Except Beaver didn’t talk. He fainted. There were more of those nicely placed slices, delivered purposely so the pain would bring him out of the faint. But Beaver didn’t come out of it ... there had been too much before it and he lay there mute and unconscious until the killer couldn’t wait any more and made sure he’d never talk to anybody else either. And when he was done killing he had torn the room apart, piece by piece, bit by bit.
I followed the search pattern looking for anything that might have been missed, fingering through the torn bedding, reaching into places somebody already had reached into, feeling outside around the window ledges, going through the contents of the single dresser whose drawers were stacked, empty, along one wall.
Beaver wasn’t a fashion plate. He only had two suits and two sport jackets. The pockets were turned inside out and the coat linings ripped off. On the floor of the closet was a bloodstained shirt and a crumpled red vest with more blood, stiff and dried, staining the fabric.
I took another twenty minutes to make sure there was nothing I had missed and finally sat down on the edge of the bed, lit up a cigarette and looked at the mutilated body of Beaver on the floor.
I said, “You weren’t lucky this time, chum. That red vest didn’t bring you any luck at all, did it?”
Then I started to grin slowly and got up and went back to the closet where the red vest lay in a crushed lump. It wasn’t much. It was old and worn and it must have been expensive at one time because it still held its color. Beaver had thrown it there when he took off his bloodied clothes, hurting and not caring about his lucky charm. It was too carelessly tossed off and not much for the killer to search because it didn’t even have pockets.
But it had been Beaver’s lucky charm once and a place to hide all his luck, something that was always with him and safe.
I found where the hand stitching was around the lower left hand edge, picked at the thread and pulled it out of the fabric. The sheet of onionskin paper folded there slid out and I opened it, scanned it slowly, then went to the phone and gave the desk clerk Eddie Dandy’s number.
He said he knew how he could give his watchdogs the slip, but if he did that was the end of him in broadcasting, in life, in anything. He had been given the word strongly and with no punches pulled. He wanted to know if it was worth it.
I told him it was.
CHAPTER 12
I let him vomit his supper out in the toilet bowl and waited until he had mopped his face with cold water and dried off. He came back in the bedroom, trying to avoid the mess on the floor, but his eyes kept drifting back to the corpse until he was white again. He finally upended one of the drawers and sat on it, his hands shaking.
“Relax,” I said.
“Damn it, Mike, did you have to get my ass in a sling just to show me this?”
I took a drag on my cigarette and nodded. “That’s right.”
Very slowly his face came out of his hands, his eyes drifting up to mine, fear cutting little crinkles into the folds of skin at their edges. “You ... did you...”
“No, I didn’t kill him.”
Bewilderment replaced the fear and he said nervously, “Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shit.”
I went and got him a glass of water, waited while he finished it, looking out the window at the glassy-wet tops of the buildings across the street. Down below a police cruiser went by slowly and turned north at the corner. “Quiet out,” I said.
Behind me, Eddie said softly, “It’ll be a lot quieter soon. Just a few more days. I don’t know why I was worrying about coming here at all. What difference can it make?”
“It hasn’t happened yet.”
“No chance, Mike. No chance at all. Everybody knows it. I wasted all that time worrying and sweating when I could have been like you, calm as hell and not giving a damn about anything. Maybe I’m fortunate at that. In a few days when the lid comes off and the whole world knows that it’s only a little while before it dies, everybody else will go berserk and I’ll be able to watch them and have an easy drink to kiss things good-bye.” He let out a little laugh. “I only wish I could have been able to tell the whole story. They talk openly now. It doesn’t seem to matter any more. You didn’t know the Soviets ran down more of the story, did you?”
I shook my head and watched the rain come down, only half hearing what he said.
“That other regime... they never thought the strain of bacteria was so virulent. It would be contained pretty much in this hemisphere and die out after a certain length of time. They made tests on involuntary subjects and decided that one out of ten would be immune, and the vaccine they had developed would protect those they wanted protected. It wasn’t just two agents who were planted in this country. There were twenty-two of them, and each was supplied with enough vaccine to immunize a hundred more, all key people in major commercial and political positions who would be ready to run the country after the plague was done wiping out the populace. Oh, they could sit back and not give a damn, but there was one thing they never got to know. The vaccine was no damn good. It was only temporary. They’ll last a month or two longer after the others have died, but they’ll die harder because it is going to take longer. Only they’re not going to know this because everyone involved in the project is dead and there’s nobody to tell them. They were going to know when it happened, because the single unknown, the key man who was going to plant the stuff around the country, was the only one who knew who the others were and he was going to notify them so they could set all their grand plans into motion.”
“Nice,” I said.
“So he planted the stuff... all those containers. My guess is he lucked out because of the vaccine he was injected with. There was a possibility it could do that. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Why?”
