.
     Fuentes often met Manuel Torres on the waterfront.
     Both of them had lived in the same village, near Havana, gone to 
the same school, and when young, had worked together on the same sugar 
cane farm.  Fuentes was sure he could rely on Manuel for help, Opening 
his door, he peered into the corridor.  His neighbours' backs were 
turned to him; all were staring down the well of the staircase.
      Moving silently, carrying the suitcase, he reached the end of 
the corridor to the fire door exit.  He slid back the bolt, opened the 
door, then glanced back.  No one looked in his direction, their 
concentration was rooted to the lobby below.
     He closed the door after him, then ran down the staircase.  Moving 
with long, quick strides, using the narrow back alleys, he headed for 
the waterfront.
     Two hours after the murder of Abe Levi, Sergeant Hess, a short, 
bulky man, in charge of the Homicide Squad, came into Chief of Police 
Terrell's office.
     'Looks like a straight grab raid, Chief,' he said.  'Two dea& 
Panic shooting, I guess.  So far, we haven't identified the killer.  He 
had no papers on him.  We've asked around, but no one is offering 
information.  He's a Cuban.
     We're still checking him out, but Cubans stick together.' Terrell, 
a large man with sandy hair flecked with white, his heavy-featured face 
ending in a jutting, square jaw, looked what he was: an efficient, 
tough police chief.
     'This Cuban?' 'He could survive.  Tom got him in the lungs.  Right 
now, he's in the intensive care ward.  Larry is sitting by his 
bedside.' 'Any lead on the gun?' 'Checking it out.  We should have 
something any time now.' 'The Press?' Hess grimaced.
     'We don't often get two killings in a day, Chief.  They are having 
a ball.' 'That's to be expected.  You've taken the killer's finger 
prints?' 'They're on their way to Washington now.' Sergeant Beigler 
came in.
     'Got a report on the gun, Chief.  It belongs to a Cuban,

     AIL

     Roberto Fuentes.  He has a permit.  He lives in the same highrise 
where Levi was killed.  He's not the killer.  The photo on his permit 
doesn't match.  Max and a couple of patrolmen are on their way now to 
pick him up.' 'This man, Fuentes, could have sold his gun to the 
killer,' Terrell said, 'or he could be tied to this grab.' 'That's my 
thinking, Chief.' The telephone bell rang.  Beigier answered it.
     'Hold it,', he said, then turning to Terrell, he went on, 'Fuentes 
has skipped.  He's taken all his clothes.  No one in the highrise knows 
a thing .  . . of course.' 'I want him,' Terrell said.  'Get it 
organized, Joe,' Beigier, who loved action, nodded.
     'You'll have him, Chief.' It was after 02.00 when Anita Certcs 
approached Manuel Torres' fishing vessel.  The waterfront, apart from a 
few night watchmen, was deserted.  The watchmen glanced at her as she 
walked along, keeping in the shadows.  They thought she was just 
another of the many whores who frequented the waterfront, She paused 
when she located the fishing vessel.  There was a light on in the 
forward cabin.  She felt certain, in that cabin, she would find 
Fuentes.
     It wasn't until Anita had returned home, after cleaning the 
penthouse suite, that she had turned on her transistor and had heard of 
the shooting.
     Before she had left for work in the morning, Pedro had told her 
when she returned in the evening, to pack, 'We leave for Havana at ten 
o'clock tomorrow.  Be ready.' She had put her arms around him and 
hugged him.
     'Dear husband, I wish with all my heart this wasn't going to 
happen, but you can rely on me for always.' She had returned for her 
afternoon break, but Pedro wasn't there.  She had rested her body, but 
not her mind.
      he kept thinking of the gun Pedro had shown her.  She thought of 
his friend, Fuentes, who had given him the gun.  Pedro had said there 
would be no risk.  She was so in love with him, she forced herself to 
believe there would be no risk, but she remained fearful.
     Back home yet again at 22.30, hoping with desperate hope to find 
Pedro waiting for her, the empty little room made her heart sink.  
Pedro had told her to pack, so wearily, she packed two suitcases to 
contain their few belongings.  As she packed, she thought that tomorrow 
at this time, they would be back on the small sugar cane farm, and she 
would once again be slaving in the heat, but what did that matter so 
long as she had Pedro, her loved one, by her side?
     While waiting for Pedro to return, she switched on the news.  She 
listened to the account of the murders of Abe Levi, a rent collector 
and Carry Smith, a black woman, the attempt to steal the rent money 
which Abe Levi had collected, and her body turned to stone.
     The announcer went on, 'Detective Tom Lepski, seeing the thief 
escaping, shouted a warning, then fired.  The thief, a young Cuban, so 
far has not been identified.
     Seriously wounded, he is now in hospital, under police guard.' 
Anita put her hands to her mouth, stifling a scream.
     Pedro!
     'The police want to question a Cuban named Roberto Fuentes who is 
missing.  The murder gun has been traced to him, and it is thought he 
has either sold or lent the gun to the killer.' The announcer went on.  
'Anyone knowing this man's whereabouts should call police 
headquarters.' Anita switched the transistor off.
     Some women have steel in them: some don't.  Anita had this steel 
which was built in her by hard, grinding work in the sugar cane fields 
and her work at the hotel.  Once she had absorbed the shock of knowing 
her beloved was critically wounded, and in the hands of the police, she 
considered the problem.  Soon the police would find out who Pedro was 
and where he lived.  They would come to this room and question her.  
The Press would hound her.
     She would lose her job at the hotel.  She must act at once!
     Fuentes!  He would know the police would be looking for him and he 
would go into hiding.
     Anita had lived in Seacomb many months.  She was part of the Cuban 
community.  She knew Pedro's friends.  She knew Fuentes was always 
talking about his rich friend, Manuel Torres who had a fishing vessel 
moored to the West Quai.
     She had heard much about Manuel Torres.  It was said he was a man 
of great influence.  He was more than that.
     The Cuban community regarded him as the godfather of all the 
Cubans living in the city.  When someone had a problem, he went to 
Manuel who helped him.  He was known as 'The Man of Truth'.  When he 
said he could solve a problem, it was solved.  Naturally, he charged a 
few cents for his time, but that was accepted because his advice was 
always good.  When he wasn't fishing, he ran a stall on the quay, 
selling tourist.junk successfully.
     While Fuentes and Pedro @ad drunk cheap wine, Anita, sitting with 
them, had listened to Fuentes boasting.
     'Manuel is my friend,' he had declared to Pedro.  'If ever I got 
into trouble, I would go to him and he would help me.' Manuel Torres, 
known as The Man of Truth!  Anita thought.  I will find Fuentes with 
him.
     For more than an hour, she sat motionless, her mind busy.
     Pedro must be rescued!  Pedro must never serve a long term in 
prison!  This was an unbearable, impossible thought!  She well knew the 
value of friendship.  Neither Fuentes nor Manuel would raise a finger 
to help Pedro unless there was a big incentive.
     At the end of that desperate hour of thinking, she finally arrived 
at a solution.  She hesitated, wondering if such a plan could succeed, 
then she persuaded herself there was no other way to rescue Pedro so 
her plan must succeed.
     She would go to Manuel and Fuentes and tell them of this plan.  
She felt hopeful that once they grasped what enormous money they would 
gain, they would help to rescue her husband.
     Now, she stood looking at Manuel's fishing vessel.  She saw a 
shadow move behind the curtain of the lighted forward cabin.
     She looked around, found a pebble and threw it against the lighted 
window.
     She waited, then the cabin door opened and the shadowy figure of a 
giant of a man came on deck.
     'It's me .  . . Anita Certes,' she called softly.

     r

     Three

     Mike Bannion paid off the taxi that had brought him from the Miami 
airport to the Seaview Hotel.  He paused to look at the hotel entrance, 
and at the balconies ornamented by old-fashioned wrought iron.  He 
decided this was a residential hotel for the retired with not too much 
money.  Mentally shrugging, he walked up the few steps and.into the 
lobby, decorated with dwarf palm trees in tarnished copper pots, and 
across to the modest reception desk.
     A neatly dressed, elderly man gave him a smile of welcome.
     'Mr.  Vance is expecting me,' Mike said.
     'Mr.  Lucas?, 'That's me.' Mike's brother had told him to book in 
as Ted Lucas, and a reservation had been made for him in that name.
     'A moment, please.' The elderly man used the telephone, muttered, 
listened, then hung up.
     'Mr.  Vance will see you, Mr.  Lucas.  First floor.  Room two.  
Your room is on the fourth floor.  Number twelve.  If you will leave 
your bag, I'll have it taken to your room.  I Mike took the elevator to 
the first floor.  These days, he spared himself every unnecessary 
effort.  He found climbing stairs now gave him a sharp pain in his 
side.  Today was a bad day.  it was probably due to the flight and 
humping his bag.  He was confident that tomorrow, he wouldn't know he 
had this deadly thing gnawing away inside him.
     The pain came and went.  There were days when he tried to assure 
himself he wasn't going to die in a few months, but on leaving the 
airport, when the sharp teeth of pain bit into him, he accepted the 
fact that he was kidding himself.
     He knocked on the door of Room 2, and a querulous voice shouted 
for him to come in.
     Opening the door, he entered a small sitting-room, shabby, but 
comfortable, a room in which the very old could relax while waiting to 
die.
     Lu Bradey sat in a wheel-chair.  Looking at him, Mike saw a small, 
thin man who was apparently nudging eighty years of age.  Bradey's 
disguise was yet another of his masterpieces, The shock of white hair, 
the big white moustache, the pinched nostrils, the dry wrinkled skin 
had Maggie completely fooled.  Bradey had told her to come to the 
Seaview Hotel where there was a reservation for her in the name of 
Stella Jacques, and she was to ask for Mr.  Vance.
     When Maggie had arrived the previous afternoon and had come to 
Room 2, she had stared at this old man in the wheel-chair, then 
flustered, she had exclaimed, I 'Oh, excuse me!  I guess I've come to 
the wrong room , and began to back out.
     'Come on in, honey, and take your pants off,' Bradey said in his 
normal voice.
     Maggie was so shocked she didn't think this was at all funny.  It 
took Bradey quite a time to soothe her down and convince her this old 
cripple, patting her, was really the love of her life.
     Finally, he got her down to business.  He bad told her the 
following morning the man who was to play such an important part in the 
hotel robbery would be arriving.
     'I want you to stay in the bedroom, Maggie,' Bradey said.  'Keep 
the door half open and listen.  I want you to .make sure you can work 
with this man, as I am going to make sure.  Haddon tells me be is okay, 
but he's an amateur.  He has no record, and I distrust amateurs.  . If 
he lets us down, loses his nerve, we are both in real trouble.
     Listen to his voice, and to what he says, then come in and take a 
long look at him.  If you are nervous of him, run your fingers through 
your hair.  If you feel sure you can work with him, then say so.' 
Maggie, looking Pop-eyed, nodded.
     'This is a big deal, isn't it, Lu?  I'm a bit worried.  I wouldn't 
want to go to jail, but if you say it's going to be okay, then it's 
okay with me.' 'YOU won't 90 to jail, baby, nor will J.' Maggie began 
stroking Bradey's hand.
     'You know something, honey?  I've never been screwed by a man of 
eighty.  Shall we try?' Bradey laughed.
     'No.  It's taken me three hours to fix this disguise.  I'm not 
having you chewing me to bits.  Go, cool off.' Standing in the doorway, 
Mike regarded this old man in the wheelchair.  He was as fooled as 
Maggie bad been and he thought: 'God!  Is this decrepit old creep the 
man I have to work with?' While Mike was staring, Bradey was also 
staring with cold, searching eyes, then be began to relax.  This was 
quite a man, he thought.  Not only tough, but he oozed discipline.  
Haddon had said he was an army sergeant.
     This wasn't a man who would lose his nerve, The sunken eyes 
bothered Bradey, but the firm mouth and the strong jaw line balanced 
out the eyes.
     'I'm Mike Bannion,' the man said.  'Mr.  Vance?' 'Come in and sit 
down,' Bradey said.
     He waited until Bannion had closed the door and had sat in a chair 
near where Bradey's Wheel-chair was positioned.
     'So you're Mike Bannion,' Bradey said in his old man's voice.  
'Tell me about yourself,' Mike looked directly at Bradev.  There was 
something phony about this old man.  This, @be felt instinctively.
     'I'm here to do a job,' be said.  'You don't want to know about 
me as I don't want to know about you.  What's the job?' Bradey liked 
this.  This big soldier obviously meant business, he told himself,- but 
he decided to probe further.
     'I've been told you are a good shot.  How good a shot are you.
     'Suppose we stop this crap?' Mike said.  'Tell whoever it is in 
the other room to come on out.  Let's get down to business.' Maggie 
came from the bedroom, paused to regard Mike, then clasped her hands.
     'What a gorgeous hunk of man!' she exclaimed.
     Bradey laughed, seeing Mike was staring at Maggie.
     'Let's all have a drink,' he said, and getting from his 
wheelchair, he walked to the bottles lined up on the table.
     'This is Maggie.  She's working with us.  What'll you have, Mike?' 
Stunned by the sudden activity of an old cripple and the sight of 
Maggie, looking her sexiest, Mike just gaped.
     Then pulling himself together, he got to his feet.
     'Scotch?' Bradey asked.
     'What the hell is all this?' Mike demanded.
     'Have a Scotch, Mike,' Bradey said, pouring a big shot.
     'Maggie, you had better lay off.  I know Scotch ruins your 
concentration.  Give Mike his drink while I make mine.' Maggie took the 
glass and crossed to Mike.
     'Here you are, big man,' she said.
     He took the glass, thinking he had never seen such a sexy-looking 
woman.  His mind was in a slight daze, then seeing Bradey was waving 
him to a chair, he sat down.
     'Okay, Mike, sorry to have conned you, but I wanted to be sure you 
were the right man for the job,' Bradey said as he sat in his 
wheel-chair.  'I'm satisfied.' He looked at Maggie.  'How about you?' 
Maggie sighed.
     'Oh yes.  He's all gorgeous muscle!' Bradey laughed.
     'You'll have to get used to Maggie.  It took me time to get used 
to her myself.' By now, Mike had recovered from the shock of seeing 
this aged man behave like a thirty-year-old and to Maggie's impact.
     'Mr.  Vance,' he said in his curt military voice, 'I asked what 
this job is.' Maggie moaned softly.
     'Isn't that a wonderful voice?' she said, fluttering her 
eyelashes.
     'Maggie, will you shut up?' Bradey snapped, then turning to Mike, 
he went on, 'Here's what we are going to do.  I'm acting as a cripple, 
Maggie is my nurse, you are my chauffeur.' He paused, then asked, 
'You've got the uniform?' 'I've got it.' 'Fine.  Here's the dope.' For 
the next twenty minutes, Bradey explained the details of the steal.
     'Your job is to put the guards out of action if they show up.  You 
will use a dart gun,' Bradey concluded and signalled to Maggie who went 
into the bedroom and returned with the gun.  'There must be no 
mistake,' Bradey went on as Mike examined the gun.  'It isn't lethal.
     No one dies.  The trick is to get the dart into the necks of the 
guards.  That's your job, then you help me to unload the boxes from the 
safe and for this you get paid fifty thousand dollars.' Mike nodded.
     'Right.  You asked me if I was a good shot,' he said.
     'That's a fair enough question when it involves fifty thousand 
dollars.' He looked around the room.  'That picture on the wall.' He 
pointed to a copy of an impressionist in faded colours.  It hung some 
twenty feet from where he was sitting.  'The boy on the left: his right 
eye . . . get it?' Both Bradey and Maggie turned to stare at the 
painting.  For the first time, they were aware that it was on the 
wall.
     Mike lifted the gun.  His movement was swift and confident.  There 
was a plopping sound as he squeezed the trigger.
     'Take a look,' he said.
     Bradey left his wheel-chair, crossed the room and peered at the 
painting.  In the right eye of the boy was the drugged dart.
     The time was 11.40.  The waiters of the Spanish Bay Hotel were 
circulating around the big swimming-pool with trays of various 
cocktails responding to the flicking I fingers of the rich who lay in 
the sun chairs.  The waiters were followed by well-trained boys 
carrying trays of delicious canapgs.
     Wilbur Warrenton had had his morning's swim.  By his side, his 
wife, Maria, in a bikini, was reading a novel.
     Swimming in the morning was not for her.  Her make-up and hair 
style were so elaborate, she swam only in the evening when she could 
spend an hour or more restoring the ravages of water before a late 
dinner.
     Wilbur had finished his second dry martini.  He was feeling 
relaxed.  So far, his honeymoon had been a success.  The hotel was 
everything it claimed to be.  The service was impeccable and the 
cuisine was as good as any of the three-star Paris restaurants.  The 
one small cloud on the otherwise sunny horizon was Maria's increasing 
complaints.  Utterly spoilt, she was the kind of woman who always found 
some fault whatever luxury was provided.
     Her present complaint was there were too many old people residing 
at the hotel, Wilbur pointed out that the Spanish Bay was the most 
expensive an est ate in the war d. Only the o could afford to stay 
there.
     'We're lucky my father is paying for us, Maria,' he said, 
otherwise we wouldn't be here.' Maria had sniffed.
     'It's like living in a graveyard.' 'We can always move.  Would you 
like that?  We could go to the Rivage where there are young people.' 
'The Rivage?  Are you crazy?  It's a slum!' Wilbur, glancing at his 
watch, stood up.
     'I'm just going to call Dad.' Maria frowned.
     'Oh, God!  Not again?  Do you have to telephone him every day?' 
'He likes a chat,' Wilbur said.  'I won't be long.' He strode away 
while Maria shrugged and returned to her novel.
     Wilbur also liked a brief talk with his father, and he knew the 
old man looked forward to telling his son the daily business 
happenings.  Wilbur knew his father was lonely, and was longing for him 
to return to Dallas and to provide him with grandchildren.  Uneasily, 
Wilbur had told Maria that his father had bought a deluxe house for 
them, fully furnished, with staff, two cars, swimming-pool and a small 
park.  In fact, everything money could buy.
     'Who wants to live in a hole like Dallas?' she had demanded 
crossly.  'After our honeymoon, I want to go to Paris and Venice.' 
'I'll be working in Dallas, Maria,' Wilbur said, patiently.  'You'll 
like it.  I've seen the house.  It's really wonderful!  We'll go to 
Paris later.' She had given him her stubborn stare and had said 
nothing.  Taking the elevator to his penthouse suite, Wilbur entered 
the living-room and put a call through to Dallas.  In a few minutes, he 
was talking to his father.
     'Hi, son!' Silas Warrenton's bass voice boomed over the line.  
'How's it going?' 'Fine, Dad, and you?' 'Plenty of business.  Dow Jones 
is up for a change.  I've just sold a parcel of stock: got me a nice 
profit.  I'm lunching with a couple of Arabs: big shots in their neck 
of the woods, but peanuts to me.  They are trying to promote a deal.  
If I get it on my terms, could be worth real money.
     'Good for you, Dad.' 'Well, this old codger keeps the pot 
boiling.' A pause, then, 'How's your wife?' Silas seldom called Maria 
by her name.
     'Fine, Dad.' 'Got her pregnant yet?' Wilbur forced a laugh.
     'Give us time, Dad.  Maria wants to see a bit of the world before 
embarking on a family.' He heard his father give a grunt of 
disapproval.
     'Don't leave it too long, son.  I'm not getting any younger.  When 
are you coming home?' job, about a couple of weeks.' 'I've got all 
kinds of interesting things lined up for you.
     I want you to take some of the work-load off my back, son.
     Did you tell your wife about the house?  I took a look at it.
     It's pretty fancy.' 'Sure, Dad, I told her.' Wilbur struggled to 
put enthusiasm into his voice.  'She's pleased.' Again the grunt.
     'So she should be.  It cost three million.' A pause, then, 'Well, 
enjoy yourself, son.  I've got a board in a moment, and you'll be on 
that board with me pretty soon.  So long, son, take care , and Silas 
hung up.
     Anita Certes had been finishing Maria's bathroom when Wilbur had 
walked in and began talking to his father.
     Hurriedly, she had pushed the door to and listened.  The one-sided 
telephone conversation didn't give her any information except that the 
easy warmth of Wilbur's voice told her that what she had heard from the 
staff gossip that Silas Warrenton, enormously rich, and his son were 
fond of each other.  One of the Cuban waiters who serviced the 
penthouse had told her from what he had overheard, the old man longed 
for grandchildren.  'That rich bitch won't play.  I heard them arguing 
in the bedroom.  She's too selfish to have children.  The son will take 
over the oil kingdom.  He'll be worth billions when the old man 
croaks,' the waiter had told her, Anita had had no sleep.  She had 
spent hours in the stuffy forward cabin of Manuel Torres' fishing 
vessel, talking.
     First, she had begged Fuentes to help Pedro.  He had shrugged.
     'What can I do?  The cops are looking for me!' he had said, his 
voice shrill.  'If I could raise some money, I'll go back to Havana, 
but I'm stuck.' 'You will be safe here,' Manuel said.  'I don't desert 
my friends.' 'Isn't my husband your friend?' Anita demanded.
     'His friend,' Manuel said, nodding at Fuentes.  'Not mine.' 
Fuentes waved his hands in despair.
     'I can't do a thing!  Don't you understand?  The cops have got 
him!  He's wounded.  What can I do?' Leaning forward, her eyes burning, 
Anita told him.
     The two men listened while she talked, then suddenly, Fuentes 
interrupted, 'This is crazy talk!' be exploded.  'You're out of your 
head!  Go away!  Don't come here again!  You're mad!' Manuel laid a 
restraining hand on Fuentes' arm.
     'I can see possibilities,' he said.  'Let us examine this idea.  
Calm yourself.' 'It's crazy talk!' 'Nothing involving five million 
dollars is crazy talk to me.  Calm yourself.' Anita watched the two 
men.  She had expected opposition.  Fuentes was stupid, but she could 
tell that Manuel was nibbling at the bait she was dangling.  She 
regarded him: big, powerful, with a bushy black beard, a completely 
bald head and small, cruel eyes.  If she could only convince him, she 
felt confident he would handle her plan well.
      Manuel looked at her.
     'Let me understand this,' he said.  'Your idea is for us to take 
over the penthouse suite at the hotel and hold Warrenton and his wife 
to ransom?' 'That is my plan,' Anita said quietly.  'Warrenton is worth 
billions.  His father loves him.  A five-million ransom would mean 
nothing to him.' @'And how do we take over the penthouse?' Manuel 
asked.
     'I tell you she's crazy!' Fuentes shouted angrily.  'I know the 
hotel.  There, they have security guards!  Take over the penthouse .  . 
. crazy talk!' Manuel patted Fuentes'arm.
     'My friend, I ask you to keep quiet.  Let us listen.  Five million 
dollars!  Think what that would mean.' Looking at Anita, he again 
asked, 'And how do we take over the penthouse?' 'Through me,' Anita 
said.  'I work at the hotel.  There's nothing I don't know about the 
security, how to reach the penthouse, how to avoid the guards and the 
house detective.' She turned to Fuentes.  'The cops are looking for 
you.  Are you going to stay in this cabin for months?
     Can't you realize once in the penthouse you can ask for anything: 
food, drink, cigarettes .  . . anything, and because you hold the 
Warrentons, the hotel will give you what you ask for.  Then when the 
ransom is handed over, we all, taking the Warrentons as hostages, leave 
for home with five million dollars.' Fuentes gaped at her, then looked 
uneasily at Manuel.
     'Yes.  Maybe,' he said slowly.  'You are sure you can get us into 
the penthouse?' Anita began to relax.  Another fish was nibbling at her 
bait.
     'I can,' she said.  'I have duplicates of the keys to the staff 
door and the penthouse.' 'You have?' Manuel said sharply.  'How did you 
get them?' Sometime in the past, Pedro had told her, 'Always have 
duplicates of hotel keys.  You never know when you might need them.' 
And he had told her how to make a wax impression and be bad arranged to 
get the keys cut.
     'That is my biisidess,' she said.  'I have them.' Fuentes looked 
at Manuel.
     'What do you think?' 'I like it.  We will need a third man.  We 
don't know how long we will be penned up in that place.  We have to 
sleep.  One on, one off is dangerous.  We will need a third man.' I I 
will be the third man,'Anita said.
     Manuel shook his head.
     'No.  It is better for you to keep out of this.' 'I will be the 
third man,'Anita said firmly.  'Before long, the cops will find out the 
name of my husband.  They will Come after me, and I will lose my job.  
When that happens, there will be no way for you to reach the penthouse. 
 This has to be done quickly.' Manuel thought about this, then nodded.
     'She makes sense,' he said to Fuentes.  'Let me think carefully 
about this plan of yours, Mrs.  Certes.  Tomorrow night, come here and 
I will tell you if we will do this.' 'Not later than tomorrow night.' 
'Tomorrow night.  It will be either yes or no,' Manuel said.  She had 
them hooked, she thought, then looking directly at Manuel, she said, 
'Now listen.  I will get you into the penthouse on one condition.' Both 
men looked suspiciously at her.
     'And what is the condition?' Manuel asked.
     'I don't want any of the ransom money.  Whatever you get is for 
you two to divide, but the ransom demand must include the release and 
safe conduct of Pedro to come with us when we take the hostages to 
Havana.  If you don't agree to this condition, I will not get you into 
the penthouse.' Fuentes again exploded.
     'I told you she was crazyl' he screamed at Manuel.
     'Pedro is wounded!  He could be dying!  The cops will never 
release him!  He has killed twice!  This is mad talk!' 'Shut up!' 
Manuel barked, losing pat' nee.  'Now Mrs.
     ie Certes, this is a very difficult condition, but not 
impossible.  Once we get into the penthouse and are in control, then 
we will be able to dictate terms.  I promise you I will do my best to 
have your husband with us when we leave.  I am a man of my word.  I am 
known as a man of truth.  I give you my promise, but it will be 
difficult.' 'Manuel Torres,' Anita said, her eyes hard and cold.  'I am 
not a stupid woman.  My only thought is to have back Pedro.  When the 
time comes, the light of MY life and if I am not satisfied that they 
will release Pedro, then i will kill that rich South American bitch and 
will kill Warrenton too unless they do agree to release Pedro.  This is 
what you will tell them, and if they don't believe you, then I will 
also tell them and they will believe me!' Manuel regarded her, 
startled.  Here, he thought, was a woman of great strength, and he felt 
a surge of admiration run through him.  He was completely convinced she 
meant what she was saying.
     He stood for a long moment, looking at her, tbed he nodded.  The 
steel in Anita's voice convinced him.
     'Yes, it could work, Come tomorrow night.  I have i-nany contacts. 
 I will make inquiries.  First, we must find out about yciur husband's 
condition.  That will be no problem.
     Tomorrow night, when you have finished work, we will discuss what 
we have to do.' Wearily, but triumphant, Anita got to her feet, and 
Manuel, rising to his great height, held out his hand.
     'You are a good wife and a fine woman,' he said.  'We will work 
well together.' When she had gone, Fuentes burst out, 'She's crazy!' 
Manuel regarded him, then shook his head.
     'She is in love, When women are truly in love, they are stronger 
than men.  Now, we sleep.' Claude Previn was the day duty reception 
clerk at the Spanish Bay Hotel.  His work entailed welcoming arrivals, 
signing them in, arranging for them to be conducted to their suites or 
chalets and preparing accounts.  Aged thirty-five, tall, lean and 
darkly handsome, Previn had worked for some years at the George V 
Hotel, Paris, as a minor reception clerk.  Advised by his father who 
ran a two-star restaurant on the Left Bank, he had applied for the 
position of first reception clerk.  Accepted, Previn bad been working 
in this best of all hotels -for the past two jean Dulac, the owner of 
the hotel, was pleased with him.  Previn's future appeared to be 
assured.
     On this hot sunny morning, Previn was at the reception (lesk, 
surveying the vast lounge where a number of )derly people sat, talking 
and having their late morning cocktails.  He listened to the nasal 
chatter of these rich old people and he thought longingly of the George 
V Hotel where the action was.  Here, there were mostly old people who 
were demanding, but content to eat, drink and gossip.  The old rich, 
Previn thought, were utterly du]], but without them, this great hotel 
wouldn't exist.
     A vision in white appeared before him.  For a moment, he blinked, 
not believing that he was looking at the most gorgeous, sexy woman he 
had ever seen.
     Maggie Schultz, attired in a nurse's uniform, her honey-coloured 
hair, except for stray curls, concealed by a nurse's head-dress, her 
big, sexy eyes glittering, was to Previn, even clothed, better than any 
Playboy fold-in.
     Maggie, with her sexual awareness, regarded this handsome man, 
knowing she bad made a big impact.
     'Mr.  Cornelius Vance has a reservation,' she said in bey demure 
voice.
     For a long moment, Previn could only stare at her, then, Putting 
himself together, he bowed, thinking if there was one woman in the 
world be wanted to bed with, it was this woman, standing, SMi]iDg at 
him.
     'Mr.  Vance.  Of course.  Chalet three,' he said, his voice 
husky.
     'Well, he's right outside,' Maggie said.  'The poor dear can't 
come in.  He told me to sign him in.  I'm his nurse; Stella Jacques.' 
She released her sexiest smile.  'What do I do?' Previn, almost 
hypnotized by the smile, flicked his fingers.  Two bell boys appeared 
as if by magic.
     'If you would please sign in for Mr.  Vance, Miss Jacques,' he 
said.  'These two will conduct you to the chalet.' Maggie signed the 
register, then gave Previn another sexy smile and followed the bell 
boys to where the Rolls waited.
     Previn drew in a deep breath.  What a woman!  he thought.  As he 
was watching her cross the lobby, marvelling at the swing of her neat 
buttocks, a voice, speaking in French, said, 'Who is she, Claude?' 
Previn started guiltily and turned.
     'Good morning, Mr.  Dulac,' he said, and respectfully bowed his 
head.
     jean Dulac, owner of this deluxe hotel, was on the sunny side of 
fifty years of age, tall, distinguished-looking with that polished 
charm that is unique with the French, but behind this charm lurked a 
ruthless efficiency that had brought about the miracle of the Spanish 
Bay Hotel.
     He tolerated no slackness, nor lazy service.  He had created his 
hotel as the best in the world, and he was determined that the hotel 
would remain the best.  He left the running of the hotel to highly paid 
experts, but he supervised, correcting and suggesting.
     Each morning, at 09.30, he left his office and visited every 
department of the hotel, smiling, apparently kindly, but constantly 
checking for possible faults.  He began with the laundry, having a nice 
word with the women who adored him, then he went to the wine cellars, 
talking with the wine master who had come from France, then he visited 
the three restaurants, discussed the day's

     6.4

     menus with the nwitre d's, then to the kitchen to talk to the 
chief chef, a quick look around, smiling at the young chefs, but always 
checking.
     The morning's ritual took time.  Finally, he came into the lounge 
and spoke, with his Maurice Chevalier accent, to the rich oldies who 
were charmed.
     Moving to the reception desk, he asked again, 'Who was she?' 'Mr.  
Cornelius Vance has just arrived, sir,' Previn said.
     'That was his nurse.' 'Ah, yes.  Mr.  Vance: a cripple.' Dulac 
smiled.  'He knows how to choose a nurse, apparently.' Previn inclined 
his head.
     'So it seems, sir.' Dulac nodded, then walked out onto the terrace 
to pause, say a word, then move on to his other rich clients around the 
swimming-pool, Installed in a deluxe chalet, not without a slight 
commotion of getting the crippled Mr.  Vance out of the Rolls, and into 
his wheel-chair, Bradey, Maggie and Mike looked around and grinned at 
each other.
     The bell boys had gone.  The offer to unpack had been dismissed by 
Maggie.  There were two bottles of champagne in ice buckets, flowers 
and a big basket of assorted fruits on the sideboard to welcome them.
     'Very fancy,' Bradey said.  'This is something I dig: luxury at 
someone else's expense.  Mike, bust open one of those bottles.  We may 
as well take advantage of this joint while we can.' Maggie had dashed 
around, exploring the chalet finding three bedrooms, three bathrooms 
and a tiny kitchenette.
     As Mike was wrestling with the champagne cork, she came back into 
the living-room.
     'It's quite, quite groovy!' she exclaimed.  'Come and look!' 'This 
is the best hotel in the world,' Bradey said.  'Let's have a drink.'

