The Jack Frost Thrillers - Box Set Read online

  She walked around behind my chair, slipped her arms around my neck, and leaned over me, planting those huge breasts on my shoulders, one on each side of my head. Then she took her breasts in her hands and squeezed them together, making a sandwich of my head.

  “Come on, Frost, I’ll let you shave me,” she said.

  “I can’t hear you, I’ve got something in my ears.”

  She straightened. I heard her slap her hands against her hips. “Oh, to hell with it,” she said, and stalked back into the bathroom. “There has to be something wrong you, Frost!” she said angrily. I swallowed a smile and tried to concentrate on a local television announcer’s late newscast.

  After what must have been the longest shower in history, Tina walked out of the bathroom, toweling herself with vigor. She didn’t have a shy bone in her body. Naked was her natural state. She chatted while she toweled herself off, at one point bending her knees slightly and spreading her knees apart while she vigorously toweled her crotch dry.

  I sighed. Will this night ever end?

  My turn for the shower. This should be an adventure. I made Tina promise to stay in the living room. If there’d been a lock on the bathroom door, I’d have used it. The kid was obsessed with sex, which I normally wouldn’t object to in the least—but this was different.

  I’d been in the shower about two minutes when the last of the hot water disappeared. I washed the shampoo out of my hair with cold water and toweled myself dry.

  A few minutes later I lay under cool sheets in the dark, my fingers locked together behind my head, while I stared at the ceiling.

  “Are you awake?” she said.

  “Of course I’m awake, I just got into bed.”

  “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Good try. Stay right where you are.”

  “What are you, a damn priest or something?”

  I ignored her. I heard her throw her sheet back and clamber out of bed. Before I could open my mouth she was in my bed, tearing my sheet off and tossing one long leg over me in a smooth, practiced motion. She landed on my chest and grabbed my arms, then leaned over, thrusting those huge breasts into my face.

  “Tina!” I said, as I sat up. “Now dammit, enough is enough!” I pushed her off me, spilling her on to the floor. She sat there glaring up at me in the dim light that filtered in through the blinds.

  “That’s it!” she said. “I’m done with you, Frost!”

  “Oh, please tell me you mean that,” I said.

  “Screw you!” She stalked to her bed, and jumped in. She rolled over on her left side, facing away from me, and pulled the sheet viciously up over her shoulders.

  Early the next morning I nudged her awake. She threw the sheets back and tumbled onto the floor, looking like a naked, over-developed child as she stood there rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stepped closer, threw her arms up around my neck, and squashed her breasts against me as she lay her head on my chest. “What time is it, anyway?” she said.

  I pried her arms from around my neck, turned her toward the bathroom, and gave her a gentle shove. “Time to get it moving.”

  Easily said, not easily done, as it turned out. It took me an hour or so before I was finally able to get her into the car. Ripper added to her morning misery when he jumped on her lap.

  We grabbed breakfast at a little diner, then parked outside the local post office. She glared at me. “It’s not even open yet! We could have slept for another hour.”

  “Don’t you ever stop bitching?”

  “Hey, with you I’ve got a lot to bitch about!”

  After enduring Tina’s moaning for another fifteen minutes or so, I breathed a sigh of relief when a postal employee unlocked the front door of the small post office. I instructed Tina to stay with Ripper and walked inside. I showed my identification to the postal clerk and gathered up my prize.

  I walked out of the post office with the package tucked under my arm. I was suddenly apprehensive. I realized I had, in one spot, everything that Varchetta needed—Giovanni’s daughter and the ledgers—and he still had Susan. If somehow Red Sleeves or some of Varchetta’s other people managed to nail me, they’d have what they wanted, and I’d have nothing.

  I looked around. I couldn’t get rid of that low-key feeling of dread, but everything seemed okay. I got into the car, fired up the engine, and pulled away.

  “At last! Now we can get out of this miserable dump,” Tina said.

