Chapter Ten When I tapped on the door of the room Charlie Corbinet said, ÓCome in, Tiger.Ô He was sitting there in the light of the TV watching an old movie, his coat off and his sleeves rolled up. ÓYou took long enough. I donÒt like to wait. You ought to remember that.Ô ÓThose were the old days, Colonel. Now you wait if you have to.Ô ÓQuit getting raunchy,Ô he said testily. ÓYouÒre the one on the hook now.Ô ÓNuts.Ô His smile took the sternness from his face a second. ÓI wish I could have trained more respect into you.Ô ÓWhatÒs the pitch?Ô ÓHal Randolph wants you out. The other agencies are squeezing.Ô ÓLet them squeeze. They havenÒt got anything to yelp about.Ô ÓTheyÒre dismantling the installations.Ô ÓI know. It wonÒt do them any good.Ô ÓThey know it, but they have to try something.Ô ÓSure, and leave us hanging on the ropes again.Ô ÓHave you got a better answer?Ô he asked. ÓWeÒre waiting for one.Ô ÓSoon.Ô ÓNot quick enough.Ô ÓThen add something to the picture.Ô Charlie Corbinet sat back in his chair, crossed his arms with that old familiar gesture and looked at me across the shadows. ÓRandolph kept the pressure on Doug HamiltonÒs secretary. She began remembering things. Some fast footwork dug out a few facts that may or may not have a bearing on the case.Ô ÓLike what?Ô ÓLike he was efficient but not clean all the way. It looks like he had a sideline of blackmail going for him. Not too big, but not too little either. In checking out the backgrounds of potential employees he ran into some odd arrangements involving people in the upper brackets who scorned our capitalistic system and took up with ultra-liberal types for lack of something better to do. He put it to his own use. Most of them were the student types with sneakers and beards who should have known better, but you know this younger generation. Anything for a kick, anything to show their own self-importance and to break loose in an orgy of self-indulgence.Ô ÓLittle bastards. They need a hitch in the Army and some time laying face down in the mud while the ones they admire try to take their hides off. All the guts theyÒve got is to wave placards and wear hair like the girls. Their grandfathers fought Indians and built this country out of the bare dirt and the only kind they ever see is under their fingernails.Ô ÓSo be it.Ô ÓThey donÒt inherit over my dead body, Charlie.Ô ÓNor mine. Like you said, there are still some of us left. Doug made money out of it.Ô ÓBut how does it stand here?Ô ÓI donÒt know. It may not mean a thing.Ô ÓMaybe it does.Ô ÓThen figure it out.Ô His eyes came to meet mine, half closed in an attitude of study. He was trying to read me again and annoyed with himself because he couldnÒt do it. Lightning swept through the night again, a bright swelling light with a strange tremor to it, lasting a few seconds before fading out. We both waited until the thunder came on, slowly at first, then with a dramatic crash of sound that burst directly overhead. ÓIÒll be waiting,Ô he told me at last. ÓYouÒll know when,Ô I said. He nodded and turned back to the TV set deliberately ignoring me the way he used to do when he was finished explaining. I opened the door, backed out after checking around me and walked to the car. The rain laughed and rumbled deep in its throat, slackening long enough for me to get in before clawing at the windows again. When I reached the highway there was a casual roadblock at the intersection, four patrolmen inspecting licenses of passing vehicles and going through the backs of trucks. I saw it in time, swerved into an empty driveway, waited a while, then backed up and took a route that led me around them. At a diner a mile north I had coffee and a sandwich beside a pair of truckers who bitched about being stopped and having to shift cargo in the middle of the night and rain for no apparent reason at all. When I finished I picked up my change, told the counterman good night and left. But you could feel the thing in the air. Impending action. Coffeyville waiting for the Dalton gang to pull the raid. Too many cars cruising. Too many people where there shouldnÒt have been any. Too many cars parked where the sweep of headlights could pick up the outlines of men sitting waiting for a call. The sky was cooperating and a dead man on the floor a short drive away said it all. The thing was there. It was coming. Or was it here already? A family of tourists was disgorging itself from an overloaded station wagon at the motel when I got there, two small children squalling in protest at being disturbed, two others dragging themselves behind their father who had driven too far and wasnÒt in a mood for arguing. A