Double Doublecross (12 page)

“Not too bad at either place. Kind of quiet,” she said.

“That's good, and by the way, I'll be making a trip to Florida in the spring for a brief vacation,” he said casually, knowing now she had lied about flying round trip to Seattle from Sacramento.

“What's there?” she inquired.

“Sarasota. It's paradise with great beaches, plenty of entertainment and wonderful weather, especially in the winter and spring months. I'll probably retire there eventually, that is
if
I can ever afford to retire,” he said with a laugh.

“Sounds wonderful. Maybe I'll get there one of these days. Where do you stay there?”

“I always stay at the same place every year. It's a small motel near the beach on Siesta Key called the Sunset View Motel. Over the years I've become well acquainted with the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Eddy McDonald, a great Scottish couple. I never miss a year. Always go in February—the Gulf is warming up and the sun is always shining. You can't beat it. You should go there some time,” he said, sitting back into the fireside recliner.

“Well, I think I'll get ready for bed and have an early night. See you in the morning, Rick. Good night.”

“Good night, sleep tight,” he said with a smile.

Rick sat back in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face. She had lied once again. This seemed to be a habit with her. Was she hiding something? Why did she keep telling him lies? Rick had already come to the conclusion there was not
going to be any relationship between them.

In the New Year he would restart the search for an apartment. He couldn't just throw her out; something was bound to turn up. Feeling a little jaded, he picked up the phone and dialed the Sacramento Airport inquiries. After several minutes on hold, there was a voice on the other end of the line

“Sacramento Airport. How may I help you?” someone said amiably.

“Oh, I'd like to know how long the flight delays were from Seattle this morning.”

“All flights from Seattle were diverted to Oakland or San Francisco. The flights were delayed approximately two to three hours before the fog lifted and Sacramento was open again. Can I help you with anything else, sir?” the voice said.

“No, that's all. Thanks for your help,” he said and put the phone down. The information definitely confirmed his suspicion she had lied to him. Rick sighed, looked around and began to think about the next few days leading up to the forthcoming New Year activity. It was customary for him to go skiing with Alec Collins at Squaw Valley. He knew Alec would have made reservations for his wife, himself and Rick. He decided to call him in the morning before he went to the office. With that in mind, he turned off the gas log fire, checked the doors and windows and made his way to the bedroom for a good night's sleep.

The next morning before he dressed, he picked up the phone and dialed Alec's number. He put the coffee on and poured himself a glass of orange juice while he cradled the phone between his chin and shoulder.

Alec picked up the phone, “Alec Collins here. Who's
calling?” he said in a professional voice.

“Hi, Alec. It's me, Rick. Sorry to wake you up so early in the morning. I know how you love to sleep in until noon,” he chuckled.

“Oh, it's you, Rick. For a moment I thought it was a client with an emergency problem. What's up?”

“Are we going skiing this weekend? It's the New Year, you know.”

“Sure, I've already booked the hotel rooms, one for me and Rita and one for you. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, that will be great, but I might bring along a friend,” Rick said, thinking he might ask Sara to join them.

“Anyone I know? One of your usual friends is it? Staying with us in the same hotel?”

“Yes, actually it's Sara Martin, the girl you introduced me to at
The Mikado
cocktail party some months ago. I'll need another room for her. Can you arrange that? You know the hotel management better than I do—on second thought, I'll do it. They know my name just as well. Okay then, I'll call you in a day or so just to confirm everything. Talk to you later.”

“See you later—and lucky you,” Alec said and they both hung up.

Now all he had to do was invite Sara along for the trip as a companion just to make up the foursome. He didn't know if she could ski, but he could give her a few tips and arrange for her to have a beginner's lesson. Deciding to ask her that evening, he finished dressing and drove to the office determined not to mention anything to the office staff.

Arriving at his apartment in Casa Diablo, Carl Regis was roughly bundled out of the car and escorted to the apartment
door. Harry Fennel rang the bell but there was no answer.

