‘You think so?’ Jackson leaned forward, his face now an ugly snarling mask. ‘Listen to me, baby, I’ve got you over a barrel! Give me that money or I’ll take it!’
‘You could be stupid enough to do just that.’ She placed the roll of bills on the desk. ‘So you are not only a blackmailer, you are also a thief.’
Jackson reached for the money, then he paused and withdrew his hand. His eyes turned shifty as he stared at her.
‘What are you cooking up?’
‘A good question to use your own phrase,’ Helga was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘The bank has the numbers of these bills. The police, so I am told, are only waiting for you to make a slip and away goes your licence. I can prove this money belongs to me. Can you prove you didn’t steal it? But go ahead and take it.’ She paused, then said in a soft, deadly voice, ‘Providing, of course, Mr. Jackson, you have the guts.’
For a long moment, he stared at the money, then at her. Blood rushed to his face.
‘Right!’ he said. ‘That’s it, baby! You have had your chance! The letter goes to Winborn!’
She laughed.
‘Have you lost your nerve, Mr. Jackson? I am surprised. You are just a cheap phoney. How about the five hundred thousand you and your fink are going to share? Haven’t you got the guts to fight for that?’
‘Listen, you bitch...’
‘No, Mr. Jackson, you listen to this,’ and she switched on the recorder’s playback.
As Dick Jones’ voice came from the tiny speaker. Jackson stiffened. He remained like a stone man until the recording finished, then he snatched up the recorder and put it in his pocket.
‘Don’t panic, Mr. Jackson, I have a copy,’ Helga said.
He glared at her, his good looks marred by vicious fury.
‘Do you imagine anyone would believe a half-caste bastard’s word against mine?’
‘Don’t you? You look worried.’
‘Nice bluff, baby, but it won’t work. You nearly had me going.’ He forced a grin. ‘Nearly, but not quite. No Judge would rule a tape recording. The first thing he would want to know is what was in the letter and how did you get hold of it from your husband’s papers. You’d look pretty stupid wouldn’t you, trying to explain. No, baby, you don’t bluff me. Now let’s cut out the smart tricks. I want clean ten one-thousand dollar bills and I want bearer bonds for five hundred thousand or else...’
She studied him and realized he played a King to her Queen, but she wasn’t dismayed, she still held the trump card.
‘I did hope the tape would frighten you into giving me the letter, Mr. Jackson,’ she said quietly. ‘I see I have misjudged you.’
He stared suspiciously at her, then his face brightened and he laughed.
‘It was a good try, baby. We all make mistakes. Now here’s what you do.’
‘I know what I am going to do.’ She leaned forward and stared fixedly at him. ‘Something I don’t want to do because, although you are a four letter man, Mr. Jackson, I don’t wish you dead as I don’t wish anyone dead.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Regretfully, Mr. Jackson, you force me to blackmail you as you are blackmailing me.’
‘What are you yakking about? Suppose you cut out this double talk? Here’s what you do...’
‘I telephone Ed Lopez and tell him you are screwing his wife,’ Helga said, speaking each word slowly and distinctly. ‘I will tell him to contact Frank Gritten for proof. You have been watched, Mr. Jackson. That’s what I will do unless you give me that letter immediately!’
Jackson reared back: blood left his face, his mouth turned slack and his eyes became glazed.
‘If you have anything to hide, Mr. Jackson, never try blackmail,’ Helga said. ‘Give me that letter!’
Five minutes later, the red folder in her hand, she swept out of the office, past the staring young coloured girl and down the stairs to the street.
Chapter five
Never had the sky poked so blue nor the sea so sparkling nor the crowds, swarming the beach, so happy and wonderful, Helga thought as she drove back to the hotel. She felt ten years younger, gayer and utterly reckless.
This best of generals didn’t lose the battle! This was the second time that she had beaten a blackmailer to the punch, and what a punch she had given that sleety creep! As she pulled up in a traffic block, she laughed aloud. An elderly man in a car alongside hers turned to stare at her. She gave him a flashing smile. He grinned shyly and looked away.
She could still see Jackson’s craven face as he had given her the red folder, the letter and a photocopy. He had been shaking and sweating. She had thrown a thousand dollar bill at him, demanding a receipt. His hand had trembled so violently, he could scarcely write.
Snatching the receipt from him, she had said contemptuously, ‘Have fun with your whore, Mr. Jackson. I won’t talk, but sooner or later, someone will,’ and she had left him.
That would sour his sordid romance, she thought and laughed again. The cards were still falling for her! In a few hours she would be flying home. Herman, in hospital, would be out of the way. She thought of Dick Jones, seeing his beauty and her heart began to race. She would have to handle him carefully, but he was young and full of sap. Seducing him would be an exciting experience and God! how she needed an exciting experience! For the first time that she could remember she was now desperately impatient to return home. Previously, the luxury villa with Herman hobbling around, had been like a coffin to her, but not now! With Dick there, opportunities there, Herman in hospital, she wouldn’t even think of going to Switzerland. Winborn had offered to advance her money. As soon as she returned to Paradise City, she would telephone him, telling him to put money in her account and debit the Swiss account.
She glanced at her watch. She had still two and a half hours before leaving Nassau. She decided she wouldn’t have lunch in the sedate grill-room. In the mood for excitement, she would go to one of the West Indian restaurants. She didn’t care that she was so severely dressed. She wanted fun and she was going to have fun!
Driving along the sea road, she pulled into the parking lot of the Riviera Tavern. The place was crowded with scantily dressed boys and girls. Music, with a terrific beat, blared from amplifiers.
A coloured man in white slid up to her.
‘A table, lady?’ There was a knowing grin on his face, telling her he had recognized her. She didn’t care. She was in the mood to join the young, dancing.
‘Yes, and a double vodka martini!’
‘Lady, you will be happier in a bikini,’ the man said. ‘We sell them here. There’s a changing room at the back.’
She laughed.
‘Marvellous!’
Ten minutes later she was sitting at a table in a scarlet and white bikini, the drink before her. She was happily aware that her trim body compared more than favourably with those of the girls with their puppy fat and wobbly bottoms prancing in the centre of the room.
A tall, lean boy with shoulder length hair and a smiling self-assured expression, wearing only swim trunks, danced up to her.
‘No, baby, no... you don’t sit still in this joint. Come on! Come on! Turn it on! Shake it!’
She moved into the crowd with him and abandoned herself to the music. Some of the girls stared at her, but most of them seemed to accept her.
Jiggling before her, the boy said, ‘You new around here, baby? I watch the chicks... the first time I’ve seen you.’
Chicks! She could have hugged him.
She was so elated and happy she didn’t even want the martini. When the music stopped, the boy said, ‘You want to sharpen up on that tan, gorgeous. You swim?’