"No. That's just it." She was wearing a little tan and red miniskirted one-piece dress with some kind of footwear that had no toes but extended halfway up her calves. Her white leather coat was thrown over her shoulders like a cape. She had a couple of bright colored scarves tied into her hair so that most of it came down over her right shoulder and curled under her face. "After all the stringy hair and unwashed clothes I've seen today on the beach and the Mall, you're ready to take the grand prize. I don't know why young American girls go to so much trouble to look ugly, but they make it. They look like ugly little kids." We caught sight of one, dirty bare feet slapping along the sand, jeans with bottoms two feet wide flapping in time with them, a shapeless white upper garment that might have been a man's shirt and might have been anything else. Fixed up she would have looked all right. "She looks like somebody hit her with an uglystick."
"Be quiet, she'll hear you," Bev giggled.
"She ought to. When I get to be dictator, I'm going to pass a rule. Any girl appears in public looking ugly like that, men have a right to kick her. One kick per girl per man per day, we don't want to stomp any of them to death, just encourage them to stop polluting our cities."
Bev giggled again, looked back over her shoulder.
"You're not supposed to do that," I told her. "Very bad technique. Anyway, why all the mystery? You have reason to be scared?"
"You know we do. We read the Seattle papers. What happened on the road after you met us in Carnation?"
"I was wondering if you knew anything about that. After all, you people picked the meeting place and told us which way to drive away from it. Sure they weren't yours?"
She drew away from me. "Why would we do that. It wasn't us, Paul. But—but what did happen? The papers said two men were shot out there on the road. Did you shoot them?"
"What makes you think we had anything to do with it?"
"Well, it would be a funny coincidence . . . . I mean, Seattle doesn't have gang warfare, and you were there when it happened."
I nodded. "A couple of guys thought we'd look good in their car. We didn't agree."
"Did you—did you kill them?"
"Come on, Bev. Let's talk about something else. I'm not admitting anything like that."
"But—but who were they?" As we talked she led me up a side street away from the water, off into a jungle of houses and hamburger stands. From there we walked through deserted side streets and alleys, twisting around until I knew nobody would be able to follow us. I wasn't even sure where I was myself.
"I sort of hoped you might know who they were," I told her. "Well, I guess there's just a lot of occupational risk to this business." I didn't feel as tough as I talked. There were occupational hazards to the whole situation, and I was uneasily aware that de la Torres had probably lost me, if he'd been there at all. I was on my own. The Luger felt good in my belt, and I moved my hand over my shirt to feel it through the cloth.
We came to a little park and sat on a bench. She moved against me, for appearance I guessed, but it was disturbing. It bothered me more than it ought to have. Here I was convincing myself that I was doing this mainly for Janie, talking myself into being in love with her. I shouldn't be thinking about how nice this kid looked in her short skirt, or how warm she felt against me in the evening chill. Still, it would have been hard to ignore Bev. She wasn't exactly trying to be ignored.
I wondered if she liked the situation too, since there was nobody around to put the show on for. I found myself wondering if this could develop into something, and if I wanted it to. At the same time the working part of my brain laughed like hell.
"How'd you get in this crummy game?" I asked her. "You need the money that bad?"
She started to laugh, but then got real serious. "No. We don't need it at all. But that's a strange question for you to ask, isn't it?"
"Not really. I do need the money. I don't have to like what I'm doing to get it, do I? Besides, I can tell myself if I didn't help arrange for the other side to get what they want, somebody else would. They don't seem to have much trouble, from what I read our scientific outfit is shot through with spies. This country has never been much good at secrecy." I was getting real good at explaining myself to girls. Just last night I was giving a similar line to Janie.
"You need money . . . how much do you need, Paul? What would it take to get you out of this?"
"I never thought. Is that a serious offer?"
"Yes. I'm scared, Paul. Dick's got us involved in something that's just too big, and I'm scared. They—they executed the Rosenbergs."
"Sure they did. I doubt that you can remember that far back. I wasn't too old when it happened myself, and I'm older than you."
"I can read. And things are getting ugly in this country, people are getting mad . . . . I don't want Dick mixed up in it. How much will you take? I can't pay any hundred thousand dollars, but I could . . . I could get you ten thousand. For nothing. You wouldn't have to commit any crimes, and if that's not enough, I could make it interesting for you in other ways, too." She moved against me, a suggestion of what she had in mind.
"What good would that do? Even if you got out, your boyfriend would still be a spy."
"He's not a spy!" she protested. "We—oh, Lord, it's too complicated to explain. But if this deal falls through, I think he's scared enough to drop out. Think about it, Paul. You wouldn't have to do anything, and—and it might be a lot of fun." She leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, hard, her body alive against mine, her hands moving over me. Her lips were soft, gentle, and I felt my arms tighten around her without my thinking about it . . . finally I broke away.
"I can have a lot of fun with my part of a million bucks," I said harshly. I was almost out of breath. "And I've already got a girl."
