“Toker said Squall Line was broken. Max created Squall Line. That’s all I could think of. If it isn’t Roy doing all this, it has to be connected with Squall Line.”
“What was Squall Line?”
“Maybe later.”
We waited. It was quiet in the room. There was a knock on the door at noon. The maid wanted to make the bed and clean up. I told her to come back in an hour, and we waited some more.
At twelve-thirty, just as I was reaching for the phone, it rang. The sound scared the hell out of me. April flinched.
I picked up the handset and said, “Yes?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Porter?”
It was like him to get the jump on me. “Looking up old friends,” I told him. “How are you doing, Roy?”
“Can it. What’s this bullshit about a daughter?”
“Toker’s daughter. Your daughter. Miss Phoung’s daughter.”
The line was silent. Eventually he said softly, “I know nothing of this. Tell me.”
“Miss Phoung was pregnant when you left. Her daughter was born April 3, 1971. She was raised by her aunt and put on a boat for Hong Kong in 1981. Toker found her there and brought her to the states. He told her he had adopted her, but he never completed the paperwork. And he cut her out of his will completely.”
“His will? He’s dead?”
“He was blown away eight days ago. Somebody planted a Claymore in his office. There was another trap set for the girl, a grenade. Someone has been after Johnny Walker in Phoenix. My house was searched. And this morning a man was killed here in El Paso, a detective I paid to get your address.”
He took a minute to digest that. “What’s going on, Rainbow?” he asked softly.
“You tell me.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. The kid isn’t mine. I’d tell you if she were, and I’m telling you she isn’t. As for the rest, I don’t know. My first hint of anything wrong was the calls. I’ve never used the Rodgers name on this line. Was that you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. If Roy wasn’t involved, who was doing the killing? “I have to talk to you. Toker left a message.”
“What was it?”
I told him. He repeated part of it, but not the part I expected. “The accounts were off? He said the accounts were off?”
“That’s what he said. Are you responsible for any of this?”
“I didn’t juggle the books, Rainbow.” His voice was dry. “But I’ll give you something to think about, old buddy. I know where you are. And you’re still there.”
He hung up. I stared at the receiver for a moment before replacing it.
“What?” April asked.
“Pack,” I told her.
“Are we going to Juarez?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Chapter 6
LUZON
We made the airport in an hour. The first flight out was to Mexico City. I bought two tickets under the Carter and Stephenson names. Using those names made me nervous. Roy had found us when we used them, and he would be able to follow that trail. If he was the one stalking us, we would have to hope he lacked the resources to follow us south. But we really had no choice. Those were the names on our passports, and we didn’t have time to pick up new identities. All I could do was check out the other passengers and hope none of them showed up later. It seemed pointless, given the last-minute purchase, but I looked them over anyway. They all looked innocent. Families and businessmen.
Customs took about forty minutes in Mexico City, and then I found a taxi and told the driver to find us a hotel with a pool, somewhere out of the smog, no gringos if he could manage it. He got enthusiastic when I showed him a twenty. We wound up at a little place just outside the city proper, very nice, no gringos, guaranteed. The lobby was tiled, open to the pool and cabana area, with hanging plants and bright colors. Very clean. No Mariachi music. I argued with the desk clerk long enough to establish that I wouldn’t pay gringo prices and then checked in. A boy with a quick smile and a ready hand took our luggage to the room. April and I wandered out to the pool bar and grabbed a table. She ordered two Bohemias and I began to relax for the first time since Archuleta stuck his tongue out at me.
As advertised, we seemed to be the only gringos in the place. The speakers were spreading a Brazilian rhythm, but softly. Judging by the crowd around us, the clientele was mostly Mexican businessmen with their secretaries, doing business by the bar and poolside, and tourists from South America. There was also a smattering of Europeans—Spanish and French, mostly, and one young Swedish couple. Honeymooners, perhaps.
April sipped at her beer and looked around curiously. The bright colors, the palms in large clay pots, the brilliant red and yellow flowers seemed to please her. She smiled at me and sat back. Some of the stiffness that had been in her back and neck since Roy preempted my call seemed to flow away and her eyes softened.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Yes. Nice.”
“It’s like none of the other stuff ever happened. Like my dad is…is still alive…”
“It happened. All of it. And it’s still happening.”
“But why?”
I shook my head. “If we knew that, we’d know who was doing it. And if we knew who, I could stop him.”
“Roy…?”
“What reason? Even if he’s your father, why should he care if you found him? Why would he kill Toker? And why was your house searched?” I closed my eyes and listened to the murmur of the different languages in the background as I spoke.
“Something must have been taken from your house. Unless the killer was looking for the message that Pearson gave me. Roy might have cared about that message. But how could he have known it existed? Toker wasn’t questioned or tortured. The killer just wanted him dead. That must have been the most important thing. His death. Shut him up about something. And then, later, the killer realized there was something worth going back to the house for. So he went back, and found it or didn’t find it, and decided to take you out too, if he could. But Roy? It isn’t like him. He had a violent streak. Okay. I once saw him beat a man to death, a Vietnamese who pulled a knife when we caught him in one of the warehouses, but he did it with his fists, when he was angry. He would use whatever weapon was at hand if he had to kill someone. His hands or a gun or a knife. But if Roy had time to think, he’d work it out so his enemies were helpless. He’d break them, or get them transferred out of the way, or get something on them.
