Date with Death td-57

by Warren Murphy

  Chiun folded his arms over his chest. "Perhaps you should tell me again, O brilliant one, how necessary this mission is."

  "Can the sarcasm. We're in trouble. Hey, what's that up ahead?" He squinted. In the distance was a building with two rectangular objects in front of it. "I'll be damned," Remo said, visibly relieved. "A gas station. I guess we're in luck after all."

  "What great good fortune," Chiun muttered.

  A dark-haired young man leaped up when Remo pulled into Harry's Payless.

  "Hey, nice car you got," he said, reaching in and fingering the upholstery.

  Remo slapped his hands away in annoyance. "Do you mind? Just fill it up."

  "Okay," the young man said affably. "Just taking a look, that's all. Say, you got a smoke?"

  "No," Remo said. "Is there a used-car lot around here?"

  "Nothing close. You know you got no steering wheel?"

  "That's a real eagle eye you have," Remo said.

  "I can fix it. Good as new. Only take a sec."

  Remo looked at the young man. He seemed friendly enough. "Are you a mechanic?"

  "I'm an Indian," the young man said proudly. "Sam Wolfshy. Got a stick of gum?"

  "No," Remo said, exasperated.

  "How about a couple of rubber bands?"

  "What for?"

  Wolfshy shrugged. "They're useful. Can't tell when you'll need one."

  "I don't have anything except money," Remo said.

  "Oh." The Indian looked down, disinterested.

  "I'd like to buy a map."

  "Inside," Wolfshy said. "Harry'll help you."

  "I'll go with you," Chiun said. "These gasoline fumes are assaulting my nostrils." He got out of the car. "I will probably be dead of poison fumes before dawn," the Oriental droned. "Dead, without ever having met Mona Madrigal. The Emperor's gracious present will have gone to waste. Of course, returning to our motel might save my life. But don't consider me, Remo. What is the life of an old man?"

  "That's big of you, Chiun," Remo said, striding into the station.

  Behind the counter sat a skinny old man with arms like toasted bread sticks, reading a newspaper. He wore a bright flowered shirt and thick glasses that had slid down to the base of his nose.

  "Ice machine's broken," he said, glancing up at Remo. "Won't be fixed before tomorrow." He gave his paper a shake and went back to reading it.

  "I'm not here for ice. I need a map."

  "No maps. Sam borrowed them all."

  "What's he want them for?"

  "Who knows? He's a Kanton."

  Remo shook his head. "I think I missed something there."

  "Forget it. Anything else?"

  "I need another car."

  "Can't help you there," Harry said, turning a page of the newspaper. "Closest car dealer's back in Santa Fe."

  "You see?" Chiun hissed. "It's fate."

  "How far is it to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains?"

  Harry squinted toward the fluorescent ceiling lights. "Can't say. Never been there. Sam might know. He's a Kanton."

  "You've said that before. What the hell's a Kanton?"

  "Indian, son. They come from around the Sangre de Cristo." Suddenly the old man grinned. He slapped his newspaper down so hard that his glasses slid off his nose. "You know what you need?"

  "Yes," Remo said. "A map."

  "Better'n that. You need a guide. A real wood-tracking, wind-smelling Indian guide. And I got just the man for you."

  "Sam?" Remo asked without enthusiasm.

  "None other." Harry slapped his knee and chuckled.

  'Uh, no thanks," Remo said. "I think you need him more here."

  "Hell, no. What I mean is," he added quickly, "it's the slow season. I can spare him for a few days. Come on, mister. What do you say?" There was pleading in his eyes.

  Remo looked at him suspiciously. "I think I'll pass on Sam."

  The old man exhaled noisily. "Shit," he said. "I didn't think it would work. Fact is, he's my nephew. My sister married a Kanton, and when she passed on, I got saddled with Sam. That was twenty-six years ago. Haven't been able to get rid of him since."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "He's a damned Kanton, that's what's wrong," Harry screeched. "They're borrowers. They can't help it. It's in their blood. But it's driving me crazy. Got a shirt? Got a vacuum cleaner bag? Sheesh. Ever see the Kanton Indian Museum? It's got nothing but I.O.U.'s in it, some going back to the sixteen hundreds."

