§ § § -- April 17, 1994
Kurt Jensen didn't leave his bungalow till lunchtime, and that only because he was utterly ravenous. Once out the door, though, he sprinted around to the back of the bungalow and then proceeded to sneak through the trees, keeping well away from the established trails and even farther from the road. He found the pond restaurant in this manner, in over twice the time it would have taken him to walk there via the road or a path, and managed to put away a three-course meal in spite of his jumpy nerves. He shoveled the food in mainly by feel, since he spent most of his meal constantly scanning the room for the gangsters.
He was left alone throughout the meal and paid his bill with a sense of relief, leaving the last of his ready cash as a tip for the waiter before deciding to make his way to the main house and ask Leslie for another check. He peered in both directions as he stepped out the door, then did the fifty-yard dash along the restaurant entry dock back to dry land and began to slink through the trees once more.
He was literally within sight of the main house when the gangsters stepped coolly in front of him from the other side of the trail whose path he had been trying to parallel. The gunman grinned at him. "Sneakin' through the jungle. That's straight outta Hollywood, pal. Y'know, y'might even have made it, if you weren't wearin' that freakin' T-shirt." Jensen's T-shirt was the crimson of an overripe tomato and bore the bright-yellow legend PROPERTY OF FANTASY ISLAND SPORTS CLUB across the front.
Jensen glared at him. "Right, so I guess that makes us even, Bugsy. Do I even have to guess what you clowns want?"
"I doubt it," said the gunman cheerfully and waved the gun at him. "C'mon, move."
Jensen rolled his eyes and headed for the main house; with any luck, Roarke would be there again, and that would be enough to get rid of these crazies. However, this time it looked as if fate was smiling on the gangsters. Approaching the main house from the terrace in the rear, he could easily see into Roarke's study through the open French shutters, enough to ascertain that Leslie was currently the only occupant.
"That Roarke's daughter?" asked the gunman.
"Yeah, that's her," said Jensen.
"Then g'wan," his antagonist urged impatiently, prodding him with the gun for added emphasis. Jensen grunted at the poking and reluctantly stepped forward, crossing the terrace and entering the study. Leslie looked up.
"Hi, Mr. Jensen. Don't tell me…you need another check," she said.
"Uh…yeah." Jensen strolled casually to the desk and leaned forward while she stared at him with a hint of suspicion in her gaze. He shot a split-second glance out the open doors and then whispered, "After you write me the check, call the cops—there's three Hollywood-lookin' gangster types trying to extort the rest of my lottery money outta me."
She stared at him in disbelief, but the words had no time to really sink in before the aforementioned gangsters crowded into the room the same way Jensen had entered. "Ya blew it, bud," the gunman announced with mock regret. "Now you got the lady in hot water right along with ya." He turned to a startled Leslie and brandished his gun at her. "However much this guy has left of his lottery jackpot, write him a check for the whole thing. And then the five of us are takin' a little trip over to the casino."
Leslie slowly stood up. "The casino can't cash a check that big," she said.
"Yes they can, little lady, 'cause I know some influential people," the gunman told her. "C'mon, write the check. I don't have all day, and I'm sure you'd rather just get this over with. See, as long as you cooperate, nothin'll happen to ya."
"Famous last words," Leslie muttered, but she sat back in Roarke's chair again and extracted the checkbook from the locked drawer. Four pairs of eyes, one anxious and three gleaming with avarice, watched as she wrote out a check for the full amount remaining of Jensen's lottery winnings. She tore the check out and then hesitated. "And to whom am I supposed to give this?"
"Me," Jensen said, tweaking it neatly out of her hand and glaring at the gangsters. "It is made out to me, after all."
The gunman shrugged. "Okay, lady, let's get goin'."
Leslie scowled but got up once more, pausing to relock the drawer before rounding the desk and heading for the foyer. Jensen fell into step behind her, and the gangsters followed along. They directed Leslie to take the wheel of the station wagon that sat in the lane out front, and she drove to the casino, wondering what it was about these three characters that annoyed her rather than alarming her. Jensen seemed to feel the same way, judging from the black glares he kept directing over his shoulder.
At the casino the gunman concealed his weapon before slipping his arm through Leslie's as though escorting her inside. She rewarded him with a revolted glower but allowed the contact with clear reluctance. The little group proceeded to weave their way through knots of guests, all the way to the casino's back room, where one of the gangsters thudded on the door with several meaty knuckles.
"Yeah?" came a muffled, low-pitched voice from within.
"It's us, boss," said Knuckles.
