Black Champagne

by George B Mair

  ‘How come?’ drawled Frank. ‘Lot of sun around these parts. Difficult to lose it.’

  Krystelle pointed to the sea. ‘We’ve been down there for a week.’ She knew her brother and she guessed that something was cooking. ‘Want to hear the story?’

  Harry nodded and lay on the ground, his hat tilted over his eyes and his hands clasped behind his neck, while Frank leaned against a rock and grinned. ‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘And the girls?’ Grant was waiting a cue.

  ‘No secrets from old buddies.’ Harry’s voice was relaxed and friendly. ‘We’ve all been quite busy this past week or ten days wondering what happened to you.’

  The girls were now standing together near the door of the car and Grant saw that their eyes had suddenly become calculating. ‘Why should you worry?’ he asked.

  The Creole flashed a dazzling smile. ‘We was worried ’cause our men was worried.’

  ‘See?’ said Frank quietly. ‘That’s the sort of girl friend to have, isn’t it? She worries all the time. So let’s have a break and tie up the loose ends. There’s a flask in the freeze. Banana daiquiri or beer? Take your choice and we’ll drink while we listen.’

  ‘Beer,’ said Krystelle abruptly.

  ‘And you, David?’ Frank was now working at the boot of the car and with his back towards them.

  ‘Beer,’ said Grant quietly.

  ‘The girls take Coke,’ drawled Frank. ‘They’ve gone on the wagon recently. So now let’s hear the news.’

  Grant looked towards Krystelle and nodded. There was more to this than met the eye and he would leave it to her to decide what must be said. She sipped her drink and whistled softly. ‘I needed that. Eight days below the sea and with more than two hundred corpses round us does things to a girl’s appetite!’

  She paused and then laid down her drink. Her story was crisp and to the point. Grant figured that she told it in less than five hundred words, and he remembered again how both Harry and Frank did everything, including talking, with an economy of effort which was remarkable. Nothing, not even words, were ever wasted. ‘And so,’ she rounded off, ‘we took the sea exit, swam ashore and made contact.’

  Harry was still the picture of total relaxation, though his voice was slightly edged with surprise. ‘And you killed the lot?’

  ‘The lot,’ said Krystelle. ‘They went crazy with voodoo, so I sent them to the Gods. The rest were shot and the women butchered. We left the place a morgue.’

  Harry’s girl friend was the first to speak. ‘Did you really kill every livin’ soul down theah?’

  ‘We did,’ Krystelle corrected. ‘And then,’ she added quietly, ‘we collected a list of names and drugs, brought them ashore in a package and buried them until you folks arrived.’

  Dinah, the black girl, sounded puzzled. ‘Why bury?’ Her eyes were roving around and Grant knew that she was looking for traces of earth disturbance.

  ‘Because,’ said Krystelle gently ‘the paper is very important and the drugs are dangerous. But we’ll collect before we go home.’

  Grant admired Krystelle’s bluff and saw the girls exchange a swift glance as they slowly opened their little crimson handbags. Harry was still on the ground. Frank was sitting on a square of rock with his hands clasped around his knees and Krystelle was now lying on her stomach cupping her chin in her hands. All three were clearly off-guard, and he sensed that it was intentional. But when it happened even he was taken aback by the speed with which the girls moved. In less than two seconds they had each drawn a gun and stepped back at least six feet while Dinah covered Harry with Frank and the other marked Krystelle and Grant. Their hands were rock steady and their eyes had hardened to chips of flint. ‘Don’t move. We collect now. Where yo’ bury the package?’

  Harry made as though to lift his hat from over his eyes and Dinah’s voice snapped with command. ‘Freeze, man. Not one move or yo’ all dead.’

  Grant was watching Krystelle like a hawk. She worked with Harry before and knew the cues. But it was up to him not to slip up on anything. The girls were behaving like professionals and he remembered that they were the only loose ends which had been left untied.

  ‘What do you want?’ Frank’s manner sounded unruffled.

  Cherry’s hand was still rock steady, but she seemed to have taken over the position of number one. ‘You were marked befoah yo’ got heah. Mistah Ferguson laid us on to keep tabs. If what yo’ friend say is correct den our boy friends died an’ dese people killed ’em. Our ordahs have always bin cleah. If yo’ pulled a fast one we were to destroy the lot of you an’ trump your ace. But now we got a personal angle an’ yo’ gonna die because yo’ killed our men.’ She nodded towards Dinah. ‘We keep de gal fo’ later. But take two. Grant is fo’ me.’

  Both guns fired at the same instant and Grant remembers his surprise that no one moved to stop them. But in the same second Harry slowly tilted back his hat and looked around as the girls screamed in agony. One now lay writhing on the ground, while the other, Cherry the Creole, was dead, one half of her head pulped like her right hand and forearm when her gun exploded.

  Frank sauntered over towards Dinah and drew a Browning .25 from his arm holster. ‘This is better than you deserve,’ he said quietly and shot her through the head.

  Grant saw her body convulse twice and then it was over. From some angles the most unexpected moment of the day had been the most dangerous. ‘How come, Frank,’ he said slowly. ‘You knew this was going to happen. Give.’

