the hell have you been?" he demanded. "You left the kids on their own!"
"As I recall, you're the one that said they would be fine, and anyway, they know to call down to the resident babysitter if they need anything." Susan launched herself away from the door and struck a flamenco stance. "I've been to a nightclub."
"Who with?"
"The waiter, the barman, and the swimming pool attendant."
Larry did a swift reading of the pang he felt when she told him that. He decided it was annoyance, not jealousy.
Susan executed a couple of dance steps, then stopped, remembering something.
"Got a great joke," she said, giggling in advance. "There's these two old Jewish tailors, Morris and Izzy, who retire to Miami. Well, they get themselves all tanned up, looking at the young, sexy beauties, right?"
"You're pissed as a newt."
"So, every night Morris scores, but poor Izzy never gets a second look. 'What am I doing wrong, Morris?' he says. 'I got the Bermuda shorts, the tan, the cigar—for what? None of the girls want to know.' Morris tells him,
Izzy, this is what you do. Get two potatoes, slip them down your Bermudas. Okay? Just do what I say, and you can't fail.' So the next day Izzy gets two potatoes—"
"Oh, come on, Susie—"
"And that night he gets hold of his pal, he's in a real rage, and he says, 'Morris, I patrolled the beach all day with two King Edwards down my Bermudas, just like you told me to do, and all the girls did was laugh!' Morris takes one look at him and he says, 'Izzy, you're supposed to put the potatoes down the front of your Bermudas!' "
Larry groaned. Susan began to stagger about, laughing.
"He had them at the back, get it? Like, like he'd done something in his pants."
"I don't think that's funny," Larry said, talking through her laughter. "I've been waiting for you."
The telephone rang. As Larry turned to answer it Susan pushed him, her face angry suddenly.
"I've been waiting for you the entire vacation!" she said.
Larry jammed the receiver to his ear.
"Yeah, this is Jackson." He listened, nodding, then his eyebrows went up a clear half-inch. "What? You're kidding! Yeah, sure, I'll be there. He didn't last long, did he?"
He put down the phone. "Got him!" he said, grabbing his jacket. "Eddie Myers wants to talk to us!"
Susan was at the mirror, plastering cream on her face, a preliminary to removing her makeup.
"Where are you going?" she asked coolly.
"Prison," Larry said, opening the door. "See you later —Dolores."
DI Falcon was covered in insect repellent, and Summers had to ease his shoes off, as his feet had swollen. They were waiting for Myers to be brought out of the holding cell. Larry banged in, sweating, his shirt clinging to him, but he was elated.
"They're bringing him up now. . . ."
Summers tried to get his shoes back on as Falcon pushed the knot of his sodden tie up to his neck and slipped on his jacket. They could hear the footsteps in the stone corridor, and then they were confronted by Edward Myers. His hands were cuffed in front of him, his shirt was filthy, as were his trousers, and his face was dark with stubble. The two Spanish police officers stepped back to allow him to enter the room freely. He had the audacity to lean against the doorframe. He was not in any way angry and there was not a hint of bitterness. He just lolled, as if he had entered someone's drawing room for a party. He looked from Summers to Falcon, and lastly to Lawrence Jackson, Detective Sergeant Lawrence Jackson, and then he gave that strange smile.
"So, what's the weather like in London then?"
5
By noon next day arrangements were being made for a triumphal return to London with the prisoners in tow. Larry, DI Falcon, and DC Summers accompanied Von Joel to his villa to supervise the packing for the trip.
They had been there a little under an hour when Summers came down the main staircase to the hall and spoke to Falcon, who was studying a flight timetable.
"He says he s entitled to take as much luggage as he wants—is that
"As I recall, you're the one that said they would be fine, and anyway, they know to call down to the resident babysitter if they need anything." Susan launched herself away from the door and struck a flamenco stance. "I've been to a nightclub."
"Who with?"
"The waiter, the barman, and the swimming pool attendant."
Larry did a swift reading of the pang he felt when she told him that. He decided it was annoyance, not jealousy.
Susan executed a couple of dance steps, then stopped, remembering something.
"Got a great joke," she said, giggling in advance. "There's these two old Jewish tailors, Morris and Izzy, who retire to Miami. Well, they get themselves all tanned up, looking at the young, sexy beauties, right?"
"You're pissed as a newt."
"So, every night Morris scores, but poor Izzy never gets a second look. 'What am I doing wrong, Morris?' he says. 'I got the Bermuda shorts, the tan, the cigar—for what? None of the girls want to know.' Morris tells him,
Izzy, this is what you do. Get two potatoes, slip them down your Bermudas. Okay? Just do what I say, and you can't fail.' So the next day Izzy gets two potatoes—"
"Oh, come on, Susie—"
"And that night he gets hold of his pal, he's in a real rage, and he says, 'Morris, I patrolled the beach all day with two King Edwards down my Bermudas, just like you told me to do, and all the girls did was laugh!' Morris takes one look at him and he says, 'Izzy, you're supposed to put the potatoes down the front of your Bermudas!' "
Larry groaned. Susan began to stagger about, laughing.
"He had them at the back, get it? Like, like he'd done something in his pants."
"I don't think that's funny," Larry said, talking through her laughter. "I've been waiting for you."
The telephone rang. As Larry turned to answer it Susan pushed him, her face angry suddenly.
"I've been waiting for you the entire vacation!" she said.
Larry jammed the receiver to his ear.
"Yeah, this is Jackson." He listened, nodding, then his eyebrows went up a clear half-inch. "What? You're kidding! Yeah, sure, I'll be there. He didn't last long, did he?"
He put down the phone. "Got him!" he said, grabbing his jacket. "Eddie Myers wants to talk to us!"
Susan was at the mirror, plastering cream on her face, a preliminary to removing her makeup.
"Where are you going?" she asked coolly.
"Prison," Larry said, opening the door. "See you later —Dolores."
DI Falcon was covered in insect repellent, and Summers had to ease his shoes off, as his feet had swollen. They were waiting for Myers to be brought out of the holding cell. Larry banged in, sweating, his shirt clinging to him, but he was elated.
"They're bringing him up now. . . ."
Summers tried to get his shoes back on as Falcon pushed the knot of his sodden tie up to his neck and slipped on his jacket. They could hear the footsteps in the stone corridor, and then they were confronted by Edward Myers. His hands were cuffed in front of him, his shirt was filthy, as were his trousers, and his face was dark with stubble. The two Spanish police officers stepped back to allow him to enter the room freely. He had the audacity to lean against the doorframe. He was not in any way angry and there was not a hint of bitterness. He just lolled, as if he had entered someone's drawing room for a party. He looked from Summers to Falcon, and lastly to Lawrence Jackson, Detective Sergeant Lawrence Jackson, and then he gave that strange smile.
"So, what's the weather like in London then?"
5
By noon next day arrangements were being made for a triumphal return to London with the prisoners in tow. Larry, DI Falcon, and DC Summers accompanied Von Joel to his villa to supervise the packing for the trip.
They had been there a little under an hour when Summers came down the main staircase to the hall and spoke to Falcon, who was studying a flight timetable.
"He says he s entitled to take as much luggage as he wants—is that
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