Hot Red Money
Page 21
“Then I began to follow up at Commie headquarters: ‘We must move fast, boys! Get the information from Lycoming’s controlled plants quick as we can. Round it all up with one trusted courier. Turn it over in a single package to Pringle, who will pass it on to Kamilkoff.’ ”
Maury gave a quiet chuckle. “The natural question was: ‘Whom can we trust, comrade Morel?’ I gave them the natural answer, Ed. ‘I’ll do it myself, comrades! The only person Committee Member Morel trusts for such a task is Comrade Morel!’ Now, will you admit that I’m a genius?” Maury disposed of his cigarette and leaned back smugly.
“Are you telling me that you ordered yourself on this trip through Communist headquarters?”
“I arranged every detail of it, Ed. Also, I stampeded Pringle and Lycoming into thinking it was vitally necessary. It worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes, after your fashion,” Waters admitted reluctantly. “But you’re alive only because of the training with a six-gun that I forced you to take.”
“I’m sorry I had to kill him.” Maury’s dark eyes were grave. “I guess I was a little trigger-happy, but I told you that in the bookstore basement he pulled a gun on me.”
“You just executed him, Maury. In addition to his spying, we could have nailed him for killing Turlock. He was a dead duck anyway you put it.”
“Well, it’s a nice happy ending,” Maury said. “I spend over half my life working for four mistresses—when all the proverbs tell you that no man can serve two. But no—I’m such a mental philanderer I have to take on four—my country, my paper, my wife, and the FBI. Now I’ve lost them all, except my country. Once I appear as a surprise witness in this last clean-up, I’ll be of no more use to you than yesterday’s newspaper.”
“Talk from me won’t help you much, Maury. But, by way of thanks—you name it and we’ll give it a try.”
“Two things,” Maury said, “and all you can do with them, Ed, is give them a try. Contact Anne in Reno, tomorrow, and try to make it clear to her why, for so many years, I’ve had to lie and act like a first class heel. Once she knows—”
“She’ll come back, Maury. What’s the second thing?”
“Try to square me with the Globe-Star. Jeffers, Lindeman, Dupree and Hal Gow. Though, God knows what you can tell them!”
“Just the truth,” Ed Waters said, “that if half the people in the world had your type of thinking, and your unselfish love of your fellow men, there would be no need for armaments. There’d be no mess like we’re in today. Maybe even no need for the FBI.
“There’s something I’ll add, Maury: The Commies have always had one great dream that has never come true—they’ve always wanted to plant one of their men in the ranks of the FBI. I doubt if it will please them to know that they have finally succeeded—but not in the way they think. But I’d certainly like to tell the world that you’re the first man in history who was ever a member of the Communist National Committee, and who at the same time had succeeded in burrowing deeper and deeper, not into the ranks, but into the hearts of every man in the FBI.”
“And so, to the strains of ‘Hearts and Flowers,’ Maury Morel, the Man of Forty Faces, slinks slowly down to the lower West Side and goes back to his empty hut.” Maury stood up.
“Not so fast,” Ed Waters said. “We’re not nearly through with you. We have to keep you under wraps as a material witness, Maury. We’ve arranged a palatial suite right here in the building for you—room service, exotic meals, reading material, workouts on the pistol range and in the gym.”
“So now I’m being arrested!” Maury groaned. “Honestly, Ed, I’ve got a belly full of yours and you. How long is this for?”
“I can’t possibly tell. Maybe a month. Maybe just a few days. Maybe a week or two.”
“Can’t you put me up somewhere else instead of this bastille?”
Waters covered his mouth with his hand. “We might commit you.”
“Commit me? Where?”
Waters thought a moment. “What about the Amity Rest Home?”
“Say—” A new light came into Maury’s eyes. “You know there is nothing red about that gal Doc Rheinemann except her boy friend, her ex-husband, and her hair. What a dish! Can you imagine waking up in the middle of the night, feeling a soft hand on your brow, and seeing that clad in Lincoln green pajamas standing by your bed? Now that I’ve removed ex-hubby and boy friend, I’ll bet she’s as lonely as I am with Anne away. Maybe, Ed—”
Suddenly one of the special agents gave a loud disrespectful horselaugh, then choking and coughing, got up and hurriedly fled the room.
“Now who the hell was that?” Maury demanded.
“Oh, pay no attention to him, Maury,” Waters said seriously. “He’s just one of our younger agents who hasn’t learned self-control. His name is Leonard Ducro.”
THE END
About the Author
Baynard Kendrick (1894–1977) was one of the founders of the Mystery Writers of America, later named a Grand Master by the organization. After returning from military service in World War I, Kendrick wrote for pulp magazines such as Black Mask and Dime Detective Magazine under various pseudonyms before creating the Duncan Maclain character for which he is now known. The blind detective appeared in twelve novels, several short stories, and three films.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
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Copyright © 1959 by Baynard Kendrick
Cover design by Ian Koviak
ISBN: 978-1-5040-6568-9
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