woman stood at the door of the wagon, holding it open until a white poodle jumped out, cringing at the rain before making a dash for the shelter of the roof of the building. Down further a white Jaguar and a pickup truck were nestled in their ports, lights on in the rooms. I switched the lights off and drove to my own complex and cut the engine. Behind the drawn curtains of CamilleÒs room a pale yellow line of light showed through the break in the drapes. I tried the door and it swung open easily. Camille was lying in bed, the night light on beside her, the covers rising and falling with her breathing. I watched her a minute until she coughed in her sleep, turned on the pillow and rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. She sneezed once, almost awakened, then squirmed back to her original position and relaxed. I adjusted the catch on the knob and pulled the door shut, then went next door to my own room. Automatically, I felt for the thread I had left caught in the door. Nothing was there. I had the .45 in my hand without realizing it, knowing it was too late to back off without alerting the one who was waiting inside. Two windows led off the room, one to the back, the other to the side, and if I didnÒt make an entrance he could be gone if he had planned it right. I put the key in the lock, turned it and shoved the door open as I stepped aside waiting for the muzzle blast that would locate my target. Captain Hardecker laughed in the darkness and said, ÓDonÒt be touchy, Mr. Mann. ItÒs only me.Ô ÓShow a light.Ô A lamp clicked and illuminated the room with an unreal reddish cast. Hardecker was propped up in a wooden chair tilted back against the wall, his feet on the side of the bed. ÓThatÒs a good way to get yourself killed,Ô I said. ÓWe all take chances in this business.Ô ÓHow did you locate me?Ô ÓNo sweat. IÒm local, remember. A few diligent calls, a few out of my jurisdiction like here, and we got complete cooperation. I further instructed my friend at the desk not to inform anyone else of your whereabouts.Ô ÓWhy?Ô ÓI told you. I like you. You scare me, I want to know whatÒs happening in my own back yard. The city is full of Feds and IÒm out in the cold. Nobody seems to want our services and IÒm getting curiouser by the minute.Ô ÓAbout what?Ô ÓLetÒs say a guy shot with a .22 Magnum nobody bothered to report.Ô ÓSomebody did apparently.Ô ÓA good citizen thought something funny was going on in a darkened house when three people came out, got in their automobiles, and drove away. A phone call brought a prowl car, then me. The dead man was a narcotics addict. There were no prints on the door knobs, walls, light switches and any other normal places. Tracks on the floor had been wiped clean.Ô ÓWho made the call?Ô ÓUnidentified male who didnÒt want to get involved. Most calls are like that when they mean anything.Ô ÓNice. Now what?Ô ÓYouÒre not thinking fast, Mr. Mann. I said I was out of my jurisdiction. IÒm just curious.Ô ÓI didnÒt see any cars outside.Ô ÓMy driver dropped me off. HeÒll stop by later to pick me up. I donÒt want to interfere with your program.Ô ÓYouÒre bugging me, Captain.Ô ÓI had hoped to.Ô ÓSo tell me the real reason for the visit.Ô His smile was a hard thing that started at the corner of his mouth and gradually drifted across his face. ÓI checked on you,Ô he said. ÓThe report was extremely interesting. The available information on you was pretty livid. IÒm surprised youÒre still alive and operating out in the open.Ô ÓMaybe I donÒt give a damn any more.Ô ÓIt isnÒt that,Ô Hardecker said. ÓItÒs the necessity, isnÒt it?Ô ÓPerhaps.Ô ÓIt excited me. I donÒt usually get excited.Ô ÓNever pays.Ô Hardecker paused, looked at me, and let the smile stretch wider. It was damn near impossible to tell what he was thinking. ÓOne of my men came up with something,Ô he said. I waited. ÓHe has a photographic memory.Ô ÓGood for him,Ô I said. There was a dark depth behind his eyes watching for my reaction. ÓHe remembered Helen Lewis. He had seen her twice with our piecemeal man named Henri Frank. Later he saw her with Louis Agrounsky. I thought you may find a connecti