  Frank was covering both girls with a rug from the car when Harry sat up and for the first time began to talk at length. They had all decided that the first leak in the hotel must have been either the telephonist or the girls. So when Harry made his escape with Winston’s help he had been quick to take the local police into his confidence, and Washington together with Paris had been contacted. The telephonist had soon been given an all clear which then left only the girls, and when they were asleep the men had located their guns. Next night they had been given a heavy shot of dope in their coffee, and while they slept the barrel of each gun had been carefully blocked by an electric welder who was expert. In the end one inch of barrel had been fused near the breach into a solid core of metal without affecting the outside appearance. The men knew that the guns were always kept loaded and Harry had taken a chance that the girls would be content to leave them alone until they had been fired.

  From then on they had been covered night and day while Harry had taken them increasingly into their confidence. Indeed Frank too had spoken more in one week than he had done in the previous month. And as they fed a story the girls slowly began to drop comments which made the men realise that they must be involved. The girls were good actors, but not good enough to face up to hints that this had gone well or that that would work cut an ace of trumps. False information had been expertly fitted into conversation, and after four days neither of the men had any doubts that the girls knew more about some things than any automated bed-warmer ought. And as such they were dangerous. So from then on it had been a simple matter of keeping tabs, and they had been monopolised night and day until Krystelle’s phone call had broken the ice. They had then asked to string along, and that had been enough for Harry. Clearly they hoped to save something even at the end and if they drew guns then they could take the consequences.

  ‘It’s an old dodge,’ said Harry flatly. ‘Sometimes does little or nothing except maybe gash your hand, but Cherry caught it good. Part of the gun must have blown some of her head off. Even her forearm got smashed.’ He paused. ‘And at that maybe she was luckier than Dinah who lived to see her executioner. Pity.’

  Frank shrugged his shoulders. ‘That outfit was bad. And she talked in her sleep.’

  Harry looked interested. ‘She did?’

  ‘Sure. Said she was going to kill us both and talked a lot about knifing a woman. They were both psychos.’

  Grant forced a smile as he looked towards Krystelle. ‘That w
as a mini bottle, honey chile, but as champagne goes it surely began to bubble over.’

  Frank stared at him curiously. ‘We can fill in the gaps later but right now there’s a couple anxious for a word in Bluebeard.’

  Grant was only mildly interested. ‘Such as who?’

  ‘Whom,’ corrected Harry flatly. ‘An Admiral and a Miss Sidders. They’ve been giving us some of the dividends you mentioned.’

  Grant smiled slightly. He had begun to worry about Harry’s dividends. ‘How much?’ he asked.

  Frank smiled. ‘Last rumour was a free pardon from any country in N.A.T.O. if we happened to cross the law.’

  ‘So it was worth while?’

  Harry smiled sourly. ‘Sure, and we’re obligated.’

  A thought crossed Grant’s mind. ‘Who earned it?’

  The men looked dispassionately towards Krystelle as Harry nodded his head in a curious gesture of respect. ‘She did. But we still cash in.’

  Krystelle’s eyes were sparkling with excitement. ‘You men know nothing. I cash in. Now I’m David’s number one woman.’

  And Grant remembered how much it had cost him in self-discipline to offer her the phone number which mattered. But that, too, had paid dividends. The girl now felt wanted and that one gesture of trust had done more to boost her ego than anything else he could have thought of.

  That night after the sun had painted the sky a blaze of crimson tinted with turquoise and orange Krystelle slipped her hand through Grant’s elbow as they stood once more on their balcony in Bluebeard’s. ‘I like Miss Sidders,’ she said softly, ‘and the Admiral is a pet.’

  Grant nibbled her ear and relaxed. He was content simply to listen. His own top people were now going through the grotto with a fine toothcomb and already he had a message that both drugs and the list of embassy contacts had been collected for H.Q.

  ‘And I’ll tell you something. The old lady’s in love with him.’

  Grant smiled slightly. He had known that for a long time. In fact everyone in the Department knew it except the Admiral himself, who, in some things chose to be as blind as a bat.

  The girl snuggled against his chest and he felt her heart quicken with excitement. ‘You’re beginning to bubble over,’ he said quietly.

  She drew him into the room and gently closed the door. ‘Then take the cork out, David,’ she whispered. ‘Haven’t you learned that black champagne can be dangerous if it isn’t properly handled?’

  He smiled as she slipped out of her top. Sometimes she called herself a fifty-seven variety multi-caste, but for him, now and for ever she would be black champagne, the most intoxicating thing in the world.

  ‘Cork coming out, honey chile,’ he said gently, ‘and thanks for everything.’

  Minutes later her teeth bit savagely into his tongue, and then she giggled slightly. ‘You’ve just given me some ideas. Tomorrow I’ll write new lyrics for Mary Ann!’ And then he felt her bubble over in an ecstasy of joy. It was the end of their beginning. And maybe, he thought bitterly as he relaxed into sleep, it was even the beginning of their end.

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