"Okay, c'mon in." Knuckles opened the door and let Jensen and the gunman, who still had Leslie's arm in his, precede him inside before sliding in himself. The third gangster closed the door behind them. They found themselves in a dimly-lit room that reeked of stale cigars. Leslie's breath caught with a choking sound and, yanking her arm from the gunman's, she clapped both hands over her mouth, looking nauseated.
"Well, we got him, boss," the gunman said, casting her an amused glance. "Mission accomplished. We got the check, and all we gotta do is cash it, then we're outta here."
"Not so fast," cautioned the voice. A lamp on the desk snapped on, revealing the face of the ringleader. It was Jensen's turn to choke. The face belonged to Anuhea!
"Oh my God," Leslie muttered.
Jensen gaped at her. "You! The cute native girl who works for Mr. Roarke?"
"Can it," Anuhea snapped, and Jensen fell silent but glared at her. Leslie sighed, then regretted it when she got a potent whiff of week-old stogies. Meanwhile Anuhea stared at the gangsters. "Geez, you three goons, look at yourselves. Where the hell did you get those damn suits, anyway?"
"What, you didn't give Bugsy and his buddies their costumes?" Jensen sneered.
Anuhea flattened both hands on the desk and rose, glaring at him. "I told you to can it," she said before shifting her attention to the gangsters with growing disbelief and fury. "And for the love of God, what've you got Roarke's daughter with you for? Are you idiots trying to botch this thing up?"
"We had to, boss," the gunman protested. "Jensen tried to let on to her that we were after him, and we didn't have any choice but to bring her."
Anuhea groaned aloud and shook her head. "I'll never learn," she grumbled to herself before lifting her gaze back to Jensen's. "Okay, Kurt, let's cash the check. And don't try any smart stuff, else you'll wind up involving even more innocent people. As it is, I'm gonna be lucky to get away before Roarke stops me, seeing as I've got his own kid here." She made a gesture at the gangsters, who proceeded to herd Leslie and Jensen out the door ahead of them with Anuhea bringing up the rear. Keeping to the back wall of the gambling room, they trooped along to the nearest cashier's window, where Anuhea leaned down and poked her head clear through the opening. "Cassie, go get Chet."
The lone cashier vanished, and Anuhea pulled her head back out and rapidly scanned the crowded room. Leslie did likewise, and Anuhea caught her at it and smiled as if at a misbehaving toddler. "Uh-uh-uh, sweetie, that's a no-no. Your daddy isn't here, so don't bother hunting for him." Leslie threw her one fast, disgusted look and went right back to studying the room. It took scant seconds for her to realize that Anuhea was right; Roarke's attire would have stood out in this crowd of colorfully-dressed patrons, and she didn't see anyone wearing white.
However, unbeknownst to them all, there was in fact someone watching them. Near the blackjack table, Caitlyn D'Angelo had noticed the group skulking along the wall and wondered why it looked as if they were acting oddly. Now she found herself eyeing the woman standing beside Leslie, trying to figure out where she'd seen her before. One of the others turned and she gasped softly. It was Kurt Jensen! Now she knew something was up, but she couldn't be sure just what.
Cassie returned with a barrel-shaped man puffing on an enormous cigar, wearing a gray suit that might have been rumpled if his bulk hadn't been stretching it close to the point of seam-splitting. Anuhea beamed at him. "Hiya, Chet, sweetheart. Wanna cash this thing for us? Then you and me and the Goonie Gang here'll blow this Popsicle stand." She handed the check, filched from Jensen, through the window to Chet.
"No problem, honey," said Chet with a smirk and began to gather the money. Leslie watched in silence; the gangsters tilted eagerly forward, all but drooling; and Jensen stood looking forlorn. His gaze met Leslie's, and they both smiled in apology.
"Sorry I got you into this mess," he mumbled to her.
"Sorry your fantasy turned into such a fiasco," she murmured back regretfully.
"Aw, I turned it into a fiasco myself," Jensen admitted. "I shoulda been happy with my half-broke existence back in Plainville."
Leslie gave him a crooked little grin. "The proverbial greener grass," she said.
Anuhea finally noticed them conversing and whacked Jensen in the head with the back of her hand. "For the last time, can it!"
"Will you lay off me, you loser?" Jensen snapped back and booted her in the shin. Anuhea yelped and hopped back, her face reddening with mingled pain and rage. In the process she grew careless, and Caitlyn D'Angelo got a good look at her face.
Hey, I know her! she thought, stunned. Saw her on a Wanted poster in the post office yesterday! Immediately she began to thread her way among milling gamblers, making a beeline for a pay phone she remembered seeing at the entrance.
Anuhea, glaring at Jensen, leaned toward the window again. "Chet, the money!" she hissed. "Get a move on so we can get out of here without attracting any more attention!"