on.Ô ÓI have.Ô ÓSo?Ô ÓSheÒs a Soviet agent who rented a place in Sarasota and never used it except as a temporary address in case of a check.Ô Hardecker let his smile drift away gradually. ÓThey have a fine network, havenÒt they?Ô I didnÒt say anything. He had put some of the pieces together himself and knew what he was talking about. He said, ÓYou wonÒt find the Lewis woman. SheÒs one of the unidentifiables. Ordinary, medium, no outstanding characteristics, no record we know about. One in the crowd, the way they pick them. They can appear and disappear and nobody knows the difference. Just a person.Ô ÓSheÒll show,Ô I said. ÓThey all do, eventually.Ô ÓTheyÒre smart.Ô ÓWrong, buddy. If they were, they wouldnÒt be on that side.Ô He rubbed his hands along his legs and stretched, the deep yawn filling his chest to barrel size. ÓBut if they have the edge somehow it will be worth it to them, wonÒt it?Ô I shook my head. ÓNever.Ô Captain Hardecker got up as if he were tired, but it was only a pose that could trap you if you werenÒt careful. He hitched the gun up at his belt and looked at his watch. ÓMaybe for ... letÒs say a day Å weÒll keep the killing of Beezo McCauley a local affair. After that, well Å weÒll see.Ô He walked to the door and stood there beside me a few seconds. I said, ÓWhy, Captain?Ô ÓThere are still some of us left,Ô he told me. The words were very familiar. I closed the door after him, switched out the light and watched him walk across the gravel to the street and stand there ignoring the rain until a car drove up, made a U turn on the road and stopped to let him get in. When the red of the taillights had disappeared in the distance I let the curtain fall back in place and went to the dresser. Captain Hardecker hadnÒt been that curious. Nothing there was out of place and I had left everything arranged to be able to discern any sign of a search. Hardecker had been playing it square. The only thing that bothered me was the quick way he ran me down. He was in the position to do it, but so was anybody else if they figured out the angles. Nobody is really hard to find if you wanted them badly enough and they were available. I was available. And Niger Hoppes was looking. The faceless one was out there in the night with a .22 Magnum that had proved its point all over the world and now it was ready to do it again. Thunder came in a slow drone that sounded tired and the lightning lost that quality of wild intensity it had had an hour ago. Even the rain seemed to have settled back into a period of waiting, knowing that what it came to see would be seen. All it had to do was wait. When youÒve been exposed enough you begin to sense things. Proximity with death makes you familiar with his aptitudes. Some conditions expedite his activities, like a spring thaw bringing out the snakes. ItÒs too early, but they respond to the stimuli of nature and poke a cautious head out of their lair, winter vicious, angry at the disturbance and ready to strike even if the time isnÒt the time. I could sense it. He was out there somewhere. It wouldnÒt have been too hard at all. In the bad light at McCauleyÒs place he wouldnÒt have chanced a long range shot, not with two of us there and the prize at stake. But he could have laid a tail on me with a set of cars operating by radio. I hadnÒt been careless. The thought had always been there. I was a thorn that had to be plucked out, the one who wasnÒt stymied by rules and regulations and could operate on a level with them, backed by an organization as coldly efficient and as deadly as any they ever possessed. I was letting myself stand in their sights and asking for it, hoping to get in just one return shot. Take out a key person and the structure would sway long enough to topple it from another direction. I knew I was laughing without making any sound at all, enjoying the moment to the fullest, tasting the sense of that other one who was out there waiting, watching, planning how to eliminate me. I took the safety off the .45 and thumbed the hammer back, feeling the live weight of the piece in my hand. It was old and familiar, worn smooth by much handling, as much a part of me as my thumb and forefinger, a metallic monster that could say yes or no to life or death. I went to the windows, parted the blinds enough to study the terrain outside and see what spot I would pick for an ambush if it were me out there. The area in front of the crescent shaped line of double rooms was too well lit with nothing to afford concealment, while the brush cover on the other side of the end room I occupied didnÒt give a view of the front door. That left just one spot, a clump of palms diagonally off the corner where a killer could cover all exits of my room. And damn it, I could feel him there. He was outside! Now I had to make him show himself. I went to the bathroom, turned on the light and closed the door so none of it would seep in toward me, but out there he would know I was up, that I wouldnÒt sleep because time couldnÒt be lost to that factor. If they had kept a check on me theyÒd know I had spent time with Camille and might go back. TheyÒd have seen Hardecker come