by W L Ripley
The bald giant smiled, showing capped teeth. “She was just fine, boss. But she wore out after about the third or fourth time. Hard to find a woman with stamina anymore.”
The gun became hot in my hand. I swung it up into Roberts’s face and snapped back the hammer. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you both.” My teeth were tight, and I had to smother the tremble in my hand.
“Believe you just might want to,” said Roberts calmly. “But it’s hard to kill an unarmed man when he’s looking at you. Don’t think you can do that, you. Takes a special kind of man to do that. And you’re not the type.”
“But I am,” said Chick, lazily tracing Roberts with his Colt. “So talk.”
“Campbell for the girl,” said Roberts. “That’s the deal. If not, go ahead and shoot.”
“You can’t give—” began Winston.
“Shut up, counselor,” said Roberts, his face twisted into a mask of anger and annoyance.
I looked at Chick. It was his call. Campbell was his ticket. He nodded his head. “Okay,” I said. “It’s a deal.”
“Much better,” said Roberts. “Cugie. Give these boys the key.”
Cugat reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced a key with a motel tag attached to it. He placed the metal key between his teeth and bent it. He showed us the bowed key and then placed it between his teeth again and bent it back to its original shape.
“That’s nice, ugly,” Chick said. “Know any card tricks?”
Cugat tossed the key at my feet. “You can have what’s left, superstar,” he said, then laughed. I picked up the key. The tag said Rancho Deluxe Motel and had the number 23 on it. Chick uncuffed Campbell and we backed out of the room.
“By the way,” Roberts said, “your little darlin’ picked up some bad habits since you saw her. Damned shame, too.”
Bad habits? What was he talking about? But beyond that, something else was wrong. I could feel it more than I knew it. Roberts and Cugat looked too smug. Bedford looked scared, Winston annoyed.
Something besides Tempestt’s plight was bothering me. But what?
We left.
TWENTY-SIX
The Rancho Deluxe was a low-slung motor hotel with crumbling pavement and window-unit air-conditioning. COME STAY WITH US. $19.95 PER NITE, announced the sign in front of the office. Room 23 was the last unit on the west block of rooms. Click slid the Colt from its holster and held it down alongside his leg as I inserted the key into the lock.
We are never really prepared for the shocks of life: The day we catch our boss locked in his office with the girl from the secretarial pool spread-eagled, nylons dangling. When Uncle Bob, the Korean War vet, who used to do tricks with quarters, gets cancer. When the class clown from high school, the guy with the wit and ready smile, sticks a gun in his mouth, ending the fun. For all of us.
So when I opened the wear-scarred metal door to room 23 of the Rancho Deluxe, I wasn’t ready for what I saw.
Lying on the bed in a smear of her own excrement, her eyes dark-ringed and her hair tangled, was one of the most beautiful women I had ever known. The John Wayne heroine, crashed and smoldering in the ashes of her marred beauty, in the tossed, seedy comfort of the Rancho Deluxe Motel. Her face had a look of unnatural ecstasy, remote and vacant, as if dreaming with her eyes open. The room smelled of feminine neglect and bowel failure. The television, an old black-and-white portable, was jammed on a neutral channel, tuned into nothing—a blurring, hissing zone of emptiness.
She was naked. Her body, even in tragedy, was lush and beautiful. One handcuff held a bloodless arm to a bedpost. Her free hand reaching toward me and a slow shudder of breast indicated life. I tried to imagine her as I remembered her, vital and exquisite.
I ran to the bed, gripped the bedpost and wrenched it. The cheap wood snapped with a popping, tearing sound, and the handcuffed arm dropped to the side of the bed, the metal jangling. Her hand trembled as the blood returned to it. The effort, or the anxiety, left me panting. I fought off a whimper of anguish, which lay trembling at the back of my throat. Her head lolled and she mumbled something unintelligible. I sat on the side of the bed and hugged her to me. Rocked her in my arms and rubbed her shoulders and back briskly. She was unresponsive. Her skin was cold and rubbery to the touch. I gathered the bedspread about her to cover her nakedness. Chick said nothing. Tempestt said nothing. The room echoed with the sound of it.
