“Of course, this way.”
Carter followed him toward a rear booth. It was occupied by an enormous man in a white suit and a voluptuous brunette with a pouty mouth in a bland face.
“Ah, Huzel, welcome!” For his size the man was quick on his feet. His handshake was limp with a sweaty palm.
Again Carter relaxed. Obviously the man had never met Fabian Huzel face to face. “Bourlein.”
The same guttural laugh Carter had heard on the phone. “I thought you would know it was me. Allow me to introduce my secretary, Nanette.”
The woman rolled her eyes up and cased Carter. She seemed to like what she saw. A little life came into her face.
“Bonjour.”
“Mademoiselle,” Carter said with a slight bow, and the two men took their seats.
“A drink, senhor?”
“A double scotch, neat,” Carter said, and the maître d’ glided away.
“It is good to meet you at last,” Bourlein said, spreading pate thickly on a chunk of bread.
Carter’s drink came and he sipped it, watching the jowly man over the rim of the glass. “Is it?”
“Of course. I admire good competition, and you and I are the best.”
“What about Verna Rashkin?”
Bourlein dismissed the name with a wave of his hand. “A ruthless amateur. The woman uses her sex instead of finesse and good business practices.”
“She paid a visit to my room,” Carter said.
“I expected she would,” the fat man chuckled. “It is her way. Did she try and seduce you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“None of your business.”
“Then you didn’t succumb. Good.”
The brunette asked to be excused; her makeup needed tending. Bourlein let her out of the booth and resumed his seat.
“I suppose the bitch wanted to make a deal with you?”
“She did,” Carter said, noting out of the corner of his eye that Nanette had made a detour past the powder room to a bank of pay phones. “Probably the same deal you’re about to offer me.”
“Astute,” the big man said, and smiled slyly. “Of course, my deal is much better.”
“Oh?” Carter lit a cigarette. The brunette finished her call and disappeared into the ladies’ room.
“I calculate the resale on Bolivar’s gems at somewhere around sixty million. It will take time, a great deal of time.”
“True.”
“I propose to give you five million now, this very night. A tidy profit for your trip, and you don’t even have to be involved.”
Carter seemed to think it over seriously. The brunette returned. Carter tried to read her eyes, but there was nothing there.
“What if you are still outbid by Rashkin?” he said.
The smile was oily and cocksure. “I won’t be. I happen to know that the bitch has been able to raise financing for only half the deal.”
“So,” Carter mused, “that’s why she came to me.”
“Of course. What do you say?”
“No deal,” Carter replied, sliding from the booth. “I already have buyers. No matter what you bid, Bourlein, I can do better.”
The jowly jaw set and the dark eyes became stones. “I don’t like to lose, Huzel.”
“Tough shit,” Carter growled. “Thanks for the drink. I think I’ll have dinner at my hotel. I’d rather eat alone.”
Carter turned and left the restaurant. There were no cabs on the street. A block to his left, he saw the black sedan. His two watchdogs had picked him up again when he left the hotel.
Then he spotted the second sedan, just like the first, with two men slouching in the front seat.
He chuckled to himself.
Bolivar was watching them all.
There was a larger, more heavily traveled avenue below, nearer the beach. Carter crossed the street and walked down two flights of narrow stone steps.
He was almost to the bottom when he heard footsteps, one man, behind him. He quickened his descent. Two more were waiting, both breathing heavily. They must have run down from the street above to intercept him.
The two figures moved closer, became faces, bodies, young faces that were hard, young bodies that moved with easy litheness.
“We want your money, senhor,” one of them hissed.
“Give us trouble and it will be rougher,” said the other.
Carter backed against the pipe railing, curling his fingers around it. Behind him, the footsteps stopped.
Carter took a roll of bills from his pocket and tossed it onto the concrete walk. “That’s all I have.”
That stopped them for an instant. The two in front of him looked at each other in a quizzical way, then the leader bent down. He put the bills in his pocket and moved forward again.
“I think maybe you got more,” he snarled.
There was a small parking area for the beach. Carter left the rail and moved to one of the cars. The one on the steps came all the way down, and all three of them advanced.
Carter was against the car now, his back to the fender. He heard the flat slap of a sap being hit against the palm of a hand, and his eyes found the weapon in the hand of the third one of the trio. The other two wore gloves on their right hands. The lead one grinned with obscene anticipation and moved forward, the other two following.
Carter waited, gauging, measuring, letting split seconds tick off, and then he exploded into action.
Using the fender of the car as a lever, he kicked out with both feet, twisting his body at the same time. The blow caught the first one full in the abdomen, and Carter heard his gasp of pain as he doubled over, went down on one knee. The other two rushed forward, expecting him to stand and swing back. Instead, he lifted himself against the fender and flung himself backward across the hood of the car. He heard the two crash against the fender as he reached the opposite side of the hood.
“Get him, dammit!” one snarled viciously. “Kill the bastard!”
Carter slipped from the hood to the ground, landing on his feet as the pair came around the front. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the third one starting to pull himself to his feet on the other side. The two others slowed, then started toward him again, and he caught the dull glint of metal in the first one’s hand. He backed, and they continued forward.
He had toyed with the idea of carrying the Beretta, and then at the last minute had left it hidden in his room.
He regretted it now.
One of them had a short length of pipe. The leader had his sap. To Carter’s surprise, it was the third one who came at him with his bare hands.
Carter didn’t wait for him to swing. He stepped forward and hit him just below the ribs. It was like shoving his fist into a concrete wall. Then it was his turn. Before Carter could get out of the way, he caught one high on the cheek. It felt as if he’d been hit by a two-by-four. Part of his face went numb, and there was a warm trickle down his cheek as he fell backward to the ground.
He looked up and saw a foot swinging at him. He rolled to one side, grabbed the foot, and heaved as hard as he could. For a brief moment he towered above Carter, tottering on his feet. Then he went down like an axed tree. His breath whistled as it was forced from his lungs.
But then the other two came on like a pair of trucks. The sap caught Carter high on the shoulder. The end of the pipe went into his gut. He rolled and came up swinging. He dropped one with a kick to the groin, but the other two were in close and working him over.
It was then he knew that they weren’t trying to kill him. They were too precise. Their intent was to cripple him, and they were doing a good job of it.
He was sinking to his knees, when the blows suddenly stopped. He got one eye open and saw the reason.
Chunky and the young one, Carter’s watchers, were methodically pistol-whipping all three of his assailants. It was over in seconds and the young one came over and helped Carter to his feet.