Delta Factor, The

by Mickey Spillane

  I stood there for a full minute, then edged forward when my eyes adjusted to the darkness. But it was too late. An alley cut back and disappeared into the maw of the night and whoever had waited us out from that point had gone. My foot rolled on something by the wall and I picked up an empty .38 shell casing, smelled it, then flipped it into the gutter.

  They didn’t come in with sirens screaming. They just hit both ends of the street, turned down with their men hanging out the door, guns leveled, and stopped when they came to us. Before they spotted me I dropped the .45 and the extra clip behind a pile of trash just inside the alley and kicked some papers over it with my foot. We didn’t bother to make a break for it. We simply went over and joined them. The lieutenant in charge gave me crisp instructions on how to stand with my hands up against the car, patted me down until he was certain I had no weapon, returned my wallet and pardoned himself to Kim. If he tried patting her down he was going to get creamed, but his better manners took over when he saw the look of outraged innocence on her face and he coughed into his hand. When he said, “Señor ...” I spit almost at his feet and told him, “A hell of a place this is.”

  When the restaurant owner was sure everything was under control he came out shaking at the knees, complaining about his broken window and assuring the militia that we had done nothing except eat and immediately upon leaving had been fired upon. But the lieutenant had orders. We were to accompany him to headquarters and make a report, instituting a complaint if we wished and an investigation would follow. I gave the little guy in the white apron a hundred bucks for his window, made a friend, and told the lieutenant, “Let’s go.”

  Russo Sabin was Director of Police. He was small and chubby with a moon face that had a built-in smile around a pencil-stripe moustache and glossy black hair that fitted his skull like a cap. He was so overbearingly friendly he rocked in his desk chair with his hands laced in front of his stomach like a happy Buddha. His eyes seemed to dance with the pleasure of being able to accommodate visitors to his country and he almost crooned with the delight of doing so.

  But Art Keefer had said he was Carlos Ortega’s hatchet man. I could believe it. Those laughing little eyes held more than pleasure. They had seen and enjoyed death too.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Winters. It is regrettable, of course, but in a way, almost to be expected. You might say, it was your own fault.”

  “My fault to be shot at?” I exploded.

  He held up one calming hand. “You had an extremely large amount of money on your person. You chose to dine in a rather out-of-the-way place for the usual tourist, therefore making yourself a target for robbery. This was not the first or the last time such unfortunate incidents have occurred.”

  “Listen ...” I started.

  He cut me off again. “The hotels and casinos have accommodations so guests can deposit their winnings in a safe place. There are signs and instructions in several languages to that effect. Instead, you chose to ignore them. Probably some despicable person took note of your winning streak and departure, and followed you hoping to obtain your money. Naturally, we will investigate. If you will sign ...”

  “Forget it.” I pushed the papers back across his desk. “It’s too late now.”

  “Then there is little we can do. That is the law,” he said. “Of course, I would like to caution you against a similar situation.”

  “Nice of you.”

  “Now, one more official duty.” His smile brightened noticeably. “You have your papers, naturally.”

  “At the hotel,” I lied.

  “I see.” He rocked back in his chair, still the genial host. “Perhaps you should send for them. Or if that is an inconvenience, my men could accompany you to assure your identification.”

  “Look ... we’re registered at the hotel....”

  “Ah, yes, we have checked that. But regulations being what they are ... and certainly we wish to protect American nationals ...”

  I played the game to its limit. I shrugged and said, “Okay, if you want to louse up our evening.” I reached in my pocket and thumbed off a pair of bills. “But if we can make it a little easier on everybody I’ll be glad to oblige.” I tossed the money down on the desk.

  “Very generous, Mr. Winters. Of course we are not interested in discomforting you and your wife. We are here to serve. I’m sure the incident can be forgotten, but I might suggest that in the future your visa be available for inspection.”

  “Sure,” I said, “we’ll do that.”

  “Then my men will be happy to return you to your hotel.”

  “Never mind. I’ll hop a cab.”

  “As you wish.”

  He was still smiling when he left, but his eyes were looking at the money.

  In the cab Kim squeezed my hand. “You didn’t fool him, you know.”

  “I didn’t intend to. He’ll just let the rope stretch out as long as he wants to.”

  “You think they set that up?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because everybody I’ve seen around who’s armed is carrying a Czech-made automatic that fires a 7.65 millimeter bullet. The one who took a shot at us used a .38, firing standard U.S. ammo.”

  “Then it was a robbery attempt.”

  “Kid,” I said, “you’ve been out of the field too long. A desk job has warped your thinking. A stickup is pulled at point-blank range, not from across the street. That was an assassination attempt.”

  “But ... who?”

  “I don’t know. I’m even wondering just who he was aiming at. It could have been you.”

  She took it calmly, turning her head to look at me evenly. “Possibly.”

  Before we reached the hotel I had the driver turn down the street where we were almost nailed, hopped out, retrieved the .45 and got back in the cab. If this kind of thing kept up I didn’t want to be caught without a rod.