and go, but not knowing what was said, would wait for my reaction to whatever had passed between us. Once I stepped out that door IÒd have had it. They had to kill me alone and on their own terms so there wouldnÒt be any sudden repercussions, giving them back the time advantage. Even hours counted. But I had to go out that door. If I didnÒt they would come in and if there were more than one they could clean the job up even at the risk of losing some of their own. But one man could handle it. IÒd done it myself. One gas bomb or a grenade could ax me fine. The night laughed at me with a staccato drum roll of thunder and threw the rain at the windows like hands full of pebbles. It didnÒt take long to fold the bedding inside my other clothes and drape the almost-human figure on the lamp. I forced the window open an inch, just enough to admit the snout of the .45. Then I unlocked the door, swung it open and pushed the dummy into the darkened aperture and waited for the next flash of lightning that would reveal it. Perverse nature wanted to savor the moment. It sat there and enjoyed the tension, tasting the nervous excitement of the approaching climax like a lover bringing a virginal partner to slow and complete sexual fulfillment that would erupt in a searing highlight of ecstasy for them both. It nursed the breasts of the scene, stroked its belly and kindled an agonizing flame of desire in its loins, stimulating passion by its very reluctance to light the stage until the orgasm of violence could no longer be contained. And then nature gasped, succumbed to its own uncontrollable release and split the sky with a blinding forked tongue that kissed the earth in an orgy of pleasure that gave an aurora of midday to the landscape and in the middle of it I saw the shaft of flame come from the group of palms and the thing I had built slammed backwards into the room while wood splintered and brick crumbled behind it. I fired seven rounds into the trees as fast as I could pull the trigger and was out the door slapping a fresh clip in the rod before I knew I had been suckered. The shot that had come through the door had come from a rifle, not a .22, and I was alone in the middle of the arena if nature laughed again. She did. She clapped her hands for an encore like a single neon tube and I was in the gravel and rolling when the second shot came. But this time it wasnÒt from the palm grove. It tore through the collar of my coat, splattering fragments of stone in my face that stung as they gouged into the skin and ricocheted off in front of me. In the brief light still left, I turned, saw him on the roof of the middle building and snapped a booming shot off that threw up pieces of tile at his feet even as he was aiming across one arm for another burst. He didnÒt wait for it. He spun and clambered over the ridgepole as the sky roared its thunderous applause and doused its lights. Some late tourist still fighting the weather gave me my life back. His headlamps made a yellow background that outlined the single massive figure plunging out of the trees still clutching a rifle, running erratically, trying to pick me out against the rain-dimmed floods of the courtyard beyond. He was on me before I could get turned, his yell one of startled satisfaction, the rifle barrel swinging toward my head. I ducked under it, lunged into his legs, and took him down on top of me. He liked it that way. His laugh was raw as he groped for my neck, one balled fist smashing into my ribs. One huge paw wrapped around my hand holding the .45, forced it back until the gun dropped from it, then his knee ripped upward aiming for my groin, and when he missed, started rolling over on top of me, utilizing every ounce of power in his great bod
y. He laughed again, enjoying what he was doing. He liked it. He forgot one thing. I liked it that way too. I let him get right in position before I did what I had to do. I broke his voicebox with one stab of my fingers and while he groped at his throat with surprised urgency, screaming in absolute silence, my fingers wrapped over his and broke every one of the bones from the palm to the tip. My knee didnÒt miss. It rammed the socket between his thighs, turning his whole belly into a mass of terrifying pain that bulged his eyes out into great white orbs. He had been too used to winning. He had been too confident that he was the best. He had been too used to watching the terror in others, and now it was on him. It wasnÒt a little thing now. There would be no stopping point and he knew it. He started to shake his head, unable to speak at all, consumed by physical agony he had never known