Whistler's Angel

by John R. Maxim

  “We’re going to hit Crow leaving this parked out front? I also don’t need his blood and fibers in my trunk. You’re sure that you’ve done this before?”

  “Don’t get smart.”

  “Fine. I’ll shut up. Let’s go boost.”

  “You know what we should be boosting? That bar girl, is who.”

  “Vernon, I don’t want to hear this.”

  “We sweat her a little. Like you said, she fills us in.”

  “Then what? No, don’t tell me. That’s two sentences already.”

  “If I can’t touch Whistler, you know what we should do?”

  “I told you. I don’t want to hear this.”

  “We finish with her and we cut off her head. We toss it in the back of Whistler’s boat. We toss it back where they were eating their breakfast. There’s a word for that. What’s the word?”

  “Fucking sick?”

  “A calling card. That’s it. From me to him. That’s what I think I’ll do before we’re done here.”

  “Vernon…”

  “Not now, though. You’re right. Let’s find a car.”

  Harry Whistler was airborne in the Gulfstream 4. His pilot, Erich Bierman, who once flew for Lufthansa, had been with him for more than ten years. The co-pilot, younger, had been with him for five.

  Captain Bierman had computed the amount of fuel that would be burned while crossing the Atlantic from Geneva. That fuel, once consumed, would leave the plane light enough to land on Hilton Head Airport’s short runway. Taking off, fully fueled, would not be possible, however. They would have to reroute through Savannah or Charlotte, refuel, and fly back from there.

  Just as well, thought Harry. He told the captain that he and the twins would get off the plane on the island. The captain would then take off at once and make at least three additional stops. That way, anyone tracking his plane would find it harder to know whether he was on board and where he seemed to be heading.

  He didn’t like the idea of both twins flying with him, but he’d had little choice in this case. He had always preferred that the twins be split up and arrive at different times by different means, but dressed alike. Even Kate had once thought she must be losing her mind when she saw the same little man keep popping up in what seemed to be two places at once.

  As the Gulfstream reached altitude, he tried Adam again. And again, he got an answering machine. He said, “Adam, pick up. Is anyone there? Damn it. Okay, listen to me.”

  He related, briefly, his discussion with Bannerman. He recounted his realization, or suspicion, that the entries for Recon-JC in Aubrey’s ledger must refer…might refer…to Joshua Crow. He said that if so, it must be assumed that Aubrey and Poole were involved in the event.

  He said, “They may not have been…they should not have been…unless they have both gone out of their minds. But you, for your safety, must assume that they were.”

  He said, “As to your claim that you yourself were not involved, I am no longer able to believe you. I don’t know how or why or when this began. I can only assume that, during your travels, you ran into Olivia Torrey. I’m trying to assume that you didn’t know what her husband did for a living. I’m assuming, in short, that you blundered into this because I hope that you wouldn’t be stupid enough to…”

  He paused, then added, “Sorry, Adam. I’m a little upset. I know that you’re smarter than that. I’m reminded, however, that your transmitter had an echo ever since…where was it?…Martinique. I’m the stupid one for not realizing before this that a second transmitter would have that effect. If it’s there, then someone has been tracking you, Adam. My guess would be Aubrey, but it could be almost anyone, some unfinished business from your former vocation. Find it, get rid of it, but do so offshore. Get that boat away from the dock.”

  He said, “We’re on our way to Hilton Head Island. We’ll arrive between five and six this evening and we’ll do a pass before landing. I’ll expect to see that boat where you’d anchored it this morning. You’ll know my plane, but do not meet my flight. I want you to stay in one place.”

  He said, “One more thing, and please do not argue about it. Some of Bannerman’s people are on their way down there. Figure about two and a half hours. I think you’ll know them if you see them, but pretend that you don’t. They’re not coming down to fight anyone’s battles. They’re to look out for you and that’s all.”

  He closed by giving his son the number through which he could be reached while in flight. Donald asked, “You’re not telling him Kate’s coming?”

  “If he knew that he might go to the airport. Claudia would certainly want to.”