     While they sipped the champagne, Bradey said, 'Mag
     gie, we mustn't waste time.  I want you to circulate.  You know 
what your job is.  We must find out where the safe is located.' 'I've 
already made a contact,' Maggie said.  'The reception clerk is 
gorgeous.  If I can get him alone for ten minutes, he's a dead duck.' 
'Then fix it, baby, to get him alone.' Anita walked up the gang-plank 
of Manuel's fishing vessel.  She saw Manuel, outlined against the light 
of the forward cabin.  He had been waiting for her, and he raised his 
hand in greeting.
     in the stuffy cabin, with Fuentes nervously nibbling at his nails, 
Anita sank wearily onto the bench, resting her hands on the greasy 
table on which Manuel took his meals.
     'I have been organizing this affair,' Manuel said, sitting 
opposite her.  'First, I have news of your husband.  He is still 
unconscious, but he will live.  He has every attention.
     You don't have to worry about him.' Anita clenched her hands and 
closed her eyes.  Watching her, Manuel saw her dedicated love for this 
stupid, worthless man, and he marvelled at it.
     'The cops are trying to find out who he is,' Manuel went on, 'but 
they have come up against a wall of silence.  I have told our people 
not to talk to the cops.  Even when Pedro recovers consciousness, he 
won't talk.  So the situation is encouraging.  We now have time to get 
your plan moving.  This is a good thing, because nothing should be 
rushed.' Anita looked searchingly at him.
     'Will my husband live?' 'Yes.  One of the hospital interns is a 
good friend of mine.  He says Pedro is badly ill, but he will live.' 
Tears trickled down Anita's face which she impatiently brushed away.
     'And so .  . .
     'We must wait a little while until Pedro is well enough to travel. 
 It would be a stupid act to be too hasty.  If we move him from the 
intensive care ward too soon, he might not survive,' Manuel said 
quietly.  'You see?  I think not only of the money, but of your 
husband,' Anita nodded.
     'Very well,' Manuel continued.  'I have been giving this affair 
much thought.  We must put on pressure.  This pressure must be so 
strong, the cops will be forced to hand over Pedro.' 'Pressure?' Anita 
looked puzzled.  'What pressure?  I don't understand.' 'Warrenton's 
father will pay the ransom.  Five million dollars will mean nothing to 
him " but to get Pedro released is a much bigger problem,' Manuel said. 
 'I have thought about it.  The cops will resist, so great pressure 
must be brought to bear.' 'What pressure?  I still don't understand.' 
'The Spanish Bay Hotel is the best and the finest hotel in the world.  
To the tourists, it is a status symbol.  Even when they don't stay at 
the hotel, I understand from my informants, they are asked if they have 
dined at the hotel.
     They suffer a loss of face if they havelthoavaedtmailtketdhetyo 
haven't: such is the snobbery of the rich.
     one of the workers, a good friend of mine, who works at the City 
Hall.  He tells me the city's revenue would be nearly halved if the 
Spanish Bay Hotel didn't exist.  The owner of the hotel, Dulac, is a 
personal friend of the mayor.  Now when Dulac learns there is a 
powerful bomb hidden somewhere in the hotel, and unless he can persuade 
the mayor and the police to release Pedro, the bomb will explode, he 
will do his utmost to get Pedro released.  He Noil be told that this 
bomb could and will create such damage, his hotel will be out of action 
for months.' 'But suppose the mayor and the police don't react to your 
bluff?' Anita said.
     Manuel smiled evilly.
     'I never bluff.  This will be for real, and you will have to find 
a safe place to conceal the bomb.' Anita's eyes opened wide.
     'You have a bomb?' Manuel nodded.
     'I will have two bombs in a few days.  I have many grateful 
friends.  I have talked to a man who, but for me, would be serving a 
thirty-year jail sentence.  He is an explosive expert.  I have 
explained what I want.  At this moment, he is constructing the bombs: 
one is a very minor affair.  It will cause little damage: break a few 
windows, nothing important, but the second bomb will create havoc.  
Once we are in the penthouse, all I have to do is to press one of two 
buttons and the little bomb will go off by radio beam.  This will tell 
Dulac, I am not bluffing.  If I press the second button, the hotel will 
cease to function for many months.' Anita flushed with excitement.
     'This is a wonderful plan!  You are truly a man of truth!
     Where do I hide these bombs?' 'That is a good question.  The 
little bomb should be hidden in the entrance hall of the hotel.  It is 
not powerful enough to injure anyone, but it will be noisy, and glass 
will break.' 'The big bomb?' 'This is something I have given a lot of 
thought about.  I have asked myself where is the heart of the hotel 
that keeps a hotel running?  The kitchens!  If we threaten to wipe out 
the kitchens, Dulac will realize his beautiful hotel will come to a 
standstill, so you will conceal the big bomb somewhere very, very safe, 
in the kitchens.' Anita drew in a deep breath.
     'That will not be easy.  There is a day staff and a night staff, 
always on duty.  The kitchens never close.' 'If you want your husband 
you must solve this problem.
     There is time.  Think about it.  I can think of no other way to 
get Pedro's release.  It is the only way.'

     -M

     Anita sat motionless, thinking, then she nodded.  She got to her 
feet.
     'I will find such a hiding place,' she said.  'You are a clever 
man.' She put her hand on Manuel's shoulder.
     'Thank you.' When she had gone, Fuentes exclaimed, 'Who cares 
about this jerk, Pedro?  Five million dollars!  To hell with this bomb 
idea.  It's crazy!' 'If it is possible, Pedro leaves with us,' Manuel 
said coldly, 'I have given her my word.  That is final.' 'Now, wait,' 
Fuentes said.  'Think about this.  Who wants to have anything to do 
with bombs?  Don't you see .  . .
     Manuel interrupted him.
     'Then go, my friend.  Go out onto the harbour and get picked up by 
the cops.  You either work with me, do what I say or you are at liberty 
to go.' Fuentes sat still for a long moment.  He realized he had no 
alternative but to accept Manuel's conditions.
     'Then I work with you,' he said finally.
     Manuel leaned forward and slapped Fuentes on his shoulder.
     'Well said.  We drink to it.' His cold little eyes stared fixedly 
at Fuentes, 'And remember, my friend, when I drink with a man who tells 
me he will work with me, it is a binding contract.  Is that 
understood?' The two men stared at each other, then Fuentes forced a 
smile.
     'It is understood,' he said.
     With the aid of six detectives borrowed from the Miami police 
force, the eight detectives of Paradise City were combing Seacomb, 
searching for Fuentes.  They also carried a photograph of Pedro, taken 
as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed.  No one knew him.  No one 
had  ever seen him: nor had they seen Fuentes, nor knew him.
     Manuel Torres' word had gone out.
     The Cuban workers followed Manuel's instructions.
     One day, he told them, they too could be in cop trouble.
     The wall of silence was frustrating to the hot, tired detectives 
visiting each walk-up, knocking on doors, showing photographs and 
asking: 'Have you seen these men?' Lepski, with Detective 2nd Grade Max 
Jacoby, was working the waterfront.  The hot lead to Fuentes' 
whereabouts was that his gun permit had been vouched for by Lu 
Salinsbury, a rich yacht owner who had asked for a permit so Fuentes 
could guard Salinsbury's big, opulent yacht.  Salinsbury had left for 
the Bahamas, but records showed Fuentes hadn't turned in the gun.  
Lepski decided some of the night watchmen, guarding the other yachts, 
might know where Fuentes could be found.
     As the two detectives walked along the waterfront, Lepski chewed 
on a dry cheeseburger and was grumbling.
     The time was 22.30, and he kept thinking of the chicken dinner he 
had left on Harry Atkins' bar the previous evening, when the shooting 
began.
     'Chicken in white wine sauce and mushrooms!' he moaned as he 
chewed.  'Imagine!' 'Harry will keep it in the freezer for you,' Jacoby 
said comfortingly.  'If there's enough for three invite me to dinner.' 
Lepski snorted.
     'You think too much about food, Max.' 'It's not a bad occupation.  
How about those two?' The two detectives slowed their pace.  Two men 
sat on a bench, drinking beer from cans.  They both wore revolvers on 
their hips and were obviously hired guards, guarding two big yachts 
moored side by side.
     Lepski introduced himself, flashing his shield.
     One of them, elderly and bulky, squinted at the photograph of 
Fuentes, then handed it to his younger companion.
     'Sure, that's Fuentes,' the younger one said 'He used to work for 
Mr.  Salinsbury.  That's right, isn't it, Jack?' 'Yeah.  A Cuban.' The 
bulky man looked up at Lepski.
     'Is he in trouble?' 'He could give us information,' Lepski said.  
'Any idea where we can find him?' 'He doesn't work around here any 
more.  Haven't seen him in weeks.' The younger man said, 'You talk to 
Manuel Torres.  He and Fuentes are buddies.  Torres owns a fishing 
vessel at the far end of the harbour.  Berth three.  If anyone knows 
where Fuentes is, he will.' 'Manuel Torres?' Lepski asked.  'Who's he?' 
'Just another goddamn Cuban.  I've no time for Cubans, but Torres seems 
important.  He owns his vessel and runs a junk stall in the market.' 
'Important?' Lepski probed.
     'To Cubans.  He has lots of friends who visit his vessel.' The 
younger man shrugged.  'For a Cuban, I guess he's important.' Lepski 
thanked the two guards, then moved along the waterfront with Jacoby at 
his side.
     'We'll take a look at Torres,' Lepski said.
     It was a long trudge, past the moored luxury yachts to the basin 
where the fishing vessels were moored.  Both men were sweating in the 
humid night air, and Lepski was in an ugly mood.
     A squat, dark Cuban woman walked by them, giving them a quick, 
suspicious glance, then looking away.
     Neither of the two detectives were to know she was the wife of 
Pedro Certes.  They dismissed her as yet another of the waterfront 
whores.
     They found Manuel's vessel moored in the third berth, between two 
clam fishing boats.  The gang-plank had been run in, but there was a 
light on in the forward cabin.
     In his cop voice, Lepski bawled, 'Hi, Torres!  Police!' Manuel and 
Fuentes were just touching glasses of

     @il

     whisky to cement their contract when Lepski's voice made both men 
slop their drinks.
     Fuentes turned a greenish yellow and his eyes went dim with fear.
     Police!
     Manuel patted his arm.
     'I will handle it.' Moving swiftly, he pushed aside the table and 
lifted a trap door.  'Down there, and keep silent.
     it will be okay.  Leave it to me.' As Fuentes lowered himself into 
a dark hole that stank of stale fish, Manuel came out on deck.
     'You Torres?' Lepski barked.
     'That is my name " Manuel said quietly.  'What is it?' 'We want to 
talk to you.' Manuel ran out the gang-plank, then moving swiftly, he 
arrived on the quay and faced Lepski who flashed his shield.
     'Where is Roberto Fuentes?' he demanded.
     'You mean my friend, Roberto Fuentes?' Manuel asked and smiled.
     'You heard!  We want him as accessory for murder.
     Know where he is?' 'Accessory for murder?' Manuel faked a startled 
expression, 'All!  That explains everything.  I guessed something was 
wrong.  , 'Explains what?' 'My friend came to me last night.  He seemed 
agitated.
     He told me he had to leave for Havana immediately.  He asked me to 
lend him money.  I look after my friends so I lent him a hundred 
dollars.  When my friends are in trouble, I don't ask questions.  You, 
Mr.  Cop, when your friends are in trouble, would act the same way.' 
Manuel was now enjoying himself as he watched Lepski's frustrated 
expression.  'So my good friend, Roberto Fuentes, took a boat and is 
now with his family in Havana.' 'What boat?' Lepski snarled.
     'That I wouldn't know.  He has friends on the waterfront.  Many of 
them fish.  Some go to Havana on business.
     We Cubans help each other.' Manuel shrugged.  'Boat?  I wouldn't 
know about that.' Lepski moved forward and tapped Manuel on his chest.
     'I think Fuentes is on your scrap heap.  I think you are lying.' 
'Mr.  Cop, I am known on the waterfront as a man of truth.  You can 
search my poor home with pleasure,' Manuel said.  'Fuentes, I assure 
you, is now with his parents in Havana.  You will, of course, have a 
search warrant?  I believe that is the necessary form.' Lepski loosened 
his tie.
     'Now listen, smart ass, you could get caught with an accessory to 
murder-after-rap.  That could put you away for a five-ten.  I'm asking 
you: is Fuentes on your vessel?' Manuel shook his head.
     'He is, by now, in Havana.  I am a man of truth.  Ask any Cuban.  
Never mind the search-warrant.  Come aboard.
     Search: satisfy yourself.  I am a man of truth.' Lepski hesitated. 
 If he went on board and didn't find Fuentes, this slick bastard could 
complain to the mayor: an infringement of rights.  Lepski decided he 
wasn't going to get involved in a mess like that.  He decided he would 
report to his chief first.
     Watching him, Manuel saw his bluff had worked.
     'I need my sleep, Mr.  Cop,' he said.  'I am a hardworking man.  
You too need your sleep.  I say goodnight.' He stepped back, gave 
Lepski a respectful wave of his hand, walked up the gang-plank, waved 
again, pulled in the gang-plank, then walked to the lighted cabin.
     'He could be telling the truth,' Jacoby said.
     'Like I'm Greta Garbo,' Lepski snarled.

      Four

     Maria Warrenton was in the mood to show off.  To Wilbur's 
surprise, she told him they would dine in the Empress Restaurant which 
was strictly for the clients staying at the hotel, away from music, 
rich tourists, and with a terrace on its own.
     'But that will be full of old people,' Wilbur said as he struggled 
with his tie.  'Wouldn't you like something more gay where we can 
dance?' 'We will dine there,' Maria said firmly.  'I want to show those 
stupid-looking old women I have finer and more beautiful jewels than 
they have.' 'As you like,' Wilbur said.  'I'll get the diamonds then.' 
Going to the concealed safe that Dulac had installed, he opened it and 
took out the red leather case.  Then putting the case on the 
dressing-table, he finally fixed his tie.  He put on his white tuxedo, 
then sat down to watch Maria adorn herself with the jewellery her 
father had given her.
     He admitted, watching her, she was a very beautiful woman, and the 
glitter of diamonds became her dark skin.
     When Maggie wheeled Bradey into the Empress Restaurant, their 
appearance caused a minor sensation.  The old people were already 
seated at their tables.  Waiters were moving around with trays of 
ap6ritifs.  The short, fat itre d'was darting from table to table, 
smiling, suggesting this and that delicacy to tempt the jaded palates 
of the old.  Seeing Maggie pushing the wheel-chair, he flicked his 
fingers and his assistant took the bundle of menus from him, and he 
advanced, smiling at Bradey.
     'Mr.  Vance,' he said, 'A pleasure.  Your table, as requested, is 
in the far corner.' He flicked his fingers and a waiter approached.  
'Please, Madame, allow us .  . .' 'I prefer to manage,' Maggie said, 
giving him her sexy smile.  'Just show me the way.' Watched by all the 
diners, she wheeled Bradey to a distant, secluded table.
     There were muted whispers: 'Who's he?"Pretty nurse.' 'Must have 
just arrived.' Finally, settled at the table, the maitre d' handed 
Bradey and Maggie a menu each.

     I

     'If I may suggest .  . . he began.
     'Go away!' Bradey growled in his old man's voice.  'I know what I 
like!  I'm not an idiot!' The maitre d's smile slipped a little, but 
Maggie gave him a knowing wink to tell him her patient was difficult.
     He bowed and went away.
     'Lu, pet, you don't have to be rude to the nice man, Maggie 
whispered.
     'Quiet, baby!' Bradey said.  'I'm in character.' Then he began to 
examine the menu.  The prices against each dish made his eyes widen.  
'What a racket!' he muttered.
     'Daylight robbery!' He began to search for the cheapest dish, and 
finally decided on Sole de L'Impgratrice which cost $35.  'We'll have 
the sole,' he told Maggie who was drooling over the Epicurean dishes.
     Maggie's face fell.
     'I don't dig fish, honey.  I'd adore this Chicken Maryland.' 'Look 
at the price!' 'You told me we were going to make a million,' Maggie 
said.  'I'm starving!' 'If we're unlucky, I'll have to pay for your 
food out of my own pocket.  We'll have the sole.' 'Unlucky?' Maggie 
immediately looked worried.  'You said .  . .' 'Quiet!' Bradey snapped. 
 'Act like a nurse!  You talk when I speak to you.' Maggie sighed and 
began to butter a roll of bread.  It wasn't until the sole arrived and 
was presented with a flourish that Maggie, peering at the contents of 
the silver dish, brightened.  The sole, done in a heavy cream and wine 
sauce was decorated with sliced truffles, diced lobster and fried 
oysters.
     Bradey had sternly refused the maitre d's suggestion that they 
should begin with a prawn salad, and when the wine waiter offered a 
white wine, the price of which made Bradey cringe, he demanded water.
     'If you go on stuffing yourself with bread,' Bradey said when the 
wine waiter had gone, 'you'll get fat.' 'I'm hungry,' Maggie whined, 
'but this looks okay,'and she began to attack the sole.
     As Bradey ate, he surveyed the people at the other tables.
     'Ed was right,' he muttered.  'The jewels these old cows are 
wearing are worth a pile of dough.  Look at that old trout on your 
right.  That bracelet is worth at least a hundred thousand.' 'I didn't 
think I liked fish,' Maggie said, intent on her plate, 'but this is 
gorgeous.' There was a sudden commotion at the entrance to the 
restaurant.  The nwitre d' hurried forward.  Two of his satellites 
followed.
     Wilbur and Maria made their entrance.
     Maria looked magnificent.  Tall, her expression haughty and 
condescending, she wore an exclusive Balmain creation.  Her glittering 
diamonds put all the other diamonds in the restaurant to shame.
     'God almighty!' Bradey muttered.  'Look at this!  What a woman!  
Look at that diamond collat!  That's worth at least two million!  Those 
bracelets!  Three million!  Her earrings!  She must be wearing six 
million dollars worth of diamonds!' Maggie was busy mopping up the fish 
sauce with a piece of bread.  She looked up, regarded Maria as she 
walked to a table, then she stuffed the bread into her mouth.
     'I bet she's a bitch,' she mumbled, her mouth full, 'but I'd give 
my eyes to have a dress like that,'and she reached for another roll.
     Bradey wasn't listening.  He was doing mental arithmetic.  Broken 
up, those diamonds would fetch at least five million.  He had to find 
out who this woman was.
     At this moment, the assistant nwitre d' approached.
     I I trust you enjoyed your sole, sir,' he said.
     'Very nice.' 'Perhaps some cheese or dessert?' 'Dessert,' Maggie 
said firmly.
     'Certainly, Madame.' Fingers were flicked and four, three tier 
trolleys, ladened with the most exotic and delicious-looking trifles, 
tarts, cakes and compotes arrived.
     Bradey was still eyeing Maria's diamonds, his thoughts were far 
away.  He only came back to earth when the assistant nwitre d' asked, 
'And what would you care for, sir?' Bradey stiffened and stared at 
Maggie's plate that was heaped with a selection of dessert that made 
him blink.
     Maggie had said softly to the serving waiter, 'Something of 
everything.' She prayed Bradey was too occupied to hear, and something 
of everything was served.
     'Just coffee,' Bradey said.  'Tell me, who are those two who have 
just come in?' The assistant maitre d' beamed.
     'Mr.  and Mrs.  Wilbur Warrenton, sir.' 'I thought I recognized 
them,' Bradey lied.  'Are they staying?' The assistant maitre d' beamed 
again.
     'They are on their honeymoon.  Yes, indeed, they will be with us 
for the next ten days.' 'Fine-looking couple,' Bradey said.
     A waiter brought the coffee, and the assistant maitre d', with a 
bow, went to another table.
     'Do you have to make such a hog of yourself?' Bradey demanded, 
glaring at Maggie.  'That'll cost me at least fifteen dollars!' 'Worth 
it,' Maggie said, rolling her eyes.  She offered him a portion of rum 
trifle on her fork.  'Have a bit, honey.
     It's out of this world!' Eat, and shut up!' Bradey snapped.
     As he stirred his coffee, he dug into his encyclopaedic memory of 
names.  He had long ago made it his business to know the names of the 
super-rich who owned works of art, and it didn't take him more than a 
few moments to place Wilbur Warrenton.  This handsome man was the son 
of Silas Warrenton, the Texas oil king, worth billions.  No wonder this 
haughty-looking bitch was wearing a fortune in diamonds.
     Bradey rubbed his chin, his mind very active.  If he could get his 
hands on those diamonds, it might even be better than trying to open 
the hotel's safe.  Although Haddon's plan had, at the time, seemed 
acceptable, Bradey was now not so sure.  It depended on where the safe 
was.  It could be inaccessible.
     Again, he studied those flashing diamonds across the room, and he 
felt a lusting urge to have them.  He must talk to Haddon, but first, 
he must find out in which suite the Warrentons were staying.  Then to 
find out if she used the hotel's safe.  So many arrogant women wouldn't 
be bothered to put their jewels each night in a hotel's safe, believing 
they were just as s@ in their suites or bedrooms.  Maybe Maria 
Warrenton was one of those.
     He was still thinking, when Maggie laid down her fork with a sigh 
of content.
     Bradey scowled at her.
     'Maybe you'd like some more, Maggie?'he said sarcastically.  
'Some more of the trifle?' Maggie's eyes opened wide.
     'It really is gorgeous.  Perhaps, just 'You're not having it!' 
Bradey snapped.  'We're going back to the chalet.' Maggie giggled.
     'Yes, my master,' she said, and getting to her feet, she 
manoeuvred Bradey's wheel-chair away from the table.
     The assistant nwitre d' came up swiftly.
     'May I help?' 'You may not!' Bradey snapped.  'Good night to you!' 
Watched by most diners, Maggie wheeled the chair past the Warrentons' 
table where Maria was regarding a silver bowl of caviar, set in crushed 
ice, as if it was something a cat had brought in, then, sighing, Maggie 
moved the chair into the lobby, down the gentle sloping ramp to their 
chalet.
     'Caviar!' she moaned.  'I've never ever tasted it!' 'Then save -up 
your money,' Bradey said, 'and have yourself a ball!' 'Honey, you seem 
in a bad mood.' 'I'm thinking!  Be quiet!' Back in the chalet with the 
curtains drawn, Bradey left the wheel-chair, poured himself a stiff 
Scotch and sat down in a comfortable arm-chair.
     'Maggie!  Business!  Get out of that uniform, put on a simple 
dress and begin collecting information.  Locate Mike.  I want to talk 
to him.' Ten minutes later, Maggie, now in a close-fitting blue dress 
that set off her figure to perfection left the chalet.
     Twenty minutes crawled by while Bradey waited and thought, then 
Mike came in, still wearing his chauffeur's uniform.
     Bradey regarded him.  This was a man, he thought, not of Bradey's 
world: a tough, disciplined soldier and Bradey was surprised to realize 
he envied him.
     'Come on in, Mike.  Make yourself a drink.' He waved to the 
bottles on the table.

