Not My Thing

Well, well, he thought. So S.J. is having it off with the Lawrence piece. Lucky guy! Business dinner! A joke!

Three beautifully dressed crabs were set before him. As he began to eat, he continued to think. Nothing here for me. This rich bastard is too dangerous to write about.

All the same, he told himself, there’ll come a time when I’ll fix him!

As he finished his first crab and sipped a cold beer, Jamison called for the check, paid, left a handsome tip and walked past Drysdale’s table without looking at him, and out to his parked Rolls.

***

Ernie Kling replaced the telephone receiver and hoisted himself out of the lounging-chair. He walked into the kitchen where Ng was standing over a saucepan which produced an aroma that made his nose twitch.

‘Smells great,’ he said, leaning up against the door frame of the kitchen. ‘What is it?’

Ng smiled at him.

‘I think you will like this, sir,’ he said. ‘It is a national dish which my mother taught me to cook. Saffron rice, tender beef, green peppers and many other herbs.’

‘If it tastes as good as it smells, it is okay with me,’ Kling said.

‘Thank you, sir. I am sure you won’t be disappointed.’

Relaxing against the door frame, Kling watched Ng as he stirred the contents of the saucepan. Man! he thought, was I lucky to find him!

‘A job’s just come up, kid,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you with me. You’ll have fun. We’re going to Paradise City, Florida. Loads of sun, sea, swimming. It’ll be a real vacation for you, and, maybe, you could help out. Like the idea?’

Ng began to serve the savoury-smelling food onto two plates.

‘I am always at your service, sir,’ he said.

‘Sure… sure. But I want you to have a vacation. I want you to enjoy yourself.’

‘When I am with you, sir,’ Ng said quietly, ‘I always enjoy myself. Are you ready to eat?’

Carrying the two loaded plates, Ng went into the living-room and set them on the table.

A real character, Kling thought. He shrugged, then joined Ng at the table.

4

A few minutes before 22.00, Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski walked into the Detectives’ room to find Sergeant Joe Beigler, the doyen of the Paradise City police force, reading through the afternoon’s crime sheet, a carton of coffee at hand and cigarette dangling from his lips.

‘Hi, Tom,’ he said, glancing up.

‘Anything for me?’ Lepski asked, sitting at his desk. He liked the 22.00 to 04.00 stint. It came around once a week, and there was usually more action during that period than during other stints.

‘Nothing for you, Tom,’ Beigler told him. ‘The usual small time stuff. Mostly kids: car stealing, stealing from shops. Right now, it is quiet.’

Lepski snorted.

‘Sometimes, Joe, I wonder about staying in this goddamn city. Here I am, the best detective on the force, and I rarely get a chance to reveal my talents.’

Beigler concealed a grin.

‘You never know, Tom. Something could come up, and then you’ll be in business.’

‘I want a full-blooded killing. I want a snatch. I want a big break-in. Something to get my teeth into.’

Beigler had heard this so often, he winced.

‘I’m just going through the unwanted visitors’ list. I see Lucky Lucan is in town.’

Lepski released a snort that would have startled a bison.

‘That creep! Man! Would I like to nail him! Where’s he staying?’

‘At the Star Motel. He believes in doing himself well.’

‘I would like to put him away for ten years!’

‘Look, Tom, don’t waste your energy. Lucan has a gold-plated racket. He preys on old, rich women and swindles them. We can’t do a thing unless these stupid randy old women make a complaint. Can you imagine them doing that?’

Again Lepski snorted.

‘He could slip up. I’m going to watch him. If there’s one creep in this city who deserves to be tossed in the slammer, it’s Lucan.’

Beigler was getting bored with this. To change the subject, he asked after Lepski’s wife. ‘How’s Carroll?’