Busted!, page 11
part #16 of Cherry Delight Series
“Caught an early plane. Hope it doesn’t interfere?”
“Hell, no. You had breakfast?”
They shook hands. Freddy from Cleveland admitted he hadn’t eaten yet, so Vic ushered him into the dining room where two places had been set. When Vic rang a little bell, a girl came in and nodded when Vic told her to put another place for his other guest.
When he was seated, Mossi said, “I’d like to get our deal consummated as soon as possible, Favelli.”
“Is business that good?” I piped up.
The pale blue eyes touched me, slid away. There was no expression at all in them, neither suspicion nor reproval. Freddy Mossi was feeling his way, he didn’t know who in hell I was, and he wasn’t going to commit himself until he learned.
Vic Favelli was grinning. “Guess it is, Cherry, if the man wants to get back to Cleveland so fast. Hell! Why not stay a few days and get some sun? Do you good.”
Mossi smiled faintly. “I got another deal on the front burner, back in Cleveland. I don’t stay too long in any one place.”
“Except Cleveland,” I smiled.
He nodded. “I like it there, I got friends.”
“You have friends here, too,” I told him. “Please do stay. Vic would appreciate it, as a favor.”
Vic beamed at me, I guess he figured I was practicing my role as his future wife, which was what I wanted him to think.
His voice boomed, “Sure. Stay a couple of days. No need to race back. Let me show you a good time.”
“I’d rather get the job done, you don’t mind.”
I sighed. “If you insist. But if you ever come down this way again, please do look us up. Vic and I will be more than happy to see you, to entertain you.”
“You bet we will,” Vic enthused.
The maid came in then with platters of fried ham and scrambled eggs, plates of hot buttered toast, and two silver coffee pots. We dove into the food—at least Vic and I did. Mossi ate more hesitantly, as though the sight of food annoyed him.
He was a cold one.
I hate cold people who never get excited about anything. I like a little hot blood in the people I know. Sure, sure, they may make mistakes, but at least you know they’re alive.
Freddy Mossi was like a human snake.
It would be a pleasure to rid the world of him.
Ah, but how was I going to go about it? If I knew Vic Favelli, and I flattered myself that I did, he was going to insist on seeing a lot of me, day and night, from now on. What could I tell him that wouldn’t get him all hot and bothered again?
Over our second cup of coffee, Mossi asked, “When do you want me to see your clients?”
Vic said, “Not until night. Even if you did get here early, we’ll still stick to my schedule. If that’s all right with you, thut is.”
This made it even tougher on me. Saturday night is date night, so to speak. Vic Favelli would want me dancing attendance on him, sure as God made little apples. I was going to have to wrack my brain to get that excuse I needed to be away.
Mossi hesitated, then gave a brief nod with his head. “I’m not in that much of a hurry. All right, I’ll plan to see them then.”
“Until then, you’re my guest. You bring a suit with you? No? Doesn’t matter. I’ll send Chick into town to buy you one. You’ll come swimming with Cherry and me; we’ll spend a day on the beach.”
Mossi opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. I gathered he didn’t like sunlight, I wondered how I might turn this to my advantage.
I made my excuses, telling Vic that I had to go and get my bathing things. I think he was happy to get rid of me for the nonce, but he walked me to the Continental, pressing its keys into my palm.
“Bring all your stuff, Cherry. Stay here,” he urged.
“Not yet, Vic. But soon, maybe.”
He made a face, but he nodded.
It didn’t take me long to drive to the Seaport City Motel, strip off my fancy clothes and slither into a bikini.
My Gucci bag held more than my Gold Cup automatic. There were a couple of small vials there. I debated for a few seconds, then chose one. If things worked out the way I hoped, it would come in handy.
I drove back to the Mafia mansion to find Vic and Freddy Mossi awaiting me impatiently. At least, Vic was impatient. Mossi was disenchanted with this whole bit. He wanted no part of the hot Florida sun and a dip in the cold ocean waves.
