Have a Nice Night by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online

to steal, Fuentes would have been back in Havana, and to hell with the cops!
    But now . . .
    It would take the cops only a few hours to check out the gun, then they would come after him.
    Sweating, he watched the scene below. More patrol cars arrived. An ambulance, its siren wailing, also arrived.
    Panic stricken, Fuentes turned from the window. He had to get away before the whole high rise was searched! Rushing to his closet, he threw his few clothes into a battered suitcase. Where to go? He thought of Manuel Torres, his best friend. Fuentes often met Manuel Torres on the waterfront. Both of them had lived in the same village, near Havana, gone to the same school, and when young, had worked together on the same sugar cane farm. Fuentes was sure he could rely on Manuel for help.
    Opening his door, he peered into the corridor. His neighbours' backs were turned to him; all were staring down the stairwell. Moving silently, carrying the suitcase, he reached the end of the corridor and the fire door exit. He slid back the bolt, opened the door, then glanced back. No one looked in his direction, their concentration was rooted to the lobby below.
    He closed the door after him, then ran down the staircase. Moving with long, quick strides, using the narrow back alleys, he headed for the waterfront.
    *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Two hours after the murder of Abe Levi, Sergeant Hess, a short, bulky man, in charge of the Homicide Squad, came into Chief of Police Terrell's office.
    'Looks like a straight grab raid, Chief,' he said. 'Two dead. Panic shooting, I guess. So far, we haven't identified the killer. He had no papers on him. We've asked around, but no one is offering information. He's a Cuban. We're still checking him out, but Cubans stick together.'
    Terrell, a large man with sandy hair flecked with white, his heavy featured face ending in a jutting, square jaw, looked what he was: an efficient, tough police chief.
    'This Cuban?'
    'He could survive. Tom got him in the lungs. Right now, he's in the intensive care ward. Larry is sitting by his bedside.'
    'Any lead on the gun?'
    'Checking it out. We should have something any time now.'
    'The Press?'
    Hess grimaced. 'We don't often get two killings in a day, Chief. They are having a ball.'
    'That's to be expected. You've taken the killer's fingerprints?'
    'They're on their way to Washington now.'
    Sergeant Beigler came in.
    'Got a report on the gun, Chief. It belongs to a Cuban, Roberto Fuentes. He has a permit. He lives in the same high rise where Levi was killed. He's not the killer. The photo on his permit doesn't match. Max and a couple of patrolmen are on their way now to pick him up.'
    'This man, Fuentes, could have sold his gun to the killer,' Terrell said, 'or he could be tied to this grab.'
    'That's my thinking, Chief.'
    The telephone bell rang. Beigier answered it. 'Hold it,' he said, then turning to Terrell, he went on, 'Fuentes has skipped. He's taken all his clothes. No one in the high rise knows a thing . . . of course.'
    'I want him,' Terrell said. 'Get it organized, Joe,'
    Beigier, who loved action, nodded. 'You'll have him, Chief.'
    *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    It was after 02.00 when Anita Certes approached Manuel Torres' fishing vessel. The waterfront, apart from a few night watchmen, was deserted. The watchmen glanced at her as she walked along, keeping in the shadows. They thought she was just another of the many whores who frequented the waterfront, She paused when she located the fishing vessel. There was a light on in the forward cabin. She felt certain, in that cabin, she would find Fuentes.
    It wasn't until Anita had returned home, after cleaning the penthouse suite, that she had turned on her transistor and had heard of the shooting. Before she had left for work in the morning, Pedro had told her when she returned in the evening, to pack. 'We leave for Havana at ten o'clock tomorrow. Be ready.'
    She