“Just making sure,” he said. “Give me the key. I'll do the honors.”

He opened the door cautiously and allowed Dan Grover to enter first with his semi-automatic in his hand.

“All clear,” he heard Dan say, and he pushed Carl violently through the doorway, sending him sprawling across the room. Carl got up slowly and sat in one of his armchairs.

“We're going to take a look around. Just sit there and be a good boy and you won't get hurt,” Harry Fennel said gruffly. “If you make a dash for the door, you'll be dead meat before you get to open it. Believe me, that's a promise and not an empty threat.”

For the next thirty minutes Carl watched his place being methodically torn apart. He hoped Sara had cleaned out her clothes and toiletries from the bed and bathroom.

Sitting there with his hands sweating and his stomach churning, he wondered where she was and if the money was safely hidden. Now the apartment looked as if it had been bombed. Stuffing from his sofa and chairs was littered across the floor, resembling the aftermath of an explosion. Every cupboard had been emptied, bed linen lay in a heap and his kitchen was in a chaotic state.

He stared into empty space as they finished their search, dreading their next move. He feared receiving more punishment. His left eye was slowly closing, his nose was not broken but it hurt like hell, his lips were split and sore. How much more could he take?

“Well, everything looks in order,” said Fennel, smirking. “We thought you'd like to know your friend has been in a bad accident, and he's in the local Oakland hospital slowly recovering. We think he might have been hit by a train or
truck. We know it was something large,” he laughed.

The two men put on their coats and moved towards the door.

“Here's your pal's hospital number. Give him a call in a day or so. See how he's getting on, and don't try to go anywhere because somebody will be watching you. Go only as far as the local stores, any further and it'll be a one way ticket to the local morgue. Do you understand?”

Carl just looked at them and nodded.

“I said,
do you understand
? Let me hear an answer. A nodding head means it's about to fall off and that can also be arranged. It's up to you.”

The threat sent a shiver through Carl's body. Any threat of violence made him feel the pain in his already battered face.

“I promise, okay?”

“Good boy,” said Fennel as he left Carl slouched on the remains of his sofa.

Carl spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess. Some of his chinaware was still intact. He repaired the bed and sitting room suite as best he could. At least the television was still in working order and the phone was left on the wall.

He felt grateful that they had left him and contemplated calling the hospital to see what had happened to Phil Speed. One thing was certain—they had no idea where the money was and Phil Speed couldn't help them. He felt a pang of guilt for getting Speed into this situation. He considered a way to compensate him and made up his mind to give it some thought at a later date, when he felt in better health. Right now was not the appropriate time and a million plus dollars was a huge sum of money to consider.

How this would play out, only time would tell. When the cartel decided to trust him again, the pressure would be off.
In the meantime he would do exactly as he was instructed.

The next morning Carl Regis picked up the cell phone and dialed Phil Speed's hospital room number to check up on his condition. After a couple of dial tones, Phil Speed came on the line.

“Phil Speed,” a muffled voice said.

“Hi, Phil. It's Carl here. They told me about your accident. How are you feeling?”

“What do you mean,
accident
? I was beaten and kicked half to death. I've got a fractured pelvis, two broken ribs and a face that resembles a fruit salad. What's going on? Did somebody steal some dope or money? The impression I got was that it was a large sum of cash, but I don't know how much.”

“Yeah, I had the same treatment but nothing's broken. I was told to stick around and don't go far. How about you?”

“Same thing, Carl. Say, did you have anything to do with it?”

“Would I be here if I had? I would have taken off for the far reaches of the Earth and holed up in some remote corner for a while.”

“They would have caught up with you eventually. They're smart, you know.”

“Well, get better soon. I'll be in touch to see how you're doing. Bye for now. I have to soak my face. I'll give you a call in a day or so,” he said, hanging up.