     so

     'No, thanks.' Mike closed the door and took a chair opposite where 
Bradey was sitting.  'Maggie said you wanted me.' 'How are you settling 
in?' 'Okay.  The facilities for the staff are good.  At the far end of 
the park there is a staff restaurant.  The food is good.  I've just had 
dinner there.  I took my place next to one of the security guards who 
had come off duty.  He spotted I'd been in the army.  His name is Dave 
Putnam, an ex-sergeant like me.  He's the talkative type.  The other 
security guard was leaving when I arrived.  He is older than Putnam who 
has no time for him.  They don't get along I together.  Putnam was glad 
to have me for company.
     'Fine,' Bradey said.  'Keep him talking, Mike.  I want to know 
about a couple I saw in the restaurant: Mr.  and Mrs.
     Warrenton.  She was wearing diamonds that will fetch a big price.  
See if you can find out if she hands over the diamonds to the guards 
for safe-keeping when she goes to bed.  Don't rush it, Mike.  We have a 
few days.  just keep this guy talking, then edge in the Warrentons.  
Say your boss knows them.  I want you to take a long look at the two 
house dicks.  From what I hear, they are tough cookies.' Mike nodded.  
The pain in his side was nagging him.
     'Okay.  Putnam said he would be around later tonight.
     I'll have another word with him.' He got to his feet, controlling 
a grimace of pain.  'I'll get me some fresh air.
     See YOU" and he walked to the door.
     Bradey watched him leave.  He felt a sudden unease.
     Was there something wrong with this big, tough-looking soldier?  
he wondered.  Those sunken eyes, the tight, yellowish skin, and he had 
spotted sweat beads on Mike's forehead.
     Maybe it was a slight fever.  He knew Mike had been in Vietnam.  
Some minor thing that would pass.
     Bradey rubbed the back of his head, frowning, then his mind 
shifted t(t the Warrenton diamonds.
      Closing the cabin door, Manuel Torres pushed aside the table and 
lifted the trap door.  He reached down and helped Fuentes out of the 
fish-smelling hole.
     Fuentes was shaking with fright.
     'What happened?' 'I bluffed them,' Manuel said, 'but not for long. 
 Can you swim?, Fuentes' eyes opened wide.
     'Swim?  Yes.' 'Maybe you'll have to.  That cop is tough.  I know 
of him Wait,' and Manuel turned off the light.  He left the cabin like 
a shadow.  Hiding behind the mast, he was able to look down on the 
quay.
     Detective Jacoby was sitting on a bollard, smoking a cigarette.  
He was looking directly at the fishing vessel, and Manuel nodded to 
himself.  Unseen, he returned to the cabin.
     'You swim, my friend,' he said.  'They'll have a searchwarrant 
within an hour, and they'll crawl all over my boat.' 'Swim where?' 
Fuentes asked, his voice husky.
     'No distance.  The third boat on the port side.  The owner is a 
good friend of mine.  You tell him I sent you.
     Then when you see my cabin light go out, you return.  No problem.' 
After Lepski's telephone call, it took Beigler more than an hour to 
obtain a search-warrant -and to send two detectives down to Manuel's 
fishing vessel.  As Manuel had anticipated, the boat was thoroughly 
searched.  If Fuentes had been on board, he would have been discovered.
     Manuel gave Lepski a sly smile when the search ended.
     'I hope now, Mr.  Cop, you are satisfied that I am a man of 
truth,'he said.  'My good friend, Fuentes, is happy with his family in 
Havana.' Lepski glared at him and stamped down the gangplank.
     Manuel stood on deck and watched the four detectives walk to their 
cars.  When they had driven away, he returned to his cabin and turned 
off the light.
     Half an hour later, he helped Fuentes climb aboard.
     'They won't bother us again,' Manuel said.  'Get dry and sleep.' 
just after midnight, the feverish activities in the kitchens of the 
Spanish Bay Hotel came gradually to a halt.
     The chef and the second chef had gone home.  The last meals had 
been served.  Only the third chef remained.  He would be on duty until 
05.30, ready to prepare a meal for the few, returning from nightclubs 
or the casino, who demanded eggs and ham, scrambled eggs and sausages, 
grilled steaks and coffee.
     At 01.30, the dishwashers and the cleaners had gone home, leaving 
the kitchens immaculate.  The third chef and two waiters remained to 
pander to the pampered.
     The third chef was Dominic Dezel.  He was thirty years of age.  
Dark, not without good looks, his short stature irked him.  More than 
anything else, he wished he'd been born like his brother, a chef now 
working at a two-star restaurant in Paris.  His brother took after the 
father who was a giant of a man, whereas Dominic took after the mother 
who was almost a dwarf.
     Dominic had been the sauce chef at one of the Relais hotels in 
France.  Dulac, on vacation, and looking for talent, had been impressed 
by the sauce that was served with his riz de veau and scampi.  He had 
talked to Dominic, and had persuaded him to come to the Spanish Bay 
Hotel as third chef.
     The pay and the living conditions had been impressive, and Dominic 
was happy to reign over the kitchen from midnight to 05.30.  It wasn't 
often, at these hours, his services were required.  He spent the time 
in the chef's office, reading cook books and planning to open his own 
restaurant when he had accumulated enough capital.
     From time to time, there was a telephone call and he would hurry 
into the kitchens to prepare a meal.
     The night was quiet.  The two waiters were dozing in the 
still-room, away from the chef's office.  Dominic, his feet on the 
chef's desk, was thinking about France, thinking of his family and 
planning to return when he had saved enough money.
     The time was 02.30.  Anita Certes came into the kitches like a 
ghost.  Bare-footed, silent, she closed the door, then paused.
     When she had finished her evening duties, preparing the penthouse 
suite, she had concealed herself in the women's rest room in the 
basement of the hotel.  Down the corridor from this rest room were the 
kitchens.  She had locked herself in a toilet and sitting on the lid of 
the toilet, she had waited and waited.  At 02.25, she came silently 
from the rest room and listened.  The hotel was silent.  She thought of 
the night detective who patrolled the hotel.  He could be anywhere.
     This man, josh Prescott, frightened her.  An expoliceman, he took 
his job, protecting the hotel, seriously.  She knew that from what the 
staff had told her.  He had stopped a lot of pilfering, and the staff 
hated him.  He wasn't the usual hotel dick who sat around, smoking and 
waiting for action.  josh Prescott was constantly on the prowl, looking 
for action.  During the night, he walked the corridors, moved around 
the deserted restaurants, looked into the kitchens and even inspected 
the terraces and swimming-pools.  He was here, there and everywhere: a 
big, bulky man with sandy hair and the bleak eyes of a dedicated cop.
     Anita stood listening, 'looking around the dimly lit expanse of 
kitchens, at the stoves, the ovens, the glittering copper pots and pans 
hanging on the walls, the sinks, the big dish-washing machines.  Where 
would it be safe to

     I F

     hide a bomb?  For some minutes, standing just inside the kitchens, 
her back against the entrance door, she looked, wondered, then looked 
again.
     No place she could see offered a safe hiding place.  Her heart 
pounding, she moved across the expanse of floor to the store room where 
jars of stock lined the shelves, and bins, cheeses and the butter 
refrigerator stood against the wall.  Here, possibly, could be a hiding 
place.  She lifted the lid of a bin marked FLOUR.  There must be half a 
hundred weight of flour in the bin, she thought.  As she was staring 
down at the smooth white surface of the flour, she heard someone 
crossing the kitchens and coming to the store room.  Hurriedly closing 
the lid of the bin, she looked wildly around for a place to hide, but 
there was nowhere.  Was it Prescott?  Her mind flew.to Pedro.  If 
Prescott found her here, she would be sacked!
     She might even land in jail!  Then there would be no way to get 
Pedro released!
     Bracing herself, she moved out of the store room and found Dominic 
gaping at her.
     'Anita!  What are you doing here?' he asked.
     She forced a smile and moved towards him.
     'I am looking for you,' she said.
     For sometime, Dominic had lusted for this squatty built, big-eyed 
Cuban girl.  Every so often, she had allowed him to put his hand up her 
skirt in return for left-over food which she had told him was for her 
out-of work husband.  Her round, firm buttocks excited him.  He had 
spent many hours, thinking of the moment when he would take her.  Now, 
here she was at 02.30, telling him she was looking for him.  So great 
was his lust for her, he didn't even wonder what she was doing in the 
hotel at this hour.  All he could think of was she was looking for him, 
and that could mean only one thing.
     He caught hold of her, pulling her against him.  His hands slid 
down her back.  Lifting her skirt, his fingers gripped her tight 
buttocks.
     Anita closed her eyes.  His fingers, gripping her flesh, made her 
feel sick.  She thought: 'Pedro, my darling, this is for you.  Forgive 
me!  This, what is happening, is for you.
     'Come to the office,' Dominic said, his voice strangled.
     'It will be all right.  We will make wonderful love.' Putting his 
arm around her, he led her across the kitchens and to the chef's 
office.  As she went with him, Anita was confident she had found a safe 
hiding place for the bomb.  Now, she had to handle this man, giving him 
a little, but only a little.
     They entered the office and Dominic closed the door.
     'Lie over the desk.  We must hurry,' he said.
     Anita broke away from him.
     'No!  Not that way!' Dominic, sweating, his heart hammering, 
stared at her.
     'Lie over the desk!  I know you want me!  It's the only quick way. 
 Lie over the desk!' 'No!  We must find a bed,'Anita said, waving him 
away.
     As Dominic began to expostulate, the telephone on the desk began 
to ring.
     The sound of the bell was like a blow in Dominic's face.
     His lust vanished.  He realized what he was doing.  By this stupid 
act, he might ruin his career!  He stared at Anita, now seeing her as a 
dark, not very attractive Cuban, and Cubans were as nothing to him.  He 
must have been out of his mind to have lusted after this girl who was 
backing away, her eyes frightened.
     He snatched up the telephone receiver.
     'Scrambled eggs, sausages and coffee for two,' a man's voice 
snapped.  The slur in his voice told Dominic he was drunk.  'Suite 
seven,' and the receiver was slammed down.
     Dominic waved to a door at the far end of the office.
     'Go that way!  Quick!' and he hurried out of the office.
     Shaking and thankful she wouldn't have to submit to this man's 
lust, Anita opened the door and found herself on a concrete path that 
led to the staff restaurant.  She knew her way: a short cut, taking her 
behind the row of chalets, to the main road to Seacomb.
     Holding her shoes in her hand, she ran silently into the darkness.
     Two days passed.
     During those days, the police continued their hunt for Fuentes, 
and finally decided he was indeed in Havana.
     Pedro Certes, in intensive care ward, remained unconscious.  A 
bored detective sat at his bedside.
     Anita had been in touch with Manuel Torres.  She went about her 
usual duties at the hotel.  Manuel had warned her to keep away from his 
fishing vessel.  They had met, the previous evening, at a small bar on 
the waterfront.
     She had told him the bomb could be hidden in the flour bin, and 
after thinking, Manuel had nodded approvingly.
     The two bombs hadn't arrived, but Manuel had heard from his 
friend, and the bombs would be arriving the following day.  Manuel had 
assured her Pedro was surviving.
     During these two days, both Maggie and Mike had been partially 
successful in obtaining the information Bradey needed.  He decided he 
must talk to Ed Haddon who was staying at the Belleview Hotel, the 
second best hotel in the City.
     A meeting was arranged.  Haddon had reserved a table at a quiet, 
expensive sea-food restaurant near the yacht club.
     Bradey had left his chalet at 21.00, stripped of his old man's 
disguise.  He wore a business suit and a hat.  At this hour, the 
Spanish Bay Hotel was busy.  Bradey bad no fears that anyone would 
notice him leaving the chalet.  He walked briskly down the path that 
led to a taxi rank.
     He found Haddon sitting at a secluded table, nibbling black olives 
with a double martini in front of him.
      The two men greeted each other, and Haddon got Bradey a drink.  
The nwitre d' arrived with the menus.
     'Have the chowder" Haddon said.  'It's good.' They ordered the 
clam chowder, then when the maitre d' had gone away, Haddon asked, 
'How's it taking shape?' ' Bradey sipped his Scotch on the rocks, then 
reached for a black olive.
     'Maggie is making progress.  She has the reception clerk feeding 
out of her hand.  The problem is to find the hotel safe.  I've told her 
not to rush it.  The reception clerk will eventually tell her, but we 
have to move cautiously.  The opposition is tough.  Mike has been 
circulating.  He is now on friendly terms with one of the security 
guards.  The second guard is tricky.  The two house dicks are 
professionals.  Mike has contacted them.  He tells me they have to be 
handled with great care.  The night dick is always looking for 
trouble.' The waiter served the clam chowder.  Both men began to eat.  
Haddon said , From what you're saying, Lu, it doesn't seem to me you're 
making much progress.  I'm financing this deal.  Every goddamn day you 
stay at the hotel is costing me money.' Bradey hoisted a piece of clam 
into his mouth.
     'You don't have to tell me.  Ed.  When I see what it is costing, 
my heart bleeds for you.' He grinned.  'But remember, what you put in, 
you take out.' Haddon scowled at him.
     'What's that supposed to mean?' Bradey shovelled more food into 
his mouth, chewed and nodded approval.
     'This swill is pretty good, Ed.' Cut this goddamn crap!' Haddon 
snarled.  'Have you something or haven't you?' 'Of course I have.' 
Bradey shovelled more food into his mouth.  'Does the name Silas 
Warrenton strike a bell?' Haddon's eyes half closed.
     'Who doesn't know of Silas Warrenton?  What are you yammering 
about?' Bradey went on eating.  He kept Haddon waiting for some minutes 
before he laid down his fork.
     'Warrenton's son, plus his newly wedded wife, are spending their 
honeymoon at the hotel's penthouse.  She is plastered with diamonds.' 
Haddon dropped his fork onto his plate.
     'The Warrentons are at the Spanish Bay?' Bradey grinned.
     'That's what I'm telling you, Ed.  She with her diamonds.' Haddon 
pushed his plate aside.  He was no longer interested in eating.
     'Those diamonds, Lul in the open market are worth at least eight 
million,' he said.  'A collar, bracelets and ear-rings.  Right?' Bradey 
nodded.
     'That's what she was wearing when she came into the restaurant.' 
'I've had my eye on those diamonds ever since I heard that rich old 
fool Gomez, her father, had bought them as a wedding present.  He was 
taken to the cleaners.  I hear he paid ten million.  They are matched 
stones: something unique, but not worth ten.' Haddon eyed Bradey.  'So 
she was there with the diamonds.  Go on.' 'The Warrentons are staying 
at the hotel for another ten days.' Bradey paused to eat, then went on, 
'Now, look, Ed, I know the original idea was to bust the hotel's safe 
and we would pick up around five million.  It looked good to me, but so 
far, I haven't been able to locate the safe.  I know the opposition is 
fierce: security guards and house dicks.  I'm beginning to wonder if we 
would be safer off going after the Warrentons' diamonds and forget the 
safe.' Haddon began to toy with the chowder again.
     'Keep talking, Lu,' he said.  'I hear you.' 'When you steered Mike 
Bannion to me, you picked a smart guy,' Bradey said.  'He's not only a 
dead shot, but he has that thing ex-army men have.' He shook his head.  
'I envy him.  Take one look at him and you think this is a guy you can 
trust.' He paused to eat again.  'But he worries me, Ed.  I keep 
wondering why a guy like him should turn crooked.  It doesn't make 
sense to me.' Haddon made an impatient movement.
     'Why bring him up?  His brother who is more crooked than you are, 
and that's saying a lot, guarantees this guy, and that's good enough 
for me.  Why make complications?
     Are you telling me you're not satisfied with Mike Bannion's 
performance?' No.  He's almost too good to be true.  I'm not saying 
that.  He just puzzles me, and another thing, I don't like the way he 
looks.  He looks like a sick man.' Haddon shrugged.
     'His brother told me Mike badly needs money.  So, okay, if he 
delivers, why should you care?' Bradey finished the chowder.
     'I guess you have a point.' 'How the hell did we get into this?  
I'm not interested in Bannion.  I'm interested in the diamonds.' 'I've 
been working on this.  I put Mike in the photo and last night he came 
up with the info I wanted.  What I wanted to know was if this Warrenton 
woman put her diamonds in safe custody every night.  That is, if she 
uses the box the hotel supplies for every client, and this box is 
locked in the hotel safe.  The security guard told Mike she doesn't.  
She is one of those arrogant bitches who think, because she lives in 
the hotel, her jewels are safe, and she can't be bothered to hand them 
over, get a receipt from the guard after a late night out.  The 
security guard told Mike that there was quite a scene when this guard 
warned her she was taking a risk.  He pointed out the hotel would take 
no responsibility if her jewels were stolen.  She told him to go to 
hell.  Then Dulac called on her, again pointing out the risk.  She told 
him it was his business to make the penthouse secure.  This he has 
done.  You want service at the Spanish Bay Hotel, you get it.' Bradey 
paused, then went on, 'So a concealed safe has been installed.  Both 
Dulac and the Warrenton woman imagine her diamonds are safe.' Bradey 
grinned.  'Safes?  They're jokes to me.  I can get those diamonds, Ed, 
if you are interested.' Haddon signalled to the maitre d' who hurried 
to the table.
     'Pecan pie,' Haddon said.  'Okay with you?, The, apple pie,' 
Bradey said and sat back to pick his teeth.
     He watched Haddon staring down at the table cloth.
     He knew Haddon's mind was busy so he kept quiet.
     When the pies were served, Haddon said, 'The problem will be to 
dispose of the diamonds, but I think it can be arranged.  The one man 
who can handle a deal like this is Claude Kendrick.  I'll talk to him 
tomorrow.' Bradey attacked his apple pie.  He was pleased that Haddon 
hadn't even queried his ability to get the diamonds.
     Haddon ate his pie slowly, his eyebrows down in a frown of 
concentration.  Bradey, knowing the signs, relaxed and enjoyed his pie.
     The pies finished, coffee was served with balloon glasses of 
brandy.
     Haddon said abruptly, 'You wondered if we would be safer going 
after the Warrenton's diamonds than busting the hotel safe.' Bradey 
looked sharply at him.
     'Makes sense, doesn't it?' 'Most things you say, Lu, make sense,' 
Haddon said quietly.  'Your trouble is you don't think big.' 'Eight 
million seems big to me,' Bradey said with a sly smile.
     'Thirteen million, possibly fifteen million looks bigger, doesn't 
it?' Bradey sipped his brandy.
     'You mean we grab the diamonds as well as busting the hotel safe?' 
'I'm not saying we will do it, but let's take a long hard look at it.  
Find out where the safe is located.  Then when you have found that 
out, we'll talk again.  In the meantime, I'll talk to Kendrick about 
the Warrenton's diamonds.  Let's get a hustle on, Lu.  Suppose we meet 
here tomorrow night at the same time?  I'll have news for you: you have 
news for me.  Right?' Bradey hesitated, then nodded.
     'I'll talk to Maggie,' he said, shook hands and leaving Haddon to 
settle the bill, he hurried out into the humid night.
     During the past hour, Maggie had been talking to Mike Bannion.  
They were seated in the comfortable lounge of the chalet, both having 
had dinner in the staff restaurant.
     Maggie had taken a liking to Mike.  He reminded her of her father 
who had been an army sergeant before being dishonourably discharged for 
large-scale pilfering.  Now dead, killed in a brawl, Maggie often 
thought of him.
     When he wasn't drunk, he had been devoted to Maggie, and she to 
him.  She had had no time for her mother, and when her father was 
killed, her one thought was to leave home.  At the age of thirteen, she 
had seduced the headmaster of her school.  He had gone to jail, and she 
had been put'into care'.  Escaping, she was taken up by a rich old roll6 
who was partial to young girls.  She learned a lot from him: her sexual 
technique became impressive.
     Six years as a call girl hadn't spoilt nor toughened her.  She 
was, Bradey had often thought, the blue-print of a whore with a golden 
heart.
     She had a warm, sympathetic streak in her that men could sense.  
She was used to men confiding their troubles to her, and she always 
listened, patted them, smiled at them and let them unburden.
     it wasn't long before Mike told her about his daughter, Chrissy.  
They had been sitting together, waiting for Bradey to return from his 
meeting with Haddon, and Maggie had told Mike about her father.
     'You remind me of him,' she said.  'Not in looks, but by the way 
you talk.  Soldiers talk alike.' 'I guess,' Mike said.  'You know, 
Maggie, I have never done a crooked thing in my life until now.' Maggie 
laughed.
     'I've wondered about that.  I'm not crazy about this business, but 
I'm crazy about Lu.  I would do anything for him.  What made you join 
with us, Mike?' So he told her about Chrissy.  Listening, Maggie became 
so moved, tears came to her eyes.
     'How awful!' she exclaimed when Mike had explained that the money 
Bradey was going to pay him would go to take care of Chrissy until she 
died.  'You mean the poor little thing will die in fifteen years time?' 
Mike nodded.
     'Why, that's terrible!' Maggie wiped a tear away.  'Mike, you are 
a marvelous father!' 'I love her,' Mike said quietly.  'My one thought 
is to provide for her.  That's the only reason why I'm doing this job.' 
He looked at Maggie.  'Will it work?' 'It'll work,' Maggie said.  'Lu 
is marvelous!  You don't think I want to go to jail?' She grimaced.  
'What a thought!
     But Lu told me it will work and I won't go to jail, so that means 
it will work, Mike.  Don't worry about that.' 'Lu isn't really an old 
man, is he?  When he leaves his wheel-chair, his movements are those of 
a young man.' 'He's younger than you are, Mike.  He is a great artist.
     Don't worry.' At this moment, they heard Bradey enter the chalet 
and walk quickly to the bedroom, he and Maggie shared.
     As he passed the living-room door, he called, 'Maggie!  I want 
you!' Maggie scrambled to her feet and ran into the bedroom, shutting 
the door.  Bradey was sitting at the dressing-table, quickly putting on 
his disguise.  He had no intention of letting Mike see what he really 
looked like.
     He was uneasy about Mike.  If something went wrong and Mike got 
into the hands of the police, he just might give them a description of 
Bradey as he really was, and that must never happen.
     'Hi, darling,' Maggie exclaimed, coming to him.
     He waved her away, intent on turning himself into an old man.
     'Babyl Work!  This reception clerk, Claude Previn.
     How's it going with him?' There was a snap in his voice that, 
startled Maggie.
     'Is something wrong, honey?' ' Don't yammer,' Bradey said, fixing 
his moustache.
     'How are you and Previn progressing?' 'He's so hot he's likely to 
burst into flames,' Maggie said.
     . He's off duty now?' 'Yes.' 'Can you contact him?' Maggie 
blinked.
     'You mean now?' 'Of course I mean now!  Don't be a pea-brain!' 
'Oh, Lu, you do sound cross!' Maggie said.  'I don't know if I can 
contact him.  I do have his telephone number.' 'Where does he live?' 
'He didn't tell me.' Bradey gave an exasperated sigh.
     'Call him!' He finished fixing his moustache, and began working 
age into the skin on his face.  'Now pay attention.
     You are going to him, wherever he is, and you're going to screw 
him stupid.  Understand?  When you have softened him up, you are going 
to find out where the hotel safe is located.' Maggie's eyes opened 
wide.
     'How do I do that, bon?' 'Tell him your patient is eccentric.  
He's expecting some valuable jewellery which he plans to give his 
daughter.
     He wants to know about the security system of the hotel, and where 
the safe is.  He will want to inspect the safe.
     Tell him you are scared of your patient and you don't want to lose 
your job.  Tell him your patient is very difficult.
     Are you with me?' Maggie thought for a long moment.  Bradey could 
almost hear her brain working.
     'But, Lu, pet, can't I tell him all this tomorrow when he's on 
duty, instead of having to go to bed with him?' 'No!  When we bust the 
safe, the cops will ask questions.
     don't want you to be involved.  Previn will keep his mouth shut 
rather than admit he has been having it off with you.' Maggie 
considered this, then she smiled.
     'I always thought you were smart, Lu.' Bradey pointed to the 
telephone.
     'Call him.' The following evening, Ed Haddon was sitting at the 
corner table of the sea-food restaurant, nibbling black olives, a 
double martini before him when Bradey came in.
     The nwitre d' arrived as Bradey sat down.
     'Have the Chicken Maryland,' Haddon said.  'It's good.' Bradey 
said the Chicken Maryland was fine with him.
     Haddon ordered a Scotch on the rocks for Bradey which arrived 
while the two men sat silently waiting.
     After Bradey had sipped his drink, he said, 'You asked for action, 
Ed.  You've got it.' 'No more than I expected.' Haddon grinned.  'As 
partners, we're the best.' As the waiter was fussing around, providing 
bread rolls, butter and canap6s, the two men relapsed into silence.  It 
wasn't until the chicken was served and the waiter had gone, Haddon 
said, 'You found out where the safe is?' Bradey cut off a portion of 
chicken breast, dipped it into a bowl of chilli sauce and conveyed it 
to his mouth.
     He chewed, nodded, said, 'This is great!' Haddon had never known 
anyone as devoted to food as Bradey.  In spite of his leanness, Bradey 
adored good cooking.  Haddon contained his impatience.  After five 
minutes while Bradey ate as if he hadn't eaten for a week, Haddon 
repeated his question.
     'The safe?' 'Gimme a minute,' Bradey said, cutting into the 
chicken thigh.  'You know something, Ed?' He was speaking with his 
mouth full.  'When I was a kid, I starved.  I'm not kidding.  if I got 
a bit of mouldy bread once a day, I was lucky.  My mum died of 
starvation.  Food is the most beautiful thing in life!' Haddon lost 
patience.
     'Lu!  The goddamn safe!' The rasp in his voice startled Bradey who 
reluctantly laid down his fork.
     'Maggie got the dope.  You'll never guess where the hotel safe is 
located.  You would have thought it was somewhere behind the reception 
desk where most safes are or even in the basement.  Right?' Haddon 
snarled , IWhere is it?' 'On the penthouse floor.  How do you like 
that?' Haddon absorbed this information, then grinned.
     'I love it.  Tell me.' 'Maggie got the reception clerk to bed.  
She spun him a yarn about her eccentric patient.  Maggie really knows 
her business, and Previn was drained dry.  So she fixed he should 
conduct me with Maggie to take a look at the safe.
     There's a special elevator up to the penthouse floor that leads 
right into the safe room.  The Warrentons wouldn't even know the safe 
room is up there.  What happens is this: every night, before the guests 
retire, they call the security guards and put their valuables into 
boxes: each box is numbered and the guests get a receipt.  The boxes 
are taken by this elevator to the safe.  This service begins at 23.00 
to 02.00.  After that time, the service packs up.
     Previn-the reception clerk-panting to get Maggie into his bed 
again, gave me a look-see.  This is strictly against hotel regulations, 
but Maggie sexed him with promises of yet another night.  The safe 
looks tough, but that's my business.  What the real problem is, once we 
bust the safe, is how to get all those boxes down from the penthouse 
floor and out of the hotel.  This needs thought.' Haddon nodded.
     'I'll give it thought too.' He ate while he brooded, then he went 
on, 'I've seen Kendrick.  He can handle the Warrenton diamonds.  He 
offers five million.  That means he will get six.  Fair enough.  But he 
is uneasy about the boxes.  They will have to be opened and the lot 
valued.
     This will take time.  The heat will be fierce.  The first suspect 
will be Kendrick.  I can see his angle.  Maybe I'll have to find 
another fence for the boxes.' Bradey grimaced.
     'Maybe it would be better to forget the boxes and go for the 
Warrenton diamonds.' 'If the safe had been anywhere else but on the 
penthouse floor, Lu, I would agree with you, but this is like a gift 
from the gods.  All this needs is more thought.  The Warrentons' 
diamonds, plus the contents of the boxes, will give us each something 
like eight million.' Bradey considered this.  Eight million!  What 
couldn't he do with a sum like that!
     'Tell me about the safe room and this elevator,' Haddon went on, 
watching the greed lighting up in Bradey's eyes.
     'The elevator is located on the top floor, then goes up, one 
floor, to the penthouse floor.  The elevator door on the top flood is 
concealed by a door marked Service.  Previn unlocked this door and 
Maggie pushed my chair into the cage.  There is a lock, instead of a 
button, on the elevator.
     Previn had a key.  Putting the key in the lock and turning the 
key, caused the elevator to rise up one floor and we moved into the 
safe room.  This room has no windows nor doors, but I saw there was a 
trap door in the ceiling which was probably a way of escape, onto the 
roof, in case of fire.' Haddon finished his chicken.
     'Okay, Lu, think about it.  Did you get a look at one of the 
security boxes?' 'Sure.  Previn showed me one.  The lock is for the 
birds.'  'If there were twenty boxes in that safe, how long would it 
take you to open all of them?' 'Half an hour,' Bradey replied promptly.
     'So, suppose, after you have grabbed the Warrentons' diamonds, you 
get into the safe room, open the safe, open the boxes, empty their 
contents into a sack, close the boxes, put them back and relock the 
safe.  Suppose you did that?' Bradey turned this suggestion over in his 
mind.
     'It'll need thought and organizing, Ed, but it's an idea.
     Give me a day or so to think about it, will you?' 'I'll have to 
talk to Kendrick again,' Haddon said.  'Yes, the night after tomorrow.  
We'll get this finalized.  Right?' 'The night after tomorrow here,' 
Bradey said, then, 'How about some of that apple pie I had the other 
night?
     It was good.'