before, yet even then, given any release, he would have done anything to avenge the terrible thing done to him. Before he could I reached up, had his head wrapped in my arm and with one furious twist I broke his neck and threw him off me like a lump of dirt. There was another one in the palms. He was a little guy with a birthmark on the side of his face and a hole in his chest from one of the shots I threw at them. A loaded but unfired .303 rifle lay under him and a .38 snubnosed revolver was in his belt. I dragged the remains of the big guy back and piled him on top of the other one, then threw the rifle down on the wet earth. Nature appreciated the gesture, let me see the tableau in her fiery brilliance a few seconds, gave another booming sound of gratefulness for the entertainment and watched me walk away. Nobody was watching. The noise and fury of the storm had covered it all. I found the ladder that had put Niger Hoppes on the roof and went up it, reached the slippery wet tiles, and made my way to the other side where he had stood, the place marked by the chunk my .45 had taken out of the ceramic. Clever. He had played it cleverly, covering me from front and rear, thinking ahead the way I would have myself. He would have a feeling for these things too, knowing the possibilities, realizing others could be sensitive to any unseen presence and prepare for an eventuality. How long had he stood there waiting for the right moment? And was it really Niger Hoppes who had chosen to accomplish the mission? He answered it for me himself. It was lying there in the rain gutter caught in the overlap of the tile, a slender white tube, finger-long, stamped with the name BEZEX. I tossed it back, satisfied, then climbed down and found his tracks faintly etched in the wet soil, leading to a path and angled out toward the road. I didnÒt bother following them. He had had the time and the facilities to make his escape. Now heÒd have to choose another time and another place. Niger Hoppes wasnÒt around any longer. I could feel it. The thing was gone. With very little work from a standard pick I got CamilleÒs door open. She hadnÒt changed positions at all. Her breathing was heavy, forced through accumulation of mucus in her throat. She sniffled once and coughed as I closed the door. Dave Elroy picked up the package Ernie Bentley had sent me through General Delivery and dropped it off a little after eight. The cloud cover still obscured the sky, the rain falling monotonously, and even at that hour there was a dawnlike quality to the day. He handed me a container of coffee he had brought along, then sat down and listened to what I had to tell him about the night before. When I finished he whistled through his teeth, grimacing. ÓYou canÒt leave those bodies out there.Ô ÓIÒm not going to get tied down making big explanations yet. ThatÒs all we need to blow the act.Ô ÓOkay, itÒs your baby. Check their ID?Ô ÓNothing there. The usual assortment of junk that would have been faked. When the police get to them theyÒll check out the specifics. At the moment they canÒt help one way or another.Ô ÓSo whoÒs on the hook?Ô I grinned at him slowly. ÓThatÒs where my ÑofficialÒ status gives me a degree of immunity, buddy. Self defense in the line of duty. IÒm not worrying about the future. You call in to Newark and let them sweat it out.Ô ÓYou sure like to take chances, kiddo,Ô Dave said. ÓWhatÒs it like in town?Ô ÓCrowded,Ô he told me. ÓMore are coming in all the time. TheyÒre not the tourist types. ItÒs worse than Los Alamos when the Manhattan Project was in full swing. I hear a dozen people have been rounded up on general charges and are being held incommunicado in a government depot until the air clears. The hustlers saw them coming and cleared out overnight. You canÒt even find a bookie in town.Ô ÓIt doesnÒt matter.Ô ÓWhatÒs with the package?Ô Dave asked. I opened the wrapping and took the top off the box inside. A pack of finger-length inhalers made of white plastic bearing the Bezex label were nestled inside with ErnieÒs note on top of them. I looked at the addresses he delivered the real things to, then went over his explanation of how he had cut their effectiveness in half. If anybody used them theyÒd be needing another in a hurry. I peeled off the cellophane wrapper from one of the deadly little containers, remembering the way Ernie used to look when he read one of the reports, thinking we were the hard cases. Hell, he was in a class by himself. He invented death and we just pushed the buttons. What he didnÒt invent was the way I could pull the switch on Niger Hoppes, hoping it was Hoppes who got the cyanide capsule and not some poor slob who didnÒt deserve a killerÒs death. The best idea he offered was spotting the samples around. I dropped the capsule in my coat pocket and put the other one in my shaving kit, then handed Dave the list of stores that would have the Bezex. I said, ÓCheck with the owners of these places and get a description of anyone who buys the things. As far as theyÒre concerned, youÒre a follow-up representative for the company and make it look good.