  "You mean Sam's a thief?"

  "Hell, no," Harry said, waving his hand. "Couldn't care less about money. Don't own anything, don't want to. But he'll borrow the teeth out of your head."

  "Well, we don't have anything to borrow," Remo said, considering. "And we could use a guide, I suppose…."

  "I'll tell you what," Harry interjected. "You take Sam off my hands, and the gas you got's on the house."

  "Gee, I don't know—"

  "We accept," Chiun said.

  "We-ha!" Harry whooped, scurrying from behind the counter. "I'll tell Sam to get ready."

  When the old man had run out, Remo turned to Chiun. "What'd you say that for? We don't even know this guy."

  Chiun folded his hands into his sleeves. "It is simple. Now we have free gas. With it, we can return to Santa Fe. We will offer up this Sam person to the Emperor, saying that he forced us to leave our motel room temporarily. That way, Emperor Smith will not be offended that we were not present to receive a visit from Mona Madrigal."

  Remo knocked the heel of his hand against his temple. "Are you kidding? That's the most twisted argument I've ever heard."

  "With emperors, subtlety is everything," Chiun assured him.

  A shriek that sounded like a strangled vulture sent them running outside.

  It was Sam Wolfshy. He was lying on the ground, legs sprawled, arms flailing, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as Harry squeezed his neck with both scrawny hands.

  "What's going on here?" Remo asked, pulling the old man off the big Indian. "I thought you liked him."

  "Damned worthless Kanton!" Harry screeched. "I lay my balls on the line to give you a chance with these guys, and look what you do to their car!"

  "Car?" Remo asked. He looked around for the Chevy. It was parked beside a jeep.

  "I fixed the steering wheel, didn't 1?" Sam protested.

  Remo looked inside the car with amazement. Indeed, the steering wheel was back in place. But both seats, as well as the dashboard, radio, cigarette lighter, windshield wipers, door handles, rear-view mirror, and all four tires were gone. They had all been neatly installed in the jeep next to it.

  "He works quickly," Chiun said, impressed.

  "So will the police," Remo said, turning to Wolfshy.

  The Indian blinked in bewilderment. "But I only borrowed those accessories."

  Harry clasped both hands to his head and reeled inside.

  "Accessories?" Remo shouted. "You call tires accessories?"

  "Hold, hold," Chiun said. "This person has possibilities."

  "So do a lot of guys in San Quentin."

  "Use your head, Remo. We take his car."

  Remo looked from the old Oriental to the jeep. "Not bad, Little Father."

  "Hey, wait a minute," Sam waffled. "I don't know about that."

  "Let me explain it to you," Remo said in the manner of a born teacher. "Either we take your jeep, or you spend the next couple of years in the state pen. Now, what's your answer?"

  Wolfshy looked blankly at Remo for a moment, then broke into a broad grin. "Looks like you two just hired yourselves a genuine Indian guide." He held out his hand.

  Remo ignored it and pointed to the jeep. "You drive," he said.

  Wolfshy climbed in. "We'll be able to drive to the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos, but then we'll have to walk," he said cheerfully.

  "So you've been to the mountains before?"

  "Not really," Wolfshy said. "A hiker told me a couple of months ago. Loaned me these boots I'm wearing." />
  "That figures," Remo said.

  Wolfshy continued, undaunted, "Nice guy. Said he went to check out an old Franciscan monastery at the top of one of the peaks, but when he got there, the place was swarming with soldiers. They chased him off."

  "American soldiers?"

  "I guess. He didn't say." Wolfshy revved up the engine.

  "Hold it," Remo said. "I need to make a phone call."

  Inside the station, Harry was beaming. "So you're going to take him after all, are you?"

  "Yeah. Where's the phone?"

  Harry pointed.

  "Do me a favor, will you, and clear out for a couple of minutes? This call's private."

  "Sure." Harry gave him a lewd wink. "Got a little honey, eh?"

  Remo thought of Harold W. Smith's pinched, lemony face. "Not exactly," he said.

  Smith's computers whirred and beeped for less than twenty seconds before Remo got his answer. "There's no American military base in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains," the lemony voice said.