     Five

     As the sun, like a crimson rim of fire, slid into the sea and dusk 
settled over the waterfront, Manuel Torres walked towards his fishing 
vessel.  He carried a canvas sack over his shoulder.  His bald head 
resembled an orange in the light of the fading sunset.
     He paused now and then to exchange greetings with other Cubans who 
were aimlessly waiting for the time when they could return to their 
shacks, hoping their wives would provide some sort of meal.
     There was a cold, gloomy expression on Manuel's face as he walked 
the gang-plank onto his vessel.  Carefully, he laid down the canvas 
sack, then pulled in the gang-plank.
     As he had approached his vessel, his eyes darted to right and 
left.  There were no signs of watching detectives, nor even a cop.
     He whistled to alert Fuentes that he was back, then picking up the 
sack, he walked the deck to the forward cabin which was in darkness.  
He had warned Fuentes not to put on the lights.  He had been away some 
six hours, and he felt sorry for Fuentes, sitting in the growing 
darkness, alone, but at least he had left him food.
     He entered the cabin, closed the door, then turned on the light.
     Fuentes, lying on the bunk, sat up.
     'You have taken your time!' he snarled.  'Do you imagine I like 
it, lying here, waiting and waiting?'  'My friend,' Manuel said 
quietly, 'you have no need to wait and wait.  You are not a prisoner.  
You have only to get up and walk away.  No one, except the cops, will 
stop you.' Deflated, Fuentes lay back on the hard mattress.
     'I'm worked up.  It is no fun being cooped up in this hot cabin 
for hours.  Forget it, Manuel.  I know you are doing your best for me, 
and I'm grateful.' Manuel began to unpack the canvas sack.
     'Tonight, we will eat well,' he said.  'Pasta, chicken, cheese.' 
Fuentes was studying Manuel's face, lit by the overhead lamp.  Manuel's 
dark, brooding expression alarmed him.
     'Is there something wrong?' he asked.  He got off the bunk and 
approached the table on which Manuel was laying out a pack of 
spaghetti, cans of tomato and chilli sauces an a p jump cic en.
     'We eat first,' Manuel said.  'I am hungry.' Although he hadn't 
emptied the sack, he pulled the strings, closing the sack and placed it 
carefully in a locker.
     'You have something else there?' Fuentes asked.
     'The bombs,' Manuel said.  'But first we eat.' He moved into the 
small galley.  After putting a saucepan of water on the gas ring, then 
turning on the electric grill, he opened the cans.  He put the chicken 
on the rotor spit.  His movements were methodical: his expression 
remained gloomy.
     Fuentes stood in the doorway of the galley, nervously watching 
Manuel.  He hadn't seen this man so thoughtful nor so gloomy before, 
and his nervousness increased.
     'Is there trouble?' he asked after, some minutes.
     'We eat.  Then we talk,' Manuel said, putting the spaghetti into 
the now boiling water.
     Fuentes returned to the cabin and set knives and forks.
     He then sat on the bunk and waited.
     Forty minutes later, the two men sat at the table, each with half 
a grilled chicken and a bowl of spaghetti, smothered in chilli and 
tomato sauces.
     Manuel wolfed down the food.  His face was still set in a gloomy 
mask.  Fuentes, uneasy, ate slowly.  He kept looking at Manuel, then 
away.
     Finally, he exploded, 'Manuel, my friend!  What has happened?  
Tell me for the love of God!' 'He is going to die,' Manuel said, 
finishing the last of the chicken.
     Fuentes stiffened.
     'You mean Pedro?' 'Who else?  I have talked to my friend at the 
hospital.
     There is now no hope.  It is a matter of time.  Pedro could 
survive for a week, even two weeks, but he is a dead man already.' 
Fuentes, who thought only of himself, relaxed.
     'So we don't need the bombs?' He had a horror of being connected 
with bombs.  'So we have less problems?' Manuel stared at him.  His 
little eyes were like black olives.
     'My friend, you are not thinking.  You seem to have forgotten what 
we are planning to do: you, Anita and me.' Fuentes stared at him.
     'You are wrong!  I know well what we plan to do!  We get into the 
penthouse of the hotel, hold these two rich people to ransom and leave 
for Havana with five million dollars.  Why do you say I am not 
thinking?' 'How do we get into the penthouse?' Fuentes flung up his 
hands in a gesture of impatience.
     'This has been arranged.  Anita has a duplicate pass-key.
     She will get us into the penthouse.  Why are you saying I am not 
thinking?' 'Now, you are not only not thinking, my friend, but you are 
not remembering,' Manuel said, cutting himself a piece of cheese.  'You 
have forgotten Anita promised to get us into the penthouse on one 
condition.' He leaned forward, staring at Fuentes.  'Pedro is to be 
released and travel with us to Havana.' Fuentes ran his fingers through 
his long, greasy hair.
     'But you tell me he is dying.'  'Now, my friend, you are 
beginning to see the problem.
     Yes, Pedro will be dead in a week or so.  Anita loves this man.  
She is ready to do anything to get him back with her.' Manuel cut 
himself another piece of cheese.
     'Women need understanding.  I understand them.  Money means 
nothing to her.  Her life is bound up with Pedro.  I have given my word 
to her that if she gets us into the penthouse, her man will be released 
and will go with us to Havana.  I have done everything possible to make 
Pedro's release certain.  I have two bombs that will create such 
pressure, Pedro NAII be released.' He shut his eyes and Fuentes could 
see he was in torment.
     There was a long silence while Fuentes watched Manuel with growing 
impatience, but this big man scared him, so he kept silent.
     'I gave my word to Anita,' Manuel went on, staring down at his big 
hands, resting on the table.  'I promised her I would get her husband 
released if she would get us into the penthouse.  That was the 
bargain.' 'I know,' Fuentes said, 'but Pedro is dying.' ' Yes.  That is 
without doubt.  So there is no bargain between Anita and myself.' 
Fuentes clutched his head in his hands.
     'Are you telling me we are going to lose five million dollars 
because this stupid woman who is so besotted with this useless creep, 
won't get us into the penthouse if she knows the bastard is dying?' 
Fuentes shouted.
     'That is what I am telling you.  A man like you wouldn't 
understand.  I am known as a man of truth.' Manuel paused, staring into 
space, then he went on.  'Five million dollars are involved.  It is 
said every man has his price.' Manuel wiped the sweat off his face.  
'Five million dollars!
     I have suffered hours to come to a decision.  Five million 
dollars!  With that kind of money many doors that have stayed locked to 
me will open.' 'You are forgetting my share,' Fuentes said sharply.
     Maneul's black, olive-like eyes were expressionless as he nodded.
     'Yes.  You get a million.  So four million dollars!' 'What is your 
decision?' Fuentes asked, the muscles in his fat face twitching.
     'I will have to lie to her.  To lie to her reduces me in my own 
eyes.  To have to lie to one of my people is an act of shame.' Manuel 
clenched his fists.  'You think only of money.  That I can understand.  
You are a poor man.  This lie that I will be forced to tell her will 
make a hole in my heart.' With an effort, Fuentes kept control of 
himself.  He wanted to scream at Manuel to stop acting like a goddamn 
ham.  Who cared about Anita?  What was she, anyway?  A nothing, like 
her creep of a husband!  But he restrained himself and remained silent. 
 No one screamed at Manuel without his fist smashing into their faces.
     'The bombs?' he asked, after a long silence.  'Will they be 
necessary now?' 'Of course.  We will have to act out the lie.  She is 
not stupid.  I will have to lie to her with the greatest care.' He got 
to his feet.  'Go to bed, my friend.  In half an hour, I meet Anita.  
We mustn't waste any more time.  If Pedro dies tomorrow or the day 
after, Anita might learn of his death, then there will be no five 
millions.  She must get us into the penthouse by the night after next.' 
'We will need guns,' Fuentes said.
     'All that is arranged.  Everything is arranged except for Anita's 
part in the operation.' Half an hour later, Manuel left his fishing 
vessel and walked along the waterfront, carrying the canvas sack that 
contained the two bombs.  He reached Anita's walk-up apartment, climbed 
the stairs and knocked on her door.
     Anita jerked the door open.  In the harsh overhead light, Manuel 
thought she looked ill.  There were dark patches under her eyes and she 
seemed to have shrunk.
     'Good news,' Manuel said as he moved into the little living-room.
     Anita's eyes ]it up as she closed the door.
     'Pedro?,  T Yes, Pedro.' Manuel placed the canvas sack on the 
table.  His thick lips moved into a false smile.  'I have just come 
from the hospital.  My friend there tells me Pedro has recovered 
consciousness, and his fever has abated.  In another two days, it will 
be safe to move him.' Anita stared at him.
     'I can't believe it!' she whispered.  'He was so ill.  In two 
days?  No, it can't be possible!' 'Antibiotics work miracles,' Manuel 
said, trying to avoid Anita's searching stare.  'My friend at the 
hospital tells me the cops are already trying to question your husband. 
 He is a fine lad, Anita!  You should be proud of him!  He refuses to 
tell them anything.  Even now, they don't know who he is.  He's 
protecting you.' Anita's face crumpled.  She turned away and ran into 
the tiny bedroom.  Listening to her sobs, Manuel closed his eyes.  
Would four million dollars ever erase this moment when he could no 
longer call himself a man of truth?
     He waited, sweat on his face, then as the sound of her sobs 
ceased, he moved silently to the door and peered into the bedroom.
     Anita was on her knees, her head bowed in prayer, thanking God for 
this miracle, and Manuel, grimacing, turned away.
     Ten minutes later, Anita came from the bedroom, looking a 
different woman.  She had bathed her eyes, combed her hair, and her 
hard expression told Manuel she was now the woman he needed to get them 
into the penthouse.
     'God has answered my prayers,' she said, catching hold of Manuel's 
right hand in both of hers.  'I have never ceased to pray.  God has 
listened to me!  Now, we must get Pedro home!  In two days, you say he 
can travel?' 'Yes, but there are a number of things to arrange in these 
two days,' Manuel said.  'First the bombs.' He went to the table and 
opened the sack, producing a black box the size and shape of a 
cigarette packet.  'This is the little bomb.  You must conceal it in 
the hotel lobby.' He took another black box from the sack.  This box 
was four times the size of the first box and wrapped in cellophane.  He 
laid the box carefully on the table.  'This is the big bomb that will 
destroy the kitchens.  I hope we don't have to use it.' Then he took a 
small box from the sack.  'This is the detonator.  You see these two 
buttons.  I press the top button and the small bomb explodes.  I press 
the second button and the big bomb explodes.  I will have this with me. 
 You will have the two bombs.' Anita moved forward and stared at the 
two boxes on the table.  Manuel watched her.  Her hard, determined 
expression gave him confidence.
     'I will hide these bombs , she said.  'You can rely on me.' 
'Good,' Manuel said.  'Tomorrow night, Fuentes and I will come here at 
midnight.  Then we three will go to the hotel.  You are still sure you 
can get us into the penthouse?' 'I am sure,' Anita said.
     'Then tomorrow night, here, at midnight.' Manuel moved to the 
door.
     She put her hand on his arm.
     'I trust you.  You are a good man.  I don't trust Fuentes, but you 
.  . .' She stared directly at him.  'Our people say you are a man of 
truth.  I do this only for Pedro.' Manuel moved out into the corridor.
     'All will be well,' he said, hating himself, but now only thinking 
what four million dollars would mean to his future.  'Tomorrow 
night,'and he walked down the corridor and down the stairs while Anita 
watched him.
     She closed and locked the door, then she went across the room, 
opened a drawer and took from it a stabbing knife that Pedro kept, 
explaining to her that there were times when a man had to protect 
himself.
     She pulled the knife from its sheaf.  She thought of josh 
Prescott, the hotel's night detective.  He was the menace.
     He was the only one to prevent her hiding the bombs.
      She regarded the glittering blade.  For Pedro, she would do 
anything: even take a life.
     She changed into a black sweat shirt and black trousers.
     She fastened the knife to her belt and pulled the sweat shirt down 
to conceal the knife.  Then she put the two bombs in a plastic sack.
     The time now was 01.  15.
     Leaving her room, she began the long walk to the Spanish Bay 
Hotel.
     Every man has a weakness, and Josh Prescott, the night detective 
at the Spanish Bay Hotel, was no exception.  He was a man of fixed 
routine.  He was also a man who was over fond of women.  Even he 
admitted that he was over-sexed.
     Mike Bannion, knowing this man was dangerous, had studied his 
routine.  At 01.00, Prescott patrolled the corridors of the hotel.  At 
01.40, he walked around the hotel lobby and the empty restaurants.  At 
02.00, he visited the kitchens, At 02.45 he patrolled the hotel grounds 
and the swimming-pool.  He was so punctual, Mike could set a watch by 
this routine.  This was Prescott's weakness.  Bannion had passed this 
information on to Bradey.
     So at 02.45, Maggie slid into the swimming-pool, now deserted, and 
in the bright overhead lights, she swam with the grace of a mermaid, 
and Prescott paused to stare.
     He had caught sight of her from time to time and had considered 
her some doll, but standing on the edge of the swimming-pool, watching 
her cavort, practically naked in a mini-bikini, he, as Bradey knew he 
would, reacted strongly to her sexy charms.
     Maggie, well versed, waved to him and swam to the steps.  She made 
a pretence of not being able to climb the steps, and Prescott hurried 
forward, taking her hand.
     Bradey, watching from the shadows, gave a nod of approval.  He 
moved silently and swiftly to the side entrance of the hotel, knowing 
Prescott would be fully occupied for at least half an hour.
     Even at this hour, there were people in the lobby, most of them 
half drunk, saying noisy good-byes before they went up to their various 
suites.
     Wearing a tuxedo, a carnation in his button-hole and a blond chin 
beard, Bradey walked without hesitation across the lobby to the 
elevators.  No one paid him any attention.  He was part of the 
background scene.
     At this hour the elevators were on automatic.  He entered one of 
the cages, pressed the top-floor button.
     Four minutes later, he had unlocked the door marked Service and 
entered the elevator that would take him to the safe room.
     it took him several minutes to adjust his implement to start the 
elevator.  He was quite relaxed, knowing the two security guards, by 
now, had collected the jewels and valuables from those in the various 
suites, and had stowed them away in the security boxes and had locked 
the boxes in the safe.
     Turning on the light, he examined the three locks of the safe.  No 
problem there, he told himself.  He would have to make and bend a piece 
of steel.  These locks were for the birds.  He was more interested in 
the fire-escape hatch in the ceiling.
     Pulling the bolt and easing the trap-door to fall, he climbed the 
ladder and came out into the moonlit night.
     With cat-like silence, he edged forward and looked directly down 
on the penthouse terrace.
     There, below, in dim lighting, were lounging chairs, several 
glass-topped tables and a splendid view of the beach and ocean.
     Lights came from the penthouse.  As he stood, watching, a shadow 
appeared, then Maria Warrenton wandered onto the terrace.  She was 
naked, except for her diamonds.
     Bradey regarded her, crouching now, his eyes only on the glitter 
of the diamonds that lit up like fire in the moonlight.
     Then Wilbur Warrenton came out onto the terrace.  He carried a 
Nikon camera with a flash attachment.
     While Maria posed against the penthouse railings, the moonlight 
directly on her, Wilbur photographed her.
     Watching, Bradey thought he would like to see the pnnts.  How 
these rich loved to show off!  This woman had a good body, and her 
sun-tanned skin set off the glittering diamonds, but in spite of the 
diamonds, Bradey decided, she wasn't in Maggie's class.
     'These will be fine,' Wilbur said.  'Now, let's go to bed.' Bradey 
watched Maria as she moved away from the railings and went to Wilbur, 
putting her arms around him.
     'We'll sleep late,' she said.  'Tired?' 'Well, it's been quite a 
day.  These diamonds are marvelous on you, and you are even more 
marvelous.' Together, they went into the penthouse and out of Bradey's 
sight.
     He remained motionless until the lights went out.
     Then, in the moonlight, he swung himself silently from the roof 
onto the terrace.
     The big glass doors of the penthouse were wide open and he smiled 
to himself.  This was going to be a very easy job.  He moved like a 
shadow into the big living-room.
     Tossed carelessly on one of the settees were the diamonds.  Bradey 
came to a halt, scarcely believing what he saw.  A faint light came 
from the master bedroom, and he heard Maria release a moan.
     'Yes, now, darling,' she exclaimed.  'Quickly .  . . nowl' Bradey 
was tempted to snatch up this fortune in stones, but remembering Haddon 
also wanted the contents of the boxes in the safe, he turned away.
     Tomorrow night!  he thought.  What a killing!
     He swung himself up onto the roof of the penthouse and down into 
the safe room.  Then getting into the elevator, he descended to the top 
floor.  He relocked the Service door, then satisfied, he took the 
elevator down to the first floor.
     The time now was 02.50.  Leaning over the staircase rail, he 
looked down into the hotel lobby.  There were still a few people 
talking, but they were moving to the elevators.
     Sure, Maggie was still keeping the hotel dick occupied, Bradey 
sauntered down the stairs.  He looked like just another departing 
guest.
     Five minutes later, he was back in his chalet.  Twenty minutes 
later, Maggie joined him in their bedroom.
     'Phew!' she exclaimed.  'He's quite a lover!  We had it off in the 
shrubbery.' Bradey, sitting on the bed, looked admiringly at her.
     'What a girl!  How about tomorrow night?' She stripped off her 
bikini.
     'We have a date.' She moved to the bathroom.  'He was just a 
little too keen.  Mind if I sleep, bon?  I'm truly flaked out.' Bradey 
grinned.
     'If ever a girl deserves her sleep you do,' he said.  'We do the 
job tomorrow night.' 'Honest?' 'Go take a shower.  Tomorrow night.' As 
he undressed, he thought of those diamonds, lying on the settee.  Would 
that careless bitch throw them on the settee tomorrow night?  Was it 
going to be that easy?
     He had a sudden cold feeling that he might have missed the 
opportunity of a lifetime.
     Anita, in her black sweat shirt and black trousers, moved 
invisibly through the grounds of the Spanish Bay Hotel.  She was 
heading for the staff entrance which meant she would have to circle the 
swimming-pool.
     She paused, seeing josh Prescott standing under the lights of the 
pool, and her heart skipped a beat.  Then she saw him helping Maggie 
out of the pool.  She watched Maggie, sex oozing out of her.  She 
watched them talk, then she watched Maggie catch hold of Prescott's arm 
and lead him away towards the flowering shrubs.
     No longer frightened of being caught by Prescott, Anita ran 
swiftly to the staff entrance.  With her duplicate pass-key, she let 
herself into the dark corridor and walked silently to the kitchens.
     Opening the door, she peered in.  She heard the clatter of 
crockery and cutlery and she guessed the two waiters were in the 
still-room, preparing the breakfast trays, but where was Dominic, the 
third chef?
     she slid into the dimly lit kitchen and looked across to the 
lighted chef's office.  She could see Dominic at the desk, reading.
     Moving fast, she reached the store room.  Lifting the lid of the 
flour bin, she used the scoop to make a deep hole in the flour.  She 
inserted the big bomb, pushing it gently down and then, breathing 
heavily, her heart racing, she buried the bomb.  Carefully, she 
smoothed over the surface of the flour, wiped her hands hastily on a 
towel by the bin, then moved swiftly out of the store room.
     As she began the long walk across the kitchens, the telephone bell 
began to ring in the chef's office.  She broke into a silent run, 
reached the door as one of the waiters came out of the still room.  He 
didn't look her way, but hurried into the chef's office.
     She heard Dominic call, 'Grilled ham and eggs for suite six .  . 
.' and she was running down the corridor, out through the staff 
entrance door and into the humid night.
     How long would Prescott be before be returned to the hotel?
     She ran around the hotel and up the entrance steps.
     She paused to look around.  The lobby was deserted.  The night 
porter was out of sight.  She moved into the lobby, looked wildly 
around for a hiding place for the little bomb.
     Across the lobby, she saw, on the wall, near the entrance to the 
restaurant, a large painted wooden carving of a Mexican woman.
     jean Dulac had discovered this carving in a wayside village some 
miles from Taxco, Mexico.  With his wide knowledge of antiques, he had 
recognized this carving to be of the Cortes period and had bought it.  
It now had pride of place in the lobby.
     Anita ran over to it.  Here, she found a crevice between the 
woman's breasts.  The little bomb fitted into the crevice as if it were 
made for it.
     A man's slurring voice said, 'A pretty thing, baby, but you are 
prettier.' Anita's heart ga@e a bound, then raced.  Her hand went to 
the hilt of her knife, concealed under her sweat shirt.
     She turned.
     A fat, white-haired man was sitting in a deep lounging chair, 
watching her.  His face was flushed and he looked half -asleep.
     'Where did you spring from?' he asked.
     Controlling her panic, Anita said, 'I'm just one of the cleaners.' 
'Pretty.  I guess I'll go to bed.' He levered himself out of the chair 
and came unsteadily towards her.  She could see he was very drunk.
     She slid around him and ran to the hotel's entrance.
     'Hey!  Don't run away,' the man exclaimed.  'How about a little 
kiss?' But she was now down the steps and into the night, running as 
she had never run before.  As she reached the entrance gates and began 
to run down the boulevard, she heard a voice she recognized.
     'Anita!' She paused, looking back.
     A battered Lincoln pulled out of the shadows and stopped by her.
     Manuel grinned at her.
     'I've been waiting,' he said.  'Okay?' 'Yes.' She shuddered.  'I 
said I would do it.  It is done!'  'Get in,' Manuel said, opening the 
passenger's door.
     'You are a splendid woman!' She ran around the car and scrambled 
in beside him.
     'Pedro?  Have you heard more news?' she asked.
     Manuel patted her knee.
     'I have just come from the hospital,' he lied.  'All goes 
wonderfully well.  There is talk of moving your husband to the prison 
hospital the day after tomorrow.  He refuses to tell them anything.  He 
thinks only of you, and is protecting you.  He is a fine young man as 
you are a fine young woman.' 'He is really so much better?' 'It is as I 
say.  Now tell me about the bombs.' As he drove her back to her home, 
Manuel listened to what she had done with the two bombs, her voice 
unsteady, tears of relief running down her face.  He listened, nodding 
approval, and yet there was in him this sick feeling that he was 
betraying her.
     But he kept thinking: five million dollars!  What couldn't he do 
with a sum like that!  He also thought of Fuentes.  To give such a 
hollow, worthless man a million would be absurd!  No, five million was 
always better than four million.  When the time came, he would get rid 
of Fuentes: a quick blow and then the sea.  It would be simple.
     As he pulled up outside Anita's apartment block, he patted her 
arm.
     'We do this tomorrow night.  We will come here and finalize our 
plans at midnight.  Okay?' She caught hold of his hand in both of hers.
     'Yes.  Tomorrow night.' She paused, then went on, 'My friend, I 
trust you.  You are known as a man of truth.
     Money means nothing to me.  All I want is Pedro, my husband.  I 
trust you.' Sour bile rose in Manuel's mouth.  He swallowed, grimacing 
as he again patted her arm.
     'Rely on me,' be said, unable to look directly at her.
     'You will have your husband.  Tomorrow night, then, at midnight.' 
'May God bless and keep you,', she said, and lifting his hand, she 
pressed her lips against his hard, scaly skin.
     'Go to bed , he said, snatching his hand away.  'Tomorrow night.' 
He watched her walk up the steps to the entrance of her home.  She was 
again crying.
     With a shiver, he wiped the back of his hand, wiping away the 
touch of her lips.  For a long moment, he sat staring through the dusty 
windshield of his car, hating himself, then with the thought of owning 
five million dollars, he lifted his heavy shoulders in a despairing 
shrug, shifted into gear and drove away.
     The following morning, in the air-conditioned livingroom of the 
hotel chalet, Lu Bradey sat in the wheel-chair in his disguise of an 
old man, shaping a small strip of steel with the aid of a file.
     Across the room, Mike Bannion watched him.
     Maggie had gone for a swim in the pool.  She had told Bradey, the 
previous night, about Mike's daughter, Chrissy, and because he had come 
to like this big ex-Army sergeant, Bradey had been shocked.
     A long silence had dwelt over the room except for the faint 
rasping sound of the file.  From time to time, Bradey had taken a swift 
glance at Mike, then away Breaking the silence, Mike said, 'You know 
your job.
     What is that for?' Bradey put down the file and flexed his 
fingers.
     'This bit of steel,-Mike, will open the safe.' He nodded.
     'I guess I do know my job.' He paused to light a cigarette.
     'Tonight, we do the job.  It should be easy.  Maggie told me about 
your little daughter.  I'm sorry.  You will get the money, Mike.  With 
luck, this job will be no problem.
     Does it worry you?'  Mike shook his head.
     'No.  If you say it'll be no problem, why should I worry?
     Like Maggie, I have lots of confidence in you.' Then a stabbing 
pain, like a red-hot knife, jerked him upright.
     He fought to control his agonized expression, but Bradey, looking 
at him, felt a qualm.
     'You're ill, aren't you, Mike?' he said.  'Look, we are working 
together.  I like you.  We have a big job to do.  If there is a 
cock-up, we'll all land in the slammer.  Each of us has a job to do.  
Maggie has to to e care of the hotel dick.  You have to put anyone 
unexpected out of action, I have to open the safe and get the Warrenton 
diamonds.
     We are a team.  Level with me, Mike.  You're ill, aren't you?' 
Mike stared down at his big hands for a long moment, then he looked at 
Bradey.
     'I'll be dead in six months,' he said.  'That's why I am doing 
this job.  I have a terminal cancer.' Bradey felt sweat turn his hands 
clammy.
     Terminal cancer!
     He had a horror of death.  Here was this big, disciplined man 
telling him his big disciplined body would be in a box in six months' 
time, and yet, there was almost a serene expression in Mike's eyes.
     'I don't give a damn about myself,' Mike said.  'I have had a good 
life.  It's just one of those things, but I care a lot about my 
daughter.  Don't worry.  I need the money.  I won't let you down.' 
Bradey leaned forward, staring at Mike.
     'Tonight, Mike.  Suppose you get one of those pains when I need 
you most?  Look, for God's sake, level with me.  If you don't really 
think you can handle this job, we'll call it off.  We can get out of 
here.  I don't want to land in jail.  I don't want Maggie to land in 
jail.  For God's sake, Mike, level with me!' Mike looked directly at 
him.
     'I won't let you down , he said, slowly and distinctly.  'I will 
do this job you hired me for.  I have pain-killing pills.  I hate 
pills, but tonight, I will use them.  I give you my word, I'll do what 
you want me to do.' Bradey, staring at this big man who was staring 
back at him, felt a surge of confidence.
     'Okay, Mike,'he said.  'I don't have to tell you how sorry I am.  
I damn well am!  Okay, coming from you, I know you'll do the job.' ' At 
this moment, Maggie came in, wrapped in her towelling coat.
     'I'm starving!' she exclaimed.  'When do we eat?' 'Maggie, baby,' 
Bradey said, 'you can make a complete hog of yourself.  We'll be out of 
here tonight, and I won't have to foot the bill.  We'll be off.' Maggie 
squealed with excitement.
     'You mean I can eat what I like?' 'That's what I mean,' Bradey 
said.  'You can work through the whole goddamn menu.  Now, get us a 
drink.' While Maggie made gin martinis which Mike refused, Bradey went 
through the plan of operation.
     'As soon as Maggie has got this house dick in the shrubbery, we 
move in,' he said to Mike.  'I've all the equipment we need.  This you 
can leave to me.  First, we empty the security boxes, then we go down 
to the penthouse terrace.  If the Warrentons aren't asleep, you will 
dart them.  We collect the diamonds, then we walk out.  There's nothing 
tricky about this.  We go into operation as soon as Maggie handles the 
dick: around 02.45.  At that time, there are few people around: most of 
them half drunk.  We return here, wait for Maggie, take the Rolls and 
away we go.  I'm seeing the boss after dinner.  He'll set up a 
meeting-place.  I'll have all that fixed by the time we begin the 
operation.' Maggie sipped her drink.
     'Oh, bon, I'll be sad to leave this lovely place.  I've so enjoyed 
it.' 'There are other places,' Bradey said.  He looked at his watch.  
'I guess we can eat.' Maggie clapped her hands.
     'Let's go!  I'm starving!' 'When ever aren't you?' Bradey said.  
'How about you, Mike?' Wrestling with another stabbing pain, Mike 
forced a grin.
     'I guess I'll stay here.  Have a ball!' 'You mean you are not 
going to eat?' Maggie cried, her eyes popping wide.
     'Maggie!' Bradey snapped.  'Wheel me to the restaurant!  Not 
everyone is such a hog as you!' Startled, Maggie took hold of the 
wheel-chair and manoeuvred it out of the chalet.
     'Imagine!  With all this gorgeous free food, and he's not 
interested!' she said, as she rushed the wheel-chair towards the 
terrace restaurant.
     'Slow down!' Bradey snapped.  'Do you think you're competing in 
the Grand Prix?' Maggie reluctantly slowed down.
     'I'm hungry, bon,' she whined.
     'Don't repeat yourself!' Bradey said.  He decided he wouldn't tell 
Maggie that Mike was a dying man.  He knew Maggie was hopelessly 
sentimental.  If she knew Mike would be dead in a few months time, she 
could collapse in snivelling tears and be utterly useless for the 
operation ahead.
     As Maggie manoeuvred the wheel-chair onto the terrace restaurant, 
as the nwitre d' came swiftly to her side, Bradey relaxed.
     You either win or lose, he thought as Maggie steered the 
wheel-chair to their corner table.
     Eight million dollars!
     This was the big take!
     He had surveyed the penthouse.  He knew he could open the safe and 
the boxes containing these too rich people's valuables.  He was sure he 
would get the Warrenton diamonds.  The deal looked good.  He had 
confidence in Mike, in spite of his illness.  He knew for certain 
Maggie would keep the hotel dick occupied.
     Eight million dollars!
     It was as good as being in his Swiss bank!
     The thought made him hungry.  Taking the menu from the maitre d', 
he glanced at the Table d'h6te: a five-course lunch.
     'We'll take the lot,' he said, I and a bottle of your best wine.' 
Maggie gave a squeal of excitement that startled the old people already 
eating.
     As the sun began to rise, Manuel Torres was busy with his boat.  
In the forward cabin, Fuentes lay sweating on the bunk, listening to 
Manuel's activities.
     Fuentes was frightened to come out on deck, so he stifled in the 
little cabin, wondering if there was a cop patrolling the harbour, and 
cursing Manuel for ignoring him.
     It wasn't until after midday that Manuel came down into the cabin.
     'What the hell have you been doing?' Fuentes snarled.
     'I've been lying here in this goddamn heat .  . .' 'Yes, my 
friend,' Manuel said.  'I am sorry for you, but soon now, you will be 
home.  Have patience.' He went into the galley.
     Wiping the sweat off his face, Fuentes went to the door of the 
galley.
     'What is happening?' he demanded.  'How much longer do I have to 
stay in the cabin?' Manuel put a pot of water on the stove.  He threw 
in salt.
     'My boat is ready to sail,' he said.  'We do the job tonight.  We 
meet Anita at her place at midnight.  We finalize the operation.' As 
the water began to boil, he fed in sticks of spaghetti.  'In a few 
days, we leave for Havana with five million dollars in my boat.  We 
take Warrenton as hostage.  No one will'dare stop us.'  Fuentes sucked 
in his breath.  He felt suddenly elated.
     How smart he had been to have gone to this man for help!
     Of course the boat!  He had imagined they were going to hijack a 
plane!  How much safer in a boat!  With this rich man as hostage, there 
would be no problem.  A perfect plan!
     'You are a great man, Manuel!' he exclaimed.  'It is a splendid 
idea!' Manuel began to cut up onions and tomatoes.
     'Go away,' he said.  'I have much to think about.  I think better 
alone.' Fuentes, knowing he was incapable of thinking, withdrew to the 
cabin.  In a few days, Manuel had said, they would be on their way to 
Havana with five million dollars.
     Manuel was a man of truth.  When he said something, that something 
would happen.  All the Cubans in this small colony had said so.  They 
all said repeatedly@ 'Manuel Torres is a man of truth.  What he 
promises happens.' Fuentes sat back on the bunk, his hands gripped 
between his knees.  In a few days he would be worth a million dollars!  
The very thought of such a vast sum made his brain reel.
     A million dollars!
     What would he do with such a sum?  Perhaps buy a farm?  He shook 
his head.  No, to work a sugar cane farm was too hard.  Fuentes had 
left his home town because the daily cutting of sugar canes had been 
more than he could bear.  Perhaps a boat?  He could get a crew together 
and fish.  He imagined himself, like Manuel, owning a big fishing 
vessel, but he wouldn't work as Manuel did who didn't even have a crew 
to help him.
     He sat, thinking.
     A million dollars!
     No, he was thinking like a peasant, he told himself.
     Sugar canes!  Fishing!  Ridiculous!  He would find a girl.
     With a million dollars, girls would be easy to find.  He would buy 
a cafe-bar.  The girl would run it and he would be the important 
patron, walking around, talking, meeting friends.  Yes, this would be 
his future life!
     Manuel came into the cabin and set down a big bowl of spaghetti.
     'We eat,' he said.
     It wasn't until the meal was over and Manuel was relaxed that he 
began to talk.
     'I want you to know, my friend , he said, staring directly at 
Fuentes, 'that this operation is not without its problems.' Fuentes, 
who imagined that there could be no problems with Manuel in control, 
stiffened.
     'Problems?  What problems?' he asked nervously.
     Manuel lit a cigarette and placed his big hands on the table.  He 
looked beyond Fuentes at the dirty wall of the cabin as if Fuentes 
wasn't there, and he was talking aloud to himself.
     'We will get into the penthouse because Anita has a duplicate 
pass-key.' He said.  'That is the first step.  Then we capture these 
two rich people, tie up the woman and make the man telephone his father 
in Texas.  His father will collect the five million dollars.  This will 
take a little time.  It has to be in cash: the bills no larger than a 
hundred dollars.  This means, my friend, a lot of bills.  He will be 
warned not to go to the police.  With all his money, I am sure there 
will be no problem.  I will explain to him that we will be leaving by 
boat and with his son, as hostage.  When we arrive in Havana or some 
place, his son will be released.  You take your share.  I will then 
sail for some place with the rest of the money.  All this seems to me 
acceptable.  No police.  No problems.' He paused and shifted his gaze 
down to Fuentes.  'Do you agree?' Fuentes shifted uneasily.
     'Yes, but you said just now there were problems.' He ran his hand 
over his sweating face.  'Now you are telling me there are no problems, 
I don't understand,' 'My friend, you easily forget,' Manuel said 
quietly.  'Our big problem is the wife of Pedro.'  Fuentes stared at 
him.
     'Yes, but what is a woman?  If she makes difficulties, I will slit 
her throat.' Manuel shook his head.
     'Then the cops will come into this.  You are not thinking.  There 
must be no killing.  So far, with my plan, the cops won't come into it. 
 The father will give us the money, and we go.  No cops.  If we kill 
Anita, what do we do with her body?  We leave with this rich man, 
warning his wife to say nothing or else we kill him.  No one will know 
what is happening.  We get on the boat and sail away, but if we kill 
Anita, we are in the shit.  Do you understand?' Fuentes' sluggish mind 
tried to absorb what Manuel was saying, but he kept thinking of the 
million dollars he would soon be owning.  He forced himself to think, 
then a cunning smile lit up his fat face.
     'Is it such a problem?' he asked.  'We will all get on the boat, 
and when at sea, I will slit her throat.  She will be for the sharks.' 
Leaning forward, Manuel tapped his thick finger on the table as if 
spelling out each word.
     'This is no- ordinary woman.  How do we get her on the boat 
without her husband who is dying and could be dead by now?' Fuentes 
gave up.  This was something his sluggish mind couldn't cope with.
     'So what do we do?' he asked.  'You tell me I can't kill her.  You 
tell me she won't leave the penthouse without this stupid husband of 
hers.  What do we do?' Manuel nodded.
     'This is the problem.  Unless I solve it, there will be no money 
for either of us.' He clenched his fists and slammed them down on the 
table.  'I have to solve this problem!' Fuentes sat back.  This was 
beyond him.  He waited.
     Manuel again appeared to be talking to himself, staring at the 
wall above Fuentes' head.  'I must lie to her: lie and lie and lie.  I 
must have this money!  My whole future will change with this money!  I 
must lie to her!  I must make her believe that she will have her 
husband.  I must talk softly to her until I get her onto my boat.  Yes, 
you are right, my friend, if, and only if, she becomes difficult, after 
she knows she is not getting her husband, then I will leave her to 
you.' He put his hands on his bald head and groaned.  'My people trust 
me.  She trusts me.  By doing this thing I am no longer a man of truth. 
 For years now, I have lived as a man of truth.' Listening, suddenly 
into Fuentes' small, cunning mind came a frightening thought.
     if this man of truth could forsake the truth and betray one of his 
people, how safe was the million dollars this man of truth had promised 
to give him?
     Suppose when they were on the boat with five million dollars, and 
Manuel had told him to slit Anita's throat?
     Would it stop there?  Would this man of truth decide five millions 
were better than four?  Would he suddenly club him and throw him after 
Anita to be eaten by the sharks?
     He felt a shudder of fear run through him.
     Manuel wasn't looking at him.  He was now staring down at his big 
hands.
     'This is the only solution.  I must lie to her,' he muttered, 'and 
may God forgive me.'