  “Except, the thing is, she could have called them already. Maybe that’s why they’re not on the boat. Maybe they already went to get her.”

  Harry Whistler shook his head. “Too early by far.” He fished for a note containing Kate’s flight information. It said that she should just be approaching Atlanta where she’d have to change planes to Savannah. He buzzed Erich and asked him to contact her flight and ask that she be summoned to the cabin.

  “By the way,” he said to Donald, “Bannerman thanked me for looking into that business with Carla.”

  “With Carla? Oh. That thing in Zurich, you mean?”

  “The thing you said was ‘just a for instance.’”

  “Me and Dennis didn’t think we should bother you with that. She was there for a visit with Lesko and Elena. She went for a walk; two punks tried for her purse, and one of them whacked her in the ear. And it wasn’t a knifing; it was more like a whittling. What Bannerman was afraid of was that she went hunting. You know, like she used to. She’d go out, like, looking lost to see who would take advantage. She doesn’t do that no more. This was random.”

  “So she claimed?”

  Donald shook his head. “Nah, it’s true. She really doesn’t. Her boyfriend, Viktor, the KGB guy, made her promise she wouldn’t take chances like that. I mean, not just for the hell of it.”

  Harry Whistler threw up his hands. “Yeah, but damn it…”

  He didn’t finish because the captain had buzzed him. The contact with Kate Geller’s plane had been made. Kate Geller was now on the line.

  She spoke first. She said, “Harry, don’t give me any grief. I’m long overdue for a visit.”

  “Kate…it’s all right. Do they know that you’re coming?”

  “They will now, but I only got their machine. How about you? Did you speak to them?”

  He said, “I spoke to Adam early this morning. They’re fine. They were having some friends out for breakfast on the boat. But it got me thinking. It hasbeen too long. So, I’m on my way over myself.”

  “You’re calling from your plane?”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d pop in.”

  A brief silence. “From Geneva? That’s what you call popping in?”

  “Well, it’s not as if Denver is just down the street. If you can be impulsive, why can’t I?”

  A longer silence. “Harry… what’s going on?”

  He said, “Okay, I won’t kid you. I’m worried about them. There are things about this I don’t like.”

  “But you did speak to Adam? That was the truth?”

  “It was, but he hasn’t answered since. However…”

  “So you don’t know whether they’re fine or not. Harry…yes or no. Were they in that bar last night?”

  “Yeah. I think so, but it could have been strictly by chance. What happened might be part of something much larger and I’m not sure that Adam is aware of it. I’ve no reason to think that they’re in imminent danger, but I’ve taken some measures to protect them all the same until they’re well clear of that island.”

  Another brief silence. “You’re scaring me, Harry.”

  “You’re booked through to Hilton Head’s Airport, correct? When you land, I want you to wait in the terminal. A friend of mine, a woman named Molly Farrell, will be flying in a half hour later.”

  “What kind of a friend? Like the twins
are a friend?”

  “This is someone you’ll be more comfortable with, but yes, Molly Farrell is a pro. She’ll have another woman with her, very small, red hair. The other woman’s name is Carla Benedict. Carla is…well, unusual, but these two will protect you. I don’t want you to go anywhere without them.”

  “Protect me? Damn it, Harry…why do I need protection?”

  “This is nothing new, Kate. You’ve been protected all along. Like it or not,

  it comes with knowing me.”

  “Then I’m better off not knowing you, aren’t I, Harry?”

  “For today? No, you’re not. So you’ll do as I ask. Tomorrow, you can do as you please.”

  TWENTY FIVE

  Arnold Kaplan was having serious doubts about hitching his star to Vernon Lockwood. They’d be driving down the road, looking for a car to steal, and Lockwood would be saying, “Let’s get this one or that one.” He’d be pointing at cars that were parked outside stores. It’s like the shopper wouldn’t look out and notice.

  Kaplan had picked out the car they would use. He had found it in a lot behind a Bi-Lo Supermarket by a sign that read “Employee Parking Only.” An employee’s car was not likely to be missed before the end of the shift. It was a beat-up green Pontiac, maybe twenty years old that probably belched oil by the quart. On the plus side, it had four doors, a big trunk, and a car this old was low-tech enough that he wouldn’t need tools to hot-wire it.

