1975 - The Joker in the Pack (12 page)

For a long moment, he stared at the money, then at her. Blood rushed to his face.

“Right!” he said. “That’s it baby! You have had your chance! The letter goes to Winborn!”

She laughed.

“Have you lost your nerve, Mr. Jackson? I am surprised. You are just a cheap phones. How about the five hundred thousand you and your fink are going to share? Haven’t you got the guts to fight for that?”

“Listen, you bitch . . .”

“No, Mr. Jackson, you listen to this,” and she switched on the recorder’s playback.

As Dick Jones’ voice came from the tiny speaker, Jackson stiffened. He remained like a stone man until the recording finished, then he snatched up the recorder and put it in his pocket.

“Don’t panic, Mr. Jackson, I have a copy,” Helga said.

He glared at her, his good looks marred by vicious fury.

“Do you imagine anyone would believe a half-caste bastard’s word against mine?”

“Don’t you? You look worried.”

“Nice bluff, baby, but it won’t work. You nearly had me going.” He forced a grin. “Nearly, but not quite. No judge would rule on a tape recording. The first thing he would want to know is what was in the letter and how did you get hold of it from your husband’s papers. You’d look pretty stupid wouldn’t you, trying to explain. No baby, you don’t bluff me. Now let’s cut out the smart tricks. I want a clean ten thousand dollars and I want bearer bonds for five hundred thousand or else!”

She studied him and realized he played a King to her Queen, but she wasn’t dismayed, she still held the trump card.

“I did hope the tape would frighten you into giving me the letter, Mr. Jackson,” she said quietly. “I see I have misjudged you.”

He stared suspiciously at her, then his face brightened and he laughed.

“It was a good try baby. We all make mistakes. Now here’s what you . . .”

“I know what I am going to do.” She leaned forward and stared fixedly at him. “Something I don’t want to do because, although you are a four letter man, Mr. Jackson, I don’t wish you dead as I don’t wish anyone dead.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Regretfully, Mr. Jackson, you force me to blackmail you as you are blackmailing me.”

“What are you yakking about? Suppose you cut out this double talk? Here’s what you do . . .”

“I telephone Ed Lopez and tell him you are screwing his wife,” Helga said, speaking each word slowly and distinctly. “I will tell him to contact Frank Gritten for proof. You have been watched, Mr. Jackson. That’s what I will do unless you give me that letter immediately!”

Jackson reared back: blood left his face, his mouth turned slack and his eyes became glazed.

“If you have anything to hide, Mr. Jackson, never try blackmail,” Helga said. “Give me that letter!”

Five minutes later, the red folder in her hand, she swept out of the office, past the staring young colored girl and down the stairs to the street.

chapter five

N
ever had the sky poked so blue nor the sea so sparkling nor the crowds, swarming the beach, so happy and wonderful, Helga thought as she drove back to the hotel. She felt ten years younger, gayer and utterly reckless.

The best general did not lose the battle! This was the second time that she had beaten a blackmailer to the punch and what a punch she had given that sleazy creep! As she pulled up to a traffic light, she laughed aloud. An elderly man in a car alongside hers turned to stare at her. She gave him a flashing smile. He grinned shyly and looked away.

She could still see Jackson’s craven face as he had given her the red folder, the letter and a photocopy. He had been shaking and sweating. She had thrown a thousand dollar bill at him, demanding a receipt. His hand had trembled so violently, he could scarcely write.

Snatching the receipt from him, she had said contemptuously, “Have fun with your whore, Mr. Jackson. I won’t talk, but sooner or later, someone will,” and she had left him.

That would sour his sordid romance, she thought and laughed again. The cards were still falling for her! In a few hours she would be flying home. Herman, in the hospital, would be out of her way. She thought of Dick Jones, seeing his beauty and her heart began to race. She would have to handle him carefully, but he was young and full of sap. Seducing him would be an exciting experience and God! how she needed an exciting experience! For the first time that she could remember she was now desperately impatient to return home. Previously, the luxury villa with Herman hobbling around, had been like a coffin to her, but not now! With Dick there, opportunities there, Herman in the hospital, she wouldn’t even think of going to Switzerland. Winborn had offered to advance her money. As soon as she returned to Paradise City, she would telephone him, telling him to put money in her account and debit the Swiss account.