  As I headed out of town, I glanced at my watch. It was nine-fifteen. I felt like the pilot of a single-engine fighter plane who’d been asked to ferry his craft on a long trip over a very big ocean. It was only an hour or so back to Vegas, but I listened closely for any sign of engine trouble.

  I could not afford to be late for the meeting.

  When I dropped back to eighty miles per hour, I realized that I was taking it easy on the car, just as a race car driver might do in the final stages of a race he was leading. Good grief, what’s happening to me? I’m running scared.

  I thought about the entire mess. Even if I managed to make this swap and get Susan back, Varchetta would have Tina and the ledgers. I’d be back to square one.

  Chapter 14

  Long before I could recognize the red car parked along the road up ahead, I knew that it was a Ferrari. I glanced in the mirror. There was no one behind me, and no one was coming from the other direction, either.

  The Ferrari pulled onto the road, blocking both narrow lanes. I slowed, which attracted Tina’s attention. She stared through the windshield. “It’s Red Sleeves!”

  I recognized the Ferrari for what it was. All Daytona coupes are insanely fast, but this one was a very special one indeed, probably one of the long-distance GT cars from Daytona or maybe even Le Mans. I loved my old Jag, but it was no match for this brute that was parked up ahead. I braked to a halt, just short of the Ferrari.

  Tina looked at me. “Why are you stopping?”

  “This little scene is inevitable.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Red Sleeves wants this. And he’ll get it, or there’ll never be a meeting on top of the dam.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Probably not.”

  Red Sleeves got out of the Ferrari and walked to my door, a strange look of anticipation on his face. I knew what he wanted.

  My mind raced through a “what-if” scenario. What if, for instance, he beats me in this fight. It’d be all over for everyone. I’d be dead, Susan would die, and the ledgers and Tina would go back where they’d come from. The only upside is one of satisfaction: Red Sleeves would find out about the ledgers, and Varchetta would be toast.

  And if I killed Red Sleeves? Susan would still die, because he’s the only one who knows where she’s being held.

  I had everything to lose, and nothing to gain.

  Red Sleeves motioned toward a narrow dirt road that ran along the base of a rocky hill. “Follow me, please,” he said. He walked back to his car and got in. The Ferrari snaked around on the cement, a bit of smoke coming off the rear tires as he accelerated down the road for a short distance before he braked heavily and turned onto the dirt road.

  I followed him. We choked on his dust for perhaps a mile or so. The road finally came to a dead-end, simply widening into a flat turnaround area. The ground dropped away abruptly to the left, to a valley below.

  The Indian got out of his car, holding a .44 Magnum, a weapon which seemed somehow out of place with the rest of the man’s character.

  “Do you have a gun?” Tina said.

  “Yes.”

  “Well use it!”

  “If I kill him, Susan will die, wherever she is.”

  The Indian motioned for us to get out. “The dog stays there,” he said. Then he walked back to his Ferrari and opened the driver-side door, placed his revolver on the seat, and then removed his jacket. He folded it neatly and placed it over his w
eapon. As he walked back toward me, he clapped his hands together enthusiastically, and said, “Well, here we are.”

  I got out of the Jag, and made sure Red Sleeves saw me slowly and deliberately remove my Beretta and eject the clip. I placed the weapon on the floor of the car, then turned to face him. “Yes, indeed, here we are. Does Varchetta know about this?”

  “No. He would not approve,” the Indian said.

  “I suppose not.”

  “My way saves a lot of time,” Red Sleeves said.

  “Only if you win.”

  He looked at me with some amusement. “Oh, I’ll win, Mr. Frost. I always win.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  He looked at me for a few moments before answering. “I do appreciate your situation, Mr. Frost. While there is ‘a proper time to die’ for everyone, we both know that, for me, it won’t be today, simply because you can’t afford to kill me right now—supposing that’s even possible. But, ‘a proper time to die’ might very well apply to you.”