  "That's all I wanted to know," Remo said, and hung up. He climbed into the jeep. "We're going to that monastery. Which way is it?"

  "Due north," Wolfshy said with authority,

  Jubilantly, Harry waved good-bye to them as Wolfshy turned a slow circle in front of the gas station.

  Remo relaxed. "I guess it's a good thing we've got you along after all," he said to the Indian. "I'd hate to get lost in those mountains."

  Wolfshy turned another circle, and then went around a third time.

  "Think we can stop the parade and get going?" Remo snapped.

  "Sure," Wolfshy said. "There's just one thing."

  "What is it?"

  "Which way is north?"

  ?CHAPTER FIVE

  The petite blonde clutched at her stomach and moaned. "I need a doctor," she pleaded through clenched teeth. "You've got to help me. I think it's my appendix."

  She was about to say something more, but instead she drew a sharp breath, doubling over with pain.

  The other women stirred to life. During the day, the former chapel let in light from its high windows, revealing the monastery's adobe walls and filthy stone floor. The women huddled together in the corners for warmth, their faces gray, their expressions numb and blank. Some of them bore fresh wounds from the beatings they received from the guards.

  Consuela Madera went to the blonde girl. They had awakened together, along with Consuela's sisters, in this damp, terrifying place. When the Madera girls learned that their parents and brother were gone, probably dead, the younger girls became hysterical with grief. Their wails brought the guards who brought their sticks and fists.

  Consuela learned quickly to put her own fear aside to help the others. As if sharing an unspoken communication with the beautiful Mexican woman, the young blonde named Karen joined her in nursing the sick and comforting the despairing among them. From their first days together, Karen and Consuela had become the kind of friends who would do anything for one another without question.

  "What is wrong, Karen?" Consuela wrapped her arms around the blonde, leading her toward the wall. "How can I help?"

  "I'm all right," Karen whispered. "Just go along. Try to get a guard in here."

  Consuela obeyed without hesitation. "Guard!" she shouted. "We need a doctor. This woman is very sick."

  Karen moaned. Clutching at the folds of her shapeless gray gown, she slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, her head tossing from side to side. "Help me," she screamed. "I'm burning up inside."

  Finally Karen heard the sounds of motion overhead, the scraping noise of a chair being shoved back, the thud of boots on a tile floor, and then after a moment's silence, the metallic snick of a key turning in a lock. She drew a deep breath as the big oak door creaked on its hinges. He's coming, she thought. He really is coming.

  The small blonde kept her head down as the heavy-footed guard made his way across to where she was resting against the rough adobe wall. The other women moved out of his path, sticking in small groups. Consuela recited a prayer.

  The guard, a young, dull-looking man named Kains, hesitated as he passed the Mexican girl. Unconsciously his tongue slid over his lips.

  She's so beautiful, he thought. His spark-less eyes ceased to blink as his gaze rested on Consuela's buttocks. His hand reached out to touch her, but he pulled back. No. She's different from the others.

  Consuela had been the only one of the new arrivals to look him in the eye. Without fear, she had demanded bandages and water for the others. And when he had brought them water, Consuela thanked him. She's a real lady, Kains thought.

  Not like this other pain in the ass who was always causing problems. "What's wrong with you?" Kains asked harshly, stepping toward the shivering blonde on the floor.

  "I'm sick," Karen gasped.

  Scowling, Kains tugged at his peak-billed cap. Well," he muttered, "we ain't got a doctor." His deep-set eyes mirrored uncertainty. "One of the guards used to be a medic, though. Maybe he'll take a look at you."

  "Oh, God," Karen moaned. She reached out and grabbed Kains's arm as if to steady herself. The gesture forced the guard to move in closer or lose his balance. His booted feet shifted. The butt of his shoulder-slung rifle jabbed into his back.

  "Screw you," Karen whispered. Using the wall for support, she brought up her knee, driving it into Kains's unprotected groin. The startled guard let out a whoosh of air like a punctured bellows. He doubled over, clutching at his manhood while Consuela jumped on his back, wrapping her thin arms around Kains's bull neck.