"Babe, I'm trying, but this is a lotta dough," Chet protested.
"Well, hurry up," Anuhea ordered.
Chet paused and gave her an exasperated look, propping one plump hand on his substantial hip. "Just button it up a minute and let me finish cleaning out the drawers." He went back to work, while Jensen and Leslie slanted cautious sidelong glances at each other, both wondering how much of a ruckus they could make before the gunman got upset enough to actually use his weapon.
Caitlyn completed her call in record time and stood on tiptoe, just barely able to make out the little group all the way across the massive gambling room. Nervously she twisted her head back and forth, frequently checking the entrance and then the back of the room to be sure her quarry was still there. A few people coming in or going out gave her odd looks, but no one commented or stopped to ask questions.
"So, Anuhea…if that's really your name," Jensen said, striving for a casual air, "did Mr. Roarke have any idea you were a crook when he hired you for…whatever he hired you for?" Leslie peered at him with a strongly dubious expression; he wasn't much of an actor.
Anuhea gave him a dirty look. "Hilarious, Kurt. But if you really must know, I have three little girls to support. I'm a single mother and I can't possibly raise my kids on the slave wages I get paid here. Your lottery win and your generosity showed me the perfect way out of this dead-end job." She clearly felt quite strongly about this subject and favored Leslie with a particularly nasty glare as she went on complaining. "I guess you have no idea that your vaunted, illustrious adoptive father can be an incredible skinflint. I brought my girls here from Hawaii believing in the reputation of the benevolent, generous Mr. Roarke, and when I got here all I could get was a job as a maid. Chief cook and bottle-washer isn't the title I was aspiring to."
Leslie met her glare with a gaze of mock pity. "Aw, poor deprived you. For the record, my father doesn't do the hiring for these jobs. As I recall it, you worked for the hotel, and the manager handles the hiring of staff there. The only job Father is responsible for filling is the position of his own assistant."
"Well, la-de-da," sneered Anuhea. "Whatever, sweetie. At any rate, I'm getting out of this place, with the help of your guest Mr. Lucky here. Me and Chet are gonna get married and go live in Tahiti, where I can raise my girls in style." She shifted her attention to Jensen and patted his arm. "By the way, thanks for getting those dolls for my kids. They were hounding me for months about those things, so you got 'em off my back."
"More's the pity," said Jensen sourly.
Anuhea merely gave him a sugary smile, at which point Chet knocked on the cashier window. "Got all the cash that's here, babe. Let's make tracks."
"Get moving," Anuhea commanded, pushing the nearest gangster. They began to plow across the nearly-packed gambling room; Chet, emerging from an employee entrance and cradling a bulging canvas bag to his chest as if it were a newborn baby, caught up with them, bringing up the rear. At the entrance, Caitlyn D'Angelo saw them coming and all but panicked, staring at the door and desperately willing the authorities to show up before the group of thieves made their getaway.
The gang and their two kidnap victims were within ten yards of the entrance when Caitlyn's silent pleas were answered and half a dozen members of the island police force poured through the doorway. There were too many people in the casino and the gang was trapped; there was no choice but for them to submit.
Jensen blinked in amazement when he got a good look at one of the cops. "Jeff," he said, astonished.
Jeff McKay grinned. "Told you I'd pay you back, friend."
Roarke had entered just behind the policemen. "Leslie, are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded and grinned at him. "No harm done, Father. For the most part it was a comedy of errors."
Roarke chuckled. "Good. And you, Mr. Jensen?"
Kurt Jensen heaved a deep sigh and let his gaze drift ceilingward. "Well, I guess I ought to be glad these crooks were caught, but brother…I'm not sure this was worth it."
Roarke smiled. "Perhaps you'll feel differently when you learn the identity of the person who engineered your, uh, rescue." He gestured behind him, and Caitlyn D'Angelo moved into Jensen's sight, making him gape at her in astonishment. "Yes, this young lady recognized the ringleader from a photograph displayed in the central post office on Coral Island. Apparently Anuhea has been responsible for a series of crimes committed there and on a number of other nearby islands, as well as in Hawaii."
"Wow," said Jensen. "Y'know, Caitlyn D'Angelo, I could absolutely kiss you."
Caitlyn eyed him and slowly smiled. "Well, then, why don't you?"
Jensen's eyebrows popped up for just a moment; then he matched her smile and took her up on her offer, right there in the middle of the casino entryway with at least forty people within sight, while the cops shepherded the hapless Anuhea and her accomplices out the door. Jeff McKay, the last to leave, glanced behind him long enough to grin widely before prodding Chet forward. Roarke and Leslie lingered only long enough to trade satisfied glances, then made their own exit.