The Death Dealers

by Mickey Spillane

  Vey Locca had been there twice, but had not been asked to stay for any of the discussions. Evidently she operated on a social level for Teish, but at various times had been in conversations with several of the dignitaries who seemed impressed by her political awareness and ability to influence Teish’s decisions.

  When he gave me the picture I let him go back to work, made an okay sign to my friend and went out to the lobby. I called Vey on the phone, knowing it was bugged. The screening didn’t take long. I was a cog in the machine now, unwanted, but necessary for a side phase of the operation.

  Vey came on with a throaty hello and said, “You have waited a long time to call me, Tiger.”

  “You knew I would.”

  “Certainly. But I have waited. I find it hard to forget you.”

  “I have something to return to you.”

  Her laugh was warm and low. “Yes, I know. Tonight. You will call for me.”

  “I thought you would be escorted by Teish.”

  “He will be in conference until the last minute. I believe they have you under discussion. Tomorrow you will be invited to attend a rather important meeting.”

  “I’d rather hear about tonight.”

  “At eight I shall be ready. Not in a robe.”

  “I prefer the robe.”

  “So do I, but unfortunately it cannot be. Another time, another place and there will be many more things. Once a queen and there will be little left for me.”

  “Except,” I said.

  “Yes,” she repeated, “except. I wonder how long the enjoyment of them will last. I’m afraid I will always be thinking of the jungle and the tiger I gave up for them.”

  I didn’t answer her.

  “Tonight at eight,” she told me and I heard the phone click dead.

  I started to move away from the partitioned row of phones when a porter went by pushing a floor polisher toward the service door at the end of the short hallway. He opened it with a key, reached back for the polisher, when I saw the figure go past in the opening, taking the steps two at a time. I only had a glimpse, but the face was that of Sarim Shey.

  Before I could grab it, the door closed shut behind the porter and with the noise the polisher was making on creaky wheels I knew he’d never hear the pounding of my fist against the steel. I ran back to the desk, waved the clerk over and pointed to the door. “Where does that lead to?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I saw a friend of mine coming down.”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. That’s just a service stairwell that leads to the back alley. It’s not a fire exit.”

  “What’s the quickest way there?”

  “You’ll have to go around the building from the east side. There’s an alley that goes up there, but I’m sure you’re making a mistake. I can tell ...”

  But I didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. I got back outside, cut up the street, turned the comer of the building and trotted against the rain until I found the alley. A grilled gate was open there and a taxi was pulling off, already halfway down the street, but hugging the left side as though it had been parked there.

  In the alley, lounging against the wall under the overhang above the service entrance was Sarim Shey puffing slowly on a long black cigar. He never bothered to look at me, but blew a stream of smoke out to dissipate in the rain with a satisfied expression on his face.

  Whatever Sarim Shey had come down to do was already done.

  I didn’t think it was to find solitude to smoke a cigar.

  Before he could notice me I walked on past, crossed the street to the newstand on the opposite comer and went inside where the fat guy behind the counter was staring disconsolately out into the gray afternoon. “Was there a taxi across the street a minute ago?”

  I got the blank New York stare when you ask leading questions. I tried to find an annoyed look and said, “Damn, I told her to wait. ...” and let it drift off there.

  And like all New Yorkers who enjoy being a part of other people’s problems, but who can’t get hurt by them, he said, “Oh ... yeah, I seen one.”

  “Stand there long?”

  His shoulders hunched in a shrug. “Didn’t notice. Just seen one, thassal. What happened?”

  “Broads,” I said disgustedly.

  The guy agreed with me. “Yeah, them.”

  I walked back on the opposite side of the street from the hotel and looked down the alley. Sarim Shey was gone, but most of his cigar was still lying there smoking on the concrete. Upstairs somebody was going to catch hell for leaving him alone that long, but that was their trouble. Just the same, I wondered how he managed it.

  I had a coded note waiting for me at the hotel to call Virgil Adams. When I rang him he said, “Stay put, Tiger. I have a man coming up in a few minutes. Remember Casey Ballanca?”

  “We worked together ten years ago.”

  “He’s got the poop. More information on Turos. Stay in close contact with us if you can.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “Think you’ll need any more men?”

  “No, but I’ll want a car standing by ready to roll just in case.”

  “We’ll spot two of them for you, one in Tillson’s Garage, the other at the Servicenter. Ernie Bentley will drop an emergency kit in each under the seat.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Now here’s something ... call Martin Grady and tell him Seaton Coleman and Porter Lockwood are on his back. They’re considering lifting control from AmPet if this deal goes through. If it really looks rough I can stop these characters while they’re here in the city. It won’t be any nastier than what they’re trying to pull, but a cute frame with a pretty blonde in a hotel bedroom will shut their mouths if it has to be like that.”

  “Better let Martin tackle it from the top. If it’s necessary he’ll pass the signal to go ahead. That pair are real spoilers.”

  “They’re damn fools,” I told him. “Look what they let Castro get away with.”

  “I’ll get to him now. See you later.”

  When I hung up the operator rang me right back with a house call and a deep Midwestern drawl said, “Tiger?”

