Read The Intimidators for Free Online Page A

European countries; if you’re stingy, you’re a rich American slob robbing the poor, proud, hardworking natives; and if you’re generous, you’re a rich American slob flaunting his ill-gotten wealth. To hell with all temperamental, chip-on-the-shoulder jerks, I reflected, black or white. I was tolerant. They could all proceed to the nether regions together, unsegregated, as far as I was concerned.
    All the delays had brought the time well past noon, and I was hungry enough to put off my scouting expedition a little longer—quite a little longer, as it turned out. The lunch I got was not only slow, but fell considerably short of gastronomic perfection. The butter, sugar, and jam, were all served in those crummy little prepackaged, U.S.-type doses—I once had a friend who objected to this practice so strongly that he insisted on making the waitress rip open the sugar for his coffee and peel the butter for his bread, saying that he didn’t eat out just to wrestle with a lot of paper and plastic, and the least they could do was unwrap his food for him if they wanted his trade. It was disillusioning to come to what was supposed to be a fancy hotel in a glamorous foreign country and be presented with the same old prefabricated hash-house garbage. My opinion of Nassau, as a pleasant luxury resort, was dropping steadily. Well, I hadn’t come here for pleasant luxury.
    I went out and hired a cab to take me sightseeing. Surprisingly, the driver was a cheerful black character who didn’t seem to have heard that he was downtrodden by us lousy tourists. He rattled off the history of the city and the Islands as he drove me around through the left-handed, British-style traffic, showing me fine old forts that had never, it seemed, managed to keep the place from being captured by anybody who wanted to capture it—including pirates, Spaniards, and the infant navy of the young U.S.A.—and a great old empty hotel with once-magnificent gardens, now deserted and overgrown, dominated by a tremendous kapok tree. I hadn’t known the stuff grew on trees.
    My guide said that, when new, the picturesque hostelry had served as a kind of headquarters for the blockade-runners during the U.S. Civil War; the prohibition rumrunners came later and had less classy hangouts. He sent me up a water tower for a good view of the city and harbor; and he had me walk down a flight of historical outdoors stairs—I forget their exact significance. By the time he brought me back to the British Colonial, I had a pretty clear picture in my mind of the city of Nassau. I paid him and added a tip carefully calculated to show my appreciation without insulting or patronizing him. He accepted the gift in the spirit in which I’d intended it. Okay, so you meet all kinds, in all countries.
    Inside, I picked up a paper at the hotel newsstand and read it in the portion of the lobby reserved for drinking purposes, over a passable martini. I learned that the Islands were in the process of severing their political ties with Britain. Well, that was their business. I just hoped it wouldn’t interfere with mine.
    Presently, a glance at my watch told me it was time for the next step in the proceedings. I located a phone booth and called a number I’d been given by Mac. The voice that answered had no distinct racial characteristics, but it was definitely feminine. I figured that, judging by what I’d seen of Nassau so far, the girl was probably black. She’d almost have to be to preserve the inconspicuous anonymity desirable in a local contact. Well, I’d probably never meet her, so I’d probably never know for sure, and it didn’t matter anyway. We went though a little mandatory funny-business involving signs and countersigns that somebody must have dreamed up after watching an old spy movie on late evening TV.
    “Eric here,” I said.
    “Yes,” she said. “Consignment arriving on schedule, as far as we can determine. ETA eleven hundred tomorrow morning.”
    “Any