In The House Of Secret Enemies m-9

by George C. Chesbro

  "Uh-huh. Are they giving out shots or anything for this epidemic?"

  "We've been told it isn't necessary for now," John said. Flecks of light that might have been suspicion suddenly appeared in his eyes. "Why do you ask these questions?"

  I swallowed hard, trying to think positive. "There's a rumor that a man from the circus was hurt the other day, maybe killed." "It's more than a rumor," Molly said. "It's a fact. It was one of the freaks, a giant. Killed by a knife in the throat."

  My mouth went dry. Molly's eyebrows went up as though yanked by strings.

  "Isn't that terrible? But that was an outsider killed by another outsider. The man was murdered by somebody from the circus."

  "Who?"

  "A knife thrower called Jandor. They already have him locked up in the jail."

  "They have any witnesses?"

  "No, but it was Jandor's knife that killed the giant."

  I said nothing, but I was sure Jandor hadn't killed anybody. Like most men who earn their living with the tools of violence, he was personally a gentle man, even tender. And he wasn't mentally defective; if Jandor was going to kill somebody, he wasn't likely to walk away and leave his trademark sticking out of his victim's neck.

  "Can't say enough about the United States," John said.

  "Too much violence," Molly said.

  I bought a souvenir, thanked them and left.

  From the rim of the valley the circus below looked drab, spent. The aura that almost always surrounds a circus was missing. The colors of the rented tents were all wrong; the whole encampment looked like a balloon that was slowly leaking air. A trio of armed guards posted around the campsite added to the depressing effect.

  The men were empty-handed, but the type of men I was looking at always wore guns. They might forget to put their pants on in the morning, but never their guns.

  I put my hands in my pockets, mustered up enough spit to do some casual whistling, then merrily tripped off down the slope. Two of the guards glanced at me, then looked away, apparently unconcerned. The man closest to me kept his eyes riveted on my chest. I walked up to him, nodded pleasantly, then started to walk past.

  A hand like a pair of wire cutters reached out and grabbed my shoulder, turning me toward him.

  "Who are you, pal?" he said in slightly accented English. He sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of marshmallows, as though somebody had walked on his tonsils. I gave him a hurt look and pointed toward the tents.

  "Don't you recognize me?" I was hoping all dwarfs looked the same to him.

  His eyes skittered across my face, up and down my body. Like most stupid men, the thing he feared most was appearing stupid.

  "What the hell are you doing out here?! Where's your pass?!"

  I groaned apologetically and started rummaging through my pockets. After a few moments of that number Marshmallow Mouth cursed and waved me through.

  I walked quickly down the path and ducked behind one of the tents.

  It was noontime and most of the circus personnel would be in the lunch trailers. That was fine with me. At least half of the circus would recognize me on sight, and I wanted to get the feel of things before holding any reunions. I needed somebody I could trust.

  I slipped along the perimeter of the encampment to the midway, then cut through to the compound where a number of trailers had been set up as living quarters for the performers and hands. I found the name plate I wanted, then knocked softly on the door of the trailer on the outside chance that its occupant would be in.

  "Who's there?" The voice was nervous, edgy.

  "It's Robert Frederickson, Nell. Let me in, please."

  "Who?"

  "Mongo."

  The door suddenly burst open and Big Nell stood before me. Her beard was even longer than I remembered. She sobbed, jumped down to the ground and hugged me. There were tears in her eyes.

  "Mongo!" Nell whimpered. "God, it's good to see you!"

  The formalities out of the way, I gently pulled myself loose and let the air rush back into my lungs. We went into the trailer and Nell started to brew some coffee. Her shoulders were still shaking. Big Nell was very emotional, Earth Mother to all the circus creatures, human and animal alike. I'd always liked her.

  Nell finished making the coffee and brought cups for both of us on a tray. She poured cream into mine.

  "I'm so glad you're here, Mongo," she said, handing me the cup. "So many things are happening here that I don't understand."

  "Roscoe didn't understand them either. I'm here because he called me. The trouble is that I never got a chance to hear what he had to say."