      Six

     in a sour mood, Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski sat at his desk in 
the detectives' room of the Paradise City Police headquarters.  He was 
thumbing through the previous night's crime sheet reports, and 
muttering to himself.
     His sour mood was caused by an argument he had had with his wife, 
Carroll: an argument he invariably lost and this soured him.
     Lepski liked his bed.  He had always a rush to get to police 
headquarters on time, but this didn't worry him.
     He had the rush timed to a second.
     There was nothing he liked better than his breakfast: three eggs, 
grilled ham, toast, jam and coffee.  At 07.15
     Carroll rolled out of bed, went to the kitchen and prepared this 
meal while Lepski shaved, showered and threw on his clothes.
     This morning, he had put on his shirt and was struggling into his 
trousers when his nose twitched.  He couldn't smell the usual 
appetizing smell of grilling ham nor could he hear the sizzling of 
frying eggs.  Puzzled, he zipped his trousers, then started towards the 
kitchen to find Carroll standing in the bedroom doorway, holding a 
juicy-looking ham steak at the end of the fork.
     I Hi, honey,' Lepski said, pausing.  'How's my breakfast?' 'No 
clean shirt .  . . no breakfast,' Carroll said in her bossy voice.
      'Shirt?' Lepski gaped.  'What's a shirt to do with my 
breakfast?' 'You have not put on the clean shirt I put out for you last 
night.' Lepski made a noise that would have startled a wild cat.
     'Nothing's the matter with this goddamn shirt!  Let's have 
breakfast.' 'That shirt is filthy!' Carroll said.  'Have you no pride?' 
'Pride?  What the hell has pride to do with my breakfast?' 'Le'pski!  
You have worn that shirt for three days,' Carroll said, slowly and 
distinctly.  'It is a disgrace!  I took the trouble to put out a clean 
one.  Put it on!' 'One more day won't hurt.  Let's have breakfast!' 'I 
will not have you, as a first Grade detective, looking like a bum!  No 
clean shirt .  . . no breakfast!' Lepski hesitated.  Time was running 
out.  He wanted his breakfast, and seeing Carroll's determined stare, 
he moaned and tore off the offending shirt, scattering buttons.  As he 
was putting on the clean shirt, Carroll gave a nod, then retired to the 
kitchen.
     He was ten minutes late arriving at police headquarters.  Max 
Jacoby was about to ride him, but seeing Lepski's sour expression 
decided to keep his mouth shut.
     'Cubans!' Lepski suddenly exploded.  'Look at this mess last 
night!' He waved the crime reports in jacoby's direction.  'Every 
goddamn night, these jerks start trouble!  Refugees!  Florida is 
getting as bad as Chicago!' 'Well, it keeps us employed,' Jacoby said.
     The telephone on Lepski's desk came alive.
     He snatched up the receiver and bawled, 'Lepski!' 'This is Larry.  
The fink who shot those two in the rent grab is coming to the surface.  
The quack says we can talk to him for three minutes.  Do you want me to 
talk to him or you?' The!' Lepski shouted.  'I'll be over there in ten 
minutes.' He slammed down the receiver.  'Come on, Max.
     This rent killer is coming to the surface.  Let's go!' On the way 
to the hospital with Lepski driving, Jacoby said , That's a pretty 
snappy shirt you're wearing, Tom.' Lepski looked suspiciously at him, 
wondering if he was being conned.
     'You think so?' 'Sure do.  I don't know how you manage to wear so 
many clean shirts.' Lepski looked smug.
     'It's a matter of pride.  After all, I'm the top cop around here.  
A top cop has to look well dressed.  Talking about shirts, Max, that 
rag you're wearing is a disgrace.' 'I guess.'Jacoby sighed, 'but then I 
haven't a great girl like Carroll to look after me.' Lepski scowled.
     'what's she to do with it?  Okay, she fixes the laundry, but 
anyone with pride should change his shirt every day.
     You'd better watch it.' 'Yeah.' Jacoby sighed.  'I'll watch it.' 
Dr.  Gerald Skinner, the head of the Paradise City Hospital, received 
them in his office.  He was tall, thin, balding and busy.
     'I understand you two officers want to interview this Cuban,' he 
said.  'I must make it plain that he is dying.
     There are favourable signs that he is recovering consciousness, 
but whether or not he will be coherent remains to be seen.' 'He's 
really going to croak?' Lepski asked, aware that he had shot down the 
young Cuban.
     Skinner shrugged.
     'I would have thought so, but he is young.  We could just pull him 
through.  The signs are not favourable.  In intensive care, he might 
survive, and he's getting the best attention.' Lepski snorted.
     'He's killed two people.  Who cares?' Skinner looked coldly at 
him.
     'We care,' he said.  'We have a reputation here for saving lives, 
no matter what kind of life.  I'll ask you to keep your interview with 
this man short.' 'Okay, Doc.' Skinner pressed a bell push and a nurse 
came in.
     'Take these two officers to room six,' he said.  'Good day to 
you,' and nodding, he picked up a bulky file.
     Following the nurse, Lepski and Jacoby entered the room, set aside 
for Pedro Certes.  By his bed, Larry Stevens, third-grade detective, 
sat in utter boredom.  His round, freckled face lit up when he saw 
Lepski.
     'The creep's making noises,' he said, getting to his feet.
     'Okay for me to have breakfast?' 'Go ahead, Larry.  Leave him to 
me.' Lepski sat in the vacant chair by the bedside.  Jacoby pulled up 
another chair and sat down, hopefully taking out his notebook and 
pencil.
     Lepski regarded the man, lying in bed, and he grimaced.  If ever 
there were signs of death, they were on the thin, white face of this 
Cuban.
     They waited.
     Five minutes crawled by, then Lepski began to lose patience.  He 
took hold of Pedro's hot, thin wrist and gave it a sharp shake.
     Pedro moaned, then opened his eyes.
     'How are you feeling, son?' Lepski asked.  His gentle voice 
startled Jacoby who had never heard Lepski in a kindly role.
     Pedro groaned and closed his eyes.
     Listen, son, who are you?' Lepski asked, slowly and distinctly.  
'What's your name?' Pedro's eyes slowly opened.
     'Go to hell,' he mumbled, and closed his eyes.
     'Son, I have to tell you something.  You are a very sick boy, and 
the doc tells me you're not going to make it, In a little while, you 
will be an unidentified corpse if you don't tell me your name,' Lepski 
said.  'Do you want that to happen?' Pedro opened his eyes and stared 
at Lepski.
     'An unidentified corpse,' Lepski repeated, a sad note in his voice 
that made Jacoby stare.  'Now, we don't like talking about this, but a 
lot of bums die in this city.  We had an old rummy who died the other 
day.  He had no papers.  No one knew who he was.  We tried to find his 
next of kin, but no one came forward.  When the city gets landed with 
an unidentified corpse, know what happens?
     Funerals cost money.  This old rummy was wrapped in a rubber sheet 
and was taken out to sea and fed to the sharks.  You wouldn't want that 
to happen to you, would you, son?' Listening, Jacoby gaped.  He nearly 
spoilt Lepski's lies by protesting, but Lepski gave him his cop scowl 
and he controlled himself.
     'No one wants to finish up as a shark's dinner, do they?' Lepski 
went on.  'If we know who you are, we can contact your family or your 
wife if you're married, and you'll be buried decently.  You don't want 
to be chucked into the sea, do you?' Pedro shivered, and a shadow of 
horror crossed his face.  Knowing Cubans were not only religious but 
also superstitious, Lepski waited.
     After a pause, Lepski went on, 'So, son, help us to give you a 
decent funeral.' He leaned forward.  'What's your name?' Pedro's 
breathing became uneven.
     'sharks?' he mumbled.
     'Yes, son, you know there are hungry sharks waiting out in the bay 
for a meal;' Pedro shuddered.
     'My name is Pedro Certes,' he finally whispered.
     Still using his soft, kindly voice, Lepski asked, 'Where do you 
live, Pedro?' 'Twenty-seven, Fish Road, Seacomb,' Pedro muttered after 
a long hesitation.
     'Have you a wife, Pedro?  We'll go along and talk to her to give 
you a decent funeral.' 'Anita.' 'What does she do, Pedro?  Where does 
she work?' 'She works.  Pedro gave gasping sighs, closed his eyes and 
his face went slack.
     'Get the nurse!' Lepski said sharply.  'Looks like he's going to 
croak.' As Jacoby jumped to his feet, the nurse came in.
     'Time's up,' she said briskly.
     'He's in a state,' Lepski said.
     The nurse came to the bed, took Pedro's pulse, then shrugged.
     'He'll last a little longer,' she said, indifferently.  'Off you 
two go.  I've things to do to him.' Out in the passage, Jacoby said, 
'That shark con was pretty rough, wasn't it?' 'It worked, didn't it?  
Now for Fish Road.' Ten minutes later, the two detectives were talking 
to the Cuban janitor in charge of the shabby block of apartments where 
the Certes lived.
     The janitor was a short, fat man with a black moustache and small 
cunning eyes.
     'Pedro Certes?  Sure, he lives here.  Top floor, left.' 'Is his 
wife at home?' 'No.  She works.' 'Where does she work?' The janitor 
liked Anita.  He had no time for Pedro, but Anita always passed the 
time of day with him.  He wasn't giving out any information about Anita 
to a cop.  His face went blank.
     'I don't know.' Lepski snorted.
     'We want to find her fast.  This is an emergency.  Her husband is 
dying.  We want to take her to him.' The janitor sneered.
     'One of our people is dying so two cops come for his wife.  That's 
a big deal.' 'Do you or don't you know where she works?' Lepski barked.
     'I told you.  I don't.' 'What time does she get back from work?' 
The janitor knew Anita's hours, but this he wasn't going to tell a cop. 
 He shrugged.
     'How do I know?  Late, sometimes.  I don't know.' 'what's she look 
like?' 't a description o Anita, So these two smart cops hadn the 
janitor thought.  That was good news.
     'Look like?  Like any Cuban woman: dark, very fat, wears her hair 
on the top of her head.' That was as far as he could think of to 
mis-describe Anita.
     'What age?' 'How do I know?  Any age.  Twenty, thirty, something 
like that.' Lepski grunted, knowing he wasn 't going to get any useful 
information from this Cuban.  He jerked his bead at Jacoby, then walked 
into the street.
     'These goddamn Cubans all stick together,' he said.
     'We'll have to stake out the place.  You stick around, Max.
     I'll get two boys down here to relieve you.  Check the papers of 
every Cuban woman, fat or thin, who goes into the building.' 'Nice 
job,' Jacoby said bitterly.
     Lepski grunted, got in his car and headed fast for headquarters.
     A few minutes later, the janitor came out onto the street, 
carrying a trash can which he dumped on the sidewalk.  He spotted 
Jacoby, trying to interest himself in a display of fishing tackle in a 
shop window nearby.
     - The janitor returned to his apartment.  He stood for a long 
moment in thought, then he called for his son: a dark-eyed, 
bright-looking boy of twelve years of age.
     'You know Manuel Torres's boat,'his father asked him.
     'Course I do!  I know all the boats.' 'Right.  Go there,fast.  
Tell Mr.  Torres that the cops have been here, asking for Mrs.  Certes. 
 Tell him they are watching our place.  Understand?' The boy nodded and 
leaving the building, passing Jacoby with a sly grin, he ran towards 
the waterfront.
      Maria Warrenton had left her bathroom in such a mess, Anita was 
late leaving the hotel.  As she began the long walk back to Seacomb, 
Manuel's battered Lincoln pulled up beside her.
     'Get in, Anita,' he said.
     Anita opened the passenger's door and scrambled in.
     'It's not Pedro?  He's not worse?' she asked, her voice trembling.
     'No, he is okay.' Manuel shifted into gear and drove down a side 
road that led to the waterfront.  'You mustn't go home.  The cops are 
asking for you.' Anita gasped, covering her face with her hands.
     'The cops?' 'Yes.  Now don't get upset,' Manuel said.  'You must 
stay on my boat until it is time for you to go to the hotel to work.  
You must keep off the streets.  I understand the cops haven't a 
description of you.  They questioned your janitor and he told them 
nothing, but it will be safer for you to stay on my boat a little 
while, then we can arrange what we have to do tonight.' 'But how did 
they find my address?'Anita asked.  'Pedro would never have given it to 
them.' This Manuel didn't believe.  He felt sure the cops had talked to 
Pedro, and although he was dying, they had got his name and address out 
of him.
     'Pedro?  No, certainly not!  Some informer.  Even with our people, 
there are informers,' Manuel said.  'Don't worry about it.  All will be 
well.' He pulled up near his fishing vessel.  'Now, we will make final 
plans.' In the forward cabin, they found Fuentes lying on the bunk.  He 
sat up, staring at Anita.
     'what's she doing here?' he demanded.
     'It is unfortunate,' Manuel said quietly, sitting at the table.  
'The cops are looking for her.  She will stay here until she goes to 
work.' Fuentes began to speak, but Manuel silenced him with a wave of 
his hand.
     'Sit down, Anita.' When she sat at the table, he went on, 'What 
time tonight should we begin the operation?' 'Twelve-thirty,' Anita 
said without hesitation.  'Everyone will be away from the suites.  The 
hotel detective begins patrolling the corridors at one o'clock.  The 
staff will be busy finishing in the kitchens.  That is the time.' 'What 
time do you finish your work?' 'Just after ten o'clock.  Give me a 
piece of paper and a pencil.  I'll draw you a plan how to get to the 
staff entrance.' Manuel produced paper and pencil and watched Anita 
draw the plan.  While she was doing this, he glanced at Fuentes and 
gave him a nod to tell him Anita knew what she was about.
     She passed him the paper.
     'You see?' Manuel studied the plan for some moments, then he 
nodded.
     'So we come by the back, that is Ranch Road.  We come down by the 
golf course, then down a little path leading to the staff entrance?' 
'Yes.' 'Are there any problems?' 'No, but be careful not to be seen.' 
'Then what happens?' 'At exactly twelve-thirty, I will open the staff 
door.  You must be there to come in immediately.  There will be no one 
about.  I will take you to the basement elevator and we go up to the 
top floor.  The penthouse suite where the Warrentons are has a private 
elevator.  We walk up the stairs and I will unlock their door.' 
'Suppose they are in?' 'They are never there until well after 
one-thirty.  I will relock the door and we will go out onto the terrace 
and wait for them.  The rest I leave to you.'  Manuel thought about 
this, aware that Fuentes was watching him.
     Finally, he said, 'It sounds good.' 'Manuel,' Anita said quietly.  
'It is understood that my husband comes with us.' There was a long 
pause.  Fuentes ran his fingers through his long, greasy hair.  Manuel 
stared down at the scarred table, then he looked up and stared directly 
at Anita.
     'Yes,' he said.  'That has always been understood.  Pedro is 
recovering, but, Anita, by coming with us on my boat, he could have a 
relapse.  He is still very sick.' Anita stiffened.
     'If you don't promise that he comes with us, I do not open the 
staff door,' she said firmly.
     'I understand your feelings.  You are a fine woman, but let us 
look more closely at the problem,' Manuel said, iving her a forced 
sympathetic smile.  'We have all we need to put on the pressure: two 
bombs and the Warrentons, but your husband is still very sick, In two 
weeks, he could travel without causing a relapse, but now the cops are 
looking for you, we can't wait two weeks.  Our plan must begin tonight. 
 I will now go to the hospital and talk to my friend and find out if 
Pedro can be moved.  If he says he can, then there is no problem, but 
if he tells me it would be dangerous for Pedro to take a sea voyage, 
then I have another suggestion to make to you.' Anita sat motionless, 
staring at Manuel.  He felt uneasiness run through him.  Her big black 
eyes were probing and hard.
     'What other suggestion?' Her voice was low and harsh, 'That we 
need not discuss for the moment.' Manuel got to his feet.  'I will now 
go to the hospital and talk to my friend.  I am hoping there will be no 
alternative.  I will be back in an hour.' 'I will wait,' Anita said, 
'but it is understood that unless Pedro comes with us, I open no 
doors.' 'It is understood,' and Manuel left the cabin, crossed the 
gang-plank, got in his car and drove away.
     Fuentes stared at Anita, his eyes glistening with hate.
     The longed to pull out his knife and slit her throat.  A million 
dollars, if he was lucky, was within his reach, but this woman could 
foul up the whole operation.
     Anita didn't look at him.  She stared down at her clenched fists.
     'Manuel is a man of truth,' Fuentes said.  'You must do what he 
says.  You must be reasonable.' Anita looked up.  The expression in her 
eyes made Fuentes slinch.
     'You did this!  It was you who persuaded my husband to (to this 
dreadful thing!  You gave him the gun!  Don't speak to me!  May God 
punish you!' Fuentes had nothing to say.  He lay back on the bunk and 
stared up at the roof of the cabin.  This woman was dangerous, he 
thought.  What lie would Manuel find to tell her?
     When Lepski told Sergeant Joe Beigler that he now had the name of 
the rent killer and it was important to locate the killer's wife, 
Beigler, sipping coffee, said Lepski had done a smart job.  However, 
when Lepski said he wanted two men down to Fish Road to stake out the 
apartment block and to relieve Jacoby, Beigler stared at Lepski as if 
he had asked for a ton of gold.
     'I haven't two men to spare,' Beigler said, after a long pause.
     'That's your headache.  I want the joint staked out.  I can't find 
out where this woman works, so the best thing is to catch her when she 
returns from work,' Lepski said patiently as if explaining to an idiot 
child.
     Beigler drank more coffee.
     'You know what I'd do if I were a smart first-grade detective?' he 
asked.  'I might add that I am not a smart first-grade detective, but a 
very smart sergeant.  Now, if I wanted to know where some Cuban woman 
worked, know what I would do?' Lepski loosened his tie.  When Beigler 
became patronizing, Lepski's blood pressure rushed up.
     'I'll buy it,' he snarled.
     Beigier sat back, a smug smile on his freckled face.
     'Being a very smart sergeant, and being in charge of this cop 
house while the chief is away, I would go down to the City Hall and 
inquire at the Aliens and Immigration office where they keep records of 
every Cuban working in our city and where they work.' Lepski gaped at 
him.
     'How the hell should I know that?' 'You wouldn't, but I do know 
these things being a very smart .  . .' But Lepski had already rushed 
away.  He flung himself into his car and drove to the City Hall.
     At the back of the City Hall, he found the Alien and Immigration 
office with a long queue of shabby-looking Cuban refugees waiting to 
register.
     Lepski had no time for Cubans.  He bulldozed his way into the big 
office where Cuban men and women were being interviewed.
     Shoving his way to the head of the queue, he was confronted by a 
young woman, sitting behind a long -counter, completing a card.  The 
plaque before her told him she was Miss Hepplewaite.
     He regarded her and decided she was a smarty pants, good-looking 
and efficient.
     'Miss Heppiewaite?' He flashed his shield.  'Detective Lepski.' 
She didn't look up, but continued to complete the card.
     Lepski wasn't to know that she had had an argument with a cop for 
a parking infringement that morning and had been given a ticket.  Right 
at this moment, Miss HeppleWaite, a girl of exceptionally strong 
character, hated all cops.
     Lepski waited, drumming his fingers on the counter.
     When she had completed the card, she looked up, her grey-blue eyes 
stony.
     'I am dealing with Cubans,' she said.  'Who did you say you were?' 
Lepski loosened his tie.
     'Detective Lepski, City police,' he said in his cop voice and 
again flashed his shield.
     'What am I supposed to do?' she asked.  'Kneel down and worship 
you?' A real smarty-pants, Lepski thought, controlling himself.
     'Police business, Miss Heppiewaite.  I want to find out where 
Anita Certes of twenty-seven, Fish Road, Seacomb, works.' She regarded 
him With hostile eyes.
     'Why?' Lepski's blood pressure rose.  He longed to haul her across 
the counter and smack her bottom.
     'Police business,' he repeated.  'You don't have to worry your 
head about why, baby.' 'Don't call me baby!  I could report you for 
being insulting!' Lepski had had enough of this.
     'Yeah, and I could arrest you for obstruction, baby.  I'm dealing 
with a murder case.  Do you want to come down to headquarters so we can 
sort it all out?' Miss Hepplewaite regarded Lepski's lean, hard face 
and decided also enough was enough.  He looked as if he would do what 
he was threatening.  The last thing Miss' Heppiewaite wanted was to be 
taken to police headquarters.  She surrendered reluctantly.
     'What name was it?' Lepski gave her his hard, cop smile.
     'Anita Certes, twenty-seven, Fish Road, Seacomb.' 'You understand 
we have many .  . .' Miss Hepplewaite began, trying to bolster up her 
diminishing dignity.
     'Anita Certes, twenty-seven, Fish Road, Seacomb,' Lepski barked.
      'I'll see.' Furious with herself for being cowed by this cop, 
Miss Hepplewaite stamped over to the files.  She deliberately took her 
time, while Lepski drummed on the counter and the Cubans stared and 
listened.
     Finally, she returned with a card.
     'This woman works part time at the Spanish Bay Hotel,' she said.  
'Her hours are from ten o'clock to one o'clock and again at eight 
o'clock in the evening.  She is a cleaner.' Lepski gave her his leering 
smile.
     'Thanks, baby.  Keep your legs crossed,' and he left.
     A small, thin Cuban, half way down the queue, whispered to his 
friend ahead of him.  'Hold my place,' and leaving, he went in search 
of a public telephone.  He was a good friend of Anita Certes.  There 
was only one man who could relay the news that Anita was being hunted 
by the police.  He called Manuel Torres.
     josh Prescott, the Spanish Bay Hotel house detective, was 
preparing for his night's duty.  He had showered, shaved and was now 
dressing.  His mind had been continually thinking of this fantastic, 
glamorous nurse.  He had been with dozens of girls, but none of them 
compared with her.  They had a date this night.  The thought of once 
more getting her into the shrubbery sent his blood pressure soaring.  
As he adjusted his tie, his front door bell rang.
     Lepski barged in.
     'Hi, josh!' 'What do you want?' Prescott demanded.  'I'm getting 
ready to go on duty.' 'So what?' Lepski sat down.  'A Cuban woman who 
works at the hotel.  Anita Certes.  Mean anything to you?' 'Sure.  She 
does the cleaning, part time.  What about her?' 'You've read about this 
fink who shot to death the rent collector at Fish Road?' Prescott 
nodded.
     'Anita Certes is the killer's wife.  I want to talk to her.' 
'These goddamn Cubans are always in trouble.' 'You're right.  I'm 
always saying that.  This woman works from eight to ten.  Right?' 
'Yeah.' 'So I come to the hotel and talk to her, huh?' Prescott thought 
for a moment, then shook his head.
     'She services the Warrentons' penthouse, Tom.  My boss would go 
out of his skull if the penthouse wasn't serviced.  Look, to handle 
this right, wait until she comes off duty.  I'll fix it to have her in 
my office just after ten.
     Then you can talk to her.' Lepski, knowing Dulac's power in the 
city, shrugged.
     'Okay, josh.  I'll be in your office just before ten.' 'I'll have 
her for you,' Prescott promised.
     The time now was 18.30.
     Lepski was hungry.  Carroll had told him she was preparing a new 
dish, but had refused to tell him what it was.  When Carroll wasn't 
spending hours on the telephone or going to coffee parties, yakking 
with her girl friends, she studied cook books.  She was always finding 
some new complicated dish which invariably ended in disaster.
     Lepski lived in the hope that one day, she would produce a meal 
that they could eat instead of falling back on cold cuts from the 
regrigerator.
     As he opened his front door, the fumes of burning assailed him and 
the sound of Carroll's cursing singed his ears.
     With what he hoped was a loving, understanding smile which, in 
fact, made him look like a man who had escaped from a horror movie, he 
walked into the smoke-filled kitchen.
      Anita and Fuentes waited more than three hours before Manuel 
returned to his vessel.  Those three hours were the worst hours Fuentes 
had ever experienced.
     The cabin was stiflingly hot.  He smoked continuously, moved 
restlessly, muttered to himself, and was always aware that this woman, 
sitting like a stone image, hated him.
     From time to time, he glanced uneasily at her.  She remained, 
staring down at her clenched fists, her thick, black hair, falling 
forward, half screening her face.
     When he heard Manuel's thudding footfalls on the deck, he drew in 
a gasp of relief.  Then, and only then, did Anita move.  She lifted her 
head and stared at the cabin door, but her face was still like stone.
     Manuel came in and shut the door.  He went immediately to the 
table and sat down opposite Anita.
     'Good news!' he said.  Turning to where Fuentes was sitting up on 
the bunk, he went on, 'Get me a drink, my friend.' Fuentes got a bottle 
of rum from a locker and poured a heavy shot into a glass.
     'Anita, I regret being so long,' Manuel said.  'My friend at the 
hospital was busy.  I bad to wait.' 'Pedro?, Anita asked, huskily.
     'Yes .  . . Pedro.' Manuel took the glass from Fuentes and drank 
the raw rum, sighed and put the glass on the table.  'Finally, I talked 
to my friend.  I explained the situation.  I asked him if Pedro could 
take a sea trip.  He said if things were properly arranged, Pedro could 
come with us.  Pedro is now sitting up.  He is taking food, but things 
will have to be properly arranged.' Fuentes sat on the bunk, rubbing 
his sweating face, knowing that Manuel was lying, but he was lying 
convincingly.
     'What things?' Anita demanded.
     'My friend tells me Pedro must be taken from the hospital to my 
boat in an ambulance.  Once on board, you will be able to take care of 
him.  There is no question of him being brought to the hotel.  He must 
be spared the least exertion.' Anita looked down at her clenched fists 
while she thought.
     Fuentes felt sweat running down his face.  This goddamn bitch of a 
woman!  he thought.  She stands between me and a million dollars!
     Manuel also watched Anita, thinking she also held the key to five 
million dollars.  Had he convinced her with his lies?
     Anita looked up.
     'Will the police let him come to the boat?' she asked, 'What else 
can they do?  We have them by the short hairs,' Manuel said.  'It is 
fool proof.  We will have Warrenton.  We have two bombs.  I will 
explain to Dulac that I can destroy his hotel from my boat if Pedro 
isn't put on board.' She stared steadily at him.
     'But can you do this?' 'Yes.  The man who made the bombs owes me 
his life.
     He told me the bombs can be exploded by this device he has given 
me within a radius of two miles.' Still, Anita continued to stare 
steadily at him.
     'Show me this device.' Manuel moved uneasily, but looking at her, 
seeing her hard stare, he got to his feet, went to a locker and took 
out a black box.
     'This is the device,' he said.  'See: there are two buttons.
     I press the top one and the little bomb explodes.  I press the 
bottom button and the big bomb explodes.  I take this device with me.' 
Anita stared at the black box which was the size of a packet of 
cigarettes.
     'It will work?' 'Yes.  It will work.' She relaxed, and sitting 
back, she smiled at Manuel.
      'Then Pedro and I will sail to Havana together sometime 
tonight?' 'Yes.' She reached out her hand and put it on his.
     'My good friend.  It is truly said that you are a man of truth and 
a friend of my people.  Thank you.' The touch of her hand was like a 
searing hot iron, but Manuel managed not to flinch.  Five million 
dollars!  Who the hell wanted to be known as a man of truth when there 
was so much money to gain?

