You Find Him – I'll Fix Him

  "Nothing like that, pally. Don't worry about the cine. That was a plant to make the cops think it was murder." He lit another cigarette. "Now let's get down to business. Are you going to Nice or do I send the note to Carlotti?"

  "Doesn't look as if I have much choice, does it?"

  I glanced aimlessly around the room, looking for a likely weapon. There was nothing I could see substantial enough to hit him with. I knew I wasn't going to stop him with my bare fists.

  Near the door was a small occasional table, and on the table stood a large vase full of carnations. By the vase was a large photograph in a silver frame of Myra Setti. She was in a white swimsuit, lying on a lounging chair and sheltered by a big sun umbrella. There was something vaguely familiar about this photograph, but I only half-glanced at it. My eyes shifted to a solid glass paper-weight that stood by the photograph. That, I told myself, might do.

  "So you'll do it," he said, watching me.

  "I guess I'll have to."

  "That's the boy." He grinned. "I knew you'd play. Okay, this is what you do. Leave your car in your garage on Thursday night. Don't lock the garage. I'll be along during the night to plant the parcel. Get off early on Friday morning. Stay the night at Geneva, then, on Saturday, you drive to Nice. You want to time it so you cross the frontier around seven in the evening. That's when they'll be thinking of their suppers and they'll be glad to push you through quickly. You go to the Soleil d'Or hotel. It's one of the swank joints on the Promenade des Anglais. Maybe you'd better book a room there. Leave your car in the hotel garage and forget about it. Got all that?"

  I said I had got it.

  "And no funny business, Mac. I have a little fortune tied up in that stuff, and I'll fix you for sure if you try a doublecross." His eyes hardened as he stared at me. "You're on the hook, so don't forget it. You're on it for keep."

  "What happens if Carlotti finds out I was at the villa when Helen died?"

  "Let him prove it," Carlo said. "If he gets too tough, I'll fix an alibi for you. I've got ways of fixing alibis. You've got nothing to worry about so long as you play with me. You and I can work this racket for years. There's the Swiss run you can handle too."

  "Looks like I've got myself a new career."

  "That's the idea." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Well, Mac, I've got things to do. You be set to leave on Friday. Okay?"

  I got slowly to my feet.

  "I guess so."

  He moved around me, keeping his distance and watching me.

  I paused by the table and looked at the framed photograph.

  "Is this your girl-friend?" I asked.

  He moved a little closer, but he was still out of reach.

  "Never mind who she is . . . beat it, Mac. I've got things to do."

  I lifted the frame.

  "Some dish. Is she on drugs too?"

  With a snarl, he stepped up to me and snatched the frame out of my hand. That put his right hand out of action. I gave the vase of carnations a swipe with my left hand and grabbed the paper-weight with my right hand.

  The vase, water and carnations exploded against Carlo's knees. For a split-second he looked down, cursing.

  I had the paper-weight balled in my fist. I hit him on the side of his head with everything I had got packed behind the punch.

  He went down on his knees. I saw his eyes roll back. I clubbed him on the top of his head and he slid forward, stretching out at my feet.

  I dropped the paper-weight and knelt beside him. That was a mistake. He was unbelievably tough. His right hand groped upwards towards my throat and he very nearly had me. I knocked his arm aside as he levered himself upwards. His eyes were blank. He was practically out, but he was still dangerous. I set myself, and as he lifted his head, I hung a punch on his jaw that jarred me from my fist to my elbow. His head slammed back on the floor and he went limp.

  Breathing hard, I caught hold of him and rolled him over on his face. I slid my hand into his hip pocket and my fingers closed over a leather wallet.

  As I was pulling the wallet out, the door jerked open and Myra Setti came in.

  She held a .38 automatic in her hand and she pointed it at me.

III

  For a long moment we looked at each other. There was a look in her eyes that told me she would shoot if I gave her the slightest encouragement, so I remained motionless, my hand half in Carlo's pocket.

  "Take your hand away!" she said.

  Slowly I withdrew my hand from Carlo's pocket. He stirred, half-turned over and made a growling sound in his throat.

  "Get away from him!" she said sharply.

  I stood up and backed away.

  Carlo pushed himself on to his hands and knees, shook his head and then staggered to his feet. For a moment he stood swaying backwards and forwards, his legs rubbery, then he got his balance, shook his head again and looked over at me. I expected to see a vicious, furious expression on his face, but, instead, he grinned.