Ô ÓAnd if thereÒs a contact?Ô ÓCover it. Stay with him out of sight and get to me through Charlie Corbinet. I wonÒt check in around here at all. ItÒs better if I keep moving. Just donÒt close in on the guy unless you have help.Ô ÓHell, Tiger, IÒve handled them before.Ô ÓThis is a top gun, buddy. Your action has been investigative more than trigger jobs. If you get that close and youÒre sure of your man, donÒt take a chance. Kill him.Ô ÓNo talk?Ô ÓNo talk,Ô I repeated. ÓThere isnÒt time for it. We want Agrounsky, not Niger Hoppes. HeÒs only an obstacle.Ô Dave lit a smoke and smiled at me across the room. ÓYou guys are like fighter pilots during the war. One of you has to be eliminated so the bombers can either get through or be shot down.Ô ÓSo letÒs keep the odds on our side,Ô I said. ÓWhat are you packing?Ô ÓA .38 and a shiv on my leg.Ô ÓRemember your training.Ô ÓHow could I ever forget it?Ô He laughed. ÑTake care, Tiger. YouÒre the real target.Ô He went out, shutting the door quietly, and I heard his car start up and drive off. I piled all my loose clothes into a laundry bag, threw them in the back seat of my own car and hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door of my room. I didnÒt want any cleaning woman coming in and finding that hole in the closet and the chipped brick from the wall just yet. There was time enough for that when somebody stumbled over the bodies in the palm grove. I rapped on CamilleÒs door three times before I heard her stir. She came awake slowly, got out of bed and walked across to open the door and peer at me through the opening. I got a sleepy smile and stepped inside. She had my shirt on, clutching it shut at the middle. ÓYou left me,Ô she accused. ÓThe way you were sleeping I didnÒt want to bother you.Ô She tucked her head against my shoulder a moment, then looked up at me. ÓItÒs my fault, really,Ô she said. ÓAfter seeing . . . that man, well, I took a couple of sleeping pills and on top of the excitement I sort of faded out.Ô Her nose crinkled and she stifled a sneeze. Her eyes had a watery glaze and I could hear a wheezing as she talked. ÓForget it. You needed it.Ô ÓHas Å anything happened?Ô ÓPlenty. You slept through it all.Ô ÓCan you Å ?Ô I knew what she was going to say and shook my head. ÓGet dressed. WeÒre moving out.Ô Without another word she nodded and turned back to take her clothes off the hangers in the closet. Outside, the rain hammered down and from afar off there was a majestic rumble of thunder as the storm paraded by over the state. Camille went into the bathroom to dress and I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for her to finish. Beside her handbag on the night table was a packet with the top torn off, a prescription issued to her from a New York pharmacy with the instructions to take one or two capsules before bedtime. Idly, I flicked the ten remain
ing from the original dozen back in the envelope and stuck it in her bag. And outside the world churned in utter anxiety, stirred by contemptuous nature who laughed gleefully at the pitiful efforts being made to emulate her strength and fury. Outside was a killer and a team behind him checking and double checking, following every lead, hard on each trail that would take them to the ultimate survival factor. Someplace out there Agrounsky was still sitting, coming to his decision, and sooner or later something or someone was going to make it for him. With all the deviousness of a warped mind, he had chosen his place well. He had left no track, no trace. The hungry animal of embittered philosophy had commandeered a geniusÒ mind and guided it to where it could do the most damage. Now it just sat and ate away at the vital parts until it was self-consumed by its own destructiveness. I picked up the phone and dialed Vincent SmallÒs number. It rang a half dozen times before a querulous voice said, ÓHello?Ô ÓSmall?Ô ÓYes, this is he.Ô ÓMann, Vincent. You alone?Ô ÓQuite. There are . . . policemen outside.Ô ÓEverything all right?Ô There was a hesitation before he said, ÓYes. IÒm all right.Ô My voice felt tight and edgy. ÑTalk to me, friend.Ô ÓThereÒs nothing really. ItÒs just that ...Ô ÓWell?