In the last episode of Special Delivery, Rocky wrestled the gun away from Rollo Betancourt, a representative of wealthy Frank Weller and the man who had broken into Rocky's apartment and threatened him. The following takes place as Rocky decides to find the mysterious Frank Weller, whom he has never met, and learn why he sent Rollo, and why he wants Rocky dead:
The rain returned. It fell earnestly, as if it were making up for lost time, filling up the gutters, washing away the filth of the city to the ocean and places unknown. Rain in Los Diablos wasn't an unknown quantity but the volume of the water certainly was. Much more of this and whispers of floods would start to hit the streets.
I drove. Rollo Betancourt, the real Rollo Betancourt, sat with arms folded over his considerable gut in my back seat, his wrist chained to the door with my second-best pair of handcuffs. As nasty a position as he was in, Rollo appeared quite content with his lot. He yammered on about this and that as if he was on a joy ride to the county fair. He talked about the rain and I just sat there and listened to him and waited for him to shut up.
We passed the Ritz on 23rd Street and he said: “I saw Life with Father in that theater, you know. You seen that flick? Pretty good. I like Powell. Good actor.”
I stared at him in the rear view. He looked back at me, grinning ear to ear. “Listen, what's got you in such a good mood? I'm about to show you up in front of your boss.”
Rollo's smile never diminished. “Maybe my boss needs to be taken down a peg or two. Maybe I'd like to see it happen.”
I wasn't going to buy that as the whole truth and nothing but, but one thing I had to admit, Frank Weller IV had few friends, if any, and I could believe a man like Rollo would like to see him get his come-uppance. The only contact I had with Frank was over the telephone lines, but at no time during our conversation did I want our relationship to continue. The man's ego was large enough to fill any room, and his cash reserves were large enough to fill his ego.
The first signs of light were appearing on the horizon when I made the climb up into the hills to the modern monstrosity that served as Weller's mansion. The rain water flowed down the hill at me, as if it was pushing me away. Slowly, the frequency of the streetlamps lessened and I relied more on my headlights to break through the darkness. Twenty minutes later and I was at the edge of the hill, where I had stood a few days earlier, watching Rollo's impostor as he angrily climbed the stairs. The skies were barely light, an uncomfortable gray from the cover of clouds. The rain continued to pelt the Earth.
I checked the gun in my holster. I opened the glove box and took out the small Walther model I had living in it. I stuck that one in my pocket for good measure.
“You gonna let me out?” Rollo whined.
I just laughed at him and jumped out into the silver rain. The ground was muddy, real muddy. It made me look up and put my eyes on the large white boxes that dipped down into the ravine and it made me think.
The water ran down the steps to the front door and I rushed down with it. Even at this early hour there were lights on in the house. Through the window to the side of the door I could see where the light was coming from: a lamp on the floor below. I watched for a few moments before I made my grand entrance and saw a figure move in front of the lamp, turn and disappear from my view behind the downward-leading staircase. The figure returned a second later. A man, dressed in a white robe. His bare, tanned legs stretched out below. A cigarette lit the way wherever he walked. His hair was dark and wavy. Frank Weller? I thought. Maybe not, knowing his wife's tendencies.
I waited for him to get in view again. When he was, I pounded on the door with my fist four times fast. It sounded deep and loud and it shook him. His head popped up and looked at me. The face was expressionless but the eyes were scared. And then another set of eyes, blue ones, appeared from underneath the staircase. This figure was female, blond, and curvy. She was dressed in an identical white robe, and whoever she was, she was certainly not Jessica Bell Weller, wife of Frank Weller IV. They both looked at me in amazement.
And a nasty thought formed in my head: I'm at the wrong house.
Is it the wrong house? If it isn't, who are these people? And if it is, where can Rocky find Frank Weller? Find out in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
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