  Lockwood argued, of course. “What, this piece of shit?”

  “Vernon…would you look for you in this car? This is not a car people take notice of.”

  “That’s if it starts. Go try. I’ll park this one.”

  “Park the Cadillac, where? You mean here in this lot?”

  “Down the end. Pick me up down the end.”

  Nobody, thought Kaplan, can be that fucking dumb. He reminded himself that neither was Lockwood. Not always, at least. But it’s like he wears blinders. It’s like he only has room for one thought at a time and his only thought now… and for like, the past year…has been what he wants to do this Whistler.

  Kaplan started to explain that when the owner comes out, he is likely to call the police. The police will come and they’ll see this red Cadillac that no one who works here seems to own. The police will then wonder…never mind. It’s not worth it. He told Lockwood, “We’ll leave it up the road.”

  Up the road was beach parking. Lots of cars. Lots of spaces. From there they were only two minutes away from where the wacko was hiding. They found the house, 22 Lagoon Road. Kaplan pulled up in front and cut his engine.

  He said to Lockwood, “Let’s get out nice and slow. Let the guy look us over so he sees we’re not cops."

  “He’ll know we’re not cops. He expects us.”

  “He also has a shotgun and is maybe a bit tense.” Kaplan lowered his voice. “Here’s a plan.”

  “I make the plans.”

  “Okay, then here’s an option for you to consider. We wait until the guy waves us in. You introduce yourself, then you introduce me. I shake his hand, I hold on, and you shoot him.”

  “That’s good, I guess. Except first shut the door.”

  No shit, thought Kaplan. “Good suggestion. Where’s my head?”

  “Give a tap on the horn. We don’t have all day.”

  “Oh, damn. On your left. Is that him?”

  A man was approaching, dressed in golfing attire. He had come from behind a thick bamboo hedge that ran from the side of the garage to the street. The man had a golf bag slung over his shoulder.

  Lockwood’s hand went to the gun that was still in his bag. He said, “Yeah, I think. What’s with the golf?”

  Arnold Kaplan was almost too stunned to speak. The man walking toward them looked ridiculous. He wore powder blue shorts that showed bone-white legs. His golf shirt was pink and his jacket was yellow. He wore a floppy hat, orange, that said “Cincinnati Bengals.” The clubs in his bag had those novelty headcovers. On his longest club, his driver, was a fluffy orange tiger. Another club had one of those happy face things. On his feet were two-tone golf shoes that clacked on the driveway. His face and hands were dotted with little round band-aids. He gave them a look that said, “You must be the underlings.” Lockwood spoke first. He said, “You’d be Crow?”

  “I am Mister Crow. Are we ready?”

  “Ready for what? You were supposed to wait inside.”

  “You would be Lockwood. The description was accurate. I was not told this other man’s name.”

  Kaplan was busy scanning their surroundings in the hope that no one would see this. Slowly, reluctantly, he got out of the car. Lockwood said, “This is Kaplan. Now answer my question. What’s going on with the golf?”

  Crow frowned. “You said Kaplan? That’s a Jew name, is it not?”

  “It’s an alias,” said Kaplan. “Don’t sweat it.”

  “Why are you dressed in such gaudy attire? Why not a suit and tie like your associate?”

  Kaplan couldn’t believe this. It’s the pot and the kettle. Lockwood said, “Hey, look. Never mind what we’re wearing. What the hell are you doing standing out in the open, especially in an outfit like that?”

  “When in Rome, of course. Don’t you realize where you are? There are golf courses everywhere one looks on this island. There are thousands of men who are dressed in this manner. It makes an effective disguise.”

  “Except here,” said Kaplan, “they understand mix and match. You look like some hick from Ohio.”

  “Ohio. Precisely.” Crow did not seem offended. Just the opposite. He seemed pleased with that appraisal. He said, “These garments belonged to a man from Ohio. They flock to this place from that state for some reason. All the wiser to adopt their taste in costume, don’t you think?”

