James Chase - There’s a Hippie on the Highway

Just before 19.00 hours, he went for a swim, towing out one of the rafts. He spent ten minutes doing some fancy diving and he wished there was a high dive board so he could extend himself. He decided he would talk to Solo about this. It could be an attraction.

He dried off, put on his shirt and slacks and went around to the kitchen. Although he was only five minutes late, Nina had already finished and was leaving the table as he came in. She went past him without looking at him. Manuel too had finished and was heading back to the restaurant.

Solo was at the big stove preparing a sauce. He was wearing a white coverall and a chef’s hat and he looked very professional. There was, he told Harry, a party of eight in for an early dinner.

Joe put a thick steak with french fries down in front of Harry, giving him a wide grin of welcome.

‘You want beer, boss?’

‘Lots of it, please.’ To Solo, Harry asked, ‘Randy not eating?’

‘He eats in the bar nights.’ Solo sniffed at the sauce and nodded approvingly. ‘Had a good day, hey? Lots of sun and air?’

‘Fine.’ Harry went on to talk about the high dive board.

As Solo continued to stir the sauce, he listened attentively.

‘Could you fix it, Harry?’

‘Sure. I found the right place. Coral foundation and lots of sea. We would want timber, some coconut matting, some steel rails, some cement and we’re in business. If you like the idea I could give exhibitions at night. With a few spotlights, we could give the customers a show.’

Solo tasted the sauce, grunted his satisfaction, then gestured to Joe to serve the dish. He came over and sat down beside Harry.

‘What do you mean... exhibition?’

‘Fancy, trick diving. I’m out of practice, but it’ll come back.’

Solo beamed.

‘That’s a great idea. Okay, Harry. You come into market with me tomorrow. When I’m through, I’ll drop you off at Hammerson’s timber yard. You tell him what you want and he’ll send it out Then you get the bus back, hey?’

‘Okay.’

After dinner, Harry, equipped with sheets of paper, a ruler and pencil, went back to his cabin. He made a rough sketch of the diving board. By the time he had figured out how much timber he would need and finished a neat sketch, it was close on 22.00 hours.

He decided to have one more swim before turning in. In the warm, still water, he had a good view of the lighted restaurant. There were about a dozen people dining and four or five in the bar. He could see Randy in a white coat, busy mixing drinks. Manuel, very dressy with his red sash, was moving from table to table, showing his teeth, pouring wine and snapping his fingers at the waiters.

But Harry scarcely looked either at Randy or Manuel. He was looking for Nina. Then he saw her. She was wearing a white pyjama suit with a gold link chain around her slim waist. Her black glossy hair hung loose and the brilliants in her earrings flashed in the lamplight when she moved her head, tossing back her hair.

She was standing on the veranda and looking in his direction, but he doubted if she could see him. He watched her until she abruptly turned away and entered the bar where she began talking to a man in a white tuxedo, a drink in his hand.

Harry drew in a long, deep breath, then swam swiftly and silently to the shore.

Solo Dominico made his last purchase as the clock in the market tower struck ten.

‘Okay... that’s it,’ he said as Harry hoisted a heavy carton of selected cheeses onto his shoulder. ‘We go now and have coffee. Then I drop you off at Hammerson’s for the timber.’

Harry nodded and made his way through the crowd of restaurant and hotel buyers who were still surrounding the cheese stalls. He put the carton into the estate car, closed and locked the door. Then he joined Solo who led him down a side street to a café-bar.

The big room was crowded. Everyone appeared to know Solo and he spent some minutes pausing at tables, introducing Harry, grinning widely and making jokes. Finally, they reached the counter and Solo ordered two mugs of coffee.

‘Try some of these,’ he said, pushing a bowl loaded with dark, crisp looking sausages. ‘Speciality of the house: pork soaked in rum. Very good after a morning’s work.’ He eyed Harry. ‘You enjoyed the work, hey?’

Harry nodded. He had enjoyed working with Solo. During the fifteen-mile drive out, he had talked about Vietnam, answering Solo’s many questions. When they had reached the market, he had watched and listened to Solo’s buying technique and quickly realised Solo knew his business just that shade better than the seller did.

They were eating their third sausage apiece and Harry was explaining to Solo the kind of terrain he had fought over when a tall, wiry looking man with a suntanned, lined face and clear ice blue eyes came up to the counter.

‘Hi, Solo, how are they hanging?’ he demanded, offering his hand.

Solo beamed and shook hands.

‘What are you doing here, Mr. Lepski? You won’t find bad men in this market.’

‘Who are you kidding? You know as well as I do they’re all chiselers and would cut their mothers’ throats for a dime.’ The cold eyes swept over Harry with a probing stare that told Harry this was a police officer, ‘Harry, meet Detective Tom Lepski of the City squad: very smart boy,’ Solo said. ‘Mr. Lepski, this is Harry Mitchell, my new lifeguard.’

‘Is that right?’ Lepski regarded Harry. ‘Can you swim? The last punk Solo hired as a lifeguard couldn’t even paddle.’

‘You’ll be safe with me,’ Harry said quietly. ‘I’ll rescue, you if you need rescuing.’

Solo laughed, slapping his great thigh.

‘Very good! Sure, Mr. Lepski you come out one day and have a little fun at my place: all free... nothing but the best. You swim. Harry will rescue you, hey?’

Lepski gave a wintry smile.

‘I might at that.’ He picked up a sausage and began to nibble it. ‘When did you last see Baldy Riccard, Solo?’

Solo’s little eyes opened wide.

‘Riccard? I haven’t seen him in years. You interested in Baldy, Mr. Lepski?’

‘I had it that Baldy was here on Tuesday and he called on you, Solo.’

Solo shook his head emphatically.

‘A mistake Mr. Lepski. It must be two years since I last saw Riccard.’

Lepski stared thoughtfully at Solo, grimaced, then shrugged.

‘Well, okay. If you say so. Baldy was here for three days. So he didn’t come to see you? Why didn’t he?’

‘How should I know?’ Solo looked blank. ‘Riccard and me were never close. Why should he even know I am in Paradise City?’

‘I heard it different. I heard you and he were very close. Since every hood in the country knows where to find you, why shouldn’t Baldy?’

‘You’re too clever for me, Mr. Lepski,’ Solo said, shaking his head. ‘It’s true Baldy and I were a little friendly one time, but I haven’t seen him now for more than two years.’

Lepski again shrugged.

‘Okay, okay. Can you tell me anything new you’ve heard about him since you last saw him?’

Solo reached for another sausage.

‘Well, Mr. Lepski, I do hear things from time to time. As you know the boys call on me to do little jobs, but I always say no. I don’t need little jobs anymore.’ He dipped the sausage into a bowl of chili sauce on the counter. ‘I do hear things. I did hear Riccard had pulled a big job in Vero Beach. No details. I didn’t want to hear. I’m not interested anymore.’

‘You kidding? Vero Beach?’ Lepski stared at him. ‘What sort of job?’

‘I don’t know. Frankly, Mr. Lepski, I didn’t believe it. There is nothing big in Vero Beach.’

‘Except it is a good place for a smuggling run,’ Lepski said.