“Because they have that organization all set up. They’re ready to move in and set up another semislave state. The elite few get it all and the rest get the garbage. Not bad if you’re one of the elite few and have the only guns around to back you up. It doesn’t even make any difference if those agents were given the date or not. Either way they think they’ll be ready to grab it all. It might screw up their timing, but that’s about all. They move in, think they have it made, then all of a sudden it hits them too.”
“It won’t happen.”
Eddie Dandy laughed again, a flat, sour laugh that ended in a sob. “Mike, you’re mad.”
I turned around and looked at him perched on the edge of the drawer, muscles tightened with near hysteria bunching in his jaw. I grinned at him, then picked up the phone. It was five minutes before they located Pat Chambers and I let him take me apart in sections before I said, “You should have gone with me, friend. It wouldn’t have taken all this time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You can buy next year’s calendar, Pat. You’ll be able to use it.”
For ten seconds there was a long silence on the other end of the line. He knew what I was talking about, and his voice came back with a tone of such absolute consternation that I barely heard him say, “Mike ...”
“It was all wrapped up in Lippy Sullivan,” I told him. “Handle this gently, Pat. And Pat... you’d better pass the word that the President doesn’t have to have a heart attack tomorrow. There’ll be plenty of news for everybody to chew on ... and when you’re passing the word, pass it high up where it counts and none of those eager lads with all that political ambition will be able to get their teeth in my ass for what’s going to happen. Tell the thinkers to get a good story ready, because there’s going to be the damndest cover-up happening tomorrow you ever saw in your life, and while it’s happening I’m going to be walking around with a big grin, spitting in their eyes.”
Before he could answer I told him where I was and hung up. Eddie Dandy was watching me like I had gone out of my mind. I handed him the sheet of onionskin paper.
“What’s this?”
“The exact
location of every one of those containers. You have the manpower already alerted and placed, the experts from Fort Detrick on hand to decontaminate them and the biggest scoop of your whole career. Too bad you’ll never really be able to tell about it.” I looked at him and felt my face pull into a nasty grin, “Or the rest of it.”
I tried one more call, but my party wasn’t at home, which confirmed what I already knew. I took the two last photos of Beaver out of my pocket, looked at them and threw them down beside the body. He didn’t look like that any more.
Spud Henry didn’t know how to say it, the white lies not quite fitting his mouth. Finally he said, “Oh, hell, Mikey boy, it’s just that I got orders. He gimme special orders on the house phone. Nobody goes up. It’s an important business meeting.”
“How many are up there?”
“Maybe six.”
“When’d the last one come in?”
“Oh, an hour ago. It was then I got the call. Nobody else.”
“Look, Spud ...”
“Mike, it won’t make no difference. They got the elevator locked up on that floor and there ain’t no other way. All the elevators stop the next floor down. There’s a fire door, but it only opens from the inside and you can’t even walk up. Come on, Mike, forget it.”
“Sorry, Spud.”
“Buddy, it’s my job you got in your hands.”
“Not if you didn’t see me.”
“There’s no way in that I can’t see you! Look, four of them TV’s cover the other exits and I got this one. How the hell can I explain?”
“You won’t have to.”
“Oh boy, will I catch hell. No more tips for old Spud. It’s gonna be real dry around here for a while. Maybe that long-haired relief kid will get my job.”
“Don’t worry,” I said.
“So go ahead. Not even a monkey can get there anyway.”
The elevator stopped at the top, the doors sliding open noiselessly. It was a bright blue foyer, decorated with modern sculpture and wildly colorful oil paintings in gold frames. The single door at the end was surrealistically decorated with a big eye painted around the peephole and I wondered how long ago it was that I was watched by another painted eye.
I touched the bell and waited. I touched it again, holding it in for a full minute, then let go and waited some more. I wasn’t about to try to batter down three inches of oak, so I took out the .45 and blew each of the three locks out of their sockets. The noise of the shots was deafening in that confined space, but the door swung inward limply. I wasn’t worried about the sound. It wasn’t going to reach anyplace else. The tenants here were paying for absolute privacy that included soundproofing. Tomorrow the shattered door would even be an asset when the explanations started.
I walked through the rooms to the back of the building and into the bedroom that faced the fire escape, covered the catch with my sleeve, twisted it open, then raised the window the same way. All around me New York was staring, watching me with curious yellow eyes in the darker faces of the other buildings, seeing just one more thing to store away in memories that could never be tapped.
Gusts of wind whipped around the comer, driving the rain in angular sheets. I grinned again and started up the perforated steel steps to that other window and leaned against it with my shoulder, putting pressure to it gradually until the small pane cracked almost noiselessly. The pieces came out easily and I got my hand through the opening, undid the lock and shoved the window up. A swipe at the catch wiped out any prints and I was inside.
When I eased the door open I heard the subdued murmur of voices, the words indistinguishable. I was in a small office of some type, functional and modem, the kind a dedicated businessman whose work never stopped would have.
Maybe there would be things in there, I thought, but let somebody else find it.
I leaned on the ornate handle of the latch and tugged the door open.