I went into the bathroom and ran water into the tub. When the water gushed from the spout, a cockroach scurried from the drain and tried to scramble up the slick porcelain. I killed him and dropped him in the wastebasket.
Returning to the bedroom, I lifted Tempestt from the bed and carried her to the bathroom, placing her into the tub. Some of the excrement got on me when I did. I heard Chick talking on the phone, heard him give the name of the motel.
I washed her with warm, soapy water, then dried her. She couldn’t help. I was aware that I was probably washing away rape evidence, but I didn’t care. No one needed to see her like that. She had suffered enough indignity, and justice was a cowboy on a fast horse.
I washed her off myself. There were no clothes in the motel room. They had intended for her to stay there. Using an extra towel, I fashioned a crude sarong around her waist, pinning it in place by jamming wire shower curtain hooks through the towel. That done I kneaded her limp body into my jacket. I kissed her. Her breath was sour on my face. I carried her into the bedroom and sat her gently in an easy chair, her arms hanging useless at her sides. I straightened, and rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands.
“They drugged her,” Chick said, his voice low. “Did you see the tracks on her arm? Pinned her up with heroin or morphine, then fed her some barbs or maybe some of the dreamsicle. There’s a powdery residue on the nightstand. Even if she came out of it, who would she call? No clothes, and drugs in her system.”
“She’s been raped,” I said, croaking it. “These guys are diseased.”
Chick nodded. “Yeah.”
It was then it popped into my head, the thing that had been bothering me. “Roberts gave her up too easy,” I said. “If she could hurt him, she’d be dead. She probably never saw them, and she was flying when Cugat…” I couldn’t say it. “They just wanted her out of the way. Winston was worried about it, but Roberts acted like he could care less. He gets Prescott and we get…this.” I felt weak inside. Sick. “Least she’s alive.”
“They’re fucking animals. You knew that, or should have. They’re cancerous. Only one way to treat cancer, man. You gotta cut it out.”
“Gotta call Browne.”
“And tell him what? That we squeezed some street punk by flashing false FBI credentials? That we threatened some of the leading citizens of Paradise at gunpoint? Can’t waltz to a rock and roll beat. No way. We gotta smoke their asses.”
I looked at Tempestt. “Not yet,” I said.
“When, dammit? Your way is too slow and might not work. What do you need? These guys are vampires. You gotta drive a stake through their hearts.” His eyes were keen, hard-edged. The eyes behind the mask. “No more Hardy Boys crimebusters crap. It ain’t gettin’ it done. We have to go after them. And we go after them hard.”
“No,” I said. “She’ll pull out of this. The feds are closing in on them.”
“What if she doesn’t? What if she dies? What if she’s never right again?”
I looked at her. Touched her hair. “Then,” I said, “we go after them. No rules.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The ambulance took Tempestt to Citizens Memorial Hospital, where she was admitted as a Jane Doe. We followed in the Bronco. I hoped they would treat her as an overdose victim and not ask too many questions. I knew the marks on her forearm might raise eyebrows and bring the heat, but I didn’t care. Just wanted her to be all right. Nothing else mattered.
Maybe Sam Browne was right. Maybe I was in over my head. I hadn’t figured on a female agent inside Starr Industries, and now I had put her life in jeo
pardy because I had no head for intrigue. It was sobering to find out I didn’t know everything. And more so to find out I knew almost nothing. Chick was right; you couldn’t line up against people like Roberts and expect a fair shuffle. Tempestt was my fault; she’d blown her cover to save me from a bad beating. She’d taken a risk for me, a risk that might still cost her her life. Why? And what could I give in exchange?