  Red Sleeves paused, then smiled slightly. “However, I fully realize that in the unlikely event I do lose, and I’m still able to walk away from here, it will be only be because you allow me to. If that occurs, I will simply go gather up your woman and meet you at the dam.”

  “Do I have your word on that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then let’s get on with it,” I said.

  He resorted to none of the exaggerated stances, cooing and eye-rolling bullshit that you see in the movies. He simply launched a beautiful flying kick, while I stood there waiting for him.

  I’m not big on kicks; they’re not used much in street fighting, and for good reason. When you come off your feet, a good street fighter, let alone a top martial arts man, will break you in half while you’re still in mid-air. No thanks.

  Red Sleeves knew what he was doing, and I could tell that kicks were his specialty. Nevertheless, it was his first mistake. I caught him poised in midair with his textbook perfect form, and drove a stiff right hand straight into his groin. I stepped back and let him fall. Incredibly, he was on his feet so quickly that he caught me by surprise, straightening me with a slashing right hand that caught me a hard but glancing blow on the left cheekbone. I blocked a straight right hand that was almost a blur, and turned him just far enough to his left to drive my elbow into his exposed armpit.

  He grunted, but managed to spin out of range. Evidently I had not convinced him when he failed on his first kick. He launched a fluid spinning kick with a lot on it. At the last possible moment I moved my head and felt the rush of wind from his foot. I crouched, and as his leg sailed over my head, I drove my left fist straight up into his body with all my might.

  He landed harder this time, raising a cloud of alkali dust. But he wasn’t down long. He shook off the blow and slowly got to his feet. He turned to face me, his dark face darker still from anger and pain—and maybe embarrassment. He made a low growl in his throat.

  Suddenly he was high in the air again, his right foot aimed straight at my chest. It was obvious that my unorthodox style confused him.

  This time I caught his foot—an unforgivable sin on his part—and I literally yanked him out of the air. As he hit the ground, I slammed my own right foot into his groin, which brought a grunt of pain that he couldn’t quite stifle. Normally I would have taken the opportunity to finish him off, then and there, but of course I couldn’t.

  I stepped back and waited.

  He got up even slower this time, not quite succeeding in masking his rage. He was losing his cool. If I wanted, he would have been quite easy to kill at that moment.

  While I was congratulating myself on how well I was doing, he moved far faster than I’d have thought possible for a man in his condition, and drove a kick into my left hip. I staggered back a few steps, and nearly went down.

  He lunged at me, sensing the opportunity to turn this fight around, but I managed to step aside and get one hand on his collar and the other on the back of his belt as he went by. I assisted him headlong into the side of his Ferrari with enough force to kill an ordinary man.

  But not this man. Somehow he came up lightly on his feet, perfectly on balance. He came at me with another spinning kick. I warded off just enough of it so that it glanced lightly off my ribs. I caught him under the chin with the heel of my hand, and slammed him back into the Ferrari again.

  He never went down. He shook off the blow and stared at me. If it hadn’t been for his preoccupation with kicks, the fight might have gone on longer. Once more he tried with a slight variation on the flying kick, but close enough so that I’d already seen enough of his technique to really get a good shot at him. I caught him in the kidneys, and stepped out from under him and let him fall.

  This time it was damn painful to watch him get up.

  But get up, he did. Red Sleeves was wobbly, but game. He slowly circled me. Then, as if he couldn’t quite believe that his kicks were not working, he tried another one—his final mistake. I went for the groin once more, catching the poor bastard so cleanly that it was embarrassing. He landed on his back in the dirt.

  For several moments he did not move. Then he groaned, rolled onto his left side, and drew his knees up to ease the pain. With some difficulty, he managed to get on his hands and knees, then shakily got to his feet.

  He simply walked away from me, toward his car. He opened the door, reached in and casually put his jacket on. Then he turned to face me.