     I

     'So it is understood , he said, moving his hands to scratch his 
beard.  'You open the doors, we kidnap the Warrentons, get the money, 
and you have Pedro.' 'It is understood,' Anita said, looking directly 
at him.  'I want a gun.' 'I have only two guns,' Manuel said, after a 
pause.  'One for me and the other for Fuentes.  He and you will share 
the gun when you take it in turns to watch the Warrentons.' Anita sat 
still.  Under the cover of the table, her hand went to the handle of 
the knife, hidden by her black sweat shirt.  She wouldn't need a gun if 
anything went wrong.  A knife was silent.  Her eyes shifted to Fuentes 
who was staring at her.  This man she hated and distrusted.
     'I know nothing about guns.  Show me the gun I may have to use.' 
Manuel went to a locker and took out a plastic sack.
     From it he produced a 3.8 revolver.
     'There's nothing to it,' he said, handing the gun to Anita.  'It 
is not loaded.  You hold the gun in both hands, aim and pull the 
trigger.  It is important to hold the gun in both hands.' Anita 
examined the gun thoughtfully while both men watched her, then she 
turned away, held the gun in both hands and pulled the trigger.  The 
snap of the firing-pin made her start.
     'Yes,' she said and handed the gun back to Manuel.  'I 
understand.' Manuel put the gun back into the plastic sack and the sack 
into the locker.
     'Let us eat,' he said.  'We may have to stay in the penthouse for 
two or three days.  It is wise to eat.' While he was preparing a meal 
of fish stew, Anita remained at the table, looking down at her hands.
     Fuentes got off the bunk and went to the doorway of the galley.  
He had had enough of Anita's brooding expression.
     Manuel winked at him, then pressed his thick fingers to his lips, 
signalling to Fuentes not to talk.
     The meal was eaten in silence.  As Anita was washing the dishes, 
the telephone bell rang.  Manuel picked up the receiver, 
grunted'Torres,'then listened.  Finally, he said, 'Thank you.  You have 
done well.  I take care of my friends,' and he hung up.
     Fuentes could see that Manuel was now worried.  His heavy-featured 
face was set, and as he sat down at the table, he rubbed his bald, 
sweating head.
     Anita came from the galley.
     'Bad news,' Manuel said.
     Anita stiffened, losing colour.
     'Pedro?, 'No.  Don't I keep telling you Pedro is all right?' 
Manuel snapped.  'Don't keep thinking of him!' 'I have nothing else to 
think about except my husband.
     What is the bad news?' 'The cops have found out you are working at 
the hotel.' Anita flinched, then sat down at the table.
     'What will happen?' 'I don't know.  Maybe the police will be 
waiting for you.
     They will question you.  They will talk to your boss: it is a 
dangerous situation.' Anita thought while Manuel and Fuentes watched 
her: both men fearing that, after all, this great sum of money wouldn't 
materialize.
     Anita looked up.  Manuel marvelled at her calm expression.
      'It will be all right,' she said.  'The hotel is short of staff.
     I am the only one who knows how to service the penthouse.  For 
tonight, the hotel can't do without me.  The questioning will come 
after I have done my work.  I am sure, and then it will be too late.' 
She got to her feet.  'I will go now.  I am not afraid of the police.  
At exactly twelve-thirty tonight, I will open the staff door.  I give 
you my word.' Manuel stared at her and relaxed.
     'You are a fine, courageous woman,' he said.  'We will be there at 
exactly twelve-thirty.' 'It is understood in a day or so, we will sail 
for Havana with Pedro?' 'It is understood,' Manuel said with a false 
smile.
     Anita looked directly at him.
     'I trust you,' she said.  'You take all the money.  I only want 
Pedro.' When she had gone, there was a long, uneasy silence, then 
Fuentes said, 'This woman frightens me.  She is dangerous.  She mustn't 
be given a gun.' Manuel shook his head.
     'There is no question of that.' He pulled from his hip pocket what 
looked like a black sausage.  This object.he laid on the table.  'I 
have thought deeply about this since I left you.  Pedro is dying.  
There is no other solution.  I regret it, but we must keep the cops out 
of this affair.
     Anita will expect me to threaten the hotel owner to persuade the 
mayor to release her husband.  She will stand by me while I talk to 
Dulac.  If I do this, Dulac wil alert the police.  This is something we 
must avoid.  I am sure, without Pedro, we will get the money.  That I 
am truly sure of, but Anita must be neutralized.' He picked up the 
sausage-shaped object.  'A little tap on her head with this and she 
will no longer be a problem.  She won't be damaged.  I krfow well how 
to strike with a sand-bag.' He took from his pocket a roll of adhesive 
tape.  'As soon as she gets us into the penthouse, I will give her a 
little tap.  We bind and gag her and take her out onto the terrace.  
Regretfully, there is no other way.  When we get the money, we will 
release her.  If she accepts the fact that Pedro is as good as dead and 
can't come with us but she agrees to come with us, then I will give her 
some money.
     If she is stupid, then regretfully, I will give her another tap 
and we leave her.  By then, we will have the money and Warrenton as 
hostage.  What can she do or the cops do?  There is no other solution.' 
Sweat began to run down Fuentes'face.  He stared with alarm at the 
black sand-bag Manuel was holding.
     He thought of the time when he, Manuel and Warrenton, as hostage, 
would be on the boat, heading for Havana.
     I know well how to strike with a sand-bag.
     Was that going to happen to him, then the sharks?
     Manuel was regarding him.
     'What is in your mind, my friend?' he asked.
     My friend?  This man of non-truth calling me friend, Fuentes 
thought.
     'I am thinking of the money,' he said, forcing a smile.  'I was 
thinking what it would mean to me to own a million dollars.' 'Yes,' 
Manuel said quietly, 'but first we must get the money.  Isn't that 
right, my friend?' Into Fuentes' sluggish mind came a thought.  He 
would have a gun.  He would never take his eyes off Manuel during the 
voyage to Havana, When they were approaching the harbour lights, he 
would shoot Manuel.  He had enough experience with boats to bring the 
boat into the harbour.  There would be five million dollars on board!  
He would then shoot Warrenton, dock the boat and disappear with this 
enormous ransom!
     This would have to be thought about, but there was time.
     Five million dollars!
     His face lit up as he said, 'Yes, you are right.  First, we must 
get the money.'  Ed Haddon was sitting at the corner table at the 
sea-food restaurant as Bradey joined him.
     The maitre d' hovered.
     'Have the curried prawns,' Haddon said.  'They're good.' Bradey 
said curried prawns were fine with him.  Haddon ordered another dry 
martini for himself and a Scotch on the rocks for Bradey.
     As soon as the maitre d' had left them, Haddon looked inquiringly 
at Bradey.
     'What's the news?' 'We do the job tonight,' Bradey said.  'It 
looks a cert.
     First, the safe, then the Warrentons' diamonds.  So then what 
happens?' 'You have your end completely tied up?' 'I told you: it's a 
cert.' 'I have my end tied up too,' Haddon said.  'Lu, we're heading 
fast for the big deal.' Two waiters arrived and served the curried 
prawns.
     Haddon could see by Bradey's expression as he surveyed his plate, 
that further business talk would be so much waste of time.
     The two men ate in silence.  Every now and then, Bradey made a 
loud humming noise of appreciation.
     Finally, finished, he sat back, mopped his mouth with his napkin 
and smiled.
     'That, Ed, was devilish good.' 'Can you not turn your greedy mind 
to business?' Haddon asked.
     'Let's have the apple pie,' Bradey said.  'I'm a sucker for apple 
pie.' Haddon shrugged.  He ordered two apple pies, While they waited, 
Bradey picked his teeth and hummed under his breath.  Haddon contained 
his impatience with an effort.
     It wasn't until coffee and brandy had been served that Bradey 
became receptive.
     'As I told you, I have my end tied up" Haddon said.
     'I've talked to Kendrick.  He'll handle the whole deal.
     Now I know you'll do the job tonight, I'll alert him to have his 
fag at your chalet at two o'clock.  You get the stuff and return to 
your chalet.  Kendrick's fag will take the loot, and that's the end of 
your problem.  Kendrick tells me he will stash the stuff away where no 
one will find it.  When the heat dies down, he will sell the stuff.  It 
may take a couple of months before we get the money, but no longer.' 
Bradey grimaced.
     'Suppose Kendrick says he's never had the loot?  I don't trust 
that fat fag.' Haddon smiled grimly.
     'No problem, Lu.  I have enough on Kendrick to put him out of 
business and into jail.  We'll get the money.' Bradey nodded.
     'Okay.  If you say so, Ed, then we get the money.' 'As soon as 
you've handed over the loot, you get back to your wheel-chair.  You 
stay at the hotel for another two days.  There'll be a check, but the 
cops won't even suspect you.  Your papers are foolproof.  After two 
days, you leave.
     Okay?' 'Yeah.  I see that.  How about my money, Ed?' 'Kendrick 
will pay your share into your Swiss bank in a couple of months time.' 
'How about Bannion's money-fifty thousand?' 'He'll also have to wait.' 
I Look, Ed,' Bradey said earnestly.  'This guy really needs the money.  
He's got a terminal cancer and an idiot child to take care of.  To get 
a real performance from him, I want to promise him he gets his cut as 
soon as the job is done.  Will you advance the money?' 'What's all this 
about?  Who cares?  If you feel like this, Lu, you advance him the 
money,' Haddon growled.
     'I would if I had it, but I never seem to have any money,' Bradey 
said.  'Now, come on, Ed.  What's fifty thousand to you?  Don't let us 
foul up this sweet job for the sake of fifty thousand, I want to 
promise Bannion that he gets paid off the moment the job has been done, 
and I want to keep that promise.' 'At my expense?' 'You're getting 
eight million, probably more, for the love of mike, Ed, be human!' 
Haddon brooded, then shrugged.
     'Oh for God's sake!' He grinned at Bradey.  'You could sell an egg 
to a hen.  Okay, if Bannion does a good job, if you get the Warrenton 
diamonds, if you get the loot from the boxes, I'll give you fifty 
thousand for Bannion.' Bradey smiled.
     'It's a deal, Ed.' He pushed back his chair and stood up.
     'Bannion will do a good job, and so will 1. Thanks for a great 
meal.  See you,' and he left the restaurant, got in his car and drove 
back to the Spanish Bay Hotel.