Ô He sounded tired, all the jubilance heÒd had when we first met gone from him now. ÓI ... you remember how we asked the realtors about Louis possibly buying a place somewhere?Ô ÓYeah. What about it?Ô ÓI donÒt know. One of them called last night. He said there was another man asking the same thing.Ô ÓLocal?Ô ÓNo ... a stranger. He only called because he wanted to locate Louis if he was interested in property. He had a few sites available.Ô ÓAny description?Ô ÓVery vague, thatÒs all. The man had on dark glasses and, well ... it was raining out and he had on a slicker with a hat pulled down low so he really didnÒt get a good look at him.Ô ÓThen why are you scared?Ô I asked deliberately. Vincent Small didnÒt answer at first. He took a long time before he said, ÓI called some of the other real estate people. He was there too.Ô ÓYouÒre not saying it all, Vince.Ô I heard his swallow audibly, then he blurted out, ÓThe first one told him we had been asking the same thing too. He didnÒt mean anything. He just said it and ...Ô ÓDid you call Boster?Ô ÓYes.Ô His voice turned tinny as he said, ÓHe . . . didnÒt answer. It may not mean anythingÅ.Ô As quietly as I could, trying not to scare him, I said, ÓYou call in those cops and have them sit there beside you. DonÒt you let anyone else in unless you know theyÒre from the police. You sit tight, understand?Ô ÓYes, I understand.Ô He was still talking when I held the button down long enough to break the connection, then dialed Claude BosterÒs home. Nobody answered the ring. She came out as I put the phone back, saw my face and said, ÓWhat is it, Tiger?Ô ÓItÒs breaking.Ô I looked at her, debated the advisability of leaving her alone, realizing she could be used as a lever against me if it became necessary, then said, ÓLetÒs go, kid. You stay with me.Ô She didnÒt argue and didnÒt ask questions. She went out and got in the car, her eyes following me all the way as I went around and got in under the wheel. I looked up at the sky and somehow I could feel the thing again. It was out there waiting. I cut by the spot where two men were still sprawled in the brush with sightless eyes open to the rain, bodies stiff in the penalty of death, waiting to be found and remembered, then angled up the drive and took the highway back to town. The gas gauge was almost on empty, so I stopped at the nearest service station and told the attendant to fill up the tank. While he did I went inside to the pay phone and dropped a dime in the slot, then dialed Captain HardeckerÒs number. When the desk sergeant put me through I said, ÓMann, Captain. I need a favor.Ô ÓNaturally.Ô There was something funny about the way he said it. ÓOkay, do I ask or not?Ô ÓYouÒre sharp, Tiger.Ô I heard a pencil rap against the phone and he added, ÓTheyÒve removed your cooperation factor.Ô ÓNice of them.Ô ÓMy information on you gets wilder all the time. Nobody tells me anything except about you.Ô ÓIÒm available.Ô ÓTo me, but not to them. TheyÒd like very much to have you out of the picture.Ô ÓSure, I know.Ô ÓAnd whatÒs the favor?Ô ÓDo I get it?Ô ÓWhy not? I have the feeling that if youÒre forced to you could trade goodies with me.Ô ÓIf I have to,Ô I said. ÓSo ask.Ô ÓCall your men outside of Claude HosierÒs place. I want to see him.Ô ÓConsider it done. YouÒre on the hot sheet and theyÒve been given some pertinent instructions over my authority to nail you, old feller, but in this district I still pull a little weight. I may need some excuse to explain the move if the roof comes in though.Ô ÓYou have it then. Will you hold it?Ô ÓShoot.Ô ÓTwo dead men in the palms beside my hotel. I killed them both. The bullet hole in the room will fit the picture so use it as a diversion. IÒll give you the details later.Ô It stopped him a second, then he told me, ÓThat comes under county business.Ô ÓThe sheriff will be glad to have your help, Captain. Inform the boys pushing you of what happened and youÒll see some jumping after they identify the characters. ItÒll make you look good.Ô I glanced at my watch. ÓGive me an hour first.Ô ÓNo more, if I had any sense IÒd play this by the book and roll all over you.Ô ÓThereÒs no job security in being dead,Ô I told him and put the receiver back. The attendant had filled the tank, checked the oil and took the bill from my hand. He gave me back the change wishing I had never stopped there in the first place because he was soaking wet and tired of bothering with outsiders who didnÒt know enough to stay out of the rain. I got in the car and turned the key. Camille laid her hand on top of mine. ÓTiger?Ô she said tentatively. ÓIÒm scared, kid,Ô I told her.
Mickey Spillane - [Tiger Mann] Page 10
