Curves Can Kill
Page 12
“Me?’“
“You!—that a private citizen has full knowledge of a matter of the most vital importance to the nation’s security. I had to give personal assurance that you can be trusted—despite your being listed as a bad security risk in the CIA files.”
“There’s an easy way out, Mr. Dumbrille. You could get one of your men to assassinate me.”
Dumbrille gave me an icy glare. “I don’t consider that humorous.”
“But it is practical. In fact, I’m surprised that Grady didn’t think of it. He’s such a good man in other respects.”
“Let me remind you that Grady saved your life.”
“Repeatedly,” I agreed. I lit a cigarette, balanced my Ronson lighter on the edge of Dumbrille’s desk. “I’d like to know how you’ve explained the deaths of Lee Howard and the two women.”
“An automobile accident in which you, too, were involved.”
“What about the condition of the bodies?”
“You were thrown clear. The others were burned beyond recognition.”
“And I’ll bet you did burn the bodies.”
Dumbrille looked slightly unhappy. “It was not a deed that gave me any satisfaction.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Rita Duncan?”
“Tell you?”
“That she was with the CIA.”
Dumbrille changed the alignment of the objects on his desk blotter. “Do you think I knew she was a CIA agent and deliberately withheld the information?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“But why would I ask you to investigate a CIA agent?”
“Because you were playing one game and the CIA was playing another. They knew that Lee Howard had gone to see Professor Galek, but apparently they didn’t realize the depth of the relationship. They were satisfied to have an agent working in Lee’s office. You, however, concentrated a lot of attention on Lee. But you didn’t want him to know he was being watched. So you pulled a beauty. You used me to make Lee think Rita Duncan was under suspicion. Your next move was a stroke of genius. You knew that my presence would make Lee nervous. You had reason to believe he was negotiating with the other side. You wanted the final phase of the negotiations to take place where Lee could be kept under surveillance. This would be tough in New York City, but quite easy at Lee’s lake in New Hampshire. You sent Grady and Pete. The other side sent four men. I think Rita caught Lee talking to one of the four men. He killed her. Then he got rid of Vicki. I was scheduled to be killed, too.”
Dumbrille looked me straight in the eye. “That’s terribly involved, Larry.”
“No trouble to you, Mr. Dumbrille. You’ve got that kind of a mind. But it wasn’t really involved. What you set out to do was force Lee’s hand. But it had to take place where a few men could control the situation. All the rest was window dressing. However, it wasn’t part of your plan for me to be in on the kill. And you had no way of knowing that the big prize was at the bottom of the lake—that was a bonus. All you had the right to hope for was proof that Lee was trying to make a deal with foreign agents. The rest would come later—after you got credit for bringing him in. Then maybe your sponsor would let you have more men and money, and, all over Washington, influential men would gather in corridors and whisper about Z Detail.”
“My, my,” Dumbrille sighed. “The portrait you paint of me isn’t very attractive.”
“That’s because I paint you as I see you ... and I don’t particularly like what I see.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Larry. However ...” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Good heavens! Is it that late already? I was supposed to make an important phone call five minutes ago.”
“A private call, of course,” I said.
“I’m afraid so. I’m terribly sorry, but—”
“Don’t apologize; it doesn’t become you. And don’t bother to see me out.”
I got up. Dumbrille offered his hand. I hesitated, then I took it. Hell, he couldn’t help being what he was any more than a spider could. Or a snake. Or a cockroach.
“Goodbye, Larry.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Dumbrille. Oh. By the way ...”
“Yes?”
“The next time you need a patsy, forget it.”
I let myself out. I was in a taxi, halfway to my hotel, when I realized I had left my cigarette lighter on Dumbrille’s desk. The Ronson was a birthday present from a very special lady. I wanted it back. Well, I could pick it up tomorrow before catching the helicopter to New York.
The next day, I was surprised to find a curvaceous brunette in Dumbrille’s outer office. She took off her glasses as I walked in, smiled, asked if there was something she could do for me.
“I left a cigarette lighter in Mr. Dumbrille’s office,” I explained.
She worked her false eyelashes. “Did you say Mr. Dunhill?”
“Dumbrille. Baxter Dumbrille.”
“Are you sure you’re in the right office? This is the Acme Data Processing Company.”
“It had the same name yesterday. Look, just tell Mr. Dumbrille that Larry Kent wants his lighter.”
“But we don’t have a Mr. Dumbrille. And we weren’t here yesterday. We moved in this morning.”
I went past her, opened Dumbrille’s door. Dumbrille’s big desk was gone. In its place was a small, glass-topped desk. And behind the desk was a small, thin man who looked up from some papers and frowned. The brunette pushed past me and said:
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brown. This gentleman insists we have a Mr. Dumbrille working here.”
The thin man looked me over. “Dumbrille? he said. “Never heard of him.”
I noticed a small cardboard box of rubbish at the side of his desk. My lighter was half-hidden among some paper at the top. I retrieved it in two strides.
“You came looking for something?” the guy asked.
“Only a memento.” Then I got the hell away from there.
About Larry Kent
Larry Kent started his life as the hero of a half-hour radio show on Australia’s Macquarie Network, and was inspired chiefly by the success of the hardboiled mysteries of Carter Brown. As the popularity of the radio show grew, the Cleveland Publishing Pty. Ltd decided to publish a series of Larry Kent novels. Two authors, Don Haring (an American who lived in Australia) and Des R Dunn (a Queenslander) are primarily associated with the series. Between 1954 and 1983, Larry appeared in well over 400 adventures.
Kent is a typical hardboiled private eye. He smokes Luckies, drinks whisky and within the first dozen pages or so, has usually met a dame and is fighting for his life. His mean streets are pure New York (although the radio series was set in Australia) and include Harlem nightclubs and Jersey roadhouses.
Generally the body counts are high: about six deaths per novel.
But there’s another side to Larry Kent. He’s a Vietnam war veteran, he used to work for the CIA and still does, usually reluctantly, on occasion. And once, when an attempt was made on his life, the Agency paid for him to have plastic surgery that altered his appearance ... something he never quite managed to get used to.
Larry Kent is fast and fun, and Piccadilly Publishing is proud to be bringing his cases to a whole new generation of fans, complete with their original ‘good girl’ artwork.
More on Larry Kent
The Larry Kent Series
Curves Can Kill
Witch Rhymes With …
Hello Dolly, Goodbye
One More for the Road
… and more to come!
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