  The arrogance was gone. The hatred was there, but it was mixed with more than a little respect. “I gave you my word,” he said, as if nothing really important had just happened. “Because of this interruption, I will be at the dam exactly one hour late with your woman.” And with that, he got into the car, started the engine, and roared past us, showering us with rocks.

  Tina stood looking at me, wide-eyed. Then she ran to me and threw her arms around my neck. “My God, that was fantastic!” She stepped back and looked up at me, her eyes going wider still. “Oh, Jack! He really cut you bad!”

  I touched my cheek. My fingers came into contact with exposed cheekbone. I walked to the car and fished out a small first-aid kit. Working in the outside mirror, I pinched the wound together and held it in place with tape.

  Under my shirt, I felt a warm stickiness. Pulling the shirt away, I found a long, ugly gash across my ribs.

  My only consolation was the thought that if I had won the fight and felt this bad, Red Sleeves had to feel worse.

  Chapter 15

  Susan sat on the edge of the lake under a brilliant sun, staring at the horizon. She had not seen a boat or any other sign of life since Red Sleeves left. But suddenly, almost afraid to hope that what she saw could possibly be real, she saw a blue and white speedboat growing larger on the horizon.

  As the boat grew nearer, she felt disappointment when she realized the Indian was alone. She turned and made her way along the narrow rock ledge bordering the tunnel leading into the grotto. When she reached the lagoon, she dove headlong into the water and struck out for the dock, some thirty yards away. She swam under the pier, where it was dark.

  An escape plan blossomed in her mind. She held on to the pilings which formed the small dock. From her vantage point she looked straight across the small lagoon.

  Presently she saw the boat enter the tunnel. She sank lower into the water, until only her eyes and nose remained above the surface, even though she realized there was no way she could be seen in the darkness. She held her breath as the boat bumped against the side of the dock. Please don’t take the keys with you.

  Looking up through the cracks in the boards, she could see Red Sleeves jump onto the dock and throw a mooring rope over the end of a piling. Then he stepped off the dock and raced up the steps toward the cabin.

  She quickly swam out from under the dock. She knew that she had only a few seconds before he discovered that she was missing. She clambered up on the planks and flipped the mooring rope up and off the top of the pili
ng with one hand, then fell over the side of the boat into the seat. She looked up and saw Red Sleeves coming out of the cabin door.

  The big inboard caught on the first turn of the ignition key. She jammed the shift lever into reverse and cracked the throttle. The boat backed away from the dock, hitting the pilings. She thrust the lever forward and spun the wheel to the right. The sleek boat pivoted in a tight circle. As the bow came around, she opened the throttle and aimed the nose of the boat at the tunnel entrance. The craft roared toward the opening.

  The tunnel was so narrow that she worried about ramming the rock wall by accident. But that soon became a secondary concern. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Red Sleeves racing around the perimeter of the lagoon, running at full speed toward the mouth of the tunnel as he tried to intercept her. As the boat entered the tunnel at top speed, she saw him leap into the air. With a sinking heart she heard him drop into the boat behind her.

  The boat literally exploded out of the tunnel into the open expanse of Lake Mead. Susan clambered to her feet and turned to face the Indian. She swung with all of her might, trying to knock him out of the boat. He pulled his head back, letting the blow sail harmlessly past. He stopped her forward momentum from carrying her overboard, and yanked her upright on her feet. He slapped her hard, twice, the force knocking her back into the seat. As the boat bounced across the choppy surface of the lake, Red Sleeves stared down at her.

  Susan glared at him. Then a wicked smile appeared on her face as she looked at the welts, and the angry cut over the Indian’s left eyebrow. “By God, he beat you, didn’t he! Jack beat you!”

  For a moment she thought he was going to hit her again. Then something shifted behind his eyes. He stood erect with great dignity. Ignoring her, he glanced over the bow at the onrushing lake to be sure that the boat was heading in the right direction. He made a slight course correction, then told her to steer. Walking aft, he opened a storage door and pulled out a cotton blouse and shorts and tossed them to her.