Have a Nice Night Read Online Free Page A
Mr. Haddon! Good to hear from you. Something I can do?'
'I wouldn't be telephoning just to hear your voice,' Haddon snapped. 'I want a man: good appearance, a dead shot, able to handle a Rolls Royce and act the part of a chauffeur.'
Art drew in a long deep breath. This looked custom made for Mike.
'No problem, Mr. Haddon. I've got just the man. What's the job?'
'A big one. It'll pay around sixty thousand.'
Art closed his eyes. This was too good to be true.
'No problem, Mr. Haddon.'
'Who's your man?'
'My brother. He's a top-class shot and needs the money. You can rely on him.'
'What's his police record look like?'
'He hasn't one, Mr. Haddon. Right now he is a Musketry instructor in the Army. He looks good, talks well and is a certain shot.' So anxious was Art to get his brother fixed, he went on, 'I will guarantee him, Mr. Haddon.'
The moment he had said this, he regretted it. How did he know that Mike would deliver to Haddon's satisfaction? Haddon was ruthless. So far, Art had given him more than satisfaction, but he knew for sure, one slip and Haddon would deal with him no longer. Haddon's account with Art was the guts of his agency. If Haddon dropped him, so would all his other clients drop him. He broke out into a cold sweat, but he had shot off his mouth, and there was no retreat.
Haddon said, 'That's fine with me. If you guarantee your brother, that's good enough for me. Okay, tell him to report to Cornelius Vance at the Seaview Hotel, Miami at ten o'clock Sunday the twenty third.'
'How about the gun?'
'Vance will give him that. And Bannion, there is to be no violence. No one gets killed, but this man has to be a dead shot.'
'When's the payoff, Mr. Haddon?'
'When the job's done. It'll take around a couple of months. This is a big one, Bannion. You screw it up, and you'll be out of business,' and Haddon hung up.
Beth stormed into the office.
'I was listening,' she said, her face cherry red. 'You gone out of your mind? That pin-head of a soldier? We have dozens of dead shots on the cards. Why pick on him, a goddam amateur?'
Art glared at her.
'He's my brother. He needs help. Go away!'
When Beth, grumbling, had gone, Art dialled the Mirador Hotel number and asked to speak to Mr. Mike Bannion. He expected his brother would be out on this mild sunny morning, but Mike came on the line immediately.
Art thought: The poor bastard has been sitting in his dreary hotel room, waiting for me to call. Well, I've good news for him.
When Art had told him the news, Mike said with a catch in his voice, 'I knew I could rely on you, Art. I owe you more than thanks. I won't let you down, I'll get going right away, but I'll need money.'
'That's okay, Mike. I'll send you three thousand in cash to your hotel. Don't skimp on the chauffeur's uniform. It has to be convincing. My client is important.'
There was a long pause, then Mike said, 'No one gets killed?'
'That's what the man said.'
'Okay, Art, and thanks again. You can rely on me.'
As Mike hung up, Art sat back in his chair wondering if he should consider himself a saint or a sucker.
Chapter 2
Anita Certes entered the second bathroom of the penthouse suite of the Spanish Bay Hotel, bracing herself for what she knew she would find. The penthouse suite, the most luxurious and most expensive suite in the hotel had been taken by Wilbur Warrenton, the son of Silas Warrenton, a Texas oil billionaire, just married to Maria Gomey, a South American, whose father owned a number of silver mines. Wilbur had decided that Paradise City would be the place to spend their honeymoon, and Maria, difficult to please, had agreed.
At the age of twenty nine, Wilbur had not, as yet, joined the Texas Oil Corporation over which his father reined. He had had a Harvard education, taking a Master's degree in economics, had spent a year in the Army as Major (Tanks), had travelled the world in one of his father's yachts, had met Maria, fallen in love and married. When the honeymoon
'I wouldn't be telephoning just to hear your voice,' Haddon snapped. 'I want a man: good appearance, a dead shot, able to handle a Rolls Royce and act the part of a chauffeur.'
Art drew in a long deep breath. This looked custom made for Mike.
'No problem, Mr. Haddon. I've got just the man. What's the job?'
'A big one. It'll pay around sixty thousand.'
Art closed his eyes. This was too good to be true.
'No problem, Mr. Haddon.'
'Who's your man?'
'My brother. He's a top-class shot and needs the money. You can rely on him.'
'What's his police record look like?'
'He hasn't one, Mr. Haddon. Right now he is a Musketry instructor in the Army. He looks good, talks well and is a certain shot.' So anxious was Art to get his brother fixed, he went on, 'I will guarantee him, Mr. Haddon.'
The moment he had said this, he regretted it. How did he know that Mike would deliver to Haddon's satisfaction? Haddon was ruthless. So far, Art had given him more than satisfaction, but he knew for sure, one slip and Haddon would deal with him no longer. Haddon's account with Art was the guts of his agency. If Haddon dropped him, so would all his other clients drop him. He broke out into a cold sweat, but he had shot off his mouth, and there was no retreat.
Haddon said, 'That's fine with me. If you guarantee your brother, that's good enough for me. Okay, tell him to report to Cornelius Vance at the Seaview Hotel, Miami at ten o'clock Sunday the twenty third.'
'How about the gun?'
'Vance will give him that. And Bannion, there is to be no violence. No one gets killed, but this man has to be a dead shot.'
'When's the payoff, Mr. Haddon?'
'When the job's done. It'll take around a couple of months. This is a big one, Bannion. You screw it up, and you'll be out of business,' and Haddon hung up.
Beth stormed into the office.
'I was listening,' she said, her face cherry red. 'You gone out of your mind? That pin-head of a soldier? We have dozens of dead shots on the cards. Why pick on him, a goddam amateur?'
Art glared at her.
'He's my brother. He needs help. Go away!'
When Beth, grumbling, had gone, Art dialled the Mirador Hotel number and asked to speak to Mr. Mike Bannion. He expected his brother would be out on this mild sunny morning, but Mike came on the line immediately.
Art thought: The poor bastard has been sitting in his dreary hotel room, waiting for me to call. Well, I've good news for him.
When Art had told him the news, Mike said with a catch in his voice, 'I knew I could rely on you, Art. I owe you more than thanks. I won't let you down, I'll get going right away, but I'll need money.'
'That's okay, Mike. I'll send you three thousand in cash to your hotel. Don't skimp on the chauffeur's uniform. It has to be convincing. My client is important.'
There was a long pause, then Mike said, 'No one gets killed?'
'That's what the man said.'
'Okay, Art, and thanks again. You can rely on me.'
As Mike hung up, Art sat back in his chair wondering if he should consider himself a saint or a sucker.
Chapter 2
Anita Certes entered the second bathroom of the penthouse suite of the Spanish Bay Hotel, bracing herself for what she knew she would find. The penthouse suite, the most luxurious and most expensive suite in the hotel had been taken by Wilbur Warrenton, the son of Silas Warrenton, a Texas oil billionaire, just married to Maria Gomey, a South American, whose father owned a number of silver mines. Wilbur had decided that Paradise City would be the place to spend their honeymoon, and Maria, difficult to please, had agreed.
At the age of twenty nine, Wilbur had not, as yet, joined the Texas Oil Corporation over which his father reined. He had had a Harvard education, taking a Master's degree in economics, had spent a year in the Army as Major (Tanks), had travelled the world in one of his father's yachts, had met Maria, fallen in love and married. When the honeymoon
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