“He was cold and devious and never made a move unless he had three good reasons. You only saw one of the reasons at first, figured out another later, and never knew about the third. He’d be violent in a violent situation, but he’d arrange things so they never had a chance to get violent if he could. And if he was your father, he had twenty years to arrange things to his liking.”
April shuddered. “I don’t know what my mother saw in him.”
“He was a good man to have on your side. Especially in a place like Saigon. Don’t forget, fifty thousand men never came home from that war. We did. And we came home rich, thanks to Roy. I think your mother must have had something to thank him for, too.”
“But he must be hiding something! Why wouldn’t he talk to us? To me? Why did he just hang up?”
“Of course he’s hiding something,” I told her. “Roy hides everything. The question is whether he’s hiding two murders.”
She stared at her glass, spinning it on the table in the puddle of water that had condensed on it and rolled down the sides. “How can we find out?” she asked.
“There’s only one way now,” I said. “We have to go to Manila.”
“The Philippines?” She swallowed and looked at me gravely. “Does that mean it’s time?”
I nodded. “I’ll tell you about it tonight. Let’s take the rest of the afternoon off. For a change, nobody’s trying to kill us. Let’s enjoy it.”
We found our room on the second floor, overlookin
g the pool area, changed to swimsuits, and returned to the pool. The bikini I had thought was skimpy in El Paso seemed modest in Mexico City. Many of the touristas were wearing little more than ribbons. They looked at home in the sun, surrounded by flowers, and except for her pale skin, April was at home among them. She went straight to the deep end of the pool and jumped in. I followed her and began swimming laps. The lack of exercise was getting to me. I worked hard for an hour, then climbed out and rewarded myself with another beer and a bit of birdwatching. There was a lot to look at. I devoted myself to the study of comparative anatomy and let the immediate problem go its own way.
April was in a good mood when she finished swimming and sunbathing later that afternoon. I decided it was time to talk about her future. “Holly,” I said.
She looked startled. “What?”
“Do you like the name?”
“It’s okay. Why?”
“It’s yours from now on. You can’t be April anymore, you know that.”
“I know.” She sounded subdued.
“April was in the country illegally. At least, she couldn’t prove she was legal. No birth certificate. No adoption papers filed. The cops will figure that out eventually. They’ll pass the word to immigration.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t have a prayer of breaking Toker’s will.”
She didn’t say anything. “What do you want to do with the rest of your life?” I asked.
“Finish school.” She thought awhile. “Get a job, I suppose. Find a life. Can I stay in America if I’m Holly?”
“I don’t see why not. The ID will pass. But what would you like to do if you could do anything?”
Another long pause. Then: “My aunt used to talk about her grandfather. Her mother’s father. He was French. The French ruled Vietnam for a long time, longer than the Americans were there. She spoke French, too. I didn’t tell you that. Anyway, I picked French for my foreign language in high school. I’d kind of like to go to France someday. If I ever have enough money.”
I took a deep breath. “You know I don’t have a wife,” I said.
She jerked around toward me and sat up straight. “So?” She was watching me intently. I realized I hadn’t started well.
“I don’t have any children, either,” I added.
“So?”
“And I have plenty of money. More than enough for two people. So, if you want, and if everything turns out right, you could go to France. Maybe study there. If you’re interested. Are you?”
“Yes!” She was grinning. “Yes yes yes!”
I smiled at her. “Good. That’s settled then.”
“When could we leave?”
She hadn’t understood me after all. “I suppose I could take you, get you set up,” I said. “And I could visit…”
“But you wouldn’t stay with me? I don’t know if I’d want to go if you didn’t come.”
“Of course you would. There are plenty of men in France. Frenchmen. Your own age.”
She turned away from me and watched the people on the patio. “Look around,” she said. “What do you see?”
“Men. Women. People.” Where was she going now?
“How many of the men are your age? How many of the women they’re with are my age? Or younger?”
Her point was obvious. And when I looked at her, my own body told me it wasn’t unthinkable, had already been thought of on one level or another. “We’ll talk about it later,” I told her.
“Talk about it now!”
“Later. It’s time to get ready for dinner.” I stood and walked away. I was almost dressed when she came into the room. She took her time getting ready. As she walked around the room, she seemed to be posing, showing off her body, trying to provoke something. I waited patiently and smiled a lot.
It was almost seven when we found the restaurant, still a little early for dinner in Mexico. We ordered prawns sautéed in butter and garlic, with rice, tomatoes, and peppers. It was the best I’d eaten in a week. I decided to come back if circumstances permitted.
We made a leisurely meal of it. April avoided talking about France. Instead, she chatted about UCLA and the men she’d known there. Her point seemed to be that they’d all been older than her. The older, the better. I listened politely.