  "Get his gun," Karen shouted. She pushed off the wall again, ramming her head into the wide, soft target of the guard's stomach. Kains made a dry, retching sound and wobbled, but he managed to stay on his feet. He cocked his balled fist back and slammed it down into the little blonde's mouth.

  Consuela screamed as Karen slumped to the floor, a spray of blood shooting from her nose. Overhead, a staccato burst of automatic fire stitched a ragged line across the wall. The noise was deafening, but the weapons were aimed too high to actually hit the women. Loosened clay dust swirled in the air. There were screams, muttered curses, and a thrashing of limbs as the panicked women scrambled for cover.

  "It's over now," a deep voice bellowed. "Everybody calm down and you won't be hurt."

  Karen peeked cautiously up at the man in the overhead gallery. His machine gun was still cradled in his arms, but the barrel was pointing skyward as if he were certain he wouldn't have to use it. The smoldering butt of a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He hadn't even bothered to put it out.

  This is all in a day's work for them, Karen realized. They'd known from the beginning that she and Consuela and the other women didn't have a prayer of overpowering the guards in this nightmarish asylum.

  "Let this be a lesson to you," the stern voice continued from above. "There's no way out of here until we decide to let you go. Try something stupid like that again, girlies, and there won't be enough coffins around here to handle all of you."

  Dumb bastard, Karen brooded. She'd "girlie" him. One day.

  She put her hand to her face. Her front teeth ached but were not broken. Kains, a few feet away, brushed off his clothes and readjusted his peaked cap at a rakish angle.

  "Lying bitch," he muttered. He glared down at Karen, spun around, and stomped out of the room. She couldn't help smiling when she noticed that his gait was a little lopsided.

  Consuela knelt beside her. "Are you hurt?" she asked gently.

  "Nothing's broken."

  "You were lucky. This time. Don't try such a crazy thing again, Karen."

  "I've got to get out of here," the blonde said stubbornly.

  "We all want to leave."

  "Maybe so. But I'm going to."

  Consuela sighed. "Then at least use your head. One woman cannot punch and kick her way out of this place. You need more than courage."

  Karen smiled bitterly. "What else have I got?"

  "You ne
ed a plan."

  "Such as what?" She gestured toward the vaulted ceiling and high, slitlike windows. "There's no way out of here except through the door."

  "Is that so?" Consuela said abstractedly, looking from the high windows to Karen. "You seem to be quick and agile. Are you an athlete?"

  Karen grinned. "State gymnastics champion," she said. "But that was back in high school. I haven't competed in two years."

  "Can you fit through that window?"

  Karen tried to judge the width of the opening. "I think so," she said. "But how would I get up there? We haven't got any rope."

  "Our gowns," Consuela said, beaming. "Each of us will tear four inches off the bottom. If we all do it, the guards won't notice. We'll knot the pieces into a rope."

  Karen touched Consuela's arm. "Thanks for trying to help. But tying these rags together isn't going to do anything. I'd need something to hook onto the window. A spike, a broom handle— something solid. We haven't got anything like that."

  "What about this?" Looking around briefly, she reached under her shift and pulled out a wooden billy club.

  "Consuela! How'd you—"

  "It's Kains's. He's on lunch break. He won't miss it for a while."

  "But how—"

  The Mexican woman laughed. "I took it while they were all busy with you," she said. "But we must act quickly. Kains will come back for it soon."

  "What'll he do to you when he finds out?"

  "Probably nothing," Consuela said casually. "He likes me. I can tell. Don't worry about me. Just get some help and come back as fast as you can with the police, okay?" She tore the hem of her dress. "Hurry."

  Karen tore her own gown and knotted the pieces together as Consuela gathered pieces of material from the other women.

  In a few minutes, the makeshift rope was ready. Karen tied it to the billy club and flung it toward the window high overhead. The club fell short, clattering to the floor. Instinctively the women turned toward the big oak door that separated them from the guards. It did not open.

  Karen tried again, and a third time. On the fourth try, the club sailed through the open slit in the wall. There was an audible sigh from everyone in the area.

  "Quick! Someone's coming!"

  Clenching her jaw, trying to remain calm, Karen patiently climbed the rope. Her palms were sweating and her shoulders ached, but she kept moving, hand over hand, her feet braced against the wall.