  Molly looked up, and her eyes flooded again with tears. "Roscoe's dead, you know."

  "Who killed him?"

  "The police say Jandor."

  "Do you believe that?"

  Nell shook her head. "As far as I know, Roscoe and Jandor never exchanged a word in anger. If you want my opinion-"

  "I do, Nell," I said gently. "But first I want a few facts. Is anybody in the circus sick?"

  Nell thought a few moments. "Just a few colds."

  "What's the Statler Brothers Circus doing camped out in rented tents in the middle of San Marino?"

  "We were invited by the government. Mr. Statler got a letter from one of their leaders-"

  "A Regent?"

  "Yeah, I guess that's what they're called. We were touring through Italy anyway, and Mr. Statler thought it might be fun to come to San Marino. He never said anything about selling the circus."

  "Selling the circus?"

  Nell blinked. "Didn't Roscoe tell you?"

  "Roscoe was killed while he was talking to me on the phone. Did Phil say why he sold the circus?"

  Nell wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. "Nobody's talked to Mr. Statler at all. He's disappeared. Mr. Fordamp said he's gone off 'on a vacation'."

  "Who's this Mr. Fordamp character?"

  "He's the man Mr. Statler sold the circus to."

  "Can he show papers?"

  "He's got papers. I don't know whether they're any good or not."

  "If Fordamp claims everything's on the up-and-up, how does he explain the three gorillas outside?"

  "Mr. Fordamp says the men are there for our protection, so that no one will steal anything."

  I mulled things over in my mind for a few moments; nothing made any sense. The gunmen outside were all hard professionals, which probably made Fordamp the typical Big Man, supercrook, probably Syndicate.

  What would a man like Fordamp want with a circus, and why would he blockade a whole country to get it? That was like boarding up a house to catch a fly.

  "Nell, why do you suppose the government of San Marino would issue an invitation to the circus?"

  "That's easy. Danny Lemongello took care of the arrangements."

  The name was new to me and I said so.

  "Danny has a balancing act," Nell continued. "He's been with the circus for two years now. It seems he's originally from San Marino. When he heard we were touring through Europe, he got the idea of performing in San Marino. He went to Mr. Statler and Mr. Statler said it would be all right if San Marino would agree to provide facilities. You know Mr. Statler: He collects countries. Anyway, we came and set up. It was wonderful. I think at one time or another every person in San Marino came to see us.

  "Then, right after we closed, Mr. Statler disappeared. Mr. Fordamp showed up the next day and told us that he'd bought the circus. He said he'd honor all our contracts and asked us to stay." Nell stroked her beard, adding an afterthought: "I suppose that was real nice of him. Where else would most of us go?"

  "What kind of a man is this Mr. Fordamp?"

  "Smooth," she said after some hesitation, "but a bossman, if you know what I mean, the kind of man you don't argue with. He dresses strange. He's always wearing this funny kind of vest under his suit. Real bulky. I think he carries something inside it."

  "Probably a gun."

  "It's too big. It looks more
like a walkie-talkie. And he's always got two men with him. They carry guns."

  "Assuming Jandor was framed, why do you think they picked him to pin the murder on?"

  "Jandor was doing a lot of talking. Same as Roscoe."

  "What were they talking about?"

  "They were saying that they didn't believe Mr. Statler really sold the circus. They thought the circus was being stolen, and that Mr. Statler had been kidnapped. They went to the police, but nobody would listen."

  "Okay, Nell. Right now, you're the only person in the circus who knows I'm here. I want to keep it that way for the time being, with one exception: I want to talk to Danny Lemongello."

  "Now?"

  "Now. Can you get him here for me?"

  Nell stepped forward and placed her hands on my shoulders. "Everything's going to be all right, isn't it?"

  In the kind of wars men like Fordamp and his goons fought, prisoners were rarely taken. They rarely kidnapped anybody; it was easier to kill people who got in the way. I didn't want to tell Nell that, so I said nothing. After a few moments Nell turned and walked out of the trailer.