Still, he couldn’t very well refuse without seeming to be rude. I noticed that he had on a shirt to protect his back from the sun’s rays.
We got in the Continental. Vic drove. I kept on telling Freddy from Cleveland how great the sun would make him feel.
“Vitamin D and all that. You really do need a touch of color in your face. You’ll attract girls like crazy with a good tan.”
“I don’t go around with girls.”
I eyed him archly. “A good-looking guy like you? I don’t believe it.”
“Girls interfere with work.”
I teased him a little more, and Vic listened with a grin on his face. I don’t think he liked Mossi either, but he had a need for him. Me, I could babble on like a brook, because in their eyes I was only a dumb broad.
We coaxed him into taking off his shirt and going into the water with us. He even admitted it felt good. He left the shirt off for a time, and when Vic produced a thermos filled with wine, I saw my chance.
I offered to do the honors.
I poured the wine into paper cups, and into the paper cup I handed to Freddy Mossi, I put some of the white liquid from the vial in my Gucci bag. They were yakking away, my back was turned to them, they paid me no never mind.
We drank the wine.
Pretty soon, Mossi got sleepy. He stretched out on his front, muttering something about just closing his eyes. In a matter of seconds, he was snoring away.
Vic eyed him worriedly. “We ought to put his shirt over him. He might get a bad burn.”
I giggled. “Serve him right. He’s a cold fish, the sun may warm up his blood.”
Vic was torn between a smile and a scowl. He had no reason to know I’d dumped something in Mossi’s wine to make him sleep, it was just that he didn’t want a sunburn to stop his hit man. After a few seconds, the smile won out.
“All right, but just for a little while. We don’t want him to suffer.”
Oh, no?
I made damn sure Vic Favelli forgot about Freddy Mossi and the sun by taking him out for a long swim. We fooled around in the water, and I got him so bothered he had to have relief.
We waded in to shore, walked about a half mile to a big sand dune, and made love. After that, of course, we had to go into the water again, to wash the sand off. I’d guess we took about two, two and a half hours, all told.
When we got back to Freddy from Cleveland, his back looked like the shell of a cooked lobster. It was a raw red. Vic took one look at it and cursed softly.
“Look at him,” he growled.
“So he got a little sunburn. Here, I’ll drape his shirt over his back.”
Vic and I ate the sandwiches and drank the cold coffee. He wanted to wake Freddy, but I talked him into letting him sleep. His neck was getting the full effect of the sun, so were the backs of his legs.
Finally Vic could stand it no longer. He leaned over and poked the hit man, who opened bleary eyes. He raised his head, gave us that dazed glance, then sat up. He winced as he did so, I am happy to say.
“Can’t understand what hit me,” Mossi grumbled, sitting up. “Must have been more tired than I thought.”
“It’s all this swell fresh air,” I bubbled.
His look at me was fit to kill. He shrugged into his shirt, and sat there with a pained expression on his face. Me, I secretly hugged myself.
Things went pretty fast from then on. We went back to the house, Mossi went off to his room—to get his murder weapon, I felt sure—and I made my apologies to Vic and told him I was going to have to go back to my motel room and change my clothes.
“We’re going to have dinner, you know. Be back before eight.”
Fat chance, I thought, knowing this was going to get a bit sticky. I couldn’t go on fooling him forever. I was going to have to take the Continental; my rented Pinto was back at the motel. If Vic got suspicious when I was late, he might send Chick to find me.
There was nothing I could do about it.
I got into the Conny and drove to the motel. In my room I changed into black slacks and sweater to match, and wrapped a black bandanna about my head.
It was dusk by this time.
Freddy from Cleveland wouldn’t make his hit until it was fully dark. He might even wait until around midnight. If he did this, my plans were shot to hell and gone. Vic Favelli would never wait that long for me.
I sighed. My hand was being forced before I was ready. You run into situations like this, every so often.
No matter. I couldn’t let Mossi kill the Henrys and Rod McCarty, even if it meant that Vic Favelli suspected I was working against him.