She glanced at her watch. She had still two and a half hours before leaving Nassau. She decided she wouldn’t have lunch in the sedate grillroom. In the mood for excitement, she would go to one of the West Indian restaurants. She didn’t care that she was so severely dressed. She wanted fun and she was going to have fun!

Driving along the sea road, she pulled into the parking lot of the Riviera Tavern. The place was crowded with scantily dressed boys and girls. Music, with a terrific beat blared from amplifiers.

A colored man in white slid up to her.

“A table, lady?” There was a knowing grin on his face, telling her he had recognized her. She didn’t care. She was in the mood to join the young, dancing.

“Yes and a double vodka martini!”

“Lady, you will happier in a bikini,” the man said. “We sell them her. There’s a changing room at the back.”

She laughed.

“Marvelous!”

Ten minutes later she was sitting at a table in a scarlet and white bikini, the drink before her. She was happily aware that her trim body compared more than favorably with those of the girls with their puppy fat and wobbly bottoms prancing in the center of the room.

A tall, lean boy with shoulder length hair and a smiling, self-assured expression, wearing only swim trunks danced up to her.

“No, baby, no . . . you don’t sit still in this joint. Come on! Come on! Turn it on! Shake it!”

She moved into the crowd with him and abandoned herself to the music. Some of the girls stared at her, but most of them seemed to accept her.

Jiggling before her, the boy said, “You new around here, baby? I watch the chicks . . . the first time I’ve seen you.”

Chicks! She could have hugged him.

She was so elated and happy she didn’t even want the martini. When the music stopped, the boy said, “You want to sharpen up on that tan, gorgeous. You swim?”

“Sort of.”

“Swim with me?”

“Why not?”

He grabbed her hand and ran with her across the sand and into the sea.

“You follow me baby. I won’t go far out,” he said.

She paused to watch him. A showoff, she thought, no style and little speed. Letting him get well ahead of her, she cut into a racing dive, overtook him and went past him like a rocket. She swam a hundred yards or so, turned around and waited for him.

As he approached, she saw he was no longer happy.

“Say, who are you? Some athlete or something?” There was a sour note in his voice.

She realized her mistake. Men! Always wanting to be the top shots! She should have played helpless.

“Why didn’t you say you could swim like that? You putting me on?”

The spark had gone. Would she ever learn?

“My drink is getting warm,” she said and turning, she swam back, leaving him staring after her.

To hell with men! she thought. Use them when you need them, drop them when you don’t!

In the changing room, she rubbed herself dry, put on her dress, paid for her half-finished drink and decided, after all, to have a lonely lunch in the hotel grillroom. As she left she heard a girl say, “What the hell does she want to barge in here for?”

And to hell with you! Helga thought.

She got in the Mini and stared through the dusty windshield. Well, at least she had been called a chick!

She had regained her high spirits by the time she reached the hotel. She was hungry and went straight to the grillroom. The Maître d’hôtel met her at the entrance, his expression serious.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Rolfe, they are asking for you at the desk.”

She stiffened and stared at him.

“Who?”

“I believe your man, Hinkle.”

Impatiently she looked at her watch. The time was 12.35.

“He must wait,” she said curtly. “I want lunch.”

The Maître d’hôtel hesitated, then conducted her to a corner table. She ordered a crab salad and a half bottle of Chablis.

She was damned if anything was going to prevent her lunching, she told herself. Probably some stupid mix up with the luggage or something.

As she was finishing the crab salad, she saw Hinkle hovering in the doorway. One look at his face made her crumple her serviette and start to her feet.

Watched by the other people lunching, she joined Hinkle and they moved into the lobby.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

“Mr. Rolfe, madame. I regret to tell you he is very poorly.”

She stared at him, her heart skipping a beat.

“Poorly? What do you mean?”

“Dr. Bellamy is with him. Would you come up with me, madame?”

A little chill ran through her, but aware that the staff and several tourists were watching, she walked with Hinkle to the elevator.

With the elevator attendant all ears, she couldn’t ask questions until they began walking down the corridor.

“Won’t we be leaving, Hinkle?” She could think of nothing else.