  I waited until the identity code word came across, then grinned.

  “Hi, Casey, come on up.”

  “Two minutes.”

  He was a big man, browned from the sun who seemed made to be lazy. Every move he made looked tired and when he sat he slumped, one leg over the arm of a chair. But Casey Ballanca was far from that. He was a graduate engineer who had worked his way up from a rigger in the Oklahoma oil fields to be chief research engineer for Grady. Not that he made it his main occupation though. He was in on section assignments as often as I was, the only stipulation in his contract with Grady. He liked excitement too.

  He handed me a thick brown envelope, filled with typewritten copy. “All the information on the AmPet process. If you get any queries you’ll be able to answer without divulging anything essential, at the same time making them sure you know what it’s about. Martin set up a beautiful cover for you and to all appearances you’re an unknown but guiding genius behind the operation. Commit it to memory, then destroy the papers.”

  “It’ll take a couple of hours.”

  “You’re lucky to have that crazy memory of yours.” He let me scan the sheets to get a general idea of the program and when I put them in my pocket said, “I saw the reports on Malcolm Turos in Newark. Somebody came across with the details of the Gaspar Project for a cool million in rubles. I’m going to put in a bid to get assigned to hitting that bunch if I can shake loose.” He grinned at me. “I hope I see Turos again before you do.”

  “Again?”

  “Sure, he was instructing in electrical engineering at the E.T.V. tech school I attended in Paris. Top man in his field, but his real purpose there was undermining the French Chamber of Deputies. That was when all the Commie trouble was going on. He pulled some beauties before they latched on to him and by then it was almost too lat
e. The French smashed his play in time, but he got away.”

  “Why do you want him?”

  “Because the bastard almost killed me. By accident I was in some remote bistro one night and saw him with a couple of men in some tight conversation. Hell, I didn’t know they were Soviet agents, it was just one of those things, but he must have thought I was tailing him and later I left and a car damn near ran me down as I was crossing the street. It missed, but the guy at the wheel was Turos, all right. I was going to brace him on it but two days later he was gone with the French hard on his heels.”

  “You may see him yet.”

  Casey got up, stretched and walked in that somnolent manner to the door. “I’ll be over at the Calvin if you want me for anything. Good late show tonight. Puts me to sleep.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the information.”

  “No trouble. If something comes up that you need filling in on give me a call. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Right.”

  I sat down, spread the sheets out and began pouring over them. What information I gathered had to be learned by rote and if I had to discuss it, would be mechanical in the delivery. At least the general scope would be accurate and anybody else would be sufficiently vague on the actual details not to be able to ask pointed questions.

  Outside night settled on the city, a dirty, rainy night that hammered with annoying monotony at the windows, the wind breaking out into whistling sounds as it tore around the corners of the buildings. When I knew I had the material well fixed in my mind I touched a match to each sheet, let them crumple into a heap of black residue, then flushed it all down the toilet.

  At seven o’clock I got dressed, cleaned and oiled the .45, loaded a couple of extra clips and snugged the gun down in its holster then slipped into my coat. When I was buttoning it up I saw the robin’s egg-sized ruby lying where I had left it and for a long time I just stood there and stared at it.

  No, it wasn’t the ruby, it was something else. It was that thing in my mind again laughing at my attempts to snare it and bring it out into the open. I snapped the lamp off and the ruby lost its gleam, became, instead, almost purplish in color, and like that it had even more meaning still. The little voice laughed louder, challenging me to make the association that would win the game of hide-and-seek.

  Something to do with Malcolm Turos, I knew. An oval ruby and Malcolm Turos. I picked it up, rolled it around in my palm searching for the connection, then, disgusted, dropped it in my side pocket, picked up my trench coat and hat, and left.

  Anyway, it was going to be nice returning the gem. Maybe she’d let me put it back where I got it.

  Even the rain didn’t discourage the tourists that milled around in front of the Stacy. Royalty has its afficionados as well as movie stars, and even though the chance of a firsthand glimpse of a king was nearly impossible, there seemed to be something satisfying for the crowd in the proximity to what they considered greatness.

  Again, the police were there in force, the Traffic Division keeping the cars moving, directing the limousines and taxis to the curb, the uniformed cops keeping the lanes open for the sidewalk traffic while making sure the arrivals had a clear passage to the hotel.

  I skirted the area and used the side entrance, went in and up the steps to the desk, told the clerk I was going to the personnel office and found my harried friend busy sorting papers in the midst of jangling telephones. When I came in he threw up his hands, a pained look on his face. “Too much! Why can’t we have a nice normal week? Why can’t these idiots pick another hotel to disrupt?”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “Oh, the usual thing, the help bitching because they can’t move without the police underfoot. Everything they do is inspected and they’re treated like criminals. You know I had six people quit today? I’m lucky I took your offer and put those two fellows on. They’re the only ones who don’t seem bothered by all this mess. That little one is a wonder. I’d like to keep him.”

  “How did Teish go for the native dishes?”

  “Raved about them, but I think they made everybody else sick. The chef couldn’t stand those sheep’s eyeballs staring at him. How can those people eat that stuff?”