  Danny Lemongello had hair the color of a Hawaiian sunset and a look of wonder about him, the fresh-faced aura of a young man who was still in awe of the circus. He stepped inside the tent and stared at me as I got to my feet.

  "Mongo the Magnificent!" he cried, rushing forward with one hand outstretched. "Gee, if you only knew how glad I am to meet you! You're like a legend around here!"

  He almost made me feel guilty for my thoughts. I shook his hand. It was wet. "We can talk old times later, Danny. Right now I'd like to ask you some questions."

  His eyes clouded. "Gee, Mongo, what kind of questions?"

  "It looks like somebody's trying to take over my circus," I said.

  Lemongello's eyes flickered to the ground, then climbed back up to my face. "You mean 'your circus' because you used to work-?"

  "No, Danny," I lied. "I mean my circus because I'm a part owner. Half, to be exact."

  "I didn't know that," Danny said after a long pause.

  "Is there any reason you should?" I asked evenly.

  "Well, Phil and I talked some, especially during the past year, and I guess I'm surprised that he never mentioned that he shared ownership with anybody."

  I glanced at Nell. She had retreated to a corner of the trailer and was stroking her beard. I glanced back at Lemongello. "You and Phil talked a lot, Danny?"

  "Yeah. We're good friends."

  "And you were the one who got the circus an invitation to come here?"

  "Yes. I'm proud of the circus. Maybe Nell told you; I come from San Marino, and I guess I wanted to show off for the hometown folks, so to speak. I'd already written a letter to Mr. Vaicona, one of the Regents, and he'd said it was okay. I talked to Phil, and the rest was simple. He went out of his way to get here."

  "I keep on hearing about this Vaicona. There are two Regents, aren't there?"

  Danny nodded. "Arturo Bonatelli is the other one. He's been on vacation for the past two weeks."

  "Did Phil ever mention anything to you about selling the circus?"

  Lemongello tapped his foot a few times on the floor. It was the gesture of a nervous man who was trying to appear thoughtful. "He first mentioned it to me about six months ago," Danny said at last. "He said he was getting tired of the grind and had enough money to live out a good retirement. I guess all he was waiting for was a good offer."

  "Uh-huh. And he got one here, obviously."

  "That's right. There's a Mr. Fordamp who bought the circus."

  "So I hear; Phil's half and my half."

  "I don't know anything about that."

  "What's all this business about sealing the country off because of an epidemic?"

  "There's meningitis on the other side of the mountain," Danny said easily. "Nothing too serious, but San Marino's whole economy is based on tourism, so they want to make sure nothing happens to any visitor. I'm sure the quarantine will be lifted in a few days. By the way, how did you get-?"

  "One more thing, Danny. Doesn't it seem strange to you that Phil would leave without saying good-bye to the people he'd worked with over the years?"

  The boy thrust his hands into his pockets and studied my face. I imagined I could hear him making up his next lie in his head.

  "The last time I talked to Phil he was pretty strung out," Danny said tightly, avoiding my eyes. "He was really anxious to get started on his retirement. I suppose leaving the way he did was just his way."

  "But that wasn't his way," I said evenly. I waited for Danny to say something. He remained silent. "I think somebody's trying to pull a swindle, Danny. What do you think?"

  He said something, but I didn't really listen to his answer. I was sure Danny Lemongello was lying; and if he thought at all, he wouldn't have put himself in a situation where he would have to lie. His mouth stopped moving and I slapped him on the back, thanked him, and ushered him out of the trailer.

  I decided it would be pushing my luck to try talking my way past Marshmallow Mouth again, so I made my exit from the circus through a small patch of weeds in back of Nell's trailer. I climbed out of the valley, then headed toward a police station I had seen on my way through town.

  The entrance to the station was manned by a handsome San Marinese policeman who looked more than a little embarrassed about the whole thing. He had a clean-cut face, firm and honest. We nodded to each other as I passed inside.