“I am afraid not, madame. Mr. Rolfe’s relapse appears to be serious.”

Her triumph over Jackson, the exciting prospects of going home with Dick Jones vanished like a hand becoming a fist.

Goddamn Herman! she thought. But as soon as the thought passed through her mind, she felt ashamed. ‘How would you hate to be stricken with a drooling mouth, a useless arm and paralyzed legs, you selfish, thoughtless bitch,’ she told herself.

She found Dr. Bellamy waiting for her. She had never seen such a worried looking man.

“Oh, Mrs. Rolfe, I have bad news. Mr. Rolfe is unfit to fly.”

“What’s happened?”

“I regret to say that I don’t know. Dr. Levi will be arriving in a few hours.”

“You don’t know?” Helga snapped. “Has he had another stroke . . . you must know!”

“He was under sedation. He seems to have drifted into a coma.”

“Seems? Surely you must know if he is in a coma or not?”

“The symptoms are puzzling, Mrs. Rolfe. Nurse Fairely became alerted when his breathing became light and his color took on a bluish tinge. She sent for me. The heart action is strong, but the beat much slower.”

Helga stiffened.

“Is he dying?”

“I would say not, Mrs. Rolfe. It is an extraordinary change. I can’t account for it. I have taken the precaution of giving him oxygen. My assistant is with him and will remain with him. Everything that can be done, will be done.”

“So there is no question of flying him home?”

“I am afraid not.”

“So we must wait for Dr. Levi?”

“Yes, Mrs. Rolfe.”

“And you can’t suggest what has gone wrong?”

“I think it would be better to wait for Dr. Levi. Mr. Rolfe is his patient.”

Doctors! she thought.

“Well, we must wait then,” and not attempting to conceal her irritation, Helga left the room. She found Hinkle waiting in the corridor. “I want to change, Hinkle, then we must talk. Would you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Certainly, madame.”

She entered her suite, her mind in a frustrated, bitter fury. Quickly she got out of the dress and put on a pajama suit, then she lit a cigarette and began to pace up and down the big living room. All she could think of was Dick. She was still pacing when Hinkle tapped on the door.

“This fool of a doctor doesn’t know what is wrong,” she said angrily as Hinkle came into the room. “We have to wait for Dr. Levi. When did this happen?”

“A few minutes after you left, madame. Nurse Fairely called me and told me she had called Dr. Bellamy. He in turn called Dr. Levi. Fortunately it was early enough for me to cancel the packing arrangements.”

She stubbed out her cigarette, exasperated.

“I’ll go out of my mind if I have to stay much longer in this hotel!”

“That I can appreciate, madame. Perhaps Dr. Levi will give you some idea how long it will be.”

“I hope so!” She began to pace the room again. “Well, all right Hinkle, we must wait.”

“There is Jones to be thought of, madame,” Hinkle said, his voice dropping a tone.

As if she was thinking of anything else!

“Oh, yes.”

“Obviously we won’t be requiring him now, madame. I suggest I see him and advise him to ask the hotel to reemploy him.”

No, Hinkle, she thought, nice and kind as you are, you don’t make the decisions.

“If Mr. Rolfe can travel in a few days, I still wish to give the boy his chance.” She kept moving around the room so she need not look at Hinkle who she was sure was registering disapproval. “Let us wait until we hear what Dr. Levi has to say. Where is Jones?”

“I don’t know, madame. I haven’t seen him this morning. He had instructions to be in the lobby at 13.15. He is probably down there now, waiting.”

“All right, Hinkle. I’ll send for you as soon as I have spoken to Dr. Levi.”

“Very well, madame,” and Hinkle withdrew.

Helga went immediately to the telephone and called the hall porter.

“Is Dick Jones in the lobby?”

“Yes, Mrs. Rolfe. He is waiting for instructions.”

“Tell him to come to my suite, please.”

She replaced the receive and with an unsteady hand she lit yet another cigarette. What she wanted more than anything in the world, when Dick arrived was to lead him into her bedroom, but she knew this was impossible. She would have to wait. She clenched her fists in frustrated fury. Wait! Wait! Wait! That’s all she seemed to be doing with her life . . . waiting!