  “They don’t know any better.”

  “Maybe, but get them over here awhile and their appetites change. I wouldn’t want to pay their bill.”

  “You will, buddy ... in taxes,” I said. “Look, I want to speak to Harry and Lennie alone. Arrange it, will you?”

  “No trouble.” He took a key out of the drawer and tossed it to me. “There’s a private locker room downstairs in back of the kitchen. Use that. I’ll tell them to wait there for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He smiled at me. “You’re paying for it. I’m glad to be of service.”

  His call had gotten through before I reached the locker room and the two of them were waiting for me. Lennie had gotten used to his monkey suit and didn’t look a bit uncomfortable in it at all. I unlocked the door, let them in, then closed and locked it again.

  Lennie unhooked the recorder inside his jacket, handed it to me with the miniature speaker set up and I plugged the units together. “What do you have to report?”

  “Open conferences. It looks like AmPet is in and there are plenty who don’t like the idea. You’re a main topic up there and everybody’s wary because you’re unknown to them. Believe me, there has been some fast researching done and you’re going to be quizzed.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “No doubt. I picked up one bit,” Lenny said seriously. “They’ll have some petroleum engineers on hand to try to rock you.”

  I grinned at him. “I’ll have news for them.”

  “Let’s hope I have news for you.” He pointed his thumb at the recorder. “I left that thing in the serving tray when I laid out the spread for Teish and Sarim Shey. What garbage. Damn.”

  I turned the switch on, listened to the noisy rattle I guessed were dishes rattling, then the hum of voices filled the background. I could make out Lennie’s voice, then pleased laughter of Teish El Abin and Sarim Shey who were surprised to find home so close and Lennie accepting their thanks.

  Harry had bent close to the speaker and had he not been there I would have taken the sounds for unintelligible, overlapping conversation. He nodded silently, his dark face intent upon catching every word, and I didn’t want to bother him.

  Finally he said, “Sarim Shey is insisting it is poisoned—an American plot to kill the king and have an unobstructed inroad to Selachin’s wealth.” Then he grinned.

  I said, “What’s happening?”

  “Teish has just asked him to taste everything first.”

  There seemed to be a two- or three-minute pause with only the deep murmur far in the back. Then there was more conversation and a gentle laugh.

  Harry said, “Teish thinks it is funny. Sarim is obviously in good health and please not to eat it. all. Sarim Shey made the appropriate remark that he was merely looking out for his king’s safety and now they are eating.”

  I could hear the metallic clink of dish covers and the tinkle of the utensils. Occasionally Teish or Sarim would say something inconsequential in English to those present and what invitations they offered to others to join them were all politely refused.

  Lennie chuckled and reached for a cigarette. “Couldn’t blame them. The other waiters had regular sandwiches and drinks for them ... if they could eat if after seeing that goo Harry dished out.”

  “Perhaps someday you will be hungry enough to eat even that, my friend.” Harry told him. “I have eaten once even ...”

  “Don’t tell me,” Lennie said.

  I stopped him there. Harry caught it and dropped his head down to catch the words. Twice I had to stop, rewind the spool and start it again to make sure he got it.

  “Sarim Shey is telling Teish not to rush. They must go slowly. If he takes a loan of money from this country they will force him out.”

  “
And Teish?” I asked.

  “He does not say much. He listens carefully. Sarim wants time. Ah ... wait. It is Teish now. He thinks the offer a good one. He can be a big king with power enough to be recognized through all the land. He does not care where the money comes from as long as it comes.”

  “And now it is Sarim ... no, he says, the Americans wish his death. They will try to kill him because the Americans are greedy. Teish must listen to all offers, to consider carefully. He is a great leader and his people follow him religiously. To be a power he must ...”

  “What happened.”

  Harry grinned again. “Teish has just told him to shut up,” he said.

  There was no more after that. The spool had run out. I lifted it free, let Lennie insert another one and dropped it in my pocket. On the way upstairs I’d mail it to Charlie Corbinet with a note and let the boys at State listen to how much the lads from the hills were impressed with all their pomposity.

  Lennie said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Both of you stay on the job. Teish might want another taste of his delicacies. Besides, pulling you out now might raise some eyebrows. Keep that recorder handy and use it if you get the chance. At least now we’re sure which way Sarim is leaning. He’s playing for time for some reason. Evidently Teish will do things on the spur of the moment and if he signs any deal with the U.S. too soon, Sarim’s going to be damn unhappy.” I stopped, thought back a bit and added, “By the way, did Sarim cut out solo any time?”

  “Sure,” Lenny said at once. “I was there picking up the dishes. He took out a cigar Teish objected violently to and told him to smoke it somewhere else. I saw Shey leave to go in the adjoining room, but he was back before I finished.”

  “He seem jumpy or anything?”

  “Up until then he kept looking at his watch.”

  There was a phone in the comer and I called personnel and when I got my man said, “You know how many rooms are attached to Teish’s suite?”

  “Certainly. There were nine until this morning, then Mr. Shey requested that the small one on the end, not part of the complex, be added. The entrance is from another corridor aside from the room it adjoins. Why?”