The Poisoners mh-13

by Donald Hamilton

  I looked at her for a moment. Her face was strangely cold, and there was a hard, bright, fanatic gleam in her eyes. I said, "Why, Charlie, that's a threat! Are you sure you mean it?"

  "I mean it." Her voice didn't waver, and neither did her shiny eyes. "This job is extremely important, not only for me but for a lot of innocent people. Don't spoil it. If you do, you… you'll be sorry."

  I don't react well to threats, not even from handsome young ladies in horn-rims who disarmingly admit to having no sense of humor.

  "Now it's my turn," I said. "My speech on the subject goes like this, Charlie: don't get in my way, or put any people in my way, no matter what you think I may have done. For one thing, I probably won't have done it. I have no intention of turning Warfel or anybody else loose with a boatload of heroin; I'm going to do my best to see that you get him. Remember that, if anything goes wrong. But remember another thing, too. If you get mad at me, and send somebody after me, and he interferes with my assignment in any way, he won't come back, whoever he may be. Okay?"

  She said softly, "You're really quite unbelievable, aren't you?"

  "Hell, one good threat deserves another," I said. "But I'd better not be unbelievable, because if you don't believe me, somebody could die. Now let's stop making faces at each other. You were supposed to check on a guy named Sorenson."

  "Are you still harping on that?" When I didn't answer, she said, "Oh. all right, I checked on him. He's had some chemical training, mostly stuff like gas analysis, but he might be able to master the necessary technique. But a more unlikely person for Warfel to pick to run his laboratory…" She paused. I didn't say anything. She said, "Well, so much for Sorenson. Now what about that syndicate man, Tillery, and his two friends? How do you in-tend to locate them and deal with them?"

  I said, "I'll worry about the dealing after I've done the locating. And I think I have a pretty good lead, just a few doors down the hall."

  "Do you think that blonde will tell you where to find them? Even if she knows, why should she tell?"

  I said, "Never mind, Charlie. You have your little secrets and I have mine, and that's one of them."

  She made a small gesture of distaste. "Well, do it your way. But remember, this is very important, to me and to-"

  "I know," I said. "To thousands of innocent people. I'll remember. Well, I'll be on my way as soon as I've cleaned up a bit in the john. Help yourself to the phone if you need it… What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. I just remembered, they had another smog alert on the Los Angeles radio as I was driving down. I hope it won't interfere with our plans. If Warfel should be delayed by weather…" She was silent, obviously considering that and other problems confronting her; then she looked up. "Matt."

  "Yes."

  "I didn't mean to be nasty."

  "Neither did I," I said. I wasn't telling the exact truth, but then, I didn't think she was, either.

  xvi

  Approaching Roberta Prince's room, I made a little bet with myself as I had before, quite recently, under very similar circumstances. I mean, the girl had said she was merely going to fix her makeup while I went and cleaned up in my room, but once she got to thinking about the situation, I was fairly sure other ideas would occur to her, if they hadn't already. After all, this was Hollywood country or close to it, and once they get a good script out there, or even just a passable one, they'll all gang up on the poor, lonely little idea and beat it to death.

  I knocked on the door and got no answer. Checking, I found it unlocked, as I had left it. I walked in, since I'd told her I'd be back shortly and she'd said that would be fine. The first thing I noticed was that the black and white pants outfit she'd been wearing was kind of scattered around the room along with everything that went with it, intimate and otherwise. The second thing I noted was that the bathroom door was closed and the shower was running. I made a mental check in my mental notebook to indicate that I'd won my own money once more.

  I knocked on the bathroom door. "Roberta," I called. "Miss Prince. Bobbie. Are you all right?"

  The shower stopped. After a little pause, the door opened, and as expected, she had on absolutely nothing except a towel wrapped around her head, turban-wise, to protect the long blond hair from the spray. Another towel was being used for drying purposes, but it was carefully deployed, at the moment, so as not to obstruct much of the view.

  Her body was more feminine than I'd anticipated, despite its lean greyhound proportions. After all, even grey-hounds come in two sexes, and there was absolutely no doubt which one she was. She was smoothly tanned all over. I reflected on the philosophic truth that the difference between being embarrassingly naked and interestingly nude can be just a nice coat of tan.

