1978 - Consider Yourself Dead (2 page)

He thought of the letter he had written:

Dear J.S.

Marcia Goolden told me to look you up. She said if you played the Big Shot with me she would hate you for the rest of your life.

Do you care?

Mike Frost.

He wondered if he should get out his handkerchief to wipe his right eye when she came out. Maybe Marcia had been playing at being important. Maybe Solomon would come out and spit in his left eye, but he needn’t have worried.

The chick came out, smiling, and jerked her head.

‘He’ll see you. It still won’t buy you anything.’

Frost leered at her.

‘Want to bet?’ and he walked past her into a vast room that was more a lounge than an office. Apart from a big desk by the picture window, the rest of the room resembled a millionaire’s nest where he can entertain some fifty people without feeling crowded.

Behind the desk which was big enough to play billiards on, sat a fat little man in a grey suit that must have set him back seven or eight hundred dollars. His round, sun baked face, with hooded eyes, a nose like a buzzard’s beak and a mouth like a pencil line was framed with long white hair down to his collar.

He watched Frost cross the big room, then he smiled and waved Frost to a chair.

‘Very nice, Mr. Frost. How’s Marcia?’

‘Fine and busy,’ Frost said, sitting down.

Solomon nodded approvingly.

‘There’s a worker!’ He leaned back in his executive chair. ‘She’s my favourite hooker. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for Marcia. I take it you’re here for a vacation and employment to defray expenses?’

‘Right,’ Frost said.

‘You’ve come to the right place. What’s your line? What are you looking for?’

Frost produced the details of his various qualifications he had typed out, and handed them over.

‘This covers my working life, Mr. Solomon. Maybe you can get ideas from this how to fix something for me.’

Solomon read what Frost had written, whistling softly from time to time.

‘You seem to have had a number of jobs in the past twelve years,’ he said, laying down the paper. ‘Let me see, three years as a patrolman with the New York police, promoted to Detective, second grade, resigned after two years to join the F.B.I, as field agent. Resigned after three years to become a rifleman in Vietnam. You then became a bomb instructor for the I.R.A. You later became a mercenary in the Angola upheaval. Finally, this year you worked for a short time as a security guard for Western Security Corp in Boston.’ He cocked his head on one side.

‘Quite a life of action and violence.’ He picked up the paper again and read on: ‘Knowledge of most modern weapons and explosives, judo black belt, karate, marksman with military citations, pilot’s licence etc. etc.’ He put down the paper. ‘Very impressive, Mr. Frost, but no one is planning to start a war in Paradise City. I feel your talents would be wasted here.’ He brooded, then went on, ‘There are jobs, of course, I can offer you, but . . .’

‘Such as?’

‘With your looks and build, you could earn five hundred a week. I have an old trout who needs a chauffeur, but you would have to lay her regularly once a week.’

‘Not my thing,’ Frost said firmly.

‘I didn’t think it would be. I have a very rich queer who needs a companion, but you . . . no, I can’t see you filling that bill.’

‘Nor can I.’

‘How would you like to be a lifeguard? It pays around a hundred, but it’s as good as a free vacation. All you have to do is sit on the beach and wait for someone to drown.’

This suggestion appealed to Frost until he considered the salary.

‘It has to be a lot better than that. From what Marcia told me, I’m expecting to pick up big money.’

Solomon sighed.

‘That old trout. . .’

‘That’s out. How about a bodyguard?’

Solomon brightened. He leaned forward and thumbed a buzzer. The Spanish chick looked in.

‘Any vacancies for a bodyguard, Carmen?’

‘Not right now.’ She gave Frost a jeering smile. ‘Strictly a drug on the market,’ and she removed herself, shutting the door.

‘From time to time, we do get requests for a bodyguard,’ Solomon said. ‘It’s your best bet. Suppose you hang around? If I hear of something. . .’

‘I can’t afford to hang around,’ he said. ‘Okay, if that’s all you can do, I’ll call Marcia. Maybe she can do something for me while she’s hating you.’

Solomon winced.

‘Don’t do anything hasty. Give me a couple of days . . .okay? I’ll get Carmen to go through our files. Give her your telephone number. We’ll find you something.’

‘Two days, then I call Marcia.’

Frost left him and went into the outer office.

Carmen smiled jeeringly at him.