  “What’s all over your face?” Kaplan asked. “That the windshield?”

  “Not any longer. These are bee stings.”

  “Come again?”

  “Or should I say they’re from wasps? Either one. Doesn’t matter. I am reminded that golfers are stung on occasion while hunting lost balls among the trees. So if anyone should wonder what I’m doing at the hospital, I will answer that I have come there from the golf course in order to have these stings treated.”

  Lockwood stood blinking. “What is this about a hospital?”

  “The devil’s spokesman still lives. But we’ll see to that, won’t we? Everything that I’ll need is in this golf bag.”

  Kaplan asked, “This spokesman…you mean the TV guy, right?”

  Crow narrowed his eyes. He was studying Kaplan. “You look and sound Jewish. Are you sure you’re not Jewish?”

  “See, that’s part of the act. Like you and your bees. Fact is, my name’s O’Malley, Southern Baptist, Jesus loves me. Now, tell me…you intend to try for Ragland again?”

  “Of course. That’s why you’re here.”

  “Who says?”

  “Mr. Poole.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Lockwood. “No one said that to me. We’re only here to help you get away.”

  “Where they’ll never find you,” Kaplan added with a smile. “And now that we’ve met, I can’t wait.”

  Kaplan could have done without saying that, he realized. His meaning, however went over Crow’s head. But Crow would catch on in another few minutes if they ever got this turkey off the street.

  The Jesus guy said, “Yes, but first you must assist me. My work isn’t finished. All you two need do is create a diversion while I finish what poor Leonard started. Oh, and first I’ll need you to locate his room.”

  Lockwood turned to Kaplan. “Who’s Leonard?” he asked.

  “Vern…please. Not now. Not out here.”

  “He’s the other guy, right? The one who’s a vedge? He’s the one the girl stuck with the knife.”

  “Vernon…not now, for Christ’s sake.”

  But Lockwood already had got Crow’s attention. “What girl?” he asked, startled. “A woman did that?”
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  “We’ll tell you all about it inside,” Kaplan answered. He started to walk toward the house. “Front door open?”

  Crow shook his head. “No, go through the garage. But first answer my question. Are you saying that some barroom tramp attacked Leonard?”

  “Yeah, that’s it pretty much.” Kaplan shot a hard glare at Lockwood, asking him, please, if they could leave it at that. He lifted the nearest of the two garage doors. He saw the Dodge van with Ohio plates. It had two bikes leaning against it. Inside, he saw luggage and groceries strewn about. Another set of golf clubs. A couple of beach chairs. The keys were still in the ignition. He said, “Let’s all get in here before someone sees this. Mr. Crow, would you show me to the bathroom?”

  “Off the kitchen.”

  “Would you show me? I’m suddenly not feeling so good.”

  All Kaplan wanted was to get this man indoors. Never mind the front hall. Shove him into a bathroom. Throw him into the shower, pop him once in the head, then open some arteries to let the guy drain. That’s poetic, come to think of it. This way, he dies kosher. He dies fast and easy; the shower cleans the mess; it makes chopping him up that much easier.

  This was Kaplan’s new plan until Lockwood started thinking. You can tell Lockwood’s thinking when he suddenly has lips. He starts pushing at them with his tongue. Lockwood said, “Wait a minute. You don’t know about Whistler?”

  “Vernon…do you mind? Get him into the garage.”

  The Jesus guy asked, “Who is Whistler? Who’s this girl?” But he did step through the overhead door. At least he was out of public view.

  “Whistler is the one who tried to shoot you last night.” Lockwood said this as Kaplan pulled the door down and shut. “He’s the one who gave you all your bee stings from the glass. The girl is the one who knifed whatzizname… Leonard. She should not have done that to poor Leonard.”

  Kaplan glared at him again. “Hold that thought, okay, Vernon? First I need him to show me the bathroom.”

  Crow’s eyes had become slits. “Where are these people now?”

  Lockwood turned to Kaplan. “It’s only right he should know.” He said this in all innocence, as in what’s fair is fair.