  "Get my robe out of that closet, will you. darling?" she said calmly. "The blue terry cloth beach thing. You'll see it."

  "Sure," I said, and grinned, not moving. "Just how long did you stand under that shower, Bobbie, waiting to make this spectacular appearance?"

  She was slightly disconcerted; then she laughed. "Too damn long. I'm practically waterlogged. What the hell kept you, anyway?"

  "I had a visitor. A lady dope-cop with the sniffles. We had to compare notes and strategy."

  "The sniffles? What's she got to sniffle about?" Bobbie asked.

  I couldn't see why she should be interested in Charlotte Devlin's respiratory symptoms, when there were other things in my statement designed to concern her more, but at the moment, feeling out the situation, I was happy just to follow any conversational lead she offered. As for my promise to Charlie, I'd only promised not to tell the people for whom she worked. The chances of this girl discussing with them the health of one of their agents was fairly small.

  I said, "Apparently she had asthma as a kid and something brought on a recurrence this morning, but she's pretty well over it now."

  "That's too bad," Bobbie said. "Cops! Wouldn't it be great if they'd all drown in their damn mucus? If you're quite through appraising the merchandise, you might get me the robe I asked for."

  I still didn't move. "Merchandise," I said, regarding her boldly. "The word implies something for sale."

  She looked at me for a moment. A kind of hardness came into her eyes. "Who said it wasn't? Are you making an offer, darling?"

  "It depends," I said. "Are we dealing in cash or some other medium of exchange? I'm a government man, Bobbie. They don't pay us enough that we can afford to take on high-priced, Hollywood-type dames; at least not for money."

  "You've got a gun, haven't you? You're supposed to know how to use it, aren't you? I need protection, don't I? From Frankie Warfel and… and maybe now from those other creeps as well. Why do you think I staged this nudie show, anyway?" There was a little silence. "Well, is it a deal?"

  "Sure," I said. I licked my lips, as if they'd gone kind of dry, which they had. It was an automatic reaction that annoyed me. "Sure it's a deal," I said.

  "Do you want to close it now?" Her voice was expressionless.

  I shrugged. "Why not? No sense your putting on a lot of clothes just to take them all off again."

  "Well, dump that junk off the bed while I lock the door," she said, very businesslike, and turned away.

  I walked over to the bed and yanked everything off it except the bottom sheet and the pillow. When I turned, she was coming towards me, pulling the towel-turban off her hair, which spilled over her slender brown shoulders, pale and gleaming.

  She walked up to me deliberately, studied me for a moment, and reached out to unfasten the single button of my jacket that was fastened. She worked the jacket off my shoulders and arms and let it fall. She took the gun from my waistband, made a face at it, and laid it carefully on the bedside table. She pulled my shirt out of my pants all around, and unbuttoned it down the front. I stood quite still. She poked me lightly just below the ribs where some discoloration showed. I winced.

  "You're a sadistic, naked bitch," I said.

  "That's right," she murmured. "Isn't that
what you want, a sadistic, masochistic, naked bitch? Do you have any preferences, darling? Any particular way you like to do it? What, no imagination, just sex, sex, sex?" She slipped her hands around my body under my loosened shirt, and pulled me hard against her, and kissed me on the mouth. "At least the man is tall enough for a change," she whispered. "You don't know how tired a girl can get, taking a couple of inches off her height just to feed the goddamn male ego! Well, can you take your pants off all by yourself or do you need some help?"

  I cleared my throat, and said harshly, "Okay, Bobbie. That's enough. Cut, as they say in Hollywood."

  It was a gamble, of course. I hadn't really made up my mind which way to go until the last moment. The safest course would have been to play along, I suppose, but quite apart from the moral aspects, which don't concern us greatly, there were practical disadvantages to that course of action. I will admit, however, that the thing that swayed me in the end, just a little, was that nice healthy tan and the funny kind of tomboy innocence her face had, close to mine, without all the dramatic movie star makeup.