‘I warned you. Give me your number, but don’t squeal if you don’t hear from us.’

Frost wrote down the telephone number of the Sea Motel and laid it on her desk.

‘Get me a good job, baby, and I’ll buy you a ribbon for your typewriter,’ he said.

‘More corny dialogue,’ she said, and reached for the telephone.

Back in his sweltering cabin, Frost settled down to wait.

If Solomon didn’t come up with something, Frost knew he was in trouble. He had no idea how to contact Marcia, and even if he did contact her, he didn’t think she could help him. He had just to wait and hope. So that was what he did - hoped and waited. Scared to leave the telephone, he sent over to the quick-snack bar at lunchtime for a sandwich and beer. The beer was flat and scarcely cold, the sandwich could have been made of cotton wool.

At 20.00, Frost decided Solomon and the Spanish chick had gone to their respective homes, and it would be safe to take a swim. He spent until midnight, swimming, lazing under the palm trees, and watching the dolls and their boys having a ball. He felt lonely.

He slept late, had lukewarm coffee that should have been ashamed of itself, then dressing, he sat down to wait again.

By 15.00, after another gruesome lunch, he was fit to be tied. Maybe, he told himself, it hadn’t been such a hot idea to come to this City. He was now sorry he had listened to Marcia’s sales talk. Then just when he was deciding to cut his losses and take a look at Miami to see if there was anything cooking there, the telephone bell rang.

It was Solomon on the line.

‘I have a job for you, Mr. Frost. Will you come to my office immediately. It’s a matter of urgency.’

‘The knock you are hearing on your door is me arriving,’ Frost said, hung up, bolted to the VW and was on his way.

* * *

The Spanish chick was at her desk manicuring her nails when Frost hurried into the outer office.

She gave him a stony stare and flicked her fingers at Solomon’s office door.

‘There you are, Mr. Frost,’ Solomon said, from behind his desk. ‘Sit down. A job’s come in that’s custom made for you.’

Frost sat down.

‘What’s it pay?’ he asked.

‘Six hundred a week, your own quarters, all found. Nice, huh?’

Frost said it was nice.

‘You know the Agency’s terms?’

Frost cocked an eye at him.

‘Not yet, but you’re sure to tell me.’

Solomon chuckled.

‘Fifty percent of your first week’s salary and ten percent until the job folds.’

‘No wonder you can afford to wear a suit like that,’ Frost said. ‘Well, okay. What’s the job?’

‘Bodyguard. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘Whose body do I guard?’

‘Mr. Grandi is a very valuable client of mine. He has reason to be anxious about his daughter’s safekeeping. He has a permanent home in Rome. An abortive, but vicious attempt was made to kidnap the girl while in Rome. Mr. Grandi, naturally alarmed, has rented a villa on Paradise Largo where he has installed his daughter. He thinks, away from Rome, she will be safe.’

‘Grandi? Who’s he?’

Solomon made an impatient gesture.

‘Carlo Grandi is the richest industrialist in Italy. Rumour has it he is worth several billion dollars. He is, as I have said, one of my most valued clients. I have supplied all the staff at the villa, and I arrange everything for his daughter’s comfort.’

‘Several billion dollars?’ Frost’s ears pricked up. ‘What’s the daughter like?’

‘I haven’t had the fortune to meet her nor Mr. Grandi. I deal through Mr. Grandi’s major-domo, Mr. Frenzi Amando.’ Solomon grimaced. ‘Now, there is a difficult man, but that’s neither here nor there. The reason why I have had this urgent request for a second bodyguard is that Mr. Amando, checking during the night, found the night guard asleep. He was instantly dismissed.’ He paused to light a cigar. ‘I have highly recommended you, and Mr. Amando is prepared to give you a month’s trial. He relies on me to check out references and so on, and I have told him your background is impeccable.’ He looked slyly at Frost. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘You can say that again,’ Frost said, with a grin. He now understood why the Agency’s terms came so high.

‘I didn’t mention your more violent activities, Mr. Frost. I feel that would be unwise. I told him you have been a detective attached to the N.Y.P.D., then a Federal Agent, and recently a security guard. He seemed satisfied’

‘You mean the job’s mine?’

‘Yes, if you want it. I have several applicants for bodyguards, but as Marcia is a friend of mine and yours . . .’

