Chapter 14
SHE STUCK HER TONGUE OUT PROVOCATIVELY....
After their night of love, the morning began beautifully for Calla and her husband-to-be. The beauty lasted until the moment they reached Jack's car in the parking lot behind the hotel.
A fairly neat triangle had been cut in a side window. The back seat had been pulled off and the upholstery slashed to ribbons. They looked into the trunk through the gaping hole and they didn't have to look any closer to know that Bruce West had taken his films back from them.
"The low life sonofabitch," Jack snarled as he looked at the wreckage of his car.
"He's out of his mind," Calla said in a shocked tone. "He should be locked up."
"He should be," Jack agreed, "but this is one we can't report to the police."
"Why not?"
"What do I report stolen?" he managed a grin. "A million feet of dirty movies shot in the Grange Hotel?"
"I see what you mean," Calla admitted with a rueful grin.
It took about five minutes to restore a semblance of order to the back seat and then they were on their way to the hotel.
Although neither spoke about it, they shared a concern regarding Bruce West. Would he be in the hotel at all when they arrived? Would he be in the same mood of insane rage that had obviously prevailed when he wrecked the interior of Jack's car? What would he do? There were a lot of questions but none of the answers would be available until they arrived at the hotel. Then, both knew, they would have to play it by ear.
As they entered the lobby, they saw him walking into his private office. He carried the billings he received from the various departments each morning.
"I never did trust a man who gets to work too early every day," Jack commented as they watched the door close behind him. "Nobody is that ambitious. It's like the man who never takes a vacation. He has to stay on the job to cover things up."
"I guess our little buddy is proof of that," Calla agreed. "What is your schedule for the unveiling of our Judas?"
"I'd say eleven o'clock. Just to be safe, be on deck about quarter to and have your father with you. I'll make a point of having some others around the desk. When I give you the signal, follow me and bring them with you."
Calla heard the strength in his voice and thrilled to the sound. He was a general deploying his troops for the crucial battle, a battle he would win.
And yet, she thought, he was the same man who showed such remarkable tenderness as a lover. It was, she knew, the blend that makes for perfection in the male, strength and tenderness in equal quantities and the wisdom to know always when to use which.
Their hands held for a moment as Calla went into her father's office to brief him on last minute plans while Jack walked to the desk.
Jack was surprised at how easily he was able to look after routine business. With the other desk man, he looked after checkouts, fielded a couple of complaints with a full measure of charm and generally kept the place humming.
In the back of his mind was the thought that he should be able to figure out where Bruce had stashed the films he had stolen back.
At half past ten, he checked his watch and told himself that the films would have to wait. It was time to prepare for the attack that would rid the Grange, once and for all, of the viper it had clasped to its breast for too long.
Turning on his most relaxed look, he walked to the door of the assistant manager's office, rapped once and walked in.
"What do you want?" the tone was loaded with hostility.
"I'm a bit concerned about 712. That's an expensive suite and it strikes me there should be a payment on the account."
"Did you have to interrupt me right now? Couldn't it wait until I'm finished with this damned accounting? It seems I have to do everything around here. Save your troubles until I'm finished."
"Fine by me, Bruce. I'll remind you later, but if we come up with a scooter, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Look, kid," the tone was heavy with sarcasm, "I've been in this business a long time. Don't try to tell me how to do my job."
Bruce had a lot more to say about young punks who like to throw their weight around and make time with the owner's daughter and Jack listened without interrupting.
While he listened, he walked around the desk and looked the man over as he searched for what he needed to know when the showdown arrived.
He found the bulge in the right pocket of the jacket. It would be, he knew, the billings and registration card that Bruce intended to dump into the incinerator as he did every morning shortly after eleven. He was sure of it, so sure that the words of the scolding he was receiving were music, music to smile by.
"Yes sir, boss," Jack threw in a mock salute as he turned to leave the office with all the confirmation he needed. "You're absolutely right. I'm sure I can learn a lot from you if I just keep my eyes open."
Resisting the urge to push another needle under the skin, Jack walked out of the office and pulled the door closed behind him.
"I don't like your attitude, Towers. I think there's going to be firing around here pretty soon."
Jack went directly to Paul's office where he found Calla talking to him. With a pleased smile, he told them that everything was set and assured them that Bruce would have the evidence on him. He suggested that they go out into the lobby and wait for the pickup.