I left the Continental in favor of the Pinto, and drove toward the Henry beach cabin. I parked it about two hundred yards beyond the cabin and walked back through the gathering night. There were stars overhead and the moon gleamed as though made of newly burnished silver. I heard the lapping of the waves on the shore, a car motor from far away.
When I came to the cabin, I risked a peek inside. Pete was in the living room, cleaning some of his scuba gear. Jill was in the bedroom, trying on a new bikini. When I moved to a different window, I saw Rod McCarty helping Pete.
I dropped out of sight, wondering which way Mossi would come, by the beach or by the road. I stationed myself off to one side, so I could watch both directions.
Time dragged on. My wristwatch showed me it was quarter to nine, then nine, then a quarter after. Where in hell was Mossi? I sure would have to face a furious Vic Favelli when and if I killed his hit man.
Oh, he wouldn’t suspect me of that. At least, I didn’t think so. But he would damn well ask me questions about where I’d been.
I heard footsteps as somebody walked on dune grass. I swung about, seeing a shape loom up before me. It was Mossi, but he was walking funny. Then it dawned on me. He must be suffering the tortures of the damned from his sunburned skin.
My hand held the Gold Cup automatic, but I shoved it back in my Gucci bag. If I shot him, I would have to risk the sound of a shot. There was a better way.
I slithered along the sand on my belly. When I was very close to Mossi—he was standing still, staring at the beach cabin—I rose up behind him.
I was as quiet as a mouse. I wanted no sound to make him swing about and reach for his holstered gun. If I knew Mossi, it was a revolver with a silencer already fitted to it, but he didn’t have it in his hand, which was a break for me.
My schooling in kill tactics has been very thorough. I have mastered all the hand-to-hand fighting techniques, including the courses they gave the commando troops during World War Two.
I clapped my hands against his ears.
This will kill, if done properly. I guess I didn’t have enough force behind my blow to kill him. He grunted and slid forward, about to go to his knees.
Me, I was after him like an angry wildcat. I slammed my knee against the small of his back, right where his kidney was. He sobbed and fell face forward.
My momentum brought me down on top of him. He twisted around, or tried to. That was where that sunburn helped me. The guy was in agony; he couldn’t make his body respond to the commands of his brain.
He got halfway around, and his face in the moonlight was twisted in pain. I brought my hand away back and chopped at his Adam’s apple. I got all my strength into that blow, and I heard the faint sound of cartilage crunching.
You can kill by that blow. It crushes the Adam’s apple so your victim can’t breathe. I didn’t wait for him to suffocate, I grabbed for the butt of his revolver that protruded from his shoulder holster even as he gagged and made convulsive movements with his body.
The gun came out into my hand.
I pushed the barrel against his throat. I fired.
The sound was loud in my ears, but in reality, it wasn’t much more than a loud pop. I dropped the gun and slid away from the dead body, along the ground.
If Pete or Rod or Jill were to be curious about that sound and stare out their windows, I didn’t want them to see me. Maybe they wouldn’t even see Freddy from Cleveland where he lay so motionless against the sand.
I crawled like crazy, using toes and elbows, knees and hands. I got a lot of sand on me, but I got away from there fast. When I decided it was safe enough, I rose to my feet and ran like hell.
There wasn’t a sound behind me, no curious hail or alarmed outcry. I slowed my running after a time and in the shadow of some trees, began to brush the sand off me. It took a bit of doing, but I got most of it off.
I proceeded to the Pinto.
Then I drove back to the motel. My wristwatch told me it was quarter after ten. Time enough to get into an evening gown and drive to see Vic Favelli. I would tell him I’d fallen asleep.
I opened the door of my room without any suspicion of trouble. Two arms closed around me and hurled me halfway across the room.
Something hit the side of my head.
CHAPTER NINE
I stumbled and fell. A foot took me in the ribs. I rolled over and brought up against the bed. My Gucci bag was gone, fallen from my shoulder.
“What the hell is this?” I snarled.