"You think you have," she said. "You mean that Janie Youngs, don't you? Well, she's not your girl, Paul. She works for Information Associates, and her only interest in you is the money you're going to get. You might not get any money at all, and I'm offering you ten thousand dollars any time you want to take it. Isn't that better than a chance of getting killed? Or going to jail? With ten thousand you should be able to start over somewhere, you said you didn't like this very much anyway, and you've already made a lot of money out of it." She talked very fast, and she hadn't moved away from me at all.
I heard noises behind us and figured it was Jim Vallery. I wasn't sorry to have him come, it was getting tough to hold her away even if I knew she wasn't really interested in me, only in persuading me to help her save Vallery. You can always believe that the girl will fall for you if things go far enough . . . . Besides, I was running out of excuses that didn't make me sound like a moneymad traitor, and I didn't like her thinking that of me. When Bev heard him she moved guiltily away from me. "Don't tell him I mentioned Janie," she warned. "But you think about what I told you, and, and, about what happened here."
"Nobody followed you," Vallery said from behind us. "Let's get this over with."
"Suits me," I told him. "You said come to L.A., we're here. No thanks to those jokers out on the Carnation road. You sure you don't know who they were?"
"No, of course not. Where is Dr. Hoorne? You were supposed to bring him with you."
"You were supposed to bring money, too. You got it? Show me money and I'll produce Steen."
He sat on the bench with us, and Bev moved over toward him, not sitting as close as she had with me. She kept looking at me with a pleading look. Hell, I wasn't about to tell Vallery she'd offered me money, and more, to call off the deal, although she'd never guess the reason I wouldn't.
"You really mean it," he said. "You actually want to see the money."
"Damn betcha. I want to know you've got it to pay with. Look, Mister, we've got something to sell. Not give away, sell. You claim you can buy it, but I'm not real sure of that. You're convenient, but don't kid me that I can't wander out into L.A. and find a contact of my own. It might take me some time, and there's risk involved, but I'd
do it if I had to. I'd say it was about time you got off the dime and earned some of that fancy cut you think you're going to get. Come up with the stakes, Dick, or get out of the game."
"I was told by our buyer that that's a lot of money." He wasn't particularly impressed by my hard-case act.
"So we haggle over the price. Or knock some out of your cut. Look, buddy, you got your free sample. Now when do we see some money so I know I'm not wasting my time?"
"Tomorrow," he said grimly. "Bring Dr. Hoorne here tomorrow afternoon at three and we'll take you to the money, both of you."
I stood up, shaking my head. "Look, how many times do I have to tell it? No money, no Steen. You show me money, I show you Hoorne. And pick your place carefully, Mister. No dark alleys. No lonely beaches. We're taking no chances on you people picking up Steen and keeping the money."
"All right. Be here tomorrow. But you better be able to produce him, Crane. After all you've put us through, this better not fizzle out. They won't let you live through a doublecross."
"Yeah." As I walked away I thought there was a good chance they wouldn't let me live even if I didn't try a doublecross. If they got Steen, why would they need me?
Chapter Ten
I walked through a maze of alleyways to the more inhabited streets, made a few excursions off my direct route just for the fun of it, and headed back to my hotel. I thought somebody might be behind me, probably de la Torres or his troops, but I didn't worry about losing them. He'd find me easily enough.
The evening had been a waste of time, but I'd expected that. Vallery wanted to make one more try without producing the money. Now he'd have to go to his buyer. I hoped Vallery could talk him into it. If he could, this whole thing would be over in a day or so, and Janie and I could go back to Seattle. Thinking about that got me to worrying about Witch of Endor. She'd have to be trucked, I sure as hell wasn't going to sail a boat up that coast against the prevailing winds. As I walked along, I gave some thought to the problem of a wooden boat out of the water on a truck. In that warm climate, she'd dry out fast and the seams would open up.
I wanted a drink, but the noise level in the Lost Knight was worse than ever. They had a combo of some kind in there, with a character who seemed determined to swallow the mike wailing about his long-lost love, or maybe it was his dog that was lost. I gave up on the Lost Knight and entered the elevator. A couple of little girls got off as it came down to the lobby, pretty little teenagers in skirts and low-heeled shoes, chattering in Japanese, although I don't think I'd noticed they were Oriental until I heard them talking, they looked so Western. The way our teenagers dress, the typical Western-looking kids will all be foreigners in a few years.
A couple of guys made a rush for the elevator and I held it for them. After the doors closed I pushed the button for two, then, when they made no move to the controls, looked at them. One of them had a knife which he pushed against my ribs.
"Be very quiet, Mr. Crane," he said. "Keep your hands out where we can see them, and act natural. If you attract any attention, I will kill you."
"Sure." I tried to do what he wanted. The Luger in my belt seemed a good fifty miles away with that knife in my back. The elevator doors opened and they walked along with me, saying something about how nice it was to run into me here. "Which room is yours, Paul?" the knife artist asked for the benefit of the beefy character getting ice out of the machine by the elevator.