Carl found a comfortable spot amidst the rubble and sat down, realizing that Phil had not the slightest suspicion he was the culprit. Checking his refrigerator, he found there was nothing in stock to eat or drink. He would have to make a trip to the supermarket and get some food.

Getting into his car, he slipped out of the apartment
parking lot and slowly drove to the nearest supermarket just a half a mile down the road. Glancing in his rear view mirror, he noticed a white Mustang keeping pace with him about a hundred yards behind. He knew this would be his shadow for as long as they suspected him.

Pulling into a parking space, he got out of the car, picked up a shopping cart and threaded his way through the aisles, picking up several items of groceries as he went. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of a figure chaperoning him but not selecting anything to purchase.

Reaching the checkout, he unloaded his items and waited for the checkout service to bag his goods and present him with his price tab. The girl at the till gave him a hard wincing stare.

“I know, sweetie. My polo horse fell on my face,” he said cynically. He grabbed his cart and marched quickly to his car realizing that people were looking at his battered face. Again he glanced out of the corner of his eye and noticed his shadow was waiting for him at the car.

“Get enough to last you for a day or so?” the rugged looking stranger said.

“Yeah, sure,” Carl said in a meek voice.

“That's nice. We'll be watching you. Have a nice day,” he said sarcastically, walking slowly to his car and then followed Carl back to his apartment gate.

As he waited for the gate to open, he noticed Bill Janson in the gatehouse staring at him through the window. He gave Janson a grimace of a smile and drove to his parking spot, noticing that his companion was nowhere in sight, but knew he was somewhere beyond the gate keeping him under surveillance in shifts.

Should he contact Sara by phone? It passed through his
mind, but he was sure his apartment had been bugged. Otherwise he would have permanent company night and day. Communication with her too soon was risky, and he had to be cautious and patient.

Sara considered Rick's offer of a few days skiing in Lake Tahoe. She wanted to accept, for she had never had the opportunity to visit a ski lodge. She decided to seek the advice of Helen Turner who probably knew as much about Rick Jacobs as anybody else. She dialed Helen's number.

“Hello, this is Helen,” the delicate voice said.

“Hi, Helen. This is Sara and I need your advice on something. Rick has asked me to go skiing with him at Lake Tahoe. I've agreed to go but insisted that we have separate rooms, without any serious relationship. Do you think I've offended him? I don't want him coming on to me and spoil the whole weekend for us both.”

“Don't worry about it. Rick might be a bit of a playboy but he's also very honorable. You'll be perfectly safe and you'll have a great time,” Helen said, feeling a little envious. She had always liked Rick. He was fun, polite and always ready to have a good time. Stan, on the other hand, was more conservative in his ways and she loved him for it, but she longed for some of Rick's excitement in her life.

“Thanks, I feel much better now. I know Alec Collins but I've never met his wife. Come to think of it, I don't know his wife's name.”

“It's Rita, and you'll love her. She doesn't ski very well, and spends most of the time on the bunny slopes. So if you've never been on the slopes before, you'll see a lot of her.”

“Well, thanks for your advice, Helen. I'll talk to you later. Bye for now.”

Rick arrived home late that evening, slumped in his recliner, kicked off his shoes and stretched out his legs.

“I had a busy day and got
nothing
done. I hate those kinds of days. Still, what's new this time of year? Do you have any leftovers for a starving real estate executive? I've got a headache, and I'm as hungry as hell?”

“There's some meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas. Pretty basic but I was brought up like that. We had very little money or food when I was a kid. Meals were plain and we ate every scrap—had to or we missed the next meal. Kids today get taken to restaurants, order up a storm and then leave most of it. The parents are to blame not the kids.”

“Boy, aren't we philosophical this evening. Don't worry about me. We were just the same. No money and very little food. Now, where's that meatloaf? I'm famished and ready to drop?”

“It's on its way. How about some coffee?”

“Is the Pope a Catholic? Bring it on.”