  She didn't move at all for a long moment. Then she released me and took one step backwards.

  "What is this?" Her voice was hard. "What are you, a queer or something?"

  "Now, now, Bobbie," I said. "Keep it clean. You know what I am: I'm a government man. And you know what you are: you're a girl who's been planted on a government man to find out exactly what he does with the information he's been carefully fed-to find out, and to pass the dope along to some guys, three at the last count, so they can act accordingly." I grimaced, dramatizing my indignation. "Jesus, don't you West Coast people have one original idea among you? It's been plant-a-dame-on-Helm week ever since I got out here!"

  Bobbie Prince drew a long breath and started to say something, but changed her mind.

  I said, with an anger that wasn't altogether faked: "Did you really think I'd buy that ancient routine, you pretending to be so concerned about the way those nasty big men were hitting poor little me, and getting yourself violently slapped around as a result? Did you think I'd buy it after just having bad Beverly Blame pretend to be violently kidnapped for my benefit-not to mention the last spectacular act she put on for me? My God, I'm in the business, Bobbie; I work here! Do you know how many times that turkey's been tried on me? Hell, even my own side, such as it is, has been parking stray females in my hip pocket! And that creaky old seduction bit: look-at-pretty-little-me-all-naked-and-desirable? What do you people think I am, a kid who's never seen a woman with her clothes off?" I sighed, like a man at the end of his patience. "For Christ's sake go cover it up before it freezes, Bobbie. Some day when I feel like it, and if you feel like it, I'll be very happy to go to bed with you- I've been looking for a tall girl to love and cherish and maybe you're the one-but I'm damned if I'm going to do it right before lunch just to oblige a precious little fat man named Tillery."

  "Well, actually it was Mr. Sapio's idea. Tillery's mind doesn't work quite that way, if you know what I mean." Bobbie's voice was low but steady. She started to say more, but changed her mind once again. She turned and walked to the closet and opened the door. Then she pressed her forehead against the jamb and stood there for several seconds without moving. "That's… that's quite a whip you carry, Mister. And you sure know how to lay it on."

  "You had it coming. Put on a dress or something and I'll take you to lunch."

  She didn't seem to hear. "I ought to be mad," she said. "A woman's supposed to be furious when her lily-white body's been cruelly rejected, isn't she?"

  "Whose lily-white body?" I asked.

  Still without turning her head, she said, "Either you're kind of a sweet guy who can't bear to take advantage of a girl, and then roars like hell to cover up his sentimentality, or you're a calculating sonofabitch who's trying to promote something by-" I said, "I'm not a sweet guy. Take it from there."

  "What do you want, then? What do you want that you couldn't have got by kidding me along, by letting me think you were a sucker for my charms, as the saying goes?"

  She wasn't dumb. I hesitated briefly, because it was still a big gamble; then I said, "I want three things. They're called Sapio, Tillery, and Jake. If they've got friends here, I want those, too."

  "Oh, Christ," she said softly. "How did I ever get into this?"

  I said, "I don't see you getting into anything, not even a dress. Put something on and let's eat."

  "Why should I double-cross them for you?"

  I said, "Hell, I don't know. Because they didn't really ask whether or not you wanted to play in this game in the first place? Did they? Because you want out and maybe I can get you out? Maybe-that's not a promise. Or just because I'm a calculating sonofabitch who needs your help?"

  "Help to do what?"

  "Cut it out," I said. "Would it make any difference to you if I gave you a long patriotic spiel about the vital importance of my government mission, or lectured you on all the poor victims who'll become helpless slaves to the demon dope if Frank Warfel has his way? You don't look like a great patriotic humanitarian to me, sweetheart. Excuse me if I'm wrong."

  I heard her laugh abruptly. Then she'd pulled a short, fuzzy robe from the closet and wrapped it around her; and she was coming back across the room to me. She stopped in front of me and, working deliberately, buttoned my shirt up and tucked it in all around while I stood without moving. Then she took the gun from the table and thrust it into my waistband. Finally, she picked my coat off the floor and put it into my hands.

  "I don't promise anything," she said. "I don't promise a damn thing. Those guys scare the hell out of me. You know what happens when you double-cross them."