"I owe you an awful lot, Jack," the man told him with obvious warmth.
"You don't owe me anything, Paul. You've given me a lot more than I could ever give you." As he said it, his eyes moved to Calla who was glowing.
"I think I know what you're talking about, young man," Paul smiled, "but even there, I'm the winner. I couldn't have picked a better man for my daughter. Congratulations to both of you. I don't have to wish you luck, I don't think you'll need it."
"You men I don't have to steal her away from you in the dead of night?"
"You try to take her out of here without our all having a drink to celebrate it and I'll take a few rounds out of you. Besides," he smiled as he looked at his daughter through eyes filled with love, "I'll be glad to get her off my hands. She's nothing but a nuisance."
"You know, I think you're right," Jack's grin matched that of the older man. "On second thought, maybe I'll leave her with you. I doubt that she can cook and I can't think of anything else she's any good at. By the way, dad, do you have any good telephone numbers?"
"One of them had better be a doctor, smart ass," Calla glared, "because when I'm finished with you, you're going to need one. Maybe a plastic surgeon."
"Oh well," Jack shrugged, "if you're going to take that attitude, I guess I may as well marry you. After you're my wife, I suppose I can always beat you."
Remembering their conversation of the previous evening, Calla thrilled and fought to keep from blushing.
"Two can play at that game, you bully." Although it didn't seem very frightening, she stuck her tongue out at him.
"Can I get a ringside seat for the ceremony?" Paul asked. "It should be the best thing since Dempsey and Braddock."
"Don't laugh dad," Jack replied, "you're going to be right there in the ring when it happens. You'd better be a good referee or you'll need band aids."
It could have gone on and would have been fun, but Jack decided it was time to get into position for the final act of the cops and robbers drama.
He left the office and, a minute later, Calla and her father walked out into the lobby. They saw Jack speak to a few other members of the staff and saw the puzzled looks on each face. Just as he started to walk back toward the desk, the door of the assistant manager's office opened and Bruce West walked out.
Jack paused at the corner of the desk and allowed the man to walk behind him. Seconds later, he began following him. Just before he rounded the corner into the service section behind the desk, Jack took a quick look over his shoulder to ensure that the others were following. With a grin of satisfaction, he decided it looked like the Hibernian parade on March seventeenth.
When he was about thirty feet short of the incinerator, Bruce West slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and turned to look over his shoulder at the same time.
His world came to an end as he saw Jack immediately behind him and the others following. His face turned to an ugly, grey mass of putty and his shoulders sagged. A moment later, he surprised them all by making a sprint toward the incinerator chute.
As if he had expected it, Jack leaped and threw an arm around the man's throat. Bruce used both hands to try to break the hold and when he did, Jack calmly slipped his hand into the jacket pocket and pulled out the papers that would confirm his suspicions.
As Jack began to thumb through them, he relaxed his hold and the assistant manager broke free. With an insane gleam in his eyes, he turned and threw himself toward Jack.
Holding the papers in his right hand, Jack brought his left fist up fast in a short jab that caught the man just at belt level. With a groan, the man doubled up.
Timing it just right, Jack cocked the left fist again, took a bead on the flabby chin and prepared to throw another punch. He stopped it, changed his mind and let it go. The short, sharp chop dropped Bruce in his tracks and he sprawled to the floor.
The others had caught up by then and Jack handed the papers to Paul. Counting the registration cards, Paul saw that this time there were seven rooms involved. In his panic, Bruce had upped the take.
It was, Jack knew, the action of a desperate man who knew he was reaching the end of the line and struck out blindly in a final, desperate gesture.
Paul handed the papers to his daughter who called the others to her while she explained what had been going on. As it happened, Bruce sat on the floor looking shaken and unaware of what was going on around him.
With a strength and sureness that was impressive in view of his condition, Paul Larson informed the stunned man that he was fired, was to leave the hotel immediately and that if he kept his nose clean, there would be no charges laid.
The tableau was completed as Paul relieved the former assistant manager of his hotel keys and the man, looking thoroughly beaten, clambered clumsily to his feet and hurried away. Just to be sure that nothing else would go wrong, Jack followed him to the lobby and watched as he lurched uncertainly out to the street.
Game over, Jack told himself.