"It's down here." They were behind me, and I hadn't had a very good look at them. From what I remembered they were just average-looking guys, although the one with a knife had a flat face that might have been partly Oriental. It might have been Slavic for that matter. The other one was shorter and skinny with pointed features. "Who are you?" I asked.
"You will say nothing more," he said. He emphasized it with a little poke with the knife, not enough to hurt but it let me know it was still there, if I needed reminding.
"I'll have to put my hand in my pocket to get the key," I warned him.
"Just be very careful. Take it out slowly, that's good. Is this the room?"
"Yeah." I put the key in and opened the door, hoping that de la Torres might be inside waiting. I stepped in quickly, prepared to throw myself on the floor if he was, but there was nobody there at all.
"One moment, Carl," the knife man said. He reached around, patted my middle, and took the Luger out of my belt, stuck it into his own. "Now, check the bathroom and closets."
Carl looked around, shook his head. "Nothing here, Frank."
"Look carefully to see if there are any clothes belonging to anyone besides Mr. Crane."
Carl poked around in my bags, went through the closets. "Nope. It looks like it's all his stuff, barring that junk on the bureau." He indicated Janie's chemistry laboratory.
"But no female clothing. Well, we have time. Mr. Crane can explain it all to us. First, where is Dr. Hoorne?"
"Who?" I asked.
He hit me. It was a good hard punch, his fist catching me in the side of the back just above the belt, right over the kidney. I felt weak, my knees stopped wanting to hold me up, and I had to catch the bureau to keep from falling. "We are not here to play games, Mr. Crane. You are going to tell us where Dr. Hoorne is, and you are going to tell us a great many other things. Make no mistake about that. The only uncertainty is what will happen to you before you tell us. If you are cooperative, you might live through the night."
"What do you want Hoorne for?" I asked. Hell, there wasn't any point in playing dumb with this guy.
"He is wanted. It is not our job to ask questions.
Nor yours. Now where is he?"
"He's got himself a room south of here. I don't know where." The guy hit me again, not as hard, and I said quickly, "Look, that's the truth. I know how to reach him by phone, but I don't know the address. We thought it would be safer that way." I was still trying to figure out who they were. There was a good chance they were part of the ChiCom outfit, and if they were, we wanted them to find Steen. On the other hand, they weren't supposed to know that, so I had to make a good show of keeping it all a dark secret as long as I could. The way that guy threw punches, that wouldn't be too long.
"You will be calling that number soon," Frank told me. "First, how did you come here from Seattle? And who helped you escape our people there?"
"Your people? I don't know who you mean," I said. It was the wrong thing to say, he hit me again.
"You know very well who I mean," he growled. "I do not like this, Carl. I think we will take Mr. Crane with us, where he can be convinced that it would be better to telephone Dr. Hoorne. We will also want to know any warning signals they have for the telephone, and who he is working for. Now, once again, Mr. Crane, will you cooperate with us, or must we give you another demonstration? How did you escape our men in Seattle?" He gave me another kidney punch, hard enough to stagger me. Things were getting a little fuzzy.
"If you mean those two guys in the Pontiac, we shot them," I gasped. "They came driving up behind us in a big Pontiac, waving a gun, and we outshot them. That's all."
"And you came to Los Angeles how?"
"We drove. In my other car, they'd shot holes in the one I was driving. Look, what do you want with us? We offered to sell you anything you want, why are you doing this?" It wasn't hard to fake panic in my voice. I felt enough of it.
"You are selling us nothing," Frank said. "Gather Mr. Crane's things, Carl. He is checking out." Carl started to the bathroom to get my gear. There was a little alcove just short of the bathroom itself that had a closet with the suitcase in it.
"What is that on the bureau? Who does it belong to?" Frank asked.
I turned to face him, trying to estimate my chances. They looked about nil. He stood there with that knife, a big one about five inches long, waving it slowly in front of him like he'd enjoy using it. His face had no expression, just a cold look in his gray eyes. My gun was in his belt where I'd never reach it alive, and he knew it, but he wouldn't kill me if I ma
de a dive for it. He knew so much more than I did he could disable me with no trouble at all. To keep my hands from shaking too much, I got my pipe out of my breast pocket. "OK, I'll answer your questions. Can I smoke?" When he nodded I took the butane lighter out of my pocket and puffed at the pipe. The stale tobacco was awful, but I choked it in.
"This stuff belongs to my girlfriend. We went out last night, and she wanted to make up before we got there. Left the junk here. It's just pancake and hairspray, see . . . ."
I picked up the can of hairspray to show him. Carl was still in the bathroom and it looked like my only chance. I flicked the lighter on and held it to my pipe for a second, then brought it down and held it in front of the spray can, pushed the button on the stuff. A sheet of flame a good four feet long shot out. The label had been right, the stuff was flammable as hell. I played the flame across Frank's face, watching his hair and eyebrows singe off, holding it in his eyes as long as I could.
Red Dragon Page 10
