He paused and took in several deep breaths of the air-conditioned air. Then crossing over to the conditioner, he turned it fully on. The sudden blast of cold air cleared his head. He stood before the machine, breathing deeply, then with enough cold air in his lungs, he became alert.
Leaving the machine at maximum, he walked over to the gun rack and took down one of the automatic rifles. He checked the magazine. The rifle was ready for instant use. As he was balancing the weapon in his big hands, his sensitive ears, long trained in jungle fighting, picked up a faint sound.
He looked across the room at the door leading into the villa. He saw the door handle was turning.
Now fully alert, he moved swiftly and silently to one of the big lounging chairs, dropped on one knee, the rifle aimed at the door, his body half concealed by the chair.
The door edged open without sound.
‘Stay right where you are or you’ll get lead in your gut,’ Frost snarled in his cop voice.
There was a pause, then a voice said, ‘This is Mr. Amando.’
Frost grinned. Old Creepy had nearly caught him napping!
‘Push the door open and stay where you are,’ he snapped.
The door swung fully open. Standing in the doorway was a thin man of medium height, wearing a white tuxedo, a blood red bow tie and midnight blue trousers.
Frenzi Amando was nudging fifty years of age. He had a skull-like face, topped by thick sable-coloured hair. His parchment-like skin was tight over symmetrical features: high forehead, deepset black eyes, a long, pinched nose, an almost lipless mouth and an aggressive chin. Frost told himself he had never seen a more menacing character: something right out of a horror film.
Slowly, Frost lowered the rifle and stood up. If he wanted to keep this job, he reminded himself, he had to play the right cards.
‘Sorry about that, sir,’ he said. ‘But may I suggest you don’t creep up on me? I’m here to protect you and Miss Grandi.’
Amando regarded him for a long moment. His eyes reminded Frost of the eyes of a cobra: flat, glittering and deadly. Then he moved into the room.
‘You are Frost?’ The voice was soft with a hissing note.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You appear to be alert. That is what you are paid to be. In the future, you will not be so dramatic. Only I use this door, and no one else. Do you understand?’
Frost laid the rifle across the arms of the chair.
‘I react to sound, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trained that way. I will remember in the future if you wish to check on me, I won’t shoot.’
‘I found the last guard asleep.’
‘Then you have every right, sir, to check on me.’
Amando stared at Frost, his glittering black eyes suspicious.
‘You have been well recommended. This, of course, is your first guard duty.’ The thin lips curved into a sneering smile. ‘New brooms, as they say. Keep alert, Frost. From time to time, I will check, as I check on Marvin,’ and turning he left the room, shutting the door silently.
Frost blew out his cheeks. If this sonofabitch had crept in three minutes earlier, he would have caught him, napping. Picking up the rifle, he returned it to the rack. He was now fully awake.
So that was Old Creepy. He could now understand why Marvin had said Old Creepy spoilt the scene.
He lit a cigarette, dropped into the lounging chair and looked at the monitors. He watched a dog cock his leg against a tree.
He thought of the six nights ahead, sitting in this chair, staring at the monitors, not knowing if the door behind him would silently open, and he grimaced. Maybe he was not going to earn six hundred a week, and all found, as easily as he had thought.
After a while, he began to think of Marcia Goolden. He saw her again as she sat by his side in the dimly lit bar: blonde, grey-blue eyes, beautiful. See you in Paradise City. You and I could have fun together.
Had she meant it?
He got a hard on as his mind dwelt on her. He looked at his strap watch. The time was now 01.20.
She would be a night bird.
There was a telephone book on a shelf. It took him only a minute or so to find the number of the Spanish Bay hotel.
‘Give me reception,’ he said, when he had made contact.
After a moment’s delay, a smooth, quiet voice said, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Has Miss Goolden checked in yet?’ Frost asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Put me through.’
A pause, then the smooth quiet voice said, ‘Who is this, please?’
Frost hesitated. Would she remember him? He thought for a brief moment, then thinking, What have I to lose? he said, ‘Mike Frost.’
‘Will you hold a moment, Mr. Frost? Miss Goolden may have retired.’
Frost waited, aware he was breathing heavily, aware his hand, holding the telephone receiver, was clammy.
Then her low, sensual voice came on the line.
‘Hi, honey! So you arrived!’
Frost drew in a long, deep breath. From experience, he knew he had the green light.
‘Hi, baby! I’ve had you on my mind ever since we parted.’
She laughed.
‘I bet! Did you see Joe?’
‘I saw him. I’m home and dry, thanks to you. When do I see you, baby?’
‘Joe fixed something for you?’
‘He sure did. When do I see you to say thank you?’
She laughed.
‘How do you say thank you, Mike?’
‘Wait and see. Just give me the chance to see you. When?’
‘Man! You sound impatient! She laughed again. ‘I’m impatient too. Come here tomorrow at twelve midday. You know the time, you crazy man? I’m going to bed.’
‘I’ll share that bed with you in your dreams.’
She laughed and hung up.
Frost slowly replaced the telephone receiver. The prospects for tomorrow looked good.
He settled down in the lounging chair, lit a cigarette, and waited impatiently for the moment when Marvin walked in to relieve him.
The doorman of the Spanish Bay hotel, a coloured giant, resplendent in a pale blue tunic, white trousers and a black top hat, advanced with dignity as Frost slowed the T.R.7 to a standstill.
The doorman lifted his hat and regarded Frost with an inquiring lift of black eyebrows.
‘Shall I take the car, sir?’ he asked.
Then Frost saw Marcia Goolden coming down the hotel steps.
‘Just picking up a fare,’ he said, and got out of the car as Marcia joined him.
She looked sensational, Frost thought. She was wearing white slacks and a skimpy red halter that scarcely contained her heavy breasts. Her corn-coloured hair fell in silky waves around her deeply tanned shoulders.
‘Hi, Mike!’ she exclaimed as the doorman lifted his hat and bowed to her. ‘I’ll drive,’ and before Frost could stop her, she slid into the driving seat. ‘We’re going to a dump that’s not easy to find,’ she went on as Frost settled into the bucket seat beside her. She sent the car shooting down the hotel drive, braked as she reached the boulevard, then forced the car into the traffic. ‘This is terrific!’ she said. ‘I’m thrilled Joe has fixed you.’
‘Not without your influence.’
Marcia laughed.
‘You had trouble with that Spanish bitch? I’m not surprised.’ She weaved the car through the traffic, and once or twice Frost flinched. They escaped two collisions by the margin of a coat of paint. She waved gaily to the stunned-looking drivers as she sped on. ‘She’s Joe’s screw, but he’s so busy making money, she doesn’t get enough.’ She whipped the car off the highway and went storming along a dusty dirt road that abruptly opened on to a wide stretch of tarmac, fronting a long two-storey building, very lush, with dark blue and gold sun awnings. On the roof ran the legend: The Ace of Spades. There were tables dotted around under sun umbrellas, and immaculately dressed waiters in red coats, serving drinks. ‘This is my work shop,’ she said as she swung the car into a parking bay. ‘We can eat well here, then you can say thank you,’ and she regarded him with merry, laughing eyes.