  "I know," I said. "And I won't be able to protect you indefinitely. Right now, maybe, but in the long run, unless I can make a deal for you somehow, you'll just have to take your chances."

  She frowned. "There you go again," she murmured. "Damn you, why don't you lie to me a little, and tell me how safe I'll be if I cooperate, with you and the government looking after me. Why be so damn honest?"

  "It's all calculated, for effect," I said. "You refuse to make love to the girl under false pretenses, you tell her the truth all the way down the line, she falls for you like a ton of bricks and does what you want, see?"

  "You bastard," she said, "you've got me all mixed up. Buy me a lunch and let me think, will you?"

  xvii

  The dining room was a big, light barn of a place with long glass doors, now closed, showing a deserted swimming pool patio. A little steam came off the water in the pool, indicating that the air was still pretty chilly out there, despite the sunshine. Inside, the rustic tables and chairs were arranged to leave a large open space in front of the glass doors, for dancing and entertainment in the evening, but now, at noon, the place was almost empty.

  "Margaritas!" Bobbie said scornfully as J seated her at a table for two. "Darling, here I was beginning to think you might possibly be quite a guy. Don't go and spoil it by offering me margaritas!"

  Partly, she was stalling, of course, while she tried to make up her mind, but partly she was putting on an act for Tillery and Co. If they should be watching, they'd see her making conversation vivaciously, entertaining the government boob she'd been ordered to work on, impressing him with her bright personality, making him think she was the girl for whom he'd been waiting all his life, a girl to whom he could confide his most secret hopes and fears- and his most secret information. Sitting down facing her, I played up by looking abashed at the way my suggestion had been received.

  "Why, what's wrong with margaritas?" I asked humbly.

  "Nothing," she said, "nothing, I suppose, if you like a tourist tipple made up of cactus juice and Cointreau- and they generally don't even use the genuine Cointreau down here, but a local product spelled, for God's sake, Controy!" She leaned forward and patted my hand across the table. "Don't be like all those other bigmouth big shots, darling. Don't try to impress me with your vast knowledge of Mexico and its
products, alcoholic and otherwise. Hell, I was born in Yuma, Arizona, right on the border. I had my first slug of tequila-well, actually it was pulque, the stuff with the maguey worm in the bottom of the bottle-at the tender age of twelve. I can do the salt-and-lime bit for you like a native, and if I hadn't already known it, I'd have learned it from all the fat and greasy business types whose hobby is hauling blondes across the border and teaching them quaint bits of local lore while pouring cheap local liquor down them to get them into the mood. Margaritas were bad enough when they were a quaint local drink; now that they've become a national tourist industry, to hell with them. We don't have to play tourist, do we, darling? Let the quaint local bastards keep their quaint local salt-rimmed glasses. Just see if you can promote me a nice vodka martini, will you?"

  It was quite a speech, and quite a vivacious performance went with it, but I didn't pay too much attention since I knew it wasn't really aimed at me. I didn't glance around the room to see if any likely targets were visible. I just sat there smiling and looking attentive, I hoped, maybe even fascinated, amorously enthralled, while I wondered what she could tell me if she decided to tell me anything, and what I'd do about it if she did.

  "Yes," I said. "Yes, of course, sweetheart."

  Since we didn't seem to be getting much action from the restaurant staff, I rose and walked over to the circular bar at the end of the room, returning with two vodka martinis, one of which I placed before my blond companion. She gave me a pretty smile of thanks.

  "You're a darling, darling," she said fondly. "But tell me, honestly, why the hell should I stick my neck out for you?"

  She was now wearing a sleeveless dress of yellow linen with a gaudy silk sash for a belt and hardly any skirt to speak of. I noted that she was another pantstocking girl. Well, with that abbreviated dress, she pretty well had to wear tights, since practically everything showed when she sat down. I'm not usually so sharply conscious of these matters, although I seldom overlook them entirely. I guess I was feeling a few twinges of regret for a missed opportunity. It seemed that, like it or not, I was over my period of mourning for Annette O'Leary; I was no longer in a chaste and continent mood.