I used the pay phone in the hospital waiting room to call Sam Browne. The phone and the room smelled of stale cigarette smoke and failed hope. He didn’t answer. I considered calling Agent Morrison for about a millisecond, but I didn’t want to hear about missions and sacrifices and procedures. I walked to the floor desk and asked if I could see her yet. Her doctor was at the desk and denied the request.
“Not yet,” said the doctor, a young guy with a receding hairline and a nice, crinkly smile. “We’re going to put her in intensive care. A precaution. I think she’ll be all right, but I’ve not encountered the substances in her blood test in those concentrations before. There are some strange chemicals I’m unable to account for. Very unusual. She’s also been treated rather roughly. Fortunately, she is fit and strong. Whoever did this to her…well, an unprofessional thought comes to mind.”
I thanked him and asked when I could see her. He thought perhaps by the next evening, but offered the possibility it could be even longer.
“She’s been through a lot,” he said. “We treated her for shock. I think you may have spared her some long-term physiological damage by getting her to us.”
“There’s a couple of guys,” I said, “a tall, dark-haired guy looks like an insurance agent with muscles, and a blond guy with a tanning salon complexion, who’ll want to see her, but I promise you, they’ll just aggravate her. If you could somehow limit their access to her I think it would be helpful.”
The young doctor smiled his crinkly smile. “I’ve already heard from Agent Candless, if that’s who you’re referring to.” That struck me as strange. How did Candless know she was here? “He has already been tossing around the names of senators and congressmen. But I assure you, no one is going to see her. Especially Mr. Candless, if for no other reason than to irritate and annoy him.”
I thanked him again and walked down the hall to find Chick. That’s when I saw Morrison coming up the hall. His eyes were darkened by the half-moons underlining them. His tie was askew. Still, he smiled when he saw me. I didn’t smile back.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You know why,” said Morrison, rubbing a hand across his face as if that would wipe away the fatigue. He shut his eyes tight, then reopened them. They were raw, bloodshot. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, Storme, I understand your anger, but I need to speak with her.”
“How’d you know she was here?”
“Candless. He knew.”
“Candless, huh? I thought we had a deal.”
Morrison let out a breath. He looked ten years older than the first time I met him. “We do. I didn’t call him, he called me. They wouldn’t let him see her, so he called me. She’s FBI, not DEA.”
“How could he know she was here? We called the ambulance under an assumed name. She’s here under a Jane Doe. Maybe Candless is clairvoyant. How did he know? Answer that.”
Morrison shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked uncomfortable. Things weren’t in their proper order and he knew it, and he was an orderly man. “How is she?” he asked. He was trying to be human.
“I don’t know,” I said. “She was pretty rough when we found her. Doctor thinks she’ll be all right.” I told him about the motel room and how we found her.
Morrison listened, chewing on his lower lip. “I should have listened,” he said. “This is my fault.”
“Doing your job,” I said. “That’s all. Too late to do anything when I called you anyway. They already had her.”
“Roberts?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you find her?”
“We asked Roberts.”
“And he told you where to find her?”
“We asked nicely. How could he resist? We wanted her, and we had something he wanted in return.”
“Such as?”
“The chemist,” I said, not wanting to use Prescott’s name. He was still our trump card. “We traded Tempestt for the chemist.”
“Dammit, Storme, you let the chemist go? Do you realize how many people will be hurt by this drug?”
“I won’t be using it. People I care about won’t use it.”
“It’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s not the drugs that cause the problem, it’s the network and money involved. People steal and kill to get drugs. Money fuels the big criminals and cartels.”
“Too abstract,” I said. “I can’t deal with everything. I could get Tempestt, so that’s what I did.”
“You have feelings for her, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
He chewed on it for a moment. An orderly, who smelled of cheap aftershave and antiseptic, rattled an empty gurney with a bad wheel past us. “I sympathize with you,” said Morrison. “But I will not be happy if we cannot salvage this investigation. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “And if Tempestt dies and the sheriff’s real killer isn’t put away, I won’t be happy, either.”
“Maybe we can’t get everything.”