  It wasn't much of a police station as police stations go-small, very old, obviously not intended as a maximum security prison, but as a way station for the occasional drunk who floated in on the cheap San Marinese cognac.

  There was a man sitting inside. What I could see of him was dressed in expensive clothes. There was a big bulge under his right armpit. A pair of Gucci shoes with feet in them were propped up on a scarred wooden desk in front of a metal plate that read Chief. The other end of him was hidden behind a newspaper. I went and stood in front of the desk. The paper didn't move.

  "Who's in charge here?" I asked in Italian.

  "I am," came the muffled reply.

  "I want to report a missing person."

  The paper came down slowly to reveal a pair of ice-cold black eyes. A jagged scar ran from his hairline down across the bridge of his nose to the left side of his mouth. The scar tissue that had formed over the lip had puckered up his mouth into a perpetual leer. His name was Luciano Petrocelli, and he was an unlikely candidate for police chief; I'd last seen his picture in the New York Times in connection with an article describing how the Italian police were banishing certain suspected mafiosi to a small fishing village on an island off the coast of Sicily. Petrocelli was to have been the leading resident. The climate apparently hadn't agreed with him.

  "How'd you get away from the circus?"

  I repeated that I wanted to report a missing person.

  "There aren't any missing persons in San Marino, buddy. Everybody is accounted for."

  "Well, I don't think he's so much missing as kidnapped."

  The brows came together and the eyes focused on my chest, like the cold, black barrels of guns.

  "There ain't nobody been kidnapped in San Marino, dwarf. You're talking crazy."

  "As long as I'm here, I'd like to visit a prisoner."

  Petrocelli grunted and put the newspaper back up to his face. I had the feeling he was able to watch me through it. "We don't have any prisoners in San Marino."

  "I'm talking about the man called Jandor. He's supposed to have killed somebody. Don't you have him here?"

  Petrocelli put the paper to one side and leaned forward in his chair. "He a friend of yours?"

  "Yes."

  "You've got some pretty dangerous friends, dwarf. Also, you ask too many questions. Why don't you take my advice and get out of San Marino?"

  "I can't. You've got the country sealed off, remember? Also, there's a small matter of my missing partner selling a circus that's half mine.
What are you going to do about that?"

  A vein in the side of Petrocelli's neck was beginning to throb. I'd have ducked if he had a gun in his hand.

  "If you're not out of here in one minute, dwarf, I'm going to throw you in the can with your friend."

  I was out of the police station in something under a minute, and in the Marinello's souvenir shop in less than ten. Molly greeted me warmly and took me into living quarters in back of the shop to have some cognac with her husband. I passed on the cognac and offered a question instead.

  "This is a nice little country you've got here," I said. "What's to prevent somebody from taking it over?"

  John Marinello tossed down one slug of cognac and poured another. His eyes were glassy.

  "The law," he said. "We have a constitution, like in the United States. We elect our leaders. If they do not obey our laws we get rid of them."

  "By voting them out of office, like in the United States?"

  John put his glass down. He had a puzzled expression on his face. "That's right. Why?"

  "Let's suppose for the sake of argument that someone, for reasons unknown, was in a hurry and didn't want to be bothered with a formality like an election. Let's suppose this person or group wanted to fill all the key posts in San Marino with their own men. How would they go about it?"

  Marinello shrugged. "They couldn't. The Regents, with the grand council, appoint all the officials who aren't elected."

  "Men can be bought or blackmailed. There are many ways."

  "Here that is impossible."

  "But what would you do about it?"

  "The Italians would help us."

  "But only if they were officially asked, right?"

  "Yes. What are you getting at?"

  I thought I'd been making myself clear. I decided to hit him over the head with the whole package. "I think somebody's already taken over San Marino."

  John put his glass down. His cheeks were still flushed, but his eyes cleared a little. "You're not making any sense."

  "For openers, your chief of police at the moment is a mafioso who was supposed to have been locked up by the Italians. There are hired guns all over the place. You've got no phone service, and the country's sealed off. It seems to me that you've got a problem."