  I pointed to the hairline of light showing under the door and looked at Kim. She stepped to one side and shook her head, motioning with her hand that she had cut the switch before she left. I nodded, turned the knob and shoved the door open.

  There were two of them there, a lean, swarthy character in an immaculate uniform wearing two rows of medals and a holstered gun at his side and lounging comfortably in the big chair, a thickset man in a black Italian silk suit whose soft smile was really no expression at all. His black hair was lightly touched with gray that almost matched eyes of the same color, a betrayal of nationality he must have hated because he deliberately shaded them with their lids to seem almost sleepy.

  Danger was there in both of them. Overt in the one standing, impending in the other. But the edge was mine because I encompassed both types and let it show when I pulled Kim in behind me and closed the door with my foot. ,

  “This is a private suite,” I said.

  The one in the chair didn’t change his expression a bit. “Not exactly, Mr. Morgan. It is so only when we wish it to be.”

  “And who is that ‘we’ you’re speaking of, Mr. Ortega?”

  His eyes opened a fraction. “Ah, you know who I am then?”

  “Don’t play games with me,” I said. “I’m no damn amateur.” Kim’s hand tightened on my arm. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I came to ask you, Mr. Morgan. You see, I have investigated and find no record of your entry into our country. In fact, you have used an alias on your registration here.”

  I looked at him casually and shrugged as unconcernedly as I could. “So throw us out. I couldn’t care less.”

  The tall guy behind Ortega frowned and stiffened. Carlos Ortega let his smile go a little wider and shook his head. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. Naturally, an inquiry is in order since your entry is illegal.”

  “You have some fine sources of information.”

  “Yes, we do have that. My people are trained to recognize ... ah, certain important persons.” He waved indolently at the man behind him. “Major Turez here identified you
immediately at one of the casinos.”

  “Nice of him. I understand you have a ship leaving for Rio tomorrow. We’ll be glad to hop it.”

  Carlos Ortega spread his hands in amazement. “But why, Mr. Morgan? That is not the purpose of my visit. If I wished, I could detain you and hand you over to the American authorities. I am sure they would be happy to have you back there.”

  “Why, then?” I asked with a grin. My eyes flicked between the both of them and the major looked like a cat had scratched him.

  Ortega said, “Our country has welcomed many people seeking ... shall we say, political asylum? We are not concerned with your past, only that you are satisfied here and conform to our laws. That is not too much to ask, is it?”

  “Suits me, but if you don’t like the situation, I’ll be glad to ship out.”

  “Perhaps you would be happier if you stayed. Your, er ... wife would enjoy her honeymoon here.”

  My grin spread clear across my face and there wasn’t any humor in it at all. The major’s hand went to the gun at his belt and his fingers fumbled for the leather catch. One day all that rigging was going to get him killed. I said, “Ease off, you. You’re looking at my wife, understand. We’re legally married and anybody ...”

  And this time Carlos Ortega managed an expression. An apologetic one. “Please, Mr. Morgan. I know this, I know this. Georgia, it was, duly registered. I’m surprised you even took the chance, but legality I approve of. I am sorry if I offended, but in the nature of my work—”

  I cut him short. “Okay, forget it.”

  “Certainly. Now that we’ve had our understanding, I may add that there are certain services this country might be able to offer you ...”

  “Like converting hot money into clean stuff at a discount?” I put in.

  His nod was a generous one. “To be frank, it can be arranged,” he said.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Carlos Ortega stood up and I got a good look at him. In the chair his size had been deceptive; now I saw the brutal strength in him and knew the way he had forced himself into power. He wasn’t the type many men could come against and live. He was all raw power with no concern for personal safety, giving himself over to some wild driving force inside himself that even he couldn’t understand.

  “Incidentally, Mr. Morgan, my associate, Senor Sabin, informed me you suffered an altercation of sorts recently.”

  “Somebody tried to kill me.”

  “Regrettable. I have given instructions personally to investigate fully. Would you have any idea who it could have been?”

  “Your associate suspected a robbery attempt,” I said.

  Something changed in Ortega’s face. “Not from across the street,” he told me.

  “That’s what I figured.”

  He gave me an odd stare, then turned to the major and motioned for him to leave, then followed him past us with a stiff little bow to Kim. I opened the door, watched them step into the corridor, then turned on my nasty charm and said, “By the way, Mr. Ortega, would it inconvenience your people if I yanked the bugs out of the room? After all, it is our honeymoon.”

  It never fazed him at all. It was almost as if he had expected it. “Certainly, Mr. Morgan. I apologize for the clumsy installation.”

  So I laid it on a little thicker. “And I’d reprimand whoever shook the room down. They weren’t very good ei-. ther.”

  The major’s face darkened with suppressed fury, but Ortega seemed to enjoy his discomfort. “It is very difficult when you deal with professionals, Mr. Morgan. Good night, sir, and congratulations to the señora.”

  I closed the door and looked at Kim. “That was quick.” She watched me carefully, curiosity in her face. “You pushed too hard, Morgan.”

  “I don’t like reflections on my marital status, baby ... such as it is.”