He waved his cigar in the air.

‘I want it. So what do I do?’

‘You are to report to Jack Marvin who is the senior guard. He is expecting you. Mr. Amando may not find time to see you himself. He’s a busy man, but if he does see you, watch your step.’ He pushed a slip of paper across his desk. ‘Here are instructions how to reach the villa. Paradise Largo is where the very wealthy live. Villa Orchid - Mr. Grandi’s residence - is on an island. Access to the Largo estate is over a bridge which is constantly guarded. You will have to show your driving licence to the guard who has been alerted to expect you. I suggest you pack, and get over there pronto. Okay?’

Frost got to his feet.

‘I’m on my way, and thanks.’

Solomon waved that away.

‘Anything for Marcia.’

‘Where does she stay when she’s here?’ Frost asked as he moved to the door.

Solomon eyed him.

‘Didn’t she tell you?’

‘I forgot to ask.’

‘The Spanish Bay Hotel - where else?’

‘Is that something?’

‘The best and the most expensive. Marcia can pick up a thousand bucks a night when she’s in the mood.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘What a worker!’

Going into the outer office, Frost saw Carmen had finished her repair work on her nails and was now reading a legal looking document.

‘The job’s mine,’ Frost said, pausing at her desk. ‘I owe you a ribbon for your typewriter.’

‘Shove the corn,’ she said curtly, ‘and sign this.’ She handed him the document. ‘It’s your contract with this agency.’

Frost took a chair near her and read the document carefully. He read the small print even more carefully. All money due to him in wages were paid direct to the agency.

Having made commission deductions, what was left was to be paid into an account in his name with the National Florida Bank. He was insured for ten thousand dollars against accident, the premium deducted from his earnings.

If he didn’t hold the job for more than two weeks, there would be a further deduction of fifty percent on the last week’s salary.

‘You certainly know how to look after yourselves,’ he said taking the pen she offered and signing.

She didn’t bother to answer that one.

‘How about a little celebration dinner tonight?’ he said, without much hope. ‘I could show you my press cuttings, and you could show me yours.’

She gave him a stony stare.

‘Piss off,’ she said, and reached for the telephone.

You can’t win all the time, Frost thought as he took the elevator to the ground floor, but, at least, you can try.

* * *

Paradise Largo turned out to be an isthmus linking E.l to A.l.A. highways, halfway between Paradise City and Fort Lauderdale.

The causeway to the estate was guarded by a lodge and an electronically controlled barrier.

A big hunk of beef, in a bottle green uniform, a .45 colt on his hip, surveyed the VW as Frost pulled up before the barrier. He then surveyed Frost who could see from the expression on the guard’s face, he didn’t think anything of the car nor of him.

Taking his time, the guard came out of the lodge and took Frost’s driving licence.

‘Jack Marvin’s expecting me,’ Frost said. ‘Mr. Grandi’s place.’

The guard read everything, including the small print on the licence, then handed it back.

‘Second on the right and straight ahead to the next guard house,’ he growled, then went back into the lodge.

Frost took the second on the right and drove down a broad avenue, newly sanded. On either side were ten feet high hedges. Every now and then, the hedges were broken by high, oak nail studded gates, leading to some villa. To Frost, the smell of wealth was overpowering.

At the end of the road, he came to another guardhouse. The barrier was up and another hunk of beef was waiting.

‘Straight ahead,’ he said, staring at the VW as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘Park in bay 10. Marvin’s there, waiting for you.’

Frost drove over a fifty-yard long bridge, spanning the seawater canal. Ahead of him he could see an island in the middle of the lagoon. The island was screened by closely planted mango trees. Over the bridge, he saw ahead, ten-foot high double gates. They swung open as he reached the far end of the bridge. As he drove on to a broad sandy drive, he saw, behind the screen of mango trees a ten-foot high fence of electrified wire. In his driving mirror, he saw the double gates had already swung shut.

A hundred yard drive through a forest of papaya and loquat trees brought him to Grandi’s residence.

The villa was two-storey, Spanish style, covered with red and white bougainvillea. The villa probably had some fifteen bedrooms. To Frost, it looked enormous. In the front of the villa was half an acre of lawn and a small lake with a playing fountain. Beds of roses and begonias made splashes of colour.