Free 1978 - Consider Yourself Dead by James Hadley Chase Page B

Solomon was working with Silk. He (Frost) must have seemed to Silk to be a gift from heaven.
    The Trojan horse!
    Silk had been smart enough to know there was no way of snatching Gina without an inside man, so he had picked on him.
    Frost dug his fingers into the hot sand while he thought.
    Five million dollars! Suppose he played along? Suppose Silk had a safe, working plan? Frost’s eyes narrowed as he thought. Goble had talked of a fourth man - Umney? A four way split - five million dollars each. What he couldn’t do with bread like that! Frost’s thinking switched to Marvin. Suppose Gina was snatched? Would Grandi scream for the cops? Thinking about this, Frost decided he wouldn’t. He would pay up, but Marvin, shrewd ex-cop as he was, would know there had to be an inside man, and he would point a finger at Frost.
    It was one thing to snatch the girl, but something else besides, to get the ransom. When the ransom was paid and Gina returned, the heat would be on. Frost grimaced.
    He would be suspect number one. Silk must know this.
    Frost let sand trickle through his fingers.
    He wouldn’t be Silk’s stooge. If he was caught, he certainly wouldn’t let Silk go free to spend the ransom. He would talk his head off, and Silk must know this.
    Frost rubbed his hand over his sweating face. If he decided to act as the inside man, the snatch wouldn’t be too difficult, but collecting and spending the ransom seemed to him, to be impossible.
    He thought some more, but couldn’t find a solution.
    He felt sure that Silk wouldn’t stick his neck out unless he had a foolproof plan. What was it?
    For the next half hour, Frost sat staring at the glittering sea, his mind busy. Then, with a sudden nod of his head, he made his decision. He would pretend to play along with Silk, listen to Silk’s plan, examine it, then opt out or opt in, depending how convincing Silk was.
    As he got to his feet, he looked at his watch. The time was 15.15. He had five hours to kill before returning to the Grandi residence. He wondered if he should return to the Ace of Spades and see Marcia. He shook his head: play hard to get. He decided to take a closer look at Paradise City, and walked to where he had parked his car.
    Five million dollars!
    He kept thinking of owning such a sum. His mind was so occupied with visions of how he would spend money like that, he failed to observe a lean, tall youth with long greasy hair, a face like a ferret’s, wearing a T-shirt and dirty jeans, swing his leg over a powerful Honda motorcycle and come after him as Frost drove on to the highway and headed for the city.
    This youth, known as Hi-Fi, worked for Mitch Goble.
    He was a heroin addict. Goble kept him supplied with just enough money to buy his next fix. Goble had told him to keep tracks on Frost and never let him out of his sight.
    Still thinking about a possible future, Frost drove into Paradise City and parked the T.R. outside an amusement arcade. Leaving the car, he wandered into the arcade which was humming with activity. Crowds of young people jostled around spending their dimes, eating hot dogs, screaming at each other.
    Frost jostled his way to the shooting range. A fat, smiling Polak handed him a rifle. It was a way to kill time, Frost thought as he settled himself and took aim at the distant target.
    Hi-Fi melted into the crowd, his eyes on Frost’s broad back.
    Frost had taken the centre of the target out when he heard a voice say, ‘You Frost?’
    He lowered the rifle and turned to find a tall, wiry man, with a lined sun-tanned face and clear ice blue eyes at his side.
    He knew at once that this man was a cop.
    ‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Tom Lepski. City police,’ Lepski grinned and offered his hand.
    Lepski? Frost’s mind became very alert. He remembered Marvin had said Lepski was a first grade detective, and a good friend of his. It had been Lepski who had told Marvin that Grandi had needed a bodyguard.
    ‘Sure,’ he