     Seven

     Maria and Wilbur Warrenton returned to the penthouse suite soon 
after 19.00.  They had spent the afternoon surf-sailing and Wilbur was 
pleasantly relaxed.  He looked forward to a quiet dinner at the hotel's 
restaurant, then to spend the rest of the evening watching a Spaghetti 
western on TV.  His hopes were dashed, when Maria said, 'Please get my 
diamonds.  I am in the mood to gamble.  I feel I have a winning streak. 
 We will dine at the Casino, then we will play.' So much for the 
Spaghetti western, Wilbur thought as he said, 'But, Maria, I thought we 
had agreed you shouldn't wear your diamonds away from the hotel.' 
Frowning, Maria lifted her eyebrows.
     'When I want to wear my diamonds, I will wear them!
     Why have them if I don't wear them?' 'This city is full of 
starving, refugee Cubans,' Wilbur said patiently.  'Your diamonds could 
be a big temptation.
     There could be a hold-up.' 'Don't be so ridiculous!  I am wearing 
my diamonds!  We will leave at eight-thirty.  You had better change,' 
and Maria went into her bedroom, slamming the door.
     Wilbur thought for a long moment, then he went to the safe, 
twirled the combination, opened the safe door and took from it a 
leather jewel case: This he put on an occasional table, after relocking 
the safe.  Then going to the telephone, he called jean Dulac's office.
      This is Mr.  Warrenton,' he said when a woman answered.  'I 
would like to speak to Mr.  Dulac.' 'Certainly, Mr.  Warrenton.  4 The 
bow in her voice pleased him.  A moment later, Dulac came on the line.
     'Good evening, Mr.  Warrenton.  Is there something I may do for 
you?' 'We are going to the Casino,' Wilburn said.  'Mrs.
     Warrenton will be wearing her diamonds.' Dulac who had an uncanny 
talent for anticipating the wishes of his rich clients, said, 'I 
understand, Mr.  Warrenton.  You would like to have an efficient 
bodyguard to accompany you.  That presents no problem.  What time will 
you be leaving?' 'Around eight-thirty,' Wilbur said, startled that 
Dulac should immediately understand the situation.
     'Then I will have a reliable bodyguard waiting in the lobby at 
eight-thirty.  I will telephone Mr.  Hendrick who runs the Casino.  A o 
yguard will e with you during your stay at the Casino and will 
accompany you back here.
     Is I that satisfactory?' I'll say it is, and many thanks.  Mr.  
Dulac, you run a great hotel,' Wilbur said, and meant it.
     'It is my pleasure to serve you, Mr.  Warrenton,' Dulac said 
smoothly.  'Have a nice night,' and he hung up.
     josh Prescott had just finished a dinner of steak and fried onions 
in the staff restaurant when a bell boy rushed up to him, telling him 
the Boss wanted him pronto.
     Cursing under his breath, Prescott hurried to Dulac's office.  The 
time now was 19.30.
     'Y ' on are to act as bodyguard to Mr.  and Mrs.  Warrenton, Dulac 
told him.  'They are going to the Casino, and Mrs.  Warrenton will be 
wearing her diamonds.  I have arranged with the Casino management to 
have a man take over from you.  When you have safely conveyed Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Warrenton to the casino, you will return here and resume your 
duties.' 'Yes, sir,' Prescott said woodenly, thinking: These bloody 
rich bitches, showing off their goddamn diamonds!
     'They will be leaving at eight-thirty,' Dulac went on.
     'Wait for them in the lobby.  Be there at eight o'clock.
     They must not be kept waiting.' Prescott remembered he was 
planning to talk to Anita Certes when she arrived for work.  By having 
to sit in the lobby at 20.00, he would miss her.
     'Sir,' he said.  'You should know we have a part-time cleaner 
working on Mr.  Warrenton's suite.  She is a Cuban, and her husband is 
being held by the police for murder.' Dulac flinched.  One of his staff 
the wife of a murderer!
     'We can't have a woman like that working here,' he said.  'What is 
her name?' 'Anita Certes, sir.' 'Very well, Prescott.  Leave this to 
me.' When Prescott left the office, Dulac telephoned his staff manager 
who moaned when Dulac told him to dismiss Anita Certes immediately.
     'Not tonight, sir,' he pleaded.  'I have no extra staff to replace 
her.  She does a good job.  May I suggest I see her in the morning when 
I will be able to replace her?' 'Very well,' Dulac said, 'but we must 
get rid of her.' While this conversation was taking place, and while 
Prescott was checking his revolver in his office before settling in the 
lobby to await the Warrentons, Anita arrived.  She was early, hoping 
that the police weren't already at the hotel.  No one saw her as she 
unlocked the staff door, closed and relocked it.  She walked silently 
and swiftly to the women's rest room and locked herself in a toilet.
     Sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, she prepared herself for a 
long wait.  She had no intention of going up to the penthouse suite.  
It was just possible a cop or Prescott would be waiting up there.  She 
would wait until 24.30 when she would unlock the staff door and then 
take Manuel and Fuentes up to the penthouse.  Thinking about this, she 
decided the cops would wait in Prescott's office until she had finished 
her work.  She was well aware that  the Spanish Bay Hotel would mot 
tolerate cops roaming around to scare the rich and the spoilt.
     Sitting in the semidarkness, she thought of her beloved Pedro.  
How good it would be when they were on the boat together, heading back 
to his home!  She longed to put her arms around him and comfort him.  
She felt sure once he was with her, she could nurse him back to health.
     She would slave in the sugar cane fields, earning money..
     He could lie in bed at his father's house until he was well enough 
to work by her side.
     She slid off the toilet seat and onto her knees.  She began to 
pray that in a few days Pedro and she would be united.
     While she prayed, Pedro Certes moved from painridden life into 
peaceful death.
     Bradey, Maggie and Bannion sat in the chalet checking on 
last-minute details for the night's operation.
     Bradey had told Bannion he had talked to the big Boss.
     'We get the loot, Mike,' he said, I and you get fifty thousand 
dollars.  You may have a couple of days to wait, but no longer.' 
Bannion hunched his massive shoulders.
     'That's great news,' he said.
     Maggie patted his hand.
     'I love it for you, Mike.' She spoke from her sentimental heart.  
'I do hope all will go well for your little daughter.  I really mean 
it.' Bannion had taken three pain-killing pills.  Although he now felt 
no pain, he was worried.  He wasn't moving as easily as usual.  He 
found his feet dragged, and there was no spring in him.  He suspected 
he was now dying faster than he thought he would die.
     'You have a tuxedo with you, Mike?' Bradey asked.
     'I have it.' 'I'll fix your face so no one will know you,' Bradey 
went on.  'We both go to the hotel around two o'clock.  No one will pay 
any attention to us.  If anyone gets in our way, you will fix them with 
the dart.  Remember the shot must be in the flesh: hand, face or neck.  
The Warrentons could be in the penthouse by the time we get there.  You 
will dart them.  The job shouldn't take more than forty minutes.
     We return here, hand the loot over to the Boss's man, and then we 
stay put for two more days.  You get your money, and we say goodbye.  
Okay with you?' Bannion nodded.
     'You can rely on me.' 'I know I can.  I know what this job means 
to you.' Bradey turned to Maggie.  'Now, honey, I don't have to tell 
you again what you have to do.  You keep the hotel dick out of our 
hair.  Now, another thing, and this will make your day.  Go to the 
restaurant and tell the Maitre d' I am unwell and won't be eating.' 
Maggie's eyes widened in alarm.
     'Oh, bon!  Are you unwell?' 'You are to tell him that!' Bradey 
snapped.  'I'm fine!
     When the cops start checking, I want them to know I was in bed, 
unwell.  Get it?' Maggie gaped for a long moment, then smiled.
     'That's smart.  For a dreadful moment, I thought 'Never mind.  You 
shouldn't think, Maggie.  It doesn't do your brain any good.  When you 
go to the restaurant check to see if the Warrentons are eating.  See if 
you can find out if they are off some place for the night.' 'Yes, bon.' 
Maggie looked anxiously at Bradey.  'Can I eat at the restaurant?' 'You 
can stuff yourself blind,' Bradey said.  'Have the lot.' Maggie gave a 
squeal of delight.
     While they were talking, Bannion was thinking of his daughter, 
Chrissy.  He had telephoned the Home twice since he had been in 
Paradise City.  The nurse in charge had been kind and reassuring.  
Chrissy, she told him, was happy, but she missed him, and kept asking 
when she would see him.  Bannion, remembering those weekends when he 
was always with Chrissy, felt a pull at his heart.
     He told the nurse it wouldn't be long.  She promised to tell 
Chrissy.
     Half an hour later, Maggie, wearing her best party dress and 
looking like an escapee from The Crazy Horse revue, Paris, walked into 
the hotel lobby.
     She saw josh Prescott sitting glumly in a chair away from the 
chattering mob.  She moved by him, rolled her hips and gave him her 
sexiest smile, then she entered the restaurant.
     The maitre d' advanced towards her while the elderly men, already 
eating, paused and regarded her, wishing they were twenty years 
younger.
     'Good evening, madam,' the nwitre d' said.  'Mr.  Vance is not 
with you?' 'The poor old dear is not well,' Maggie said, her big eyes 
sorrowful.  'He has these turns.  He insisted I had dinner.  He is so 
kind.' 'Can I send him a tray, madam?' The n-taitre d' asked, escorting 
Maggie to the corner table.
     Maggie paused.  She saw the Warrentons walk into the lobby.  She 
saw Prescott get hastily to his feet and join them.  She saw the 
diamonds.  Then the Warrentons and Prescott moved out of sight.
     'Can I send a tray to Mr.  Vance?  Something very light?' the 
nwitre d' asked again.
     'No, thank you.  Mr.  Vance is sleeping.  I have given him a 
sedative.' She sat down at the table.  'Wasn't that Mr.
     and Mrs.  Warrenton just leaving?' 'Yes, Madam.  They are spending 
the evening at the Casino,' the nwitre d' replied and unfolded the 
spacious menu.  'Perhaps I can make some suggestions.' He thought this 
nurse was the most glamorous, sexy woman ever to come to the hotel.
     Maggie suppressed a squeal of excitement.  She gave him her 
wide-eyed, helpless look.
     'Would you?' she said.  'I'm hungry.' At the Casino restaurant, 
Maria Warrenton made a sensational entrance, as accompanied by Wilbur, 
the maitre d' leading the way, she walked down the redcarpeted aisle, 
bordered by tables to the best table in the room.
     The rich were already eating.  Dinner was served early at the 
Casino.  The main interest was the roulette tables.
     There was always a rush to get the meal over, and get to the 
business of the evening.
     This was the first time many of the rich had seen the fabulous 
Warrenton diamonds.  The men eyed Maria first, then the diamonds and 
envied Wilbur.  The women had only eyes for the glittering collar, the 
ear-rings and the bracelets.
     Maria was at her most difficult when choosing her dinner.  There 
were times when Wilbur, who was always happy with a good steak, found 
it difficult to restrain his impatience as Maria insisted always to 
have every item on the menu explained to her by servile nwitre d's.  
Now, aware every woman in the room was watching her, she behaved with 
the petulant arrogance of a spoilt movie star.
     Wilbur thought, 'Oh well, it's her honeymoon!  Let her enjoy 
herself.  I hope to God she doesn't act this way when we get home!' 
josh Prescott, having spoken to the Casino's detective and had his 
assurance that he would remain close to the Warrentons and would convey 
them back to the hotel, decided his duty was done.
     He took a taxi back to the hotel and turned his thoughts to 
Maggie.  He checked his watch.  The time was now 21.00.  He had this 
date with Maggie at 02.15.  He had more than five hours to wait!  
Maggie had really turned him on.  His mind was so preoccupied with her 
that he forgot about Anita Certes.  Even when he began his patrol of 
the hotel corridors, he still forgot about her.  His eyes continually 
checked the slow movement of the hour hand of his watch.  He could only 
think of the moment when he and Maggie would be lying on the soft lawn, 
hidden by flowering shrubs.
     From the plastic sack, Manuel produced two 3.8 revolvers which he 
laid on the table.
     'Time moves,' he said.  'We mustn't be late.  Be, careful with 
this gun,' and he pushed one of the revolvers over to Fuentes.  'It is 
loaded.  Remember, there is to be no shooting.  This job can be handled 
without police interference.' He stared steadily at Fuentes.  'You 
understand?
     We only shoot if things go badly wrong.' Fuentes licked his dry 
lips as he took the gun.
     'I understand.' 'It may take three or four days before old man 
Warrenton comes up with the ransom,' Manuel went on.  'I will have to 
talk to Dulac.  All of us will need food while we wait.  He won't want 
his kitchens destroyed, so he will co-operate.  You and I will take it 
in turns to sleep.  The Warrentons will have to be bound.  Anita will 
also have to be bound and gagged.  It won't be easy, my friend, but to 
earn five million dollars can never be easy.' 'One million for me, and 
four for you,' Fuentes said quickly.
     'Yes.  That is correct.' Manuel smiled, but watching closely, 
Fuentes saw the smile didn't reach the black, stone-like eyes.
     'If we have to stay in the penthouse for three or four days, these 
people will have to be fed.  They will have to relieve themselves,' 
Fuentes said.
     'Food will be provided by the hotel.  There will be toilets in the 
penthouse.' 'When Anita recovers from the tap,' Fuentes said, 'she %ill 
be dangerous.  Is it wise to release her hands?' 'That is something we 
will deal with-when we are all together in the penthouse,' Manuel said. 
 'Don't worry about trifles.  You must leave all the details to me, my 
friend.' Fuentes shrugged.
     'I am nervous about her.  She is dangerous.' Manuel smiled again: 
an evil smile.
     'I am even more dangerous, my friend.' The two men stared at each 
other, Fuentes felt a cold chill of fear run down his sweating back.
     The sound of the telephone bell made both men start.
     Manuel got up, crossed to the telephone and picked up the 
receiver.
     'Torres,' he said, then listened while Fuentes fingered the gun, 
thinking, with this gun, he could handle Manuel.
     The feel of the cold butt gave him confidence.
     Manuel said, 'Thank you, my friend.  In a little while you will be 
rewarded,' and he hung up.  He turned and smiled at Fuentes.  'If one 
has patience, most problems solve themselves,' he said.  'We now have 
no problem with Anita.  My friend at the hospital tells me Pedro died 
half an hour ago.' Fuentes stiffened.
     'He's dead?' His face lit up.  'Good news!' He thought while 
Manuel watched him.  'When she knows, she might not let us into the 
penthouse.' 'She won't know.  She is already at the hotel, waiting for 
us.  When we get into the penthouse, I will tell her Pedro had a 
relapse and has died.  There is nothing she can do about it.  We will 
be in the penthouse.  The cops are looking for her.  She will have to 
come with us.  I will even give her some money.' 'She may think you are 
lying,' Fuentes said uneasily.
     'Suppose she thinks Pedro hasn't died.  She could be dangerous.' 
Manuel went to a locker and took from it a tiny radio transistor which 
he put in his pocket.
     'I don't even have to tell her myself.  It will be on the news.  
You and I will be as surprised as she will be.' He put the revolver and 
a handful of cartridges in his other pocket.  'If she becomes 
hysterical, I will give her a little tap.  Luck is going our way, my 
friend.  Now we will go to the hotel.' Manuel went first, then Fuentes 
followed him.  They crossed the crowded quay to Manuel's car.
     As Manuel started the car's engine, he patted Fuentes on his arm.
     'All is going well," he said.  'Soon, my friend, we will be rich.' 
As Manuel drove off the quay, Fuentes fingered his gun.
     At 21.45, Lepski, with Max Jacoby at his side, drove to the side 
entrance of the Spanish Bay Hotel.  Both men were in a sour mood.  
Carroll had expected to be taken out that evening.  Lepski, who never 
remembered anniversaries, even his wedding anniversary, had forgotten 
this day was the anniversary of their first trip to Europe.  Although 
the trip had been a disaster, Carroll bad said firmly she wanted to be 
taken to some decent restaurant and remember the few good times they 
had had.  Lepski who scarcely ever listened to Carroll's chatter had 
muttered this was fine, and had immediately forgotten the arrangement.  
He had rushed into his home, expecting his dinner, and was astonished 
to find Carroll in the bath.
     'Hey, baby!' he bawled.  'What's for dinner?' 'We are eating out, 
Lepski,' Carroll said coldly, glaring at him.  'We have a date.' Lepski 
closed his eyes.  He now remembered something about a celebration.
     'Look, honey,'he said in his most wheedling voice.  'I've got 
police business.  I'll be out for a couple of hours.  I've got to 
interview the wife of this rent killer.  How about some dinner?' He 
received a soapy sponge right in his face.
     He and Jacoby ate a burger snack while Lepski listened to Jacoby 
moan that he had had to stand up a blonde who appeared willing for 
action.  Neither men talked as Lepski drove to the Spanish Bay Hotel.  
Parking the car, Lepski led the way to josh Prescott's office which 
they found in darkness.  Turning on the light, they took chairs, lit 
cigarettes and waited.
     They sat in sullen silence.  Anxiously, Lepski tried to think how 
he could placate Carroll when he returned home.  When Carroll was 
frustrated, she could be more than difficult.  Maybe, after he had 
talked to this goddamn Cuban, he would buy a big bouquet of flowers 
from the flower shop in the hotel which remained open long after 
midnight.  Getting a bouquet of choice flowers from the Spanish Bay 
Hotel surely would sweeten Carroll.  Then he thought what the bouquet 
would cost, and he flinched.
     Well, maybe not a bouquet.  He'd buy a single rose, nicely packed 
in a gift box.  Jacoby was thinking gloomily that his blonde date had 
many men friends.  He might lose her for good.
     Brooding so deeply on their troubles, the two detectives lost 
count of time.  Suddenly, Lepski who had run out of cigarettes, glanced 
at his watch.  The time now was 22.30.  He started to his feet.
     'What's going on?' he exclaimed.  'Josh said he would have the 
woman here at ten o'clock.  It's now half past.' 'Maybe he's held up, 
or something,'Jacoby offered.  'If you want a cigarette have one of 
mine.' 'I'm going to look for him,' Lepski said.  'You stay here in 
case he shows up.' He made his way to the night porter's desk.  There 
were a number of men and women in evening dress in the lobby, about to 
enter the restaurant.  Lepski, feeling self-conscious, slid around them 
and arrived at the night porter's desk.
     'Seen Prescott?' he asked, flashing his shield.
      The night porter, thin and elderly, regarded him as if he were a 
big, hairy spider.
     'No doubt, Mr.  Prescott is on patrol,' he said stiffly.
     'Yeah, but where?  I want to talk to him: police busines ' Lepski 
said.
     s, 'Patrolling,' the night porter said.  'He could be anywhere.' 
Lepski loosened his tie.
     'Well, if you see him, tell him Detective Lepski is in his 
office.' ,if I see him,' the night porter returned who had no time for 
hotel dicks nor cops.  'He could be anywhere.' Fuming, Lepski stamped 
back to Prescott's office.
     Jacoby was lighting yet another cigarette.
     ' The fink's on patrol,' Lepski snarled.  'I'll have one of 
those!' It wasn't until after 23.15 that Prescott, his mind still on 
Maggie, his eyes continually on the hour hand of his watch, decided to 
look in at his office for a snort of Scotch and a new packet of 
cigarettes.
     He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Lepski and Jacoby glaring at 
him.  Then with a sense of shock, he remembered Anita Certes.  He 
wasn't a tough'ex-cop for nothing.  Hitching on a wide smile, he 
entered the office.
     'Hi, boys , he said.  'Sorry about this.  A foul -up.  I had a 
special job escorting the Warrentons to the Casino.  One of those 
things.' 'Where's the Cuban woman?' Lepski snarled.
     'I guess she's home by now.' Lepski got to his feet.  He released 
a noise a clap of thunder might have envied.
     'Home?  What do you mean?  You promised to have her here at ten 
o'clock.  We've been sitting on our asses for goddamn hours, waiting!' 
'I told you it was a foul-up.  I had this job to do.  She's home by 
now.' 'How do you know?' Lepski bawled.
     'She comes here at eight.  She leaves at ten.  It is now 
eleven-thirty,' Prescott said.  'And listen, Lepski, you don't bawl at 
me.  You may be the hot shot away from this hotel, but I'm the hot shot 
here.  If you want to talk to her, go to her home.' 'How do I know 
she's at home?' Lepski demanded.
     'Go and find out!' Prescott snapped.  ere else should she be?' 
'She could have dropped dead in the penthouse.' 'So could Mickey Mouse. 
 I tell you she's gone home!' Jacoby got to his feet.
     'Come on, Tom, let's go and see.' Lepski snorted.
     'If she isn't there, Prescott, I'll be back, and I'll start 
something that'll put years on your life!' 'You start something in this 
hotel,' Prescott said, glaring at Lepski, 'and I'll fix it Mr.  Dulac, 
the mayor and your chief get you back in uniform.  Now, piss off!' 
While this fracas was going on, Anita Certes who had been continually 
looking at her watch, moved restlessly on the lid of the toilet seat.  
Would it never get to twelve-thirty?  She began to pray again.  She 
prayed, waited and prayed again.  She could hear the noise from the 
kitchens gradually dying down.  She heard the night staff begin to 
leave.  Finally, at a minute before twelvethirty, she moved out of the 
women's rest room.  She looked up and down the corridor, listened, then 
at exactly 24.30, she ran swiftly to the staff door, unlocked it and 
opened it.  She found Manuel and Fuentes waiting.  She beckoned them 
in, then led them to the elevator.  The three of them entered as the 
door swished open.  Anita ressed the top floor button.  As the elevator 
ascended, P she looked at Manuel.
     'Pedro?' 'No news,' Manuel lied.  'I tried to get my friend at the 
hospital, but he had gone home.  Don't worry.  All will be well ' ' 'I 
have been praying,' Anita said, looking trustingly at Manuel.  'I feel 
in my heart all will be well.
      'Yes,' Manuel said, hating himself.  'Your prayers will be 
answered.' Reaching the top floor, Anita first checked the empty 
corridor, then led the two men up a flight of stairs to the door 
leading to the penthouse suite.  It took her only a moment to unlock 
the door with her duplicate pass-key.
     The three of them entered the spacious living-room, dimly lit by 
the lamps from the terrace.
     Anita closed and locked the door.
     It was while Lepski was driving furiously to Seacomb that the news 
of Pedro Certes' death came over the car radio.
     'So the creep's dead,' Jacoby said.  'Look, Tom, do we need to 
talk to his wife?  What's the point?' 'You've got your blonde date 
still on your mind?' Lepski asked, easing his speed.
     'Well, I might just catch her.  She keeps late hours, and it's my 
day off tomorrow.  I can sleep late.  What do you expect from this 
Cuban?  What's your thinking?' 'She might give us a line on Fuentes.' 
'So what?  He's in Havana.  We can't get at him.  Forthe love of Mike, 
let's go home.  It's getting on for midnight.
     Who cares about a goddamn Cuban woman?' Jacoby said.
     'The killer's dead.  That closes the case.  We have plenty of 
other work to do without bothering about a small-time killer who is now 
dead.' Lepski pulled to the kerb.
     'Yeah.  I guess you're right.  Okay, let's go home.  I'll drop you 
off.  Good luck, Max.  I hope you make your date.' 'That makes two of 
us,' Jacoby said.
     When Lepski left Jacoby at his apartment block, he headed for 
home.  It wasn't until he had garaged his car that he remembered he had 
forgotten to buy Carroll a rose.
     Feeling like a man going to his execution, he entered his home, 
locked the front door, then removing his shoes, stole to the bedroom, 
hoping Carroll would be asleep.
     But, of course, she wasn't.  She was sitting up in bed, waiting 
for him.
     Anita said, a little breathlessly, 'Don't put on the lights.' 'No. 
 We can see well enough from the lights on the terrace,' Manuel said, 
as he looked around.  'How the rich live!' The thought flashed through 
his mind that he too could have a penthouse like this when he had five 
million dollars.  'Well, we must sit and wait.' He sat down in one of 
the big lounging chairs as Fuentes, uneasy, went out onto the terrace.  
He was astonished at the size of the terrace, the large pots of 
flowers, the lounging chairs, tables and the cocktail bar.
     'What is the time?' Manuel said, then peered at his watch in the 
semidarkness.  'Ah!  It is nearing news time.  I have put money on a 
horse, Anita.  I feel this is my lucky day.' He took from his pocket 
the tiny transistor.  'Do you ever back the horses?' 'I have no money 
for such things,' Anita said curtly.
     'You are not going to turn that on?  Someone might hear it.' 'I 
have to know if my 'No one will hear it,' Manuel said.
     horse has won,' and he switched on the transistor, adjusting the 
control so the sound was low but distinct.
     Fuentes came to the doorway, his back to the moonlit terrace.  
Sweat was running down his face.  Would this stupid woman begin to 
scream when she learned her creep of a husband had died?  Would Manuel 
be able to control her?  Once again, he fingered his gun.
     The radio announcer first began with the local news.
     Anita sat motionless, Manuel wished he could see her face, but the 
light in the big room was too dim.  He could only see her silhouette 
as she sat, her hands gripped between her knees.
     Then came the announcement he was waiting for.  He stiffened, 
leaning forward so he could spring on Anita if she began to scream.  
Fuentes also moved forward.
     The announcement was brief: Pedro Certes, killer of a rent 
collector in Seacomb, having been shot by Detective Tom Lepski while 
trying to escape with three thousand dollars, has died after briefly 
returning to consciousness.
     The announcer then began to give the racing news, but Manuel 
switched off.  He dropped the transistor on the floor and loo ed bar at 
Anita, waiting for the first sign of hysterics.
     Nothing happened.
     Anita remained like a stone woman.
     Except for the sound of the surf and the distant shouts Of the 
late bathers, silence like a humid, terrible pall hung over the three 
in the penthouse suite.
     Manuel forced himself to say, 'Dear Jesus!  Anita!  What can I 
say?' Still she sat there, motionless.
     Any moment now, Manuel thought, she will begin to scream.  He got 
to his feet and moved towards her.
     'Anita!  ' This is a terrible thing!' 'Don't come near me!' Her 
voice was a harsh whisper.
     Manuel paused.
     The sound of her voice was so unearthly, Fuentes backed away.
     A small table lamp lit up as Anita pressed the switch.
     Manuel caught his breath as he looked at her face, directly lit by 
the lamp.  He didn't recognize her.  He saw before him a face that had 
shrivelled, aged and the eyes had retreated into their sockets.
     But there was no sign of hysteria.  He could be looking at the face 
of a dead woman.
     'Anita!' He forced himself to lie.  'This is a terrible shock to 
me as to you.' The dead eyes suddenly came alive.
     'So you lied to me, you man of truth.' Her voice was like the 
rustle of dry leaves.  'You knew all the time Pedro was dying.  You 
lied to me to unlock the doors.  You lied to me so you could get your 
hands on all this filthy money!
     May God curse you!' 'Anita!  No!' Manuel half shouted.  'Listen to 
me!  I didn't lie to you!  I swear it to you!  Think!  I am a real man 
of truth!  I promised you your husband.  When I promise one of my 
people something, I do everything possible to honour that promise!  No, 
Anita, I didn't lie to you, but the man at the hospital lied to nw!  
Why did he lie to me?
     Why did he assure me Pedro was recovering?  Why?' Dramatically, 
Manuel banged his head with his clenched fists.  'I will find out!  
This I promise you!  I will make him tell me why he lied, and I will 
punish him!  This I swear to you!' Anita closed her eyes.  Tears began 
to run down her face.
     'Pedro, my darling husband,' she moaned softly, 'I have lost you.' 
Manuel gave Fuentes a quick glance.  Fuentes nodded and winked.  He 
thought Manuel's speech had been masterly.
     'When we get to Havana,' Manuel said gently, 'we will arrange a 
Mass for Pedro.  I know how you must be suffering.  Cry, my poor woman. 
 Release the agony in your heart.' Again there was a long pause, then 
Anita wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up.
     'I will go now,' she said.
     This was the last thing Manuel expected to hear.
     Alarmed, he stared at her.
     'But, Anita, where will you go?' 'To a church.  Where else?  I 
have to light candles for Pedro.  I need to pray.' 'But not now,' 
Manuel said in his softest tone.  'This dreadful news has shaken you.  
When you and I reach Havana, we will light many candles and have a 
Mass said, but not now.' She moved to the door.
     'I am going.' He moved swiftly to her, taking her arm.  He felt 
her shiver at his touch, but he held her firmly.
     'No, Anita!  Think!  The cops are looking for you.  They will find 
out that it was you who unlocked the doors.  You will be arrested and 
thrown into a cell.  Think!  How many candles will you light for Pedro 
when you are locked in a cell?' Watching her as she stood motionless, 
Manuel saw a resigned, hopeless expression cross her death-like face, 
and he released her.
     'We will go on the terrace,' he said gently.  'In the light of the 
moon, we will pray for the soul of your husband.' He took a furtive 
glance at his watch.  The time was 01.05.
     It couldn't be long before the Warrentons returned.
     Somehow, he must keep this woman occupied until they did return.
     Like a Zombie, Anita went with him onto the terrace.
     He led her to a dark corner, half hidden by a potted orange tree, 
its golden fruit shining in the moonlight.
     They knelt side by side.
     Watching, Fuentes marvelled at Manuel's hypocrisy.
     In the chalet, Bradey, already made-up as a darkskinned, youngish 
looking man with a chin beard and wearing a tuxedo, was working on 
Bannion's face.
     'Your own mother won't know you by the time I've