“We can try. I’d rather have you for me than against me.”
He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “So would I.”
“She’s on this floor,” I said. “But the doctor won’t allow her visitors until tomorrow night.”
“Thanks,” said Morrison. “I’ll arrange a guard for her.”
“I’ve got to find Chick,” I said.
Morrison cleared his throat. “Ah…I know where to find him. Follow me.” I did.
We took the elevator down to the main floor and walked to a conference room, which we entered together. Candless had spotted Chick and hustled him into the room while Morrison looked for me. The conference room was sparsely appointed but comfortable and attractive, with the same hospital smell as the halls. The wallpaper was a light mauve with a flower print. The table was blond wood, and there were six fabric-and-wood chairs around it. Chick was slouched in a chair, his standard bemused look on his face, as if all life were an Ogden Nash poem. Candless was leaning forward and doing most of the talking.
“I’ll try again,” said Candless, ignoring us. “I want to know how you managed to find her.”
“I’m an experienced manhunter,” Chick said. “Years in the Canadian Mounties. Wanta hear me sing ‘I’m Calling You’?”
“You go out of your way to be a smartass, Easton.”
“But well worth the trip.”
“Maybe we could do this downtown, in the lockup with a federal prosecutor?”
“No thanks. I’ve got an aerobics class. Maybe some other time.” He fished in his pocket for a cigarette, found one, and put it between his lips.
“Sign says no smoking,” said Candless.
“Damn. Knew you guys’d catch me in the act sooner or later. What’s it gonna be?” Chick said, then lit the cigarette. “You gonna shoot me, or let me live so I can stand trial?”
“I suppose you think I’m bullshitting you?”
“I think you’re a tight-assed neurotic with no juice, so you’re jacking me around to make yourself feel good.”
“You’ve got a lot of people interested in you, Easton. Big people.”
“The price I pay for my luxurious lifestyle.”
I interrupted. “How did you know Tempestt was here, Candless?”
His head swiveled to look at me. “I don’t have to answer to you. You have to answer to me.”
“Somebody in your orbit has switched sides,” I said. I searched Candless’s face for a twitch, a touch of fear, anything. Nothing showed. Don’t understand it. Always worked for Barnaby
Jones. “When Tempestt comes out of it, maybe we’ll know who.”
“If she comes out of it,” Candless said.
“She will. She’s tough. I’m betting on her.”
“Rah, rah, rah,” said Candless. “Talking to you two is a waste of time. The chemist is probably several states away by now. If he goes to ground and we lose him and this investigation is beyond saving, you two better grease up, because you’re going to take a ride.”
“Tough talk,” I said. “It’s all I ever hear from you. You ready to go, Chick?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Candless, as Chick slowly rose from his chair.
“Wherever I want.”
“Not until you answer some questions.”
“Why? You already think you got the answers.”
“You’re interfering with a federal investigation.”
I said, “How? By saving a girl who’s been raped and pumped full of narcotics? This investigation needs to be interfered with as long as you’re involved. But I’ll give you one tip. Alan Winston is involved. Right up to the Windsor knot in his Dior tie.”
“I don’t buy that.”
“Which amazes me. What’s your interest in keeping Winston clear of this?”
He evaded the question. “Where’s the chemist?”
“Ask Morrison,” I said. “We’re going.”
Candless jumped up and stepped in front of me. “Don’t you dismiss me, Storme.”
“Get out of my way.”
“Let them go,” said Morrison. “I’ve already got Storme’s statement, and I believe what he told me. We’ve no reason to hold either of these men.”
Candless pointed a finger at me. “Watch yourself, Storme. Nothing would make me happier than to take you down.”
“Yeah? Maybe I’ll turn it around on you,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I think you’ve got your head up your butt. It means I think it’s weird that you turned up here at the hospital, even though nobody knew we were bringing her in except for Chick and myself. But Roberts and Cugat already knew what shape she was in. And so did your buddy, Winston. So you tell me how that adds up.”