  She had the decency to blush, but her face didn’t change any. “I didn’t mean that. I was referring to the hidden microphones.”

  I grunted and went over to the sideboard and poured out a cold beer. “He didn’t mind, kid. He would have thought me pretty stupid if I didn’t spot them. Besides, something has him worried.”

  “Oh?”

  “That shooting,” I said. “He spotted the catch in it right away. He didn’t kid about it. He wants me alive if he expects to nick my bundle. We got more here to worry about than the Ortega regime.”

  Kim took the glass I held out. “But ... who else ...”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. So far I’ve only been pitched to once.”

  She didn’t get the drift of my meaning so I finished my beer, put the glass down and told her I’d be back later.

  6

  Like LAS VEGAS, there was no night in Nuevo Cádiz. There was a brightly illuminated darkness, but not night. The carnival atmosphere grew more frantic, the crowd thicker, the noises louder as the hours passed. The play at the casinos was heavy and the ballrooms were crowded with couples and groups taking a break, but there was one thing that never changed, the harried bartenders sweating out their shift before their relief came on and they could go home.

  At the Delmonico I slid on a stool, ordered Fleisch-mann’s Preferred and ginger ale, passed a five-spot across the bar and told the guy to keep the change. He gave me a grateful nod and made my drink a double, then looked at my face again. “You been in before?”

  “Just got here.”

  “States?”

  I nodded.

  “What’s the news from home?” he asked me.

  “How long you been away?”

  “Too long.”

  “Then you haven’t missed anything,” I told him. “Nothing’s changed. A few more buildings in Manhattan, a big LSD kick on and the same scramble for the buck.”

  “Better’n here, though.”

  “So go back.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t. I jumped bail on an assault rap and they’d pick me up.”

  “Guilty?”

  “Hell, yes. Why you think I skipped out? I put enough time behind the wall the first stretch.” I got that funny look again. “Don’t I know you?”

  “I get around.”

  He grinned and mopped the bar down in front of me. “Yeah. Plenty of us here. Maybe it’d do better to serve time. When they got you on the hook here they tap you for everything they can. You clean?”

  “Enough.”

  “Then stay that way. You don’t know how rough it can get These monkeys can look like jokers, but they got something rolling for them here and play it all the way. Get in on the action yet?”

  “Picked up a few bucks shooting crap,” I said. “Met some broad who liked my style. Called herself Lisa Gordot.”

  The bartender’s head came up and his eyes had a sudden interested look. “You picked up more than a few bucks, then. That doll only goes after the long green.”

  “That’s what I figured. I quit when I was ahead and she wanted me to play out the streak. What’s with her?”

  He refilled my glass and took the other five I handed him. I knew he was debating how far he could go with me, then he shrugged and said, “Just an idea I got, but some of the others seem to think the same thing. She’s stranded here. Right now she’s after running money.” He made a funny expression with his mouth, then leaned on the bar close to me. “Stay away from that chick. She’s trouble right down the line. She had a couple of chances to cut out, but our local Director of Police has tagged her for his personal property and is making sure she’s gonna stick around.”

  “Russo Sabin?”

  “For a guy what just got here you seem to catch on quick.”

  “I got to, pal.”

  “Then keep it in mind. That fat snake can get you killed as quick as look at you. Him and his crew don’t take no interference with their pleasures. If you got a record back home, chances are he has a file on you in his office right now. Matter of fact, we’re being watched right now, so if anybody asks you about our little conversation, te
ll ’em it was baseball. I’m a nut on the game, so play along. I like my job. It’s better’n making license plates in a prison shop.”

  “Can do,” I said. “But I’m still curious about the Gordot dame.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Regis.”

  “Check her out with Angelo, the bell captain.” He squinted at me again, puzzled. “Damn, I know you, buddy. Got a name?”

  “Down here it’s M. A. Winters.”

  “What’s it back home?”

  I grinned at him. “Morgan the Raider.”

  “Damn,” he said. “I’m talking to big time.”

  “Forget it,” I said.

  He laughed and filled my glass again. “Already did. Have one for the road.”

  The picture was taking on some queer little highlights. It could be that they were trying to box me in, but the reason wasn’t clear yet. Lisa Gordot led to Russo Sabin; he led to Carlos Ortega and where they were leading to could be the forty million I supposedly had. The only hitch was the murder attempt. They’d know damn well I wouldn’t keep that kind of cash where it could be grabbed very easily and I was smart enough to make it tough for them to find it if they went after it on their own. Then there was Ortega’s attitude. He didn’t like someone trying to knock me off either.

  On the other side, there was still Victor Sable to consider. If, as the Washington boys suspected, he was playing footsies with the Reds, they would be in the picture too. Their own espionage network was big enough to suppose they could possibly have a dossier on Kim and if they played the obscure angles, might figure she was using me as a cover to get here with the hope of springing Sable somehow ... or of knocking him off so they couldn’t get their hands on him. The assassination try could have been for her.

  It all sounded smooth enough until the other factor came in. Bernice Case was in the morgue and that was because I had started my own probe to run down that fat bundle of government money.