     I

     finished , he was saying.  'If the Warrentons catch a glimpse of 
us before you dart them, there will be no problem.  just hold still for 
a moment while I fix your moustache.' Bannion, also wearing a tuxedo, 
held still.  He was thinking of Chrissy while Bradey worked on him.  He 
felt hollow inside.  The pain-killing pills were like a comforting 
blanket, but he knew the teeth of this cancer was rapidly gnawing away 
at his vitals, like a hungry wolf tearing at the carease of a stricken 
animal.
     'There!' Bradey said, sitting back.  'A beautiful job.  Take a 
look.' With an effort, Bannion got up and surveyed himself in the 
bathroom mirror.  He saw a big, heavily built stranger who was so 
unlike himself I he stared.  If only he could really become this tough, 
strong-looking man and make himself a new life!
     'Pretty good, huh?' Bradey said, grinning.
     'Yes,' Bannion said quietly.  'Yes: pretty good.' Bradey looked 
uneasily at him.
     'Mike, you are all right?' 'I will and can do this job,' Bannion 
said.  'You can rely on me.' He turned and looked fixedly at Bradey.  
'When this is over and I get really ill, can I rely on you to look 
after my daughter's interest?' 'We've gone over this before,' Bradey 
said.  'Relax.  You will get your share in two days' time.  Don't worry 
about it.' Bannion took a card from his pocket.
     'Lu, this is the address of the doctor who is looking after my 
daughter.  I've talked to him on the telephone.  I've told him the 
money will be coming.' He -paused, then went on, 'Something might 
happen to me before I get the money.  Will you take care of it for me?  
All you have to do is to send a money order, saying it's from me.  Will 
you do this for me?' Bradey felt a little chill run through him.
     'But, Mike .  . .' 'Don't let us discuss this further,' Bannion 
said curtly.
     'Will you do it?' 'Of course I Will.' 'Shake on it, Lu,' Bannion 
offered his hand.
     'You think something bad will happen even in two days?' Bradey 
asked, taking the cold, damp hand in both of his.
     'I don't know.  Let's call it insurance.  As soon as the job is 
over, I'm leaving, Lu.  I want to see my daughter before anything does 
happen.  I'm not going to wait for the money.  Do you mind?' 'No, of 
course not, Mike.' 'Thanks.' Bradey felt himself strangely moved.  He 
told himself if anything went wrong and there was no money, he'd damn 
well see this man's dotty daughter got fifty thousand dollars: no 
matter where it came from.
     Maggie came in.
     'Oh, boy!  What a gorgeous meal!  Now I'm all set for the house 
dick.' She gaped at them.  'Lu, you're a marvel.  I wouldn't know 
either of you.' Bradey looked at his watch.
     'Let's go, Mike,' he said, then to Maggie, 'Baby, you know what to 
do.  Keep that dick busy.  When you get back here, Louis de Marney will 
be waiting.  He's Kendrick's man.  Keep him happy until we return with 
the loot.' 'Yes, bon,' Maggie said and kissed him.
     Bradey picked up a big executive briefcase, then made for the 
door.
     Maggie threw her arms around Bannion, giving him a kiss.
     'Good luck, soldier,' she said.  'You're a lovely man!' He smiled 
at her, patted her shoulder, then followed Bradey out of the chalet.
     As the two men walked towards the hotel, Bannion said, 'You've got 
yourself a great girl, Lu.' 'A guy strikes lucky sometimes,' Bradey 
said.  'I guess I've struck more than lucky.' The two men walked into 
the lobby.  There was a scattering of the elderly still sitting around, 
having nightcaps.  None of them paid any attention as Bradey led the 
way to a corner table.  Two men in tuxedos were all part of the scene.
     'Now, we wait,' Bradey said as they sat down.  'We look as if 
we're doing a deal.' He opened the briefcase and took out a sheaf of 
papers.  Dividing the sheaf, he handed the first half to Bannion.
     A waiter approached.
     'Drink, Mike?' 'A coffee.' Bradey ordered coffee and smoked salmon 
sandwiches.
     When the coffee and sandwiches arrived, he paid, tipping 
generously.
     It was while Bradey was eating a sandwich which Bannion had 
refused, he saw josh Prescott come into the lobby.
     'That's the house dick,' Bradey said.  'The guy Maggie's taking 
care of.' The two men watched Prescott glance around, then, leaving the 
hotel, he hurried towards the swimming-pool.
     Then a little after 02.00, they saw the two security guards come 
in and speak to the night porter.  They handed over keys and left.
     'Going like clockwork,' Bradey murmured.  'The loot is now in the 
safe.  We'll wait until the Warrentons arrive, then away we go.' Ten 
minutes later, Maria and Wilbur Warrenton walked in.  While Maria 
walked to the penthouse elevator, Wilbur collected the key from the 
night porter, than hurried after her.
     Bradey stared fixedly at the diamonds as Maria waited impatiently 
for Wilbur to join her.
     'Look at those rocks,' Bradey muttered.  'This is going to be a 
push over, Mike.  We'll give them five minutes, then up we go, bust the 
safe, then by that time they should be in bed.' Realizing that he was 
about to embark on his first criminal offence, Bannion felt cold sweat 
start out on his forehead.
     His first and last, he thought, as he watched Bradey put the dummy 
papers into the briefcase.
     Bradey looked at him.
     'okay, mike?' 'Yes.' They sat still, then at Bradey's nod, the two 
men got up and walked towards the elevator.
     The night porter, busy with the breakfast list, didn't look their 
way.
     As the elevator took them to the top floor, Bradey patted 
Bannion's arm.  Eight 'Going like a dream,' he said.
     Rubbing his aching knees, Manuel came in from the terrace of the 
penthouse.  He had been kneeling by Anita's side on the marble floor of 
the terrace, pretending to pray.  He had remained on his knees, his 
head bowed for fifteen minutes, then unable to contain his impatience 
any longer, he looked furtively at her, then seeing she remained 
motionless, her head in her hands, he got silently to his feet, backed 
away, still watching her.  She still remained motionless.  Then he 
walked to the penthouse living-room.
     Fuentes was sitting in a lounging chair, a cigarette dangling from 
his thick lips, his fat face glistening with sweat.
     The two men looked at each other.
     'All goes well,' Manuel said quietly.  'No hysterics.  She is 
praying.' Fuentes sneered.
     'At a death, women always pray.  What good does it do?' 'Prayer 
keeps them quiet,' Manuel said and smiled.
     'We will have no more trouble with her.' He looked at his watch.  
The time was now 02.05.  'The Warrentons will be coming any time now.  
You take care of the man.  I will take care of the woman.  She might 
scream.  Women are unpredictable.  I will see she doesn't.  You won't 
have any trouble with the man.' Fuentes nodded, but he was thinking of 
Anita.  She frightened him.  Hadn't she cursed him?  He knew she 
blamed him for Pedro's death.  'Anita could be dangerous.
     She could spoil our plans.' Manuel moved to the terrace doors and 
looked out onto the moonlit terrace.  He could just see Anita, half 
hidden by the orange tree, still on her knees.
     He turned.
     'Relax, my friend.  What could she do?  She has no gun.
     She is still praying, and when women pray for their dead, they 
pray a long, long time.' He would have been startled and alarmed to 
have known that Anita was not praying.  The shock of hearing that Pedro 
was dead had numbed her.  She had gone like a Zombie with Manuel to 
this dark corner of the terrace.
     She had knelt because he had knelt.  She had closed her eyes, 
clasping her hands, but the prayers she had so often said were sheets 
of blank paper in her mind.  She could only think of her husband.  She 
saw him in a hospital bed with some hard-faced cop, sitting by his 
side.
     Pedro Certes, killer of a rent collector in Seacomb, having been 
shot by Detective Tom Lepski while trying to escape with three thousand 
dollars, died after briefly gaining consciousness The words of the 
radio announcer burned into her brain.  Pedro had died after briefly 
gaining consciousness!
     He had had no priest to comfort him and to make his peace with 
God.  Pedro!  The man she loved more than life!
     She thought of the months when Pedro, out of work, had relied on 
her to feed him, wash his clothes, pay the rent and give him what was 
left over of her earnings joyfully and willingly because she loved and 
adored him.  She thought of the very few good nights when Pedro took 
her to some little restaurant: very few nights but which were 
treasured.  She thought of his father's sugar cane farm.
     The long hours when they slaved in the burning sun.
     Then she was really happy, but not Pedro.  He wanted to get away 
from the toil.  He had persuaded her to go with him to Paradise City.  
She had been lucky to have got the part-time job of cleaning at the 
Spanish Bay Hotel.  Pedro had assured her that soon he would find a 
good job.  He would make a lot of money, but dear Pedro was unlucky.
     There was no job and no money, except what she earned.
     She thought of that awful moment when Pedro had shown her a gun, 
and when he had told her his good friend, Fuentes, and he would make a 
lot of money.
     Fuentes!
     She thought that if it was not for this swine of a man, her dear 
Pedro would still be alive.
     Fuentes!
     That mindless brute who had tempted Pedro!  That brute who had 
given Pedro the gun!  That brute directly responsible for Pedro's 
death!
     Anita felt a sudden rush of hot blood to her head that made her 
feel faint.  She pressed her fingers to her temples.  The faint feeling 
frightened her.  Then the hot blood turned cold making her shudder.
     She was not to know this, but, in her intensity and fury, she had 
suffered a rupture of a tiny blood vessel in her brain.  This rupture 
moved her into the twilight of insanity, Kneeling motionless, she 
suddenly heard a voice inside her head telling her distinctly that 
Pedro was crying out for revenge.  The whispering voice told her that 
her beloved Pedro could never rest in peace until he had been revenged.
     Anita, listening to this insidious voice, nodded.
     'I will revenge you, darling Pedro,' she murmured.
     'First, Fuentes who is responsible for your death, then Manuel who 
has lied to me, then this detective who shot you.  They will all be 
punished.  This, I swear to you.' Now, she began to relax.  She found 
she was able to pray.  As she prayed, her fingers caressed the shaft of 
the knife concealed under her black sweat shirt as the fingers of a nun 
would caress her rosary.
     Moving silently, his sweat-beaded bald head glistening in the 
moonlight, Manuel crept out on the terrace.  He moved forward until he 
could see Anita, half concealed behind the orange tree.  He watched her 
for a long moment, then satisfied she was still praying, he returned to 
the living-room.
     'She is still at it,' he said.  'There will be no trouble.' 
'Look!' Fuentes exclaimed, and pointed to the elevator door.  The sign 
Occupied had lit up.
     'Now!' Manuel smiled viciously.  'The woman will come out first.  
I will handle her.  You point the gun at the man, and remember, no 
shooting.' In the private elevator that rose from the hotel lobby up to 
the living-room of the penthouse, Maria Warrenton was in a gay mood.  
She had won twenty thousand dollars at the Casino.
     'You see?' she said, giving Wilbur a kiss.  'I told you I was in a 
winning streak.  Let's have champagne and caviar sandwiches.  The 
excitement has made me hungry.' Longing to go to bed and sleep, Wilbur 
forced a smile.
     'if that's what you want, that's what you'll have,' he said and as 
the elevator came to rest, he pushed open the door, standing aside to 
let Maria pass him.
     She walked into the living-room, then came to an abrupt stop as a 
thick arm encircled her throat and she felt a painful prick against her 
cheek.
     'Scream, lady, and I'll slash you.' A deep, threatening voice 
growled in her car.
     The smell of body dirt and male sweat made her cringe.
     For a moment, she was paralysed with shock, but there was steel in 
her.
     'Get away from me!' she said in a low, hard voice.  'You stink!' 
Wilbur found himself facing a short, fat man wearing a soiled white 
shirt and tattered jeans.  In his right ban , e held a revolver.
     Wilbur's army training helped to absorb the shock, but looking at 
the enormous, vicious ape of a man holding his wife, his heart began to 
poun 'Do you hear?' Maria said, still keeping her voice low.
     'Get away from me!' Manuel released her and stepped back, smiling.
     'Don't let there be trouble,' he said, and waved a glittering 
stiletto knife.  'No one wants to get slashed.  just take it easy.  Sit 
down, both of you.' Maria looked at Wilbur and shrugged.
     'A hold-up I suppose.' She went to the settee and sat down.  'What 
a bore!' Marvelling at her courage and steady nerves, urged on by 
Fuentes, Wilbur went and sat by her side.
     'Take the money,' Maria said contemptuously, 'and go away.  You 
two stink.' She tossed her handbag at Manuel's feet.  He kicked it 
towards Fuentes who picked it up, opened the bag and gaped at the pile 
of money Maria had won at the Casino.
     'Look!' he said to Manuel.  'Look!' Manuel paid no attention.  He 
was staring evilly at Maria.
     'Yes, lady,'he said.  'We stink because we are poor.  We are not 
like you.  You also stink to me.' He moved forward so swiftly neither 
Maria nor Wilbur had time to react.  The glittering blade of the 
stiletto seemed to brush across Maria's dress.  The razor-sharp blade 
cut across the shoulder straps.  The front of the dress fell into 
Maria's lap.
     Maria stared at her ruined dress, then up at Manuel.
     'You bastard!' she exclaimed, her eyes flashing.
     'Yes, lady,' Manuel again smiled evilly.  'Okay, so I'm a bastard, 
but you are lucky.  Instead of cutting your pretty dress, I could have 
cut your pretty face.  I could have cut off the tip of your pretty 
nose.  So you're lucky.' He moved forward.  'So from right now, lady, 
you keep your mouth shut.  One more word out of you and you'll lose 
your pretty looks.' Maria's beauty meant more to her than anything else 
in the world.  She turned cold.  Courage oozed out of her.
     She grabbed hold of Wilbur's hand.
     Wilbur, aware that Fuentes was standing behind him, gun in hand, 
controlled his urge to spring at Manuel.  This bald, bearded ape of a 
man chilled him.  Looking at the evil smile, he was sure this man would 
disfigure Maria, given the slightest excuse.
     Speaking hastily, he said, 'Maria, they are here for the diamonds. 
 Take them off and drop them on the floor.
     Then they will go away.  I With trembling fingers, Maria reached 
for her earrings, but Manuel shook his head.
     'No, lady, keep your pretty diamonds.  What would a poor, stinking 
Cuban like me do with diamonds?' He shifted his stare to Wilbur.  'We 
want money, Mr.  Warrenton!  We want five million dollars!  We don't 
leave here until we get this money in one hundred dollar bills!' Wilbur 
stared at him.
     'We haven't that amount of money.  Take the diamonds and go!' 
Again Manuel smiled evilly.
     'Your pa has.  We'll wait.  Call him.  Tell him unless we get five 
million dollars in one hundred dollar bills, I will cut your goddamn 
ears off and I'll slice your wife's face to pieces!' Standing in the 
shadows, Anita listened, her fingers still caressing the haft of her 
knife.
     in the safe room, with the safe door now open, Bradey was 
unlocking the security boxes.  He worked with speed and dexterity, 
whistling Love Is The Sweetest Thing, his favourite theme song when he 
was working.  As he opened each box, he handed it to Bannion who 
emptied the contents into the brief case.
     After opening fifteen boxes, Bradey paused and flexed his fingers. 
 He grinned at Bannion.
     'Like a dream!' he said softly.  'Boy!  This is better than 
picking apples.' Bannion was aware of a far away stabbing pain.  He was 
tense.  Sweat beaded his face, but he managed a smile.
     Bradey turned back to open more security boxes.
     Thirty minutes, after the two men had entered the safe room, all 
the security boxes were emptied.
     'Okay,' Bradey said, having replaced the empty boxes and shutting 
and relocking the safe door.  'Now for the Warrenton diamonds.  Leave 
the case here.  We'll come back the same way.' He looked at his watch.  
The time was 02.50.  'They should be in bed.  Gun okay, Mike?' 'Yes.' 
'Then let's go.' Bradey pulled down the ladder that would take them to 
the roof.
     'I'll go first.' Silently, he climbed the ladder, pushed open the 
trap door and emerged out onto the roof, overlooking the penthouse 
terrace.  Bannion, breathing heavily, forced himself to climb the 
ladder.  The two men stood in the semidarkness, looking down at the 
lighted terrace, Bradey stiffened when he saw the living-room lights 
were on.
     'Hold it!' he whispered.  'They're not in bed yet.' His whisper in 
the stillness and silence of the night carried to Anita who was 
standing in the shadows by the terrace door.  With the swiftness of a 
lizard, she hid herself behind a big potted flowering shrub, kneeling 
down and staring up at the terrace roof.  She saw two men, lit by the 
moonlight: the light reflected on their white shirts.
     Bradey surveyed the dimly lit terrace.
     'Okay, Mike, we can't waste time.  Let's see what's going on.' 
Silently, he lowered himself from the roof to the terrace, followed by 
Bannion.
     Bradey motioned Bannion to remain where he was, then he silently 
moved to the entrance to the living-room.
     Anita, crouching further into the shadows, watched him as he 
passed her within touching distance.
      He peered into the lighted living-room, then he stiffened.  He 
saw the back of a shabbily dressed man.  He saw the back of the heads 
of Maria and Wilbur, sitting on the settee.  He saw a powerfully built, 
bald and bearded man with a glittering stiletto knife in his hand, 
facing them.
     In the quiet of the night, he heard this bearded man say, 'So, Mr. 
 Warrenton, you call your pa.  Tell him to bring five million dollars 
in cash.' The deep voice rose a note.  'You hear me?' Bradey understood 
the situation immediately.  The Warrentons were being held to ransom.  
Shifting his gaze to a big mirror across the room, he could see the 
Warrentons, sitting side by side: a frontal exposure.  He saw the woman 
was wearing her fabulous diamonds.  He had to restrain himself from 
whistling Love is the Sweetest Thing.  This was going to be a 
push-over.  He turned his head and beckoned to Bannion who came 
silently and joined him.
     , Take the fat one first,' Bradey murmured.  'Then the bald guy.' 
His voice was just a whisper against Bannion's ear.  'Then the other 
two.  Fast shooting, Mike.' Bannion drew the powerful air pistol from 
its holster.
     Still keeping in the shadows, holding the gun in both hands, his 
arms extended, his body in a crouch, he aimed at the back of Fuentes' 
fat neck.
     Wilbur was saying, 'I can't call my father at this hour.' Bannion 
squeezed the trigger.  Wilbur's voice drowned the faint plop of the 
gun.
     Fuentes started, then rubbed the back of his neck.
     'Goddamn mosquito,' he muttered.
     'Call him!' Manuel barked as Bannion took aim and again squeezed 
the trigger.  The tiny dart hit Manuel in the centre of his forehead.  
'Hear me!  Call him right now!' He rubbed his forehead thinking, as 
Fuentes had thought, that he had been bitten by a mosquito.
     Shifting his aim, Ba@mon shot the third dart into the back of 
Maria's neck, then again shifting his aim, shot the fourth dart into 
the back of Wilbur's neck.  Both of them reacted, clapping their hands 
to their necks.
     Manuel's eyes widened as he saw Fuentes drop his gun, clutc hal of 
the back of the settee, then slide out of sight.  Then he too felt 
consciousness leaving him.  He took two staggering steps forward, then 
like a felled tree, he smashed down on an occasional table, and spread 
out on the floor.  .
     Wilbur and Maria also succumbed to the powerful drug and went limp 
on the settee.
     'Very nice,' Bradey said.  'Beautiful shooting, Mike.' Waving to 
Bannion to remain where he was, Bradey moved into the living-room.  
Swiftly, he removed the ear-rings, the collar and the two bracelets.  
He dropped them into a wash leather bag which he put in his pocket.
     'Come on, Mike,'he said, running out onto the terrace.
     'Let's go.  As I told you: smooth as cream.' The two men hoisted 
themselves up onto the roof and down into the safe room.
     Fifteen minutes later, the contents of the security boxes and the 
Warrenton diamonds were on their way to Claude Kendrick.
     Bannion had removed his disguise and had changed into his 
chauffeur's uniform.  Maggie lay on the settee, her eyes closed, 
moaning softly to herself .  Bradey, paying her no attention, put a 
call through to Haddon who was waiting.
     'Perfect, Ed,' he said.  'Worked like a charm.  No problems.' 
'Well done,' Haddon said and hung up.
     Bannion came into the living-room, carrying a suitcase.
     'Lu, there's an early plane to Los Angeles.  I must get it.' His 
white face and sunken eyes told their story.  'I can't wait.  Okay?' 
'Sure,' Bradey said, 'The porter will get you a taxi.' He went to 
Bannion.  'Don't worry, Mike.  You've done a swell job.  The money will 
go to the doctor.  You have my word.'  The two men shook hands, then 
Bradey called the night porter for a taxi.
     Maggie sat up.
     'You're going to see Chrissy, Mike?' 'Yes.' 'We'll miss you.' She 
slid off the settee and kissed him.
     Keep in touch, Lu, give him our telephone number.' Bradey shook 
his head.
     'No.' if something happened to Bannion and the telephone number 
was found on him it could lead to trouble.
     Bannion understood.
     'That's okay,' he said.  'It's better this way.' He heard the 
sound of the approaching taxi.  'I'll get off.' He looked at Bradey.  
"Bye and so long.' He gave Maggie a gentle pat on her shoulder.  'It's 
been great knowing you,' he said, then nodding to Bradey, he left the 
chalet.
     They listened to the sound of the taxi as it drove away.
     'Is something wrong?' Maggie asked.  'He looked so sad.' 'Let's 
get some sleep,' Bradey said curtly.  'Come on, Maggie!  I'm tired if 
you're not.' 'But, Lu, for him to go off like that!  He looks so ill.
     There is something wrong, isn't there?' Bradey put his arm around 
her and moved her towards the bedroom .
     'He's worried about his daughter.  Everyone these days has 
worries.  Let's get some sleep.  I'm tired.' 'You're tired!' Maggie 
snorted.  'That guy was like a sex-starved bull!  Tired?  I'm dead!' 
From the terrace, Anita moved like a phantom to the doors of the 
penthouse living-room.  There she paused and looked at the bodies of 
Manuel and Fuentes lying as if dead.  She looked at the inert bodies of 
the Warrentons on the settee.
     She had watched Bradey and Bannion climb up on the penthouse roof 
and disappear.  She had watched Bannion using some kind of gun that was 
practically noiseless, and here was the result!
     Cautiously, she entered the living-room.  On the floor by Fuentes, 
was a revolver.  She snatched it up and backed away.
     Her unhinged mind worked slowly.  It was more than five minutes 
before she accepted the fact that these two men who had brought 
disaster into her life, lay at her mercy.  She approached Fuentes and 
kicked him savagely in the face.  When he didn't react, she became 
relaxed, and a cruel, crazy smile lit up her face.  She put down the 
gun and fingered the haft of her knife.  A murderous surge ran through 
her to cut this man who had tempted Pedro: cut him to pieces.  Then she 
paused and surveyed this deluxe room and at the lush carpet she had 
cleaned so many times.  It was a beautiful carpet.  How often, when she 
had been using a vacuum cleaner, had she wished to own such a carpet!
     She put the knife back into its sheaf, then catching hold of 
Fuentes' ankles, she dragged him out onto the terrace.
     She left him lying in a patch of moonlight and returned to the 
living-room.
     She stood over Manuel, staring down at him.  Had he lied to her?  
She felt sure he had, but, after his dramatic speech that his friend at 
the hospital had lied to him, she was unsure.
     Then she remembered the device that would explode the bombs.  
Kneeling, she searched Manuel's pockets.  No device, so he had lied to 
her!
     She had a struggle to move Manuel's great body, but determination 
lent her strength.  She was panting by the time she got Manuel lying by 
Fuentes' side.
     She stood over the two men, lying unconscious at her t.
     'Pedro, try to listen to me,' she said softly.  'You are now going 
to be revenged.  You will now be able to sleep in peace.  Wherever you 
are, I pray you will see what your wife who has never ceased to love 
you, will now do to these two animals as you would want me to do to 
them.' She drew the knife and knelt by Manuel's inert body.
     She looked with loathing at the bearded face.
     'You claim to be a man of truth,' she said softly.  'All our pe 
people trusted you.  You promised me my husband.  You lied about the 
bombs.  You have no machine with you to explode the bombs.  You 
persuaded me to take great risks to hide these so-called bombs.  You 
didn't care!  All you thought about was money, you man of truth.' On 
the dark horizon, a glimmer of light began to show.
     The sun was beginning to rise.  In an hour or so, it would be 
dawn.
     'So I punish you, you man of untruth,' Anita whispered.  She 
thumbed back Manuel's eyelid.  Her hand steady, she gently inserted the 
point of her knife into Manuel's retina and turned the knife gently.  
Leaning over him, she did the same to his left eye.
     'Sightless, man of untruth, no one will come to you.  No one will 
be betrayed by you as you have betrayed me.
     Live in your misery.' As blood began to ooze out of Manuel's eyes, 
she got to her feet and knelt by Fuentes.
     'If it wasn't for you,' she said, her voice harsh, 'Pedro would be 
alive now.' Holding the haft of the knife in both hands, she began to 
hack and stab the unconscious body with maniacal ftiry.
     The first rays of the sun began to light up the sky when she 
walked into the living-room.  She went into Wilbur's bathroom and 
washed the blood off her hands.  She then washed the knife.
     She felt calmer, but not satisfied.
     Pedro could still not rest in peace until this detective who had 
shot him was dead.  She paused to think.  what was his name?  For a 
long moment, she was frightened she had forgotten, then the name came 
clearly to her: Tom Lepski.
     But where was he?  How could she find him?  She didn't even know 
what he looked like!  She thought again, then going into the 
living-room, she found the local telephone book.
     It took her only a few minutes to locate Lepski's home address.
     Again, she paused to think.  This detective wouldn't be an easy 
target as Manuel and Fuentes.  It would be dangerous to get close to 
him and use her knife.  She ran to where she had left Fuentes' gun.  
Snatching it up, she left the penthouse and ran silently down the 
service stairs, down to the staff entrance, and out into the day,7n of 
yet another hot, humid day.
     At 07.30, Lepski was beginning his breakfast of three fried eggs 
and a quarter-inch thick ham, grilled crisp.
     Carroll sat opposite him and watched him munch with growing envy.
     Carroll was a weight-watcher, and only allowed herself a cup of 
sugarless coffee for breakfast, but this morning, watching Lepski eat, 
she felt gnawing pangs of hunger.
     Being a woman of considerable will-power, she resisted the violent 
temptation of snatching Lepski's plate away and finishing up the ham 
and the remaining egg.  However, she could not resist expressing her 
criticism.
     'Lepski!  You eat too much!' she said as Lepski speared his third 
egg.
     'Yeah,' Lepski said.  'This is a great bit of ham.'  'You're not 
listening You don't need such a heavy breakfast.  Look at me!  I only 
drink coffee without sugar!' Lepski added more sugar to his coffee, 
then cut another piece of ham, then reached for another piece of toast.
     'I've got to have a good start for the day.' He conveyed the food 
into his mouth and munched.  'After all, baby, I have a heavy day's 
work.  I've got to keep my strength up-' 'You?  Work!  Let me tell you, 
Lepski, I know how you work!  Most of the days you're sitting with your 
feet on your desk, reading the comics.  When you're not doing that, 
you're propping up a bar making out you are a hot-shot detective.  
Work!  You don't know the meaning of work.  What abo@t me?  Me, who 
cleans the house, cooks your meals, washes your shirts?  Me!' Lepski 
had heard all this before.  He gave her his oily smile.
     'You're right, baby.  I wouldn't know what I would do without 
you.' Carroll snorted.
     'All men say that!' she snapped.  'It doesn't fool any of us.  
From now on for the sake of your health, you will only have one egg and 
a morsel of ham.  You'll feel and look better for it.' Lepski widened 
his oily smile.
     'No, baby, I've a better idea, You have one egg and a morsel of 
ham and I'll have my usual brealdast.' Carroll was about to clash horns 
when the front door bell rang.
     'Now, who can that be?' she said, pushing back her chair.
     Lepski grabbed another piece of toast.
     'Go ahead, baby, satisfy your curiosity,' he said, slapping butter 
on the toast.
     'Why don't you go?' Carroll demanded.  'Do I have to do everything 
in this house?' 'Could be the mail man, baby, with a big, fat present 
for you,' Lepski said, slapping marmalade on his toast.
     With an exasperated sigh, Carroll got up, walked down the passage 
and jerked open the front door.
     To her startled surprise, she found herself confronted by a short, 
squat Cuban woman, dressed in black slacks and a black sweat shirt.
     'Yes?' Carroll said.  'What is it?' 'I want to speak to Mr.  
Lepski,' Anita said.  Her right hand, hidden behind her back, gripped 
the .38 revolver that Fuentes had dropped.
     'My husband is having breakfast,' Carroll said stiffly.
     'He doesn't like to be disturbed.  Who are you?' Anita regarded 
this good-looking woman, standing before her, Into her unhinged Mind, 
she wondered if this woman would suffer, as she was suffering, to lose 
her husband.
     'I am Anita Certes,' she said.  'Mr.  Lepski wants to talk to me 
about my husband.' 'You should have gone to the station house,' Carroll 
said.  'Stay here.  I'll ask him.' Lepski had wiped his plate clean.  
He was finishing his third cup of coffee when Carroll came into the 
livingroom.
     'There's a Cuban woman,' Carroll said.  'She wants to talk to you. 
 Her name is Anite Certes.' Lepski sprang up, kicking his chair away.
     'For the love of Mike!' he exploded.  'We've been hunting for this 
woman!' Pushing Carroll aside, he stormed down the corridor to face 
Anita who was standing motionless.
     'Are you Tom Lepski?' she asked.
     A sudden feeling of chill ran through Lepski as he looked into the 
black, stony eyes.  From experience, he knew when someone was dangerous 
and this woman was.
     He realized that his gun was in the bedroom.
      'Are you the man who shot my husband?' Anita asked.
     'Let's talk about it, huh?' Lepski said, gently.  He realized this 
woman facing him, by her expression and by her wild eyes was out of her 
mind, 'Come on in.' Then be saw the gun in Anita's hand, pointing at 
him.
     Carroll, standing behind him, also saw the gun.
     'Die then,' Anita said softly and pulled the trigger.
     Lepski felt a thump against his heart.  He started back, caught 
his heel on the carpet and fell heavily.  His head slammed against the 
floor.
     Anita stood over him and fired three more shots, then she turned 
and ran down the path and onto the street.
     She wasn't to know that the gun Manuel had given Fuentes had been 
loaded with blanks.  Manuel had distrusted Fuentes as Fuentes had 
distrusted him.
     Seeing Lepski spread out on the floor, hearing the bang of gun 
fire, Carroll closed her eyes.  She wasn't the fainting type.  For a 
long moment, she remained motionless, then pulling herself together, 
she moved forward and knelt by Lepski's side.
     This awful woman had killed him!
     Cradling his head in her arms, she began to kiss him.
     Lepski stirred, then his arms went around her.
     'More,'he said.  'Much more.' Carroll released him.
     'i thought you were dead.' 'i thought so too.' Lepski sat up and 
began to rub the back of his head.  'Am I dead?' Carroll looked at his 
shirt.
     'There's no blood.  Don't talk stupid, Of course, you're not 
deadl' A little fearfully, Lepski surveyed his shirt front that showed 
black powder bums.  Then he opened his shirt and surveyed his chest.  
Then with a snarl, he jumped to his feet.
     'Which way did she go?' he bawled.
     'How do I know?  Oh, Tom, my love, I really thought you were 
dead.' 'That makes two of us.' Lepski rushed into the bedroom, grabbed 
up his revolver and snapped it in his holster to his belt, then he 
rushed back down the corridor.
     Carroll caught hold of his arm as he headed for the street.
     'Don't go out there!  She's dangerous!  No, Tom!  Please!' Lepski 
disentangled his arm.
     'Baby, this is police work,' he said with a heroic smile that was 
just short of being corny.  'Look, call Beigler, Get the boys down 
here, Okay?' 'Oh, Tom!  If anything should happen to you!' There were 
tears in Carroll's eyes.
     Lepski loved it, He kissed her.
     'Three eggs tomorrow?' 'Four if you want them.  Do be careful!' 
'Call Beigler.' Then bracing himself, Lepski, his hand on his gun butt, 
strode down the short drive onto the deserted street.  Here he paused 
and looked to right and left.  This crazy woman could not have gone 
far, but in which direction?  Then at the far end of the street he saw 
Ted, the newspaper delivery boy, approaching, tossing the papers onto 
people's porches.
     Lepski ran towards him.
     'Hi, Ted!' he bawled.
     The boy, thin, tall with a perpetually open mouth, gaped, then 
waved and came towards Lepski, peddling his bike furiously, Lepski knew 
this boy was not only simple-minded, but more than retarded.  He knew 
this boy worshipped him.
     Ted had told him his greatest ambition was to be as fine a cop as 
Lepski.  Although flattered, Lepski decided that Ted's ambition was 
geared a lot too high.
      i, Mr.  Lepski,' Ted said, coming to rest by Lepski's side.  
'How's crime?' Lepski knew to get the best out of Ted, he must not 
fluster him.
     'Well, you know, Ted: they come and they go.' Ted considered this 
remark thoughtfully, then he nodded.
     'You're dead right, Mr.  Lepski.  They sure come and they sure 
go.' He eyed the gun on Lepski's hip.  'You ever shoot anyone with that 
rod, Mr.  Lepski?' 'Look, Ted, did you see a woman, dressed in black 
coming your way?' 'I bet you have shot all kinds of thugs with that 
gun,' Ted said wistfully.  'One of these days, I'm going to be a cop 
and I'll shoot thugs too.' Lepski contained his impatience with an 
effort.
     'Sure, Ted, but did you see a woman, dressed in black on the 
street just now?' The boy dragged his eyes away from Lepski's gun.
     'A woman?' he asked Lepski shuffled his feet.
     'A woman in black.' 'why sure, Mr.  Lepski.  I saw her.' 'Where 
did she go?' 'Go?' 'That's right,' Lepski said, his blood pressure 
rising.
     'Which way did she go?' 'Why I guess she went into the church.' 
The boy thought, then shrugged.  'You ever know anyone who would run to 
church.  My Ma has to drag me to church.' At the far end of the street 
was the Church of St.  Mary.
     As Lepski began to run towards it a patrol car arrived.
     Two uniformed me-i spilled out while Ted stared, fascinated.
     'The church!' Lepski snapped.  'Watch itl She's got a un!' Leading 
the way, Lepski walked down the long street, followed by the two cops 
who had drawn their guns.
     They were immediately noticed by the neighbours who saw them from 
their windows, and people came out of their houses as another patrol 
car arrived.  Then a police car came hurtling down the street to pull 
up with a squeal of burning tyres and Max Jacoby jumped out with two 
other plain-clothes detectives.
     Lepski, now the centre of all eyes, paused.  Ever since he had 
lived on this street, he had heard his neighbours say to Carroll that 
he was the best and most efficient detective on the force.  Now was the 
time to hammer that praise home!
     'What the hell's going on?' Jacoby demanded.
     'Anita Certes,' Lepski said.  'She's out of her mind.  She tried 
to kill me, but I guess the gun was loaded with blanks.  She's in the 
church.' I Well, okay, let's go get her,' Jacoby said, pulling his gun.
     The group of men, guns irx hand, converged on the church.  The 
doors stood open.  From the church came the smell of incense.
     Lepski, with Jacoby close behind him, moved cautiously into the 
church, then paused.
     At the far end of the aisle of the church were brightly burning 
candles.  The altar was lit by flickering candle flames.
     Lepski moved forward, then stopped.
     Lying before the altar, he could see the Cuban woman.
     Blood was trickling down the steps of the altar.  The haft of a 
knife grew out of her heart.
     Wilbur Warrenton came slowly awake.  He stared around the deluxe 
living-room, shook his head, then snapped upright.  He looked at his 
wife by his side.  She too was moving.  He touched her arm gently, and 
her eyes opened.  They looked at each other.
     'What happened?' Maria asked.  'Have they gone?' She sat up as 
Wilbur hauled himself unsteadily to his feet.
     'We must have been drugged.' He looked around the living-room.  
'Yes, I think they have gone.' 'Drugged?' Maria stared at him.  'How 
could we have been drugged?' 'What other explanation?  Anyway, they 
have gone.
     There's no one here.' 'It's like a nightmare.' Maria stroked her 
throat, then she let out a faint scream.  'God!  The bastards have 
taken my diamonds.' She jumped to her feet and would have fallen if 
Wilbur hadn't steadied her.  'My lovely diamonds!
     They've gone!' 'Maria!' Wilbur said sharply.  'Don't get 
hysterical.  Sit down!' 'my diamonds!  What will father say?  They cost 
ten million!  The bastards!  I've lost my diamonds!' Maria's voice rose 
to a shrill screech.
     I 'You haven't lost them , Wilbur said.  'Stop this non sense!' 
Maria flared at him.
     'How dare you talk like that to me!, 'You have not lost your 
diamonds,'Wilbur said, quietly and firmly.
     They stared at each other, then Maria said unsteadily, 'Then where 
are they?' 'Where else?  In the safe.' 'Am I crazy or are you?  How can 
they be in the safe?' 'Maria, you were wearing the replicas.  I 
promised your father that if you insisted on wearing the diamonds out 
of security, I was to give you the replicas to wear.' 'Replicas!  I 
don't know what you are talking about!' 'When your father gave you the 
diamonds, he took me aside and gave me replicas which he had had made 
in Hong Kong.  There, he told me, experts can convert glass into 
deceptive-looking diamonds.  The collar, the ear-rings and the 
bracelets these thugs stole are made of glass.' 'God!  I can't believe 
it!' Wilbur went to the hidden safe, opened it and took out the leather 
case.  He opened it and handed it to Maria who stared down at her 
beautiful diamonds, flashing in the Sunlight.
     'Oh, darling!' She put down the case, then rushed to Wilbur and 
hugged him.  'Thank you!  Forgive me for being such a bitch, I know I 
am.  Please help me not to be.'

     Wilbur kissed her.

     'Go and lie down.  I have to get the police up here.' 'Lie down?  
I want champagne and caviar sandwiches!
     We must celebrate!' Maria whirled around.  'Look at the sun( Look 
at the sky!' Wilbur gave a resigned shrug.  He went over to the 
telephone to call the police.  He smiled as he watched Maria walk out 
onto the terrace where the ultimate horror of two mutilated men was 
there to greet her.

     THE END

     MY LAUGH COMES LAST by JAMES HADLEY CHASE 'The safest bank in the 
world' they called it-at least, the Press did, when they gave it 
world-wide publicity on its opening.  And Farrell Brannigan thought it 
was a pretty good name too: he'd built it and safeguarded it with the 
help of a brilliant electronics expert.  Foolproof.  But the man who 
planned on breaking into the bank was no fool -he was a ghost from 
Brannigan's past, with a king-size grudge .  . . a long time enemy with 
a pathological craving for revenge.  Blackmail and murder were just 
games to him-and before long, a whole lot of other dirty things were 
crawling out of the past .  . .

     0 552 10876 6 95p

     WHY PICK ON ME by JAMES HADLEY CHASE Milly Lawes, a Piccadilly 
streetwalker, found a strange ring in her room one day.  An hour later 
she was dead, and the ring gone.  Scotland Yard knew all about the ring 
though; so did the Secret Service-and so before very long, did Martin 
Corridon, ex-Commando, ex-MIs, exethics of any kind .  . . Corridon 
didn't really want to know, didn't want to work with the service 
again-but Milly had been a sort of friend, and the thought of her cut 
throat and blood soaked bed was enough to send him off on a trail of 
sabotage and murder.  A trail that had him

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