After dinner we sat on the veranda. I ordered a snifter of Martell’s, and April had one with me. The moon was full and the air was full of the scent of flowers. There were lamps hanging from the trees, and a quartet playing Latin music. The other guests danced and laughed quietly. April coaxed me into dancing with her, and I joined the other middle-aged men holding younger women. She felt good in my arms and we moved well together. I forgot, for a few hours, that she was fresh from her teens, the daughter of an old friend. I forgot so thoroughly that I kissed her once, but only on the cheek.
Later, after I had made my customary suggestion that she stay in her own bed and she had made her customary promise to do so before slipping in beside me, she tried to repeat the kiss.
“Not now,” I told her. “Now we talk about Squall Line.”
That was about the only thing that could have stopped her. She sat up and faced me with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees. She wasn’t trying to excite me. She was completely focused. “Tell me,” she said. So I told her.
We had been paying Corvin off regularly. Ten thousand a month for sixteen months. And each month we had set an equal amount aside for the big bite we were sure was coming. But the money hadn’t been necessary. When Corvin made his final demand, he wanted services, not cash.
He showed up at the house one evening when we were all there, Johnny Walker, Roy, and I. That was in February of ’seventy. Sissy was out of the country, arranging some things in Manila. He wasn’t due back until the next month. We had finished dinner and were talking about the operation when someone began pounding on the door.
The sound galvanized us. We were always tense when we worked on the books, just because of what was going on. Roy pulled his automatic, chambered a round, and held it under the table. I moved out of sight and found my own weapon, a bayonet, in case the situation could be handled quietly. Walker grabbed the ledger and dropped it behind him, then kept his hands above the table, trying to look harmless. Miss Phoung answered the door. When she returned, Corvin was following. He looked as he always did, like a snake trying to smile.
When he saw Max, Walker cursed. I stepped into the room behind Corvin and let him see me and the bayonet. He didn’t look either surprised or alarmed. Roy just stared at him.
“You fellows nervous about something?” Corvin asked.
“You’re going to get yourself killed someday, Max,” Roy told him quietly.
“I’ve got insurance,” Corvin said.
“You wouldn’t collect on it,” I said.
Corvin smiled thinly and pulled up a chair. He looked like an accountant that night. Thinning hair cut close to the skull, pale blue eyes, civilian clothes that looked out of place, an emotionless expression. “You know, you boys never seem happy to see me,” he said.
“Why are we seeing you?” Roy asked. “You’ve already had your payday this month.”
“Well, I was thinking about our little situation here,” he answered, “and I thought that you boys might like to see the last of me.” He smiled innocently.
We all looked at each other, wondering if this was it. “Leave us,” Roy told Miss Phoung. She disappeared and he turned back to Corvin. “What were you thinking, exactly?”
“You’re interested?”
Roy nodded. “If the price is right. And if you can make some guarantees.”
“Like what?”
“Like no more bites later. Like no hassles from the agency.”
“That’s a can do.”
“How? And how much?”
“No cash. You might even make a bit on the deal, if you’re smart. And the guarantee is good. We need a service. Some deliveries. They have to be done very quietly. You ar
range them for us and we’ll leave you alone. We’ll have to. It’s a service we won’t want talked about later.”
It sounded almost too good to be true, but Roy thought about it. “So we do this thing for you and then you stay off our case so we won’t talk?”
Corvin nodded, watching him carefully.
“Must be some service.” Walker offered.
“Three deliveries. Off shore.” Corvin told him.
“Where?”
“Luzon.”
“The Philippines!” I hadn’t meant to speak. I was surprised. “You’ve got planes and ships going through there all the time.”
Corvin glanced at me, but spoke to Roy. “This is a black operation,” he said. “Very quiet.”
“Delivering what?”
“Arms.”
“Shit!” That from Johnny Walker.
“Why?” Roy asked.
Corvin shook his head at us. “None of your concern. You interested? Three deliveries? And then you’ve never seen me?”
Roy looked from Walker to me. Our opinions were obvious. “We’ll listen to it,” he said.
Corvin took a pull from the bottle on the table and replaced it. “The shipments will be M16s, ammo, mortars, heavy machine guns, mines, maybe some other stuff. Heavy. You’ll need to charter a boat. Not Vietnamese. Can do?”
“Panamanian?” Roy asked.
“Fine. We don’t care, as long as it isn’t Asian.”
“Who pays for it?”
I expected Corvin to say we would. He surprised me again. “The agency. Three hundred per trip. We provide the merchandise. You pick it up here. Make the deliveries in person. None of the crew gets ashore for the delivery. And this deal doesn’t leave the room. Only the three of you are involved. Agreed?”
Roy nodded.
Max looked at Walker and me. We nodded in turn, and then he told us the rest of it.
I took a deep breath at that point. April had been listening to the story, fascinated. “What was the rest of it?” she asked.
“There were to be three deliveries,” I said. “One in April, one in July, and the last one in December. The cover was a cargo of farm tools. They were provided at cost. We were to deliver the weapons at night, on the northeast corner of the island, below the Sierra Madre Mountains, and then steam around to Manila and off-load the farm equipment. If we could make a buck on it, the profit was ours. On top of the three hundred for the shipment. The deal was pretty straightforward, at least the way Corvin told it that night.”
Monkey on a Chain Page 14