The maid heard me, but never had time to see me. I laid a fast chop across her jaw as she turned around and she went down without a sound. I pulled her into the little office and closed the door on her. And I was in a dining area with the voices a little louder now because they were right behind the one more door I had to go through.
One of the voices smashed a hand on a table hard and in choked-up anger said, “How many times do I have to tell you? There was nothing! I looked everywhere!”
“It had to be there!” I recognized that voice.
“Don’t tell me my job! It was not in the room. It was like all the other places. Maybe he did not have it at all. To him, what would it mean? Nothing, that’s what. A single piece of paper with names of places written down. Why would he have kept that?”
Then there was another voice I recognized too, a cold, calm voice that could be jocular and friendly at other times. “He didn’t have to know what it meant. It was something that came from the wallet of an important person who would keep only important things on that person. It would have a certain value. Why else would he have made those calls?” The voice paused a moment, then added. “You know, it would have been easier to have paid his price.”
The other one said, “A blackmailer could have photostated it. If it were valuable to me, it would have been equally as valuable to someone else.”
“To whom would he sell?” the cold voice asked.
“Who knows how a mind like his would work? Perhaps a newspaperman, or by now he might have even suspected just what he did hold. You realize what it would be worth then, the price he could demand for it? That’s all it would take to smash everything we have built We couldn’t take the chance.”
“I’m afraid the chance has already been taken,” the flat voice stated. “Now there is no time for any alternative. We simply have to wait. At this point there is little possibility that we will fail. If the document is hidden or destroyed, it will stay hidden or destroyed. There is not enough time left for anyone to pursue the matter further. I suggest you ring for that maid again and inquire about our drinks so we can conclude this affair.”
From another room I heard the annoyed sound of a buzzer. It rang again, then a voice I knew so well said, “Stanley, go see what’s keeping her.”
I stepped away from the door and crowded behind the angle of an ornate china closet. The door opened and clicked shut on its own closing device and I saw the face of the man who had come in, a still angry face at having been chewed out for bungling the job. It wasn’t a new face. I had seen it twice before this night, once in a burst of gunfire at the top of the stairs and again coming out of an elevator in the hotel where Beaver had been sliced to death like Lippy Sullivan.
Like Lippy Sullivan.
The man called Stanley crossed the room and pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen calling loudly for somebody named Louise. He never heard me follow him in, but when he didn’t find Louise he spun around and I let him see me, one big surprised look, and he knew who I was and why I was there and before he could get the knife out of his belt with an incredibly fast snatch and thrust, I leaned aside and threw a fist into his face that sent his features into a crazy caricature of a human and left teeth imbedded in my knuckles and a sudden spurt of blood spraying both of us.
I should have shot him and had it over with, but I didn’t want it to happen that fast. I was a pig and wanted him all for myself and slowly and almost made a mistake. He was a pro and strong. He was hurt and death could be the next step and he was moving and thinking even before he hit the floor. He didn’t waste breath yelling. What strength he had left kept the knife in his hand, his feet scrabbling for survival.
The blade flashed around when I jumped him, the gun forgotten now. All I wanted was to use my hands. I got my fingers in his hair and yanked his head around, pounding my fist against his ear. I saw the knife come up and blocked it with my knee, the razor edge slicing into my skin, then I let go of his hair and grabbed his wrist.
He was strong, but I had gotten to him first and he wasn’t that strong any
more. He was flat out under me and I was bringing his own knife up under his throat and this time he knew it couldn’t be stopped and he tried to let out the yell he had held in. Then my knee caught him square in the balls with such impact he almost died then, eyes bugging out of his head in sheer agony.
He still fought, and he was still able to see what was happening when his own hand drove the knife completely through his neck until it was imbedded in the floor behind.
I picked up my rod and eased the hammer back.
Okay, Lippy, it was almost paid for.
You shouldn’t stop and think back. I should have known that. All the years in the business and I forgot a little thing that could kill you. It wasn’t instinct that turned me in time. It was accident. I should have known they’d send another one out to see what had happened and he was standing there behind me with a gun coming out of his pocket, a flat, ugly little thing with a deadly snout ready to spit.
But you don’t beat a guy to the draw who already has a gun in his fist, and I triggered the .45 into a roaring blast that caught him just off center from his nose and threw the entire back of his skull against the door. I was over him before he had crumpled to the tiles and met the other one coming in and this time I was ready. He only saw me as the slug was tearing his chest apart, dropped the Luger and stood there in momentary surprise, then fell in a lifeless heap, blocking the doorway.
Chairs crashed backward outside and there was a shrill scream cutting through the curses. I kicked the corpse out of the way, yanked the door open in time to see that smiling, pleasant Mr. Kudak who was so political, who had come from one regime into another without anybody ever knowing about it, picking himself up off the floor. He didn’t have a gun, but he had a mind that was even more dangerous so I blew it right out of its braincase without the slightest compunction and ran across the room, jumping the knocked-over furniture, and reached the door just as it was locked in my face.
Survival...Zero Page 18