A chuckle was my answer. Somebody turned on the lights. There were two Mafia buttons in the room with me, three if you included Chick. He was grinning coldly, eyeing me up and down.
“You two-bit whore, what do you think you’re pulling?” he grated.
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” I got out.
My wits were working overtime. These bastards didn’t suspect me of killing Freddy Mossi—at least, I didn’t believe they did—because I doubted very much if they’d followed me from the McCarty cabin. If they had, they’d never have gotten here so fast. Not only that, they’d have shot me down in cold blood if they thought I’d done their hit man in.
No, Vic had sent them, wondering where in hell I was.
I sat up, propping my spine against the bed. I rubbed my cheek where one of them had socked me. It was sore, it would show a bruise in a few minutes.
Chick smiled down at me. “You stood Vic up. He don’t like to be stood up.”
“I was—out riding.”
“Oh, yeah? Where?”
“Just riding.”
He lifted a hand to slap my face. I kicked out with a shoe, caught him across the ankle. He bent forward in pain, so I grabbed his head and dragged it down to meet my lifting knee.
My knee and his nose made contact.
He howled.
One of the other boys lunged. I slid sideways catching his shirt, yanked hard on it. He fell forward on the bed, landing and bouncing slightly, and in that split second of time I was after him, chopping down hard with the edge of a hand.
Something landed on my back and wrapped around me. I bucked and sought to dislodge him, but he was strong as an ox and held me with the grip of a mad octopus. I kicked back at his shins but couldn’t make contact.
I bent down with my head. His hairy hand was very close. I opened my mouth, bared my teeth and bit.
The big lug howled, just as Chick had done, his arms flew apart and I was rolling off the bed, falling on my knees but turning to drive two fingers at his eyes. He didn’t see my hand coming, my fingernails went into his eyeballs.
This time, he screamed.
“Goddamn whore!” Chick bellowed.
Blood was running down his face from his bashed nose, and his face looked like something out of a horror movie. But I didn’t care; I was mad by this time, my Italian temper was up in arms. I flew at him, making a cone of the fingers of my right hand and driving it upward at the soft part of his throat.
I landed right on target.
Chick gagged. He damn near choked to death, tottering back and forth on his heels and toes, giving me a funny look with his pained eyes. I brought my knee up into his private parts, he went backward and landed heavily.
“Very pretty,” a voice said from behind me.
I whirled, balanced for the attack.
There was no attack. Vic Favelli stood in the doorway, staring at his three hoods. One of them was writhing on the bed, hands covering his bruised eyes. Chick lay cold on the floor, not moving. The third guy still was on the bed, face down, where he’d been when I’d chopped at his neck.
I panted, “Did you send these bastards to beat me up?”
His eyebrows went up. There was no expression in his eyes, neither of anger nor of amusement. His face was hard, like dull ivory.
“Beat you up? I sent them to find out where you were. We had a dinner date, remember?”
“Sure I remember. Do you remember that you asked me to marry you?”
Surprise touched him. “Of course I do.”
“I went for a drive. It isn’t every day a girl gets proposed to. I had to think, I needed time for reflection.” I hesitated, then plunged on, “Marriage may not mean much to you. It does to me.
“When I marry a man, I’m going to give him all of me. Not just physically—that goes without saying. I’m talking about something else, things you may sneer at, maybe.
“Loyalty, devotion. Oh, sure. It’s gone out of style, I guess, all that. But it’s what I mean to do, Vic. And I really wasn’t sure I wanted to give myself that way to you. I had to think about it.”
Emotion came into his eyes. I think he was touched by my words. He asked softly, “And what did you decide?”
“Frankly, I hadn’t come to any decision. And when I got back here, these jerks jumped me.”
“It didn’t seem to bother you.”
“What? Oh, you mean that…”
My hand waved at the three buttons in their various stages of collapse. “I used to teach hand combat to women,” I lied. I put a faint smile on my lips. “I’m a dangerous gal in a fight.”
“Too dangerous, maybe.”
